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Chapter Ten
Rivendell
Alison had never seen such a beautiful place in all her life—and she knew, when looking at it, that beautiful was too much of a restraint for Rivendell. The Valley of Imladris was beyond such mundane words.
The Company stood on a rocky ledge overlooking the valley, the cavern path behind them. High, arcing waterfalls took flight from the tall cliffs surrounding them, their spray glinting gold in the burnished light from the setting sun and tumbling down to the gurgling river winding its way through the valley below. Directly across from them stood a collection of gorgeous, open-air houses, with intricate balconies and terraces stretching everywhere across the buildings, gleaming with whites, browns, silvers, and blues, and surrounded by clear, crystal streams and lush forest.
Alison was instantly captivated, her body and soul and mind ensnared by the beauty and underlying magic of the place, for she could now feel it entirely—the valley hummed with power.
"Yes, Rivendell," Gandalf said, looking around with a calm smile on his face. "Here lies the Last Homely House east of the sea."
The dwarves looked around in grudging awe as if they were trying not to be too impressed, but the serenity of the moment was shattered when Thorin stalked up to Gandalf, a scowl set deep in his face.
"This was your plan all along," he accused. "To seek refuge with our enemy."
"You have no enemies here, Thorin Oakenshield," Gandalf said sharply, his piercing gaze meeting Thorin's angry one. "The only ill will to be found in this valley is that which you bring yourself!"
"You think the elves will give our quest their blessing?" he demanded. By this point, the whole Company had turned around to watch their heated exchange. "They will try to stop us."
"Of course they will," Gandalf agreed, surprising Thorin at this admission. "But we have questions that need to be answered." Before Thorin could object, Gandalf went on as if the dwarf wasn't standing in front of him, and Alison would have laughed out loud at Thorin's expression if she weren't afraid of him pushing her off the cliff for it. "Now, if we are to be successful, then this will need to be handled with tact, and respect, and no small degree of charm. Which is why you will leave the talking to me."
And with that, Gandalf began to make his way down the ledge, toward the expansive house across the river. With another scowl, Thorin followed him, and the Company fell into step behind them. Alison and Bilbo took up the rear, ogling and basking in the ethereal beauty of the valley as they picked their way slowly and distractedly after the Company.
Eventually, they descended from the cliffside and encountered a narrow stone walkway spanning across the river. As the dwarves made their way across carefully yet quickly, Alison followed more slowly, watching the water as it flowed underneath her feet, almost close enough to touch if she were to bend down. Even the way the water sounded babbling over rocks was magical in its own way, and she just wanted to jump in and let the water ease away her aches and worries.
She shook her head a bit at the thought, hurrying to catch up with the Company; she couldn't be distracted by this place. She knew the stories of what happened to mortals who came into contact with magic, and she wasn't keen on falling into the river and discovering she had been turned into a mermaid or something.
The Company, led by Gandalf, entered a pavilion near the water's edge, looking around in wonder at the strange place. There was no sign of any elves so far, and Alison drank in her surroundings, admiring the graceful architecture, melded with the own doings of nature as she noticed the beautiful carven statues of elven knights draped with vines.
"Mithrandir," a clear voice said from behind them.
The Company turned, seeing an elf descend the tall staircase of the front house, seeming to have melted out of the stone with his sudden appearance.
Now, Alison had seen hobbits, dwarves, orcs, and wizards, but nothing could have prepared her for the sight of an elf. She openly stared as the elf graced down the stairs, marveling at his air-like movements and the aura of gentle power that radiated from him. There was no other word for the elf she saw—he was simply beautiful.
He was like an angelic statue come to life, flawless and radiant. His skin was alabaster pale, smooth, and unblemished, a bright contrast against his deep violet robes and braided silver circlet. He was tall and slender, with high cheekbones, an angular jaw, and sweeping dark hair that flowed down his back like ink, swept away from his carven face to reveal sharp, pointed ears.
Alison suddenly became aware of how disgusting she was, her clothes dirty and sweaty and bloodstained, her hair tangled and unwashed, and she bet her face was probably no better, either, as the elf graced the last few steps and put a hand over his heart, bowing his head to Gandalf.
