Chapter four:
Celairrim, the cousin of Raunion, walked quickly towards the palace, praying that the person he sought would still be in the gilded halls.
Celairrim was no fool, he had been Orpher's confidant during the siege of Baradur and had worked hard for the golden braids of rank in his hair and the knots of status on his shoulder. He knew as much of the truth about the Grand Duke as Raunion did - though not the full extent of his cousins involvement - and was sickened by the way Thranduil didn't even see the callous gleam in Saercaeron's eyes or the threat that the elf posed.
Though, he supposed, Thranduil had his hands full enough with keeping the endless lists of Mirkwoods' enemies at bay and allies from becoming enemies. Elrond of Rivendell trying to be friendly didn't help either. Celairrim knew that Thranduil's greatest weakness was the refusing of aid from other realms, especially from the Noldor. Oropher had even mentioned on occasion to him how his son's pride might get in the way of his being King of Greenwood - that should ever the darkness deepen and threaten the woodland realm, he didn't know if his son would accept the help of the alliance.
Oropher had been correct - Thranduil shunned any offers of aid, believeing that what he saw as charity to be concealed mockery at his inability to keep his realm safe and that accepting help would prove that he was weak and unworthy to rule. Celairrim pittied him, but at the moment he had no time to waist on his ruler.
His cousin had been taken by the Duke and there were only two beings that could help him: Mithrandir, one of the few beings who struck fear into the twisted heart of Saercaeron; and the other was Princess Orien.
Orien - the sister of Oropher and possibly the most beautiful Silvan elf on Arda - was both loved and feared by her great-nephew. Loved, for she was, as mentioned before, beautiful, and feared for she was both elven wise and as cunning as an Istar. Saercaeron had been longing after his kinswoman for many yenni, and Celairrim was disgusted by it.
He knew that Orien would help him, of course, for while Saercaeron lusted for her - to her mollification - she and Raunion had courted in secret since they first met.
'Yes,' he thought, 'the Princess Orien will be able to save my cousin.'
Legolas sat in the library connected to his fathers' throne room, awaiting the bell that would summon him into the grand chamber where some boring pomp and cirumstance ceremony was going on.
The eldest surviving son of the King hated these occasions. He had never had to suffer through these types of things before his brothers died - Malthenlas, Celebolor, and Nargwiror had been enough to fulfil the duller duties pressed upon the royal family.
His Adarthel Orien sat near him reading a dusty book she had idly pulled off the shelf during the wait. Flipping through the pages full of, in her mind, quite useless information on the etiquette of the men of Dale, which was several thousand years out of date, the Princess felt - rather than heard - someone approachin quickly with important news for her.
Startleing Legolas, she quickly raised from her seat and threw open the hall door where Celairrim was sprinting towards her.
"My Lady! We must hurry, Saercaeron has him!"
Legolas, who had followed his adarthel, stepped infront of her and blocked the running elfs enterance to the room. "What nonsence are you speaking of, Lord Celairrim? What is this?"
Leaning heavily against the wall gaining his breath, Celairrim motioned that he would explain in a moment, but he was cut off as a bell rang loudly in the library. Legolas glared at the out of shape councilor and shook his head.
"I have to go - Adarthel, remember that you must come the next time the bell rings," Legolas stepped back, still glaring, then turned to Orien. "Please don't forget again! Adar nearly throttled me last time when we forgot when to come out and messed up the ceremony. I'd really like to not have to sleep in the out posts again for another week."
Orien patted her gwadorion's smooth cheek and smiled, "I'll not forget. Go, before you are late." And with that she shooed the prince away.
Then she turned on Celairrim with a hostile gleam in her eyes, "what has Saercaeron, the bastard, done now?"
Saercaeron was enjoying himself immensly.
Not only had he finaly caught the traitor Raunion, but he had discovered the key to getting rid of Thranduil and his brats once and for all.
'And I won't be trusting the spiders again, no matter how much more lethal their venom has become. They failed to kill all the children of my dear king-kinsman,' the Duke thought evily, smiling as the sound of a whip and agonized cries drifted up the stairwell into his office.
