Chapter 12
A Game of Words
Of all these goings-on in Erebor I was very much unaware. I had barely even begun to wrap my head around the madness that was Middle Earth. Some people might wonder why I did not try to deny longer that I was in Rivendell and the answer is simple. When you're there, it does not feel like any other place you have ever been. True, stand in any other part of Middle Earth and you might fool yourself into thinking you're in an uninhabited part of the world maybe, or that you have accidentally stumbled into a medieval re-enactment of some sort. But Rivendell is different. It's in a sense almost alien. There is peace there, a quiet, a sense of just being. It's serene, yes, that would be the word I am looking for. The colours are brighter too and you can feel the magic. It's not very obvious, but always at the tip of your fingers and you can taste it on your tongue. I suppose that is what gives Rivendell its air of serenity, that cannot be found elsewhere.
It also helped me sleep; despite my anxiety I slept deep and woke better rested than I had been in years. What little hope I had that it was all a dream, it fled in the early morning light. It was all still as real as it had been the previous day. And it became increasingly clear that an instant solution would not be found. I had been warned by all the dwarves not to hold on to the hope that Gandalf's expected arrival would bring any change in my situation, but I did all the same. Surely it could not have been his intention to take Harry as well. Surely he didn't know I had a child. If he had, he would have chosen Peter for the job. And it wasn't too late yet to set the record straight, was it?
Nevertheless I took Glóin's words to heart. I wasn't quite ready to walk back into that library after the spectacle I had made there on the day of my arrival and The Lord of the Rings was the only book I had to keep myself entertained. Harry was off with Alfur, who was glad to have something to do, and where the other dwarves went off to during the day, I didn't know. I didn't exactly feel comfortable asking either. For all their kindness, they still made me feel uncertain. They were in many things quite similar to humans, but then, when I thought I had gotten the hang of communicating with them, I said something they didn't like and I had to start all over again. It didn't help that I didn't know what exactly it was that I had said wrong.
Communicating with dwarves is almost a form of art that takes a long time to master. But then, talking to dwarves is easy compared to interacting with elves, as on the other side of the Misty Mountains the King under the Mountain was about to find out…
Duria
The day did not begin well. It started off with the unpleasant discovery that Jack had invited himself along on the trip to take out the Easterling scouts. She understood his reasoning. In fact it showed some remarkable self-knowledge to remove himself from a situation that might cause him to do undefined but most certainly irreparable damage to the talks. It would have been nice to know of it beforehand, though. Now she only found out when he had already left. He hadn't even left a note; she'd heard the news from Lufur when she asked where her younger brother might be found on this fine morning.
Of course, fine was not the word Duria would use to describe aforementioned morning. Thoren looked like he was nursing a hangover – exactly how much he had consumed last night to become like this she didn't want to know – and many of her friends did not look much better.
They ought to know better than to try and drink the elves under the table by now, she thought furiously. It was always the same. They should know that the elves always won. They had an unfair natural advantage that dwarves lacked. Of course this had not stopped Thoren.
Speaking off. He was making his way over to her, squinting against the influx of light, with Halin and Narvi following in his wake, both of them imitating their king. Halin was rubbing his temples in hopes of relief, but obviously found none.
'Tell me true, did the Mountain fall on my head?' Thoren asked.
'If it did, I fear my head was placed right next to yours,' Halin responded. Duria frowned at this newfound familiarity. Last she checked, Thoren and Halin had tolerated each other at best. Maker have mercy, what happened last night?
'It was a whole mountain range,' Narvi declared. He was still in yesterday's clothes and his hair was sticking out in all directions. Well, if he was arriving with his brothers-in-law, that would explain why his bed had not been slept in. What have these three been up to?
There was many a day when Duria silently lamented her lot in life. It was no easy task being the sensible one in the family. The only sensible one, it would seem. Thoren was getting himself drunk on the night before the talks, Thráin couldn't stay still for more than a minute, now Cathy had discovered she liked wandering off and Jack had gone and done a disappearing act without telling any of them.
She held out the goblets in their direction. 'Drink,' she commanded.
They only now noticed her. 'Duria!' Narvi said. 'Didn't see you there.'
