A/N: This is a huuuuge chapter. So I hope your prepared.  Galour you're for it! Hehehe

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The council chamber of the King is not always the most welcoming of places, nor was it ever designed to be. I liked to keep my dealings in such a place to a minimum as much as was possible when Oropher was alive.

Often, when I received the summons to attend a council session it was merely just for showing up purposes. I would spend my time tucked a few seats away from the King, pretending to listen with rapt attention to things - that in those early days - I knew very little about. I had not the knowledge nor the experience I do now. The burdens of having to deal with, and thrash through, the tough day to day running of an entire kingdom had not yet landed at my very ill prepared feet. Now however I am not so innocent, or as easily intimated, at least not since my humiliating display in front of Galour months before.

The room itself is an interesting roundish shape, with the chairs and tables set in a sort of 'U' shaped design.

At the head table...which by this stage is now laden with pitchers of wine and sliced up crusty loaves with tangy cheeses and the odd picked through bunch of grapes...sits the King. The fact that everyone has easily fell into the way of referring to Thranduil as King, is oddly disconcerting. I know he is now King, and Valar only knows I of all creatures should be more prepared for the title change than most, but there is no doubt that this is extremely surreal and difficult to wrap my head around. I can't quite help but think that if I am having such trouble with it, then Thranduil must be in a state of shock?

Well, if he is he doesn't show it!

Thranduil has taken to interpreting the phrase 'as still as a statue,' extremely seriously. I have yet to see him twitch even a muscle, not even to demonstrate his agitation or discomfort at the tediously long session. His face is entirely unreadable, and his eyes - those eyes that I search so often for the truth of his emotions - are void of thought, just cold coals of ice that barely flicker. He only speaks if necessary, and even then it is nothing above a breathy almost bored question, which would be fine if only his body language didn't scream intimidation and fury. He is frightening like this, and I am not sure if even I have the ability to temper his emotions if he decides to unleash his anger on Galour or his traitorous subjects.

So far this hearing has lasted well into the night, and everyone involved has been brought before Thranduil to give their version of events, right down to the very ladies who I turfed from our home that night. There really isn't much difference between all the stories, most elves have now had a time to stew over their misguided actions, and are only searching for some kind of pardon from their new King, but Thranduil is saving his judgements.

If any subject begins to spew heartfelt apologies, he merely tilts his head away slightly, and some guard trails the poor soul from his presence. It is both thrilling, and slightly terrifying to observe.

I have only ever seen Thranduil in an official capacity on a handful of occasions, and usually when he has a temper or an opinion everyone hears it - but not tonight. I get the distinct impression something has changed in him during these wars, he isn't himself, or maybe he doesn't trust himself? Either way he grips that staff of his like it is the only thing that keeps him sat on that chair.

Haston - which is Galour's nephew - sits on the left of Thranduil, a spectator of the proceedings. I sit closely by my husband's right side, by his request of course. To him I am the victim and deserve an honoured position in which to observe fair judgement. I also believe this is merely a show on his part. I am his wife, the mother of his children and his chosen Queen, he is not about to allow that matter to be thrown up for debate.

Before us on the floor now stands Calanon, who has only finished his summary of events, skimming tactfully over the insinuation that Thranduil's mother was an unstable murderer.

I can honestly say that if that ridiculous lie comes to light Thranduil may actually be responsible for Galour's death.

When my dear healer friend realises that Thranduil is not going to speak, he briefly bows and turns to quietly leave - much like every other witness thus far. There is a brief pause and a few hushed words between the council lords and their new King, then casually Thranduil leans forward and places his elbow on the ornate walnut table, flicking his wrist in a dismissive gesture;

"This hearing is adjourned," He speaks stonily through a tensed jaw, as he stares icily at the crowded room; "I will consider the evidence and you shall all know my judgement by the morning."

The room begins to empty with a sort of sedate and weary atmosphere, for I'm certain there are a lot of very tired individuals here. I suppose cleaning up political messes was not high up on some of these returning lords' agenda's.

