Chapter 3: The First Night

"We should have stopped back there. It was a nice clearing, with a stream…"

"Have you forgotten, Master Dwarf, that there are but the two of us? We need to find something a little more defensible." Thranduil's back moved as if he was pointing, but Glóin could see nothing but the same cloak material he'd been staring at all day. "Over there is a much better place."

"If you say so, as long as we don't have to sit on your… mount any longer today." Again, he really didn't want to insult the stallion, for twice now Thranduil had shown his preference for his horse over his passenger after hearing a disparaging remark by letting the monster move at a horrendous speed to cover a league or more before again slowing. "No offense meant to Aduial or his smooth gait, mind you…" No doubt he'd not be able to even move when his feet touched solid ground again. The gait might be smooth, when at a walk, but it was still anything but comfortable.

"Of course not. Anor has already made her way behind the mountains to the west, and Aduial could use a decent rest. But see? We can put our backs to that boulder there, under that overhang, and not have to worry about anything coming at us from the rear." Thranduil turned the stallion so that Glóin could see what he was talking about.

"Like spiders?"

"Wolves, more likely. I keep telling you, the spiders are to the north of us by quite a distance."

Glóin sniffed and commenced working his hands free of the Elvenking's belt again. "Which is, of course, why you had the both of us arm ourselves."

"Exactly…" Thranduil's voice had that funny tone to it that told Glóin he was being patronized. "I had us arm ourselves because the closer we get to the Celduin, the more likely we are to run into Men, and the closer we get to Mortal settlements, the more likely we are to at least see wolves."

"And you don't trust the Men who live within your realm."

Thranduil twisted. "Have you got loose of my belt now, or do you need my help?"

Glóin grunted and dragged his aching hands from the leather. "I'm loose. I'm loose." He couldn't move his fingers yet, but he was at least no longer a burr beneath the Elf's belt.

"About time." Thranduil had his leg up over Aduial's neck and slid to the ground in the next moment, landing with a thud and a grunt that even Glóin felt. "It is not that I mistrust the Men who dwell beneath my eaves, but just that I am well aware of the predators in my woods that see their penned livestock as easy prey." He took a few stiff-legged steps, his hands pressing against the small of his back at either side, and then returned to his mount's side. "Shall I help you dismount again?"

The size of the Elf's grin brought up Glóin's hackles, but he schooled himself to respond calmly. "Unless you can see a rock or stump…"

"For you to fall from when your legs fail you?"

"You have no faith in the strength of the Dwarves?"

"That is not the case at all. I simply have a good memory for your condition when we stopped for our midday repast." The grin widened. "Or are you saying that you are interested in trying your luck on your own this time?"

"You'd like that, to see me fall and break my neck, as I predicted beforehand." Glóin grumbled.

Thranduil shook his head, lower lip protruding. "And deprive myself of your company? Not on your life! My son would never forgive me, and no doubt yours would take me to task greatly." He lifted an arm and, taking hold of Glóin's nearest arm, pulled. Like the last time, he didn't let go, but caught him before his knees could give out and steadied him until Glóin pushed him away.

"Give me a moment!" Glóin shifted his weight from his right foot to his left and then back again, then took a small step and almost collapsed but for Thranduil's quick reaction at catching him beneath the arm again. "I'm not getting back up on that beast again."

"That is your choice, of course," the Elf said far too easily, leading him by the arm to the side of the boulder where he could lean comfortably. "Shall I give your son your best wishes when I arrive and you are still several months behind me?"

Glóin growled in frustration, knowing the Elf was right. "I knew this was a bad idea."

"Nonsense. What you do not appreciate is that once we reach the river, we can catch a ride with one of the merchants who run trading barges to get us to the Old Forest Road. We shall have an entire day completely without need to ride." Thranduil walked stiffly back to his mount and began relieving it of its tack. "I would hope that you have some spare gold on you to pay for your transport, or am I going to have to loan you..."

Glóin ignored the last bit. "Do you intend to leave your beasts on the banks of the river up here then?" he asked, his eyes wide in surprise. The thought of the Elvenking leaving his precious war horse behind seemed so implausible.

