Chapter Seven: Beginning of the First Fires

Ugh, what a day. I had a Physics exam today, which was horribly difficult and I'm a bit worried about how well I've done, and then I came home and found out on Saturday I'm going to have to be up at 4:30 in the morning to go out competing with my horse, which is quite early! I'm one of the first to ride their dressage, and though I'm looking forwards to it I'm also nervous- I get nervous every time, no matter what. On the plus side, the place where I'm going had amazing food- pancakes and wood fired pizzas ;)

So here's a new chapter for you guys- sorry if it's a little later than normal in the day, I've been a bit hectic! Gandalf is turning up now, and a lot of this is to do with him. He's a pivotal character in this story, of course, and was one of the most interesting characters to write, as I've never written him in depth before. I had the most fun writing the conversations between him and Thranduil, because it was really interesting! Some of my favourite lines of this story come between the two of them.

The part between Gandalf, Thranduil and Bard was difficult to write- it was a lot to control and work out, and as I've said before, Bard is a complicated guy. Hopefully it all works. I sometimes feel like we forget that Gandalf isn't just a nice, jolly old man with a pipe. He's very shrewd, and I really don't think he's above playing the situation so that the greatest good can be gained- a little like Thranduil, in a way, but with a very different perspective. Anyway, he's featured very heavily in this chapter, to introduce him, but you'll see pretty much everyone else as well.

In response to a guest review from last chapter: there will be no romance in this story. At least, I have written no romance. I am, however, a firm believer in the reader taking from the story what they wish to see, a firm believer in everyone interpreting the story in their own way and finding out what it means to them. I haven't written any romance. If, however, you see potential romance, it is not really my place to say different, unless you're literally making things up or something weird like that ;)

It was late at night, and though torches had sprung alight around the camp, still many places were hung with shadows. The land outside was black and cold. Some of Bard's men were watching part of the perimeter, the south-eastern edge. They were gathered around one of the fires, trying not to shiver as the cold of night settled. The elves that had been with them had been called away momentarily and, for the time being, they were in charge.

It was for that reason, perhaps, that their hands so readily drew their weapons when they heard the sudden sound of hoofbeats from the darkness. "Who goes there?" called out one of the men. He stepped forwards, spear in his hand, and his companions flanked him.

A large horse came into the edge of the light from the torches, and a cloaked figure dismounted with a slither of cloth. The men levelled their weapons once more.

"Who are you, and why have you come this way?" one of the men asked, seeing no need to be polite about it. The figure stepped forwards, and it became apparent that it was an old man, cloaked in grey and leaning on a staff. The men momentarily relaxed at the image, before the man turned to the horse and said a few words, and in doing so revealed a long sword at his side. The horse almost seemed to nod, and then turned and cantered away, as if he had understood the man's intentions.

The men levelled their weapons once more. "Speak your name and intent, old man," said the first.

The man looked up. "My intent is to enter your camp and speak to your leader Bard, and the Elvenking if he will listen. But intentions vary with the changing wind, and so you may find me in a far different position to the one I wish to occupy now. As for my name, well, that is simpler. I am Gandalf."

This did not have the intended effect, for none of the men recognised the name. The first man shook his head. "You will have to wait here," he said. "Do not come into the camp, and lay your weapon down on the-"

"Hold!"

The command rung out from behind them in a clear elven voice, and all of the men turned to see the blond elf-captain, Legolas, approaching quickly. The dark-haired elf that seemed to shadow him a lot of the time was at his shoulder with his hunting dog at his side, and he seemed to glare in the general direction of the men before turning his attention to the cloaked figure in front of them.

Legolas strode forwards towards the cloaked man, and then suddenly he laughed, a smile full of mirth coming across his face.

"Mithrandir!" he exclaimed. "I thought you might turn up at some time." He reached out and clasped Gandalf's arm in greetings. Behind him, Belhadron gestured for the men to lower their weapons, not even bothering to look over at them. His dog sat down, ears pricked as he watched.

"Legolas Greenleaf," replied Gandalf with a returning smile. "And your ever-present shadow, of course." He looked over Legolas' shoulder to Belhadron. To the surprise of the men, Belhadron grinned and barked a short laugh, replying to Gandalf in his own tongue.