He was her husband and she loved him dearly, but Mahal help her when he was being a fool. 'Having one's eyes open does improve one's skills of observation,' she replied.
Halin wrinkled his nose and looked suspiciously at the brew. 'What in Durin's name is that?'
Thoren saved her the bother of answering. 'Aunt Thora's hangover remedy,' he moaned. 'Stinks like troll's shit and tastes worse.'
'You know that, do you?' Halin very probably attempted to joke – and in his current condition did a very poor job of it – whilst taking a second sniff and doing a very quick step backwards.
'The things Thráin would make you do on a dare…' Thoren trailed off. He took a deep breath and accepted one of the goblets. 'It does get rid of the headache,' he allowed. 'Hold your nose, don't think and swallow as quickly as you can.'
'Does it improve the taste that way?' Halin was the only one who was still not convinced and so Duria took the decision away from him. She pushed the goblet into his hands and let go. Instinct made her brother-in-law grab it before it dropped.
'Not a bit,' she replied briskly. 'Or so I have been told.' She turned to Thoren. 'What in Durin's name were you thinking, Thoren? Getting drunk last night of all nights? Have you forgotten how much is at stake?'
To her surprise, Halin answered. 'Not for a moment, I assure you, my lady.'
It explained nothing. It justified even less. 'Care to explain?' she asked acidly. She had more or less forgiven Halin for their childhood enmity, but he was by no means a friend of hers. Like Thoren, she tolerated him. Unlike Thoren, getting drunk with him once did not change that. At all.
'We were interrogating Lainor.' Narvi jumped to Halin's defence.
Maker grant her patience. 'You attempted to interrogate an elf by getting him drunk?'
Thoren had the nerve to smirk at her. 'Who says we didn't succeed? That Dorwinian wine really works wonders on them, you know. How did that saying of amad's go again? He sang like a…' Here his memory failed him, so he settled on, 'like some sort of bird by the time we were done.' The three of them were looking ridiculously pleased with themselves, well considering they were dwarves with a hangover.
If they had not been in a public place, Duria would have punched them all on principle.
'That's what you were drinking?' she hissed in outrage. 'The cursed Dorwinian stuff?' It sufficed to make even the elves forget their dignity. It did a lot worse to their kind.
'Don't make such a fuss,' Narvi said. 'We didn't touch it. Most of the time.'
There would be time for shouting later, she promised herself. Better still, she might let it "accidentally" slip within Uncle Dori's hearing. That would serve them right. In the meantime, there were things to be done and meetings to be attended. And they were already running slightly late. 'He had better something useful to say,' she said.
'Oh, he did,' Thoren said. 'I told you he was singing some very pretty tunes. Well, not literally.'
'Though he did do that later on, if memory serves,' Narvi added. 'Oh, wait, you were passed out by then.'
Duria would have felt better not knowing that. 'What. Did. He. Say?'
'Just that Thranduil is a tiny bit angry over Elvaethor's change of loyalties and that he's going to stall for as long as possible, but he won't run out either, because that would mean he'd lose face.' For someone who generally did not have a mind for politics, Narvi sure remembered a lot. Then again, she wouldn't have married him if he had been an idiot. She couldn't abide the presence of fools, which rather made her wonder why she hadn't given up on her own siblings yet. 'And they're actually really worried about Dol Guldur.'
'So, if we can cut the whining short, we might be able to get some elvish help here and we can send some dwarves there to have a wee bit of a look at their defences,' Halin continued. 'Because I've had a look around when I was there and the palace is strong enough, but the rest is a disaster waiting to happen.'
'You can't beat dwarvish work,' Narvi pointed out. 'I never did see what all those little decorations were good for.'
'The elves think they're pretty to look at,' Duria explained. To elves that was reason enough. Duria also thought elves were fools, but that was another matter.
'And as much use as a nightdress in a thunderstorm, if you're asking me,' Thoren said. Duria dreaded to think where he had picked up this charming piece of wisdom. 'If we offer help first before we actually go asking for it, we might actually get something done before those cursed Easterlings decide they're tired of banging on Dáin's gates and move on to ours.'
'Such words of wisdom,' a pleasant voice remarked. Duria turned around and came face to face with the new Master of Esgaroth. His manners had been agreeable enough the night before, but it had not escaped Duria's notice that he had not made any promises and on the whole had remained very vague. And now he was found eavesdropping. He was just as shifty as the elves.
