Farflung: Yes, we are getting close. Frodo goes off on his quest when he is fifty, the same age Bilbo was when he ran down the road after the Dwarves without his pocket handkerchief! Since I have introduced Frodo into this story, that means I only have fifty years to work with at the end of the story (although I've still got plenty of time to insert stories at earlier stages—do not panic!). I may very well allow the reunion between Thranduil and Legolas to take place in this story, although, if I do, Legolas will split his time between Mirkwood and Rivendell for the next fifty years so that he can continue to have adventures with Glorfindel, Elrond, Elrohir, and, of course, Estel.
Ky: There may (no promises!) be some interaction between Rivendell and Greenwood Elves in the Misty Mountains, but it won't involve Anomen because then the jig would be up and I'd have to end the story prematurely. You wouldn't want that now, would you? ^_^
Daw: I figured that, since the details of the drowning of Drogo and Primula were left so murky, that this incident was fair game. Allows for the insertion of more portents and 'coincidences'.
Joee and Dragonfly: Thank you both for drawing my attention to the sentence where I mistakenly typed 'Frodo' for 'Bilbo'. I have corrected that error. Guess we can just call it a 'Frodian slip', right? ^_^
Jebb: I am tempted to create a scene in which Anomen is obstreperous enough for Gandalf to go so far as to raise his staff in a threatening manner (threatening spell-wise, I mean).
Karri: Yes, I do take some liberties with the canon, mainly with the timeline, I think. Glorfindel does definitely care more about Anomen than his public persona suggests, and in an upcoming chapter he is going to get a chance to express his affection for the young Elf (non-slash!).
The Greenwood Elves spent a fortnight in Lake-town, and by the end of that time Bain and Tawarmaenas had become fast friends. They had gone swimming together, boating together, and fishing together. They had ridden forth on several expeditions, partly to hunt but mainly just to enjoy the free-ranging conversations that seemed to accompany an excursion in the open air. Evenings they had joined with the young folk of the town in laughing, singing, story and joke telling, and, truth be told, a little flirting.
"Tawarmaenas," Bain giggled—they had been working their way through several bottles of excellent Dorwinion wine—"where does a Cave Troll sit in a dining hall?"
"I don't know, Bain. Where?"
"Anywhere he wants to!"
Tawarmaenas and the other listeners groaned, and shouts of 'Bain, sit down!' were heard. Bain obliged by tripping and falling into the lap of a particularly charming young maiden. Hoots all around as the maiden blushed. Tawarmaenas noticed, however, that she did not push Bain off her lap!
In a room above the square where this celebration was taking place, Thranduil smiled. He and Bard were also polishing off some Dorwinion wine, albeit at a more sedate and dignified pace.
"The young people seem to be enjoying themselves," observed Bard indulgently.
"As they should!" replied Thranduil. "One never knows when the opportunity to savor life will be withdrawn, and so it should be tasted to the fullest whenever possible."
"As you have ever done," Bard gently teased.
Thranduil sighed. "I have heard that Men are wont to say, 'Do as I say, not as I do'. It is true that I have forfeited many years—nay, centuries!—during which I could have experienced much happiness in the company of my family and friends. I am resolved, however, never to make the same mistake—and we Elves have a long memory!"
Bard smiled. "Good. And I wish for you an equally long future in which to eagerly sample that which you have denied yourself."
"Thank you, my friend."
"So tomorrow you set out for the Lonely Mountain," Bard continued.
"Yes. Tawarmaenas has only seen Dwarves once, long ago when Thorin Oakenshield's band blundered through Greenwood. He needs a fuller acquaintance with that folk."
"They can be a prickly people," warned Bard.
Thranduil laughed. "Prickly—I like that. It is kinder than some of the words I would have used."
"Yet, however desirous they are of driving a hard bargain, it cannot be denied that they are hard-working, honest, truthful, and fair."
"Truthful—you mean blunt!"
"It is true," conceded Bard, "that their candor can take the form of bluntness. A diplomatic Dwarf is a rare creature! But you will be better served trading with a plain-spoken Dwarf who measures with true weights than an oily tongued merchant with his thumb on the scale!"
Thranduil nodded. "Yes, you are right. I cannot complain of having been cheated in any of my dealings with Dwarves."
"Nor can I," said Bard. "After we settled the matter of Smaug's treasure, they became our faithful partners, and we are pledged to come to one another's aid. I would gladly wield my weapon in the company of Dáin and his axe."
