Chapter Fourteen: What People Will Do For Gold

So on top of the stressful and annoying day I had the day I published that last chapter, I also had another one yesterday. I went up to London with my mum to buy a dress for my prom (technically it's a summer party) this summer. We looked everywhere, and by everywhere I mean EVERYWHERE. All the big brand shops down Oxford Street, all the department stores, everywhere. And there was nothing. There were a few dresses I liked, but not enough that I would buy them. And then we were going to go and have supper at this Korean restaurant, but when we got there, there was a queue out of the door and onto the street, so my supper ended up being fruit salad and some nuts from Waterloo station, before we got the train. I did get a nice handbag and some makeup, but it was still a really frustrating day.

Also, I have to go back to school on Tuesday. And I still have work I need to finish off. Which means I have not had nearly as much time as I would like to work on that oneshot I promised you. It's getting there, should be finished in a few days, but real life is just getting in the way.

Anyway, chapter. So finally there is the explanation of why Thranduil says, and does, what he does- I know it's a little conversation heavy, but it's necessary for people who haven't read the Silmarillion. Hopefully Thranduil's words will make a lot more sense, after this. And then there's the next scene, which I really loved writing. I think it's fair to assume that Legolas has been taught a bit, at least, about elven history and their old writings, etc. Also, for those who have been following me for a while, the song that is mentioned, O Summer Woods, is the same song that Belhadron sings in the story Surviving Peace, Chapter Six. The song itself has actually been written, and is lurking somewhere on my computer. One day, when i get around to it, I plan to translate it into Elvish (Quenya) and then publish it. If you're curious, ask, and I can let you know a verse or two of it.

I promise, the oneshot will be coming soon. As always, reviews are very welcome. I know sometimes it can be a bit daunting- you don't know what to say- but even saying 'I liked this!' or just a smiley face is really nice for me to see. Or if you want to ask something, or chat, I know it can be a bit daunting, but I honestly love talking to all of you guys.

0-o-0-o-0

"This," Bilbo said. "This is madness."

Gandalf laughed. "This is how wood elves fight."

Bilbo wasn't sure whether he should be impressed or simply scared. Two elves, ones he didn't recognise, were moving across a bare space of ground. Each of them was carrying a sword, but Bilbo could barely see the blades as they fought.

They would spar for a brief bout and then pause, blades locked together. According to Gandalf, those pauses were when one of them could have inflicted a blow. They were in the midst of such a bout now, the clash of steel making Bilbo's ears ring just a little.

He stayed there with Gandalf, watching the elves practice, for quite a while. There was a deadly grace to which they moved, no step or swing of a blade wasted. Bilbo watched as one elf executed what looked like a vastly complicated move and disarmed their opponent. He wondered how long it took them to learn how to do that. He wondered how long they had all been fighting to be so fast, be so dangerous.

"How long do elves live for?" he asked Gandalf. The wizard shrugged.

"For as long as they can," he replied. "They do not age, they do not grow old or fall ill. They die only from being slain or by their own choice, if they give in to grief. You remember Lord Elrond, of course? He is over two ages old, more than six thousand years. Thranduil is about the same age, if perhaps a few centuries younger."

Bilbo raised his eyebrows. "But Thranduil- the Elvenking- seems so different from Lord Elrond."

"They are very different," remarked Gandalf. "I won't explain all of the ancient differences and politics to you now, because they are very complicated and we do not have the time. But Lord Elrond and King Thranduil are different races of Elves. That's simplifying it, of course. There are large things in their past that has resulted in these differences, not least their realms. The elves in Rivendell are, for the most part, safe. The valley is protected. Thranduil's realm is not."

Bilbo frowned. "Yes it is."

"Well, it is," amended Gandalf with a smile down at the hobbit. "But not in the same way, and only by these warriors here, and the rest back at their realm. The elves in Rivendell live almost in the past, amidst memories of lands long since forgotten by everyone else. The elves here have no such luxury. They must live in the present, or die." He paused suddenly. "That was a lot more morose than I had intended."

