Chapter Twenty Eight: The Long March Home

Ugh, I am tired. So school is done now- I am officially on study leave and technically no longer a part of the school. All I have to do now is take my exams, which are over by June 28th, I think, and then I have the entire summer to myself.

So this is actually the second to last chapter! I didn't realise we were this close to the end, but we are. I will say much more about this story on Wednesday, but for now, things begin to come to a close. Rhavaniel has her last appearance in this chapter, as does (I think) Gandalf.

Oh, and as for the bit in this chapter where Thranduil is thinking about the Master, I have plans for a oneshot involving that and Rhavaniel (see if you can guess what is going to happen!) that will be included in the series of oneshots I shall be writing as a sequel to this. These oneshots are going to be like the Chapters of Mirkwood story that I already have on here, and I will talk more about them on Wednesday.

Anyway, enjoy.

0-o-0-o-0

And so they left Erebor behind and began the long march home. Bilbo twisted in the saddle and watched as the ten figures, the ten Dwarves he'd come to love that stood silhouetted against the midday sun slowly dwindled and disappeared from view. He wiped at the tears spilling down his cheeks.

"I'll come back," he promised himself, promised all of those he'd left behind in that mountain, even if they couldn't hear him anymore.

"I'm sure you will," Gandalf said from beside him. "You have plenty of time to do such things, now the east is a safer place."

Bilbo sighed. "After seeing all of this," he said. "Everything I've done… I don't think the Shire is going to be big enough anymore. But for now, I'm content to go home."

Gandalf laughed roughly. "I think we all are," he replied, looking across at where Thranduil rode at the head of his elves, Legolas riding to one side and talking softly with him. The other captains were arrayed behind them. Belhadron had Rhavaniel seated in front of him, asleep in his arms. Beorn was striding beside Gandalf, and Belhadron had taken his mare as far away from the skinchanger as possible after she'd shied and nearly unseated both of them.

It took them six days to reach the shores of the Long Lake, six days of trudging through the same bare rocks as Erebor slowly grew smaller behind them. On the way from Laketown to Erebor Bilbo had been caught up in the adventure, in anticipation and nervousness of what was to come. Now all he stared at was blank grey plains, and the journey seemed so much longer when all he could think about was what had happened.

It didn't seem like he was the only one thinking this. Bard was quiet for most of the journey, a frown furrowing his brow as he rode ahead of his men. The elves were silent, but Bilbo guessed that it was training as much as anything else that kept them quiet. Bard's men spent a surprising amount of time, from what Bilbo saw, walking backwards or trying to walk forwards and look back at Erebor at the same time, until the valley where their friends had died was finally out of sight and they didn't look back again, subdued and quiet.

Bilbo didn't remember much of the journey itself, save for it being cold and damp. Finally, though, they crested a rise and the Long Lake was in front of him, and he nearly sobbed in relief. Beside him Bard's face had lit up with a fiery determination as the makeshift settlement came into view and he pushed his horse forwards, his men eagerly following.

Bilbo watched, hanging back with Thranduil and Gandalf, as the people of Laketown began to emerge, at first cautiously and then rushing out towards Bard and his men as they approached. Gandalf chuckled to himself as a child pulled away from their mother and ran for one of the men, screaming in delight and launching themselves into his arms. Elsewhere families were reuniting, parents with their children, husbands with their wives. But for every child screaming in delight, there was another standing looking confused. For every family reunited there were others standing still, watching every face as they moved past them to someone else.

A young woman screamed, falling to her knees in the mud. A man crouched down next to her and tried to comfort her, but she pushed him away with a shout, sending him sprawling. Bilbo winced, and even Gandalf looked a little sorrowful as he watched.

Thranduil watched impassively, before turning and issuing commands for the elves to establish their own camp for the night. Bilbo watched him as someone else wailed, an old man grabbing hold of who was probably his wife as if she was the only thing keeping him upright. Thranduil didn't even look over at them.

From the beginning this had been inevitable, and Thranduil had long since grown used to the screams.

0-o-0-o-0

By the time the sun sank behind the dark expanse in the west that was Mirkwood, the chaos had subsided and the makeshift settlement, the beginnings of the new Laketown, was quiet once more. Bard was still going from one family to another, speaking with soft tones and haunted eyes. Thranduil was in half a mind to send someone to pull him away before he exhausted himself.

