Chapter 14: Whose woods these are, I think I know
Bilbo's stomach grumbled as he was trudging along with the line of dwarves walking on the path through the perpetual darkness of Mirkwood forest. It was the tenth day on their march through the oppressive forest and they had been on strictly rationed provisions from the start. Thorin had said that taking this path set them on a long march through the dark forests, and that they better stick to the path until they came out on the other side. The sooner the better in his opinion, not that there was any hope to soon be out of these woods. Every day Thorin would ask him to climb a tree and take a look across the woodlands, and Bilbo could never report anything but seeing an endless sea of trees stretching in every direction.
What got to Bilbo more than the dark forest or even the half rations that left him hungry most of the time was the silence. The dwarves were marching without speaking much, most of the time and when one began to complain, shout or chatter too much, Thorin would make a quick end to it. Their hope was to pass unnoticed, and that required silence. Usually Thorin was marching ahead of the column, along with Fili, followed by Óin and Gloin, Bifur, Bofur and Bombur behind, with Bilbo next and Boromir with Kili at the end of the line, making sure no one got lost.
Walking so far at the end of the line had actually been Bilbo's choice, even with the silence of their marching Kili and Boromir managed to have a smile or comforting nod for him every so often. Maybe he felt closer to the human warrior since he had helped him scorch Goblin Town.
The line came to an abrupt halt, Thorin and Fili had stopped. Bilbo peered past the others and saw they had come to a river, a black stream slowly gurgling through the woods. Boromir and Kili proceeded to join Thorin, the dwarf lightly nudging Bilbo to come with them. When they stood beside Thorin the Hobbit saw that the water did not just seem dark, but it was truly black, a glossy liquid that did not reflect anything, only drank in any light or reflection that fell on the surface.
Kili squatted down beside the water, moving his hand over it. "Still water?" he asked softly.
"Black water," Thorin corrected him.
Bilbo looked back and forth between them, not quite sure what they were talking about. He felt Boromir's glance that said the warrior was not any better off than he. "Well its' obviously black… but we will have to swim across…"
"It is not black, burglar," Thorin told him. "It is black water, a cursed flood that will steal life and strength when touched. I do not know what dark well it springs from, but it taints the land it touches and it would kill any of us trying to swim. We need to find another way across."
"How about a boat?" Fili asked. He called Bifur to him, pointing something out to their companion in a series quick hand gestures. The short dwarf took his spear, moving on a black willow tree close to the water, balancing out as far as he could reach with his spear for something that the others could not see. When the spear hooked with whatever it was, Bifur nearly fell off the branch, but Fili was there to steady him. The blond dwarf fished the rope tangled on the spear from the tip of the weapon and began to pull it in.
Thorin's eyes widened, seeing Fili had not only spotted a boat but Bifur had managed to snag it. "Good work, both of you."
The boat was not very large, it was an old ferry boat made of planks that had not seen care or repair in a number of years. "It cannot carry all of us at once," Bilbo pointed out, he may not like boats very much but he had been a guest at Brandywine Hall enough to know a rotten boat when he saw one. "but we could in groups."
He found Thorin stare at him and to his surprise the dwarf leader gave him a curt nod. "You are right, Bilbo. Boromir, can you maneuver this boat?" The man was taller than them and would have the better leverage to pole the boat across the river.
"I can, but without seeing where I go, there is a chance to hit rock." The warrior replied, already asking Bifur to lend him his spear for use as a punt.
"Bilbo," Thorin pointed at the boat's bow. "you are lightest of us, you will go there and be lookout for rocks and other things that may hit the boat. Kili, Bofur, you go first and secure the other shore."
Bilbo bit his tongue; he did not like boats, not even the boating parties Rorimarc Brandybuck would host in summer. And sitting on the bow of such an unreliable craft to look out for rocks to hit… he did not like it at all. Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder; Boromir gave him an encouraging nod. "Don't make them nervous," the warrior said softly. "most dwarves are worse swimmers than Halflings. They won't even go into a bathtub."
While Bilbo was not sure this was true, the joke made him smile and he climbed into the boat, kneeling down at the bow. Kili and Bofur occupied the middle, and Boromir stood astern to maneuver them across. The boat could not take much more of a load, Bilbo felt that the waterline was far too close already. Dutifully he looked at the dark water, trying to spot rocks or obstacles but all he saw was a blackness that knew no reflection or light. He shivered when he thought that there was something moving in the deeps, something greenish, he nearly jumped, his hands clutching the boat but when he looked again, it was gone.
