"Crown Prince."
Gellamon permitted himself the smallest of smiles as he turned towards his youngest brother. "Prince Caranoran." So formal, but such was life in the Elvenking's Halls since the Dark Lord's intrusion. Any lapse brought on the bulk of the Elvenking's ire.
"It is done."
Ah, my gwanur, you do not enjoy the role you are forced to play. Intrigue had ever been a part of the Elvenking's Court – how not? – but it had been confined until the present to bickering nobles jockeying for his father's favor. Never before had it existed amongst the family or their Guards, either Elven or Royal. Caranoran was young. Not naive – their adar would never tolerate such a weakness in his children – but idealistic. Clandestine meetings in the middle of the night did not suit the youngest of Thranduil's get.
"Good. Our captains failed in their duties. When Legolas returns, he will be apprised of the new situation. It will fall to him to command the Elven Guard in Tauriel's stead," Gellamon said.
"What of Badhron's position?" his brother asked with forced nonchalance.
"That is for the Elvenking to determine," he said, though in reality, Gellamon had already taken steps to ensure Badhron remained the power behind the Royal Guards. Any declared change of leadership of that body would be in name only. They could ill afford the upheaval now, not on top of the Elvenking's diminishing reign.
Tauriel, however, was another matter. The Elvenking had stripped her not only of all rank but also any role in the Elven Guard. She'd come breathtakingly close to a new home in the same pit that Hwinneth had barely survived.
Mistakes. Costly mistakes from the Elvenking, proof that the Dark Lord's continual assault was destroying their sovereign before their eyes.
Gellamon would not allow that to happen. "Hwinneth?"
Caranoran's dark green and blue eyes flashed. No, his brother was most certainly not happy. He'd grown fond of the naiad, and truth be told, Gellamon had found her to be acceptable. While the heir was not pleased with his father's attachment to her, he wished her no ill. He simply did not like the end that affection for a mortal would inevitably bring. He hated to think of the grief waiting for his father and brothers because of her.
Gellamon was only too happy the Royal Guards in question had allowed for her escape. The dwarves may have thought their escape a product of their own efforts, but he knew otherwise. They'd been aided each step of the way, up to and including the two guards allowing themselves to be overcome at the pit. Gellamon knew his family would have borne scars, his adar most deeply, had Hwinneth perished in the frigid waters. His adar had punished the Royal Guards charged with her care, but Gellamon had moved to see them rewarded.
"No sign of her."
Control your face, he willed his brother. With their adar so crazed, to show any kindly feelings for the naiad now would be viewed with suspicion.
"She must be returned to the Elvenking's care," Gellamon instructed. "See to it that Tauriel is informed that locating and returning Hwinneth would be an ideal way to prove her competence and loyalty to her king. Hwinneth is to be returned whole…but if she is not unscathed, one cannot fault events from punishing her disloyalty."
Confusion appeared in Caranoran's eyes. Gellamon hoped none but he could see it.
"Such betrayal does come with a price," Gellamon continued without emphasis, hoping his younger brother would pick up his cues.
Caranoran bowed. "As you say."
Gellamon prayed that would suffice. He cocked his head to the side, listening to both the trees and the almost imperceptible pad of footsteps retreating. At last. He relaxed. "He is gone."
Caranoran glanced down at him, then at the surrounding courtyard, and then once again back to him. "He was here?"
"He was here." Gellamon shook his head. "Ada would never have been so sloppy as to be detected. Nor would he have believed what he just heard. The Dark Lord's machinations dull his wits as they sharpen his temper."
Caranoran's silvery head of hair fanned out as he turned jerkily and stalked away. "You should have told me."
"You should have known," he rebuked gently. "The situation grows more perilous, Gwanur. We cannot afford Ada to be destroyed."
"Hwinneth lost her abilities."
"So I have been informed. Valar grant it is not so, for without intervention, I fear Adar will be lost to us forever."
OoOoOo
Thranduil prowled away from the courtyard, thoughts churning. He did not know his head undulated back and forth as a serpent's might, nor was he aware of the low stream of sibilant, disjointed words falling from his lips. Guards marked his progress with fearful caution, each appalled at the deterioration of their beloved protector and ruler.
