A/N: The updates will be coming somewhat slower than normal lately. I'm in the thick of writing my thesis for my degree so it's taking up most of my time. That being said, I have set aside Sundays for strictly my personal writing, of which this fic is a major player. I hope you appreciate the fact that I'm not giving up quite yet.
"Mist and shadow,
Cloud and shade.
All shall fade. All shall fade"-J.R.R. Tolkien
Chapter 26:
"I am no spy."
"Any yet, your actions speak of one whose allegiance waivers."
Thranduil's voice was hard, commanding, with their piercing, vibrant blue gaze fixated upon the face of the elf who stood, shoulder's slightly stooped, and hair matted and dirty before the elf king.
Said elf king stood proudly, tall, shoulders squared as he moved slowly closer towards his charge, footsteps certain and precise.
Even with this aura of power and purpose, Thorin was not daft enough to misread the pain that flittered across Thranduil's features, however slight they appeared. Thranduil's step faltered ever so slightly, the roll of his shoulders inward signaling the need to curl in on himself to ease the fierce ache he must be feeling in his side with hands balled into fists, nearly hidden by the flowing burgundy robe the creature wore, but still visible enough to Thorin to show just how tightly Thranduil was holding the pain at bad. White knuckles digging into the palms of his hands as he moved forward, ever closer to the elf in front of him who eyed Thranduil warily, hesitantly, pallor lightly coloring at the scrutinizing gaze the elf king bestowed.
But Thorin didn't miss the way that Tauriel and Legolas straightened at Thranduil's movements either. Legolas, like his father, rarely showed emotion on his face, his placid features schooled and honed into a look of nearly disinterested observation. When he DID flinch, it was barely noticeable, unless one were observing very closely as Thorin had done to both father and son.
And flinch Legolas had. The cerulean gaze had widened ever so slightly, a frown tugged at the raspberry lips of the elf prince and Thorin watched the archer's grip tighten on the bow he still held in his hands.
Tauriel too moved ever so slightly, though more obviously than her blonde haired fellow, her fingers twitching and reaching briefly towards Thranduil's person before hastily returning to Tauriel's side as she stiffened and straightened her stance, hazel eyes flicking towards the disheveled elf, an obvious frown marring her delicately framed features.
'So, they noticed as well. Sharp eyed creatures.' Thorin mused, eyes dancing between the different faces in the room, watching the expressions of the people warily as he fingered the bracer on his arm, his hand running over the smooth leather straps and cool metal clasps as he resisted the urge to hoist the elf prisoner by the scruff of his collar and demand information on the enemy.
Fury still simmered carefully beneath the surface, his ire directed towards anyone remotely associated with those who had taken his nephews and hobbit away from him. Those who had threatened his people, his home, and his future.
But, Thorin understood (and had to remind himself a few times) that it wasn't his place to question the elf that stood, nearly cowering,before Thranduil. Nor was it Thranduil's son nor his captain's place to usurp the King of Mirkwood's prowess as ruler and delegator of fates.
Not if they wanted information.
No, they had to be smart, diplomatic.
Manipulative.
"And yet you were captured, not killed. You offer no information of the welfare of those in my kingdom, and refuse to acknowledge the issue of the orcs entering into the lower chambers of this mountain, something they should have had no knowledge of."
"I offer no answers because I have none." The elf's voice was clipped, his eyes narrowed towards the elf king in an act of defiance, that, to Thorin's observations, flitted between a foolhardy and a brave action. "I told you, we were ambushed and I awoke in that blasted barrel. I have no recollection of what happened after that."
"Yet why keep you alive at all, I wonder," Thranduil mused softly, his voice growing firmer, more cold as he peered down his nose at the elf before him. "What purpose could you serve in that barrel. You were of no use to the enemy, so why spare you?"
"You think a confinement in such a horrid place qualifies as being 'spared'?" The elf scoffed, still refusing to meet his king's gaze "I'd rather have death if that were the options."
Thorin's curiosity was piqued as he watched the elf king circle around the one who stood, though submissively, against Thranduil's presence.
But there was something in the creature's face, something familiar to Thorin's eye.
He recognized that look. He'd seen it before.