'Thranduil will die, that is for certain. But Legolas - dear, unhappy Legolas - he will abdicate... yes! He will abdicate out of guilt - but what of the others? Eregon and Rilaiss... the girl will do no harm, she cannot take the thone, but the second youngest son may throw an orc into my plans. He will need to be gotten rid of, too. Yes. He will need to go - ah! I will have him sent to Imladris when the plot begins - as a means of keeping him out of danger - but he will be ambushed by ors in the mountains. No - they know that the orcs have kept away from the paths of late. Dwarves? No, though they hate them they would see no reason why the runts would kill an elf. Men. Yes - wild men live on the eastern hill of the mountains... but why would they kill an elf? They thought he was a wraith, and they deemed to...'
His plots were interrupted at the abrupt entry of a guard.
"What," Saercaeron growled, making the already deeply bowing guard flinch and stoop even lower, as though to avoid his lords' wrath.
"My Duke, it is the Princess Orien! She comes with one of the former councilors of Oropher. She is in a stange state - she nearly froths at the mouth with fury. Should we let her in - she seems to be mad!"
Saercaeron's eyes widened.
What was the lovely lady Orien doing here when she is to be speaking at the graduation of the archers? And angered? He thought for a moment that she knew of Raunion but dismissed the thought quickly. What would she care about a simple soldier? What confused Saercaeron the most was that the guard said she was with a councilor of Oropher. Who?
He motioned for the guard to raise then sighed when he realized that, since the red and black robed elf was still bowing deeply, he did not see.
"Rise, son, and run down into the pits. Tell them to silence the traitor and to hold off the whiping for awhile - I don't think the lady will enjoy hearing his screams as much as I."
In a blink of the eye the young guard was gone down the stairwell and the sounds, which had been oh so pleasing to the Duke, ended in a lull of silence, breeched only by the light rustling of chains and light footsteps ascending the stairs.
The guard closed the heavy door after him as he withdrew from the dungeons and bowed low, one again, to his lord. The Duke sighed and motioned him away, calling out "Let my royal visitor in! Do not keep her waiting!"
A tall, willowy elleth entered the room, brightening the sombre coloured chamber with the radiance of her light. The lady seemed to defy all rules about elves' hair being either straight or wavy and either black, red, blonde or silver, as hers was the colour of milk chocolate and an absolute mop of thousands of tiny but long pincurls. Her skin - while most ladies of the royal house like to stay a fair white pallour like Noldorian women - was the colour of Gondorian tea and as soft as the nose of a foal.
Her eyes, which nearly hurt the evil Duke from their brightness and clarity, were a deep dazaling green with golden stripes running through them. It was her eyes that both drew and repelled Saercaeron from the gorgeous princess - for they were filled with both kindness and intelligence and there was a constant gleam in them. It was this gleam that frightened him now, for they were burning with intensity and smouldering with something that strongly resembled hatred.
Saercaeron shuddered - the hatred was aimed at him and even he, murderer of innocents and master of puppets, felt the burn.
He bowed from where he stood behind his polished desk.
"Your most Royal Majesty - to what do I owe the honour of your presence, dear Princess Orien?"
Orien ignored the silky greeting and held out her hand to be kissed - which was readily done by the foul Duke - before speaking a word.
"Duke Saercaeron, I have recieved word that your men arrested one Raunion Henvainion. This good counsilor of my departed adar came to me in appeal of his arrest, stateing that his cousin, the said Raunion, has done no harm or foul. I must agree that is unlawful to hold one without making charges against his person, so I ask you if he has been charged and of what crime?"
Celairrim inhaled deeply with approval - his dead King passed his diplomatic skills and eloquence not just to his heir but to his lovely daughter, aswell.
'It's too bad, really, that she had not been born first,' Celairrim thought sadly, 'Oropher often lamented the point. She would have made a wonderful Queen - he was ready to rewrite the laws over inheritance of the crown so that she might have it, but then he fell...'
Saercaeron gulped inwardly but to the two other elves he seemed unaffected by the words of the Princess.
"My most beloved Princess Orien Oropherel, I am shocked that any elf would accuse me of such unlawfullness, and hurt that my own kin would think so of me! Of course I have reason for the aprehension of the rebel Raunion. Am I not Grand Duke, fourth in line to the throne of your most glorious and royal brother? Am I not bound by oaths to uphold the peace and safety of this realm?"
Orien had to close her eyes to keep Saercaeron from seeing her roll them at his words. 'Has that stopped you before, vile worm? Did that stop you from killing my brethren and uncles,' the princess thought bitterly.
