Chapter Fourteen
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SUMMARY: The preparations for Erebor don't quite go as smoothly as the Kings had hoped, and their differing cultures don't always mesh well, but Bard finds a way to smooth things over.
Then, the family is off! Introductions are made and the many ceremonies begin, and so far, everyone is behaving beautifully. Bard helps his husband out in an unusual way.
As a tribute Peter Jackson, and New Zealand, some of the official Dwarven ceremonies are taken from my research on the Maori Welcoming Ceremony. Hope you like it.
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"My heart no longer felt as if it belonged to me. It now felt as it had been stolen, torn from my chest by someone who wanted no part of it."
― Meredith T. Taylor, Churning Waters
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City of Dale, 26th of July, 2942 T.A.
There was much excitement in the Castle: The entire Royal family will travel to Erebor tomorrow, for four whole days!
Tilda's excited chattering was non-stop, in anticipation of meeting Princess Alda (who she just knew was going to be her new best friend, and isn't it exciting!). As much as everyone loved her, she'd been driving them up the wall, until even her Ada was compelled to speak to her:
"If you get this all built up in your mind, Tithen Pen, Princess Alda will never reach your expectations."
"But I'm excited!"
"I know, but just remember your manners, and let things happen naturally. She may be very nervous to meet you."
"Why?"
"Maybe she is shy. You know yourself, that you like to hang back and wait for a few minutes before you feel comfortable with strangers. Am I correct?"
Tilda thought about that.
"You do not like it when a person you do not know, runs up to you and gets too near, right away. Perhaps Princess Alda is the same way, and you do not want to make her uncomfortable. That is not a good first impression, is it?"
"No… I guess not. All right," she rolled her eyes dramatically. "I'll try to control myself."
"That is all I ask." Thranduil kissed her hair and sent her off to finish her packing.
Several large trunks had arrived from the Palace a few days before. Rather than burden the already-frantic Tailors in Dale, Thranduil had sent measurements to the Palace, and commissioned new outfits including boots and shoes, for all the children, including Tauriel.
Bard protested at the extravagance, but acquiesced when Hilda pointed out that the children had outgrown most of their clothes, anyway, and didn't Tauriel deserve to have some nicer things? Besides, Ada was footing the bill, and he would not allow the treasury of Dale to be burdened thus, when it had more important things to be used for.
Two trunks also arrived, one with Bard's good clothes from their dressing room, and one which contained the Elvenking's best finery including one of his more elaborate diadems to wear for diplomatic visits.
Unfortunately, that's when they hit a snag…
"Faica umbar!" Thranduil cursed when he opened the trunk, and saw a particular box.
"What's wrong, love?" Bard came over to see. "What is it?"
"Why does Galion send for this?" he pointed to the tall, round object, covered in silver brocade. "He always wants me to wear it, and I despise it!"
"Wear what?" Bard picked it up and made to open it, but Thranduil slammed the lid down.
"Not out here!" he hissed.
Bard grabbed his hand, and carried the box to their room, and put it on the bed. "Well?"
"I am not opening that thing." The Elvenking crossed his arms. "You do it."
Bard sat on the bed and unwound the thin cord that wrapped around the leather buttons, and raised the lid.
"That's certainly... something, isn't it?"
"Yes, it is."
Bard picked it up and turned it back and forth. The crown looked like a series of branches and twigs done in silver. Or maybe it looked like silver antlers; he couldn't be sure.
"It looks… well-made?" Bard tried a hopeful tone.
Thranduil narrowed his eyes.
"Which part goes in the front?"
"That," the Elf pointed to the widow's peak, "rests on my forehead so low, I have to stop myself from crossing my eyes."
"Let me see it on you," Bard stood up with it.
"Absolutely not." The Elvenking stepped back. "You will not place that ugly monstrosity on my head!"
"Oh, come on; it can't be that bad."
"You wear it, then!"
Bard sighed. "Come on. Just this once, for me? Please?"
"Bard –"
"Athog? Annin?" The Bowman smirked. "You know you love it when I speak Sindarin, Aran vuin nîn."
Thranduil sighed. "You will not laugh at me?"
"Cross my heart." Bard made an "X" motion over his chest.
