Author's Note: Long chapter ahead ... And some Khuzdul translations as I got them from the Dwarrow Scholar's dictionary:
Id-u'naj - the thumper
Enjoy!
-:-
It may come as a surprise, but the Long Lake did not completely freeze over every winter. In fact, it only happened about every five to ten years. As the bargemen sat on the piers and the ice fishers picked up their work, the ice would get tested for its integrity. Once the lake was cleared for public access, there was no stopping of the grand feast of joy and merriment that arose.
The men of Dale and Laketown drove sleds pulled by dogs, dwarves would race their goats, and the elves … Well, Thorin wasn't exactly sure what they were doing as he had never seen anything like it.
One moment there were laughing mannish children chasing their puppies, and dwarves betting on their goats, and the next moment a silent battalion of elves streamed onto the lake and glided across its frozen surface.
Thorin thought he spotted Thranduil and Legolas somewhere among them, since they were the only ones with hair this bright, and while he usually got the impression that elves floated over the ground the speed and ease they portrayed right then was not natural. After placing his bet – the royal family actually had a racing ram of their own – Thorin made his way further onto the lake along one of the wooden railings the men had built lest people hurt themselves slipping on the ice. He nearly fell on his bottom a few times despite the handhold, but luckily no one seemed to have noticed, or his dignity would have crumbled right then and there.
As he neared a cleared area where the goats would be racing soon, he observed the elves skidding across the ice at an unnatural speed, twirling and jumping like crickets. By now he knew that the elves of the Woodland Realm were much more prone to abandoning their icy dignity in favour of a merry time, so it did not come as a surprise that their chiming laughter carried so far. Some were sliding in circles, holding each other's hands like in some strange dance; others moved in pairs, engaging in easy conversation, or simply enjoying the atmosphere.
Tiny snowflakes had started to fall from the grey overcast sky, when Thorin spotted Thranduil and Legolas again. They were moving at a great speed, faster even than a galloping horse, and Thorin could only grip harder onto the railing and watch with a slightly queasy stomach. Were they not going to break their necks? And no, this was not concern he was feeling.
At some point they seemed to have spotted him, for Thranduil now headed towards him, swaying strangely from side to side. When the elf did not slow down the nearer he came Thorin practically clung to the wooden construction that kept him upright, and when it became clear they were going to collide he had to force back a scream. He squinted his eyes shut as hard as he could, before there was a loud scraping sound and a tickling, cold cloud hit his face. He only dared look again when he could hear a soft laugh.
"Hail, Thorin," Thranduil chuckled. "Do you need assistance?"
"I'm fine," Thorin spluttered, hastily running his woollen gloved hands over his hair, face and beard. They came off wet and covered in snow.
"What brings a dwarf so far onto thin ice, if I may ask?"
Thorin wound his arm around the wooden pole again and glared at the elf.
"What causes elves to whizz around like drunken mosquitoes?" he shot back in a grumpy, yet playful tone.
"Joy," Thranduil replied simply, smiling broadly at him from under his fur-brimmed hood.
"I meant how you do it. Physically, mechanically … or magically?"
"We call them helechebad," Thranduil said and lifted one foot to show Thorin the narrow piece of metal that seemed to come right out of his shoe and replaced the sole as the point of contact with the ice. How that explained everything though was a mystery to Thorin.
"Hele-what?"
"Crudely translated it means 'iceshoes'." Thranduil shrugged. "I'm not surprised you do not know about it, it makes sense then that I've never seen a man nor dwarf with one."
"Of course not, I would not want to break all of my limbs doing … that," Thorin growled, gesturing at a group of elves spinning madly around each other. As he did it, he nearly fell on his bum again, and of course Thranduil laughed. Of course the elf would find it funny.
"Not all dwarves think as you do though," the Elvenking claimed after Thorin had stopped cursing in Khuzdul, forgetting for a moment that the elf actually understood what he was muttering.
"I really doubt it."