Satisfied that he no longer has to sit rigidly in his chair, Thranduil sighs and almost seems to sag exhaustively into the velvet covered wood. His head falling heavily into his left hand, his eyes close briefly as he rubs the space between his brows were a small tension frown is beginning to appear. Instinctively I lean towards him outstretching my palm to rest on his knee, but before I do the shadowed figure of Haston appears over us, his eyes dark and not one bit impressed.

"Yes?" Thranduil snaps, his thick eyelashes flickering open to glower at the ellon before him with no small amount of disdain. His long fingers partially obscuring the splintering daggers he is mentally throwing at Haston, from his thunderous blue eyes - I really don't think this elf should stand so close.

"I beg your pardon, but, I do not believe you have questioned everyone my lord," Haston boldly tells his new King, whilst glaring coldly my direction. I feel my heckles rise in defence of myself, and my fingers curl around the arm of my chair as I glare defiantly back.

"Oh, was there someone else you wished to be dragged from their bed and tossed in front of an already irritable and unforgiving chamber of council lords, Haston? My children perhaps?" Thranduil snipes rather sarcastically, as he notes the look shared between he and I. In reaction to it, my husband elegantly folds his larger and protective hand over mine. The gesture would seem rather inconsequential if it did not speak volumes to the already infuriated Haston.

"I should have liked to hear the lady Clara's version of events," Haston requests arrogantly, and haughtily tosses his nose in the air; "After all it is she that put my uncle in the prisons - he and all of his presumably offending house. I feel it is within my rights to request the lady to say her part, obviously if she is innocent there should be no problem...unless of course you are demonstrating favourable treatment?"

Those leaving the council chamber all freeze, and suddenly the room is filled with a darkened fury that it is completely suffocating. It is so scarily quiet that one could hear a pin drop quite clearly.

For a brief second Haston almost looks pleased with himself, that is until Thranduil suddenly launches from his chair and comes to tower over the relatively smaller elf. The younger warrior pales significantly, his smug look disappearing almost entirely only to be replaced with a healthy dose of fear.

"The lady Clara is answerable to no other but her King, she is under no obligation or duty to indulge your childish whims Haston!" Thranduil growls furiously, as he leans threateningly into the other elf, his vicious ice like eyes holding him captive and unwilling to do anything but stare in utter panic, like how a fawn is petrified by the approach of the hunter.

"I-I-I...that is not...I mean," Haston splutters and visibly begins to tremble, and I spy a concerned few guards begin to shoulder their way back towards us.

"You requested a fair judgement of your Uncle's actions, and believe me Haston I shall make good on that request." Thranduil snarls, his face contorting into a sneer that would suggest he finds the notion almost amusing. "But if you think, for one second, you can waltz into this council and hide under the so called honourable name of your Lord Galour's house, then you are sadly mistaken. I will not have my authority tested and tempted by an elfling clinging to his uncle's coat tails! Remove yourself from my sight Haston, and be grateful that I am feeling merciful towards your unfathomable ignorance!"

With a further scowl of disapproval Thranduil steps back to appraise the young elf in his presence like he is observing something unpleasant, before carefully lowering himself back into his chair and tentatively crossing his right leg over his left, tilting his head away from the scene and returning to gently resting his forehead into his palm again.

The guards quickly empty the room, and hastily drag a shaken Haston with them too. Only two loyal and brave guards remain to take up sentry duty at the door, and surprise surprise one of them is Galion - should have seen that coming.

I cautiously wait for a few minutes, considering that maybe he meant for me to leave the room as well, but he makes no bones about me being here. Carefully I outstretch my hand again and let it float over his knee, as I wrestle with the wisdom of touching him in this wound up state - he could likely verbally assault me too, or snap my hand off?

"I am not going to bite," Thranduil sighs tiredly as he peers around, dropping his hand so he can frown in slight agitation at my dithering.

"I am not so sure what you are capable of at this present time?" I try to joke back with a half hearted chuckle, as I gently place my hand on his knee and use my thumb to stroke it soothingly. "You should rest...even just for a few hours."

