Tauriel calmly wiped her oiled and sharpened blade, sliding it smoothly into the hardened leather sheath that had been crafted especially for her. Her fingers hesitated on the etched runes that called upon the light of the sun and stars to strengthening the metal. It wasn't magic. It was friendship. Legolas had gifted her the sheath seven or eight years ago when her previous one had started to shred.
A gift between friends and comrades in arms. So she'd thought at the time. The red-head closed her eyes, unable to face her memory of the betrayal in Legolas' eyes when she chose a path leading her away from the Mirkwood.
But she could not deny the pull of a certain dark-haired, dark-eyed, laughing dwarf.
Tauriel opened her eyes and looked upon the dwarves standing in her doorway. The faces were bristling with beards and braids of all kinds. A veritable collection of beads, metals, carved bones and even some gemstones. All the eyes on her were quite serious, and no one was smiling.
"Yes?" The she-elf moved slowly, placing her sheathed blade down carefully in front of her. Her pale and elegant fingers were free and ready to draw several nearby weapons if such a need arose. It had only been this morning when she'd threatened one of their own.
For these were Iron Hills dwarves. None of Thorin's Company with whom she was far more familiar.
"A word?" One stocky and broad chested dwarf with a distinctly ginger beard asked. His tone was polite, almost hesitant. At least she recognized this dwarrow. Ker, if memory served.
Tauriel raised a single eyebrow in question. "Only one word?"
A slight twinge of a smile that might even have been in her imagination. "Perhaps more than just one." He admitted, his left hand nervously going to straighten his jerkin.
o.o.o.o.o
o.o.o.o.o
Bombur and Bifer walked through the hallway. The rotund ginger-haired dwarf was carrying a bottle as if it were a treasure, a very fragile one at that. The more gristled warrior trailed behind carrying several fluted glasses in his large hands.
Glorfindel and Lord Celeborn glanced in their direction, with the silver-haired one returning to their quiet discussion. However, the ancient warrior from Gondolin paused, his attention arrested. He gave a soft whistle.
Bombur looked over at him and nodded, giving a quick wink and a grin.
Glorfindel turned back to Lord Celeborn and smiled. "Perhaps we should move this conversation to another locale?"
If the leader of Lothlorien was surprised he did not reveal such with his face. He simply cocked his head slightly to one side. "Where?"
The golden-haired elf shrugged. "I don't know. But I'm following him." He pointed after the portly dwarf as Bombur headed up the stairs, with Bifur following behind.
Lord Celeborn sighed with much patience. "More of your bubbling cider?"
"You liked the bubbles when you tried the drink." The ancient warrior pointed out cheerfully as he turned to follow the dwarves upstairs.
The silver-haired elf shook his head. "Not as much as you. It's just juice."
"Then don't come." Glorfindel slid a glance at the other tall elf with a sly smile. He glided up with steps with a lethal seeming grace. "My friend Bombur will not lead me astray."
Lord Celeborn looked around the hall, then followed his friend with a slow reluctance. Winning over the trust of his daughter's son's child did not mean that he had to befriend every dwarf crossing his path. Elladan and Elrohir he could understand. Those two should make every effort. But Glorfindel? To what purpose was this supposed infatuation with all things dwarven?
The silver-haired leader of Lothlorien looked up the stairs and saw his friend pointing out the correct hallway to take before disappearing after the dwarves. Celeborn sighed unhappily.
o.o.o.o.o
o.o.o.o.o
Brinarg turned the well-crafted dagger over and over in his hands, grinning like a fool. The blade had been used and bore small jagged nicks, evidence of hitting bone or even rock during battle. "It's still sharp." He commented, rather pleased.
Gagnar watched the unholy light in the other dwarve's eyes with some discomfort. He shifted his weight to his other foot. "I'm supposed to be in the main dining hall." He paused and then shrugged. "Cleaning." He added, just to make his point that he was disobeying just being here.
Brinarg shot the Iron Hills dwarf a shuttered look of distaste. "Didn't bother to clean the blade though."
"Brought it to ya as I found it after the battle." Gagnar pointed at the fine blade whose original owner would have been appalled if he had seen it so mistreated. Dried fluids and hair stuck to the hilt. "Buried completely in the body of a warg, it was."
Neither dwarrow mentioned how the blade was clearly of elven design and make. Nor did either talk about how the blade should have been returned to the Mirkwood elves. They didn't know if the owner was even alive or dead. They didn't care.
"Worth a pretty copper bit." Gagnar made a face, still a bit upset from this morning.