"Ah, Lindir," the wizard said, making the same gesture back to the elf as Lindir spoke in a musical voice of elvish, a small smile flitting across his lips.
"Lastannem i athrannedh i Vruinen," he said.
Alison stared. She knew that all the races of Middle-earth had their own languages, like the dwarves, but she had never paid much attention to it considering she wasn't allowed to know Khuzdûl and the Iglishmêk.
"Aníra-im pedtîn Hîr Elrond," Gandalf replied.
Alison glanced to her left to see Kíli looking on in helpless confusion, obviously not having any idea what they were saying, either.
"Hîr nín Elrond ú sí," Lindir said, and Gandalf frowned.
"Ú sí?" he seemed to be repeating. "Mi vane?"
But Lindir didn't answer, for suddenly there was the sound of a horn behind them—the same horn that had blown before the attack on the orcs when they were in the cavern. The Company turned and saw a single-file procession of horses galloping down the pathway they had just crossed, toward the pavilion. Alison could see the gleam of their armor and helms and their elven banners flying behind them as they rode closer.
It was obviously a returning war party, but Alison didn't see all the fuss as Thorin shouted, "Ifridî bekâr!" and Nori pushed in front of her, trapping her in the middle with Bilbo as the dwarves crowded around them and raised their weapons.
They eyed the elven party fiercely as they circled the Company, easily towering over them on their horses as they all stopped at once, facing the group from underneath their elaborate silver helms.
"Is this really necessary?" Alison grumbled to the dwarves, wanting to see the elves up close, but they ignored her, still staring distrustfully at the gathered warriors.
"Gandalf!" a voice said. An elf with long raven hair and lavish silver and crimson armor swung off his horse, a fine cape of gold fluttering around his shoulders as he dismounted.
"Lord Elrond, mellonnín," Gandalf said, embracing the elf dearly. "Mo evínedh?"
"Farannem 'lamhoth i udul o charad," Lord Elrond replied. "Dagannem rim na Iant Vedui."
Alison's face drained of blood. Lord Elrond. This was the Lord Elrond. The Elf Lord of Rivendell.
"Strange for orcs to come so near our borders," Lord Elrond said, abruptly switching to the Common Tongue mid-conversation. "Something, or someone, has drawn them near."
He gave a pointed look to Gandalf at this.
"Ah, that may have been us," Gandalf said with a sheepish smile.
Lord Elrond half-smiled, sweeping his dark gaze over the Company. To her intense shock and dread, his eyes sought her out first, and she gulped as the elven lord bowed to her. The dwarves looked to her in bewilderment, but she didn't take her eyes off Lord Elrond as he straightened, meeting her wide eyes with his calm, dark ones.
"Welcome, Lady Ashburne," he greeted. "It is most joyous to see you here in Rivendell. Your arrival has long since been anticipated among the inhabitants of Middle-earth."
She knew she should probably curtsy or something, replying with a formality equal to his, but all she could do was squeak out, "Really?"
Lord Elrond smiled kindly. "Indeed. You are most welcome here, my lady."
"Th-thank you," she said, still flustered.
Thorin stepped forward then, his blue eyes hard. Lord Elrond turned to him, nodding his head respectfully. "Welcome Thorin, son of Thráin."
"I do not believe we have met," Thorin said, looking at the elf with poorly disguised mistrust.
"You have your grandfather's bearing," Lord Elrond replied. "I knew Thrór when he ruled under the Mountain."
"Indeed?" Thorin said, lifting a brow. "He made no mention of you."
Lord Elrond narrowed his eyes slightly, taking in the dwarf with an unfathomable gaze.
"Nartho i noer, toltho i viruvor," he said, holding Thorin's gaze while the dwarf grit his teeth in irritation, and Alison knew the elven lord must be getting a kick out of pissing Thorin off by using the elvish tongue. "Boe i annam vann a nethail vin."
When he had finished, Glóin spoke up from the inside of the group, his thick eyebrows contracted angrily as he growled, "What is he saying? Does he offer us insult?"