"I am afraid I could find no rest even if I wanted it," He groans and leans into me to catch a stray strand of my hair to tuck behind my ear, pausing briefly to soothe the skin there with his thumb. His eyes are searching mine carefully, for what I am not so sure, but I don't feel compelled to pull away from his longing gaze.

"You are not angry or disappointed with my actions?" I whisper timidly, suddenly a little shocked as to how that fearful question slipped from my lips unbidden...like something pulled it from the very depths of my doubtful mind.

"Angry? No, that is absurd, you acted above reproach and handled it like an elf twice your age." Thranduil muses, as he hauls himself to his feet again and strides to the wine laden table to pour himself another excessively large drink, but pauses to throw me a smirk over his shoulder; "Admittedly, that is not exactly terribly old so should I assume you acted wisely in comparison to one of your mortal kin instead?"

"Oh I'm dying on the inside with laughter," I snort indignantly and reach out to take the cup of wine he offers me. I breathe in its strong heady scent, and almost feel my throat tingle with the spicy tang of the aroma - this is a very strong vintage, and he has been drinking it most of the night. He needs proper rest and pain relief to deal with his injuries, not this!

"Love, will you not come to bed...I'm worried?"

Frustratingly he doesn't answer me, and just continues to give me a crooked and almost amused smile, as if he finds my worrying precious.

Instead he paces the floor to the furtherest wall where the fireplace still burns brightly, filling the room with the comforting scent of burning turf. There he places himself, poker straight and nursing his wine glass, with a humourless look in his faraway eyes.

He stays like this for longer than I can stand to bear. His silences are baffling to me, for I was so used to knowing his thoughts, he used to be so open with me...so free in his emotions. Now all I sense is a closeted rage, behind iron walls that I doubt will not come down without a struggle. I could curse Haston for his interruptions! He was more vulnerable in his own surroundings, less guarded, he would have talked to me. Now I've lost him to his title - this name of King - it separates me from my sweet and endearing husband, and I hate it! But I know it is a necessary sacrifice, and the only thing helping me cope with this transition is the fact that I share a deep rooted bond with this elf, and behind all the ceremony my Thranduil is still there - I just have to be prepared to share him a little more now.

"Perhaps Haston was right to ask for my witness," I consider aloud, because I want to try and gauge his thoughts for he hasn't spoken in so long. Naturally he doesn't answer, and the only indication he gives to show that my comment was heard, is a brief flicker of his eyes my direction; "After all I did order the imprisonment."

"Does the wild bear make her apologises to the sly fox that crossed her in her own domain?" Thranduil asks me, his eyebrows raising questionably at the blank look I give in return for I assume this was rhetorical.

He returns his hardened gaze to the fire and breathes out a lengthy sigh, before speaking again; "Unless the council are fools then the evidence already provided by the witnesses is damning enough. You, meleth nin, are above judgement of the common council by your very title. You are answerable only to me unless I, or the elder lords, believe my judgement is clouded in some way. In this instance I deem your actions just, as do the elder lords present...if they had of felt otherwise they would have voiced their concerns long before now. Young Haston is nothing more than a good civilian, and with his uncle's assets and titles frozen he has no authority to even speak to you without leave...let alone accuse you!"

His voice spikes hotly at the end, and he even swivels his whole body to face me. I assume from his flushed skin, and slightly trembling hands, that his anger over this has not ebbed away. I instantly drop my gaze and fidget with my embroidered silk sleeves, nodding my understanding as I do. I assume that I must also get accustomed to my new persona as Queen, and suddenly I am not so sure if it is in my nature to wield such absolute authority. But, alas, I don't think I have much choice in the matter so I may just learn!

"Clara, you know none of this was solely just about you, don't you?" Thranduil's softened voice pulls at my heart, and so I cautiously look up at him with what I assume must be a naive expression by the tender smile he gives. "All of this is a game, all of this is to test the fragility of new rule. Lord Galour wanted control, he always has had a fondness for it.  I should have expected this...I just never expected him capable of such viciousness towards my family. I could -" Thranduil stops abruptly and harshly clamps his jaw tightly together before glaring hatefully at the fire; "I could execute him for his treason!"