"Well done," Legolas told the men. "But you need not worry. Gandalf is an old friend of the Woodland Realm." He turned back to Gandalf, dismissing the men. "My- The King will be in his tent, and Bard will most likely be there or nearby. We will take you to them."

Gandalf nodded his thanks, and walked beside Legolas into the camp. He slipped into Silvan for ease of speak. "If you are here, then I must assume that-"

"The Dwarves are alive," filled in Legolas. "At least, Thorin and some of the others are alive, for we have seen them ourselves. We don't know if any of them have perished at all, but my father doubts it." He looked over at Gandalf, and did not miss the relief that briefly flooded the wizard's face, before he brought it under control once more. Legolas frowned slightly, and a brief touch at his arm told him that Belhadron had seen it to, but such questions would undoubtedly be answered later. For now, he held his tongue.

"And what are your intentions here?" Gandalf asked, his gaze carefully taking in everything around them. Belhadron, walking at Legolas' shoulder, scoffed.

"I think you mean to ask why we are armed and camped outside that accursed mountain like this, and whether we plan to wage war on the Dwarves," he said. "You do not have to be so evasive, Mithrandir. We're all so accustomed to reading between your words that you might as well state your thoughts outright."

Gandalf glared at Belhadron, but it was a friendly glare. He swung his staff, catching the elf in the back of the knee and making him jump forwards to avoid tripping. "If I wanted your opinion," he said. "I would ask for it."

"That wouldn't make any difference," said Legolas. "He's restless because we're exposed and in the open, and there isn't a huge amount to do. There's more chance than ever of him speaking his mind now."

Belhadron laughed, and Umor whined softly in his throat, budging between him and Legolas. Gandalf looked down. "Who is this?" he asked.

"Umor," replied Belhadron with a sharp grin at Gandalf's raised eyebrow. "Yes, there is a story behind his name and no, you won't hear it from us."

"He's actually a hunting dog," said Legolas. "But he's a good guard dog as well, and us captains sort of claimed him as our own, when he isn't doing his job. He's been ours for about six years now."

"He's a good dog," said Belhadron with a smile, his hand ruffling Umor's ears. Umor promptly licked his hand and Gandalf laughed. But the sound soon fell away in the darkness, and the mountain loomed overhead.

0-o-0-o-0

Thranduil sat elegantly within the pavilion, despite the late hour. His silver cloak was fanned out around him, and his golden hair, unchecked by the lack of crown on his head, fell loose around his shoulders and glowed orange in the torchlight. "Start at the beginning, Mithrandir," he said. "And do try not to lose Bard in your wandering tales. He does not have such experience as I do with you." Bard said nothing, but his sharp eyes seemed amused to Gandalf, and he settled back in the chair next to the Elvenking.

"If you really want me to start from the beginning, then I must go a long way back," replied Gandalf, watching Bard as carefully as the man was watching him. Thranduil's mouth quirked slightly, but his gaze did not change much from the cold stare that was so common to him now. Gandalf had had plenty of opportunities to learn when Thranduil was in a patient mood, and right now, the King was anything but.

"I met Thorin Oakenshield one evening in Bree last year, if that is a good enough beginning for you. It was there that I offered my help to him." Gandalf laid out the entire story, omitting only his suspicions about Bilbo and what had happened within those mountains, and those details he felt were personal to the band he had become so fond of.

Thranduil listened with growing impatience as Gandalf spoke of the Dwarves' journey. Finally, Gandalf seemed to reach some sort of end. Thranduil spoke, his voice frozen steel.

"I used to think that you were perhaps like a moth, Mithrandir," he said. "Drawn to trouble like it to a flame. Now, I am beginning to think that you are the spark that starts the first fires." He sat back. "By your own admission, this is partly your own fault."

Gandalf bristled slightly at the veiled tone in Thranduil's voice. "There are much more complicated things at play here than myself, and you know that," he replied. "But I do not think anyone is at fault here. Those Dwarves merely want to reclaim what is theirs. You should know, Thranduil, that by elven standards, they have not gone that far to reclaim what they believe belongs to them."