Sighing in relief when they reached the other shore, Bilbo told himself sternly to be less of a chicken. Kili and Bofur left the boat, being their first foothold on the other side of the black river, while Bilbo and Boromir crossed the river again. Bilbo kept his lookout, trying to ignore the greenish movements he saw now and then in the dark flood. The next group was Gloin and Óin to make the crossing. Both dwarves were clearly uncomfortable in the boat but sat quietly while they were ferried over. This time Bilbo clearly saw something moving in the water, or was it just a stray ray of light lighting up the stained waters?
"I think you can stay with the others, there are no rocks or other obstacles on this crossing." Boromir said when they unloaded the two dwarves.
"No," Bilbo said. "I won't have you do the crossing alone." He disliked the river even more now but he would not have one of theirs be alone out here. "I think there is something in the water, Boromir."
The warrior waved him closer, squatting down. "What did you see?" he asked softly.
Bilbo was surprised that the man would take his fears seriously. "Something greenish, like an arm… and it was moving." He saw something akin to understanding in the warrior's green eyes. "Do you know what it is?"
"Maybe," Boromir replied. "Keep your sword ready Bilbo, but do not stare directly at the water."
Again they made the crossing, Bilbo kneeling at the bow, sword in hand and his eyes on the river, watchful for any sign of danger. He saw the green things flit through the waters again, carefully he watched, trying not to stare at it. When they reached the shore again, Thorin arched an eyebrow. "Do you want to fish, burglar?" he asked his eyes pointing at the blade in Bilbo's hand.
"I asked him to be on his guard," Boromir interjected. "I do not like this river. Bombur, come on, you are next!"
The rotund dwarf approached the boat, standing ashore hesitantly. Bilbo could see he was shaking, afraid. The Halfling climbed off the boat and went to him. "Come on, Bombur," he said friendly. "It is very safe. Boromir knows what he is doing." He guided Bombur onto the craft and to sit in the middle. The dwarf was pale, his hand shaking.
Bilbo squatted down in front of him. "You don't need to be afraid, Bombur, we will be at the other side fast enough."
"Not fast enough for me," Bombur said his eyes fearfully on the river. "We crossed the Anduin once when I was a boy, I fell off the boat and nearly drowned. I don't like rivers. I don't like adventures for that matter. I am a merchant, the road and the robbers are all the adventure I would wish for."
Bilbo smiled a little. "I'd call that a sensible disposition," he said, understanding where the dwarf was coming from. "But then why did you join? I mean… I know why I did, or even if I don't know exactly why I did sign in the first place, I know why I am here now."
Bombur sighed, grateful for Bilbo distracting him. "I am the eldest," he said in a hush. "Bofur and Bifur, I have to look out for them, you know? I can't leave them to face danger alone."
Gently Bilbo patted Bombur's massive arm, surprised that he was touched that Bombur would face all these hardships because his brother and cousin had signed up for an adventure. "I didn't like boats either," he said. "never since Lobelia pushed me off one during one of Rorimarc's river parties…"
Suddenly the boat shook and Bilbo saw a green arm, a whole slimy figure emerge from the water, long fingered, boney hands, covered with slime and brown algae gripping the side of the boat, like the thing wanted to board them. Bilbo jumped up. "Stay where you are Bombur!" he shouted.
Swift-footedly he moved past the dwarf, towards the creature. His heart was racing, he did not know what that thing was, and he was not sure if he wanted to know but he had to do something. The hands had pushed at the side of the boat and an equally slimy foot followed them to climb aboard. Swinging his sword with all his strength, Bilbo hacked at the wrist of the left hand; an ugly crack like foul bones snapping followed the impact of the blade as it severed the hand from the arm. The creature shrieked, a painful unearthly howl as it fell back into the water.
Unbalanced by his own motion, Bilbo tried to catch his stumble not to fall into the river and was suddenly grabbed by the arm, landing hard on his backside. Bombur had reached out and pulled him back. "That's a kind of water I'd not touch if I wanted to dye cheap wool black." Said the merchant with a shaky grin.