On an entirely different creature, true, but the look was still the same.
And that look meant that the elf was hiding something important, in the same way that one particular company member had hidden things.
Not because they were evil or harmful.
No.
Because they were a way to survive, a way in which one would ease the burden of grief they felt.
Something very painful had befallen this creature.
The haunted look reminded him very much of Lyla Baggins.
And THAT thought brought him very little comfort.
But it helped him to understand how to best approach the situation.
"Master Thranduil."
Both elves, prisoner and interrogator alike, perked at Thorin's voice, each one eying the dwarf carefully, one with suspicion the other with interest.
Thorin knew immediately that this elf, this prisoner, would be difficult to convince to divulge information. Mahal help him, he knew that the creature did not trust him. The wounds were still too fresh, whatever those wounds were, and the discord between elves and dwarves had gone on for centuries.
But their earlier hesitation was at an end. And Thorin knew that now was the time to act. Now was the time to do something.
To try something…
Diplomatic.
"Might I be permitted to ask a few questions?"
Thorin kept his voice neutral, level, as he took a small step forward, keeping his eyes levelled on the Elf King's face.
He would show respect, but he would also reinforce that this was his home and he was king as well.
Thranduil's brows knit together in curiosity but he nodded curtly towards the dwarf king and took a step aside so that Thorin might face the other elf head on.
Thorin squared his shoulders and faced the elf, peering into the other's resistant and hesitant gaze, noting the deep bruising under the elf's eye and small cut upon his lip.
"What was her name?"
The elf before him stiffened, narrowed his eyes and frowned at Thorin, lips pursing into a tight line.
And he remained silent.
Thorin, though, was undeterred and continued to peer into the elf's face.
"I know you will not give me your name." Thorin remarked softly, "And I know that you trust neither me nor my people. But I ask you again: What was her name? This woman whose spirit weighs your gaze with grief. What was the tragedy that stole her from you?"
"You know nothing."
Thranduil nearly elicited a sigh of frustration at the elf prisoner's words. His patience was wearing thin and he was nearing the end of his resolve to treat this subject of his personal guard with any semblance of respect.
"What care you for others, hmm mountain dog?"
The elf's reply was low, almost feral in nature as he sneered down at Thorin, looking nearly wild with his unkempt features and deep bruising "You and your kind do nothing but hide away in your mountain seeking riches. What care do you hold for the rest of the world? What care you for their troubles?"
"Her name is Lyla Baggins." Remarked Thorin softly, halting the elf and making Thranduil start in surprise. "And I care very dearly for her."
He hadn't expected such a personal confession from one so gruff and secretive.
Thorin Oakenshiled rarely divulged his emotions to anyone, especially a stranger.
"And she's out in the wild, attempting to destroy that cursed ring of power and my grandfather's own ring too" The dwarf continued speaking towards the now silent elf, sighing lowly himself, almost in defeat. "She's travelling to Mordor and would if I could but take that quest from her."
Thorin sighed again and the elf watched the dwarf king's hands clench and unclench slowly, almost methodically as the fingers brushed against the rich blue cloth of the Thorin's tunic.
"It's become abundantly clear to me, master elf, that the most profound of creatures are often the ones we least suspect or simply overlook."
Thranduil noted the soft smile flit across Thorin's face and he marveled at the diplomacy in the dwarf's demeanor and articulation.
But what was he getting at here? What was his purpose in asking such personal questions and trying to establish such an intimate connection?
"I ask, humbly, what your lover's name was," Thorin continued, "So that I may pay my respects to one who has both cause so much grief, but also so much devotion."
Thranduil was skeptical of this tactic and nearly snorted himself before the other elf elicited the same noise as he straightened his stance to build a stark contrast between his height and that of the dwarf king.
"Do not pretend to know me, dwarf," The elf sneered, "You know nothing of me Thorin Oakenshield, nothing of my life, nothing of my trials or the fire that has rained upon my family."
"So it was not a lover, but a child."
The reply was so swift that both elves widened their eyes as they peered at Thorin Oakenshield, who stood stoically, calmly and completely unruffled.
Thranduil's gaze swiftly returned to the other elf and he noted, with some wonder, at the hesitation that swirled in the other's eyes.