Bard flinched slightly as Thranduil leant forwards, the steel mask slipping for a brief second and revealing the rage across his face. Even Gandalf looked, for a second, as if he had made a mistake. Thranduil's lips bared in a soundless snarl. "Do not dare to bring up such things I had no hand in," he said, voice perfectly cold. "Things that caused so much misery to so many. Do not compare the mistakes made so many centuries ago to what Oakenshield may or may not do. Do not presume that I do not know how this might still end. You forget. I have seen this all before."

Gandalf held his gaze. "They have done nothing wrong," he said. "That mountain is their own realm."

"They released a dragon upon us," said Bard, leaning back in his chair. Thranduil sat back, his eyes narrowed, and watched as Bard spoke. "Esgaroth is destroyed. Hundreds of people died." He paused, and in his eyes Gandalf saw a sharp mind that was now coming into its own.

"Did you know a lot of them were children?" Bard asked. His voice was not as intimidating as Thranduil's, he had not had the practice that the Elvenking had, but still Gandalf saw the look of kings within him. He wondered at this man, who had remained hidden even from him until events forced his hand, and recognition began to spark in his mind. Bard continued, forcing himself to relax into the chair even more.

"They weren't able to cope with the freezing nights once their homes were destroyed by dragon's flames," he said. "A lot of other people died in those first few nights, even if they weren't injured. We would all have died if it weren't for the kindness of the elves." Maybe that was an exaggeration, for their land and animals had mostly survived, but a lot more would have perished if Thranduil had not turned up.

"For that, I am deeply sorry," said Gandalf, and indeed there was heavy regret and sorrow on his old face. "I cannot offer any help to those people beyond which I am sure Thranduil has already given, but I can help you here. That is why I came."

"You would help us, when the very Dwarves you have been travelling with are within that mountain?" Bard scoffed, and shook his head. "By your own accounts, they would welcome you with open arms. Why not go to them?"

"Because that will achieve nothing," snapped Gandalf. "You should be able to recognise that. I would see this end without bloodshed, if at all possible." There was more to it than that, but that was all he would say for the moment. It would be a lie to say that he felt no guilt over what had happened to the people of Laketown. At the very least, he also was Thranduil's friend, and he had seen the festering darkness that had seeped from Dol Guldur. Gandalf had long since known the resilience of the Woodland elves, but he had had a stark reminder in the past few days. He would see as many of them survive as possible, if he could.

"I have told you my story," said Gandalf, meeting both Thranduil's and Bard's gaze in turn. "Now I wish to hear yours."

After a pause Thranduil began, telling Gandalf briefly of the spiders, capturing the Dwarves, and their escape, before skipping forwards to the movements of the elves once Smaug had died. Soon enough Bard took over, and he continued the story until the end, speaking first of the arrival of the Dwarves in Laketown. His voice quietened as he spoke of Smaug. Both Thranduil and Gandalf saw the small tremors in his hands, the ones that he tried to disguise by clenching his fists under the table. They said nothing, of course, because they were old, and they had seen it all before.

Bard finished his tale quickly. He seemed to have grasped the idea of efficient reporting fairly easily, and soon fell silent. Gandalf let out a breath he did not realise he had been holding.

"So you will wait here until Thorin agrees to your demands?" asked Gandalf. "In case you do not remember, Thranduil, Thorin Oakenshield will not easily be swayed. Winter is coming, and these parts will soon become even more desolate."

"We will remain for as long as we have to," replied Bard. "And I think that they will find winter more difficult than us within that mountain when they run out of food and are unable to leave." Gandalf drew himself up at the thinly veiled threat, and the air around him seemed to darken.

Thranduil held up one hand. "Enough," he said quietly.

He had been thinking hard for the past few minutes, as Bard told his own story, and he had seen the grief on Gandalf's face as the wizard had heard the full extent of what had happened. Bard, in his bitterness, had left nothing out. Thranduil supposed that his words earlier had been hasty, for he had now given Bard a quick enemy to blame.

"Mithrandir is not to blame," he said quietly to Bard. "Much as we may like to." His gaze flitted to Gandalf, who nodded slowly in understanding. "But Mithrandir was right in saying that there are things larger than even him at play here, and we can, at most, see it through to the end."