"I do not know what that means."
"It means I promise not to laugh at you."
The Elf rolled his eyes, smoothed his hair, put it on, and looked at Bard expectantly.
"It's well… um…" Bard put his knuckles to his mouth, and resisted the urge to fall on the floor and roll about. "It's… an unusual look for you."
"'Unusual?'" Thranduil covered his face. "I look like a idiot!"
The Bowman put his arms around his waist, making sure to look somewhere on his shoulder, so he didn't see his head. "You'll always be beautiful to me."
"Can I take it off, now?"
"You can, thank you for doing it, love."
Thranduil whipped it off his head so hard, a few strands of hair came with it, and threw it across the room.
"Hey, don't do that; it's a valuable piece of jewelry!"
"Since it bears no jewels, and makes me look stupid, I highly disagree." Thranduil stalked out of the bedroom.
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As soon as the door was shut, Bard couldn't hold it in anymore. He sputtered, then snickered, and within seconds, he sat down on the bed in hysterics, laughing into his pillow until his stomach hurt. Each time he thought he was finally done, the giggle-fits began again, and he would double up into a ball until he could hardly breathe.
Finally, the King of Dale sat up and went to wash his face, still chuckling occasionally.
When he was sure he'd gotten himself under control, he smoothed down his tunic and opened the door.
Thranduil stood there looking furious. And very hurt.
"How could you, Bard? After you made the Sacred Vow!"
"After the what?"
"You said the words! You did this!" Thranduil made an angry slashing motion over his chest. "I trusted you!"
Bard looked over the Elvenking's shoulder, at the heads peeking out of the doors in the corridor.
"Get in here; you're making a scene." He yanked the Elf inside and shut the door, then put his hands on his hips. "What happened to the silencing spell?"
"I removed it."
"When?"
"A few minutes ago."
"Why?"
"Because I knew you would laugh! I knew it! Even after you –" again, Thranduil slashed across his chest.
Bard sat him on the bed, and tried to take Thranduil into his arms, but the Elf was stiff and standoffish. "Do not try to make up to me!" he said angrily. "You vowed with the Crossing of the Heart, then you laughed at me!"
"Please don't be mad; I couldn't help it. But, before we talk about this, put the spell back up. Now."
Thranduil raised his hand, and spoke the words to the luith-dínen, with a frown. "Go on."
"First of all, 'Cross your Heart' is not a spell, a curse, nor any type of magic. It's simply something we say. Children say it."
"Children?"
"Aye. 'Cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in my eye.'"
"What?" The Elvenking leaped to his feet and towered over him with a horrified look. "What is this 'hoping to die?'"Thranduil was utterly shocked, and looked at Bard like he'd never seen him clearly before. "Needles? In eyeballs? That is deplorable, Bard!"
"Really, love; it's not a big deal—"
"It is to me! Our Tilda says such things, does she not?"
"Well, yes, but –"
"It is barbaric! They will stop this practice immediately! I cannot abide such a thing to come out of her mouth!"
"All right, all right…" Bard said in a soothing tone. "I won't say it anymore, and I'll make sure the kids don't either."
The Elf sniffed, and crossed his arms expectantly. "And?"
"And I'm sorry you're mad about me laughing, but I really tried to wait till you couldn't hear me, so as not to hurt your feelings."
"But you did, and it did!"
"Well... you removed the silent-spell in the first place!" Bard pointed out. "You cheated!"
"And you made me think you had performed a Truth Spell, which turned out to be a sadistic children's poem!" the Elvenking roared. "A cruel idiom you allow our own children to say, as if it was nothing!"
Thranduil glared at him for a few seconds, then growled, as left the room in a huff. Bard's jaw dropped, listened to angry muttering in Sindarin and the slam of door to the Elvenking's study. Then he sighed, shook his head, and got up to go back to work. He ran into Percy in the hall.
"What's up with the Elf?"
"Cultural misunderstandings, and ugly headgear."
The Steward opened his mouth to say something, then raised his hands up, then walked away.
Bard rolled his eyes and sighed, then sent a message to Feren.
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Dinner that evening was quiet and tense, despite both Kings' effort to appear cheerful and relaxed.