Then he knew.
He knew what Thorin Oakenshield had pried out.
It HAD been a child.
This had to do with a child.
Confound those worthless, money grubbing, selfish—
Bofur cut off the thoughts before he allowed a grunt of dissatisfaction to rumble in his chest and give away his purpose.
After all, he wasn't supposed to be out of bed.
According to those dimwitted elves, at least.
Bofur scoffed to himself as he inched along the wall, wary of keeping himself in the shadows, out of sight away from peering, unfriendly eyes.
He didn't trust anyone as far as he could throw them, especially that Ecthelion.
Bofur's blood boiled at the thought of the man and how he'd treated him and the lass when they'd first been captured.
He wanted to return to scorn the man had given the hobbit in kind. His fingers itched to retrieve his mattock and exact that justice, elicit a recant of insult that Ecthelion had lodged against them, the pain he inflicted on Lyla Baggins when he forced her to fight, and the refusal to give aid them the hobbit had reached her limits.
Oh how he wanted revenge.
Bofur's temples throbbed and his body ached fiercely, a deep fatigue settling in his bones and he knew that he wasn't up to the challenge before him.
He'd never felt this poorly before. Never had he experienced a pressure and an aching pain that seeped into every joint like this before.
Had he really been so foolish, going against their admonishment to stay in bed? Had that been what Lyla really wanted of him?
Were they right in making him feel as though he were in the wrong?
WAS he in the wrong?
"Stupid, monstrosities" he whispered angrily, pushing the doubts aside as quickly as they had come.
He wouldn't do that. Not now. He couldn't.
He'd made a promise to Thorin.
'Don't you leave her, Bofur.'
And he didn't mean to. Indeed not, he didn't mean to.
Sucking in a small breath as he rounded the corner, and noted the torchlight flickering across the cool stone of the tunnel and stairwell, Bofur's heart hammered in his ears as suspicion course through his veins, crashing like waves against his chest, tightening the muscles, making him wary and ready to bolt should anyone try to stop him.
This nearly happened as a willowy, but firm, hand landed on his shoulder, causing Bofur to jerk forward, heart dropping to his toes as he twisted clumsily on his heels to face his would-be attacker, eye narrowed, frown firmly tugging at his lips.
Let's see then try-
"I thought I'd find you here."
Glorfindel seemed completely unruffled by Bofur's wary and angry stance, which confused the dwarf greatly. And he didn't seem too concerned that Bofur was out of bed and making an escape into the shadows either.
How odd.
But, just to be sure…
"Listen, ya git," He spat towards Glorfindel, "I'll not let ye stop me. It's not goin' ta happen. Ye don't know what ye've allowed ta go with the lass. She's in danger. And if ye get in my way, I'll not be responsible for my actions."
Glorfindel smirked.
"Tosh" he remarked flippantly, stepping closer to the dwarf, "I'd not considered the thought."
Wait, what?
Bofu's brows shot up in surprise and he took a small step away from the elf, out of the taller figure's grasp, his hands reaching behind him to feel the cool solidity of the stone wall.
The elf's smile turned more genuine, though the elf's eyes betrayed a different, much darker emotion that Bofur was unsure of how to decipher.
Or unwilling to decipher.
"No, master dwarf, I do not come here to hinder your escape but, rather, assist in its success" Glorfindel's voice was light, but low, betraying no hint of the emotion hidden beneath the bright façade the elf exuded.
"There is more yet for you to do. And it is not here in this city nor amongst your own people."
Taken aback by this sudden admission and alliance, Bofur narrowed his eyes.
"Ye could have said that earlier ya know," He muttered darkly, "Would have saved me all the trouble. Would have protected—"
A low growl rumbled in his chest as his glower deepened.
Didn't they realize what trouble that Gollum was? What a danger he was to the mission?
To the hobbit?
"But the others would have still stopped you," Glorfindel retorted, "They do not share the same knowledge I do. I know what will happen to the young Shireling should you linger here much longer, master dwarf."
Glorfindel frowned as Bofur started and moved closer to the arched doorway.