"It sounded it," said Bilbo. Gandalf laughed roughly, but the sound petered away and he soon fell to frowning at the elves sparring in front of them. Rhavaniel appeared and disappeared as was her wont, and the big dog that was usually with Belhadron trotted by her side.

Bilbo sighed slightly, watching them, and he found himself fingering the ring in his pocket before he even realised it.

0-o-0-o-0

If the camp had been buzzing yesterday, to Bard it was now close to erupting. Many of the elves were muttering amongst themselves, and Bard caught the name of Thorin more than a few times. It was late afternoon, and he was sat to one side of the area his men and the elves were using to practice. His sword was in his lap and a whetstone in his hand.

Gandalf suddenly appeared beside him, sitting down and lighting a pipe. Bilbo was across the other side of the practice area, seemingly lost in watching the elves spar. Bard did have to admit that it could almost be mistaken for dancing, if dancing involved weapons.

"Are you ready?" asked Gandalf, gaze not wavering from the elves and men in front of them. Bard wondered how his gaze wasn't constantly drawn to the mountain towering over them.

He nodded. "I have to be," he said. "We all have to be." He would not be helpless, he would not stand by or back away. He was out of his depth, but the anger and grief he had been keeping so successfully hidden was slowly chipping away at the barriers now.

Gandalf nodded, and Bard glanced over at him. "Why does this animosity exist between the elves and the dwarves?" he asked. "It is something that I cannot not notice, if you know what I mean, and it seems to have very long roots."

"Elves especially have very long memories," replied Gandalf with a bitter smile. "You have not asked Legolas for an explanation?"

"Of course not," replied Bard. "I have no doubt that his loyalty is first to his King. Whatever I say to him will most likely make it to King Thranduil."

Gandalf chuckled. "Very wise," he said. "Would you like the short or long explanation?"

"The explanation that is going to be most useful to me, if you don't mind," replied Bard.

"How do you know I will tell you the truth?" asked Gandalf.

"I don't," said Bard. "But you are far more likely to be honest than an elf, and I can't exactly ask any Dwarves at the moment. Legolas told me that no matter what, you will always be on the side of the good. I'm just hoping that includes me, at the moment."

Gandalf laughed. "Very well," he said. "And it does include you, by the way. But this animosity began a long time ago, before even I walked on this ground."

"In the First Age, when the might of the elves was absolute and far greater than you see here, there was some friendship between Dwarves and Elves. Not Sindarin elves, Thranduil's race, but the other race, the Noldorin. Their love of working metals and craftsmanship kept them, at the least, cordial."

"The King of the Sindarin elves came into possession, through his daughter, of a jewel called the Silmaril. There were three of them, made by a Noldorin elf called Feanor, and their like will never be seen again in all of the Ages. By the time I will tell you of came to pass, tens thousands of elves had already died because of those jewels."

Bard raised one eyebrow. "I find it hard to believe that," he said. "Didn't an elf make them himself?"

Gandalf sighed slightly. "It would be very hard for you to fully understand in the time we have," he said. "But you have seen, or heard, what the Dwarves in that mountain have done for their gold. Imagine that, but amongst elves, and then against all the forces of evil at the same time. They killed each other over those jewels, which were the greatest works the Elves have ever accomplished." Gandalf shook his head. "Elves are no less susceptible to greed. They have just had history teach them an incredibly harsh lesson."

Bard still looked skeptical. Gandalf shook his head. "Why do you think Thranduil has refused any claim on that treasure?" he asked. "It is partially a tactical move, of course, and to aid you, but he knows better than most what that gold can do to a person. May I continue?"

Bard ducked his head. "By all means," he replied, and Gandalf began to speak once more.

"Thingol came into possession of a Silmaril. He asked the Dwarves to remake a necklace so that it may bear the jewel, as he began to covet it above almost anything else. The Dwarves did so, and as they worked they too began to desire the Silmaril."

"Upon finishing the work, the Dwarves decided that they would take the Silmaril as payment for what they had done. That day, Thingol was in the forge with them, as he often watched them work. They refused, and when Thingol haughtily declared he would pay them nothing, they killed him and ran."