"For what crime was my cousin arrested, Lord? He was walking with me to dine with my family when we were surrounded by armed elves of your guard and he was forcefully taken," Celairrim stepped forwards, his silver and green eyes flashing in his irritation. Never before had he really felt that diplomacy was taking too long and only making things worse. "When last I looked, anyone arrested must be read their charges at the time of their arrest. Nothing of the such happened, I stood beside him and heard all that was said."
The Duke turned his cold gaze away from the lovely Orien and onto Celairrim. There was mockery in his glance and ammusement on his features.
"Your kinsman was read the charges upon him long ago - he fled and now we do not have to read his charges again as we had done so the first time. But if you wish to know the charges they are these: plotting the assaination of members of the royal family and the attempted murder of his brother, Ionvain Henvainion."
Both Orien and Celairrim's eyes widened in disbelief. Celairrim clenched his hand until the knuckles were ebony white and his jaw tightened.
"You lie!"
There was a desperate silence that stood the hairs on all three elves' necks. The two male elves glared with hatefilled eyes; Saercaeron's filled with icy slivers, Celairrim's alight with a flame brighter than that that brought Gondolin to ruin.
"I do not, councilor. Your kinsman was involved in the deaths of the Princess Orien's brothers' deaths, and attempted to kill his own brother who had discovered his Raunion's involvement," Saercaeron hissed, advancing towards Celairrim, his eyes daring the furious elf to try something. "Raunion pinned his brother to a tree deep in the south where he thought none would find him again and left him for dead. There were witnesses, many witnesses."
Celairrim snorted, "and let me guess, Duke, they are all dead or passed away into the west?"
Saercaeron smiled evily, "why of course not! I could call three of them in now - they are awaiting outside the door!" Celairrim snarled and the Duke turned away from him, letting his gaze fall back upon that of the lovely Orien.
"My lady - you needn't concern yourself anymore about the welfare of this elf's kinsman who not only tried to murder his own brother, but had a hand in the deaths of your brothers. Give my regards to your most royal brother, my liege, and my salutations to young Legolas," Saercaeron bowed, "I have not seen the young prince in a long while - he does not come often to visit me of late. I wonder why?"
Orien would have protested but she was too stunned by the Dukes' accusations to act and also did not want to reveal her love for Raunion to the foul elf. She inclined her head to him and left the room, hateing each step she took, knowing it was taking her futher and further away from her beloved.
When she had finaly left and Saercaeron assured that she would not hear, he fairly lept towards the silverhaired Celairrim, pulling an ornate dagger from his belt as he did so, but the elf was ready and kicked out at the leaping Duke with a booted foot.
Saercaeron hissed in pain as he felt his arm twist away and the blade turn outwards, away from his foe. Celairrim was no fool - he knew that he was not a fighter and hadn't a chance against the Duke in a fury, but luckily for him he had planned ahead and pulled out a small dagger that he had hidden in his boot and rushed at Saercaeron. The foul elf turned and drove an elbow into the now armed Celairrim's gut and again into his nose - praying that he would catch the right spot and drive the elf's cartilage into his brain. Guessing the Duke's target, Celairrim ducked his head to the side, but caught the elbow in his temple, sending waves of pain through his head and momentarily stunning him.
A moment was all Saercaeron needed to shout for help and dive for his lost blade.
He reached it as Celarrim lunged towards him with his own dagger held aloft to drive down into Saercaeron's back, turned, and thrust his blade up into Celairrim's unprotected midriff, just as his guards ran into the room.
A shout went out and before Celairrim had time to realize or understand what had happened, five arrows embedded themselves into his back. With a gasp he fell forwards onto Saercaeron, but he was dead before he hit the ground.
With a disgusted grunt, Saercaeron pushed the corpes off of him and pulled himself up off the floor. Brushing the blood off his dagger onto his pants he sneared down at Celairrim's lifeless body.
"Never leave your torso unprotected, dumb bastard," Saercaeron kicked the body with the toe of his boot and turned away and handed the blade to one of the many guards that had filled the room. "Get this clean and get that kedaver out of here. Take it down to the pit and feed it to Allagor's pet orc. It hasn't eaten in a few weeks - it will enjoy the meat."
With that he stalked out of his office and down into the dungeons to watch the traitor Raunion's torture sessions. That would cheer him up, he decided.
Thank-you everyone who has commented. Yes- I know - it was starting to get a little boring, so I decided to kill someone off. Oh well, Celairrim is in a different story that I am writing so you will get to know a little more about him later.
Toodles, Silabrithil.