"And would you?" I gasp slightly, my chest tightening slightly at the thought that he probably could order it if he so well wished...but that is so wrong so against his elven nature; "Thranduil...could you truly do that?"

There is heartbeat of weighted silence, as I watch my husband's lips draw into a thin white line as he focuses intently on the flames. My brows pulls together in worry, and I daren't breathe for fear of disturbing the stillness. At last Thranduil slowly turns his head toward me, and allows his eyes to bore into mine, the coldness in them enough to steal away my warmth. In a low and deliberately even voice he answers;

"No...I can do worse."

xXx

I barely reach the dungeons in time, my feet scarcely touching the ground as I sweep down the long winding steps, my hands hardly touching the stone pillars as I move soundlessly through the ominous corridors.

"My lady...Clara?"

Galion's pleading voice is merely a distraction to my resolute mind. I know he is racing behind me, I hear his boots beat down on the stone but I could care little.

"My lady...the King has not permitted this!" Gallon cries breathlessly again, and I sense he is gaining on me, almost catching the billowing hems of my dusty rose coats. "Clara, he does not wish to alarm you!"

"Then he has forgotten who he is wedded too," I answer stubbornly, as I slow to a determined stride, glaring challengingly at the guards who man the last doorway; "Move!" I order, and they quickly fall away for me so I may storm into the gaol, in time to find my husband flanked by a handful of elder lords.

I am infuriated that he would neglect to inform me of his decisions. After our discussion in the council chamber he simply left, telling me to rest and that we would speak later of this. I thought later would be before he executed his judgements on Galour, I had hoped we could have discussed this and that he would at least involve me on some level. Not pushing me out like I am a nobody, like I am not also responsible for this sorry state of affairs. I just do not understand his behaviour, I don't understand why he would ignore me?

"My lord?" I call tersely and curtsy for my King - knowing full well it unsettles him when I do. Thranduil pauses mid conversation to stare, his jaw twitching reflexively at the formality of my approach.

"My lady wife," He bows his head respectively, whilst meeting my challenging glare with one of his own.

"I wish to be permitted an audience for Lord Galour's sentencing," I tell him, and jut my chin out defiantly; "I know you have requested that I not be present, and I respect that you do not wish to upset me but I should like to see the traitor who hurt my children, again, so I may have closure...if not for me then at least for them."

"I would not wish to give him another opening to hurt you further," Thranduil answers me evenly, but gives me a flash of a pleading look which rattles my resolve a little, but I refuse to be dissuaded.

"Even so, I am partly responsible for this and I will see it through to the end," I bob my head in finality and lower into another curtsy; "If my King wills it?"

"As you wish," He answers me coolly, but comes to my side and takes my hand in his briefly turning me away from the very small crowd, and leading me behind a set of arched stone pillars that ring the gaol.

Lowering his voice, and cleverly tilting his lips to my ear, he voices his irritation; "Are you distrustful of me Clara? Do you think I am not capable of serving adequate justice...you speak of my children also!"

"This has nothing to do with questioning your abilities," I answer back through a forced smile, in our pretence that we are having a pleasant conversation; "I did this, I put this elf in prison for his crimes. As much as you wish to protect me, you are only making me appear weak in front of the council. You are the King, and my husband, I will always defer judgment to you...but I will not be undermined!"

"If that traitor crawls out of his cell and hurls abuse at you...in my presence...Clara, my judgement will be compromised. I will kill him, easily, and I fear that both he and Haston know this, do you not see?" Thranduil hisses and squeezes my wrist a little too tightly. "Galour uses weaknesses to his advantage...you are my weakness. If either he or Haston intend to make a claim that I am unfit to reign, then they will use my temper to prove it."

"Then control it!" I seethe back through gritted teeth. "If one lowly elf can break you because of your pride in your love for me, then you are an easy target."

"How can you say that to me?" Thranduil gasps, anger and hurt rushing over his features as he pulls away from me, but I lace my fingers with his and hold him firm.