The dwarf didn't miss the inquisitive and worried look the elf gave him and he quirked his own brow in response, waiting silently for Glorfindel to divulge whatever information was stewing in his mind.
Something bothered the elf greatly.
"Did you know?" He queried, almost cryptically, "Of the injury? Did you know if it?"
Bofur halted completely and turned more fully to face Glorfindel, a warning bell sounding in the back of his head.
Dread filled his belly.
"What injury."
It was a command for information. No questioning tone escaped the dwarf's lips as he peered into the elf's face.
Glorfindel blinked only once, his face falling into a resigned expression and Bofur knew then what he was referring to.
Or who he was referring to rather.
Anger flared anew.
"She was hurt and ye let her go." He raged darkly, "You let her leave with that—that filth when she's—she could be dying! Don't ye care for her at all? Or is she some pack mule ye thought ta string up and send on this suicide mission?!"
"She was the only one."
"Hang that excuse ya ruddy coward!" Bofur snarled quietly, taking a step towards the elf, fists clenching dangerously. "That lass didn't have ta do anythin' and ye made her believe that she was tha only one. Or that shoddy, manic piece of gold whispered that to her. Yer no better than that wicked dark lord! Fools that lot of ya. She's a hobbit!"
"Would you have taken it then?" Glorfindel snipped lowly, "Would you have succeeded? Do you think you are strong enough to hold that power, that corrupt power and cast it into oblivion? YOU whose race relies so much on the riches and wealth of the world. Could YOU destroy it?"
Bofur's mouth clicked shut, teeth snapping together roughly as he glowered at the elf whose eyes glittered just as dangerously as Bofur's.
Glorfindel huffed, in a rather un-elf like way, and ran a hand through his mussed blonde locks as he gazed down on Bofur's tense form.
"It is precisely that she is a hobbit that ensures her capability. You of all creatures should know of her dislike of war, of greed and power. She's a hobbit. They care nothing for vanities of the world. Things that even the elvish people can fall prey to."
Bofur snorted softly and made towards the tunnel again.
"Yer all a bunch of daft loonies you are."
"But you know I speak the truth, regardless of how mindless you think my logic. There is no one else who could outlast the call of that ring."
'You are a fool. A fool, a fool, a fool.'
Lyla shook her head softly and squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, trying to dispel the growing sense of dread in her bones as she shivered against the wind.
'A fool. He will take the ring. You will die. This will end. And they will never forgive you.'
Enough.
Lyla's eyes snapped open and she glared at the darkening sky above her, continuing to grasp at the rock of the stairwell, dragging her shaking limbs upward, watching the spindly legs of Gollum's lithe form move languidly up the rock face, urging her upward with his grating, suspicious commanding voice.
"Hurry hobbits, we must hurry. Up, up." He called down to Lyla, his large cerulean orbs peering down every now and then, assessing the hobbits movements carefully, before scurrying even further up the rocky, black mountainside.
'Do not trust him.'
'Do not trust him.'
With each step, each grasp of rocky surface against her fingers, Lyla remembered the warning from Glorfindel.
The warning from Galadriel.
The warning her own heart conveyed.
'Do not trust him.'
Had it been days? Hours? Weeks since they'd escaped the city and made their way towards this blasted staircase?
Each passing bout of darkness or clouds or rain war marring together and Lyla was losing all semblance of the passage of time.
Everything was a blur of the familiar: the dread, the annoyance, the exhaustion. And the constant commentary from the creature ahead of her, urging her upward, always upward, was beginning to grate on her nerves, making her more wary and more alert than normal.
She couldn't sleep. Much like she knew that Gollum could not sleep either, though both pretended to do so.
All of it fed together and created a dreamlike state for the hobbit, and she knew that sooner or later, one of them was bound to snap.
"How did you know?"
Thorin had waited for the question to come to him, though he hadn't expected this particular one to ask it.
Tauriel sat proudly, back straight and arms folded as her crimson locks swayed lightly from the movements of her horse's slow canter as she peered into Thorin's eyes, her lips pulled into an expectant frown as she watched the dwarf king carefully.
"I didn't."
The reply was simple, though he knew it would be unsatisfactory.
But it was the truth and it would have to suffice.