Celairrim, the cousin of Raunion, walked quickly towards the palace, praying that the person he sought would still be in the gilded halls.
Celairrim was no fool, he had been Orpher's confidant during the siege of Baradur and had worked hard for the golden braids of rank in his hair and the knots of status on his shoulder. He knew as much of the truth about the Grand Duke as Raunion did - though not the full extent of his cousins involvement - and was sickened by the way Thranduil didn't even see the callous gleam in Saercaeron's eyes or the threat that the elf posed.
Though, he supposed, Thranduil had his hands full enough with keeping the endless lists of Mirkwoods' enemies at bay and allies from becoming enemies. Elrond of Rivendell trying to be friendly didn't help either. Celairrim knew that Thranduil's greatest weakness was the refusing of aid from other realms, especially from the Noldor. Oropher had even mentioned on occasion to him how his son's pride might get in the way of his being King of Greenwood - that should ever the darkness deepen and threaten the woodland realm, he didn't know if his son would accept the help of the alliance.
Oropher had been correct - Thranduil shunned any offers of aid, believeing that what he saw as charity to be concealed mockery at his inability to keep his realm safe and that accepting help would prove that he was weak and unworthy to rule. Celairrim pittied him, but at the moment he had no time to waist on his ruler.
His cousin had been taken by the Duke and there were only two beings that could help him: Mithrandir, one of the few beings who struck fear into the twisted heart of Saercaeron; and the other was Princess Orien.
Orien - the sister of Oropher and possibly the most beautiful Silvan elf on Arda - was both loved and feared by her great-nephew. Loved, for she was, as mentioned before, beautiful, and feared for she was both elven wise and as cunning as an Istar. Saercaeron had been longing after his kinswoman for many yenni, and Celairrim was disgusted by it.
He knew that Orien would help him, of course, for while Saercaeron lusted for her - to her mollification - she and Raunion had courted in secret since they first met.
'Yes,' he thought, 'the Princess Orien will be able to save my cousin.'
Legolas sat in the library connected to his fathers' throne room, awaiting the bell that would summon him into the grand chamber where some boring pomp and cirumstance ceremony was going on.
The eldest surviving son of the King hated these occasions. He had never had to suffer through these types of things before his brothers died - Malthenlas, Celebolor, and Nargwiror had been enough to fulfil the duller duties pressed upon the royal family.
His Adarthel Orien sat near him reading a dusty book she had idly pulled off the shelf during the wait. Flipping through the pages full of, in her mind, quite useless information on the etiquette of the men of Dale, which was several thousand years out of date, the Princess felt - rather than heard - someone approachin quickly with important news for her.
Startleing Legolas, she quickly raised from her seat and threw open the hall door where Celairrim was sprinting towards her.
"My Lady! We must hurry, Saercaeron has him!"
Legolas, who had followed his adarthel, stepped infront of her and blocked the running elfs enterance to the room. "What nonsence are you speaking of, Lord Celairrim? What is this?"
Leaning heavily against the wall gaining his breath, Celairrim motioned that he would explain in a moment, but he was cut off as a bell rang loudly in the library. Legolas glared at the out of shape councilor and shook his head.
"I have to go - Adarthel, remember that you must come the next time the bell rings," Legolas stepped back, still glaring, then turned to Orien. "Please don't forget again! Adar nearly throttled me last time when we forgot when to come out and messed up the ceremony. I'd really like to not have to sleep in the out posts again for another week."
Orien patted her gwadorion's smooth cheek and smiled, "I'll not forget. Go, before you are late." And with that she shooed the prince away.
Then she turned on Celairrim with a hostile gleam in her eyes, "what has Saercaeron, the bastard, done now?"
Saercaeron was enjoying himself immensly.
Not only had he finaly caught the traitor Raunion, but he had discovered the key to getting rid of Thranduil and his brats once and for all.
'And I won't be trusting the spiders again, no matter how much more lethal their venom has become. They failed to kill all the children of my dear king-kinsman,' the Duke thought evily, smiling as the sound of a whip and agonized cries drifted up the stairwell into his office.
