Well here's the next instalment everyone. I can't believe how many of you have read, reviewed, favourited and are following my story. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I hope you continue to enjoy. And don't forget, reviews feed the muse so keep 'em coming! :)

ILVB - Wow! You reviewed twice, I must have really got to you this time! hehehe.

I'm so glad you are still with me.

Btw, Leggy hasn't been shot, just poked in the back of the neck with the sharp end of an arrow, I'm cruel to our elf, but not that cruel! You're right too, he has got a lot more to put up with yet. *Laughs madly*

I'm glad you can see where the OOC bits fit in now too ( and there.s more ).

Thanks for the reviews for The Question and The Reluctant King too, poetry is still my first love even though I haven't been able to write any since I started this fic!

*Slurps virtual coffee* Mmmm, just what I needed thanks.

Anyway, best get on with it or you will be hunting me down for leaving you ( and Leggy) in limbo!

AUTHORS NOTE

The quote in italics is taken from The Silmarillion - The prophecy of the north. Chapter 9 Of the Flight of the Noldor. and has been slightly tweeked to fit the story.

Chapter 25

Elrond can scarcely believe his eyes, that this imperious elf could speak so to a member of the royal family is incredulous, yet for the young prince to accept his commands without a murmur, to kneel before and subject himself to such blatant disrespect is completely beyond his belief. Deciding that this has gone far enough, he takes a step forward intending to remonstrate with the visitor only to suddenly find himself grasped firmly by two wood elves who have silently flanked him and now each have one of his arms in a vice like grip. Looking sharply from one to the other he notes their blank, dispassionate faces before glancing up to see his sons each held in a similar fashion whilst the remaining Mirkwood elves have their bows drawn and are trained upon the young archer still kneeling, apparently in reverie, as they surround him.

Fury fills him as he realises that this has all been carefully planned and orchestrated and he berates himself for allowing the party to retain their weapons within his halls. In all his years, he has never felt the need for guards within these walls, never felt threatened inside his own home, or allowed any other being to be endangered here, has always maintained this as a safe haven for any who had need and now his anger builds at those who would rip this protection asunder.

"How dare you!" there is a quiet steel in his voice that makes all who recognise it stiffen in dreaded anticipation. "Unhand me, this instant!" the Lord has drawn himself to his full height, his face a stern, cold mask as he gazes from one captor to the other.

The twins and Estel share a meaningful glance, this is Elrond at his most impressive. A striking figure at the best of times his rage now lending him an aura of power and command that should, by rights, have the Mirkwood contingent trembling with fear, yet they appear impervious.

"You will not interfere, Noldo, this is OUR business, not yours." The words feel almost like a slap they are so sharp and to add further insult the spokesman does not turn so much as an eye on the lord, apparently dismissing him from his thoughts as he continues to lock his gaze with the elven prince now standing in front of him.

The silence in the room thickens, the atmosphere feeling as charged as the lull before a thunderstorm.

"It may be your business, but you are in my home." This time the icily curt words elicit a brief glance from the kings representative.

" The fewer interruptions," the Mirkwood elf nods imperceptibly to the lord. " The sooner we can leave this .. place."

The slight pause is not lost on the twins and their eyes darken further with a malice that promises ill for the elf when they are eventually freed. Arms straining against their captors they have to admire the strength with which they are being held, these woodland elves have had to become strong to fight back the darkness encroaching upon their land and it is only now that they come to realise what a formidable force the warriors must be.

In the face of all this tension the young archer at its centre has remained standing, cold and emotionless, looking neither to right or left as if carved out of stone. He knows that any attempt to thwart events from unfolding as they have long been decreed is useless, as much as he respects the lord of Imladris he is not of his kin and does not truly understand their ways.

In as dark a place as his beloved home is becoming there is a need for laws to be adhered to without question and he has broken one of the oldest in the history of his people, committed the worst crime imaginable to a people who venerate all living things, even going so far as to feel sorrow for the lost life of a fea, twisted by external influences not of its own making with each orc slain by their hands.

Imladris has the protection of Nenya, the Golden Wood has the magic of Galadriel, his realm has only its people and if this makes them seem strange and a little savage to outsiders they care not, they will do what must be done, sacrifice all they have, in order to preserve their homes and families for as long as is possible.

"Legolas Thranduillion, Prince of the Greenwood, will you accept your kings judgement?" The Mirkwood elf has turned back to the young archer once more, drawing himself to his full height and staring coldly into the cerulean eyes before him, haughty face portraying no emotion whatsoever, green eyes dark as a leaf under shadow.

"I will always be subject to my kings command and am honour bound to accept any judgement he passes upon me." The words ring clearly out around the hall and Legolas is proud that his voice does not falter and show the turmoil raging around his heart.

The kings representative then draws a scroll out from a leather pouch hanging from his belt and shows the seal to the prince before cracking it and unrolling the contents.

"Do you recognise the Kings seal?"Emerald eyes scan the document before him.

" I recognise and affirm my kings seal." Legolas nods his head slightly and remains straight and tall before the advisor.

His demeanor, regal and unbending, reminds Elrond so much of his father and a frown creases the lords brow as he begins to realise where this is all going to lead and that there is nothing he can do to halt its progress.

" I, King Thranduil Oropherion," the spokesman has unfurled the scroll and begins to read, his concise, clipped diction pitched to reach every corner of the room. "Do solemnly give judgement on the murder of Lhosson Tathhirion by Legolas Thranduilion. The killing of kin by kin is a crime worse than any other and has but one consequence as laid out by Manwe himself." There is a pause in which even the air within the room seems to still before he continues.

"Ye have spilled the blood of your kindred unrighteously and have stained the land of Aman. For blood ye shall render blood, and beyond Aman ye shall dwell in Death's shadow. For though Eru has appointed you to die not in Ea, and no sickness may assail you, yet slain you may be, and slain ye will be: by weapon and torment and by grief; and your houseless spirit shall come then to Mandos. There long shall thee abide and yearn for your body, and find little pity though he whom ye have slain should entreat for you."

The only sound now is the faint rustle as the scroll is further unrolled.

"Legolas Kinslayer, I hereby denounce and deny you. You shall be fatherless and homeless, as of this hour you are no longer my son or my heir, you shall be exiled, your name struck from our records and your life shall be forfeit if you enter our lands. This is the true and proper judgement of I, Thranduil Oropherion, King of the Greenwood."

With a final flourish the scroll is turned once more towards the young archer so that he may see the signature beneath its final line before being once more rolled up and placed in its leather pouch at the haughty elfs waist.

As soon as the scroll is safely ensconced back in its place the archers surrounding Legolas lower their bows, returning them to their usual resting places upon their backs and take a step back before each holds out the arrow that had previously been nocked and pointed at the young elf, grasping it in both hands across their chests.

The spokesman then turns abruptly on the spot and walks away, leaving the room without another word or backward glance, then, one by one, the remaining archers, excepting those still restraining Elrond and his sons, file past the blonde elf and as each passes they break their arrow and cast it down at his feet, the looks of loathing upon their faces conveying much more than words ever could.

Finally, the last Mirkwood elves remaining in the room let go of their captives, and approaching Legolas as a group each removes an arrow from their quiver, snap them in half and send them to join the others on the floor before they too turn and follow their comrades leaving a stunned family staring silently after them.