When the boat reached their destination Bilbo was glad to have solid ground under his feet. "What… what was that?" he asked Boromir, after Bombur was safely off the boat.
"Drowned warriors," The Gondorian told him grimly. "I only have never seen them so violent."
"Drowned… like dead people?" Bilbo asked, shuddering. That thing had looked vaguely like a corpse, but he was glad that in his shock he had not really looked at it.
"Yes, sometimes when old tombs are swallowed up by water, dark swamps and so forth, these things come into being. They are rarely so aggressive like these here. But this whole forest is dark…"
"We need to get the others," Bilbo appreciated that Boromir gave him time to recover, but Thorin, Fili, Bifur, Balin and Dwalin were still on the other side of the black waters. "Let's go for them swiftly."
Again they crossed the river, bringing Bifur across next, after that Thorin sent Fili and Balin, the very last time it was Dwalin and Thorin himself. Bilbo was always watchful, ready to fight should the creature appear again, but nothing happened. The Hobbit was very relieved when the river lay safely behind them.
"Well done," Thorin rumbled at him.
They walked not much further that day, the path opened a little towards a small clearing with some ancient stones, remains of a ruin maybe, sitting right beside the path. Somewhere above them they heard an owl hoot into the rising dusk. "We will camp here," Thorin decided.
Without the dwarven fire that needed next to no fuel to burn they would have had no light in the night of the forest. Rations were as scarce as they had been the previous days. Bilbo found he had little appetite after the run in with the creature at the river. "These things… the drowned warrior… they cannot walk, can they?" he asked Boromir, who sat not far away, leaning against a tree, his usual way.
"No, they only come for you when you look at them too long," the warrior said.
"If they'd walk they would be Mewlips," Kili said. "and these are not the marshes of east Dunland. Even as this ruin here, reminds me of them a bit."
"What are Mewlips?" Bilbo asked. "I have never even read of them."
"They are something akin to the dead in the water, only more alive and nasty," Fili added. "they live in ruins and other dark places, they'll eat you when they can get you."
"All kinds of things in the dark seem to want to chew on you," Bilbo said, remembering Gollum. That mangled creature, had gleefully gathered up all the corpses Boromir had discarded into the deep during their way through Goblin Town and it would still have eaten Bilbo had he not defended himself.
The Shadows where the Mewlips dwell
Are dark and wet as ink,
And slow and softly rings their bell,
As in the slime you sink.
Fili began to sing softly, keeping his voice low enough to not carry into the forest. He nudged his brother, who joined him at the second stanza.
You sink into the slime, who dare
To knock upon their door,
While down the grinning gargoyles stare
And noisome waters pour.
Beside the rotting river-strand
The drooping willows weep,
And gloomily the gorcrows stand
Croaking in their sleep.
The brother's eyes had gone to Boromir, like they expected him to join in. Bilbo who listened to the song mainly did not notice much, though. The warrior actually obliged to sing along.
Over the Merlock Mountains a long and weary way,
In a mouldy valley where the trees are grey,
By a dark pool's borders without wind or tide,
Moonless and sunless, the Mewlips hide.
The cellars where the Mewlips sit
Are deep and dank and cold
With single sickly candle lit;
And there they count their gold.
Their walls are wet, their ceilings drip;
Their feet upon the floor
Go softly with a squish-flap-flip,
As they sidle to the door.
They peep out slyly; through a crack
Their feeling fingers creep,
And when they've finished, in a sack
Your bones they take to keep.
Beyond the Merlock Mountains, a long and lonely road,
Through the spider-shadows and the marsh of Tode,
And through the wood of hanging trees and gallows-weed,
You go to find the Mewlips - and the Mewlips feed.
In spite of the gloomy story of the song, Bilbo found himself chuckling. It was the first time in days he had felt that much life in them; there was a smile even on Thorin's face. And for this little moment the forest seemed less oppressive.
ADL
Something startled Bilbo's sleep in the middle of the night, it felt like something reaching through a mire of fog to reach him. Opening his eyes was impossibly hard, like there was something that would keep him caught in sleep. He tried to yawn and force his eyes to open. The camp lay in thick mists, like drowning in a sea of cold white veils, the mists came creeping from the forests, and he could hardly see.
