Hello there. First off, I am very sorry for such a long gap in updates. It's been a tough time, so writing had to take a backseat. Good news though, I'm back to writing and you can expect more regular updates from now on. It may take a little while to straighten everything out, but I'm aiming for the old Sunday updates again. If you've stuck with this story, thank you very much!

Enjoy!


Chapter 7

Of Elves and Dwarves

And so I was set on my path towards a discovery that I, at the time that I made it, was wholly unprepared for. Of course I was a bit suspicious after the letter, but never in a million years could I have imagined the writer turned out to be who he was. Of course, if any of you are familiar with the tale of Kate Andrews, you'll have worked it out for yourself.

There are times when it feels as though we were all just pawns in a bigger game, deluded into thinking we were the players. Before I went on this journey, I would have sided with Duria on the matter of the book. Books are reliable, there when you need them to be. There is comfort to be found in that, a certainty that one can lean on in times of despair. My own work has always been based in fact, verifiable fact. And to reconstruct the past, such things are a necessity. But, like Fíli already knew then, to try and build a future based on a book is madness. You could sooner build a house on shifting sands and have it survive the autumn storms than you can build a better future because of one book.

Of course, none of us knew that. After all, how could we? And so we just went about our business, blissfully ignorant of what was to come…

Cathy

Mirkwood was far more boring than Cathy could have anticipated. Just what it was she had been expecting when she had set out from Erebor, she couldn't quite define, but it surely wasn't this. There were all the things she had vaguely expected: the feasts, the negotiations, the entertainment that every host offered highborn guests. In this way nothing was different from how it was done at home and yet it was nothing alike as well. The elves were, for lack of a better word, reserved. They did not laugh as loudly as dwarves, nor did they anger quickly when provoked. They were perpetually calm. There were hints that stronger emotions were hiding only just beneath the surface, but they were never there, plain for all to see. It made the elves hard to read and it certainly did not make them pleasant companions. Their manners were perfect, but there was something haughty to it, as if they were looking down on their guests, as if they were not quite grounded in this world.

'You look quite bored, Lady Cathy,' an amused voice observed.

She turned around to find the one exception to the rule standing right behind her, indulgent amusement on his face.

'Elvaethor,' she acknowledged. 'I thought you were away on guard duty.' Whatever it was that he was guarding. Folk always thought of dwarves as secretive, but the elves could give the dwarves a run for their money in that department at times. And Cathy never could abide secrets she was not a part of. If that made her nosy, then so be it.

'I was relieved at dawn,' he replied. 'Won't you tell me how it has come to be that my favourite little lady is looking quite bored?'

'I can't help it; your folk are quite dull,' Cathy defended herself. And they were hostile as well. Of course they weren't openly so; it was more of an undefined feeling, intuition if you liked. It was the thing that made her skin crawl at some seemingly innocent remarks, that made her look over her shoulders in empty hallways, that made her feel like she was being watched when there was no one within her line of sight. Or maybe that was just Mirkwood's doing. There was something decidedly sinister about the forest and suddenly all her parents' stories made sense. 'And my folk aren't made for idleness.' She may look mannish, but that was not all she was. And Cathy had worked long and hard to be a seamstress in her own right. After days of not being allowed to attend the talks, her fingers were itching to find a needle and do something, anything at all.

'If that is so, then maybe I should divert you with a walk around the gardens.' He offered her his arm. 'It may not be quite the entertainment you are used to, but I shall strive to come as close as I am able.'

She took the proffered arm with a smile. 'I will settle for that, then.'

Of course, she wasn't just settling for it, she was jumping at the opportunity. Elvaethor was like a fresh breeze compared to the stifling presence of his peers. She'd never spent much time thinking about it when she was small, but Elvaethor was different, not your typical elf. For one he seemed to be more grounded, more a part of this world than the others were. He had an easy smile, a nice sense of humour and quick wits. And he was someone she could rely on, almost like an extra uncle. And over the years he had somehow become her best friend as well. And in this unnerving place, she needed her friends.