"No, Master Glóin, he is offering you food," Gandalf said, a little exasperatedly. At this, the Company all shared looks and began to mutter quietly to each other, casting suspicious glances to the elves around them. Alison listened in amusement before they finally came to a decision.
"Well, in that case, lead on," Glóin said gruffly.
Lord Elrond smiled again. "Certainly." He gestured to Lindir, who immediately came to his side. "Lindir, show Lady Ashburne to her rooms. I will escort Thorin Oakenshield and Mithrandir. And, Delthiel," he said. One of the standard-bearing elves straightened in his saddle. "Kindly lead the Master Dwarves to the bathhouses."
The two elves nodded, and Lindir approached Alison, beckoning to her with a slender hand. Ignoring the disdainful glares and mutterings of the dwarves toward her escort, Alison accepted his hand gratefully with a small smile, and the elf turned and led her back up the staircase he had descended from earlier.
"I see the Road has not been too lenient for you and your companions," he said in his musical voice, taking in her bedraggled and travel-stained appearance with expressionless dark eyes as they moved out of sight of the dwarves.
Alison blushed as they ascended the final steps of the staircase, entering an exquisite entry hall with glowing lamps hanging from the ceiling and gorgeous, woven tapestries adorning the walls. "Is it ever lenient for anyone?"
"Seldom," he replied, a quick smile gracing his lips as they exited the house and came out to a veranda with another breathtaking view of the valley. He led her to the left, where a smaller, yet no less grand house perched on the edge of a slight ridge, a tranquil waterfall flowing underneath it before falling down empty space to the valley floor far below them.
There was a slight cough beside her. Alison tore her eyes away from the landscape and looked to Lindir as he continued. "It is interesting, how you came to be in the company of thirteen dwarves and a halfling. The wizard, I understand, but the others…"
He lifted a perfectly arched eyebrow questioningly, and Alison began to panic. She couldn't tell him about the quest to Erebor—Thorin would kill her for divulging such secrets. Then she was confused; if her arrival had long been expected, then shouldn't the elves know already what she had been sent to do? Unless, she thought, they didn't know her purpose, but only of her arrival.
"The… Company found me when I first arrived with Gandalf," she said when her silence became suspicious. She hoped she would sound convincing; lying had never been one of her strong suits. "They told us that they were traveling east to…"
She hesitated before an image of a map she had seen in Bilbo's bedroom swam into view, and she remembered Bofur mentioning something about the Grey Mountains and the dwarf kingdom there.
"Ered Mithrin!" she exclaimed, forcing herself to smile. "Yes, Ered Mithrin, to visit distant relations or some sort. And the hobbit, I don't know. I assume he just wants adventure; strange, how different he is from most of his kind that way. And since Gandalf and I were traveling the same way, we decided to journey together. So…yeah."
She nodded vigorously when Lindir glanced at her sideways, frowning.
Much to her relief, he didn't press her, though it was obvious he knew she wasn't being entirely truthful. They fell into silence as they climbed another staircase, this one smaller than the main one in the pavilion, and made from ivory instead of stone. They approached a light wooden door located at the end of a secluded hallway, and Linder gestured to it.
"These are your rooms, my lady," he said. "I will send some maids to help you dress for dinner and return within the hour to escort you to the dining pavilion."
"Thank you, Lindir," she said politely, remembering her manners this time and bobbing her head respectfully. The elf inclined his own gracefully before retreating back down the hallway, his violet robes swirling behind him.
Alison opened the door and crossed into the room beyond when she stopped suddenly, her mouth dropping open. She had been expecting a bedroom and a bathroom for sure, but looking around the room, she realized that this was more like a hotel suite than just a room.
To her left was a raised platform of polished, light wood floors, with the largest bed she had seen in her life perched atop it. The headboard was a work of art, with gleaming wooden branches entwined together to create a backdrop of splendor against the white-sheeted mammoth of a bed; she was sure if she were to lay in the center of it and stretch out her arms and legs, she would not be able to reach the sides.