"No, look, Tauriel has brought young Kíli some helechebad as well. I must say they make a striking figure."
"What?" Thorin whirled around, nearly slipping again, but Thranduil was right, there were Tauriel and Kíli, both wrapped in warm wool and furs, wearing those strange metal blades under their boots and moving – bumpily on Kíli's part, but moving still – across the ice at a far greater speed than their movements indicated.
"Irak'adad!" Kíli shouted and waved happily, but the sudden movement skewed his balance and he would have fallen on his face if not for Tauriel, who gripped the back of his coat. He did not let that deter him however, and he continued to make his way towards Thorin and Thranduil with the boundless joy of a mannish puppy. "You have to try this too, it is amazing!"
"I do believe Legolas carries some spare ones," Thranduil added innocently.
"I won't. I refuse to put on one of these faulty elvish designs," Thorin insisted, even though it did look quite majestic the way Kíli just seemed to fly across the surface effortlessly. And judging by the grins on everyone's faces it had to be a lot of fun too. Right now the only thing keeping him from trying them on was the knowledge that he would fail epically at looking this elegant. The chances were he was going to make an utter fool of himself, and of course it would amuse Thranduil more than anything. Sadly, prince Legolas also did not seem to want to rescue Thorin, but handed his father the spare hele-things, with which the Elvenking was currently threatening him with.
"Just strap them to your boots, it will be fine," the elf coaxed, dangling the metal in front of him, and really, they didn't look brittle or rusty, it was trustworthy steel, but Thorin was afraid of letting go of his wooden post. In the end Thranduil simply lifted his foot and attached the iceshoe to it as if he were a horse at the blacksmith's. Thorin was not happy about that at all, while everyone else seemed to have a really good time laughing at him wobbling on the iceshoes.
"And what do I do now?"
"Stand like this," Tauriel said and stood with her heels connecting, but her toes pointing outwards. "And then you do a waddling walking motion like this." And lo and behold, she miraculously moved forward.
"But that's not what you did before," Thorin complained, trying to mimic her. It was harder than anticipated even to keep his feet still.
"That is for more advanced skaters."
"What, and Kíli is advanced?" Thorin snorted playfully and shot his nephew a grin. Kíli just smirked, watching him toddle on his metal blades. Their edge was sharp enough to catch on the ice, so he did not immediately fall on his bum, but they wobbled horribly.
"Let us test your balance," Thranduil said just that moment, and he flailed about when the elf hooked his gloved fingers in his belt and dragged, almost sending him flying onto his back – but he was moving!
Thorin let out a whoop at the feeling of the airstream tousling his hair, and when he could see Thranduil's cheeks pinching in amusement, he laughed.
"Watch where you're going, elf," he said and gripped the Elvenking's elbow for more stability. Thranduil only continued to move his feet in a strange waving pattern across the ice. How this created a forward – or rather in Thranduil's case backward – momentum was beyond Thorin's understanding, even more so since the ice under their feet turned out to be far bumpier and treacherous than it seemed. The faster Thranduil made them go, the worse the vibrations and jolts got, until Thorin's iceshoe caught on a crack and sent him flying directly into the Elvenking's arms.
"Mahal!" he shouted in surprise. It had happened so fast, he didn't quite know how he got into a position where his face was practically pressed into Thranduil's stomach. Luckily, the elf did not seem offended if the chuckles shifting said stomach under his cheek were any indication. Well, at least his coat was soft, and there was some residual heat from his body too, warming Thorin's rather chilled cheek. It rather felt like a hug, with their arms wrapped around each other for stability.
"Careful," Thranduil laughed and disentangled himself from Thorin. "This natural ice can be quite rough. Are you hurt?"
"No, no, just …"
Thranduil hummed and nodded.
"Cross your arms," he said, and Thorin hesitantly did so. When the elf then went to stand behind him, a solid weight settled against his back, he opened his mouth to ask what this was all about, but then Thranduil's hands snaked through the small gap between Thorin's biceps and armpits. For a second he tried to recall when he had had this coat washed for the last time, but the elf's hands were covered in gloves anyway. Also it was his own fault if he stuck his fingers there and got some dwarf sweat in return. Maybe he even liked the smell, who knew with these elves anyway.