"They were pursued by the elves, but some escaped and returned to their Dwarven kingdoms. The Dwarves returned, and sacked Doriath out of vengeance. Many of both races were killed."

Bard winced, but Gandalf shook his head. "That is not all," he said. "Thingol's son, Dior, rebuilt Doriath, but from then on it was nowhere near the same. The realm used to be one of the safest places out of all the elven realms. Because of Thingol's death, and that Silmaril, the kingdom was sacked for a second time by some of the Noldorin elves. This time, it was razed to the ground."

Bard sucked in a breath, and his mind conjured up images of leaping flames and the screams of children. But what he had seen could not even compare to the tale Gandalf was telling.

"Thranduil was there," he said softly, a statement rather than a question.

"Possibly," replied Gandalf. "I cannot be sure. But if he was not yet born, his father was a Lord in Thingol's court at the time, and he saw everything."

"There is blame on both sides, of course. The Elves have not forgotten what those Dwarves did to their realm. The Dwarves of this Age were not alive to see what they believe are events long faded into memory."

"So they resent the Elves for holding what they perceive as a needless grudge," finished Bard for him. "But most of the elves here, they cannot have seen all of that?"

"None save Thranduil, in this camp," replied Gandalf. "But the history is well known, and their animosity runs deep. Neither side is willing to concede to the other, and that has kept them distant for centuries, if not longer."

Bars chewed on his lip thoughtfully. "So by having the backing of the elves, I merely incite Thorin and any other Dwarf?" he asked.

"Undoubtedly," replied Gandalf. He saw the doubt growing in Bard's eyes at that answer, and quickly spoke again. "But without Thranduil's aid, Thorin would not have taken you seriously. You would have had no strength. You've done the right thing, Bard, as much as there is a right thing to do in such a situation."

Bard laughed bitterly. "Have I?" he asked. "I can't tell anymore." He shook his head. "My thanks, Gandalf, but perhaps knowing the reasons behind it was not such a good idea after all." It was a lot easier to take sides when given reasons, something he didn't think would end well after all this was finished.

Gandalf stood. "Suit yourself," he said. "But bear the tale in mind. It will surprise you what people will do for gold."

0-o-0-o-0

The sun set quickly and soon the torches were lit within the camp. Still, though, the elves were busy, moving weapons and supplies to wherever they were needed. Men walked amongst them, and they seemed to be at ease around the elves in a way Bilbo couldn't understand.

There was a lot he felt he didn't understand. His thoughts kept straying back to the Elvenking, his answer to Bilbo's question. It hadn't actually been an answer, of course, but Bilbo still wondered what he meant by it.

He found himself wandering through the main avenue that seemed to have sprung up down the centre of the camp, large fires spread out across the cold frozen ground. Elves were beginning to congregate around the fires, men amongst them, and the lyrical flow of their tongue wound its way through the camp. Bilbo listened, wishing he could understand what they were saying.

There was a large fire outside of a group of larger tents, and Bilbo recognised the one he had sat in front of only last night. About five elves were seated around it, talking quietly amongst themselves. Blond hair glinted in the firelight, and then Legolas turned around to see Bilbo standing there.

"Master Baggins," he said warmly. "Have you eaten?"

Bilbo shook his head and replied that no, he had not, which only ended in an invitation from Legolas to eat with them. Bilbo, slightly reluctantly, sat down on one of the logs amongst the elven captains.

"Here," said one of the captains, passing over a bowl and spoon to Bilbo. "It's stew. Not quite sure what type, as we're a little low on supplies for things like this, but it's good enough." Bilbo took it with a murmur of thanks. It was warm, and slightly spicy, if he couldn't quite tell what made it up.

There were five elves around the fire in total. Rhavaniel was not there, but Belhadron and Legolas were sat together on one side of the fire, and three other captains introduced themselves to Bilbo. For a while Bilbo merely sat there eating, listening to the elves talk amongst themselves. He couldn't get enough of their language. It was different from what the elves had spoken in Rivendell, sounding less cultured and more natural, as if it was the tongue of the birds and the trees themselves. Bilbo supposed that maybe it was. The wood elves certainly seemed closer to their realm than those in Rivendell had been.