Heavy steps made him nearly jump but he willed himself to be still. A black boot and armored leg came in his sight, as a huge figure, armored and cloaked strode across their camp, picking up Bofur to toss him onto some kind of cart waiting by the roadside. Panic rose in Bilbo when he saw that none of the others would wake up. What was happening here? Was he the only one awake?
Another figure came close to pick up Boromir, much the same way. For a moment Bilbo hoped the warrior was just pretending to sleep. Come on, he whispered in his mind to his friend. You are a warrior, you do not really sleep, you can't be asleep now. But the warrior did not wake and was carried away to the others.
Bilbo's hand found the ring in his pocket. He had not even thought of the thing since his escape from the mountain caves. He slipped it on, the world greying slightly before his eyes. Standing up he found that the armored figures did not see him, as had the Goblins in the cave. Now that he could fully see the camp, Bilbo saw that they had captured nearly all of them, but his eyes found Thorin's familiar figure away from the camp. The Dwarven King was given to nightly unrest as much as Boromir, and tended to walk about during the watches of night. The Halfling slipped towards the sleeping dwarf. He had to hide him. But how? How to hide one sleeping dwarf, even as he was away from the others?
His eyes fell on the cart with the horse. Distract them and reduce the number of enemies… that was it! He slowly snuck across the clearing, picking a glimmering branch from the dying fire before reaching the cart. It was guarded but he was invisible to the three armored figures beside it. Admittedly Bilbo felt bad to do this to the poor horse, but what chance did he have? He pushed the glowing branch right under the Horses' tail. The animal's pained neigh was the only warning the guards got when the horse bolted, racing off into the woods with the cart.
There were neither shouts, or calls, nor any other sound even as the warriors scrambled to chase after the cart. Not wasting any time Bilbo raced to Thorin, who still lay asleep under the mists, the only one of the group save Bilbo that had not been taken. The small Halfling grabbed Thorin's arms and dragged him away from the mists.
In a dark den behind an Oak, Bilbo dared to take the ring off. He shook the dwarf. "Thorin!" He whispered. "You need to wake up…" He realized that his voice may not be enough to truly wake the slumbering dwarf. "I am really sorry, Thorin," Bilbo said before slapping the dwarf twice.
The second slap never landed, Bilbo's wrist caught in Thorin's iron grip. "What are you doing?" The dwarf grumbled, sitting up.
"Trying to wake you." Bilbo said. "the others… they were taken, asleep like you. You were the only one I could get away from them."
He half expected a rebuke, or anger but neither came from Thorin, the dwarven leader quickly catching up to the situation. "How many of 'them'?" he asked. "And what were 'they'?"
"I counted seven," Bilbo said, recalling those who he had seen. "They were tall like men, armored, cloaked, spoke no word, all of them armed. They loaded our people on a cart and … I made the horse bolt."
Thorin regarded him with a glance of unusual warmth. "Our people," he repeated Bilbo's words. "we'll get them back, Bilbo. Show me where they went."
ADL
The attackers had not returned to their camp, Bilbo could see as he led Thorin to the point where the cart had stood. The dwarf had quickly lit a torch from their dying fire, to be able to see in the night. His keen eyes found the tracks of the cart and he led them to follow into the nightly forest.
After half a mile he raised his hand for Bilbo to stop. "Others came," he said, pointing on several spots on the soft ground. "They stopped the cart, there was fighting… our attackers lost the bout and retreated, leaving the cart behind."
"So someone else and took our friends," Bilbo sighed. "That does not sound any better than before."
Thorin nodded grimly. "This forest was always dangerous, which is why my ancestors built the Men-i-Naugrim, the Dwarven road leading west, for even then it was not safe to stray too deeply into these woods."
Amazed Bilbo looked at Thorin, here in the darkness, with only the light of the torch shining on his face, he looked more than ever like one of his secretive, legendary people. A dwarven wanderer moving through the night, gone before dawn and ordinary folk might see him. "Your people built this road?" he asked, awed. "I… I always thought the elves…"
"Elves rarely need roads," Thorin said, again studying the tracks. "They lead south… come, Bilbo."
For two hours they followed the trail deeper and deeper into the forest until the trees gave way to a wide clearing, with a crumbling ruin in the middle. Broken stone arches and ancient windows were visible as shadows before an eerie red light. As they crept closer towards the light, they saw their friends all tied to the pillars still standing in the heart of the ruin. They were awake again, some trying to free themselves to no avail. In the middle of the ring of pillars stood a stone slab, like a crude altar. Bilbo gaped when he saw Fili and Kili both tied to the pillars next to it.