The ceiling was high and vaulted with wooden beams, giving the illusion she was inside a tree as sparkling lamps dangled down like glowing windchimes, casting the room in pretty silver light and giving a sense of realness to the tapestries of nature on the walls and the fine ivory statues of elf-maidens in the alcoves of the room. Across the wide expanse of the bedroom, gauzy blue curtains fluttered in the gentle breeze, opening onto a terrace bursting with flowers in all shapes and colors while overlooking the stunning views of Rivendell.
Alison crossed to the right of the room, where an intricate awning opened up into a lavish washroom, the wood floors turning into warm, carefully hewn stone as she entered in deeper. The washroom had to be as big as her bedroom back home, with a natural spring waterfall bubbling on one side of the room, feeding into the carved stone tub dominating most of the floor space, and a simple vanity on the other side with a large oval mirror.
"Wow," she breathed, summing up the room in one understated word. Not sure if she should wait for the maids or not but deciding that she was too revolting, she peeled off her clothes and wadded them into a smelly pile before letting down her hair and stepping to the edge of the tub.
She dipped a toe into the water, expecting it to be cold from the spring feeding it, but to her delight, it was actually quite hot. She submerged herself slowly, having to refrain from moaning aloud when the water encased her aching joints and sore muscles in a blanket of bliss.
She stretched out her legs and frowned at the bruises peppering her skin, blue and purple and yellow. Her leg hair had grown out as well, covering her lower legs in a layer of dark hair that made her wrinkle her nose in distaste. Razor blades, it seemed, were hard to come by in Middle-earth, and she thought forlornly of her one back home. She put her legs down and decided to not even look under her arms or elsewhere, instead searching through the vials of scented oils that had been left at the edge of the tub.
She found one that looked clearer than the others and uncorked it. The scent of lavender hit her, sharp and cloying—her mother's favorite scent.
And then she was crying.
All her worry, all her stress, every single terrifying, exhausting emotion she'd been bottling inside for the past two and a half weeks slammed into her with the force of a sledgehammer, driving the air from her lungs and cracking her ribs from the pressure.
She sobbed, clutching the vial in her fingers, the lavender striking her all over again each time she heaved a shuddering breath. She thought of her mother, bright and beautiful and kind, with her light brown eyes and wide smile, dressed in her dark blue scrubs and kissing Alison and her siblings on the forehead before leaving for her shift at the hospital. She thought of her brother and sister, of Brandon and Meghan, the identical, ten-year-old devils that were the bane of her existence, that she would give anything to see again; to be back home with them, to tell them she loved them one last time before she was gone, whisked away to another world where nothing made sense and somehow everything hinged on her.
She clutched her head in her hands, her tears falling into the bathwater and creating little ripples where they landed. Now that she was alone, now that she wasn't in danger, she could admit that she was more afraid than she had ever been in her life. Heroes, wargs, orcs, dwarves, elves…none of it should be real. But it was, and she was destined to save it; to save Thorin, Fíli, Kíli, and everyone else.
What a sick joke, she thought bitterly. I bet the Valar are having a good laugh about it all: The stupid mortal girl that everyone expects to be a savior. What a sick, twisted, cosmic joke.
She didn't even hear the door open until two elf-maidens entered the washroom, gazing down at her with wide eyes as they took in her tears.
"Lady Ashburne," one of them said in a lilting voice, her blue eyes concerned. "Is there something wrong? We were sent to help prepare you for dinner with Lord Elrond—"
"Get out," Alison rasped. The use of that title—of being called Lady Ashburne, like she was something special—made her angry. She glared at the maids; she probably looked feral, sitting in the bathtub with her grimy face and her lips pulled back over her teeth in a snarl, but she just wanted to be left alone. "I'm not going anywhere."
The two elves exchanged a glance.
The second elf faced her, saying, "I'm afraid Lord Elrond has requested you especially—"
"Then he can come to see me himself," she snapped. "Now, leave me alone."
At the venom in her voice, the maids bowed their heads hurriedly and rushed off, closing the door behind them. Alison sat back against the rim of the tub, already guilty for the way she'd acted. She dumped the vial of lavender oil into the water and let it cloud around her before grabbing a rag and scrubbing her arms vigorously.