Elvaethor had not been telling a falsehood when he had said the gardens were beautiful. There was sunlight here and plantlife that didn't tower over her to obscure the skies overhead. It felt a little less like she had accidentally wandered into a prison.

'This is nice,' she concluded.

'I thought you might think so,' Elvaethor said. He was looking as smug as elves could look. 'But you'll need to thank my sister for the notion.'

'I shall.'

Tauriel was more reserved than her brother, but kind in her own way. Cathy never really got the measure of her – it was hard with elves anyway – but as elves went, she certainly was one of the good ones.

'Amad never saw this place, did she?' Cathy asked. 'Else she wouldn't have been so dismissive of it.'

Elvaethor smiled. 'Alas, her only acquaintance with the palace was of the lower levels.' Which was a nice way to refer to dungeons in Cathy's opinion.

'And the wine cellar, as I hear it,' she countered lightly. There were enough dwarves still holding a grudge about the whole dungeon thing without her. And it hadn't been Elvaethor's doing anyway. 'Which makes me wonder. Can elves get drunk?' She'd often wondered, for she'd never actually seen it. When elves came to call, they consumed the same amount of wine and ale as their hosts, but whereas dwarves got drunk, the elves seemed wholly unaffected.

It was testimony to how much time her friend had spent among dwarves that he threw his head back and laughed loudly, without a care for who might hear him. It was not the elvish thing to do, Cathy knew that much. 'Most certainly,' he informed her. 'Yet we do not demonstrate it as openly as men and dwarves do.'

'A sore shame,' Cathy declared. 'Well, as one cannot help but wonder, have you ever been drunk?'

At this he laughed again. It was a good sort of sound. Elvaethor was a cheerful fellow, but he seldom really laughed. According to Cathy's mother, it was because Thranduil made his life hell. Cathy rather thought that there was something else, that he was still in mourning for her parents, who he had counted close friends. Losing them to old age must have hurt, and because he was unused to such hurt, being an elf and all, it must have hurt even worse. Dwarves and men at least knew they were only mortal and that their time was limited, so when the end came, they accepted it as an inevitable part of life. Elves had no such advantage.

'Why would I share information of that sort with you?'

'Ah, so you have!' she exclaimed.

'I did say no such thing,' he pointed out.

'You didn't need to.' Not that she would do anything with this information. She was just a tiny bit curious. She liked to know things. That was hardly a crime.

'You would do well in the talks,' Elvaethor observed. 'You're quicker of mind than some I know.'

Someone ought to tell Thoren that. 'I'm afraid my brother is scared I'll start a war rather than prevent one,' she replied. Maybe he did know what he was about, though, because she had never liked Thranduil. He'd more or less suggested that she wasn't her father's daughter since she didn't look a bit like him when she was just a baby. Well, and with such a start it was hardy a mystery why things hadn't improved. 'I'm assuming that's why you're out here babysitting me instead of being inside with all the Important People.'

A quick shadow crossed his face. If she'd have blinked, she might have missed it altogether. 'Not quite, my little lady. It's just that my king is not as convinced of my loyalties as he once was.'

That was probably more or less true. Cathy just thought that Thranduil knew full well whose side Elvaethor was on and, since it wasn't his, had decided he didn't need anyone else to speak for the dwarves. Politics was a dirty game and Thranduil made it even more complicated and unfair than it was on its own.

And Thranduil knew just how to make one feel inferior. He knew a thing or two about punishment too. A century ago Elvaethor had been held in high esteem. He had been captain of the guard and his advice was valued by his people. Then he had chosen her parents' side in the conflict that had resulted in the Battle of the Five Armies and he had been treated like a rabid warg ever since. I wonder what made him choose this path, she thought, not for the first time. Would he still have chosen it if he knew what it would cost him beforehand? Probably; he doesn't seem to regret it.

'Well then,' she said. 'I hope you know that Erebor's gates will never be shut against you.' He probably knew that already, but it could not hurt to hear it again. After some consideration she added: 'And I think Thoren would be glad of your assistance. He needs people he can trust and now that Thráin is away to Rivendell…' She left it unfinished.

'It has been too long,' Elvaethor agreed. 'And I did promise your mother I'd keep an eye on her offspring.'