He'd walked up to the rise overlooking the lake and now stood there, watching silently. Even in the dark he could see the people moving about below, healers settling the wounded and tending to them after the march, his elves working still on the settlement. The Master had shown him the plans for the new town that they would be building here, and Thranduil, much as he intensely disliked the man, could already see the skeleton emerging on the lakeshore.

He could see the Master's building from here, by far the largest in the settlement. A cold curl of disgust settled in him at the thought of the man who wore heavy clothes and finery whilst his people shivered in tatters. Thranduil was rather looking forwards to the Master's eventual deposition, and the people of Esgaroth kicking him out. And if he proved to be difficult, or try to return, well, there were ways Thranduil could ensure that he was no longer an issue for Bard.

He had no doubt that the people of Esgaroth would turn against the Master, soon enough. The man had been in control when his people had felt small and unimportant, and he'd preyed on that fear. Now they had a leader, someone who had led them into and through a battle, who had the alliance of the formidable Elvenking and even that of the Dwarves, to some extent. They would rally behind Bard quickly enough. Whether or not Bard was willing to lead still, after everything that had happened, was still another question that needed answering.

Thranduil sighed softly, and allowed himself a brief moment to bow his head and shut his eyes. A soft pattering sound reached his ears, and he abruptly straightened, looking around.

Bilbo Baggins suddenly appeared, walking up the slope towards him. Thranduil watched him with narrow eyes as he approached, wondering.

"My Lord!" said Bilbo, a little breathless as he approached. "Gandalf wanted to talk to you. Something about…I don't know, something complicated, I believe." Thranduil nodded, and began to walk back towards the camp. Bilbo trotted beside him.

"And how are you doing, Master Baggins?" Thranduil asked.

Bilbo hesitated, mouth open but not saying anything. "I…I don't know," he said eventually. "I've had a lot of time to think about it all over the past week. I meant what I said, though," he said suddenly. "After Thorin's funeral. About…well, all of that, I suppose."

Thranduil inclined his head. "I never doubted that you didn't," he replied. There were a few moments of silence.

"I'm- I am glad that Legolas- I mean, Prince Legolas- is alright," Bilbo said abruptly. He looked up at the Elvenking. "He seems like a very good person."

Thranduil briefly wondered if Bilbo was trying to appear more favourable to him by complimenting his son, but discarded the idea fairly quickly. He found a small smile playing on his lips. "He is," he assured Bilbo, and after considering it for a few seconds, decided that he could let the impassive mask slip for a few moments.

"I believe Mithrandir has already told you, or rather, told Bard whilst in your presence, how much Legolas means to me," he said. "How did he put it, exactly?"

Bilbo hesitated. "He…he said that he was the one person you put above all else, and told Bard- threatened him, really- that if Bard ever stood between you and your son, you would destroy him for Legolas." To his surprise, Thranduil laughed.

"Of course he said that," he said eventually, still chuckling. "He isn't wrong, though." He paused. "You will understand if you ever have a family, Master Baggins, if you ever have children. There is nothing I will ever value more than my son."

He sighed softly, and found himself wondering, even as he spoke, why he was telling this to a small halfling whom he barely knew. "Legolas has a good heart," he said softly. "Too much heart, I sometimes worry. With our lives, mercy is not always the best quality to value."

"Really?" asked Bilbo. He looked up at Thranduil. "I always thought that mercy came hand-in-hand with kindness, and I don't think that's a bad thing at all. Of course all your blades and skill can do so much more in battle, but Thorin thought, and I'm starting to think too, that maybe it's not such a bad thing to be kind, in amongst all of this."

Thranduil looked down at Bilbo, a small frown across his brow. Bilbo gulped, but held his gaze. "There is something about you, Master Baggins," Thranduil eventually said, voice soft. "Something that I think gives me hope for us all."

Bilbo laughed. "I'm just a simple hobbit," he replied. "Who was perhaps in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Thranduil raised one eyebrow. "You are far more than just a simple hobbit, as you put it," he said. "I think, and Mithrandir would agree with me, that you were exactly where you needed to be, Master Baggins. And I also think I am very grateful for it." He smiled slightly. "I don't know if anyone has said this to you, but well done, Master Baggins. Well done."

0-o-0-o-0

The sky clouded over and a light rain began to fall over the camp. The fires began to spit beneath it, wavering angrily in the dark.