And so he would in the years to come. In latter days, the story would be told of how Bard and Dáin—Man and Dwarf but above all friend and friend—had died fighting side by side at the gate of Erebor. It was a grievous time, the end of the Third Age, but matters would have been much worse if Free People of good will, Elf and Dwarf and Man and, yes, Hobbit—had not put aside their differences and discovered their combined strength. They fought together, died together, and in the end, together they turned back the forces of Darkness.
But the Darkness was a distant threat that fine evening. Thranduil arose reluctantly.
"I should retire now, as we mean to leave early in the morning."
"Of course. Shall I send someone to remind your son that he should be retiring as well?"
"Yes, thank you. I am sure he would much prefer that to being plucked out of an assembly of his peers by the old uncle!"
The next morning the Elves set off for the Lonely Mountain, the Erebor of the Dwarves. As they had done for the Dwarves so many years earlier, Men of Esgaroth rowed the Elves north the length of the Long Lake and up the River Running while their horses were led along the shore. When the Men left their passengers at the landing-place on the western bank of the river, they promised to return for them in two weeks time. The Elves mounted once again and began to ride through the green and fair land that had once been the Desolation of Smaug. From time to time, however, they passed the blackened stumps of trees, grim reminders of the days when the land had lain scorched under the claw of the worm.
"There may be a little awkwardness when we first arrive at the Lonely Mountain," Thranduil warned Tawarmaenas, "for the last time I, ah, hosted any Dwarves, there was, unfortunately a bit of a misunderstanding, and my guests were perhaps not as well entertained as they should have been!"
Tawarmaenas kept his face straight, which took a commendable effort of will on his part. He well remembered his irascible uncle's frustration at not receiving answers to his questions from the bedraggled Dwarves who stood defiantly before him and how his uncle had tried to extract the information from his 'guests' by locking them in the dungeons and feeding them very plain, if ample, fair. Misunderstanding indeed!
As the Elves drew near the Lonely Mountain, they could see that its western side still showed the signs of the dragon's wrath at the discovery that a burglar had intruded into his lair. Little grew on that side, and the earth was still scarred from the powerful blows of the furious beast as he smashed at the place whence he suspected the burglar had entered. Elsewhere, however, terraces and towers adorned the mountain, and Dwarves could be seen busily ascending and descending its winding paths. The valley of Dale was flourishing as well, its fields green, its town ornamented with waterways and fountains and stone-paved roads of many colors. Gazing with respect and admiration upon the many structures that festooned both mountain and valley, Thranduil declared, "The Dwarves have not been idle!" As for Tawarmaenas, he thought he had never seen a more beautiful sight, and he wished that the Dwarves might be prevailed upon to come to Greenwood, there to similarly ornament the Great Hall. Elves have great skill in many crafts, but it cannot be denied that Dwarves excel all folk in stonework. Thranduil, as it was to turn out, was thinking along similar lines, although perhaps for more pragmatic reasons.
At the foot of the Lonely Mountain, the Elves handed over their mounts to the care of Men of Dale who had been hired by the Dwarves to look after such ponies as from time to time they had need of. Dwarves are not overly fond of horses, but they did make occasional use of them, either as mounts or as packhorses.
After a long climb, during which the Elves stopped repeatedly to gaze in wonder awe upon the mountain and down into the valley, the Elves at long last reached the grand entrance to the Dwarf realm. The interior of the mountain soon proved to be as awe-inspiring as the exterior, for the Dwarves lived in a subterranean city of great halls and cavernous streets, and everywhere the Elves turned they saw magnificent arches carved with trees.
"Ooooh," breathed Tawarmaenas. "I had thought that the dwellings of Dwarves would be crude. I see that I was wrong."
Thranduil had a very thoughtful expression upon his face. "And I as well," he admitted. He shook his head, trying to break free of the sense of wonder that possessed him. After such a long life of scorning the race of earth-dwelling Dwarves, it was not easy for him to admit that in some ways those folk matched—nay, exceeded!—the Elves in their love of beauty and their talent for creating it.
A dignified and prosperous looking Dwarf led them down to the very roots of the mountain and into an immense chamber, one so large that the Elves suspected that it must once have been Smaug's lair. In this they were correct, but so healed it had been of its hurts that anyone not knowing the history of the place would never guess that it had once been befouled with the stench of the foul worm and wreathed with its vapors.
A great stone chair sat upon a dais constructed in an intricate pattern of tessellated stones, and upon it sat Dáin son of Náin, King under the Mountain. To either side stood several magnificently attired Dwarves, their beards reaching at least to their mithril and gold and silver belts. Curiously, one white-hooded Dwarf was pacing back and forth, apparently in great agitation.
Thranduil inclined his head.