Thranduil shook his head. "The barge is more than large enough to carry Aduial and Saerôl. You have never seen the craft used by the river merchants, I take it."

"I prefer the stability of working the forges and having the gold due me for my efforts delivered, thank you."

"You have changed, then, in the years since we last met," was the comment, punctuated by golden eyebrows climbing high on the forehead again. "You were with quite the band of adventurers then."

"That, my friend, was a different story."

"Meaning what?"

Glóin grunted and pushed himself away from the stone face to take a few agonizing steps. "Meaning that we all have a right to be young and…"

"Stupid?"

"Impetuous."

"Same thing."

"Only if a person doesn't learn from it," Glóin grumbled. "Are we going to set up camp here tonight, or simply talk until the stars come out?" He barely managed to get his hands up in time when his bedroll came flying through the air at his face, and soon after that, another. "At least you have decent aim."

Thranduil walked over to him with his shoulders draped with the two bulkier bundles from the pack horse, and he dropped them at Glóin's feet. "I generally have very little trouble either hitting or getting what I desire," he announced proudly and then walked back to the horses. Another trip had the burdened horse completely unencumbered, and a slap on the rumps of both sent them trotting off.

"Aren't you worried that they'll get lost - or stolen?"

"Not at all. Aduial is as much a warrior as I am. He will keep watch over Saerôl, and remain close enough to call at need. In the meanwhile…" The Elf rid himself of his heavy sword and shrugged a quiver over his head. "…I shall find us some fresh meat while you set up the camp. Are you able to move?"

Glóin's steps were still quite painful, but they were coming easier again. "I am. And who decided that you would be the one to make all the decisions?"

"I am a King, after all…"

"Not my King!"

"It matters not whether you accept me as such or no. These are my woods, and my creatures. I will hunt in the Elven way and bring us back a good meal. You, my stiff friend, are better suited to building a fire pit and setting up camp."

Glóin was just as glad not to be tapped for hunting, but refused to give the Elvenking the satisfaction of agreement, so he just grunted. "Any rules about chopping wood that I need to know?" he asked with a tired sigh.

"As a matter of fact…" Thranduil had his leg through the bow and bent it easily to slip the string over the tip. "Cut deadwood only, please. There is no need to harm the living trees." He gave Glóin a pointed look. "And I shall know if you do otherwise, so…"

Glóin let out a groan. "Go on with you! Shoo! Go commune with the rabbits and deer and see if you can convince one or two to jump into our cook fire. I won't touch a twig on your leafy friends' heads - or branches. Whatever."

Glóin made shooing gestures that Thranduil merely glared at and then stalked into the trees. With a sigh, he untied first one bedroll and then the next and placed them on either side of where he'd decided to make the fire pit. There were enough small rocks around to surround the small depression he figured had been used at least once for something similar. He hefted his axe then and deliberately went to search out some firewood in a direction tangential to the one Thranduil had taken. Thankfully, there was plenty of deadfall to gather; he really didn't want to test out the Elvenking's claim that he would know if Glóin took an axe to living wood.

The hike to the stream on the other side of the road was a decent walk that helped stretch out muscles that hadn't had much regular use that day, and soon the empty pot was full. Glóin found himself having to resist humming a work song to himself as he walked back to the camp. With his luck, Thranduil would be back and catch him at it, and be insufferable for the rest of the evening – not that he wasn't already insufferable enough!

By the time he'd dug in a pouch hanging from his belt for the flint and steel and got the fire going, the horses had returned from wherever they'd gone and begun cropping grass not far from the campsite. Glóin found the relaxed, unconcerned mood of the horses soothing until Aduial's head went up with ears directed forward to listen.

"Hello the camp! Our menu tonight is rabbit stew!" came a singsong voice that was growing familiar.

"You caught it, you clean it," he called back with a sly grin.

"Do I have to cook it as well?" Thranduil marched out of the trees with a plump rabbit by the ears.

Glóin shrugged. "Depends. Did your man put ample supplies in those bundles, or are we going to have to scrounge for other things to put in the stew with the meat?"

"See for yourself. Apparently I have my hands full at the moment." The Elf squatted with an ease that Glóin envied and pulled out a wickedly sharp looking dagger.