"You're not thinking of charging me for it?" Brinarg asked archly, acting shocked at the very thought. "Your friend."
The beady-eyed Gagnar scoffed. "Where was my so-called friend when that bitch of an elf was about to pierce my eye?"
"Watching your back." Brinarg lied quietly. Not that he would have stepped in, or even said anything. "I knew you could handle one lone bitch-elf."
Gagnar shrugged, not wanting to seem lesser by admitting that he probably couldn't have won a fight with the red-head. "It ain't right that a prince of Erebor be interested in something as ugly as her. All stretched out thin and pale, skinny and …ugh. An elf!" He turned and spat into the corner.
Brinarg fought not to sneer at the other dwarrow. "He's no true prince of this realm." He said with quiet emphasis.
"Heard talk he was saying he won't stand in line for the throne." Gagnar mentioned with no little satisfaction.
Brinarg paused, then laughed. "And you believe that?"
Gagnar sniffed through his rather long nose and stroked his mealy looking beard. He coughed lightly. "It's what I heard." He sounded defensive.
"Oh I have no doubt about that." Brinarg said soothingly. "I meant that I can't credit the words though. He's either lying or someone else is. They can say whatever they like, but Thorin hasn't removed the lad from the line of succession now has he?"
"No." Gagnar admitted roughly, somewhat appeased. "And he's had time since those damnable elves arrived."
"Exactly." Brinarg's eyes narrowed speculatively and asked what to Gagnar seemed an odd question. "You get an opportunity to ever clean the kitchens?"
The other dwarrow snorted. "Opportunity? By Durin's great blood soaked axe I wouldn't call the punishment detail an opportunity!"
Brinarg waited as the beady-eyed dwarf listed his complaints against Thorin's Company and all the wrongs done to him. He bit his tongue to keep from telling Gagnar to shut up. Instead he took the time to glance around the area. They were in one of the mining supply rooms. It was between guard duties, when the different rotations were meeting and giving reports. Right after one group of guards finished their rounds and right before the next group began theirs.
Gagnar paused, his rather thin lips sneering. "Are you even listening?"
"No." Brinarg admitted coldly.
A hiss was his only answer, but the dark-haired dwarf didn't care. He didn't have much longer down here. "So. The answer is no, you don't have access to the kitchens?"
"I told you!" Gagnar was nearly spitting mad right now, glaring at his companion. "About the only place they haven't made me clean."
"Too bad. If they did I might have reconsidered what comes next." Brinarg smiled brightly, right before he shoved the elvish blade right into Gagnar's body. He thrust up underneath the ribcage and straight into the heart. An immediately lethal blow.
The dark-haired dwarf let the weight of the body carry itself to the ground, making sure to step clear of the blood starting to pool upon the floor. Brinarg laughed as he pulled out several strands of long red hair and sprinkled them about without regard.
As evidence went, it was rather weak. But then, he didn't need solid proof. Merely a trigger to an explosion. At this point he believed that strong suspicion would be just the thing he needed. And if one of Thorin's precious Company argued that the evidence wasn't enough, then that would merely add to the breeding of malcontents.
Wait.
His orders had been to wait. Brinarg sneered, soothing his inner nerves even as walked out of the supply room door. Seeing no one, he smiled and made for one of the side hallways.
For a race of beings that mined the earth with great patience, precision and meticulousness, dwarves weren't much for simple waiting. It was a racial hypocrisy, Brinarg guessed. If his benefactor was upset about this move and asked him why he hadn't waited, he'd simply explain.
The red-haired elf-bitch had presented a golden opportunity. An argument with Gagnar. Highly public. Knife at the ready. A nice elvish blade. Just like the one left in the beady-eyed dwarrow's body. She could argue all she wanted that she still had all her blades, the hint of suspicion was all that was needed.
o.o.o.o.o
o.o.o.o.o
Tauriel looked around the training yard. Straw-filled dummies with targets on them made her smile. They were painted to look like orcs and goblins. She pointed at the small one on the end. "I don't think you made that one ugly enough."
At least three of the Iron Hills dwarrow actually chuckled, and few more nodded. The others still just watched her.
"Is that all you have to say?" One curious dwarf asked.
Tauriel blinked and looked over at the speaker. She couldn't tell his age, but he was not yet graying. Still, he was easy to pick out. She'd never seen a curlier beard. It was rather short as dwarven styles went, probably in an effort to keep the wild curls at bay. Unfortunately the effect was unsettling. He rather looked like he was sporting pubic hair. On his face.
Tauriel looked away and shrugged. "You haven't asked a single question. And the lot of you were the ones to ask me out here. It's your meeting."