Cathy snorted at that. 'We are all of age, you know. We don't need looking after.' Although maybe Jack did. But Elvaethor was not the best person to get through to him. Thank the Maker for Flói.

This only amused her friend. 'Is that so indeed?'

'Well, I suppose it is a more worthy task than playing at guarding… something.' She could always try another time. 'You are better than that.' He was. He was too clever, too skilled. Thranduil was wasting his talents. There were few things so offensive to a dwarf as that.

'You are too kind,' he said, charming smile fixed in place.

'No, it's you that's good at kindness,' Cathy corrected. 'My family isn't that good at that.'

He let it be. 'Pray tell, what made you finally leave Erebor? I always thought your womenfolk didn't venture much abroad.'

At this she laughed. 'Well, I'm not completely dwarvish, am I? And I grew up on the tales of amad and adad's adventures. Then, when he's grown up, Thráin goes and wanders around the world and brings home the stories of his adventures. And Thoren and Jack have both been on campaigns, so they have seen the world as well. Even Duria's been on a trip to the Iron Hills a few years back and she doesn't even like to travel. And they're all insisting that I should stay behind.'

And she wanted to see beyond the confines of her own kingdom. Her entire family wandered for Durin's sake. And she hadn't even mentioned Nori, who could only sit still when he was tied down with a good piece of rope and even then he'd probably escape. And of course there was Elvaethor himself, one of her dearest friends, who had told her stories of his travels since she was a tiny little lass. Of course, Mirkwood had not been her first choice of places to see, but it was what she could get and so she had jumped on the opportunity.

Her friend shook his head, clearly amused. 'You've chosen a bad time to catch the wanderlust, my little lady.'

Cathy nodded. 'War is coming. Amad spoke of it. I remember that much. Of course none of us knew exactly what she meant. And now we can't ask her anymore.'

This time she was sure she saw the grief pass his face. That wound hadn't closed and she had suspected as much. Most of the time he had a tight control over his emotions and as far as she knew he had only slipped up once and she wasn't supposed to have seen him then. But she had, very shortly after her father had passed and had been buried. Elvaethor had been staying in Erebor at the time and when she had been unable to find him inside, she had at last thought to look outside. And there she had found him, in front of her parents' tomb, on his knees, tears on his face, sobs shaking his shoulders. 'Not again,' he'd said. 'Please, not again.' Deciding that this was a private moment, she had turned on her heels and left. Of course, she hadn't stopped wondering about what he had meant by 'not again,' but it wasn't her place to ask. It still wasn't.

'She always believed the wizard did,' Elvaethor replied.

Cathy had never actually spoken to him. To everyone's surprise he had made it to her mother's funeral and he had spoken to her father, her oldest brother and her sister, but she had only seen him from a distance. And she had been a tiny bit disappointed. He didn't look as formidable as she had imagined him. In fact, he really looked like a harmless old man.

'I suppose he does,' she said. 'What do you think he'll do with it then? Abduct someone else to interpret the information? Like he did with amad?'

'There is another book.' Elvaethor seemed pensive. 'She would not say more, dare not say more perhaps. It is possible that Gandalf knows this as well.' Now he smiled. 'She always said she'd come back from the grave and haunt him if he did to anyone what he had done to her.'

'If only,' she muttered. They could do with some of her guidance. Thoren believed it too. Else why would he always have his nose stuck in their journal these days?

But either way there was nothing either of them could do about it even if Gandalf ignored the late Queen under the Mountain's orders. And who could really know the mind of a wizard? She surely couldn't and neither could Elvaethor. And so they moved on to more pleasant topics. He showed her around the gardens and the palace and made sure she was provided with a good dinner. The talks still had not ended yet and so they were left to their own devices. Elvaethor was not due to go back on guard duty until the morning and so he kept her company.

They had just sat down for a game of cards when they were disturbed. One of the elven guards rushed in, said Elvaethor's name and then spoke a lot more words in that slippery tongue of his that Cathy, though she had tried, could never quite understand. What she did understand was that it was urgent and the news that had been given was bad, because Elvaethor instantly paled and then he turned to anger. He spoke even more rapidly than his friend.