"This should be more stable," Thranduil explained and pushed gently until they were as fast as before. Without the elf obscuring his view he was now able to marvel at the elves flitting about all around them, crossing in front of them and passing by them without much of a care.
"Do you think you can handle more?"
"I can handle anything!" Thorin boasted, but then the world tilted and he screamed in horror at the feeling of being pulled apart, of being stretched and compressed at the same time. Far away he registered the resonating sound of someone laughing, and there were strong hands holding him securely, almost painfully. And whenever his hair did not obscure his view, blurred flickers of white, blue and green filled his vision; the cold nipped at his nose and ears, and suddenly his legs caught onto something and everything came to a sudden halt.
The world continued to reel for a while longer, with the added sensation of his stomach trying to turn inside out. He realised that his screams had now turned into miserable groaning, and that all that was keeping him from collapsing was a pair of strong arms wrapped around him.
"Please forgive me, but this is the most hilarious thing I have seen or heard in several centuries," he heard Thranduil gasp between silent fits of laughter, and there were others laughing and chattering all around them too.
"Put me down," Thorin groaned, angrily flailing his legs and chopping holes into the ice surface with the sharp heels of his iceshoes. "I think you have had enough fun on my expenses, Elvenking."
"I am sorry."
Thorin wobbled, suddenly bereft of the stabilising weight behind him, and slowly turned around to look at Thranduil, who had a gloved hand pressed against his lips, perhaps in shock or maybe to keep himself from laughing.
"Get me back to the shore," Thorin commanded, holding out his hands, and the elf obliged silently, his face a stoic mask again apart from a lively glint in his eyes. Once Thorin was securely attached to a wooden railing again and the iceshoes gone, he had to crane his neck to see Thranduil's face, who was perched atop the metal construction bound to his boots and thus stood even taller than usual.
"I apologise," the elf said softly. "I forgot that not all enjoy this sensation. It needs time to get used to in any way."
Thorin grumbled sceptically, but he actually had enjoyed himself before – well, before that blasted elf decided to twirl him around like a puppet. Dwarves did not get thrown, lifted, carried or twirled, for Mahal's sake. Thranduil should know that, or perhaps he'd been holed up in his Halls for too long that his pretty head got too mushed and it made him delirious.
"I should go and see if my bet has paid off or not," Thorin said after he had regained his breath and turned to leave, but a softly scraping sound told him that Thranduil was following him.
"Now that I have tried to show you the joys of ice skating, perhaps you could explain to me the appeal of losing gold over racing goats."
Enraged, Thorin spluttered and gestured.
"It is far more than that!" he bellowed, pointing at where the rams stood in their boxes, snuffling, kicking and trampling. "Each one of these goats have been bred for this purpose only, coming from noble lineages that trace back to wild living ancestors. They have the sharpest and surest hooves, the largest and most perfected horns, and the sturdiest and thickest of furs. To have tamed and trained one of them is a hard, demanding and risky task since they can easily overpower even a dwarf. To find one that has equally unquenchable fire and cold determination in its nature is only for those with an eye for these kinds of things."
"And which one is yours?" Thranduil asked, pointing at the rows of boxes.
"Come, I will show Id-u'naj to you. But don't get too close or he'll split your pretty head in two with one hit."
Thranduil chuckled, and Thorin only smiled secretly. Well, the elf was in for a surprise if he wasn't going to take Id-u'naj seriously enough. The beast his stable master had tamed in Erebor's name was truly terrific and wild, worthy of its name and of Erebor.
"Here he is," Thorin laughed and hit the box' side – the answering howl and rattle made even him jump back in caution. He himself could not peer over the wooden wall, but apparently Thranduil could, since he craned his neck slightly and curiously observed the animal inside.