'Good morning, Lord Ingor,' Thoren said. 'I trust you slept well?'
'Very well,' was the reply. 'I must also give my compliments for the excellent feast of last night. You dwarves know how to give a proper celebration.'
'A mere welcoming feast.' Thoren must have picked up on the man's manners. They did not feel entirely genuine. 'We will not celebrate until such time as an alliance is signed.' That may have been too blunt. Then again, Thoren wasn't one for subtleties. 'If not, all cause for celebration will dry up as soon as the Enemy overruns this area.'
There was a sliver of ice in Ingor's eyes. 'As I hear tell it, you could have prevented such a turn of events. After all, it was you who antagonised the envoy who came in peace to your gates.'
Duria had to bite her tongue in order not to say something that would end the talks before they had even begun. The man had a nerve, all but accusing them of starting the war themselves. He was truly naïve if he thought that Sauron would let this region be. Duria knew her history. The Lord of Mordor would accept nothing less than complete domination over all of Middle Earth. He could not afford to let one region alone while there were people there who could oppose him. And oppose him they would, not out of the goodness of their hearts, but out of self-preservation. Dwarves took ill to being ruled over by someone who was not one of their own.
And Thoren took badly to allegations of the kind Lord Ingor had just made. 'You would be wrong in thinking Sauron would ever pass by your little town,' he spoke icily.
'Would I?' the Master asked. 'He would benefit enormously from such an arrangement, I should think. After all, his minions need to eat.'
'Aye, his minions need to eat,' Narvi said. He had shown remarkable restraint by not opening his mouth before now. There was however a limit to his tolerance of mannish ignorance and it had just been reached. 'Do you know what orcs like best for supper?'
'I cannot say I am well acquainted with the diet of orcs,' Lord Ingor replied. How he kept his voice so pleasant while his words were so poisonous, Duria would never know. 'But do enlighten me, if you would be so kind, Master Dwarf.'
Narvi didn't need telling twice. 'People, my lord,' he said. 'They care not if these are elves, dwarves or indeed men.'
If the colour of the Master's skin was any indication, he had not been aware of this. And why would he? Erebor and Dale had done more than their parts in these past decades to keep the horrors away from the town on the Long Lake. And when there was no immediate threat, the people of the Lake liked nothing better than to pretend the rest of the world was just as safe as their little town. They had forgotten what it had been like before Erebor and Dale had been restored, when orcs roamed unchecked and took what they liked if they happened to be passing by, if the dragon did not take it first.
Men were forgetful like that. They did not remember their history like dwarves and elves did. Then again, many of them were illiterate, so even if one man wrote down the events of his time for the next generation, there was no guarantee the next generation would be able to read it. The men of Dale were better. They benefitted of the closeness of Erebor in more ways than just trade. And though Esgaroth was only a few days' ride away, the differences between the two were startling.
Halin had clearly decided the Master had not been properly terrified just yet. 'Trolls do have a taste for the flesh of men as well,' he told the man. 'Our informants have brought back reports that they too are employed in Sauron's service and in numbers larger than ever before in recorded history. They have no need of trade, my lord. They take what they like. They do not pay.' He did not seem nearly as hungover as he had been just a few minutes past.
'Orcs and goblins are roaming the Misty Mountains in numbers again,' Thoren picked up where his brother by marriage had left off. 'Reports have reached us that armies are amassing in both the East and Mordor. Read the signs, my lord, read them well. And then decide where you stand.' He too had sobered up in a matter of minutes. And Duria knew that look. Her oldest brother could do diplomacy, but he could no more abide fools than she could, though generally he knew to hide it better. Except today he was not at his best, still recovering from a hangover he shouldn't have had in the first place and there was a man trying to convince them it would be best to have Mordor for a trading partner. That he actually said this out of actual ignorance made it all ten times worse.
Of course Lord Ingor did not take this advice the way it was meant. 'Are you threatening me?'
'I am telling you the facts such as they are,' Thoren replied icily. 'You may do with that as you see fit. All the advice I would give you is to remember that Erebor would offer your people shelter and defence, while the elves have a long history of not lifting so much as a finger to help the people they call allies.'