'I beg your pardon,' he said then, when he was done talking to the elf. 'I fear I must leave you here. It appears we are under attack.'

Cathy blinked. 'Orcs?' They did not usually venture so close to settlements that were not their own. And Dol Guldur was much farther away to the south. Would they really dare to stray so far from their base?

'So it seems,' Elvaethor said. 'I must take my leave.'

'Yes, yes, of course, you must,' Cathy said, shaking herself out of her thoughts. How the orcs had come to be here hardly mattered. The main thing was to do something about them now that they were. 'Should I tell somebody, get you some more help?' There were guards and warriors aplenty at the meeting. Their skills would indeed be much use in a fight.

He smiled again, indulgently this time. 'The palace is not under attack, fear not,' he reassured her. 'Something else is.'

With that he was gone, leaving her to wonder. Riddles and mysteries, she thought. And no one knows what it's all about. Of course she had her own suspicions. Whatever it was that the elves were guarding, it must be important. She would wager all the riches under the Mountain on it having something to do with the war and the Enemy. That would explain the orcs' interest in it at the very least.

If only I knew what it was.

But she did not and she spent the next few hours pacing whilst waiting for her friend. She could have done with Halin's company, but clearly the talks had not been aborted in the face of the crisis for the doors to the council rooms remained closed and she could hear the faint sound of voices through them. But there were no sounds of battle, so they must all be fairly reasonable about it.

It had gone midnight by the time the elves returned. Cathy had taken to waiting for them near the barracks, so that she'd be the first to know. She quickly took them in, looking for her friend. Elvaethor was a difficult elf to miss; his red hair made him stand out in any given crowd. She sighed in relief when she completed her examination and found him to be unharmed. Thanks be to the Maker.

'You were victorious?' she asked.

'We were.' Though one wouldn't be able to tell it from the worried frown on his forehead.

So she asked. 'Then why the frown, my friend?'

She had half expected him not to answer, but he did. 'We have lost something of great value, my little lady. And I fear we may not succeed in recovering it.'

Riddles and mysteries, she thought again.

Thráin

The trip through Mirkwood had taken its toll on all, Thráin knew. Though he had travelled through Thranduil's beloved woods many times before, he too had felt something. He could not define what it was, but it was dark and foreboding. It made one feel as though orcs could jump out of every shadow and every tree and it had taken all his self-control not to keep looking over his shoulders for signs of danger. He was a full-grown dwarf and he ought to be past such childish fears.

Dol Guldur has made you afraid, he told himself. But the taint of that fortress has not spread this far north, not yet. If unchecked, he feared that it would. Why Thranduil had not gotten off his lazy backside to address the problem yet, was something of a mystery. Then again, he had been content to leave the dragon be as well. The elf king's cowardice was old news by now. Word had it that his son had more courage, but since Thráin was not acquainted with him and in truth, had no wish to be, he did not know if there was any truth in the rumour.

Nevertheless, he was glad to leave Mirkwood behind. He had never liked travelling through it, but time was of the essence now. If he'd had more time, he would have gone around it, but time was a luxury they could ill afford. Strider's words kept bouncing around his skull. Warn your brother he will need to prepare for war. The storm that is brewing might come to his doorstep sooner than he thought and it might prove to be stronger than any in living memory. Then there was the news, growing ever darker. Armies in the East, a darkness in Dol Guldur and Sauron's power growing in Mordor, the hooded envoy with his treacherous words paying visits in the area. Thráin was no fool. He knew what it meant.

Fortunately Mirkwood was nothing but a dark green blur on the eastern horizon now. Thráin's small party had crossed the Anduin two days ago and their road had been steadily climbing ever since. There was comfort to be found in the mountains rising up around them, even though they were aboveground. All dwarves would prefer mountains over woods any time.

'Ah, this is good,' Alfur remarked, stretching out his limbs next to the fire they had made when darkness fell. They were reasonably sure no orcs or goblins were nearby and so Thráin had decided to take the risk. 'Rock under my feet, fire at my side, pipe in my hand…'

'And my boot up your arse if you don't shift,' Thráin finished. 'Some folk would like a place to rest their weary feet.'