"And it did little good. We still don't know what the purpose was of keeping that blasted elf alive. And in that barrel. There's something else going on here."
Of that Thorin was certain. But such matters would have to wait.
They had a more pressing road to challenge for the time.
"We've three days ride to Isengard," Gandalf's voice was low and thoughtful as he pulled alongside the dwarf king. "And from there we should head to Gondor. It is the most likely place the enemy will strike next."
Gondor?
"And what of my kin?" Thorin tried to control the biting edge in his voice. "What of these fates?"
"Isengard will tell us everything we need." Gandalf was just as cryptic as ever.
And that rankled Thorin's anger.
Still, and the dwarf king smiled softly towards Balin, Dwalin and Bifur, grateful for their company as the other members stayed behind to defend Erebor and their temporary sovereign, Dain Ironfoot. Still, there was hope to be had here.
At least for the moment.
"I think you underestimate the power of persuasion." Tauriel continued their earlier conversation, never seeming to miss a beat as she blinked owlishly towards Thorin before turning her gaze towards the horizon.
Her gaze turned thoughtful.
"Never underestimate the power of affection and love. It is the most vicious of mistresses and the cruelest of motivators."
"And why do you come on this quest then?" Thorin remarked softly, his gaze assessing the creature before him, noting the stiffness in Tauriel's movements, the unhappiness in her eyes as she peered towards the horizon. "Does not love and affection compel one to honor their duty as well? Are you not bound to the duty you have to your king?"
Tauriel snorted softly
"He will do well without me, I assure you." The elf flicked a lock of her auburn hair softly behind her ear, "Lord Elrond will arrive shortly and Elladan and Elrohir are there along with scores of other ranks of soldiers. They are quite protected."
"And you know they won't go towards Erebor now," Gandalf cut in, "There is nothing there for them. They know you have the stone and they know Lyla has the rings. They will see those out."
"And like I said," Tauriel remarked, "Love is one of the more vicious motivators."
"Bagginses!"
There was a screech, deep, rich and low and instantly a pain flared and Lyla's grip slipped, her fingers loosening around the rock.
Her footing slipped and Lyla felt herself falling backwards, the wind rushing about her, making her heart erupt in alarm.
She remembered a similar situation many months before on the mountainside of the Misty Mountains.
A slimy, cold and bony hand snaked around her wrist and dragged the stunned hobbit upward suddenly and Lyla came face to face with Gollum, his wide blue eyes looking even more alarming so close to her own.
The creature's gaze flicked from the hobbit's face and then down to the chain about her neck where the ring lay.
And Lyla could hear the call it was whispering out to the creature. She could feel the weight growing about her neck.
Anger suddenly flared in Lyla's heart at the thought of those clammy, bony fingers reaching forth and grasping towards that ring, trying to take what was her task, what was her trinket, away from her.
She could not allow it.
She would not!
With a snarl, Lyla rammed her shoulder into Gollum's form and sent both of them rocking back away from the ledge and onto safer ground as another screech erupted in the skies, sending spasms of pain through the hobbit's form.
Despite this, though, the hobbit reached upward and clasped a firm hand around her sword, her glower meeting Gollum's wide and unassuming ones.
"Hide, we must hide," came Gollum's remark, soft and haunted as he watched the Lyla's movements as she scurried as far away from the creature as she was able on the ledge.
She winced again as the screeching continued to echo through the air, though the sound was growing dimmer, lower, and fainter.
Lyla sucked in a small breath as she peered at the creature before her.
'Smeagol. His name is Smeagol. And you will lose yourself the way he has. You will fail the way he has failed.'
The anger and jealousy the girl had felt only moments before suddenly dissipated, replaced by an ever growing disgust as Lyla's eyes widened slightly at her own actions.
What was wrong with her?
"It calls to you, the precious. It calls to you."
The haunted voice deepened ever so slightly, growing colder, more malevolent.
"But the Precious is ours. It's ours."
Lyla watched, with growing alarm, as Gollum's brilliantly blue eyes darkened, his gaze narrowing and a snarl ripping from his own lips as he watched the hobbit carefully.