He turned on his heels and gestured for the other three to follow him. They did, leaving the Master alone to give those words the consideration they needed. Duria had agreed with them whole-heartedly. Of course she did, for they were the truth. But that did not mean she could not recognise the foolishness in speaking them so bluntly and in such a way that they could be misinterpreted as a threat or an attempt at blackmail. But Thoren was getting desperate, and he had not even heard her news yet.
He promptly asked about it. 'Has anyone seen Jack?' he asked.
'He has gone,' Duria reported. She could not keep the sour tone out of her voice. 'Lufur told me just a quarter of an hour past.'
Thoren rubbed his temples. 'Gone where?' he asked wearily.
'East,' she said. 'Dwalin returned last night with news of Easterling scouts too close to the Mountain.' She wished there was a way to bring this news that would soften the blow somewhat. Her brother's nerves had been frayed quite enough already and the pressure he was under was immense. She would not add to his burdens if she could help it. But she could not and so it was perhaps best to get it all over with. Whether she broke it to him gently or not would make the news she brought no less urgent and no less alarming. 'The patrol that found them disposed of them, but Dwalin thought there was sufficient reason to believe that was not the only group.' She had taken his word for it; her interest was in academic problems, not in military matters. But even Duria had realised the importance of the message.
Her thoughts wandered back to the conversation she'd had with Fíli about her mother and the knowledge she had possessed some months back. If only there was such a book, telling them what to do. She would feel reassured if she knew there was a possibility all would end well. And if a book did not offer such a possibility, then people could learn from the mistakes described in the pages and turn the future towards a different path. Surely it would be a reassurance to Thoren to have such a thing. He needed the guidance, but he needed the hope even more. And Duria was not suited to give him what he needed.
'So soon.' Thoren looked solemn before, but he was outdoing himself. 'I had hoped we had more time.' He shook his head, only barely stopping himself from pulling his hand through his hair as he was wont to do when he was thinking. 'I knew I should have played for time with Sauron's envoy.'
'You should have done no such thing,' Halin disagreed, making Duria marvel once more at the quite alarming change in her brother-in-law. What had happened last night? 'He was offering us insult and you were having none of it. That is as it should be. He should not have presumed that we would sink so low as to betray a friend. You did well.' Duria's eyebrows must surely have migrated all the way up to her hairline, if not beyond, by now. Approval from Lady Nai's son? What had the world come to?
'For all the good that it has done us,' Thoren snorted. 'I presume Jack has gone off to deal with the remaining scouts?' He had turned back to Duria and there was some worry in his voice now. He was right to be worried, too, because Jack could be reckless and idiotic, especially on one of his bad days.
'He has Flói with him,' said Duria. She had heard herself say those exact words so many times, but it was the best she had to offer. Any dwarf worth his beard would give his life in defence of their brother, but only Flói had the capacity to break through the walls of his mind and make him listen. And that was needed more than anything else. 'He will return.' And now for the even more unpleasant news. 'Elvaethor has gone with them. He felt it wiser to not confront his king unnecessarily.'
True. There was wisdom in such a course of action. But Thranduil would be out of humour whether Elvaethor was there or not and Thoren craved the assistance of his oldest friend. He had tried to hide his relief yesterday, but Duria knew him well enough to see through it. He'd been given the gift of a friend that he could rely on, that he could look to for guidance and advice. And now he had left already.
'I see,' he said. 'Any others I would miss?' Aye, he was vexed and hurt.
'Dwalin has taken some of the guard,' Duria replied. She tried not to feel the hurt when he so easily overlooked her once more. She was his sister, but he never truly confided in her. He trusted her to see to the practical matters, but matters that were close to his heart were discussed with others. 'I do not know all of the names. But Lufur is still here.' That ought to be a consolation.
'I see,' Thoren said again.
He did, but he clearly wasn't pleased about it. He had all the support of the Mountain at his disposal and it was just not enough.
He needs amad's knowledge, Duria knew. And of course that was the one thing he could never have. It was what her family was good at, forever wanting the things that were out of their reach.
She could only hope an alliance wasn't one of those things.