"He looks fierce," was all he said as he was stepping forward, stretching out a hand and reaching inside before Thorin or his stable master could stop the elf.
"Mahal, you are going to get your hand ripped off!" shrieked the other dwarf, raking his hair, obviously not daring to touch the Elvenking – but Thorin did and brought himself between Thranduil and the box, trying to push him away.
"Oh, leave him, he has been wanting a decent ear scratch since he was put in this Eru-forsaken stable!" Thranduil complained and then made a soft cooing sound. "Such a lovely boy, yes you are lovely …"
"What?"
Thorin dared to let go of the Elvenking's robe and scrambled to peek over the rim of the box, where he saw the midnight black battle ram nuzzling Thranduil's hand like a touch-starved kitten, all the while bleating with his tongue dangling from his mouth.
"What did you do to him?" Thorin growled.
"Nothing," Thranduil replied innocently, scratching harder until the ram all but melted onto the hay-covered ground. "How do you think I befriended my elk, hm? Not by putting it into constructions like this for sure. Ah, yes, such a good boy!"
"You cannot befriend him – he is not a good boy!" Thorin shouted, trying to claw the elf's arm away from the ram. "He is a ruthless fighter and a wild racer!"
"Very well." Thranduil stepped back, and immediately Id-u'naj started stomping and huffing aggressively again.
"What elvish magic did you put on him?" Thorin demanded to know.
"If you call affection magic, then you are truly daft." Thranduil's mouth distorted until it was set into a wide sneer. "Perhaps you should consider rewarding your animals with love instead of depraving them of it until they are raving mad."
"These rams are no toys or cuddly toys, elf. They have a purpose, and they serve it, that is all."
"You brute – that is slavery!"
"Rams are not people!"
"They still have thoughts and feelings. They feel pain and sorrow. How dare you make them suffer deliberately, for your own entertainment!"
Thorin growled stubbornly and clenched his fist, but faced with the wide flashing eyes of the Elvenking, heaving agitated breaths, he could only watch as Thranduil shouted something in his alien tongue Thorin could not understand and rushed off.
"Blasted elf," he snarled, standing in front of Id-u'naj's box and listening to the ram's hostile bleating and stamping. His stable master carefully checked the stable and the restless animal inside, going in wide berths around a similarly frantic Thorin.
Mahal's beard! The elf had successfully managed to spoil any and all fun Thorin could have had today on the frozen lake. Though he had promised Fíli and Dís to get them some of that awfully sticky sweet stuff that the Laketowners so liked to drown everything in. At least that he could do.
But when he approached the booths that sold this caramel that his sister and nephew so loved, he spotted Thranduil again, this time with his iceshoes bound together by their buckles and slung over his shoulder. He was talking to a young woman, and now that he looked a bit closer … wasn't that Sigrid, eldest daughter of Bard's? Compared to the last time he'd seen either of the newly minted royals the girl looked far more her part of the princess than before. Thorin also liked the way she jutted her chin at the Elvenking, not budging under that aged, hallowed gaze. A strong one, this Sigrid. But he really needed to get past them in order to get to that caramel seller.
Thorin tried to look as inconspicuous as possible, though being rather tall for a dwarf and quite broad too, it was not an easy task. Dwarves were just not made for sneaking – he would have to really compliment Bilbo more.
Of course Thranduil heard him, and Sigrid spotted him. The human girl came over to him to greet him, curtseying politely.
"Your Majesty, are you enjoying yourself?"
"Your Highness," he rasped, giving a small bow. "Indeed I did – until a certain elf decided to criticise dwarvish sport after having forced so-called elvish pastime onto me."
Sigrid's eyes widened, and for a moment he thought she was on his side, but then she broke into choked laughter. Thranduil over her shoulder looked decidedly unamused.
"That sounds very different from what the Elvenking told me," Sigrid giggled behind her hand.
"Oh, and what did he poison your young ears with? That all animals should be freed of human and dwarvish dominance? Pah!" Enraged, Thorin leaned to the side and pointed a finger at Thranduil around Sigrid, who had been blocking his view. "You did not even hesitate to besmirch my people's honour unfoundedly."