And in that moment, Lyla saw herself in that gaze, saw the possessiveness, and insanity.
It terrified her.
"It calls to you, but it's ours. You stoles it from us. Stoles it you did. And will never forgives you."
"Smeagol!"
The word was like a sudden trigger for the creature and with a feral growl, he launched himself at the girl again, this time, though, his grip was not meant to save her life.
Lyla was ready though, and drew forth sting, watching the silver blade easily set the creature careening back with a growl of frustration.
They'd done this dance before.
Many times.
And Lyla had been right to refuse to trust the creature.
She'd been vindicated over and over again in that regard.
But the growing anger on her part was causing some concern even as she felt a small wave of satisfaction in defending herself against Gollum's actions.
Was she really better than he?
"Don't you see, Smeagol?" She queried softly, the growing horror refusing to abate in her heart. "I have to destroy it. For both our sakes."
"Destroys? Destroys?!" Gollum hissed, rocking on his haunches, "You canst destroys it. They will takes it from you, stupid fat hobbits! And then we'll be lost we will, Gollum Gollum. The precious will be lost. And you stoles it from us!"
Lyla lifted her sword again to halt the creature's advancements, wincing as another screech erupted, some distance away, echoing through the howling wind.
But Gollum was determined. And tired of playing the simpering follower, it seemed.
The feral determination glinted dangerously in the creature's eyes as he rammed a bony shoulder into the hobbit's stomach, sending Lyla sprawling backwards, her head lolling just off the edge of the Cliffside.
She felt the ruse of air about her ears before she was dragged back by her ankle towards the creature's lithe, yet powerful, form.
Spindly legs rammed into her knees and the powerful, willowy arms wrapped carefully around Lyla's Torso and neck, trying to extract the thin metal chain from the hobbit's person.
"Give it backs to us!" Gollum howled, "It's ours, Gollum Gollum. Ours!"
Still holding tightly to Sting, Lyla launched a swift blow using the blunt end of her weapon. Metal collided with the flesh of Gollum's temple, sending the creature reeling back and giving Lyla a moment to catch her breath and roll to her feet.
"We can't keep doing this," She panted softly.
This had happened too many times.
"You have to understand. I'm trying to save you. To save us. Don't you get it? It's driving you mad!"
Then the mountain shook and both hobbit and creature were rocked from their feet, Lyla's sword slipping from her fingers, as Gollum descended upon her, sharp nails digging into the hobbit's flesh, as he bared his teeth and hissed lowly.
"It's ours!"
A horrible stinging sensation tore through her limbs, making Lyla see stars.
Bofur's anger was still rolling in waves as he made his way down the steep embankment nearest the foot of the feeling the slick, biting chill of the rain as it pelted the back of his neck, pattering against the hooded cloak Glorfindel had given him.
He appreciated the gesture with the cloak and the food, but Bofur was loathe to forgive so easily.
No, he'd hold this against that wretched race of creatures for centuries yet.
No one dared to mess with his kin and get off so lightly.
Bofur kicked a small pebble with the steel toe of his boot and frowned at the ground.
Of course, Lyla Baggins would hear a word or two when he found her again.
Oh, indeed she'd hear several words. And many of them unkind.
"Foolish git," Bofur muttered darkly, kicking another rock as he edge ever closer to the slick, dark rock of the stairwell leading to Cirith Ungol.
She was a fool. A ridiculous fool to believe that she could leave him behind.
And he'd make sure she KNEW that.
Another rock met the anger of his booted foot and Bofur relished in the feel of the heavy stone connected with his shoe and sailing through the air.
He waited for the dull thud and always accompanied such a sound kick.
This time, though, there was something different about the stone's landing. Stone scratching against metal. That was the noise.
Something that sent Bofur on edge.
It meant that there was someone nearby.
That he was being watched.
Hesitantly, Bofur drew forth his sword, another gift from Glorfindel, and inched his way slowly forward, closer to the stairway.
His eye widened ever so slightly as he parted the scraggly brush to get a better look at his assailant.
But there was no assailant only their weapon.
The anger flared anew as Bofur leaned down and retrieved the tiny letter opener Lyla Baggins dared to call a sword.
Sting was now in his possession.