Thoren
There was a strange atmosphere of tension and expectation in the council chambers, Thoren found when he walked in. All those present had either refrained from indulging in wine the previous night or had severely limited their intake, for they all seemed to be awake and alert. Thank the Maker for Aunt Thora's remedy. He could ill afford not to have his head in the game, but last night's interrogation had worked out better than he could have hoped, so his painful head had been a price worth paying.
And it was a miracle all these people were even assembled in the same room. Thoren was a little surprised that Lord Ingor had made it this quickly. He still had not quite recovered his former state of arrogance, but he nodded respectfully in Thoren's direction despite the tongue-lashing that must still be very fresh in his memory. But then again, it could all be a farce. There had been something distinctly fake about his manners.
He spoke the words of welcome that were expected of him, but did not linger long on that part of the meeting. Everyone here knew who everybody else was, so there was no need for introductions. If there was one obscure advisor whose name was not yet known, he could introduce himself before he spoke the words he meant to say. It would certainly save them all some time.
'You are all aware of the reason why we have gathered,' he said.
'We are indeed.' Thranduil wasted no time in interrupting. 'Though you have tried to conceal it from this council, you have called the wrath of the Enemy on yourself.'
That was a very thorough and deliberate misinterpretation of the events, but he had known in advance that the elven king would be difficult, even more so after Elvaethor's actions of the previous day.
Still, it set his teeth on edge. And not just his teeth either. 'Then you've been wrongly informed.' Loni was one of his older advisors, a jeweller by trade, and a very quiet dwarf on the whole. His only son had died in the Battle of the Five Armies and he had never been the same after. But he was wise and he had good counsel to offer. For him to open his mouth so early on was odd and testimony to just how vexed he was at the elves' accusations.
Thranduil smiled pleasantly, but there was ice in his eyes. 'Pray tell.'
With pleasure, Lord Elf, Thoren thought. And so he did. He described the envoy that had come to the gates, the message he delivered and the threat in his words. He told of his refusal to sell out a dear friend to the Enemy and his reasons for doing so. 'Bilbo Baggins has always been a dear friend to Durin's Folk, a hero of a legendary quest. Whatever it is that the Enemy thinks he has, my people will not be used to bring about his downfall.' Even now, when the consequences of his actions were looming ever larger, he knew that he had not erred in acting as he had. He good not in good conscience have acted any other way. Even to stall would have been a betrayal of the friendship with the hobbit. Maybe others would not look on it that way, but Thoren certainly would.
'A most admirable course of action,' Brand declared. The old King of Dale was nodding in approval. Thoren was grateful for it, for it seemed his words were not that well received by the delegates from Mirkwood and Esgaroth. 'That ought to be an example to us all.' Thoren remembered that Brand had always been a wee bit reckless. It was not a good quality in a king, but Durin's beard, was he glad of it now.
Then again, maybe he had spent some time thinking about it, because Thranduil looked a little uncomfortable. After all, he had more than implied that Thoren's actions could not be condoned, because it had brought war to these lands. And Thoren had not forgotten Duria's news about the scouts roaming so nearby.
'Thank you, King Brand,' he said. 'Your support in these troubled times is a blessing.' It was. There was no falsehood in those words.
'We have stood with the dwarves of Erebor for many years and would be glad to do so for many more to come.' The King of Dale was clearly trying to make a point. 'We would be honoured to answer this threat side by side.'
Jack had pointed out some time ago that Brand was just as scared as Thranduil, so he ran towards Erebor for help, knowing of their strength and the almost impregnable stronghold that the Mountain was. His youngest brother may have been right, but that did not mean that Brand was a coward. He was glad Jack hadn't implied as much. Brand was not afraid of battle, but he feared for his people. Dale was vulnerable. The Mountain at their back was the best reassurance that they had.
'We would be honoured indeed,' Thoren said. It was good to know that at least one of the three guests would stand with him. 'There is great wisdom in facing the Enemy together.'
'As opposed to letting the Enemy pick us off one by one.'