She plots against me. Knows the future and twists it to her purposes. Chances are, she knows where the Ring might be found. She will seek it and claim it for herself. The thought slipped out unnoticed by the besieged king…
…but not by the ever-present voice.
It vanished. Between one insidious whisper and the anticipated next, the voice was gone, leaving Thranduil alone in his mind for the first time in…weeks? Months?
He fell to his knees, his mind at first sluggish to process that it was free. Exhaustion crashed over him like an avalanche - he'd not slept since the Dark Lord had begun this assault upon him.
Hwinneth.
Horror filled him. By Eru, what had he done? How much had he revealed? He struggled to stand but failed. His body trembled with weakness, too long denied rest. Darkness began to seep in through his pores, and he struggled to call for aid.
He could not allow this. He would… not…
The Elvenking tipped over, collapsing on the cold marble floor.
OoOoOo
Caranoran removed his crown, setting it aside with gentle care. Next, he shucked the formal attire his brother had insisted he wear while residing within the Elvenking's Halls.
Ada's Hall, he thought with remorse. His home was changed. The warmth and welcome that Thranduil had maintained despite the encroaching darkness outside their gates was gone.
As was his adar if something was not done quickly.
The kingdom was a land divided. Those closest to the royal family, loyal Royal Guards and the Elven Guard as well as choice nobles, followed the Elvenking's original decree to the letter. They looked to Gellamon for leadership as they attempted to keep the king calm and convinced he was still king.
His father didn't seem to recall handing the throne over to his son. Sauron had played his hand well, highlighting once more for any who may have forgotten just how dire a foe it was they faced.
Eru aid us.
They could not seek aid from the White Council. Gellamon had informed him of the possible weak link in that august body: Saruman. With the White Wizard to be compromised, Gandalf could not be entrusted as in times past, either, for his esteem for the head of his Order was well known.
Only Radagast remained to them, an irony since Caranoran had been urged to seek him out should any hint of danger arise to Hwinneth. The dwarf had been most compelling with his arguments on her behalf. For her sake, Caranoran had watched his adar and hoped the Elvenking would hold out against his oppressor.
He'd delayed too long, hesitant to act in opposition to both adar and gwanur. Legolas would not have delayed so long.
The stakes had climbed too high. The Istari had been sent to their world to aid them. By Eru, Radagast could not fail them now. The wizard could no longer pretend to be the dotard and care only about his plants and animals. He would help the Elvenking. Caranoran would insist upon it.
Donning cloak and latching his saddlebag, he collected his things and headed for the door.
OoOoOo
Long into the night, Bofur worked.
He picked up the long piece of wood Kili had used as a walking stick on his journey to Lake-town. The younger Durin would not be needing it any longer if Bofur was any judge. Kili was recovering quickly now, the lass's teas curing him of his head pains.
No sleep for you tonight, Bofur my lad. It was well enough. He'd had sleepless nights before. With whittling knife in hand, he set to work, determined to see this project completed ere the sun rose.
His hand drifted to the bracelet tucked in his coat pocket. His thumb smoothed over its surface. He gazed up at the open loft above the main room he and the lads shared. His Daphne had retreated up there an hour past with Freija. Peace filled him. None could approach either lassie without passing first through the dwarves and Aleks, for they all bunked down in the small family's main room.
Bofur savored the quiet, knowing he had a full day ahead of him. By Aulë, he did. Speak with Bard. Give some thought to Aleks's request about constructing a "blind". Train Daphne - he had to find time for that. Though one lesson would not turn her into a fighter, a trick or two might very well save her life in these dangerous times.
Bofur bent his head, and immersed himself in turning a piece of knotted ironwood, stubborn and obstinate as such wood would ever be, into a weapon suitable for a dryad.
OoOoOo
Gloin puffed away at his pipe, his attention traveling from Bifur to Bombur and on to Bilbo. In each face, he read the same knowledge, a knowledge that burned like a forge after the bellows had been applied by too careless a hand.