Layers of dirt and grime sloughed off as she washed, her "tan" peeling and revealing a lighter shade of bronze underneath, though she did notice she was beginning to get a lot more freckles from the exposure to the sun as she continued to scrub.
After a few more minutes of painstaking washing, Alison's skin was finally rid of all the culminated dirt, her hair clean and nice smelling again, though she still had a lot of knots to untangle. She clambered out of the tub and shrugged on the thin satin robe she had been provided with before crossing to a small table in the corner of the bedroom, where two goblets and a pitcher of water had been left.
However, her eyes snagged on the decanter next to the pitcher, and she lifted it to her nose to smell: Red wine.
"Thank God," she muttered, pouring the wine into a glass and taking a sip. It was bitter but delicious, already sending warmth out to her fingers and toes as she drank more.
Just to be safe, she crossed to her bedroom door and turned the lock, figuring Middle-earth and Lord Elrond could wait for one night.
She had a lot of problems to drink through before morning.
Kíli had never seen an elf. But from the way the dwarves in Ered Luin had described them—as cold, distant, arrogant people—he'd expected them to be cruel beings with blood-red smiles and claws or the sort. He hadn't expected…this.
When Lindir had descended from the staircase upon their arrival, Kíli had been quite taken aback. While certainly an unearthly being, Kíli thought he looked quite normal despite his regal air and the aura of gentle power surrounding him. That was what he'd noticed about the rest of the elves they encountered as they were led to the dining pavilion by Delthiel: While regal, they were not unkind. In fact, they hardly paid any attention to the dwarves at all as they passed through the enormous halls.
The Company didn't speak to each other as they were led deeper into the House of Elrond, though they walked close together and took in their surroundings warily while water dripped onto the floor from their still-damp hair and clothes—the only indications that they'd freshened up for the occasion. Most of their weapons they'd been forced to leave behind out of courtesy, but Thorin had kept his new elven sword at Delthiel's request, stating that Lord Elrond was curious about the blade. Kíli, however, felt far too exposed without his bow and sword despite the peaceful, unthreatening valley.
Delthiel led them on stoically, not saying anything to the dwarves as they weaved through the houses, taking so many twists and turns Kíli was sure he wouldn't have been able to find his way back to the bathhouses even if he'd been provided a map.
While he did have to admit that Rivendell was beautiful in its own way, he was uncomfortable with all the open space around him. He craved the mountain halls of Ered Luin, with their high cavern roofs that echoed with the ceaseless noise of dwarven life—the sounds of his people. Rivendell was far too quiet for his taste, its inhabitants so silent he would have expected them to be ghosts if he didn't know better.
Delthiel gestured for them to enter an outdoor pavilion overlooking the valley, washed golden from the rays of the setting sun. There was a high table situated at the front set with four chairs that Delthiel bypassed entirely, instead leading them to two smaller tables in the center of the pavilion, divided down the middle by the presence of a large stone pedestal.
Kíli situated himself at the end of the table with Dwalin and Ori on his side and Fíli, Nori, and Bofur across from them. There was much disconcerted grumbling as the dwarves sat down, for the tables were low to the ground and had cushions to sit on instead of chairs.
As they sat, Delthiel bowed stiffly in his armor and then whisked away as other elves began to take up positions around the pavilion, flutes and harps and lyres in their hands. A few minutes later, Lord Elrond entered the pavilion. He'd changed out of his armor into robes of rich gold with a matching circlet upon his brow, leading Gandalf and Thorin, who scowled as he trailed after the elven lord, though Kíli noticed that he, too, looked clean and washed.
"Where's the food?" Bofur complained, looking around the pavilion and drumming his fingers on the table. "This doesn't seem much like a dinner if there isn't actually any dinner out."
Kíli smirked when one of the elven flute players shot the hatted dwarf a dirty look, while the elf-maiden pouring them wine looked as if she had swallowed something sour.
