Disclaimer: Refer to Chapter 1

**A/N  Sorry for the long delay, I had serious writer's block with this story, and also have been going wild with my other story, Silver Wanderer.  But, I think I'm back on track, thanks for your patience!! **

Chapter 15:  The Secret of the Mountain

            "Moraelin.  Still alive?"

            "Yes.  No thanks to you."

            A ripple of displeasure spread through the room.  No one, not even Talendil, dared speak with such open defiance to Thranduil.  The King's advisors looked on with anxiety, all seeming to hold their collective breath as they braced for the inevitable backlash.  Only Moraelin seemed unfazed by the furious stare of Thranduil.

            Finally, the King whipped his head around, his eyes stabbing into the clump of elves in the corner.  "Isiron, gather the maps and scrolls.  Malcalas, summon all the Council members to meet in the Chamber immediately."  Slowly, Thranduil's head turned back to Moraelin, who had not moved a muscle as elves scurried around her to do Thranduil's bidding.  "Tell them our esteemed mediator has arrived."

            Moraelin scowled at the sarcasm in his voice.  Thranduil only frowned, looking closely at her for the first time.  The scowl did not suit her, although the way it fell easily amid the lines of her face showed it was an expression she made often.  Her clothes were torn and filthy and a barely healed wound crossed her lips.  She clutched one arm to her side and there were dark rings of fatigue around her eyes.

            "Where is Legolas?" he asked, his eyes still roving over her face.  He searched in vain for some sign of Eregos, for any evidence this girl was an elf.  But, she looked every bit a dwarf to him. 

            "He is stabling the horse," she answered, choosing not to mention Legolas's injuries when Thranduil seemed dangerously moody already.

            "A servant could have done that," Thranduil said shortly.

            "Well, it would appear Legolas still does not like making servants do things he can do himself."

            "He is a prince," Thranduil muttered, "He should not have to engage in menial tasks."

            "He never acquired your comfort with ordering others around, thank the Valar."

            The room had emptied, leaving Thranduil and Moraelin alone before the ornately carved wooden throne.  Thranduil moved his face closer to hers, whispering even though there was no one else to hear him.

            "Don't you dare tell me about my own son, Child of Aüle.  I won't have you turning him against me again.  I won't have you seducing him again.  When Talendil is safely back in the city, you will leave and you will never return within my borders again, do you understand?"

            "Seducing him?" Moraelin gasped incredulously, "It was never—"

            She froze, and both their heads swiveled to the doorway where a nervous young elf shuffled his feet.

            "What?" They barked in unison, and the elf jumped.

            "The Councilors are assembled, your Highness."

            Thranduil waved a dismissing hand, the motion choppy and impatient.

            As Moraelin turned to leave the room, Thranduil caught her arm.  "You remember what I said," he ordered, "When this is resolved you will no longer be welcome here."

            Moraelin just stared with disgust at his hand where it gripped her.  When he finally released her, she looked up at him, jerking her head toward the door.  "After you, your Highness."

            Moraelin's back was stiff, her steps deliberate as she followed the King into the airy chamber.  Her confidence wilted quickly as a dozen sets of knowing eyes fell upon her with varying levels of contempt.  She even recognized some of these elves from her childhood, many among the oldest and most experienced in the realm.  Moraelin cast her eyes down, blindly taking a seat at Thranduil's left hand. 

            He did not even bother with introductions, instead saying, "Your brother is held in the mines at the west end of the mountains.  We have written up an agreement that you can take to them—"

            Moraelin spoke up, "Wait.  Wait.  Tell me first how in the blazes my brother ended up in a battle with dwarves in the first place.  Your son was intentionally vague I fear.  What haven't I been told?"

            Thranduil set the scroll before her with deliberate hands.  "You need only know that we offer them these conditions or there will be no exchange."

            "I am not simply a courier," Moraelin stated, shrill annoyance in her tone, "I will speak to them and make a deal.  My brother's life depends on proper handling of this matter and you haven't the faintest clue how to deal with my people.  So, tell me what happened, from the beginning."

            Thranduil leaned back in his chair, eyeing her for a long moment.  Finally, he sighed, and his shoulders drooped.  He seemed older, more frail at that moment and Moraelin was shocked at the change.  She could see the great strain the King faced, the fear.  It was clear to her that he really did love Talendil like a second son and was terrified of losing him. 

In a tired voice, he finally explained, "Over the past several months, we had come to believe the dwarves were a threat.  There was evidence that they did not intend to remain in the mountains.  I sent your brother and a small force to the mountains, to see what danger they truly posed.  The dwarves attacked your brother's encampment in the night.  That is all I know."

            "No," Moraelin said, shaking her head in pained denial, "Dwarves would not attack a sleeping camp. And we don't take prisoners.  It is not our way."

            "But they did," Thranduil said, "And the fighting was brutal.  When Talendil was taken, his soldiers made chase all the way into the mines, but were held at bay.  They grabbed a few prisoners of their own and retreated."

            Moraelin was digesting this information, still shaking her head slightly, when Legolas found them.  He crossed the room, gazing at where Moraelin sat, looking small and uncertain in the large chair.  He stood behind her, placing a hand lightly on her shoulder.  Thranduil shot his offspring a look that could have cut glass, but Moraelin soon drew his attention.

            "What 'evidence' did you have that the dwarves were a threat to you?  Why did you think they would ever cause you trouble unless you were to go looking for it?"