Alfur laughed, but didn't move. 'You ought to be in a better temper, my friend.'

'Aye, I ought to be, in a fairer world,' Thráin agreed. 'Alas, the world is no fair place.'

'No need to tell me. A fellow can't even enjoy the simple comforts of a fire before he's threatened away.'

The remarkable thing about Alfur was that he was perpetually stuck in a good mood. Of course, many dwarves would find it hard to be out of humour if only certain conditions were met: they should be underground, devoting themselves to their chosen craft during the day and have plenty of food in their bellies and friends and family to share and enjoy it with afterwards. Simple pleasures, but they had all the makings of a good life. A shame really that Thráin never found enough rest to stay still and enjoy it with them. My feet were made for wandering, he'd once told his brother, and that was all that could be said on the matter.

'Budge up, Longshanks,' said Glóin, who had no patience for bantering and who certainly had no patience to wait until Alfur did as he was told. 'There's work to be done. There's food that needs preparing and this rabbit won't cook itself.'

Alfur was unfazed in the face of so much grumpiness. 'Won't be cooked by me, either. I'd just burn it and the stink of it would bring the goblins right down on us.'

'True enough,' Halnor said. 'Then again, if we let Thráin do the cooking, the good smell would bring orcs and wargs alike to our humble camp.'

'So we ought to settle for your barely edible rabbit stew is what you're saying, yes?' Thráin mocked.

'Good thing about that is that none of us won't be eating ourselves sick with second helpings,' Alfur chimed in. He had out of self-preservation – Glóin did have an axe near at hand – finally moved his legs, but didn't give any indication he was about to volunteer for cooking duty.

'Aye, there's that,' Thráin nodded. 'Move over, I'll do it.'

'You sure you want to risk luring all the orcs in a twenty mile radius?' Halnor questioned.

'I'd choose it over vomiting up your stew for the rest of the night,' Thráin smirked.

'Then get to it, lad, before I grow old and die,' Glóin grumbled. He was a pleasant enough dwarf to be around, provided he was frequently fed and everything was done the proper way. And it had been a while since lunch.

The cooking would have to wait a while, though, for at that moment Thráin heard a sound he didn't think to hear in these parts. The second he heard it, he was on his feet, sword in hand. 'Get up,' he told his companions. 'There are people coming.''

He had heard the sound of hoofs coming closer, which at least meant these folk weren't orcs. That was a small mercy only, for these days there were not many people of good will on the road, and these parts were crawling with bandits. Thráin had encountered their ilk many times before and held them in contempt, but from bitter experience he also knew not to underestimate them.

His friends had now heard it too. It did not take them long to abandon pipe and pan and grasp for sword and axe instead, for dwarves were warriors first and foremost, and these were all tested in battle. It was good to have them at his back.

'Let them come,' Gimli growled. 'We will make them taste dwarvish steel.'

That may be a tad bit overeager, but Thráin silently echoed the sentiment. They would soon set these intruders to right, sending them running for whatever safety they would be able to find in this dangerous place.

Or maybe not. Three horses rounded the corner, each of them ridden by one of the elven race. No bandits then, Thráin concluded, though he might have liked it better if they were. He had only very limited patience for the pointy-ears. That they were as arrogant as the mountains were high generally did not help matters.

'You were talking so loud, we could hear your voices from miles away,' their leader, a fair-haired elf with a bow strapped to his back, remarked. 'That is ill-advised in these parts.' He had commanded his two companions to halt with just a wave of his hand. They had the look of Mirkwood elves about them, an idea strengthened by their coming from the east, but to Thráin's disappointment neither Elvaethor nor his sister was one of them.

'Your coming here was not quiet either,' Thráin responded, fighting the urge to run the arrogant brat through with his sword. He was practically asking for it. 'And I did not ask for your opinion. Neither did I invite you to stop. Do feel free to continue your journey.'

The elf smiled. 'You must be Thráin, son of Thorin,' he said.