Bard hurried through the drizzle, eyes fixed on the ground lest he slip in the mud beneath his feet. Some people had put dry rushes down in front of the makeshift buildings that they were trying to call home, but the mud still clawed at his feet and sent him slipping.

It was because of this that he nearly collided with one of Thranduil's captains, hurrying in the opposite direction. The captain grabbed him, keeping him from falling into the very mud he'd been trying to avoid, and after less than a minute of talking to the captain, Bard found himself walking quickly in the direction of Legolas' tent. He reached it and knocked, before pulling back the flap and ducking in.

Rhavaniel blinked blearily at him from where she was lying on a small cot. Legolas was sat next to her, trying to comb out his wet hair that was dripping on the back of his tunic. "Am I interrupting anything?" Bard asked. He paused suddenly. "Should I call you 'my Lord' now?"

Legolas laughed, and Rhavaniel huffed a weak grin from where she was lying on the bed. "You really don't have to," Legolas replied. "It's not that I don't like my title, but-"

"You don't like your title," Rhavaniel murmured, her voice catching in her throat. Legolas laughed again.

"I am my father's son and proud of it," he tried to explain to Bard. "But I don't like people treating me differently because of my title. Anyway, what is it?"

"Alassien wanted you for something on the eastern edge of the camp," Bard replied. "It seemed-well, not urgent, but you're needed, I think." Legolas held back a sigh, and climbed to his feet. He snagged his wet cloak and slung it on.

"Belhadron should be back in a few minutes," he said in a low voice to Bard. "Would you mind keeping an eye on Rhavaniel until he is? She's in a lot of pain today and I don't particularly want to-" He paused. "Just, can you stay with her for a few minutes?"

Bard nodded. "Of course," he replied, and Legolas flashed him a grateful smile as he slipped out of the tent. Bard wandered over and then sat down beside the small cot. "Not doing brilliantly today?" he asked.

Rhavaniel grimaced. "Not really," she slurred, twisting on the cot in a futile effort to get comfortable. She winced, and looked over at Bard. "How are you doing?"

Bard blinked. "I don't think anyone has actually asked me that question for this entire time," he said. Rhavaniel smiled crookedly.

"Wouldn't expect so," she replied. "Nobody thinks about people in charge except for the people in charge. How are you?" She reached out with a fumbling hand and gently tapped his chest. "How's that anger?"

Bard shrugged. "Honestly, I have no idea," he replied. "But I know what I'm going to do now. Well, I hope I do." He laughed slightly, leaning his head back. "I'm not angry anymore. Well, I am, but it's too tiring and I have other things to do." If he needed it again, he knew where to find it.

"Not seeking revenge?" Rhavaniel murmured. Bard huffed, and shook his head.

"Got nobody to exact any revenge on," he replied. Rhavaniel, to his surprise, bit back a laugh.

"That never stopped anyone before," she said, her voice rasping in her throat. She shifted again, trying to get even a little more comfortable, and bit back a groan as she jostled her arm. Bard twisted around to look at her. "I'm fine," she murmured, panting slightly through bared teeth at the pain settling deep within her arm.

"Are you?" Bard asked. "Like you said, nobody pays attention to the people in charge."

Rhavaniel grinned. "I have Belhadron," she replied. "And Legolas. They'll keep an eye on me. And I'm not fine, not by a long stretch, but it'll do for now. I'll get better."

Belhadron suddenly ducked into the tent. He didn't start upon seeing Bard, but eyed him warily and then seemed to decide that he didn't care. "You need one hand for knife," he said as he crossed over to Rhavaniel, pressing the back of his hand to her forehead and frowning at the slight heat he felt.

"Only," Rhavaniel murmured. "Only need one hand for a knife." She grinned weakly, letting her head fall to rest on Belhadron's hand. Bard slowly got to his feet.

"Legolas had to go deal with something," he said to Belhadron, gathering up his sodden cloak and grimacing as he pulled it over his shoulders again. "He should be back soon." Belhadron nodded his thanks and Bard left, hunching his shoulders against the driving rain that spat into his face as soon as he stepped outside.

"So you trust him now."

Belhadron grimaced, and turned back to Rhavaniel. "As much as I ever could, I think," he replied. "There's still a lot that he could do wrong."

Rhavaniel snorted. "That's just an excuse to avoid admitting it, and a poor one at that," she muttered. "Stop trying to find a way to get out of this. You actually trust him, for a man."