"Hail, Dáin son of Náin, King under the Mountain."
Dáin showed great courtesy. He arose from his throne and stepped down from the dais so that he stood on the same level as Thranduil, even though this meant that the Elf would tower above him. He inclined his head.
"Hail, Thranduil son of Oropher, King of Greenwood."
"Please allow me to present to you my nephew and heir, Tawarmaenas son of Dagormaenas."
"You are welcome here, Tawarmaenas son of Dagormaenas. Please allow me to present to you my counselors." He gestured to a Dwarf with an exceptionally long white beard, a scarlet hood, and a jeweled belt of great magnificence.
"This is Balin son of Fundin. And this is his brother Dwalin," he added, indicating a Dwarf who stood beside Balin."
"Dwalin—blue beard, golden belt, dark-green hood; Balin—white beard, jeweled belt, scarlet hood." thought Tawarmaenas.
"This inestimable individual," continued Dáin, with a wave of his hand toward a Dwarf of such amazing girth that Tawarmaenas wondered how he could walk, "is Bombur."
"Bombur—pale green hood and very wide."
"And this," Dáin said, gesturing to the white-hooded Dwarf who was still frantically pacing, "is Glóin. Glóin," he called, "I would like to introduce you to our guests, the King of Greenwood and the Prince, his nephew."
With an abstracted air, Glóin paused briefly to acknowledge them and then resumed pacing back and forth, back and forth.
"His wife is in labor. Poor Glóin has been frantic all day," whispered Dáin. "He broke two hammers in the forge this morning. I then suggested that he work off his energy in the mine, and he broke not one, not two, but three pickaxes!"
Thranduil nodded sympathetically. He well knew that childbearing could be a perilous business, and he wished both the mother and the infant well.
Dáin continued with the introductions. Both Thranduil and Tawarmaenas were now very close to bewilderment even though they were paying careful attention to beards and belts and hoods as they desperately tried to memorize the clues that would help them distinguish one Dwarf from another. Óin had a brown hood and no other counselor did, and only Ori wore a grey hood. In the end, however, king and nephew could not tell the difference between the yellow-hooded Bifur and the identically hooded Bofur; nor could they distinguish between Dori and Nori, both of whom wore purple hoods. But they bowed and smiled to all and sundry.
In spite of the graciousness of the welcome they were receiving from Dáin, Tawarmaenas noticed that some of the Dwarves looked upon the Elves with unfriendly eyes, especially Balin, who was well-nigh glowering at them. Apparently the 'misunderstanding' years before still weighed heavily on the minds of some of Thranduil's former 'guests'. No doubt Thranduil was aware of this as well. Certainly his next words went a long way toward placating the more irate among the Dwarves.
"King Dáin, my nephew and I have been marveling at your towers and terraces and fountains and arches. In Greenwood we have no structures that come near rivaling yours. Perhaps you might loan us some of your craftsmen so that Greenwood may in some small measure capture some of the beauty of this place."
Balin's pride in his kinsmen's accomplishments was such that he leaped in without waiting upon the reply of his king. "Would that please you?" he exclaimed. "But I must tell you that all of this is nothing when compared to Khazud-dûm!"
"Khazud-dûm. That is Moria, is it not?"
"Yes! The Dwarrowdelf of old!"
"I thought none lived there anymore, that it had become infested with Goblins," said Thranduil.
"True, true, but at its height, it was an immense underground city, its halls columned, its galleries arched, its black walls, polished and smooth as glass, flashing and glimmering, and all linked by an intricate maze of passageways. So vast it was that it extended at least forty miles from West-Door to East-Gate! Mayhap it shall be returned to its glory, and Dwarves from far and near will travel to visit it and the Dimrill Dale that lies near at hand, there to gaze upon the waters of Kheled-zâram, the Mirrormere."
Balin became more and more excited as he talked. At last Dáin gently interrupted.
"Our Balin here has been begging leave to take Ori and Óin and many others to Khazud-dûm to reestablish our dominion in that place. I am loath to permit them to go, for I think it is doubtful that we will be able to retake that city until the Darkness has been driven back in other places."
Balin made as if to renew his address, but Dáin shook his head.
"Nay, Balin. For now you must make other, mayhap better use of your tongue. Let us to the great chamber of Thror, the hall of feasting and merriment!"
This command pleased even Balin, and Dwarves and Elves ascended to another room, not quite so large but equally magnificent, in which tables had been set with a vast quantity of food and drink of the finest description. Dwarves are not known to be tall, but everyone knows that at the table a Dwarf can perform deeds incommensurate with his stature. Indeed, over the years Bombur's exploits at table had been on such a scale that it did turn out, as Tawarmaenas had suspected, that he could not walk—or at least chose not to trouble himself with that exercise. Instead, six young and sturdy Dwarves fetched him a sedan chair, and he was carried in great dignity into the dining hall.