Belhadron briefly got up and disappeared into the shadows. After a few minutes he returned, and this time his dog was trotting beside him. At a soft word from Belhadron, the dog bounded forwards to greet the other captains. They laughed, one or two feeding him scraps of food as Belhadron came over and sat back down.

The dog came over to Bilbo next, and pushed his head into Bilbo's lap with a soft whine. Legolas laughed. "Umor," he admonished. "Leave him alone."

"I don't mind," said Bilbo, scratching Umor's head. The dog huffed, and leant more heavily on him. "He's a lovely dog."

One of the other captains laughed. "He's a menace," he replied. "But that's our fault, I suppose, so we have to live with it." He clicked his tongue, and Umor raised his head with a sigh. "Don't protest," the elf said with a laugh. "You are actually trained, you know."

Umor dropped his head and then padded over, dropping down onto the ground in front of the fire. Legolas grinned, and reached over to ruffle his fur. "How are you doing, Master Baggins?" he asked. "Do you need anything?"

"I am quite alright, Legolas," Bilbo said with a smile. "It's just been a long day."

"I'm sure it has," said another. "But it is over, and we can relax until tomorrow." There was a murmur of agreement from the others around the fire, and then the talk turned to light things. They stayed in Westron out of courtesy to Bilbo for the most part.

"Do you have family, Master Baggins?" asked one of the others, after one of them finished telling a story of something their cousin did centuries ago. Bilbo shook his head, wondering why he was being asked this again.

"Well, I have cousins and aunts and uncles like everyone else," he replied, much as he had said to Thranduil earlier that day. "But no close family or anything." He looked around at the captains around him. "What about all of you?"

One of the captains looked over at Bilbo. "We've all got some family, of course," he said. "I have two sisters, and then he," he said, indicating another. "Has a wife back home. She's probably one of the only people holding the realm together at the moment. No children yet, but we're only waiting." There were laughs around the fire.

"I'm married," the third captain said with a laugh as she tossed her hair back. "With two children who are both back home with my husband, who's a healer. One of them is serving in the home guard, the other is training as a blacksmith."

"You also have a very extended family of cousins and nephews and nieces," Legolas said to her. "You don't get to spend much time with them, though."

The captain cut him off with a laugh. "I don't want to spend much time with them," she said, grinning. "There's a distinct difference."

"As long as I never have to meet that second cousin of yours again, I am content," muttered another, to general amusement. All of the captains had met him that time, and been deeply unimpressed.

"You had Amdar," said Legolas to Belhadron, who nodded with a brief grimace. "His brother," he clarified to Bilbo. "But he died a long time ago. And your parents are…"

"Complicated," replied Belhadron with a laugh. That was a slight understatement. They were his parents, but they had long resented him for doing the same thing that had killed their younger son centuries ago. They didn't live near the stronghold, and didn't often come near it. The only times were when Legolas had sent for them if Belhadron had been particularly badly injured, and even then they never stayed for long.

"I'm sorry about your brother," Bilbo found himself saying. Belhadron shrugged.

"Long time ago," was all he said.

"And you, Legolas?" Bilbo asked. Legolas smiled softly, but there was a tinge to it that could be grief, if looked at in the right light.

"I have some distant cousins, in a way," he said. "You met Lord Elrond, did you not?" Bilbo nodded. "Did you meet his sons, Elladan and Elrohir? Technically, they are my cousins, if not directly."

"How are they your cousins?" asked Bilbo. He hadn't personally met them whilst in Rivendell, but had seen them from a distance, Gandalf explaining briefly who they were. "Aren't they…well, not wood elves, begging your pardon?"

"Their mother's father is my grandfather's cousin, on my father's side," Legolas said with a smile. "So we are cousins, in a way. It gets complicated. But I do not see them all that often, being separated by mountains and our duties. Most of the time it's just my father and me. Has been for a long time now. But we do well enough." Belhadron, sitting next to him, let out a short bark of laughter. He muttered something in their own tongue that had Legolas biting back a grin, and half-heartedly shoving him in retaliation.