Kíli glanced up to the high table where Thorin sat. He made eye contact with his uncle, who looked as sullen as ever. Kíli nodded to him. Thorin inclined his head, his face lined with the scowl plastered to his mouth, and Kíli bit back a smile at his uncle's clear discomfort.
Lindir appeared behind the table, and Kíli watched as the elf leaned down and whispered something to Lord Elrond. The elven lord's face remained impassive, but when Lindir stepped away, he rose to his feet and spoke to them.
"It seems Lady Ashburne is…indisposed," he said in his smooth, timeless voice. "We shall be dining without her presence tonight."
When he sat down again, the dwarf tables erupted with whispers and quiet murmurs.
"What do you think happened to her?" Ori asked, his large brown eyes wide with worry.
"Did these elves do something?" Nori said, squinting around suspiciously.
Kíli met Fíli's eyes and frowned. It was strange, hearing Lord Elrond refer to their companion as Lady Ashburne. She was so introverted half the time that Kíli often forget she was part of a great line all her own, the descendant of the First Hero. Still, it was stranger that she would not be present with them.
"Did something happen with the wargs?" Bofur asked. He looked genuinely concerned. "She wasn't injured or anything, was she?"
"She looked plenty fine to me," Dwalin grumbled.
Fíli frowned. "No, nothing happened. But…"
Kíli raised an eyebrow at his brother when he trailed off. "But what?"
Fíli sighed when the table looked to him expectantly. "She did chuck her dagger at an orc's head."
Kíli snorted. "That's it?"
But Ori nodded quickly.
"She did!" he said. "I was there; I saw it!"
"So?" Dwalin said. "We all did our part to fend them off."
Fíli hesitated. "She shouldn't have been able to do it."
Kíli shared a skeptical glance with the others. "Well, she has arms, Fee. You can typically use those to throw things…"
"You've seen the size of her," Fíli argued. "She weighs as much as a mouse. At her distance, and with her strength…she shouldn't have been able to throw it that far. Much less hit a target." He frowned. "But somehow she did it. And she distracted the orc just long enough so it wouldn't skewer me. She…saved me."
Kíli traded another glance with Dwalin.
"Lucky chance?" he suggested. He studied his brother's troubled face. "But you don't think so."
"I want to experiment," Fíli said. "Back in Hobbiton, Gandalf mentioned something about her having Hero blood—the instincts of a warrior." He shrugged. "I want to see if it's true."
Kíli didn't know what to say to that, so he was glad when the servants came and deposited plates before the dwarves, their movements silent and swift. Kíli turned to his plate in distaste when he saw nothing but greenery. He hoped this was only the first course, or else his stomach would be growling all night.
"I don't like green food," Ori said, staring at the piece of lettuce on his fork like he was going to be sick.
"Where's the meat?" Dwalin said, shifting around the salad with his hands in incredulity as if the elves were playing a prank on him and hiding the food amongst the leaves. "Is this it?"
There were similar mutterings up and down the pavilion, and Kíli watched the elves grow more and more disgruntled with each remark. Bilbo was the only one who ate the salad without complaint, chewing and swallowing it as if it were daily fare; and for the hobbit, it probably was.
Kíli picked up a piece of lettuce and nibbled on it experimentally. As he swallowed the tasteless greenery, his stomach whined in protest, demanding meats and loaves of bread and ales. He set it down with a scowl, wondering if the elves were trying to starve them.
He looked up and met the eyes of the elf-maiden playing the harp behind Nori. Her pale fingers plucked the strings with precision, but her dark blue eyes were on Kíli in curiosity. She was pretty, he decided; not at all like the striking dwarrowdams he was used to flirting with in the Blue Mountains, but not ugly, either. He sent her a wink, pleased when she turned back to her harp, the tips of her pointed ears now red.
Kíli looked back to the table and saw both Fíli and Dwalin staring at him in disapproval. "What?"
Fíli scoffed. "Must you insist on charming anything with a pulse?"
Kíli picked up his wine and took a sip, pretending to think. "Hm. Yes, actually."
Dwalin shook his head in disgust. "At least have some taste. These tree-shaggers are as bare as my arse on the day I was born."
The elf playing the flute behind Dwalin cast the dwarf an ugly look. Kíli snickered into his goblet.