'Thranduil will die, that is for certain. But Legolas - dear, unhappy Legolas - he will abdicate... yes! He will abdicate out of guilt - but what of the others? Eregon and Rilaiss... the girl will do no harm, she cannot take the thone, but the second youngest son may throw an orc into my plans. He will need to be gotten rid of, too. Yes. He will need to go - ah! I will have him sent to Imladris when the plot begins - as a means of keeping him out of danger - but he will be ambushed by ors in the mountains. No - they know that the orcs have kept away from the paths of late. Dwarves? No, though they hate them they would see no reason why the runts would kill an elf. Men. Yes - wild men live on the eastern hill of the mountains... but why would they kill an elf? They thought he was a wraith, and they deemed to...'
His plots were interrupted at the abrupt entry of a guard.
"What," Saercaeron growled, making the already deeply bowing guard flinch and stoop even lower, as though to avoid his lords' wrath.
"My Duke, it is the Princess Orien! She comes with one of the former councilors of Oropher. She is in a stange state - she nearly froths at the mouth with fury. Should we let her in - she seems to be mad!"
Saercaeron's eyes widened.
What was the lovely lady Orien doing here when she is to be speaking at the graduation of the archers? And angered? He thought for a moment that she knew of Raunion but dismissed the thought quickly. What would she care about a simple soldier? What confused Saercaeron the most was that the guard said she was with a councilor of Oropher. Who?
He motioned for the guard to raise then sighed when he realized that, since the red and black robed elf was still bowing deeply, he did not see.
"Rise, son, and run down into the pits. Tell them to silence the traitor and to hold off the whiping for awhile - I don't think the lady will enjoy hearing his screams as much as I."
In a blink of the eye the young guard was gone down the stairwell and the sounds, which had been oh so pleasing to the Duke, ended in a lull of silence, breeched only by the light rustling of chains and light footsteps ascending the stairs.
The guard closed the heavy door after him as he withdrew from the dungeons and bowed low, one again, to his lord. The Duke sighed and motioned him away, calling out "Let my royal visitor in! Do not keep her waiting!"
A tall, willowy elleth entered the room, brightening the sombre coloured chamber with the radiance of her light. The lady seemed to defy all rules about elves' hair being either straight or wavy and either black, red, blonde or silver, as hers was the colour of milk chocolate and an absolute mop of thousands of tiny but long pincurls. Her skin - while most ladies of the royal house like to stay a fair white pallour like Noldorian women - was the colour of Gondorian tea and as soft as the nose of a foal.
Her eyes, which nearly hurt the evil Duke from their brightness and clarity, were a deep dazaling green with golden stripes running through them. It was her eyes that both drew and repelled Saercaeron from the gorgeous princess - for they were filled with both kindness and intelligence and there was a constant gleam in them. It was this gleam that frightened him now, for they were burning with intensity and smouldering with something that strongly resembled hatred.
Saercaeron shuddered - the hatred was aimed at him and even he, murderer of innocents and master of puppets, felt the burn.
He bowed from where he stood behind his polished desk.
"Your most Royal Majesty - to what do I owe the honour of your presence, dear Princess Orien?"
Orien ignored the silky greeting and held out her hand to be kissed - which was readily done by the foul Duke - before speaking a word.
"Duke Saercaeron, I have recieved word that your men arrested one Raunion Henvainion. This good counsilor of my departed adar came to me in appeal of his arrest, stateing that his cousin, the said Raunion, has done no harm or foul. I must agree that is unlawful to hold one without making charges against his person, so I ask you if he has been charged and of what crime?"
Celairrim inhaled deeply with approval - his dead King passed his diplomatic skills and eloquence not just to his heir but to his lovely daughter, aswell.
'It's too bad, really, that she had not been born first,' Celairrim thought sadly, 'Oropher often lamented the point. She would have made a wonderful Queen - he was ready to rewrite the laws over inheritance of the crown so that she might have it, but then he fell...'
Saercaeron gulped inwardly but to the two other elves he seemed unaffected by the words of the Princess.
"My most beloved Princess Orien Oropherel, I am shocked that any elf would accuse me of such unlawfullness, and hurt that my own kin would think so of me! Of course I have reason for the aprehension of the rebel Raunion. Am I not Grand Duke, fourth in line to the throne of your most glorious and royal brother? Am I not bound by oaths to uphold the peace and safety of this realm?"
Orien had to close her eyes to keep Saercaeron from seeing her roll them at his words. 'Has that stopped you before, vile worm? Did that stop you from killing my brethren and uncles,' the princess thought bitterly.