"You don't know?"

"All I know is that Galion assured me we had more than enough for at least a week if we didn't hunt, and for much longer if we did. Frankly, knowing him, he probably expects me to purchase more food for us at Laketown before heading down the Celduin." He gave Glóin a grin before setting to work to clean the rabbit. "I think he has little faith in my woodcraft because I have had no excuse to use it for a very long time."

"A side-effect of your backside being more in harmony with your throne than a saddle, eh?" Glóin chuckled as he opened the one lumpy bundle and frowned in confusion. "What in Arda is this?" He pulled out a solid and round, brown lump. "It doesn't look like a turnip…"

"That is one of the Shire's 'taters," Thranduil said, turning back to his task. "Legolas had Samwise Gamgee send a few of the plants to both Master Elrond and to us a year or so ago, and my people have developed a liking for them. Meat, a tater, a carrot or two and a few herbs should make for a tasty meal. Check and see if Galion put carrots in there too."

"I thought I was doing the cooking."

"It was just a suggestion, Master Dwarf. Do as you wish, provided that whatever the result is, it is edible."

Glóin glowered. "As long as the result is edible. I'll have you know that I'm a very good wilderness cook!" He dug deeper into the bundle and pulled out a fat carrot.

"We shall soon know the truth of that, will we not?"

oOoOo

"Not bad, Master Glóin! Your reputation as a fine wilderness cook is well-founded." Thranduil sprawled back on his bedroll, stretched out his legs and propped himself up on an elbow and picked at his teeth in the flickering firelight. "I doubt me that the cooks in my Hall could have done better."

Glóin blinked in surprise and then leaned forward to put his wooden bowl atop Thranduil's. "Was that a compliment?"

The Elf let loose a low and wicked chuckle. "Trust me, it won't happen often."

"Good." Glóin nodded and let himself sprawl back into much the same posture as the Elf. "I have a reputation to keep up, you know; and I don't fancy it being spoiled by being tagged as being as touched in the head as my son is for having taken up company with an Elf."

"Nor would I wish to have my advisors talking about my having turned eccentric on this journey that they truly did not want me to take – especially if they found out I made the trip with a Dwarf as a traveling companion."

"Then they are probably distressed with you today, finding out that you got away without asking permission?"

"Oh, most definitely!" Thranduil laughed heartily. "Ever since Legolas left us to take up the task of renewing the land in Ithilien, far too close to the realms of men for their liking, my advisors have been attempting to wrap me in quilting and tie me to my throne. The situation only got worse after Lothlórien emptied and the Galadhrim divided in three: those who came to make their new homes in my woods, those who followed Celeborn to Imladris, and those who followed Galadriel to the Havens."

"Gimli speaks very sadly of that, you know," Glóin offered after a long moment of silence. He tossed into the fire a stray twig lying on the ground in front of him. "The word under the Mountain is that he was bewitched there."

Thranduil nodded, all teasing apparently set aside for the moment. "So Legolas told me. Evidently your Gimli was quite taken with the White Lady, and she with him; and Legolas wrote once that Gimli nearly went into mourning when he heard that she had left for the West. I think that surprised many when I shared that bit of news; I know it surprised me."

Glóin sat and thought for a bit and then got up to fetch both the wineskin and the skin of ale from the pile of bundles from the pack horse. He pulled the cork on one, sniffed, re-corked it and dropped it onto Thranduil's stomach before returning to his bedroll with the other. "Tell me, do your people treat you differently because of the company your son chooses to keep: Men, and Hobbits and Dwarves as well as Elves?"

"No… That is, not so much that I would notice at court or in council, but only the One knows what they think or say when I am not around. Why?" Thranduil sat up and crossed his legs, then took a healthy swallow of his wine. "Do yours?"

Glóin took two swallows and then wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and burped politely. "Sometimes. I catch them looking at me, or at Gimli's brothers, as if we had grown an extra arm sometimes."

"Did you tell them you were intending on traveling with an Elf when you left your Mountain?"

"No, of course not. I knew better. And had you told your advisors that you were intending to travel with me before we left – with or without military escort – I'd be willing to bet fresh-mined gold that your advisors would have started giving you strange looks as well."