That caught him on the back foot and he did not like being at a disadvantage. 'So what if I am?' he demanded. Was it any wonder his parents had developed such a dislike for elves?

'You have your father's looks and bearing,' the elf replied, which in Thráin's opinion was no answer at all.

'So I have been told,' he said. 'What's it to you?'

'I knew him briefly many years ago,' the elf said.

'He made no mention of you, I'm sure.' Except maybe to throw him in with all the rest of Thranduil's folk. Elvaethor and Tauriel were the sole exceptions to the rule. What Strider saw in them, Thráin would never know.

'My name is Legolas,' the elven prince said. 'These are my companions Aennen,' he indicated the other golden-haired fool to his right, 'and Galu.' The last elf had brown hair, green eyes and a facial expression that spoke of extreme disgust for the company he had found on the road. At least the feeling was mutual.

'Aye, I've seen you before,' Glóin spoke. 'Hiding behind your father when he committed a great injustice.' Dwarves had long memories and Glóin had been there the day Thranduil had imprisoned Thráin's father and mother and all their companions.

'You are not welcome here,' Thráin said bluntly. He would not fight them, but he could not abide their presence either.

He must have spoken in a foreign tongue, for instead of moving along, Legolas dismounted and gestured for his companions to do the same. 'There is news that I carry that you will need to hear,' he said. 'It concerns a matter a mutual friend told me you were also involved in.'

Thráin merely frowned. 'I doubt you and I have any friends in common, elf.'

Thranduil's son repaid him in kind. 'Rest assured, dwarf, I've always wondered what insanity had taken ahold of his mind that he would willingly seek out your company.' He paused for a moment, allowing Thráin just enough time to send a withering glare in his direction. 'You know him by the name of Strider, I believe.'

It was old news that Strider had the blinders on where elves were concerned, so maybe it should come as no surprise he had chosen this elven princeling for his friend, but still Thráin wondered how one could be so foolish as to put up with this one. He wore arrogance like a cloak and confidence like armour.

'I know what matter you speak of,' he admitted. The whole sorry business with Gollum, naturally. That had been weeks ago and as far as Thráin knew, that creature was still languishing in Thranduil's impregnable prison. Now that the hole in their security had been plugged, escaping would be very nearly impossible.

'I would discuss it with you in private.' It was not a question. The tone spoke for itself. Legolas expected to be obliged.

We are princes both, but could not be more different, Thráin thought. 'I have no secrets from my kith and kin,' he said. 'They may hear whatever you have to say.' He trusted all of them unconditionally. He had grown up with Alfur and Halnor and had always been on the best of terms with them. Glóin and Bofur were his parents' old friends and if they had not betrayed them by now, they never would. And though he had never been friends with Gimli – he'd never had the patience for his chatter – he knew Glóin's son would never shame his confidence. If he'd had less faith in them, he would not have agreed to their presence, something Thoren had known very well.

'Very well,' Legolas said, but he was frowning. Of course that was not how it was done among his people, but Thráin did not particularly care for elvish ways to begin with. If that princeling's pride was injured, he would not have sleepless nights over it. 'Let's be seated.'

It might have been beyond him to keep his temper at being invited to sit at his own fire had Bofur at that moment not returned from relieving himself a little distance away. 'Well, bless my beard, we've got company!' Like most dwarves, Bofur distrusted elves, but he rather chose to make them uncomfortable by putting a lot of cheer on display. Being the quiet, broody type was not like him anyway.

His enthusiasm was not returned by the elves. Well, dwarves did have a reputation for being noisy and crude and blunt. We might yet scare them off if we keep that up, he thought. It cheered him enough to make him forget about his intention to run the elves through with his blade.

'Your news?' Thráin asked as soon as they were all seated. The sooner he had heard it, the sooner the elves would be on their way, because they would not stay in this camp. He cared not that darkness had fallen and that it would only make sense to share this spot; he would not rest easy knowing there were elves within spitting distance.

'You are certain you do not wish to hear it in private?' Legolas asked.

Thráin fixed him with his deadliest stare. 'If you do not wish to offer insult, you will not ask this again. For we would make you answer for it.'