To Thoren's surprise the speaker was one of the men of the Long Lake, a dark-haired man with a beard. He was relatively young; Thoren hadn't seen his face here before. Lord Ingor had employed a lot of new faces and dismissed the old ones. Maker only knows why he had done that. There would be a reason, an ulterior motive. Ingor was the kind of man who indulged in plotting and mind games. He only wished that either Cathy or Elvaethor was here to explain it to him. But Elvaethor was off on his mission and unleashing his sister on this assembly was a sure way to spell disaster.
'That is what has been implied more than once, has it not?' he went on. 'That we will all be overrun unless we combine our strength?'
'Indeed,' his neighbour said. 'It will be well known to you that Esgaroth has a few strong natural defences, but her people have little training in the art of war. Our strength lies in trade and fishing. We are a simple people, but we are also needed by many.' There was pride in his voice.
Thoren had visited the place a couple of times and he had always found it a very interesting town, if incredibly smelly; he had been able to smell fish even a month after his departure. The oldest parts were built over the Long Lake. All buildings in that part were made exclusively of wood, a fire hazard if ever he saw one. The newer parts were built on shore and mostly built of stone. It was slightly safer, but Esgaroth lacked city walls. The inhabitants of the town had always felt that walls were off-putting for their trading partners and either way, if the attack came from over the water, a wall wouldn't be any use at all.
'What my lord is trying to say is that we have many trading partners, not all of them in this region.' The first man took over again. 'We have ties with the lands to the south and east and our services are greatly valued by the people of these lands. Yet now you tell us that these same people would happily see us destroyed for no other reason than that one nearby kingdom has defied one of their allies?'
This was why Thoren hated diplomacy. No, it was why he hated mannish and elvish diplomacy. They could twist the truth so much to make it seem like white was black and black was white. There was just a tiny bit of truth in it, but nothing else made sense, not to someone who knew what was going on.
'Are you as much of a fool as you sound, my lord?' Apparently Brand's son and heir Bard didn't have much more patience for such foolery than Thoren did and he was also cursed with decidedly less patience and control over his own tongue. 'You would be wise not to underestimate the evil of Sauron and the sway he holds over the lands to the east. Learn your history and take note of the destruction he wrought upon Middle Earth when he was last powerful.' Bard was a man who knew his history. The one he was talking to clearly was not so blessed.
'The Easterlings do not depend on you alone for their trade.' Apparently Thorin Stonehelm was incapable of keeping quiet now that one of the Dale delegates had declared open season on the fools of the Lake. 'They have much trade amongst themselves and only come to you when they believe they can get it cheaper from you than elsewhere. They are not dependent on you and therefore will not hesitate to turn on you when they believe it is in their best interest to do so.'
Thoren was eternally grateful to his kinsman for speaking up. There was much more malice from the people of Esgaroth than he had anticipated and he could not quite fathom where it came from. They had always been cordial with one another before. Perhaps they were vexed that Thoren had done as he had with the envoy and had thus endangered their precious trade, but it could not be all. There was some undercurrent of ill will that he sensed, but did not comprehend. These games all went straight over his head and not for the first time this day he wished someone would explain to him what was going on that was not translated into words that all could hear.
Or maybe he did not need an interpreter, for just for one moment he had caught sight of Lainor. The elf had looked almost pleased for a second. One corner of his mouth had turned slightly upward, for just the time it would take to blink. But it was enough.
The elves had put the men up to this. Lainor in his inebriated state had told Thoren and his brothers by marriage that Thranduil would drag his heels, but he would not back out. How aforementioned heels were to be dragged had not been mentioned, but Thoren had a fair idea. It was sly and cunning and shady. But it was also well-known that the men of Esgaroth would go to great lengths for their trading partners. And this way, if the talks came to nothing, the elves could retreat into their woods and hide as they did so well. And no one would even dare to point the finger at them. Thranduil's hatred for dwarves must run deep indeed if he was willing to gamble this much with the fate of his realm and his people.
Or maybe he was still foolish enough to think that Sauron would let him be if he didn't ally himself with Sauron's enemies. Such a strategy had worked before when Smaug terrorised the region after all. But Sauron was not Smaug and the elf ought to know that. Hadn't he been alive already when Sauron was defeated?
The man snorted. 'You speak as if you know something of it, Master Dwarf. And as I hear tell it, you don't venture much outside.'