"Not to mention tying me to my throne in reality." Thranduil took another deep swallow and then re-corked his skin. "You know, I am finding it most distressing that we seem to share some of the same problems, both with our peoples and with our sons."

"True. I had never thought to have anything in common with a pointed-eared Elf King."

"Nor I with someone who spends more time beating things into submission with a sledgehammer than anything else." This time it was Thranduil who seemed to grow thoughtful over the course of a long silence. "How did they do it, do you think?

"Do what? And who?"

"Gimli and Legolas – how did they manage to become friends?" Thranduil's finger pointed first at Glóin and then at himself. "You and I shall never make that mistake, I am certain…"

"Absolutely not!"

Thranduil only nodded. "Which then begs the question how – and why – they did. Did we raise them incorrectly, do you think?"

Glóin shrugged. "I suppose they became friends with everyone who was a part of the Quest. Considering some of the tales I've heard Gimli tell, I would imagine saving each others' lives might have played a part."

"Yes, yes, there is that, of course. But…" Thranduil sighed. "Never mind. I guess how an Elf and a Dwarf could decide to become brothers-of-the-heart will just have to remain one of the many mysteries of our time."

"I hear wisdom at last," Glóin snorted derisively.

"You have heard it all along. Only now are you finally attuned to it well enough to recognize it as such." Thranduil sniffed and sat up, focusing on looking out into the darkness for a long moment before reclining once more into a relaxed sprawl.

"Did you see or hear something?" Glóin was stiff, staring out into the darkness.

The Elf shook his head. "There is nothing, neither from the trees nor from the horses. All is calm. Aduial knows to awaken me if there is any trouble, so I need not worry. I suggest you get some sleep, Master Dwarf. We have another day's riding ahead of us before we reach Laketown."

"You mean to tell me you're trusting our safety this night to an animal?" Glóin's mouth gaped.

"I could have you stand the first watch, but frankly, Aduial's hearing is undoubtedly more acute. Relax, Master Dwarf. We are still safely beneath my eaves." Thranduil folded his arms across his chest and gave a deep sigh. "The weather favors us this night, and the trees speak of nothing that might cause us harm."

"You won't mind if I stay awake and make certain of that anyway, will you?" Glóin grumbled.

"Suit yourself; I do not ask it of you. But if you do decide to stand watch…" Thranduil rolled slightly and pointed at the skin of ale. "…I suggest you not drink much more of that." He snickered softly to himself and settled back down on his bedroll, and very soon his breathing had evened out to the point that, had his eyes not been wide open and looking up at the overhang, Glóin could have sworn the Elf was asleep.

"Not drink any more ale? How do you expect me to stay awake?" He waited, but none of the Elvenking's barbed repartee answered him. "Hmph! I'm sorry my company bores you." Still nothing.

Glóin reached for the skin of ale, uncorked it, sniffed at the contents, thought for a moment and then frowned as he pounded the cork back into place and tossed the skin to the end of the bedroll. "I hope you intend to awaken to serve your watch later," he grumbled a little louder, but again received no reply. If anything, the Elvenking's breathing deepened a little more and began to almost resemble snoring.

"It would be just my luck to be stuck in the wilderness with a pointed-eared madman who trusts his horse's abilities at security over that of a proven warrior's, and is now fast asleep and not answering me." Glóin pushed himself to his feet, retrieved his axe from where he had set it to eat, picked up the wooden bowls and the now-empty stewpot and stomped off in the direction of the stream. "Might as well clean these," he grumbled to himself. "Only Mahal knows if you even know how to wash your own dishes!"

His self-appointed chores quickly finished, he wandered over to the one rock the right size to serve as a seat. Just at the edge of the reach of the firelight, he saw the horses, lazily cropping at the thick grass. Their ears flicked about without concern. Oddly, that fact was reassuring, but there was no way he would ever admit that to the Elf. He rested his axe on the ground where it would be easy to retrieve and use it, should the need arise.

"What's worse is that I did this to myself. And now look at me – I'm talking to myself too! If I survive to see you again, my son, you and I are going to have words, I swear it!"

It was going to be a long night.