Judging by the look on the elf's face Thráin had just confirmed every prejudice about dwarves he'd ever harboured. If Thráin actually liked his kind, he might have cared. As it was, he didn't and he merely waited until the elf would finally – what was taking him so long anyway? – deliver the news that had brought him here.

'You know that the creature we now know as Gollum was brought to my father's realm some weeks ago?' he began.

'I was one of the two who did the bringing,' Thráin said icily. 'Do you bear news that I did not already know or not? If so, deliver it. If not, be gone.' After all, Thoren was the one who had to mind his manners. Thráin was not so burdened. He could speak his mind if he so pleased. Right now, it pleased him a lot.

Legolas continued as if he had never been interrupted at all. 'He has escaped.'

Thráin frowned. 'He has escaped? Has your father grown so careless in his security indeed? If your dungeons cannot hold your prisoners, then pray what are they even there for? Are there indeed folk who have dwelled there for more than a few weeks altogether?'

Gollum on the loose was bad news. What the creature had done or was meant to do, Thráin did not know. But he had seen the madness in those eyes and a hint of an evil that he did not fully understand. That this Gollum should not have his freedom had been clear to him. Whatever he was meant to do, Thráin never doubted that his interests were not aligned with the free folk of this world. Strider had hinted at much and had confirmed less, but Thráin had a mind of his own. He'd pieced much together by himself during the long road home again.

'It was not through a lack of watchfulness that this could have happened.' The elf's eyes betrayed his anger, even though the rest of his features were still schooled into perfect indifference. 'Though perhaps through over-kindliness.'

Glóin snorted. 'I did not know your kind could be accused of being kind,' he said. The noises around the fire indicated general agreement.

'We had not the heart to keep him in the dungeons under the earth, where we feared his heart and mind would turn to ever more dark thoughts.' There was a slight defensive tone that one could only hear if one knew how to listen for it. Fortunately Thráin had been around Elvaethor for much of his youth and had therefore an advantage most would have lacked. 'We had hope still for his cure and so we led him outside on the days with fair weather, though we guarded him well.'

Thráin listened to this with ever-growing astonishment and, unsurprisingly, anger. 'You were less kind to my father and mother when they came to your realm,' he observed.

Now he had truly vexed Legolas. 'Their imprisonment was none of my doing,' he said. 'I disapproved of it at the time, but the decision was not mine to make.' Thráin was about to make some remarks about that, but the elf was quicker. 'While it is true that I never liked your father, I did hold your mother in high esteem.'

And she didn't think you were entirely useless either. His mother had always mentioned that while Thranduil was a right bloody bastard – her exact words – his son on the other had was in the possession of some decency. He had an interest in doing the right thing, she'd said. Thráin privately wondered that if this was the case, why had he stood by and let his father lock the dwarves in his dungeons?

'Carry on with your story,' he said curtly.

Legolas did, telling of how the elven guards would take Gollum out into the woods and let him climb a solitary tree so that he might feel the wind in his face, until inevitably the day had come that the creature refused to come down at dusk, leaving the elves to guard the tree itself after night had fallen. Of course that very night they were set upon by orcs and in the skirmish that followed, Gollum had gotten away. Were the elves really that bloody gullible that they had fallen for that?

'It was plain to us that the attack had been made for his rescue and that he knew of it beforehand,' Legolas concluded.

'Your doings are not as secret as they once were,' Thráin said, pushing aside his anger at the latest elvish stupidity. Maker willing, there would be time for that later. Legolas's final words had deeply worried him. If the Enemy could get a message to Gollum whilst he was under constant guard, he must have eyes and ears everywhere, even in the court of King Thranduil himself. 'You may have a spy in your midst.'

He had not expected the elf to admit to it, so he was taken by surprise when he did so. 'My father fears that as well. The reach of the Enemy grows longer with each passing day.'

It has not yet crossed the gates of Erebor. Not that he knew of.

'And now Gollum has fled south. My people do not go there; they dare not stray too far from our borders and near Dol Guldur, for while it was rid of evil almost eighty years ago, dark things dwell there again.' Legolas spoke of it as though it should be news to the dwarves.