"Because I love you, and I know you are above all of this," I whisper urgently; "You are a thousand times the ellon Galour is. You do not fear him, or his manipulation, you are terrified of the title of King. I trust your instincts I always have, you taught me to trust mine, now follow your own advice. If you cannot trust yourself in the smallest of things, how do you expect your people to trust in you with the big things?"

For once, in this long night, Thranduil is vulnerable. He stares down at me with no small amount of awe, and quite obvious pain. He is exhausted, wounded, bruised, grieved, and entirely alone in his situation. I understand, I grasp he is trying to be everything and more for me and the children. His father would have taught him to rise to that standard, he would have drilled it into him to defend his family and take the burden without complaint. But, how does one balance the pressures of that, coupled with the overwhelming honour and duty to rule a realm, when one is just so defeated by war and sorrow? The answer is very simple...you don't. The only way to deal with it is to take it one uneasy step at a time, and accept that you are going to be scared witless, and at some point you are going to fail.

I glance around the pillars, from our obscured and relatively private position, and then back to my husband, whom I absolutely adore without question.

"You think you are alone in this," I quickly murmur, as I twine my hands through the hair at the nape of his neck, and pull myself onto my tiptoes; "But you have me, you will always have me. I promise you that." I don't wait for his response, I just kiss him, and I don't care how inappropriate it is. It is only a fleeting brush of the lips, but it is enough to spark a painful jolt through our still healing bond. In response to the sensation Thranduil's hand flies to my neck, in either an attempt to draw me closer or push me further away, it is a conflicting moment and I feel his desire radiate through his feä.

"You are my focus and my distraction meleth," He breathes harshly, keeping his eyes firmly diverted from mine and his hand steady on my neck, holding me still; "I was wrong to not include you, this is as much your justice as it is mine. I will make Galour suffer for his crimes to you and my children, and when I am finished here I will see you in the King's library...that is not a request!"

In a swift motion he is gone from my side, and striding angrily across the expanse of the gaol, taking his place at the far edge, elevated on the ringed marble steps.

I am breathless, and unsure as to the true intent behind his command. His anger has melded so completely with his passion, that I can barely tell them apart. His unpredictable moods, his stance, his silences - I am just so lost. I don't have time to consider the very mixed up and tumultuous emotions between us, because the crack of iron bars and drag of shackles on stone floor lifts my attention to the centre of the gaol.

The immediate hatred that consumes me is blinding, the very presence of Galour sends me into a frenzy of anger, yet I conceal it. I search my heart for some semblance of elven nature, finding a thin thread of decorum, I remember that a reaction is exactly what this idiot wants.

Breathing in deeply I cast my eyes over the suddenly rather pitiful ex-lord. Suddenly he isn't so threatening, and all at once I see just an elven man bereft of any power and completely at the mercy of his superiors. In a moment I see myself exactly how he must have viewed me; unsure, lost, inept, and floundering.

"It would serve you well to kneel before your King," Comes a familiarly protective voice, and I peer carefully around the safety of my pillar to watch Olban stand over the Galour threateningly. The guilty elf merely lifts his downcast expression to meet Thranduil's emotionless gaze, and I am amazed to see how he narrows his eyes appraisingly.

"I thought there was to be a coronation for there to be a King?" Galour mutters in faux confusion; "I have heard no celebrations from the depths of my cell. Why should I call this one King?"

"Because you called my father King," Thranduil answers swiftly, throwing out his hand to stall Olban from lifting his fist to thrash the brazen elf.

Carefully he descends the steps and begins to circle Galour, slowly and contemplatively, like a warrior weighing up the chinks in his opponents armour. Pausing slightly to the other elf's left, my unpredictable mate catches the straying eye of his subject;

"Did you forget that Galour? Have you forsaken the oaths you took to serve my father, the bonds of brotherhood that he spoke so highly of? You would do well to remember the only reason your head is still attached to your shoulders is because of the love my father bore you in the days of old. And now I hear that you slander his name, and speak false of his Queen...my mother? I do not understand Galour - what did I ever do to you to warrant such venomous hate? Did I not serve you in the way a Regent should? Did I offend in some way? Am I not fit to be King in your eyes, do I fall short of your ideals, or the ideals of my father...those borne out of Doriath?"

