Well, I think I probably upset a lot of you with that last chapter and I'm afraid its not going to get much easier in this one but if you will just hang on in there things will all start to make sense soon. I know Legolas is being rather OOC here and I lost count of the amount of times I re wrote it all to try to make it at least a little believable but I hope after this chap and the next you will understand why he is being this way.

DahybridQueen thanks for trying to get legolas to see sense but I don't think it worked. He's gonna need a lot of hugs to get round this one!

ilovevolleyball I appreciate the crit, its needed if I'm going to learn and improve my writing, which is something I really would love to do so bring it on girl! I hope in the end you can see why I have made him act the way he has. Thanks also for the comments on Lament for Boromir, I always feel he gets rather a bad press and wanted to just even things up a little. Oh yes and btw *Hands back empty mug and plate* any chance of a refill?

So, heres the next update. If anyone IS still reading this after the last chapter I hope you enjoy it and please R+R *begs*

Chapter 23

Elrond can sense that his sons have been arguing, they stand, on either side of him, faces stony and drawn, staring straight ahead as if trying to ignore each others existence, silently emanating such a frosty force as to be almost tangible. He has not seen them so at odds with each other for tens of years and wonders at the cause. That it has to do with recent events he is certain yet can not tell why or how it could have brought them into such obvious conflict and regrets there is not the time to draw them into discussion now.

Pushing the thoughts of his sons rare display of contention aside he steps forward to greet the party of mounted elves that have ridden far to reach his home.

"Mae govannen, well met, my friends." He intones with a deferential nod of his regal head as he carefully assesses each one with a quick glance, searching for one face in particular and unsure whether to be relieved or concerned when he does not find it. " Come, let my stable hands tend to your mounts whilst we go inside."

He motions to a waiting group of elves to come forward to begin leading the horses away.

"You must be requiring refreshment after your long journey, and afterwards I will have someone show you to your lodgings."

He stands aside with a gesture to the foreign party to precede him into the last homely house, then follows behind with his sons, as servants lead the way through to the large dining area where food and drink has been laid out in welcome.

"Lord Elrond." The speaker, a haughty, dark haired elf with sharp eyes the colour of emeralds, detaches himself from the, as yet, silent group, as they enter the dining hall and approaches the elder with an expression of disdain upon his face. "A word, if you would be so kind." His silky tone implies there is no choice given in the matter and Elrond meets his gaze with cool brown eyes, one eyebrow slightly raised in unspoken reproof.

" We will not be requiring rooms," the envoy continues, ignoring the pointed look. "Our business will not take long and I would wish to tarry here as little as possible."

A current of icy air seems to wend its way around the silent room and Elrond realises that this is the only member of the Mirkwood contingent to have uttered a single word so far, and with such open hostility that when his eyes glance around the room he half expects to see an array of arrows directed towards him from determinedly bent shaking his head to dispel the unwanted vision he allows a small smile to play around the corners of his mouth before inclining his head towards the speaker before him.

"As you wish," he then waves towards the food and drink. "However, you will partake of our provisions before you leave us surely."

Turning away he walks over to the table and, lifting two glasses containing his favourite ruby wine, offers one out to the foreign elf with a questioning look.

"It is a long road to travel in hunger and thirst."

The visitor leaves him holding the wine out for a fraction of a second longer than politeness should allow before moving to take it and raising it first to his nose then to his lips for the smallest of tastes. A look of surprise fleets across his face to be replaced, once again by the slight disdain it has worn throughout their encounter. Elrond suppresses a grin of satisfaction.

"My favourite vintage," he states coolly."I believe you may find it to your liking."

He takes a sip of the dark red wine and savours the flavour as it dances across his tongue, his deep brown eyes almost daring the other elf to disagree.

"It is, quite pleasant," as the Mirkwood elf replies his lips turn up in a cold smile that does not reach his eyes. " We thank you for your hospitality, it will help revive us for the homeward journey." With these words, spoken as if by rote, he gestures for his companions to approach the table. "The Lord of Imladris is too kind to us, refresh yourselves but only lightly, we have far yet to travel."

The order given, the remainder of the visiting company begin to help themselves to food and drink, and he turns back to find three pairs of chestnut eyes boring into him.

The twins have momentarily forgotten their earlier dispute at the undercurrent of insolence being directed to their father by this arrogant stranger and stand behind him in silent support. Dressed in formal dark robes, their black hair in warrior braids and their dark eyes flashing with suppressed anger, even though they appear unarmed they present an air of intimidation that even the strongest warrior finds difficult to ignore. They glare silently, privately impressed by the self control presented, as the only sign of discomfort shown by the visitor is a slight widening of his eyes as he looks from one to the other of the mirror images in front of him then back to their father once more.