The talk turned to lighter things once more, the elves sharing a few tales amongst themselves, half forgotten snatches of songs in different tongues. Legolas seemed to be the only one who knew a few of their songs in Westron, for some reason, and he sang a few verses of some of them under his breath. One of the elves fetched cleaning supplies and put them on the floor in easy reach of everyone. Soon enough, they were going over their weapons once more, cleaning blades and checking arrows.

"Do you have a blade, Master Baggins?" asked one of the captains. "It would be better if you did not do any fighting, of course, but we should make sure you are prepared."

"I have this," said Bilbo, drawing Sting. "It's not much of a sword, I'm afraid, but it's done well enough so far."

"May I?" the captain asked, holding out one hand. Bilbo nodded, and passed Sting over. The captain looked at it, and then suddenly seemed to start, and look more closely. He turned the blade over in his hands, suddenly handling it as if it were precious.

"Legolas," he said, his voice low, not looking up from Sting. "Do you read the Beleriand mode at all?" He indicated the script flowing down the blade.

Legolas looked over, and then his eyes widened. "I can read a little," he replied. "May I look at your sword, Master Baggins?" At a nod, he took it from the captain and studied it intently. He looked surprised.

"This is…" He let out a low whistle. "This is incredible. The blade, if I remember my lessons correctly, is of the Gondolindrim."

The other captains all looked up. "You aren't serious," said one. "You can't be. Those people all died long ago."

"Not all," pointed out Belhadron. He looked at Sting over Legolas' shoulder, in awe as Legolas turned the blade over in his hands.

"How did you come by this?" asked one of the captains. "All those blades were thought to have been lost long ago."

"A troll cave outside Rivendell," replied Bilbo, taken aback at the awe with which the captains were handling Sting. "Gandalf has a proper sword, though. Glamdring, I think it is called."

"Glamdring," Legolas repeated with a frown. "The name sounds familiar." He thought for a moment, and then shook his head. "I can't place it. If I heard it during my lessons as a child, I have forgotten the significance." One of the others got up eagerly, decided that they were going to find Gandalf to see this sword. The rest of them turned their attention back to Sting.

Bilbo was a little confused, and maybe a bit humbled, by the sheer awe and wonder in their faces as they passed the blade around amongst themselves. Legolas saw his expression, and tried to explain.

"Did Elrond explain much of this blade's history?" he asked. Bilbo shook his head, and Legolas looked surprised. "I would have thought Elrond would have done so!" he said. "But never mind. I remember enough from my lessons as a child. This blade was borne by a soldier, probably, in one of the most famous elven kingdoms that has ever existed."

Bilbo raised his eyebrows, and Legolas laughed. "Did you think this was elven might?" he asked, gesturing around him. "This is nothing compared to the might and power of the First Age. This blade is a relic of that might, of an age long since passed. I never thought I would see something like it."

"There is name?" asked Belhadron. He gently took Sting out of Legolas' hands and turned it over, marvelling at the perfect balance and weight, the easiness of the grip.

"I called it Sting," Bilbo said. "After it dealt nicely with some spiders." All of the captains laughed upon hearing that, and a few murmured curses about spiders for a moment.

"Sting," said Legolas rolling the word over his tongue. "It is a good name." He took Sting back and handed it almost reverently back to Bilbo. "And a good blade for you, I think," he said. "But it does need looking after, still. Would you like me to show you?"

Bilbo nodded. "If you wouldn't mind, of course," he replied. Legolas laughed softly, and then moved so he was sitting next to the Halfling. He whistled under his breath, and when Umor looked up, he pointed at the pile of cleaning supplies. "Cloth," he said. Bilbo laughed in surprise when Umor heaved himself to his feet with a huff and picked up a cloth from the pile, padding over to Legolas and dropping it in his lap. Legolas murmured something and fondly ruffled Umor's head. The dog flopped down at his feet with a sigh.