Belhadron paused, and then a crooked grin began to creep across his face. "I suppose so," he said. "Never thought that would happen."

"Never thought a lot of things would happen, good and bad," Rhavaniel murmured. "They still happened. But I'm impressed. It took you weeks to even barely trust Elladan and Elrohir." She aimed to hit his shoulder, but missed and haphazardly patted his neck. Belhadron snorted in amusement. "I mean it, though," she said. "You really would think it would be the spy captain who has trust issues, not you. It's nice to see you getting over yourself."

Belhadron laughed, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. "I try," he replied. "How do you do it, though? How could you even think of trusting him, in the beginning?"

Rhavaniel tried to shrug lying down, and gave up fairly quickly. "It is my job to know who people are," she murmured. "I have my contacts. I knew Bard before I even met him, and so I knew what he was like, what he could do. If I walked into something like that blind, I think I would have trust issues as well, as least until I learnt who he was." Belhadron nodded. Sometimes he underestimated the extent of Rhavaniel's network, forgot that she had people pretty much everywhere she needed them to be.

A muffled hiss of pain had him turning back to Rhavaniel. "You've got a fever," he muttered, pressing his hand to her forehead again. "Just a slight one, but it's there nonetheless." Rhavaniel grimaced.

"I am very aware of that, thank you," she murmured, twisting again on the small cot. Belhadron smoothed back the limp hair from her forehead.

"Do that again, I'll break your fingers," Rhavaniel muttered with a weak glare. Belhadron huffed a laugh.

"You know I meant what I said," he said. "You only need one hand to wield a knife. It's been done before. We're going to do everything possible to make sure you don't have to step down. Honestly, if you did the entire realm might fall apart." Rhavaniel laughed softly.

"You're exaggerating," she said softly. "Only our defences, maybe. I have nothing to do with our trade relations." She moved restlessly again and then a soft moan slipped through her lips as pain clawed at her arm. Belhadron offered her his hand and she grabbed hold of it, waiting for the pain to subside enough for her to cope.

Eventually Rhavaniel sighed, the air hissing out through clenched teeth. She relaxed her grip on Belhadron's hand. He took it back, gently massaging his fingers to try and get the blood back into his hand. "Don't worry," he said when she looked over. "I still have all my fingers."

Rhavaniel grinned weakly. "For now," she replied. "Can't…I can't promise anything if you surprise me." She levelled him with an attempt at a glare. "Don't take my knife, though."

"Wasn't even thinking of it," Belhadron protested, raising his hands. His face softened. "I think the rain is easing up. Try and sleep some, if you can. We'll be home soon enough." Rhavaniel nodded, and finally seemed to manage to settle down, Belhadron sitting quietly by the side of the bed, sharpening his ash-handled knife. She fell asleep to the sound of steel against a whetstone, and rain drumming overhead.

0-o-0-o-0

It was the early hours of the morning, and the camp and settlement beside it were both quiet, the only movement the flickering of fires in the chill winter breeze scudding off the lake. Elven guards steadily paced around the perimeter, watching the darkness and waiting for it to move, but the night remained still.

Thranduil flicked back the flap of his tent and looked outside for a moment. "It's stopped raining," he murmured. "Hopefully the ride home will be easy enough."

Behind him Gandalf hummed in agreement. "You won't have much trouble with mud, I don't think," he replied. "Especially if it's cold enough to freeze." Thranduil turned back to him, sitting back down on the edge of his bed whilst Gandalf took the only chair in the tent, and idle talk flitted between the two of them for a few minutes.

Thranduil eventually trailed off, and sighed. "We'll be leaving tomorrow," he murmured. He looked up at Gandalf. "I don't even know what to say about all of this. It has been a very long time since I marched to war on another land, so long I'd almost forgotten how it felt."

"I hardly think you can compare this to the Last Alliance," Gandalf pointed out. "And you don't have to say anything at all. You of all people should know there's no easy way to sum everything up."

Thranduil huffed a laugh. "I know," he replied. He ran his hands through his hair. "You know, Mithrandir," he said. "And I am only going to say this once, but perhaps you were maybe right, in one instance at least."

Gandalf raised one eyebrow. "Really?" he asked, sounding more delighted than perhaps he should. "Which instance was this?"