It really wasn't. 'I know of this. I ventured there myself some months ago.' And was probably lucky to have seen the fortress and to have escaped with my life after doing so. 'Whatever has taken up residence within its walls, it does not have our best interest at heart.'

It was against his every instinct to trade information this freely, but he remembered his conversation with Strider very well. And Legolas and his people at the very least did not support the darkness. That is the only distinction on which anyone should make their decisions in these dark times. Thráin was of a mind to agree with his Ranger friend on this.

You don't have to like him, sweetheart, as long as you can work with him. His mother's advice sprung to mind once more. Good advice too. Thráin did not like elves and he was not likely to ever change his mind, but they had a common enemy. And they might have need of the elvish swords in the war to come. Besides, it would probably not do to undermine Thoren's attempt to create an alliance by annoying the elves unnecessarily.

There was a reluctant respect in Legolas's eyes when he realised that a dwarf had gone where an elf had not dared to tread. That it was less courage and more bloody stupidity Thráin did not tell him, naturally. 'Indeed. That is bad news.'

'Where are you headed?' he asked brusquely. He did neither want nor need the elf's praise. It was not done in service to Thranduil and his folk, so he needed no thanks. And he hadn't the patience for flattery either.

'We are making for Lord Elrond's home in Rivendell, hoping for counsel in these dark days.' The elf was quick to respond, but the one called Aennen clearly did not think this was information to be shared with dwarves; he was frowning so hard it was almost audible. 'We may need help before this is all done.'

Now it was Thráin's turn to frown, but Alfur beat him to saying what was on his mind. 'Well, you elves may have forgotten, but you've got neighbours to the east as well. And they'd be happy to lend a hand.' He grinned cheekily. 'We won't even ask to be paid for our aid.' Of all the people in the world, Alfur would be one of the few who'd even consider joking about the prejudice of dwarvish greed. And by the look of things, it was making the elves highly uncomfortable.

'Trust me, Master Dwarf, my people have not forgotten that such an alliance is possible. Surely you know that already there are gatherings to make it happen once more.' He turned his gaze back to Thráin. 'Yet you yourself are also travelling west.'

He did not like to part with this information, but felt he had little choice at this point. 'Our destinations are the same. An old friend of my family currently lives in Rivendell and we have information that is of vital importance to him.' And then there were his mother's half-remembered warnings, but that was not for Legolas and his friends to know. He had been truthful, but they did not need to know all. His mother's origins were perhaps the best-kept secret in Middle Earth, known only to a select few. From all the people gathered here, only Glóin and Bofur knew, besides Thráin himself. And he had every intention of keeping it that way.

Legolas nodded. 'I understand.'

Do you? I doubt it. 'The clearing is big enough for three more bodies,' Thráin said, making a decision. Not one he liked, obviously, but someone had to make that first move. 'You can put your horses with our ponies. I do assume you brought food; we won't have enough to feed you.'

Thoren no doubt would have made a better welcome, but he had always been better at diplomacy. As long as he made his intent clear, it would have to do.

And he had. Galu's eyebrows were up there at his hairline and Aennen looked shocked as well. Of the three Legolas was the only one who managed a polite smile in response. 'That is very kind of you.'

'It is not kindness,' Thráin said. 'I won't want to waste my time having to bury you if your horses fall over the edge of a ravine in the dark.' He did not want them here and feared that he would have no peaceful sleep as long as they were near, but he was on an official mission now and his brother was attempting to get the elves on his side. Angering the elf king's only son might be counterproductive.

'Nevertheless, you have my thanks.' What was this, an elf trying to be nice?

He would have none of it. 'You can take the first watch,' he said.

Maker be good, have I lost my wits along the road?


Next time: visitors both expected and unexpected arrive at Erebor and Beth is in for a surprise when she goes to meet G. Grey.

Someone asked me about a list of characters to provide some clarity on who is who and I am making one. I'm just not quite sure where to post the thing, because I don't want to do it at the end of the chapter. I want to be able to add to it as the story goes on and more characters show up. So, suggestions are welcome.

And as always, thank you very much for reading this story. Reviews would be much appreciated.