"The blade needs cleaning first, before we can sharpen it," Legolas said. He took the cloth and wetted it with a waterskin nearby, handing it over to Bilbo.

Bilbo took the cloth and began to wipe the traces of dried blood and mud from Sting. "What do you know of Sting's history?" he asked.

Legolas shrugged. "I am no scholar," he said. "But I have had a lot of lessons in our history. I could tell you a fair amount about Gondolin, what happened to the city and the people. Watch that you don't get the leather too wet, or it will shrink."

Bilbo nodded, and used his sleeve to dry the hilt off. "Please do," he said, a sudden curiosity awakening in him as he thought of elven realms far away, the tall fair people who used to live, wield blades like Sting. Legolas smiled, and nodded.

"Gondolin was a city in the first realm," he began. "In that time, there were lands to the west, where the Sundering Seas are now, and there lived many elves. Gondolin, it was said, was one of the fairest cities ever created by my people." He continued his story as he showed Bilbo what to do, staying away for the most part from the wars and battles. Instead, he told Bilbo of the great expanses of wilderness, the woods of Doriath and the great river Sirion, Gondolin and the Courtyard of the Kings, the great valley hidden within the mountains and the people there who made it their home.

Soon after, Gandalf came to the fire to find Bilbo and the other captains listening closely as Legolas told Bilbo what he knew of the First Age and Gondolin. He contented to stay just out of sight and listen for now, with a smile slowly curving his lips as Bilbo asked another question as Legolas showed him how to sharpen Sting, the curiosity banked into a steadily burning fire in his voice.

Eventually he joined them, and the captains spent some time marvelling at Glamdring, the sword that had been wielded by the King of Gondolin, who was at one time the High King of the Noldor, himself. Regardless of the politics, the ancient dislike between their races, to the captains it was fairly ancient history. They had forgotten all of it in the face of relics of their past, reminders of a distant time.

The conversation flowed for a while, the captains and Gandalf trading off on telling stories and tales. It was mostly whatever came to their minds, old tales of the First and Second Age mixed with more recent stories beneath their own boughs. Bilbo was called upon to tell a few, of the Shire and his home, but for the most part he just listened.

Belhadron, not having a good enough grasp of Westron to tell stories in it, mainly listened, humming a song under his breath. At a lull in the conversation, Bilbo looked over at him. "What is that song?" he asked. "If you don't mind me asking."

Belhadron looked surprised, but soon answered. "It is old traditional song," he said.

"An old traditional song," corrected one of the captains with a grin. He turned to Bilbo. "It is one of those songs that everyone seems to know without ever consciously learning the words. It doesn't really have a name, but in your tongue, it would probably be called O Summer Woods. A lot of our songs are about such things."

"Would you like to learn it?" asked Legolas. "I'm afraid we don't have nearly enough time to teach you all of it, but we can teach you some verses in our own tongue, and then translate them for you."

"I would love to know it, if it's not a bother," replied Bilbo. "I know plenty of songs, all from home, but they are for sitting in front of the hearth, about food and cheer. None of them are great songs fit for such company."

Legolas laughed. "Why should they not be fit for us?" he asked. "If we teach this to you, then you shall give us one of your songs, if you could. Food and cheer are valuable things, and we would like to hear them."

Bilbo nodded. "Alright then," he said, and the captains began to teach Bilbo their song. Gandalf, watching quietly from where he was sat, smiled as their light voices rose and fell amidst the dark night and the sparks of the fire slowly spiralling up towards the stars above.

So that song is the one I was talking about above, the one Belhadron sings in Chapter Six of Surviving Peace. For more about it, have a look at the notes at the top of the page. Also, all of what Gandalf says about Thranduil's history is canon, and is what happens (in part) in the Silmarillion. So yeah, Thranduil's backstory is pretty tragic, as backstories in LoTR go.

Next chapter is where things really start to pick up- we reach the day of the battle, if not the battle itself, and Dain turns up soon enough. So there is plenty of action coming!

As always, reviews are very welcome. See you on Wednesday.