"A cool one, are ye?" This dwarrow she could look at. He wasn't bad looking with his bright eyes and pretty golden brown braids and beard.
"I do not take your meaning." The red-head sighed and looked around her. Five dwarves. All from the Iron Hills, and if she wasn't mistaken. All lieutenants from Dain's command structure. "If you want an answer, ask a question."
"Are you looking to marry Prince Kili?"
Well. That was rather direct and straightforward. Tauriel's face slipped into a neutral expression of cool disinterest. "That question presumes much that has not yet come to pass."
Ker grimaced and shook his head. "If the subject of marriage came up between you and the prince, would you be thinking on the side of yes or no?"
"As it stands at the moment, and without any talk between us of marriage?" Tauriel thought the question over and then shook her head. "If that question were to arise, it would need to be coming from him."
"Yer being evasive." The handsome one spoke up, clearly irritated.
Ker shrugged. "We're being very forward." He sent an apologetic nod toward the she-elf. "Perhaps we should go no further."
The other three dwarves all nodded in reluctance.
Tauriel should have felt relieved that the conversation wasn't going to happen after all. And indeed, she did feel some relief. But there was also a sense of denying the truth to her evasion. "If he asked, I would not be adverse to the idea." She said quietly.
The dwarrow all stopped moving away from her. They all stared at her, then looked at each other. Finally the curly haired one gave a huff of a sound that could have meant anything really. "Because he's a prince?"
"Because I care for him."
Ker shifted his eyes to one side, and then back to her. "In what way?"
"A personal way." Tauriel said a bit shortly. She might be willing to be forthcoming, but this was private. "I began to care for him before knowing he was a prince."
"You've admitted that you knew he was related to Thorin even in the Elvish King's prison cells." This from a dark-haired dwarrow with obsidian beads decorating his beard.
"Related yes." Tauriel admitted. "But not how close or in what context. His title means little to me."
"His worth as a dwarrow outweighs his title?" This from the golden-haired dwarrow with a nod of approval.
Tauriel bowed her head slightly in acknowledgement of the statement.
"You must really be happy that he turned out to be part elvish." This from the curly-haired dwarf with a hint of a frown. As if the admission that Kili was less than fully dwarven was hard to make.
Tauriel considered not answering, or an outright evasion. But this meeting seemed ….important. How, she wasn't sure. Weighing the moment carefully, she chose her words precisely. "His High Elf blood does not help me become closer to Kili."
All five dwarrow stilled, staring at her, almost demanding more information.
The red-head tilted her lips upward, but it wasn't really a smile. "I am not of noble or High Elf blood. I am a Silvan elf."
Ker's eyes narrowed on her. "Kili's blood outranks you."
"On either side of his parentage." Tauriel admitted, holding her head up proudly.
"No matter." The curly haired dwarrow huffed. "You don't look like you feel lesser to anyone."
"I don't."
"If the kingdom were attacked, would you defend?" This from the curly haired one again.
The red-head nodded without hesitation.
"Against elves?" This sly question from the golden-brown haired one.
Tauriel paused, then grimaced. "What is the cause of the fight?"
"Inconsequential." Ker avowed. "The question stands."
The she-elf shook her head. "I …would protect Kili from any and all, no matter the cause."
Ker shook his head. "Not Fili nor King Thorin?" He pressed further.
Tauriel's lips thinned as her eyes flashed in irritation. "Without knowing the cause of the argument? What if one or either of them had slipped into dragon-sickness?"
Two dwarrow rather hissed. Whether or not the sound was aimed at her, the red-head didn't care to guess. Whatever the test was, she was failing. But her personal honor demanded no other answer.
Ker sighed, looking at the other dwarrow with him. They all stared back at him. The curly haired dwarf went first and nodded his head, as if reluctant. The golden haired one sighed deeply, then shrugged his assent. The other two nodded almost in unison.
Ker grimaced and pulled out a set of beads. He stared down at them almost sadly, shaking his head. "Never thought I'd see a day like this one."
A few chuckles greeted his words.
Tauriel knew a test when faced with one. But wasn't sure of the reactions she was seeing. Were the dwarves so happy that she'd failed? She coughed to get the dwarve's attention, then arched an eyebrow at them.
The curly haired dwarrow shrugged at her. "You're over proud, temperamental, a strong fighter …."
"Speak yer mind when it might be best to stay silent." The golden haired male smiled a bit.
"Brave to the point of madness." Ker added, then at her arch look grinned. "Saw you fighting to save the king and his heirs. You could have hung back and stayed in relative safety but rushed forward anyway."