It didn't work. Tilda accused Da of smiling "too hard," and said her Ada was "fakey-nice."
The family gathering afterward was downright awkward, but the rest of them were too excited about their trip to notice that their fathers looked everywhere but each other. When Tauriel got up to take the dogs for their walk, Thranduil said he would do it, and left before anyone could comment further.
Bard was sick of it. This was a ridiculous argument about nothing! Absolutely nothing!
Or was it?
Bard considered this thought, as he sent the children off to their baths, tucked them in, kissed them goodnight and went into his bedroom to wait for his husband.
Sometime later, the door opened, and the Elf came in, looking at the floor.
"Took you long enough."
Thranduil raised his gaze and froze, as his eyes widened.
Bard was lying on his side on top of the covers, with his head propped up on his elbow.
Naked. Except for one thing.
"You look…" the Elf slowly walked over to him, "even more ridiculous than I do in that thing."
"Oh, I don't know; I think it makes me look exotic."
"'Exotic' is not the word I would use, Meleth nîn."
"I could take it off your hands."
"You may take it off my hands, on one condition."
"What's that?"
"You take it off your head, first."
"You do it," Bard looked down at his naked body. "I don't have anything else for you to take off."
Thranduil crawled on the bed, took the crown off, and threw it over his shoulder, sending it clattering in the corner.
"So," Bard traced the lines of Thranduil's throat and chest with his finger, "how about putting that gwîb of yours to good use, and puith your King?"
Thranduil smiled, as his lips hovered over Bard's. "Your pronunciation is still terrible."
"Just shut up and fuck me, Elf."
Later, Thranduil was laying across their bed, with his head hanging over the side, as Bard rested his cheek against his stomach, tracing little circles on his chest.
"That was fabulous." Bard breathed.
"It is always wonderful, but the - what do you call it? 'Make-up sex?' That is…"
"Fabulouser."
"That is not a word, Bard."
"It is now. Told you we should name it."
"We did. 'The Elf Thing.'"
"That's regular sex, but 'make-up sex' has to have its own name. 'Fabulouser…'"
Thranduil's eyes were still closed as he snickered. "Name it if you must, but come up with something better, Meleth." His long, white-gold hair puddled on the floor beneath him, as stroked his husband's head.
"You know, when the Castle is finished, I want a bed as big as the one in the Palace."
"I will make sure of it."
"I was also thinking…" the Bowman began.
"Always troublesome."
"Be serious." Bard grabbed Thranduil's hand, and helped him up, so he could settle against his side, and wrap his arms around him. "I think," he kissed the blonde head, "I know what was really upsetting you."
"What is that?"
"This trip has gotten you rattled. You're nervous, love."
"Are you not nervous as well?"
"Of course, I am," He snickered. "I'm terrified somebody's going to find out I'm an impostor, that I'm just a bargeman with no clue what I'm doing. Even so, it's easier for me – I don't have a bad history with the Dwarves, and I know how much you want this to go well. But there's something else, too."
"And what would that be?"
"Maybe you feel you have to prove you're not the monster they thought you were. Maybe, on a base level, it hurts to think that they thought you a monster in the first place." Bard lifted his head and look at Thranduil's face. "It's not a bad thing to want to be understood, love. You genuinely like Dáin, and want all these new people to like you, too."
Bard sat quietly, waiting for his husband to speak.
After a few moments, Thranduil sighed. "Thorin told me I lacked all honor, and in that moment, he was right. Dáin said on that battlefield, that I wished nothing but ill upon his people, and it was true... And when Tauriel stood in front of me, with her arrow in my face, she said, 'There is no love in you.' She was also correct, for I was willing to let her friends be slaughtered. Then Legolas looked at me with such anger and disgust... I really was a monster, Bard!
"What would have happened, had she not stood up to me?" He swallowed. "I can hardly stand to think of what I had allowed myself to become, and I may be facing an entire City of Dwarves who still think of me that way."
"You know that's not true, love. You gave them food, and supplies when the Dragon came. I'll bet plenty of them remember that."
"I do not know why I care so much, now. I did not used to."
Bard turned on his side to face him. "You didn't care before, because you were numb inside, Thranduil. You feel things now, and that can be hard, sometimes."