"Ah, the infamous Peredhil orc slayers," his voice drips with honey, over sweet and cloying. " I have long wanted to see if the stories of you are true."He inclines his head in a slight nod. "It would appear that they are."

His face remains cool and unemotional as his gaze travels over the twins as if assessing their worth before dismissing them as if unimportant and returning to their father. Bristling with barely controlled anger Elladan takes half a step forward, his mouth open, ready to tell this haughty being exactly what he thinks of him when he feels his arm grasped in a steely grip and hears a whispered hiss as his brother warns him to stay.

"Elladan, Elrohir, please see to our guests."

Delivering the order in a commanding tone they know all too well, Elrond waves his hand in the general direction of the remaining contingent of elves before nodding to the spokesman in front of him. The lord of Imladris can feel the fury building within his sons and he wishes to diffuse the situation as quickly as possible.

" Is there anything else you require?" He turns a questioning look upon the visitor, relieved when the twins, after a further stony glare, turn away and approach the gently murmuring group by the table.

"There is only one other thing I have need of." The coldness in the elfs tone sends a slight shiver down Elronds spine. "And I thought to find him here with you, or does he hide himself away in shame." Contempt runs through the statement as his face is twisted into a grimace of distaste. " Or perhaps you have him held somewhere to await our determination of his fate?" His eyebrows raise in question and he holds the lords eyes with a mocking gaze. "No? I thought not" he states at the slight shake of the head Elrond has been unable to stop himself from making. " The Noldor were ever a race to hold themselves above the laws of all others."

With this utterance he takes another sip of wine from the glass still lightly gripped in his elegant hand, staring at Elrond over the rim as if willing him to rise to the implied slur, but the lord has many centuries of experience in diplomacy and has perfected the art of maintaining an aloof demeanor in the face of more skilled adversaries than this.

" I presume it is Prince Legolas to whom you refer?" Elronds voice remains calm and unemotional, placing a slight emphasis on the royal title in an attempt to remind the spokeman of the etiquette he should be employing. " I am certain he will join us as soon as he discovers you have arrived." The Lord takes another sip from his glass and allows his tone to gain a little edge with his next words. " He will welcome a friendly face from home after his recent ordeal."

Watching the other carefully as he speaks, Elrond notes the hardening of green eyes and the clench of the jaw that he has been hoping not to see. He feels his heart drop as he realises that his assumptions were correct. The wood elves are a stubborn race and cling to ritual and tradition with a single minded fervour unseen in all other realms. He had hoped that Thranduil would be able to see past this for his son but fears the young archer may have an uncomfortable time ahead of him. However, although he and the King do not see eye to eye on many things, he is certain the love he has for his own sons is mirrored in that of Thranduil for Legolas and this, given with the absence of the volatile Monarch himself, lends a surety that all will, in the end be well.

As if conjured up by their conversation, it is at this moment the young prince in question enters the hall. The hushed conversations that have been filling the air still and each head turns to follow his progress as he moves across the room with an air of quiet dignity until he stands in front of Elrond and the advisor from Mirkwood. He acknowledges the lord with a slight dip of his head then fixes his gaze upon the elf from his homeland, face an expressionless mask, standing as if a warrior awaiting orders from a captain in his kings army. The silence within the room turns thick with anticipation as the spokesmans eyes take in every inch of the young elf in front of him, lips curling in distaste as they linger on the borrowed bow and empty quiver upon his back and then again at the ivory handled long knife sheathed at his belt.

"Show obesience to your Kings will!"

Steel is in the words as they reverborate around the room and the twins eyes widen to see Legolas comply without a word, dropping to his knees as if felled by an axe, head bowed in deference, face obscured by a curtain of golden hair.

"Raise your eyes!"

The authority in the speaker is undeniable and the young archer again complies swiftly, raising his head to meet the stony gaze fixed upon him by his fathers representative, a brief flicker of apprehension within his sapphire eyes passing so quickly that Elrond is unsure if it is real or imagined.

"Legolas Thranduillion, you are charged with the crime of Kinslaying," a grimace of distaste twists his mouth and there is a portentous pause as the spokesmans glare grows icier before he continues. "How do you plead?"

All movement and sound in the room ceases as every eye is fixed upon the young prince, the atmosphere growing as tense as a bow string ready for release as he opens his mouth to reply, his face devoid of all emotion. Elrond feels time slow and stands, unable to speak or move, as the sudden premonition of what answer will come hits him and his heart lurches to an abrupt halt when the words fall from the archers mouth.

"Guilty, hir nin, my lord."