Tauriel watched them all, unsure. "So. Nothing redeemable about me is there?"
Ker laughed for real, deep and guttural. Finally he settled long enough to point a finger at her. "To dwarves, all of that is to the good. Stupid elves to give you up. But we dwarrow don't turn away treasure when offered and you look right sparkly to us."
Tauriel's green eyes blinked, taken aback and feeling off balance mentally.
"She could look more sparkly." The curly haired dwarrow hinted broadly and pointed at the beads Ker was still holding.
"But …" Tauriel didn't have a chance to finish her sentence, which was good because she did not know what to say. Instead, one of the dwarrow dragged over a low bench and dusted off a place for her to sit.
Ker grinned at her as the curly haired dwarrow handed her a silver backed mirror. "Now. These braids, they are very, very important to get right."
"You're going to braid my hair?" The red-headed elf asked incredulously.
"No." The curly haired dwarrow answered with a wide smile. "It's important that you do the braiding. You're going to have to learn this braid and then put those in your hair. It has to be done personally, by you or if incapable, by your mam or a close female relative. Strictly a braid for dwarrowdams."
Tauriel nodded gamely, then frowned. "Then shouldn't a dwarrowdam teach me?"
Ker laughed as the curly haired dwarrow shook his head and groaned. "I AM a dwarrowdam, Miss Elf."
The red-head blinked as her mouth dropped open in shock as she silently replaced all the male terminology in her head to female. "My apologies." She whispered, embarrassed.
"Right. Accepted." The curly haired dwarrow …er, dwarrowdam winked and pulled out a few locks of her dark hair. "Watch my hands carefully now."
o.o.o.o.o
o.o.o.o.o
Thorin nodded at Fili as his crown prince tried on his new shirt in the shimmering blue silk. "Very fine!"
Arwen went so far as to clap happily, beaming with pride. "I said the color would suit him!"
Dori nodded happily, putting neat little stitches in what would be Kili's new shirt. He looked up as the door to the room opened.
Bombur grinned and headed toward Thorin with his wine bottle. Bifur came in close behind, putting down the fluted glasses.
King Thorin blinked and shook his head. "Save that for when our guests arrive."
Bombur shook his head back and forth, his eyes wide and almost pleading. "It's not a red wine." He rushed out his words just as Glorfindel and Lord Celeborn arrived.
"What have we?" The golden-haired warrior looked at the wine bottle, then shrugged. "I can't read the runes."
Thorin peered at the bottle and from its shape and color, he hazarded a guess. "From the Blacklock traders from before the Desolation?"
Bombur nodded most eagerly, beaming.
Thorin shrugged. "A goodly choice, I suppose. They made it, they'll enjoy it. But no need to open a bottle now."
Bombur shook his head sadly. "It's not supposed to age."
Lord Celeborn nodded, understanding immediately. "A white. He must want to make sure it hasn't turned in the time since …."
"We're calling that time period the Desolation now." Thorin sighed, waving at Bombur to open the wine.
Glorfindel watched with eager eyes. "I do not think I've tried this wine before."
"Bubbles." Bombur smiled rather shyly at the taller elf.
Lord Celeborn and the ancient dragon-slayer both froze for a moment, then both rather shook their heads.
"Bubbles." Insisted the rather round dwarrow.
"I enjoyed the bubbles in my cider." Glorfindel allowed. "But I'd rather keep them out of my wine."
Bombur made a slight face, then the oversized looking cork popped free with a loud popping noise that startled the elves. Wine didn't make that noise. The ginger-bearded dwarf grinned again. "Bubbles."
Glorfindel frowned.
Bombur gave him a hurt, almost pleading look.
The hero of old Gondolin sighed and after a hesitation, finally nodded and pointed toward one of the flutes.
Bombur poured out a glass and Glorfindel cautiously sipped.
Wonder spread across the elegant features of the elf, who actually closed his eyes and shivered in pleasure. "Oh, by all the music in Arda." He whispered.
Thorin laughed as he admitted, "that was one of my grandfather's favored drinks. He did not deem me worthy of sharing but on a few rare occasions."
Glorfindel sipped from his glass once more, smiling happily. "Fili? Prince Fili of Erebor? If the Blacklocks have a dwarrowdam even remotely near your age. Marry her. We need more of these bottles."
Thorin nearly choked on his laughter as Bombur handed him his own flute of the bubbly wine. He sipped it as well, then frowned. "I think I'd forgotten." He looked at Fili. "I take back what I said about not marrying into the Blacklocks."