"I merely saw the suffering of those poor animals and pointed it out to you – and all you did was react aggressively!" Thranduil seethed. "Pardon me for caring about living, breathing beings."
"Alright," Sigrid laughed, "I see now what Da meant when he said 'dwarf-elf rivalry'."
"Not to forget that the great Thorin Oakenshield promised me to consider friendship between us," Thranduil continued heatedly. "I cannot be friends with someone who would willingly torture animals just for his amusement!"
"I never did that, and none of these rams ever were tortured, would you just listen?" Thorin roared and stalked past Sigrid to point an accusing finger at the elf.
"Well, how would you know? Did you ever visit their training grounds, King holed-up-under-his-Mountain?"
Speechless Thorin let out an enraged growl, before resorting to the most basic of angry-yelling strategies: insults.
"I never wanted to be your friend anyway, you beardless tree-shagger, your very presence disgusts me!"
"Good, since I do not want to see your ugly face anymore either!"
"Oh, so I'm ugly now?" Thorin sneered. "I thought you liked beards? Or does it bother you that my hair is not red as your lover's? Oh wait, I would not want to look like him, since you killed him."
Thranduil's shocked face was priceless, and Thorin revelled in the lit flame in those sky eyes. What he had not expected was the backhanded hit this earned him. Blinking he found himself lying in the snow, a numb pain in his jaw.
"How dare you," the elf gritted out, but it sounded more like a choked sob. Perhaps Thorin's cheeks did not burn from the blow then as he saw the tears running down Thranduil's face.
"Thranduil …" he whispered and got to his feet, but the elf disappeared in a swirl of his cloak, like a cloud of snow. The people that had gathered, drawn to this spot by their screaming, shuffled and looked at each other.
"What are you all staring at," he bellowed, and they scattered like a flock of sheep until he was alone with Sigrid. The girl looked at him from hazel eyes and scanned his face with her shrewd gaze.
"You should apologise to him, but I doubt it would do much," she said.
"Agreed," Thorin growled, massaged his stinging jaw and marched home. Only when Dís fussed over his apparently bruising face he remembered that he had forgotten to bring her the caramel treat she liked so much.
"Don't worry about that, you old fool," she reprimanded him as she put on a healing ointment. "You should worry about the alliance with the Woodland Realm and this united north you promised everyone. Talk to me. Tell me what happened."
Thorin winced.
"Do you remember that sketch? Njál, son of Njord of Nogrod."
"Yes …" she said slowly and sat in front of him, her petite hands folded in front of her.
"He was … I should not be telling you this, Thranduil would have my head …"
"I think I know," Dís cut in. "I did some research on my own. They were … close, weren't they?"
"Yes. And I just used this knowledge to hurt Thranduil because of a stupid argument." Thorin groaned and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Now that his temperament had cooled off he did not feel as triumphant as he had then.
"He trusted you with this, and you betrayed his trust," Dís said pitilessly.
"What do I do? I can't face him – he would either decapitate me on the spot or we would just shout at each other again." Frustrated, he fiddled with the clasps on his braids. "Why do we have that effect on each other? It is like we are cursed. No matter how much we try, we always seem to revert back to … this." He pointed at his swelling jaw, which made it harder and harder to speak properly.
"Give it time," Dís suggested, but she sounded unsure.
"He once told me that a hundred years are a mere blink in the life of an elf. I can't give it time, or I'll be dead before he blinks."
They looked at each other then, hopeless in silence. It was as if a gust of wind had ripped their cards out of their hands. The game had changed, and they did not know the rules anymore. Thorin was running blind, but he knew – run he must.
Author's Note: I derived helechabad from heleg (ice) and habad (shoe), with the consonant cluster 'gh' being modified to 'ch', but pronounced like in 'Ch'ristmas and not like 'Ch'uck. Yes, I'm a nerd.