Bard seemed to be considering Thranduil's words, and the Elvenking could see when he made a decision. In the days and years to come, when Bard became King, he would have to be more guarded with his facial expressions. But for now the man straightened, and then nodded apologetically at Gandalf. "I did not mean to be rash," Bard said. "These past days have been trying."

Gandalf bowed his head in response. "And they will become more trying before the end," he replied. Bard did nothing but acknowledge Gandalf's statement with a slight nod, and Gandalf felt his opinion of the man rise slightly. He had not been sure what to make of Bard in the beginning, the grim man at Thranduil's side, reluctant leader of the men next to a King. He was pleased to see Bard beginning to show his own strength.

Gandalf continued, his gaze fixed on Bard. "Thranduil will tell you, if you do not believe my own words, that I would have never wished for what has befallen your people to come to pass." Thranduil inclined his head, and Gandalf pressed on.

"You do not trust me, Bard, and that I can understand, but if King Thranduil were to think for a moment, then he would realise that I have always tried to help his realm as much as I can, and that I want to see the same things that he does in this world." Gandalf drew himself up, his voice loud. He was quite unlike the old man that had been sitting in front of them a few moments ago.

Gandalf turned to Thranduil, looking down at him. "I have never given you any doubt as to my intentions, nor should I have to," he said. "You know who I am."

"Indeed I do, Istar," replied Thranduil, and Bard frowned at the word loaded with such ominous tone. Bard, seemingly quite forgotten to one side, watched as the elf and wizard stood against each other, and the air within the pavilion seemed to him to thicken.

And then Gandalf spoke, in Thranduil's own tongue. Thranduil seemed to consider his words for a moment, before suddenly the tension dissipated. The Elvenking relaxed in his chair, and Gandalf huffed a laugh.

"Why do we always play these games, Mithrandir?" asked Thranduil with a crooked smile. Bard watched in slight amazement as the two of them grinned like old friends enjoying a shared joke.

Gandalf shook his head. "I do not mean to start them, Thranduil," he said. "Yet we end up here every time nonetheless." He pulled a pipe out of a pocket hidden in his grey robes, and a pouch of what Bard assumed must be pipeweed. Thranduil raised one eyebrow.

"Not in my pavilion," he said. "Not in my camp, actually. If you insist, then you may keep company with others who do not mind the stench." Gandalf huffed, but put the pipe back in some hidden pocket. Thranduil inclined his head in thanks, and then began to speak of the setup of their camp to Gandalf, much like a captain would report to his commander.

Bard watched them in wonder, most of the time. He could not grasp their friendship, if it was even that. There was an alliance between them, that was certain, but sometimes they acted like old friends, speaking of things only they knew of that happened long ago. Other times, they seemed as captain and commander, though the roles seemed to switch between them at random. After a while, Bard stopped trying to work all of it out.

0-o-0-o-0

It was well into night when Bard excused himself, wishing to check on his men before getting what sleep he could. Gandalf watched him leave, the tent flap fluttering shut.

"He seems like a good man," he said. "A leader as well. Will he be taking up the crown of Dale?"

Thranduil didn't even bother to ask how Gandalf knew of Bard's ancestry. He had known the wizard for far too long to be surprised by such things. "He was reluctant at first," he replied. "But there was nobody else to lead the men, and Bard would not have seen them be forgotten in all of this. I think he felt he had to step up for them, and is fitting the role nicely so far."

"But what of the crown?" asked Gandalf. "If he becomes King of Dale, and there is a realm of Dwarves within Erebor once more, then the east will be strong, and can stand against the shadow, no matter how dark."

"No matter how dark?" asked Thranduil dryly, raising one eyebrow. "I doubt it, Mithrandir. But Bard looks more and more likely to take up that crown each coming day, and with that will come a strong hold on the east. You are right, even if it means I must tolerate Dwarves nearby once more." Gandalf shook his head slightly.

"I must admit, this is unlike you, Thranduil," the wizard said. "You have left your own realm far less protected than it would normally be, and whatever your initial intentions when bringing your army here, you are now fully supporting Bard and his cause. You are not even making any demands of your own. You ask for none of the gold, none of those white gems within that mountain."

"I will not deny that I set out with that intention," Thranduil said, holding back a sigh. "If I did, you would not believe me. But that was before I saw what has happened to the people of Esgaroth." He shook his head.