The crown prince made a face at both elf and dwarf. "I am NOT getting married to keep you two in wine with bubbles!"
Lord Celeborn looked intrigued, and made a gesture for one of the glasses. When he tasted the liquid, a surprised look fell over his rather austere features. "How is it that in all my years, I have not heard of this wine? Does it have a name?"
"It is known as the 'umran alfatmagan." Thorin rolled the Khuzdul word out without hesitation. "It simply means the greatest cup of bubbly wine."
"The name lacks a certain poetry." Glorfindel savored the taste of his drink, smiling in a besotted fashion. "But the wine speaks for itself." He glanced over at his silver-haired friend. "Still not impressed with bubbles?"
Lord Celeborn huffed out an amused breath and sipped from his glass once more. "I take back any word I spoke against bubbles, my friend. And bow my head to the crafting ways of the dwarves."
Thorin nodded in acknowledgement.
Fili groused and looked back and forth between them all, he marched over and took a glass from Bifur. He threw the wine back and gulped it down, making Glorfindel wince as if injured in some manner. The blond shook his head. "It's wine."
"It's ambrosia." Glorfindel countered.
"I am not marrying anyone I meet tonight!" Fili vowed.
The ancient warrior finished his glass sadly, only brightening when Bombur offered a refill. "For a wine such as this? I might marry the Blacklock heiress myself."
Thorin choked at the very idea. Then shook his head. "She might have a beard."
Glorfindel shrugged happily.
Before anyone could poke too much fun at him, the door to the room opened again and a harried Balin stood there, looking pale as a ghost.
Thorin beckoned his advisor inside.
Balin looked at the elves in the room, from Lord Celeborn to Glorfindel and finally settling on the pretty Lady Arwen. He shook his head.
The king scowled at his long-time friend.
Balin shook his head again.
"What is it?" Thorin demanded, not wanting to let go of his good mood.
The white-bearded dwarf sighed most unhappily. "We have …a situation."
"SPEAK!" Thorin roared.
"A body of a dwarf in the supply rooms." Balin snapped. "Wearing an elvish dagger on his person."
Lord Celeborn's eyebrows winged up in shock.
"On his person?" Thorn leaned forward, looking stunned.
"In his person." Amended Balin apologetically. "Buried in his heart."
Thorin sighed, closing his eyes in sudden weariness. "Who?"
Balin wasn't sure if his king was asking if the assailant was known, or the victim. He answered both. "Gagnar, son of Agnarr out of the Iron Hills. The blade is elvish, there is long red hairs on the body, and he was seen being threatened by Miss Tauriel just this morning."
Lord Celeborn shifted his weight in silent protest while Glorfindel's face hardened, his earlier teasing disappearing beneath the serious words. "She would not." The golden-haired warrior began.
"No." Balin agreed. "She's been with the Iron Hills lieutenants for the past two hours. And the dwarf was seen less than an hour ago, alive and well."
Glorfindel relaxed slightly at this bit of news.
"An elvish blade?" Arwen sounded horrified.
Balin shook his head. "Seen it myself. Big problem. It had dried material on it. Warg fur."
Thorin's hard eyes sharpened with speculation. "A blade found after the battle and not returned?"
"The dagger is in no shape that I have ever seen an elf have on their being." Balin nodded generally in Lord Celeborn's direction.
The elf leader nodded back graciously, yet with caution. "A weapon of opportunity?" He posited, though his voice sounded doubtful.
Thorin grunted. "No dwarrow is unarmed."
"Nor any elf." Glorfindel allowed, his mind racing.
"And no real warrior would leave his blade behind, or keep one in such an ill state." Balin added smartly. "Unless someone wants us thinking the killer is elven."
Lord Celeborn nodded slowly, having come to the same conclusion.
The king's advisor and friend sighed. "The thrust was up under the ribs to the heart."
"Effective." Thorin mused.
Balin shook his head. "Wrong angle for someone as tall as an elf." He demonstrated the move in question.
Glorfindel paused, looking quite pleased with Balin's assessment. "I did not think of that."
Thorin grimaced. "I need Nori."
Balin immediately shook his head silently. "He's still angry with you." He offered the public cover for the tri-bearded tavern owner and spy. "But he says he wants to make the elf responsible pay for their crime."
Arwen gasped in shock. Fili shook his head at her in a reassuring manner, whispering something soothing.
"He's looking into the matter?" Thorin gleaned the most important fact from Balin's words.
"To blame an elf." Lord Celeborn said dryly.
Thorin shook his head. "He'll get to the bottom of things. No matter who he might find down there."
The elves looked less than pleased, but had little choice in the matter.