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Chapter 14
"The things you do for yourself are gone when you are gone, but the things you do for others remain as your legacy.
Kalu Ndukwe Kalu
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October 14th, T.A. 2941
Kíli hadn't been so sure of himself when he'd said that Dáin wouldn't pursue them beyond the gates of Erebor, yet the morning had proven him right. No trumpets had broken the silence to sound the alarm at the discovery of Nárin and his men. No battle rams left the mountain, their hooves shaking the earth. Kíli's thoughts went to Balin and the other companions, hoping that Dáin would prove merciful, as Kíli had been when he chose to spare the king's men.
They trudged across the plain, the rising sun lighting their way. Slowly the valley awakened around them. The yellowing grass glittered with frost, and a rabbit dashed out of his hole. Kíli's stomach grumbled and he regretted the loss of his bow.
The elven camp lay ahead, Thranduil's green and silver banners visible from afar. Dwalin scowled when he spotted the sentries posted at the entrance. As they approached, Kíli understood that the feeling was mutual. The elves lowered their halberds in a swift movement.
"State your business," one of them commanded.
"I'm here to see your king," Kíli shot back.
The elf sniggered. "Does he want to see you?" he said, winking at the other guard.
Dwalin growled to Kíli's right, a hand on his sword. The sentries stepped back at once, their blades pointed at the small group. "Come no further!" they ordered, eyes narrowed in suspicion.
Kíli understood that should nothing be done to diffuse the situation, they would end up in an elven dungeon once again, and he could not risk such a delay. Their escape from Erebor the night before had marked the fourth day since Fíli's fall, and each additional hour saw his brother decline.
"I am Kíli son of Grundin, brother to Fíli, King under the Mountain," he announced, his arms raised. "We have come in peace to honor a treaty that was made on our behalf between the king of Dale and yours." To emphasize his good intentions he made a show of unbuckling his scabbard, and motioned for the others to do the same.
The elves stood down with obvious reluctance. "I will inform our Majesty of your presence," one of them agreed, "Though I doubt he will have time to receive you."
Kíli felt his anger rise at being treated with such condescendence. "Tell your Majesty," he spat out, "That if he wants his precious gems, he'll find the time." Reaching inside his coat he pulled out the necklace for the elves to see.
The gems shimmered in the morning sun, white as snow and as cold as the Elvenking's heart. The sentries exchanged a glance.
"Follow me," one of them said. "King Thranduil will receive you now." He extended an arm to invite Kíli into the camp.
"Stay here," Kíli told his friends before either could protest. "If I'm not back within an hour, ride back to Dale and tell my brother I tried." He turned on his heels to follow the elf.
Though he was, in fact, in hostile territory, Kíli felt strangely at peace as he walked through the encampment. Whether it was the hope of saving his brother or the strong chance of his own impending death, he couldn't tell. All around him, the shimmering fabrics of the elven tents moved in the autumn wind, flapping like the sails of a ship. Silver, blue and green, they were the colors of the sea beyond the mountains, in the West. His and Fíli's homeland, if not their home.
They soon arrived in front of the tallest tent of all, where more elves stood guard, armed to the teeth. Their guide exchanged words with the sentries in their own language. Kíli could see astonishment in their eyes as they let him pass.
Inside the pavilion, the Elvenking sat upon his throne, a cup of wine in his hand.
"I hear you have something for me, Kíli son of Grundin," he uttered, sipping on his drink.
"I do." Kíli produced the gems again. He let the king examine them from afar before pocketing them once more. "An offer was made," he reminded Thranduil, "An offer my uncle refused…"
"Most rudely," the Elvenking interrupted.
"…And that I mean to accept. The white gems of Lasgalen in exchange for your help."
Thranduil cocked his head to the side. "These gems belong to me. They were stolen from me by the dragon your forefather has allowed into Erebor." He leaned forward. "You would have me bargain for something that is rightfully mine?"
Kíli crossed his arms on his chest. "You have made an offer."
"Not to you!" The Elvenking rose from his seat, drawing himself up to his full height. He motioned for his servants to approach.
Panic rose in his chest. His hand flew to where his sword should've been, but his scabbard lay in the grass at the entrance of the camp. He thought of Fíli, remembering his brother's face one last time.
The Elvenking continued. "And yet the white gems are dear to me, more precious than the life of a dwarf." He took the goblet his servant proffered. "The offer was made, it cannot be rescinded," he declared in a sour voice and sank back into his throne. "I will honor the agreement, Kíli son of Grundin. My healers are at your disposal."
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"By Ilúvatar, for the last time, I am not a woman!"
Cendir's exasperated voice carried towards the end of the column. He turned to his companions for support, but Gaeldor merely shrugged while Lhaewen seemed indifferent to his predicament.