Four ghostly figures stood like guards at the edges of the area, while a small-ish, cloaked figure stood at the altar. Bilbo heard a guttural laugh. "Do not struggle, King-child, you are not the first to bleed for Tungar-Sula. The Master will be greatly strengthened by your gift."
Thorin growled softly. "Witchcraft," he whispered to Bilbo. "you will have to free the others, I'll take care of the guards."
"No." Bilbo protested. "These ghosts… you stand no chance, Thorin."
The dwarven King met his eyes evenly. "You have to free them, start with the strongest, Dwalin, Gloin, Boromir, then the others. Do not wonder what happens to me, I will keep the silent watchers occupied as long as I can." He drew Orcrist, ending the discussion.
"Why are all of the great warriors keen on an early end?!" Bilbo whispered as he slipped the ring on. He could see Thorin charge at the watchers, fearlessly and with a grim will that disregarded danger and death. Orcrist shone like a star in his hand.
Bilbo tried to not listen to the clash of blades, the unearthly shrieks of the watchful ghosts as he dashed for the pillars. He first cut Dwalin's bonds, the dwarf did not need any instruction on what to do, he jumped at the small-ish figure, his fist as effective a weapon as any else he had. Bilbo did not wait but cut loose Balin and Gloin. Behind himself he heard Thorin fall, pushed down by the ghost's attacks. Peering over his shoulder he saw the Dwarf King get up again, Ocrist blocking the next attack of the ghostly blade.
"Bilbo, hurry, he needs help!" Boromir snapped at him, the warrior was trying to break his bonds but even his strong arms could not break those ropes. Quickly Bilbo cut him free and Boromir did not go for his weapon, that lay with the others on a pile at the side, but he ripped a torch from the altar, rushing to Thorin's aid, the burning brand something the ghosts shied away from.
An ugly crack echoed through the dark, Dwalin had grabbed the figure at the altar and broken his neck, flinging away the corpse like a rag-doll. Within that moment the ghosts vanished and the red light on the ruin faded away as well.
ADL
Morning was already dawning as they set out to make it back to the road. Except for cuts and bruises none of them had been injured severely. Bilbo was especially glad that Thorin had come through his latest battle without too serious damage. His question about said injuries had been met with a glare and a curt "they are mere scratches", but Bilbo was no longer rebuffed by the dwarves' gruff tone. He knew that underneath it all Thorin was not as cold or haughty as he pretended to be.
Finding their way back was not easy, the woods themselves seemed changed in the dim light of another Mirkwood day. Thorin often had to stop to search for the quickly fading tracks that could bring them back to the old forest road. Still, by noon Bilbo had the feeling they were walking in circles. But he took heart when only an hour past noon the undergrowth became less thick and he could see some vague light ahead. Thorin had done it after all.
The trees drew back, making room for a clearing by the road and the company found themselves faced with the arrow-tips of a multitude of archers. A wood elven troop awaited them, and they did not look very friendly. "Do not move," one of them spoke in common. "Any wrong step and you will be dead before you can run three paces."
Standing behind Dwalin Bilbo used the one moment he had to slip on the ring, becoming invisible, their luck seemed to tend to sending them from the frying pan into the fire again.
"Move it, into the clearing, one after the other," the same elf that had spoken, pointed them with his blade towards where they were to walk. Thorin knew that they could not outrun an elven arrow barrage even if they used the trees for cover. He stepped forward first, following their instructions; the others obeyed his example. Within the clearing the elves began to quickly disarm them, watchfully always keeping a dozen arrows trained at them.
The troop had not proceeded very far, when a rider on a grey horse came galloping into the clearing, he too wore the armor of the woodland warriors, but he also wore a helm, obscuring his elven face. "Belegur, what did you catch here? Someone stirred up a whole nest of Night-Wraiths in the Whispering Stones, I had to fight my way out."
Thorin listened intently, as a Prince of the Mountain, he had been taught Sindarin as a matter of course, even as he usually did not show that he understood their tongue. The rider… he had something familiar about him, painfully familiar.