"I never insinuated that my lord was inept in any way, I have never suggested that you would be an unfit King," Galour snaps back at the suddenly disarming avenue Thranduil takes, and even I feel lulled by the feigned hurt in my husband's eyes. "Everything I did was in the pursuit of protecting this Kingdom, and ensuring that Oropher - who was so much like a brother to me - and his line would not be forgotten. I may have acted harshly, but she -" Galour spits and turns his head to look directly at me; "is no Queen, nor is she nobility or even of Sindar stock! I could not consciously allow her to rule, she would not have the faintest notion of how to preserve the ways of our people - the ways of your father. You may feel it a personal attack my lord Thranduil, but it was merely an act of survival under extreme circumstances, and not a direct insult to you."

"Oh, but it was."

The sudden shift in Thranduil's soft voice is scarily effective, for Galour flinches at the dark and low growl emendating from his King - who he has yet to acknowledge. Sweeping around in front of the now baffled, and now completely thrown elder, Thranduil captures him in a challenging look which renders him immobile and suddenly unsure of the direction of the emotion.

"She..." Thranduil motions politely my direction, "has a name, and a title, and two young elflings. She is my wife and Queen, and no circumstance is extreme enough to warrant her treatment. You took an innocent elleth, and member of my father's court, and ripped her of everything she held dear - from what I gather a dog would not have even licked her bones by the time you had finished putting her in her place! That was a personal attack Galour, and let us not forget the evidence you hid from the elder lords? My father's last orders to honour and protect Clara, as your regent and mother of your future King? Colour it whichever way you wish Galour, but you committed treason, and even the love of my father cannot protect you from that damning truth."

Thranduil turns away from the suddenly still elf, who now bows his head from the weight of his straight words. For a moment I believe Galour is about to own up to his failure, or at least feel he has a better shot at begging for mercy than denying the incident...but that would be wishful thinking. I should have known one so devious and manipulative would never retreat from a challenge. If Galour cannot win, he will take his opponent down with him.

"You are as treacherous and wicked as your witch of a mother," Galour spews vehemently, his eyes lighting with a jealous flame that seems to strike Thranduil hard, and I watch in dismay as his shoulders stiffen and his jaw tenses in response.  I almost beg aloud for him to not react, to just keep walking.

The traitorous scum of an elf smirks and lifts his gaze; "She ensnared your father, she trapped him and blinded him, like the devious outsider she was. A wicked and bored little she elf, she nearly had us all slaughtered...did you know that? I bet you didn't. Yes, your innocent Naneth was a kinslayer and a foolish elf. She should have died in the flight from Doriath - and you along with her. You were never meant to be Thranduil...the house of Oropher should have died in Doriath...but I suppose the plains of Mordor were fitting enough for a penniless carpenter's son!"

There is an almighty crack as the back of Thranduil's hand collides with Galour's jaw, sending the elf tumbling backwards, the force landing him on the ground in a disgraceful clatter. Blood sprouts from his bottom lip, and he tentatively lifts his hand to wipe the mess away, before chuckling darkly in response to the aggressive show.

Thranduil trembles angrily over the terrible excuse for an elf, my very skin crawls at the sight of the elf who once ruled Oropher's councils with such haughty arrogance. Part of me is practically bursting with joy at the injured ellon, but the other part is seething and I can barely contain my own anger as I stretch out to grip the pillar for support.

"I should render your head from your shoulders," Thranduil snarls and in a flurry of movement unsheathes a blade from the startled guard to his right, and points the tip straight under Galour's chin; "I should cut you where you lie, and let you bleed out slowly so you will know the torment suffered by those who fought and died on those plains just so you could sit and sneer in your opulence and fortune. What right have you Galour...hm? Tell me have you ever bled for this Kingdom, or for Doriath? Have you ever had your pampered and princely hands soaked crimson for the sake of the freedom of others? No...well maybe it is high time you learned what it feels like!"

There is an inhale of collective breath, and then suddenly a surge of hands as all rush to restrain Thranduil from something he would ultimately regret.