That had been the wrong thing to say. 'I hail from the Iron Hills, which are situated many miles to the east,' Stonehelm replied. It was a good thing he was holding onto the table; else he would surely have drawn steel already. 'For many centuries we traded with the men of the east, but history has not stopped them from turning on us lately.' He held the man's gaze with his own. 'Sauron will suffer no Free Folk in the world he intends to rule. If you consider yourself as such, you will not remain idle until it is too late.' Like many dwarves, Thoren's kinsman had no taste or skill for diplomacy. They all preferred straight and honest talk to these endless games. 'And if you insist on being foolish, do so at your own risk, but do not look to the dwarves for protection when all else fails.'
'Peace, Thorin,' Thoren said. There was a difference between being firm and being rude. Stonehelm had skirted the line just now, maybe even crossing over into dangerous territory. They could ill afford mistakes like that today. 'My kinsman spoke in haste, but he is not wrong,' he added to the men. 'We cannot carry on as we do now, bickering amongst ourselves, divided, while the Enemy is closing in on us. Even now, my people are out hunting down the Easterling scouts. They were found very near Erebor only yesterday. War is coming, whether you wish for it or not.'
'You speak of danger, but yet no declaration of war has been issued,' Lainor spoke smoothly. 'No envoy has come to our halls.'
'You have nothing Sauron wants that he needs your assistance to get,' Halin said brusquely. Like Thoren, he was clearly losing patience. 'And what you have, he can take. We know that Dol Guldur is occupied again and that evil things are gathering at your borders.' Stupid and reckless though Thráin may have been in actually going near that cursed place, there was no denying he had brought back some valuable information. 'We also know that you have very few defences in case of an attack. My people are prepared to rectify this, should you agree to this alliance.'
They had discussed this last night, before they got drunk. And then they had talked about it some more when they woke this morning. As it turned out, Halin was quite a decent fellow, really, once he stopped being so Lady Nai-ish. That it had taken Cathy sitting them down before the feast last night to have a proper talk was just a minor detail. Surely he would have worked it out on his own… eventually, some decades on.
This took the elves by surprise, though few did more than lift one eyebrow to show it. 'Dwarves offering favours?' Thranduil drawled. 'You must be desperate.'
'Impatient,' Thoren corrected. Aye, desperate, too, but that he could not say. Why all those present were not just as worried was a mystery to him. Did they truly underestimate the threat Sauron posed or were they truly as foolish as to believe that Sauron's wrath would be directed against Erebor and Dale alone? Did they think they would be left in peace? They could not, could they? 'Much time has been wasted and now there is almost nothing left. And when the Enemy's armies march on this region, I would see it prepared and defended. Sauron's evil cannot be allowed to gain a foothold here. Do you believe otherwise?'
He did not think so. Thranduil was many things, but evil he was not. The elves had never supported the darkness in any way. They would not do so now. It did not mean that they would lend aid to the people who needed it, not by any stretch of the imagination, not if they had an actual choice. He already knew that Thranduil would agree in the end. Elvaethor had made sure of that. And it seemed as if the protest of the men of Esgaroth had died a silent death when Stonehelm told them what's what. The elves would not have told them that, of this Thoren was sure. So now they only had to dance this complex dance of words and gestures, but the battle was already fought and won. He knew this, but it was exhausting. Thoren longed for the simplicity of crafting a good weapon or honing his skills on the training grounds. That was what he was made for, not this.
'My people have never given support to the cause of Sauron.' Thranduil was vexed. 'And at a high cost have they fought to ensure his downfall in a time long since gone. Do not speak to me of these matters, Thoren, son of Thorin. You have not seen what I have seen.'
'And I would ensure such evil will never touch this land,' Thoren said. Would it kill that elf to cooperate? 'With or without your aid.'
By rights he should have died on the spot from that glare. 'You have your mother's bearing and your father's single-mindedness, King under the Mountain,' the elven king spoke wryly. 'Very well, then. Let us hear what you have to say.'
It wasn't quite victory.
Yet.
The political situation in this region is a little different from Tolkien canon, as some of you may have noticed. The reasons for this I'll gladly explain to you in a pm if you want, but it would be too long for an author's note.
Next time: Jack hunts Easterlings and Beth meets a hobbit.
Thank you for reading. Reviews would be appreciated.