"A whole troop of dwarves and a man, Captain." the Elven Archer named Belegur reported. "They came running right out of Tungar-Sula's den, might be his latest little snatchers. He certainly wouldn't be shy to recruit some black dwarves to do his dirty work."
"We are no black dwarves," Thorin stepped forward, in front of his men. "We were nearly killed by whoever this Tungar-Sula was."
"Prince Thorin?!" The rider dismounted his horse and took off the helmet, revealing a face that would have been exceptional even amongst his beautiful kind only that it was marred with three scars running across the whole length of his features, like a claw having slashed his face long ago.
Thorin tried to keep still; it was a cruel stroke of fate that it would sent this warrior his way. "Lachanar," he greeted him.
Belegur's eyes widened. "This is Thorin son of Thrain… Lach, are you sure? No… you would be sure, wouldn't you?" He suddenly smiled. "Lachanar, that is going to earn your way back to the greater host. If the King sees this catch…"
Lachanar silenced him with a sharp, angry glance. "Did they do anything? Aside of running through the woods so loudly, Dol Guldur will know they are here?"
"They trespassed on our territory," Belegur said. "and Lachanar… you know our orders, you can't think of disobeying." Clear unease now spread along the elven patrol.
"I know our King's Orders, Belegur," Lachanar replied, heavily. "Thank you for reminding me." He straightened, gesturing his men to hurry up. "Bundle their weapons and move out, with all the ruckus down there, I want to be back at the halls before nightfall."
Thorin had watched the whole exchange silently, reading a lot between the lines. So Lachanar had fallen out of favor with the king. From one of the most trusted war leaders to leading a border patrol was a steep fall, and if his face was any indication he had fought some fierce battles since.
He pondered his next move, while they began to march, guarded by the elves. If Lachanar was at odds with his king, it might be a crack in his armor that Thorin could exploit, if he found it in himself to call up the bonds that once had tied them. No. Thorin decided, he would not pretend to still hold a friendship for an elf, not for one who must have had been there the day the dragon came. Lachanar had stood by and watched. On the other hand, Thorin would need all the advantages he could get if he wanted to get his people out of this. "That was not much of a greeting," he observed in their tongue while they were marching.
Lachanar made his horse stand still until he was parallel to Thorin, letting it walk slowly beside him. "You were the last person I would have expected to be found in a den, where we usually uproot your less then pleasant kind. Tungar-Sula is not choosey with his helpers."
"Who is he?" Thorin could see his very presence was making the elf uneasy, and at the same time Lachanar would not break off the conversation. So there was a part of him that remembered their friendship. A friendship he had betrayed, Thorin thought grimly, but if he had to use Lachanar to rescue his people it would be a fitting retribution.
"Minion of Dol Guldur, I do not even want to know what kind he truly is, his witchcraft is feeding Dol Guldur. There is more of his kind in the woods, but he is one of those that are hard to kill." Lachanar told him, there was a grim edge to the elf's voice that had not been there a century ago.
"Dwalin killed him, snapped his neck," Thorin replied, taking in the hints on much greater troubles lurking in the deep woods of this land. "We were attacked by something else before, during the night. They came with the mists."
"Mist-Wraiths, same Master, different breed, I had some trouble with them when scouting the woods." Lachanar had relaxed only a little. "Thorin…" he did not meet Thorin's gaze. "These woods have become a dark place… and I cannot let you go, my King's orders say otherwise."
"Aye, and you follow his orders of course," Thorin said acidly. "As you did the day the dragon came."
Lachanar's eyes darkened. "I disobeyed once and I paid for that." He spurned his horse and galloped to the top of the column. Thorin sighed, he had the feeling he'd prefer the tender mercies of Dol Guldur before this was over.
ADL
Hiding in the shadow of a tree, Aelin watched the woodelven guard march off. They paid as much attention as menfolk, having never noticed the Noldor warrior shadowing them. He had watched them long enough to see all that was important, Elrohir would be so happy to hear of this. They had come here to assess how bad the threat of Dol Guldur was, finding that the darkness of southern Mirkwood had spread into the woodland realm and was barely resisted. Unchecked was what he would call it.
The Noldor swiftly moved away from the road and towards their meeting point. When he got there he saw Elrohir squatted down beside the body of a dark armored figure. "I had expected many things, but finding Mist Wraiths walking the Woodland Realm in daylight was not among them." The traces on the clearing showed that there had been a fight only recently.