Aye, so it has started.
He'd suspected as much when Thorin had left the lads behind. The king Gloin knew would never have allowed Dís's sons to be parted from his side. He'd never have called off the search for young Kili, no matter if Erebor stood to be pillaged by the Elvenking himself. Those lads meant everything to him.
Now, gold-lust grew each mile they drew nearer to Erebor. Gloin's gaze flicked towards the Lonely Mountain. Aye, he felt it too, the awe and excitement to clap eyes once more on their home. One could not help but feel pride to look upon the feat of dwarven craftsmanship, the mighty gem of a kingdom carved into the belly of the great Lonely Mountain herself. He supposed the same could be said of Khazad-dum, but Erebor was his home. Moria might well be magnificent, but Erebor held a part of his heart.
Bilbo seated himself by his side, hands smoothing his coat before fiddling with his pockets. "They will be alright. Don't you think?"
Gloin exhaled a stream of smoke before answering. "I'll tell ye this, Master Baggins. If young Kili and Aleks survived, it will be Bofur and Fili who do the finding."
The hobbit's dark eyes darted to him before skittering away. He cleared his throat. "Why did those men attack Daphne, do you suppose?"
Since word had been delivered of the lass's demise, the hobbit had been withdrawn, bruised in his innocent soul. Gloin patted him awkwardly upon the back. "'tis a loss and a tragedy. Cowards. That is why they attacked her. It is what cowards do, my lad."
"Still, there must have been a reason."
"Do not try and understand the mind of a murdering ruffian, Master Baggins," a new voice chimed in, a voice in a commanding tone they'd not heard in days. Gloin knew the others were watching the reemergence of their king with the same relief as he. Even should it be a brief respite, all straightened in their seats, reassured by the sudden reappearance of the king's capable air. Thorin stood by the bow of the large boat, one hand upon the rail as he faced them, the rising sun at his back. "Those with no honor cannot be understood by those who live by it."
"Interesting words, laddie," Gloin said, breaking his silence upon the subject. They'd broached the matter of dragon sickness when Thorin had declared they would leave their lost members behind and move on to Erebor, but their king had reacted in anger. Mayhap he'd hear them this time.
Thorin's dark gray eyes narrowed, a warning to be sure. Balin cleared his throat, his bushy gray brows lowering until they hid his eyes.
"Do not speak to me of dragon sickness, Master Gloin. I know it well."
Bilbo's shoulders slumped. Such a weight the hobbit would carry, and there was naught to be done if Thorin would not listen.
Without another word, Gloin returned his gaze to the Lonely Mountain.
OoOoOo
Bofur rapped upon the door of one Bard the Bowman.
The door opened with the cry of rusted hinges, and a wee face looked out, a lass of no more than ten years with big blue eyes and a mop of curly brown hair. "You're a dwarf," she accused.
Bofur beamed at her and bowed with a comedic flourish. "Bofur, son o' Banfur, at your service," he said.
The lass's lips curled upwards.
"Now, my bonnie lass, might your father be at home?"
She tapped her lips with one finger, her eyes skyward, and it was all Bofur could do not to pound fist into knee with laughter. Such a precocious little thing, she was. At last, she said, "I'm Tilda."
"A pleasure, m'lady," he said with another bow and a wink.
Tilda giggled and withdrew, the door closing in her wake. Bofur heard her muffled voice inside, "Papa!" Footsteps pounded up a stairwell as the little girl called again, "Papa!"
Bofur clasped hands behind his back and whistled, winking at passersby and thinking. Durin's Day had arrived. That very eve, Thorin and the Company would face a dragon, the greatest calamity of their time, or so he'd once believed. A dragon cannot compare with the Dark Lord. His gaze skipped across the roof-line, searching, searching until he spotted what he'd been looking for: the windlance.
A piece of history, to be sure. One destined to save them all if Daphne's stories proved true.
The door opened once more, and Bofur craned his neck back to look up at the tall man. That he'd no liking at finding a dwarf upon his stoop was plain by the frown upon his face. Dark of hair, this man, and light of eye. He wore his beard short in the way of men and his hair cropped at the neck.
