Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places thereof

SHOUT OUT to Webster and Ice Cube1 for figuring out the source of the chapter titles! "Cannery Row" indeed!



No one spoke for that moment, all eyes fixed on the elf standing by the window. Estel tried his best to conceal the blood on his tunic, Airelonde's blood. Elladan held a cloth to his head just above his left ear, where the bloodflow was ebbing now. The others--Legolas, Elrohir, and three elves they had not been introduced to who held office--sat quietly, expectantly.

"It is unacceptable," Pellatal exploded, whirling away from the window and slamming his green-colored fist on the tabletop. The others jumped. "Sorry. I--I am sorry," Pellatal amended, "it is only that I am so angry at this perversity! That anyone should dare such an act of destruction against our city. . ."

An elf of greater age than Pellatal, whose many years did weigh upon his shoulders, spoke, and as he did all was quiet, "We understand your anger, Pellatal, and for this reason we have proposed the ban--"

"The ban will do nothing. It is a beginning only."

Legolas's eyes darted to Estel. He understood the significance of this ban, which would curfew every mortal to being in only in residential areas after fall of darkness and prohibit them from holding office until further notice. This would extend to visitors, as well, though exactly what was to be done with the mortal none had said.

Pellatal would have continued then, but for the interruption of the scene by an elf of less years, who entered the room, bowed, and stood in the doorway looking as though he needed very badly to speak. He was motioned to do so. "It's been passed," the young elf announced. "The ban has passed. Runners are carrying word to city guards even now!"

The room broke into whispers and mutters, until the elder elf opened his mouth and the mass was hush for him. "With this under way, we may discuss this. . .perversity?" he asked, deliberately and subtly mocking Pellatal.

"No," Pellatal answered. "With him present, nothing may be openly discussed." Estel felt a blush rise quickly over his cheeks under Pellatal's hateful gaze. The masked emotion had nipped at Estel since his arrival, but in its pure form such raw hatred felt it might swallow him whole.

Elrohir protested. "He is safe. I will vouch for him."

"As will I," Legolas added. "There is no call to send him away. Estel would not have caused anyone to be injured, especially not his own brother." He and Elrohir looked to Elladan, whose word they knew carried more weight than theirs and would be heeded if theirs be not.

"This matters not. He cannot be trusted. Where was he when the explosion was set?" Pellatal asked this, and at once Legolas's heart sank, for he had no answer.

"Elladan was there. Surely he must have seen Estel, if indeed Estel set this explosion?" Legolas returned, his gaze boring a whole in Elladan's head.

Elladan swallowed hard, faced with a most difficult decision to make. He looked to Elrohir, then to Pellatal, each silently urging him to turn opposite ways. "No," he said at last, weakly. Then he raised his head, forced dignity, and looked directly into Pellatal's eyes. "No; we cannot trust a mortal, regardless of association. None of us wants to die here tonight."

Elrohir and Legolas felt the blow, but Estel, who took it hardest, burst out, "Elladan! Have you forgotten everything? Don't you even know your own brother? Will you turn your back on the ones you love?"

"You are only a boy," Elladan replied. "You cannot possibly understand." Estel felt as though someone pummeled his heart with every word Elladan spoke. "This is a time for adults to make decisions and children to obey them."

"Elladan--"

Legolas was not going to listen to his friend beg. "Elladan, you have no idea what you are saying. Perhaps someone needs to send you from the room."

Daggers would be thrown, all could see as much, until Pellatal intervened, his voice sickeningly cunning. "Come, we are friends here, there is no call for raised voices. Surely the mortal understands that matters of law must be observed. No exceptions can be made, or the law would not hold its power. No one is being slighted here." Yet beneath his honeyed tones he spoke clearly his hatred for all who were not enamored to be party to.

"Of course," Estel said. His voice broke over the words. "I will take my leave now. . ." Dread silence followed him as he left the room.

"Right," said Pellatal as Estel closed the door behind him, "so, I suspect the setters of the trick to be these same terrorists as set the fires three weeks ago. As you all know these perverse being exploit not only their children but young girls not even in their teenage years. . ."

Estel listened to this as he took deep, shaking breaths, fighting the urge to cry. Where was he to go? His assigned quarters were out of the question; for one thing, Pellatal might find him there, and for another, Elladan might. Something in Pellatal's speech nagged at Estel, about the girls. Something he had heard before. . .

"All the children are either too big or too little to play with..."

Telloss! Of course Airelonde would be that girl, the only girl old enough to partake but younger than a teen. Estel should have known. He should have realized when he cut the arrowhead from her leg. Telloss and Airelonde were involved in the rebellion.

A crooked smile crossed Estel's face. "I'll show you, Elladan. I will show all of you."

Meanwhile Elladan sat with his head bowed, regretting his decision. Estel had been right, Elladan realized. Why did he think this a moment too late?

The answer is simple. Unable to bear the angry, uncomprehending gazes of Elrohir and Legolas, Elladan turned his eyes to his hands, suddenly interested in his fingernails. Elladan's tunic caught his eye. Had it only been that afternoon he had been stained with dye, had not moved as Pellatal snapped at that poor boy? Tears welled up in his eyes, but Elladan refused to cry them. This place, and all the history within it, was driving him mad.

He looked to Pellatal, who was speaking with fervor again. He, Pellatal, slammed a fist against the table in anger. Unmoved, Elladan's gaze caught the shadow of a smudge, the green hints that Pellatal's fists left on the table. His mind raced to make the proper connection. That package in the laundry had been a form wrapped in parchment, unmarked but for a deep green smudge...

It could have been anyone who worked the dyes. It could have been. But they all wore gloves. Elladan's breath caught in his throat. The image of those eyes returned to him, of the eyes of a woman he once loved...of a crime weighing heavily on Elladan's conscience. He blinked to clear his sight. It was happening all over again, and now it was Estel who would be caught in the crossfire.



To be continued!

Sorry this took so long to update, I was on holiday and hadn't access to a computer.

Grumpy: Estel gave the little girl the arrowhead he extracted from her leg.

Sycamore: The story just before this one, with Estel's first Eregion incident in it, which will explain how he became a ghost, is called 'Every Move You Make.'

Thanks to everyone for reviewing, I love hearing from you!