            For the first time, Thranduil glanced at the other elves, his eyes darting nervously from face to face.

            "Dwarves had been spotted prowling around near the city.  Their movements were. . .alarming.  Your brother believed they might attack."

            "Why would they attack you?" Moraelin ground out, "There has to be a reason."

            "Tell her," one of the elders instructed and Thranduil sighed.  The King's voice was almost a whisper as he said,

            "Mithril."

            Just the word alone sent Moraelin's blood drumming through her veins, brought a gleam into her eyes that nearly matched the shining of that mystical metal.

            "What-what do you mean?" she asked around her suddenly dry throat, struggling to regain control.

            "In the caverns behind the fortress, within this very mountain, is a vein of high quality mithril."

            Legolas's hand tightened around her shoulder, and she knew then this had been kept a secret, even from him.  But, Moraelin thought little of Legolas or the Councilors or even the King at that moment.  For her palms had gone sweaty, her lids falling heavily over her eyes.  She could nearly smell it now, hear the lyrical voice of the mithril calling out to her.  No wonder the dwarves had been drawn here.  No wonder they had taken such a risk trespassing onto Thranduil's lands.

            Moraelin swallowed a lump in her throat and said, "Why don't you just let them mine it?  It is no good to you, you will do nothing with it.  What do you care?"

            "I will not have dwarves mining the backrooms of my palace and passing freely through my city.  It is an unacceptable risk to—"

            "So you will fight a war over it instead?" Moraelin snapped.  "This has little to do with risks and a lot to do with power.  You have something they want, and by denying them, you have power over them."

            Thranduil slumped a little, glowering in his seat. 

            "They can find somewhere else to dig," he growled.

            "Do you know how rare reliable sources of mithril are?" she replied," There hasn't been a new mithril mine in years."

            "It doesn't matter," Thranduil stated, "They won't mine here.  It is out of the question.  This is the peace accord we have prepared."

            He leaned forward just enough to push the scroll closer to her.  Moraelin took it, carefully unrolling the brittle paper and flattening it with her hands.  As she scanned the careful script, an expression of horrified disbelief grew on her face.

            Finally, she mumbled, "Tolls for passage on the Forest Road?  A portion of gems mined to go to you as taxes?  No admittance into the forest without an escort?"

            She lifted her hands and the paper snapped back into a roll.  "This agreement is a joke," Moraelin said, "And I refuse to insult them by presenting this."

            She flung the paper into Thranduil's lap with a slight flick of her wrist.  The King bolted from his chair, wrath burning in his gaze.  "You insubordinate little—"

            Moraelin had jumped to her feet as well, causing her chair to fly back into Legolas.  The heavy wood cracked sharply into his kneecap.  Clutching the injured knee with one hand, he hopped between his father and Moraelin.

            "Maybe we should take a little break," he suggested.  He turned to Moraelin, gripping her arm, "Let's go for a walk, all right?"

            She ignored Legolas, staring over his shoulder at Thranduil who glared right back. 

            Legolas shook her arm a little, "Enough.  Come on." He dragged Moraelin from the room, still limping a little.  He did not slow until they had reached a quiet hallway near the kitchens that saw little traffic.  Urging her down onto a bench, he squatted in front of her.

            "You both need to calm down," Legolas said, his eyes pained, "You can't keep snarling at each other like that or you'll get nowhere."

            "He doesn't understand my people," Moraelin insisted, "He doesn't understand what mithril means to us, how far they will go. . .he doesn't know anything of our ways."

            "You need to make him understand," Legolas said quietly, "That is why you are here.  You must make both sides understand each other."

            "It is impossible," Moraelin whispered.

            Legolas took her hand, folding it between both of his, "It's not impossible.  Not for you.  Only you can set this right.  There can be no other."

            Moraelin cocked her head, looking curiously at Legolas, the smallest hint of vulnerability in her brown eyes, "Do you really believe that?"

            "Yes.  Now, let's go see if we can't talk some sense into those old men." Legolas pulled her hand up and kissed her knuckles, then dragged her to her feet.

            She followed with a sigh.

*   *   *

            Several hours later, Moraelin emerged from the Council chamber with Legolas not far behind.

            "See," he whispered in her ear, "That wasn't so bad."

            She glanced over her shoulder with a tired grin. "I suppose not.  At least I have something reasonable to offer the dwarves now."

            Legolas placed a supportive hand on her lower back.  "You're a natural, just as I knew you would be."

            "Oh, don't look so smug," Moraelin scolded, "We've still got a lot to accomplish."

            Legolas nodded.  He quickly sobered and said, "I know we need to prepare to depart, but there's one thing. . ."

            "What is it?" Moraelin asked, turning fully toward him.

            "She's too proud to bring it up herself, but I think my mother would really like to see you."

            Moraelin leaned back against a pillar, her face troubled, "I want to see her too, but it's been so awfully long.  What-what do I say?"

            "Unbelievable," Legolas said with a lopsided grin, "You just faced down Thranduil and the entire High Council of Mirkwood and now you are afraid to face my mother?"

            "Legolas, it's just so—"

            "I know," Legolas said softly, "I was joking.  Trust me, the words will come to you.  She loves you very much.  It will be easier than you think."

            Legolas leaned down to kiss Moraelin's forehead.  He then turned her toward the royal chambers and gave her a playful shove.  "Go," he ordered.

            Moraelin shot him a sharply annoyed glance.  Maybe he was more comfortable with giving orders than she had thought.  But, she did as she was told.