"Change the tune, why don't you?" Nori said to the elf holding the flute. "I feel like I'm at a funeral!"
"Did somebody die?" Óin asked from across the pavilion, his ear trumpet misinterpreting things as usual.
Kíli glanced to the high table. Lord Elrond and Lindir looked on with tight expressions, though Thorin was smirking slightly as the dwarves began to voice their own rude thoughts.
"All right, lads, there's only one thing for it," Bofur said, getting up from his seat. He walked along the table, knocking aside dishes as he clambered on top of the stone pedestal in the center of the pavilion. With all eyes now on him, he grinned and held out his hands in a spectacular gesture as he began to sing:
"There's an inn, there's an inn, a merry old inn,
Beneath an old grey hill.
And there they brew a beer so brown,
The Man in the Moon himself came down
One night to drink his fill.
Oh, the ostler has a tipsy cat,
That plays a five-stringed fiddle.
And up and down he saws his bow
Now squeaking high,
Now purring low,
Now sawing in the middle."
By this point, all the dwarves had joined in, making beats and singing along while tossing their food at each other. Greenery flew everywhere; most of the elves had taken shelter to avoid the revelry, but Lord Elrond and Lindir watched in silent horror as Bofur continued with the last verse of the song:
"So, the cat on the fiddle played hey-diddle-diddle,
A jig that would wake the dead.
He squeaked and sawed and quickened the tune
While the landlord shook the Man in the Moon,
"It's after three!" he said!"
On the last line, the dwarves all shouted it together and cheered, throwing more food.
At the high table, Gandalf looked as if he wished he'd never joined their Company.
"Our business is no concern of elves."
Thorin stood in Lord Elrond's study with Balin, Gandalf, and—for some reason unbeknownst to him—Bilbo, the bright light of the moon streaming in through the open archways.
Thorin didn't want to be there; though he knew they needed help in regard to the map of the Lonely Mountain and its secrets, surely there was any other entity in Middle-earth besides elves that could help them? To think that he had stooped so low, coming to the very people who had turned their backs on him and his kin, forced to ask for aid like a stray dog begging for scraps. The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.
"For goodness' sake," Gandalf said impatiently. "Thorin, show him the map!"
"It is the legacy of my people," Thorin said, not taking his gaze from Lord Elrond's expressionless dark eyes. "It is mine to protect. As are its secrets."
"Save me from the stubbornness of dwarves!" Gandalf said. "Your pride will be your downfall." Thorin switched his glare to Gandalf. "You stand here in the presence of one of the few people in Middle-earth who can read that map. Show it to Lord Elrond!"
Thorin looked back and forth between Elrond and Gandalf. He knew that if he revealed the map, Elrond would know of their quest immediately. But Gandalf's words had sparked something in him, a flicker of worry he had been keeping at bay for weeks now. And Thorin wanted his home back; it was his birthright, and he deserved to restore his people to splendor again, even if it meant seeking help from elves. With Gandalf's words ringing in his ears, Thorin swallowed and removed the map from under his cloak.
"Thorin, no—" Balin protested, but Thorin held up a hand as he approached the elven lord, reluctantly holding out the map.
Elrond took the map from Thorin's hand, his eyes unfathomable as he opened it. It was silent for a few moments as Elrond studied the map, and Thorin watched anxiously as the elf's eyes widened infinitesimally.
"Erebor," he said in wonder. He looked up, his gaze incredulous. "What is your interest in this map?"
"It's mainly academic," Gandalf said, shooting a warning glare at Thorin when Elrond wasn't looking. "As you know, some of these artifacts can sometimes contain hidden texts."
Elrond breezed over to a particularly large and bright shaft of moonlight, his pale gold robes rippling on the floor behind him as he held up the map.
"You still read Ancient Dwarvish, do you not?" Gandalf asked.
Elrond did not answer immediately, still examining the map. The others watched curiously as he finally uttered two words: "Cirth ithil."
Thorin, Balin, and Bilbo stared blankly at the elven lord, but comprehension broke over Gandalf.