"I have not seen enough," Thranduil replied with a hint of a smile on his face. "I have been in my realm for too long, I think, and I have lost sight of the world beyond it." He shifted, pulling his cloak off his shoulders and letting it fall haphazardly on the bed. "I spoke to Thorin Oakenshield, before his death," he said. "He told me that we'd both been careless, and lost something of ourselves without even realising. He said that there needed to be some kindness in the world, even if the two of us were too old and weary for that. Somehow, I am inclined to agree with him."

"As am I," Gandalf said gravely. He hesitated, waiting to see if Thranduil had more to say. Thranduil looked up with a slight smirk, and pushed his long hair away from his face again.

"Waiting for more, Mithrandir?" he asked. Gandalf laughed, inclining his head, and Thranduil obliged.

"You and I both know that we are coming to the end of it all," he said. "Another eighty years, perhaps? I cannot tell precisely, but I'm sure you can feel the storm clouds are beginning to gather."

Gandalf nodded. "We'll come to it soon enough," he replied. "Eighty years is as good a guess as any, though I would say it may come sooner than even that. I do not know precisely when, but Sauron will be challenged soon, and the great battle of this Age will begin."

"I know what you would ask of me when this comes to pass," Thranduil said. "A week or so ago, I told you that I could not give you what you sought, that I was out of choices. I think, perhaps, that I was wrong."

Gandalf raised one eyebrow, but remained silent. Thranduil huffed the barest of laughs. "What Master Baggins said was true," he said. "I still have choices that I can make, even if they seem small to someone as old as me. But then I suppose that Master Baggins himself is an excellent example of the difference small choices can make."

"What I mean to say, Mithrandir," said Thranduil. "Is that when the time comes for it, I will help how I can." Gandalf made to speak, and he quickly held up one hand. "I cannot promise you an army. I will never promise you that. My responsibility is to my realm, above all else." Gandalf levelled a look at him, and he chuckled. "Almost above all else," he amended. "But I will not sit idly by, thinking I am trapped by not having any choices."

He hesitated. "One more thing," he said. Gandalf quirked an eyebrow, and despite himself he smiled slightly at the sight. Thranduil leant back with a sigh, looking for all the world like he was bored. Only because Gandalf knew him so well, could he see the tension taut within him, the worry over what was to come.

"Legolas," Thranduil said eventually. "When the time comes, when the clouds are threatening to burst…" He sighed again. "I promise you, Mithrandir, that if his heart bids him to look beyond our realm, to seek an ultimate end to this battle, then I will not stop him." He ran a hand through his hair. "I have always thought that Legolas has a good heart, much greater than my own. Sometimes I think it is too much, that he is too quick to mercy. But perhaps Thorin Oakenshield was right. Perhaps I should not have been so careless with myself. Perhaps kindness, that of Master Baggins, of my own son, is of greater value than I sometimes realise."

"Old friend," Gandalf said, sounding surprised. "You are more right that you may even realise. I will hold you to your promise, if I need to. I think that Legolas will be more important in this fight than anyone realises. Besides," he huffed. "The finest archer in perhaps all of Arda is nothing to turn down."

Thranduil laughed. "I was wrong," he said. "I was wrong to despair, Mithrandir, and wrong to think that I had no choices left." He smiled crookedly. "Savour the moment, old friend. I won't be admitting something like that again."

Gandalf let out a rough bark of laughter. "I will treasure the words," he replied with a grin. "But I am glad to see that you have not conceded even an inch of defeat."

Thranduil looked at him sharply. "As if I ever could," he replied. "We will heal," he said, and it sounded like a promise and a declaration at the same time. "We have come back from worse, and we will come back from this, all of us. And we will face whatever is to come next. After all," he said, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "How can we do anything else?"

Yes, that last bit about Thranduil's promise is a blatant set up for Lord of the Rings, and one of the reasons (in this universe) that Thranduil let Legolas go to Rivendell and on the Quest. And as for one or two people who have asked, I have not specifically written Belhadron and Rhavaniel with a potential relationship in mind, but I am a very firm believer in the reader interpreting the story how they see it. All I will say on that topic is that I have plans. They make take a while to come to fruition, but I definitely have plans (if you are desperate to know more, say so in a review, and I'll see what I can tell you).

So on Wednesday, the last chapter of this story will be published. I will speak a lot more about that on Wednesday, but suffice it to say I am so grateful for all of you being here, reading and reviewing and just generally being wonderful people. Thank you so much.

As always, reviews are very welcome. I'll see you all on Wednesday.