"I know my weaknesses, Mithrandir. And I want the jewels in that mountain. But you forget, I think, that I know what happens when elves value jewels and gold over the lives of others. My people bore the brunt of all that, long ago. I would never dare to do the same to others. That would make me no better than those sons of Feanor. Worse, perhaps, because I am forewarned of the consequences." Thranduil paused, and when he next spoke, his voice was perhaps a little raw.

"I have judged my own needs to be more important than others in previous times," he said. "I will not make that mistake here. I was reminded of what Bard's people have lost, and I was reminded that there are far more important things here than the gold in that mountain." His tone was unmistakeably fond, and Gandalf's expression softened.

Thranduil smiled at Gandalf's expression. "Legolas' heart has always been in the right place," he said. "One day, I fear I shall rue it."

Gandalf shook his head. "Do not dwell on such possibilities now, Thranduil," he said. "You know better than that. But for what it is worth, I believe it shall be the very opposite that you come to know."

Thranduil chuckled softly. "I have not missed your riddles, Mithrandir," he said. "But for all the posturing and talk, I am glad you have come. You may be drawn to trouble like a moth to flame, but at least you help put out the fires."

Gandalf laughed heartily. "It has been too long, Thranduil," he replied, subsiding into the occasional chuckle. "I am only sorry that such times have come around once more."

"Not to mention that you told the Dwarves to travel through my realm without asking my permission," Thranduil pointed out, a little ire in his voice. "That could have been handled with more tact from Thorin Oakenshield."

Gandalf inclined his head. "They are stubborn to a fault sometimes," he admitted. "But I have come to know Thorin Oakenshield well, and he is not so different from you." Thranduil raised his eyebrows, and Gandalf chuckled. "Old friend, you have so blinded yourself to anything apart from their faults that you cannot see it. He is just as determined to protect his people and his family as you are. It just happens that history has not been kind to either of you, and that he has failed, where you have largely succeeded."

"So far," muttered Thranduil darkly. Gandalf glared at him from under his thick brows.

"They are my friends," Gandalf said firmly. "And I will do what I can to help them. You as well, if you will not be so stubborn."

Thranduil laughed. "I learnt the art long ago, old friend, and it has served me very well so far. You cannot change two Ages of habit in one conversation."

"I can only try," replied Gandalf with a smile. He stood from his chair. "There is more news that I must share with you, but it should wait until the morning," he said. "I should not detain you any longer."

"You mean to say that you want to have a look around my camp," said Thranduil with a wry smile. He stood, his cloak falling about him. "Someone will have established a tent for you nearby." He shook his head slightly. "We should not play these games, old friend. We know each other far too well for that."

"Indeed," murmured Gandalf. He bowed his head to Thranduil, his few concessions to the elf's crown, and then ducked out of the tent. Thranduil watched him go with a wry smile on his face.

He had thought Mithrandir would turn up sooner or later. Thranduil had known the wizard for a very long time now, ever since Gandalf had arrived on these shores in the middle of the Third Age. He was no fool; he knew who Gandalf was, and he knew the power that hid behind the appearance of an old man. But that did not mean the wizard was not a friend to the Woodland Realm or to him. In fact, he was rather glad to see Gandalf once more, even though his arrival only too often heralded worse things to come.

Whatever it was, it could wait until the morning.

As I've said, I do love writing the dialogue between Thranduil and Gandalf. I found it really interesting, these two people who are very old, who have seen a lot, and who in some ways are similar, and some ways completely different. That will be explored more throughout this story. Also, I'm aware Bard said some fairly manipulative and nasty things to Gandalf at one point. He's out of his depth and lashing out. He'll get it together soon enough! As to the history of Thranduil that I keep alluding to, what he said about the things he had no hand in and the lessons he has learnt about gold and jewels, that will be fully explained eventually in the story, but if you're impatient, feel free to ask and I'll give you a short summary of what happened! Poor Thranduil, he's been through a lot.

Next chapter will contain more Legolas and Belhadron, and Rhavaniel as well. Things are beginning to pick up now, though there's still quite a way to go! As always, reviews are very welcome. I'll see you all again on Saturday ;)