"Ah. Moon runes." He shook his head, a knowing smile on his face. "Of course. An easy thing to miss."
"Well, in this case, that is true," Elrond said, turning back to face them. "Moon runes can only be read by the light of the moon of the same shape and season as the day on which they were written."
Thorin's heart dropped like a stone; those runes could have been written on any day of the year. They could have to wait months for the runes to be visible. Surely not even his luck could be so bad—
"Well?" Balin said when Thorin did not speak. "When were they written?"
"On a midsummer's eve, by the light of a crescent moon," Elrond said.
Thorin peered out the archway. It was midsummer in a week's time, but the moon—
"The half-moon is at its full strength tonight," Elrond said. "It should wane in the next several days, and then you shall have your crescent moon, Thorin Oakenshield."
Thorin nodded, his throat too tight to say anything. A week. He could wait a week for the answers he needed from Lord Elrond. Though he'd rather press on to the Lonely Mountain, they needed those runes deciphered if they were to find a way into the Mountain.
Elrond folded the map again and handed it back to Thorin, his fingers ghostly pale in the moonlight.
"In the meantime," he said, "I offer you the full hospitality of Rivendell. You may go where you wish when you wish. All I ask is that you do not leave the borders of the valley, and to keep your…customs within reason."
At the vaguely irritated look Elrond graced them with, Thorin knew he was referring to the incident that had happened at dinner earlier. He bit back a smirk, only nodding to the elven lord.
"Thank you, Lord Elrond, for your generosity," Balin said, ever the diplomat. He bowed his head courteously. "We bid you good-night."
Once Elrond dismissed them, Thorin and Balin left the elven lord and Gandalf behind. After a moment, Bilbo followed the two dwarves, keeping behind them as they walked.
"I dislike having to wait here," Thorin said to Balin once they had left the study behind. The houses were empty when they passed through, but Thorin wouldn't doubt if they were still being listened to. "Each day delayed is another day Smaug sits in the Mountain like it is his kingdom to rule."
"I know, laddie," Balin said, "but we must if we are to learn what the map tells about the secret entrance."
Thorin scowled. "We have a key. Should that not be enough?"
Balin quirked his lips at him. "Keys need something to unlock first."
"Your wisdom prevails yet again, my friend," he said drily, and Balin chuckled.
They traveled the rest of the way in silence until they came across the encampment the dwarves had set up on one of the verandas of a smaller house tucked near the cliffs of the valley. They'd been offered rooms, of course, but in true dwarvish fashion, they'd rejected the offer—their own private rebellion against the elves. Even Thorin had turned down his rooms after bathing, and—surprisingly—so had the hobbit.
When they walked onto the veranda, the dwarves looked up. Their things were sprawled across the space, and so were they, smoking pipes, playing cards, and talking in small groups. Thorin nodded to them all before taking a seat with Fíli and Kíli, who were both smoking their pipes in content silence.
"So?" Fíli said. "How did the meeting go?"
Thorin grunted, noncommittal. "The map was written with moon runes. We won't be able to read them until midsummer's eve, most likely."
Kíli groaned around his pipe. "So, we're stuck here?"
Thorin nodded. "Indeed." He glanced over the veranda and swiftly counted heads—a habit he'd grown used to on the Road. "Any word on Miss Ashburne's whereabouts?"
Fíli shook his head. "No one's seen her. We asked that Lindir fellow, but all he said was that she was shut away in her rooms." He hesitated. "Should someone check on her?"
Kíli clapped him on the shoulder. "I think you just volunteered yourself, Brother."
"No," Thorin said. "If she wants to be left alone tonight, then she may have her wish. Get some rest," he added. "This may be the last hospitable place between here and Erebor."
He tried not to dwell on the thought much.
Until next time! Stay tuned for some surprise appearances...
Note: I have not provided the Elvish translations as they are the same dialogue as spoken in An Unexpected Journey. I just "translated" Gandalf's lines from the Common Tongue to Elvish as it always came across weird to me that they wouldn't just communicate in one language or the other instead of using both at the same time. But that's just me. Hope that makes sense.