The Elf was embarrassed to agree with him. "I know it does not make sense…"
"Feelings often don't, but that's all right."
"Still," Thranduil sighed. "I will not gain understanding and respect with silly-looking antlers on my head."
"Have you seen the Crown of Erebor? That thing looks like arse, and no one's going to convince me Dáin likes it." Bard hugged him tighter. "Feren and I sent for some other ones, and they'll be here in the morning."
"Which ones?"
"Your sapphire and diamond one, and the silver and onyx diadem for the memorial service in the tombs." He grinned. "I also sent for your emerald necklace."
"You did?" Thranduil smiled. "Why?"
"Because of the way you smiled, just now. Because when you wear it, you can think of how I smashed your chair in the dressing room, after you teased me to madness in front of that mirror." Bard tugged Thranduil's hair. "So if you feel nervous at all, look at me, touch your emeralds three times, and that will be my signal."
"Signal for what?"
"For me to fall to my knees, pull down your drawers, and take you in my mouth, right in front of the Valar and everybody. That should convince the Dwarves you've got plenty of love in you."
Thranduil smacked him with pillow, then kissed him. "Thank you, Meleth nîn." He sighed with relief. "I am sorry I was irritable."
"I'm sorry I laughed. I'd never want to hurt your feelings, love, you have to know that. And I didn't mean to upset you with that little rhyme about crossing my heart. I honestly never thought about it before this."
"I cannot make jokes about death, Bard." Thranduil picked at the sheets. "I… I understand that Humans see death as a natural part of life, and such whimsy might be your way of making peace with it, but it is not natural for Elves. I just... cannot think about dying and make light of it."
"You're right," Bard kissed his temple. "I'm sorry."
"I know you are, and I should have explained at the time." Thranduil settled himself on Bard's shoulder. "If I am to be perfectly honest, I do not blame you for laughing. I confess I did the same, when my father had to wear it."
The Bowman snickered. "Where did it come from?"
"It was made by one of Galion's relatives, and he gave it to my father, as a gift. Oropher hated it too, but never wanted to hurt his feelings."
"Well, I could make it up to you, by getting rid of it."
"Really?" He smiled at kissed Bard. "What are you going to do?"
"I'm not going to tell you; this will give you plausible deniability." Bard grinned. "Do you trust me?"
"Implicitly." Thranduil looked up at his husband. "You are a wicked Bowman, and I love you very much."
"Anything for my Elf. Now go to sleep."
"Mmmm…" Thranduil settled down with a smile.
"By the way, you were right."
"About what, Meleth nîn?"
"When that thing was on my head, all I wanted to do was cross my eyes."
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The better circlets arrived the next morning, and were hidden in bottom of Bard's trunk, the packing and preparations were finally finished. The wagons were loaded, and ready, and the family was scheduled to be off early in the morning.
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Hope Field (formerly the Field of Desolation), 27th of July, 2942 T.A.
"Look, Meleth nîn!" Thranduil raised a gloved hand, and pointed.
Hope Field was looking wonderful, with all its various crops growing right on schedule, and the many small fluffy dots in the distance meant the sheep were doing well.
"That's a sight and no mistake." Bard said, with wonder. "I've only been down here once since the summer began, and that was to change the name. It's so different from… that day, isn't it? So green and alive... a fine tribute to those who lost their life defending it.
"It is beautiful." The Elvenking agreed. They rode for a while, as Thranduil talked about the various crops, and what they needed to do yet, for the harvest to be successful.
"I've so much to learn." Bard shook his head. "I'll never get caught up with all the stuff you know."
"No, but this is why I am here in Dale, to help you with things you have not had a chance to learn. I have seen over three thousand years' worth of plowing, planting and harvests, both in plenty and in want."
"You know everything, Ada!" Tilda smiled up at him from her dapple-grey mare. The Kings were side-by-side on their stallions, and Tilda was proudly between them, astride Blossom. Charlotte was in a sling on her front (a miniature version of Rhian's that she helped her make one afternoon) and she was thrilled to be riding, even if it only would be part of the way.