"But you have no beard!" Dwalin pointed out.
"And neither does Gaeldor, yet I don't hear you snickering about his appearance."
Bofur tilted his head to the side. "I don't know why that is. He just looks more… manly." He glanced over at Kíli and winked.
Cendir rolled his eyes and spurred his horse forward, distancing the dwarves and his elven comrades. Kíli had to pull on the reins to stop his own mount from following. Perched as he was atop his horse, squishing the most delicate parts of his person against the saddle with every step, he had no wish to gallop. The distance to the ground seemed unending and should he fall, it would be both painful and humiliating. Kíli's only consolation was that Dwalin and Bofur were bound to suffer the same plight until they reached Dale.
"Tell me of your brother's wounds."
Lhaewen had slowed down to ride beside him, leaving Gaeldor alone between Dwalin and Bofur. To Kíli's eyes she looked much like the other two elves, save for the fact that she was female and that her hair was brown instead of blond. Little else distinguished the elves one from another. From their healers' clothes to the way they braided their hair, there was a uniformity in their appearance that Kíli found unsettling. Dwarves used their hair to show their identity and origin, and the more original the better.
"He has some broken bones," he began, reluctant to recall the appearance of Fíli's body. With some luck, it would soon be nothing more than a bad memory.
"How was he injured?" Lhaewen pressed. She was watching him with her clear, unblinking eyes, a gaze almost as unsettling as the Elvenking's.
"He fell." Kíli told her before correcting himself: "He was impaled and thrown off a tower. According to Brea he has a punctured lung as well."
"Who is Brea?" she inquired. "Is she one of your healers?"
"Brea is… She's taking care of Fíli." Kíli found it difficult to explain the relationship that tied her to his brother, as there was more beneath the surface than the eye could see.
"We have a welcome party," Gaeldor commented, nodding towards their destination.
Kíli squinted towards the promontory where Dale stood. The cold wind stung his eyes, making them water. "I can't see anything," he complained, "Do you know who it is?"
In the light of their most recent official visit to the inhabitants of Laketown, he could imagine that the arrival of a dwarven party to the gates of Dale would be welcomed with pitchforks rather than flowers. That was why they had chosen to smuggle Fíli into the city rather than ask openly for aid. Kíli hoped that the elves' presence would mollify the townsfolk enough to let him explain.
"I count fourteen armed men whom I do not recognize," Gaeldor began, and Kíli shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. "And their leader, tall and dark-haired. His name is Bard."
The knowledge that Bard would be present when they approached Dale reassured Kíli, despite the grudge that the former bargeman was well within his rights to hold against them. He was a reasonable and kind-hearted man, no doubt he would allow the elves to pass and help his brother if his city benefited from it as well.
As they neared the gates, Kíli saw that Gaeldor had indeed been right. He counted seven men to Bard's left and as many to his right, blocking the avenue that led into town. Bard himself seemed to recognize the incomers, for he commanded his men to stand down.
Lhaewen spurred her horse and galloped ahead. "Your Majesty king Bard," she called out, "We are sent by our king Thranduil to honor an agreement that has been struck between elves, dwarves and men, upon your request. Do you acknowledge that agreement?"
"I do," Bard replied warily, "Although I have no knowledge that any part of it was completed, and whether the agreement still holds."
"The part that fell upon the mortal races is done," Lhaewen declared. "The time has come for our people to honor our word." She gestured to her comrades. "I am Lhaewen, chief healer of the Woodland Realm. I have come with my companions Gaeldor and Cendir on the orders of king Thranduil, to offer assistance in your time of need."
Kíli could tell that Bard was surprised, though the king of Dale showed little of it. "You are welcome to Dale, all of you." His eyes narrowed when he spotted the dwarves.
"Prince Kíli," he said, bowing his head as they rode by. "I suppose it is you that we should be thanking for this miracle. I don't know how you managed it, but we are grateful all the same."
"We dwarves are stubborn," Kíli responded, "But we treasure honor above all. Whatever we break, we strive to repair."
Bard smiled. "Then all is well between us. I can now welcome you to Dale," he added, "Though I suspect it's not your first visit."
"Then you'll understand we must hurry."
Kíli urged his steed forward to join Lhaewen. The horse launched into a brisk trot to catch up with the rest of the group, and only his tight grip on the pommel saved Kíli from the much dreaded fall.
Lhaewen was waiting for him beyond the city gates. She'd already dispatched her companions to accompany Bard's men towards the healing halls; Gaeldor and Cendir were riding up the avenue, indifferent to the awe of the inhabitants of Dale.
"Take me to your brother," she said. "If what you've told me is true, there is no time to waste."