"For what crime was my cousin arrested, Lord? He was walking with me to dine with my family when we were surrounded by armed elves of your guard and he was forcefully taken," Celairrim stepped forwards, his silver and green eyes flashing in his irritation. Never before had he really felt that diplomacy was taking too long and only making things worse. "When last I looked, anyone arrested must be read their charges at the time of their arrest. Nothing of the such happened, I stood beside him and heard all that was said."
The Duke turned his cold gaze away from the lovely Orien and onto Celairrim. There was mockery in his glance and ammusement on his features.
"Your kinsman was read the charges upon him long ago - he fled and now we do not have to read his charges again as we had done so the first time. But if you wish to know the charges they are these: plotting the assaination of members of the royal family and the attempted murder of his brother, Ionvain Henvainion."
Both Orien and Celairrim's eyes widened in disbelief. Celairrim clenched his hand until the knuckles were ebony white and his jaw tightened.
"You lie!"
There was a desperate silence that stood the hairs on all three elves' necks. The two male elves glared with hatefilled eyes; Saercaeron's filled with icy slivers, Celairrim's alight with a flame brighter than that that brought Gondolin to ruin.
"I do not, councilor. Your kinsman was involved in the deaths of the Princess Orien's brothers' deaths, and attempted to kill his own brother who had discovered his Raunion's involvement," Saercaeron hissed, advancing towards Celairrim, his eyes daring the furious elf to try something. "Raunion pinned his brother to a tree deep in the south where he thought none would find him again and left him for dead. There were witnesses, many witnesses."
Celairrim snorted, "and let me guess, Duke, they are all dead or passed away into the west?"
Saercaeron smiled evily, "why of course not! I could call three of them in now - they are awaiting outside the door!" Celairrim snarled and the Duke turned away from him, letting his gaze fall back upon that of the lovely Orien.
"My lady - you needn't concern yourself anymore about the welfare of this elf's kinsman who not only tried to murder his own brother, but had a hand in the deaths of your brothers. Give my regards to your most royal brother, my liege, and my salutations to young Legolas," Saercaeron bowed, "I have not seen the young prince in a long while - he does not come often to visit me of late. I wonder why?"
Orien would have protested but she was too stunned by the Dukes' accusations to act and also did not want to reveal her love for Raunion to the foul elf. She inclined her head to him and left the room, hateing each step she took, knowing it was taking her futher and further away from her beloved.
When she had finaly left and Saercaeron assured that she would not hear, he fairly lept towards the silverhaired Celairrim, pulling an ornate dagger from his belt as he did so, but the elf was ready and kicked out at the leaping Duke with a booted foot.
Saercaeron hissed in pain as he felt his arm twist away and the blade turn outwards, away from his foe. Celairrim was no fool - he knew that he was not a fighter and hadn't a chance against the Duke in a fury, but luckily for him he had planned ahead and pulled out a small dagger that he had hidden in his boot and rushed at Saercaeron. The foul elf turned and drove an elbow into the now armed Celairrim's gut and again into his nose - praying that he would catch the right spot and drive the elf's cartilage into his brain. Guessing the Duke's target, Celairrim ducked his head to the side, but caught the elbow in his temple, sending waves of pain through his head and momentarily stunning him.
A moment was all Saercaeron needed to shout for help and dive for his lost blade.
He reached it as Celarrim lunged towards him with his own dagger held aloft to drive down into Saercaeron's back, turned, and thrust his blade up into Celairrim's unprotected midriff, just as his guards ran into the room.
A shout went out and before Celairrim had time to realize or understand what had happened, five arrows embedded themselves into his back. With a gasp he fell forwards onto Saercaeron, but he was dead before he hit the ground.
With a disgusted grunt, Saercaeron pushed the corpes off of him and pulled himself up off the floor. Brushing the blood off his dagger onto his pants he sneared down at Celairrim's lifeless body.
"Never leave your torso unprotected, dumb bastard," Saercaeron kicked the body with the toe of his boot and turned away and handed the blade to one of the many guards that had filled the room. "Get this clean and get that kedaver out of here. Take it down to the pit and feed it to Allagor's pet orc. It hasn't eaten in a few weeks - it will enjoy the meat."
With that he stalked out of his office and down into the dungeons to watch the traitor Raunion's torture sessions. That would cheer him up, he decided.
Thank-you everyone who has commented. Yes- I know - it was starting to get a little boring, so I decided to kill someone off. Oh well, Celairrim is in a different story that I am writing so you will get to know a little more about him later.
Toodles, Silabrithil.