"Oh, that is not true," he smiled down at her. "Your Da is wise in ways I never was." Thranduil looked at her. "Do you feel tired, Tithen Pen?"
"No."
"How do your hands, feel?"
"My fingers are a little tingly."
"Drop the reigns, and let your hands rest on your legs. Blossom will walk nicely between Fînlossen and Naurmôr, so you do not have to worry."
"She will?"
"Of course." Thranduil leaned down and said to the small horse, "Ámet hilya, Blossom. Áva lavlenta melda Aranel Tilda."
"What did you say?" she asked.
"I simply told your horse to follow us, and not to let you fall."
"Oh. Thanks, Ada."
"You are welcome, hênig, but if I see you get tired, you will ride with me, is that understood?"
"But-–"
"Do as Ada says, love." Bard told her. "You don't want to wear yourself out before you even get there."
She sighed. "Yes, Da."
Tilda did eventually ride in front of Ada, and he let her lean against him, so she could relax, and she had fun watching the others race around. The rest of the ride was quiet for them, and the others soon settled down, too. At last, they crossed the bridge across the river, before the great doors of Erebor, where attendants were ready to welcome them, and take care of their their horses and luggage.
After they reached their quarters, Bard bent over their trunk to fish out his good black leggings and his cream-colored tunic with the gold braiding. Thranduil spied the box covered with silver silk.
"Bard!" he hissed. "You said you'd get rid of it!"
"What?" The Bowman stood up straight. "You know Galion will make sure you brought it. Besides," he shrugged, "it's a useful box to put things in."
"What do you mean?"
Bard opened it, showed him several pairs of rolled-up socks. "You were saying?"
"Galion will notice the change in its weight."
"Will he?" Bard lifted the socks, and showed him the large stone underneath.
"But where is –" Thranduil found fingers on his lips.
"Ah ah ah.. 'Plausible deniability,' remember?"
The Elvenking stepped back and raised his eyebrows, but said no more.
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When they were all dressed in their finery, their escorts arrived, and they made their way through the passages and many bridges to the King's Hall, where everyone was getting ready to take their seats. In the front, King Dáin, some members of the Original Company and their families sat in chairs off to the left, facing the center. Bard, Thranduil and their group took their places to the right.
Once everyone quieted down, a large set of doors swung open, with a loud bang. Dwalin, Commander of the Dwarven Army marched forth with his Captains carrying their swords, and began an elaborate dance, punctuated by several guttural shouts, accompanied by swoops of their ceremonial swords. Their war cries were a bit frightening, so Thranduil stole a quick glance over to check on Tilda, but she was sitting on Tauriel's lap, and the Elf was whispering in her ear and explaining everything, so she looked more interested than intimidated.
This display of power finished with a loud cry and all was silent, as an older Dwarrowdam came forward, dressed in all her finery. She clearly was a priestess among the Dwarves, adorned with elaborate jewelry around her neck, wrists and ears, and her hair arranged in complicated braids, accented with beads, and sparkling jewels. She opened her mouth, and sang a song in Khuzdul, which was quite lovely.
Then Thranduil and Bard rose from their seats, came before the Dwarf King and Queen. He sang the last verse of The Song of Varda in Sindarin. Bard then sang the the anthem of Dale, which Daeron and Thranduil had recently taught him. (After some debate, Bard decided to keep tradition and keep Girion's. Publicly, of course, the reason was about tradition and embracing their history, and all that, but mostly, no one had time to spare to come up with a new one, and it was a nice tune.)
All was silent, as four Dwarrowdams quietly stepped forward and laid out a line of cushions between them.
Feren, Bard, Thranduil and Percy stood up and walked forward, in front of the cushions, and waited.
Then King Dáin and Queen Dilna come forward, flanked by Dwalin to his left, and Balin to his right. Dwalin stepped up, held two swords, glittering with jewels, high in the air and spoke several words in Khuzdul, then spoke them in Westron:
"May Mahal protect you, your loved ones and your people." He set them down on the cushion, bowed and stepped back.
Feren walked forward, bowed low in Dwarven fashion, then picked up the swords, never breaking eye contact with Dwalin.
Balin stepped forward, held up the two scrolls, and said, "May Mahal bring you wisdom, now and for future generations." Then set them down on the cushion in front of them.