In the midst of festivities, a messenger hurried to Glóin and whispered something in his ear. That worthy Dwarf leaped up with a shout of joy.
"I've a son! I've a son! He and his mother are well!"
Thranduil smiled, albeit a trifle wistfully. Still, he was sincerely happy for the Dwarf. He arose from his seat.
"Allow me to congratulate you and to offer the first toast in honor of your son, who is—."
"Gimli," declared Glóin proudly. "That's what I'm going to name him—Gimli!"
Thranduil raised his glass. "A long and happy life to Gimli son of Glóin. May he find friends wherever he ventures!"
After the toast, Glóin excused himself to hasten to the side of his wife and newborn son. It was late, however, so soon after his departure the gathering itself drew to a close.
"Thranduil," declared Dáin, "I am remiss in my duties as a host. You and your nephew and your escort are surely tired from your journey, and I have not yet commanded that your rooms be made ready. Indeed, to be truthful, I have not given any thought at all to your housing!"
"There are some very nice 'apartments' in the lower levels," deadpanned Balin. All laughed, Elves and Dwarves alike.
"Oh, I had in mind drier and somewhat more spacious quarters for these guests," said Dáin, smiling.
Dwarves can work fast—everyone knows how quickly Thorin Oakenshield and his band had erected defenses against the approaching armies of Lake-town and Greenwood—and in short order all the Elves were comfortably ensconced in rooms that were, Thranduil ruefully observed, far superior to the accommodations that he had provided the Dwarves so many years earlier. Indeed, so fine were the rooms set aside for the Elves, that Thranduil suspected that Dáin was 'rubbing his face in it'. Well, he conceded, perhaps such treatment was well-deserved.
The next morning everyone had to listen to Glóin wax poetic—for a Dwarf anyway—over the merits of his newborn son. All it took was a mild expression of interest on the part of Tawarmaenas for Glóin to eagerly offer to take him to see the infant immediately after breakfast. No doubt there would have been a veritable parade of visitors to the new citizen of Erebor had not the others at the table been wise enough to hold their tongues.
After breakfast Glóin proudly escorted Tawarmaenas to the chamber where his wife was lying-in. He asked Tawarmaenas to wait and vanished into the room, emerging a short time later carefully cradling a swaddled infant. Tawarmaenas drew near and, fascinated, peered down at the infant. He was very red, very wrinkled, and he scrunched up his face as if he were scowling. He had a full head of wiry, reddish-brown hair and a soft fringe of fuzz upon his chin. Fascinated, Tawarmaenas carefully extended a finger and stroked the baby Dwarf's face. Gimli flailed his arms about, and one hand touched Tawarmaenas' finger and promptly curled about it, gripping tightly.
"He is strong," declared Tawarmaenas in surprise.
"Aye," crowed Glóin. "He has a grip made for axe-wielding. Heads will roll when he steps upon the battlefield! No Elf will ever match him—oh, sorry, my young prince. I meant no disrespect!"
Tawarmaenas began to laugh. "No matter—ow!"
The baby had drawn the Elf's finger into his mouth and bitten down upon it.
"This baby has a tooth!" gasped Tawarmaenas as he gently tried to free his finger.
"Toothed and bearded," chortled Glóin. "Has anyone ever seen such a perfect baby!? Oh, no, I think not! What say you, Master Elf?"
Tawarmaenas answered with complete honestly. "Indeed, Master Glóin, I am sure we could search the length and breadth of Arda without finding a baby that is the match of this one!"
Glóin beamed, and Tawarmaena thought of his own father then, for his earliest memory was of his Ada proudly showing him off to a room full of indulgent friends and relatives.
That evening Tawarmaenas mentioned this incident to Thranduil.
"Yes," sighed Thranduil, "that is the way of all parents—or should be."
The King fell silent for awhile, and Tawarmaenas was sorry that he had mentioned the matter. At last, however, Thranduil roused himself.
"What do you think of Dwarves now, my son?"
"They are much nicer and cleverer than I imagined."
"Yes, but do not forget that they are Dwarves, and we are Elves. Much still separates us, and it would be folly to rely too much upon the friendship of a Dwarf!"
Tawarmaenas thought again of Glóin beaming proudly over his son and of his own father doing likewise. He was not sure that he altogether shared his uncle's opinion. For now, however, he politely nodded. And on that note, the two parted for the night.