"Mist Wraiths and Sorcerers dabbling in blood magic, if all I heard is true," Aelin said, as he approached him. "the name Tungar-Sula fell."
Elrohir got to his feet. "It can't be, Aelin…" he said fiercely. "I saw you kill him back in…"
"Either he did not die, or his 'name' was ever a title," Aelin replied. "The one wearing the title here was killed by a dwarf named Dwalin."
"Thorin and his people are here?" Elrohir asked, he had expected the dwarves to take the Wilderland road and avoid Mirkwood. "Did you bring them with you?"
"No. Lachanar and his patrol captured them; they are bringing them to the Halls of Thranduil." Aelin reported. "But they were fewer than before, three dwarves and the Halfling were missing."
Elrohir considered the Noldor's words; he knew that Aelin did not hold things back, so he probably had not been able to tell which dwarves were missing. "Haerel, take half the troop and search the dens of these creatures, see if they still have any captive dwarves," he ordered. "Aelin, you and the others are with me, we owe Thranduil an introductory visit."
ADL
Thorin tensed visibly when they were led into the audience hall of King Thranduil. The traitorous elf languished on his throne, watching them with a detached interest like a scholar might look an ant. "I had not expected you to be so stupid to enter my realm," he observed coolly. "You are not your grandfather, who thought himself powerful enough to even demand homage from my people."
"I did not come here," Thorin replied gruffly. "I had no intention to ever enter your… den." He knew that some of the things that had transpired between Thror and Thranduil had been tense, but the elf had begged their help on more than one occasion, which had put him into position of some dependency.
The elven King's eyes became even more distant, like he was looking at Thorin from afar, not quite connecting to these surroundings. "Then what brought you to my lands? We do not tolerate people crossing our realm any longer."
"Our business is our own." Thorin gave the elven King a stare. "And as badly protected as your road is, I would not think you can make many demands on who treads it." He had a hard time bottling up his hatred. This elf, this treacherous cur had left them to die the day Smaug had come. How many more could have been saved, if this coward had not turned tail and fled?
"You forget your position," The Elf King spat, something angry and dark rising in his eyes. He turned waving forward the leader of the patrol. "Lachanar, it seems you have finally have remembered your loyalties." Thranduil's voice had become lighter, more musical now. "You took a great step to redeeming yourself today. One more… and you will have earned back my trust."
"That step being, your Highness?" Lachanar's voice was even but his whole posture was tense, like a trapped animal trying to find a way to escape. He expected nothing good that much was clear in his whole stance.
"A long time ago a… dwarf who styled himself King… saw it fit to humiliate my noble house," Thranduil told him. "He is dead now, slain by low hands, the last of his line is standing right before you. Kill him and you will have avenged your King's honor and regained my trust."
Paling Lachanar drew his sword. "Your Highness…" he spoke, his voice low. "Is such vengeance truly necessary? He is just a wanderer on the road, far below you now."
"Still trying to protect him, are you?" Thranduil said sharply. "You can either kill him or share his fate – chose and chose swiftly!"
The elven warrior looked at his King, struggling, anger and barely concealed desperation playing on his marred features. Thorin stared at him evenly; it was so like Thranduil to be petty enough to choose one of Thorin's former friends as his executioner. "Do it," he said gruffly. "You already sacrificed your honor for him, what is one step more?"
The dwarf's and the elf's eyes met, cold blue meeting steely silver, Lachanar raised the blade in his hand weighing it, then with a sudden and angry move he threw it at Thranduil's feet. "Then execute me right beside him, for I will not slaughter a friend for you and your madness."
Angry Thranduil picked up the sword. "So be it," he snapped. "You will watch him die." With one angry stroke he sank the blade into Thorin's chest.
Author's Notes
The poem in this chapter is "The Mewlips" by Tolkien, taken from "The Adventures of Tom Bombadil." I recommend hearing the musical version by Colin Rudd, who gave the poem a wonderful tune.
The Old Forest Road running through Mirkwood to the Old Ford on Anduin, is known in Sindarin as Men-i_Naugrim, the dwarven road.
Lachanar – Brother of Fire
Haerel – distant Star
With the bug hugs and thanks for Harrylee94!