A/N: Just so there aren't any confusions later on, I'm stating this here very plainly – the final part of this chapter, the one concerning Lasgalen, takes place months before everything that has happened so far since chapter 1. If you will, think of it like this, Aragorn is still alive and healthy then, LOL. And to all of those who don't remember or don't know, Lasgalen is the one and the same as Mirkwood and Esgaroth is the same thing as Laketown. There, that's all... «Thank you»s to you readers!! Pardon for the bad english once again... u.u

Lindele: Thank you!!! Didn't understand the "strange" part but it's cool... I guess... LOL! Hope you keep enjoying! ;)

----------------

Chapter VIII: Lasgalen's Choice

"I beg your pardon, my King, but I must object!!" One of the counselors stood up from his chair in a bolt of anger, face flustered and ready to burst. "Not only is it folly to seek out unprovoked war, but also to leave the White City thus, without an army to guard it!! The mere suggestion is ridiculous!!"

Around the table, others were exchanging glances between them, assaulted by doubt but letting out only a display of steely resolution. At the beginning of the reunion, which had promised to be the last one before real measures were taken, Eldarion had presented the plan he and Faramir had devised. It was clear by now that it wouldn't be easy to convince the rest of the table.

Faramir shared his thoughts, as he was surprised with the resistance the counselors were presenting. He'd expected it from Herion, that one would never agree to the least of things that involved the Steward, but to see the whole table united against it was unexpected.

Herion sat pleased and in silence, doing his best to keep his grin of satisfaction as small as possible to avoid suspicions from behalf of the King and Steward. He was drinking and relishing in every little expression that crossed Faramir's face. Today's meeting was indeed proving to be very satisfactory, his homework the day before had been more efficient than he'd ever expected. Every single counselor in the room produced naught but replicas of the words he had placed in their mouths.

At one point, Faramir had even requested that Andril be brought so that the Council may question him. He hoped it would make them see things the same way he did, however, no matter how well the lad responded and how much it supported the Steward's theory, the others' minds were set and nothing would change them.

Presently, silence reigned for a minute in the stone chamber, before Herion slowly put in his word. "I agree to what all of my colleagues have said so far. Every one of us has already put his thoughts on the table, I think, so I now ask you, my King – what is your final say?"

Eldarion hesitantly glanced at his Steward, dreading the decision he would have to make. Even if he firmly believed what he and Faramir had said, which he did, to go against the great majority of the table would be more than foolish. Although there was no written law about it, it might as well be put down in paper, for it was something that had always been present in councils before. Without cohesion on the inside, what chance did they have against the outside? All eyes were set on the newly appointed King, Andril's included, when he sighed and spoke.

"My position stands. I feel the situation is more dire than what you wish to perceive with your closed minds. We will ascertain what exactly is going on in the North. And I would like you, Andril, if you feel capable, to travel to Rohan as a messenger and give King Éomer a report of all the news. I'm sure he'll have questions for you. The council is over."

Eldarion silently left the room, closely followed by Faramir. There were several different reactions for one to see among those still seated. Most were plainly surprised, as was the case with Andril, who stared open-eyed at the door through which the King had disappeared with a small smile forming on his lips.

On the other hand, Herion, after the initial shock had dissipated, had his insides boiling in anger. How dared that little brat go against his plans?! But it wasn't over yet... far from it.

----------------

(Months earlier...)

The sun's first golden rays were firstly filtered by the leaves, before gently spilling through the large windows and lazily stretching on the polished stone of the halls of Thranduil, the Elven King, giving them life with the growing warmth. The birds chirped quietly, as Arien's heralds in the beginning of another temperate summer's day.

Those were the only sounds to be heard as of yet, for activity had still not begun in those halls. Very soon, though, one with sharp senses could count on hearing the rustling of robes or the opening and closing of doors, as the palace servants would begin to rouse and start on their early chores.

Outside, the air remained fresh from the night, and a slight tinge of dew could still be breathed. Peace reigned and the guards posted on the night shift stretched their arms and legs, preparing to go get some well-earned sleep. The guarding warriors' surveillance wasn't really necessary, but old habits were hard to let go, especially when they had been fundamental for survival throughout two ages of the world.

Previously infested with all sort of fell being that could be conceived, from plain Spider to fiery Nazgûl, it had been long since the last time that the wood-elves' sharp weapons had had any real use. Numerous scout parties that would have roamed through great stretches of land at the same time in the old days, were now a rare sight and the master healer found himself more occupied with preparing infusions for curing headaches, than concocting ointments against orc poison.

Althan turned from his position gazing at the bedroom window to a soft knock on the door. As expected, a youthful looking maiden unceremoniously entered without saying a word, intending to awake him. Finding that part needless to perform, almost with disappointment as Althan noticed, she skipped ahead to preparing the clothes for the special day. Althan didn't mind her quiet 'intrusion', but he did a doubletake when he saw his best robes laid on the bed. Then he remembered why it was so.

A messenger had been sent some time past with word from the Lord of an unknown and uncharted eastern town of men. They were friends with the men from Laketown and, following their lead, wished to form an economic alliance with the wood-elves. Thranduil had sent the man back with his own message, bidding the Lord of that land to come to Lasgalen in order to better bargain the terms, for that deal might interest the elves. Meanwhile, the chief of Esgaroth had also invited himself to partake on the dealings and had offered to host the meeting.

Thranduil had chosen the lord Althan to be his representative and lead the group of elves that would go to Esgaroth. The Sylvan elf-lord had been a friend of the King from even before the battle that ended the Second Age. Thranduil knew his age and experience had made him unusually bitter and critic for one of the First Born, but also wise and loyal to his home.

Of course Thranduil had demanded that the group of elves looked their best to impress the foreign men, but Althan couldn't help to be puzzled as to how he would keep the silver and white cloth impeccably clean when he would be riding.

Days later, Althan found himself thinking back to that morning as he watched his clothes dry on the sun. The meeting with the men had already been held, and he used his spare time before dinner to think through all the information he'd gathered.

They seemed friendly enough, too friendly and too helpful to be more accurate. They seemed to offer a solution to every trouble that Lasgalen faced, plus a great number of further advantages. In exchange, they asked very little, only the possibility to visit the Elves' Kingdom and possibly instruct some of their youths with elven knowledge.

In all ways, it was a deal to be taken without second thought, but Althan had a strange feeling. Firstly, he'd discovered more or less by accident that the men of Esgaroth had been lying when they'd said they knew this distant folk. What in fact they wanted was to have a share in whatever trading deal was produced here. That had angered Althan, and he was sure he'd scared the Lord of Laketown enough into having it not repeat itself for the next thousand years.

Second, he found it odd that a distant people like this suddenly came out of nowhere with all these well-defined plans to discuss with the wood-elves, almost as if they knew what their situation was and their exact current needs. He hoped the Laketown men hadn't been stupid enough to commit two mistakes at once, but the more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed.

The alliance between Lasgalen and Esgaroth was old, and it would have never crossed through any wood-elf's mind that these men would do anything against them. Althan's only choice was to trust their judgement of these foreigners and since he had nothing apart from a faint feeling against them, on that choice he would rely. Later that day, during their final negotiations at dinner, he would say that Lasgalen and King Thranduil Oropherion had decided to accept the deal offered to them.

TBC...