"A dwarf, come to see me?" Bard looked him up and down, and Bofur smiled up at him. Aye, but it was fun to discomfort the bristling man. "What do you want?"
"A moment of your time, nothing more."
Bard leaned against the door frame, arms folded before his chest. "So speak."
Bofur tilted his hat back an inch. "I was thinking with less of an audience, to be truthful."
Bard's reluctance was plain to see, but the man backed into his home and held the door open for him. Inside the small house – a grand one indeed compared to Jarel's, though still simple and poor – Bard leaned against one wall, again with folded arms.
Bofur got right to his point. "I'm thinking it would be a wise idea to have an evacuation plan in place should the worst come to pass."
Bard stiffened, his pale eyes flashing. "If you dwarves had not-"
"Aye, and you have the right to your anger," Bofur told him. "Erebor is our home, Master Bard. That day we lost everything we held dear," and as Bard looked ready to angrily talk over him, he hurried to add, "as did the men of Dale."
Bard's eyes narrowed. "Why are you here? If you believe an evacuation plan is called for, shouldn't you be addressing the Master of Lake-town?" Bard pressed a hand to his chest in sheer mockery. "I am but a lowly bowman. Direct your concerns to those in charge."
Aye, of course it would not be as easy as he'd hoped. What did you think, Bofur my lad, that you would approach this angry man, and he'd leap at your suggestion? Weeell, it was what he'd hoped. Rather foolishly, really. "You care for the people of Lake-town," Bofur said with as much diplomacy as he could.
Bard unbent enough to snort. "Well, you are correct there. The Master cares for nothing but his own comfort and coffers." He moved to the table and took a seat, leaning back in the chair with arms folded. "Why would you wish to help us?" An expression moved across his face. "We cost you the dwarf lady. I would think you'd hate us."
Bofur moved closer until only the table separated them. "I'm a warrior only at need," he said at last. "By trade, I am a toymaker."
"Sigrid, he's a toymaker," he heard Tilda squeal above stairs and grinned.
"Well, at least one soul appreciates my trade," he said with a lopsided grin. More seriously, "You have children here. Women. I'd not see them come to harm, Master Bard." Leaning upon the table with his knuckles, he added, "And my lass survived because of a brave soul in Lake-town."
Bard's head jerked up. "She lives?"
"Aye, and before you ask, I'll not be telling the how."
Bard planted both elbows on the table. "That," he said, "says more for you than anything else you've said so far. Alright, let's talk. You think we should have an evacuation plan. In case Smaug does come calling, I presume?"
"Aye." Movement teased the corner of his eyes, and Bofur looked up to see Tilda's big blue eyes staring down at them.
"Tilda," Bard said with a long-suffering sigh.
The little lass beamed down and waved her hand like a queen to her adoring masses. Bofur didn't bother to try and tame his smile.
"Tilda," a female voice scolded. Tilda vanished from view.
Bofur rocked on his heels. "For the little ones," he said. "My Company approaches Erebor even now. I cannot help them, and 'tis true, I fear for their safety. But we volunteered to follow our king. The lads are not going into danger unknowing-like. The same cannot be said for you."
Bard rose and walked to a window facing northward. Like as not, he was staring straight at the Lonely Mountain. "You had no right," Bard said with low anger. "No right to venture closer and rile the beast when we are the ones who have lived here in his shadow. We have faced the danger every day of our lives. You have no right to disturb the peace like this."
Bofur smoothed a hand down one of his braids, admitting that the man had a point. Had any of them considered the men of Lake-town when formulating their plans? Ah, but Erebor – Thorin had a right, too. They had a right. "The die is cast," he said at last, borrowing from Balin. "Even if I wished, I could not turn them back."
Bard leveled him with a brief, frustrated look. "There are over ten thousand men crammed into this town. How do you suggest we evacuate if the dragon flies?"
Bofur withdrew the crude map Aleks had drawn for him that morning with the guidance of his bird friends and placed it on the table.