It is instinctual for me to rush from the protective shadows of the pillars as I slide in front of my husband and collide with his chest...my hand raised to right the one he uses to hold the sword. A long second passes as I curl my fingers around his left cheek and hold him steady;

"No," I whisper, as I squeeze the wrist he has tensed in his grip of the sword; "He doesn't deserve death...at least not by the hand of a King, nor even by the hand of the brave people he insults with his ignorant wickedness."

Thranduil pulls back a little to lock his wild and wrathful eyes with mine, and as we remain together I feel his breathing even out and his nerves steady. With a new look of infuriated realisation, at the manipulative methods used by Galour, Thranduil eases me to the side and casually tosses the sword away.

In a violent but swift movement he drags Galour to his feet by his throat and holds him securely;

"I was feeling merciful you vile rat...I was going to allow you the option of banishment from my Kingdom with the members of your house and your belongings intact, providing you pleaded guilty to your crimes and admitted responsibility for the severe damage you caused both my wife and my children," He seethes viciously right into Galour's slightly greying features; "This could have been righted, you could have saved your own..but you had to push me didn't you...don't you know it is unwise to provoke an unhinged beast in his own lair? You stupid creature - if you truly believe I am the son of a witch would it not be wise to hold your tongue?"

Suddenly, a bubble of elvish rolls up from Thranduil's chest like a swarm of angry bees. The words spill from his lips in such a way that it sounds like a curse, an angry and malicious curse. The room darkens and the aura of my husband turns bleak and desolate, his pain and anger evident in every word he lashes over Galour's now stricken spirit.

The other elf lets out a bewildered cry as he topples to the ground when released from Thranduil's grasp. He pulls at the roots of his hair as he reels from the surge of power wielded over him. I flinch away from the scene in shock, but I note how the faces of the others present seem to be in resolute agreement with their King's. Slandering Oropher's name was the last and final nail that sealed Galour's fate. There is nothing redeemable about this elf, he is no friend of the Silvan of Greenwood, he has no love for their King.

"Bind and blindfold him, take him from our forest and leave him to fend for himself in the wild North," Thranduil orders in a dead voice, his eyes still cold and penetrating as Galour weakly lifts his head to stare in sheer terror at his sentencing; "Let it be known that this elf is a traitor to the King, and to the Silvan of Greenwood. Brandish him with a mark you deem fit, so our kind will know if he walks among us again, and if he does so, then let him be dealt with harshly."

"But...my lord...my King?" The traitor bleats weakly and reaches out pathetically for Thranduil's robes. I practically recoil at his approach, but Thranduil merely stares emotionlessly, for he has simply disconnected himself from any feelings he may have for the elf; "What of my wife...of my nephew...of the members of my house? Are they to be punished for crimes they did not commit."

"And why should I care for a house of traitors?" Thranduil simply asks dryly and tilts his head to the side in a pondering motion; "Fine...if your wife adheres to my previous stipulations she is banished under disgrace by affiliation, but she will bear no seal of traitor. Your Nephew may stay, for he was a warrior and I do not forget his sacrifices for his Kingdom, but the honour of your house is no more. Your Nephew will live here under his own merits - no greater or no less than any brave Silvan who has returned from the wars. Maybe then he will be able to see the errors of snobbery and haughtiness, maybe then may he redeem the disgraced name you have lumbered him with."

With a sigh and wearied look, Thranduil turns away from the scene and before another word can be spoke Galion rushes to provide him with his staff which he accepts and leans heavily on. His face becomes drawn, and aged, for a moment I do not recognise him. Then his bowed shoulders straighten, his jaw tightens, and his glistening eyes spin to pierce Galour one last time;

"Galour, do you repent of your crimes of treason?" He asks coldly, but Galour merely grits his teeth buckling under Thranduil's icy glare. His silence is damning enough, the resounding silent 'NO' is almost tangible, and so Thranduil sighs and turns his head away from the scene; "So be it...you are henceforth branded a traitor and banished to the northern lands. Remove this rat from the presence of my wife, there is nothing left to be said here."