Percy and Galion picked them up, holding the gaze of Lord Balin, who gave them a nod and a smile.
Finally, the King and Queen of the Dwarves, who were each holding colorful cloths, and set them down. The Kings of Greenwood and Dale bent low to pick them up, employing the same respectful posture, and and direct eye contact.
The bundles were then handed to their Aides who unfurled them, to display the flags that had been made for them, each representing their country, as well as bearing the symbol of the Northern Kingdoms.
The Kings bowed and expressed their thanks then Tauriel presented the gifts from the Woodland Realm, and Bain brought them the Gifts from Dale.
After a few spoken words of giving and receiving welcome in all three languages, the Royals, their families, and high-ranking officials lined up, and each took their turn touching the foreheads of Dwarven Royal Family.
"Umral Thranduil-uzbad," Dáin touched his forehead.
"Mellon nîn, Aran Dáin," he replied.
When Queen Dilna did the same, he smiled and said, "Mellon nîn, Aranel Dilna," and so it went, down the line. He quickly looked to his right, to check on Tauriel, who was holding Tilda's hand helping her along.
Tilda, of course, could not be expected to remember everyone's names, so the Dwarves agreed ahead of time to allow her to simply say, "Hello, friend" which she did very politely, but when she met the small Dam who obviously the one Balin was speaking of, she grinned. "Hello, my new friend, Princess Alda!" She said, loud and clear, which made everyone in the Hall of Kings smile. The little Dam seemed to be just as excited to meet her, and smiled as she reached out her hand to pet Esta, who was wagging her tail at Tilda's side.
After the Ceremony, the midday meal was served, and the Royals all sat down to get to know each other a bit more.
Now that things weren't so choreographed, it was a bit awkward between the children at first, but by the end of the meal, Bain and Rhys were enthusiastically chatting with the Dáin's grandson, and obviously comparing archery styles, from the way they were gesticulating. Sigrid was seated between Dain's daughter, Mornia, and his granddaughter Dura, and seemed to enjoy their company. Sigrid had obviously asked the women to explain the significance of the beads and jewels, as they were pointing to their hair and beards, and she was listening with great interest.
And there was little Tilda and Alda. If their giggles were any indication, they were getting along swimmingly, despite the language barrier and heavy accents.
"It's like magic, isn't it, Lord Thranduil?" Queen Dilna smiled up at him. "Bairns of every race are born free from hate, fear and suspicion. 'Tis not a terrible thing to demand that trust be earned, but too many of my people become too rigid, and lose trust altogether."
"The history of Elves tells us we are no different, and too many have held on to ancient grudges to their own detriment." The Elvenking raised his goblet and toasted her. "Let us hope we can set the better example for our children. You are blessed with a wonderful family, My Lady."
"Aye, they're a big, noisy, bothersome bunch, but I love every one of them, especially the grandchildren."
"A blessing I eagerly anticipate for Lord Bard and myself, one day. I do hope you can spend some time with Lady Hilda, during our stay. Though not Royal by blood, she is our beloved matriarch, nonetheless. I think you would like her."
Dilna looked over at the woman, who was speaking with Dori in an friendly, animated manner. "I believe I would. She seems a good leader."
"She is. Bard and I run our respective countries-–"
"But she rules the roost at home, doesn't she?" The Queen chuckled.
The Elvenking laughed. "She does indeed, and we love her for it. She deserves as much credit for how well the children turned out, as Bard. My Aide, Galion adores her."
"I try to do the same for Dáin. I know how hard it is to be a ruler, and the weight has grown tenfold since Thorin was killed. He needs a place where he can relax and let down, when the day is done, so when he steps in our rooms, I'm the one in charge, and he can leave things to me."
"I completely understand. Hilda and Galion make sure we do the same."
"Oh, you have to! If you lose touch with with your family, you lose touch with your people, I say."
"Wise words, My Lady."Thranduil couldn't stop himself from looking over at his Tauriel, who was having a lively conversation with Dwalin, Feren and Lady Dís.
"Your daughter and Dís are getting along." Dilna said, "I think they'll be good for each other."
Relieved, he thanked the Queen. "May I offer my congratulations on your newest granddaughter. I see the new mother is absent."
"Thank you. She's not feeling so well, and her wee one keeps her up."
"One of my Guardians is also a Healer, and specializes in midwifery. He served in Dale while Thror was King, and delivered several Dwarven children while there. Daeron could examine her, if you like."
"Really?" The Queen's interest was piqued. "I'd appreciate that." She looked over at Bard, who was laughing with Dwalin and Percy. "The King of Dale looks like a good man. Dáin and Thorin's Company think the world of him."
"As do I. We would be sitting here like this, if anyone else had killed the Dragon." He looked into Dilna's blue eyes. "He is to me, what you are to Dáin, if the way he speaks of you is any indication. Your husband kept this territory together for all of us, and Bard and I are grateful."
"And I think the world of him. We both suffered a long separation, last winter, didn't we?" She touched the beads in her graying hair, that once had been dark. "'Never again,' I told him. Where he goes, I go."
"A good King needs a strong devoted spouse."
"Looks like we're both blessed, then."
They spoke of several other topics, until their host stood to give a short speech, thanking them for coming, and announcing the processional to the tombs to pay tribute to their fallen.
The shuffling of chairs was heard as the adults made ready. The children would stay, and Sigrid was in charge of theirs, so they were to be escorted back to their suite.
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Dáin, Dilna, and Dís led the way, and Thranduil put Tauriel between himself and Bard, and they walked down, down into the heart of the Lonely Mountain. They were followed by the Original Company, Percy, Galion, Feren, Alun, and after that, the remaining Dwarves and Dams, who all began to sing. As with the funeral after the Battle, Thranduil marveled at the acoustics in this chamber, and the unique style of Aulë's children. It was singing, but wordless, and the sound seemed to come from their throats that actually harmonized with themselves.
It was stunning, a sound he would never forget.
The harmony increased, as Dáin and Dilna stepped onto the central platform, and took a large spray of flowers and greenery, that grew on the Lonely Mountain, and after saying a blessing in Khuzdul, sent it over the side, to give it to their fallen comrades.
Lady Dís, supported by Dwalin, began to join them, but stopped and turned back. Everyone held their breath, then let it out, as she went to Tauriel, and held out her heavily-jeweled hand.
"Come, lass. We'll do this together."
The Elvenking was touched beyond words as he watched the two of them send their offerings down to them. Dís had brought some flora from the Blue Mountains, where her sons grew up, and Tauriel carried a bouquet of flowers, including rosemary for remembrance, and forget-me-nots. She even included a sprig of Athelas, to commemorate the night in Bard's home, when Kili spoke of his love in a fevered dream.
They both cried, as they let their flowers go, and supported each other as they returned to their places, with Dwalin's help.
Thranduil took his arrangement of Woodland Realm flowers from Galion, and after a short prayer, Thranduil gave his tribute to the Dwarves who now resided in the Halls of their Fathers.
Still accompanied by the indescribable sound of the Dwarven song, the King of Dale took his spray from Percy. The Elvenking couldn't help but notice this arrangement looked different, as if some other things had been hastily added at the last minute. Bard bowed his head, murmured a prayer, then let it go.
Only Thranduil's keen Elven hearing could pick up the muffled clank, as the arrangement bounced off the stone edge, before disappearing in the blackness below. He gave Bard a surreptitious look from of the corner of his eye, and and caught the almost imperceptible wink from his husband.
Bard had indeed made good on his promise to 'misplace' that horrendous crown, where Galion could never find it again.
Still respectful of the seriousness and solemnity of the occasion, Thranduil brought his attention back to the ceremony, but not before making a note to thank his husband later.
Thoroughly.
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ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:
luith-dínen – "Spell of Silence"
Gwîb – penis (I kid you not - Tolkien had a name for it)
Puith - Fuck
Ámet hilya, Blossom. Áva lavlenta hérincë melda Tilda Aranel – (Quenya) Follow us, Blossom. Do not allow the beloved Princess Tilda to fall
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NOTES:
-The type of singing that only Dwarves can do, is very similar to "throat singing," as practiced in the Mongolian Culture. It's fascinating – check this out: /qx8hrhBZJ98