Note: I had so much fun putting Thranduil in this chapter. I've been looking forward to him since starting this story, but couldn't fit him in Book I. He's so very evil and yet kind of epic, too. Saruman is just complete fun-and-games (as is the whole of Book II).
BOOK II: The Making of an Orc
Incunabulum 8: A Disturbing Find
Elrond paused at the top of the hill of Caras Galadhon to catch his breath, thinking that lifts ought to be installed for first age elves. He looked round him at the sylvan city, noted the improvements made since his last visit, and reflected with satisfaction that Rivendell was still just as up-to-date.
"My lord Elrond," said a Lothlorien elf, approaching at that moment. "Pray allow me to guide you to the conference chamber."
Elrond followed him passively up the seemingly interminable steps of a Mallorn tree. They reached a wide platform at the top and the elven guide departed with a bow. Elrond glanced at the white-clad figure who sat at one end of the platform, combing his straight white hair with two curved fingers.
"Are you prepared yet to tell me the reason for this urgent meeting?" asked Elrond.
"Presently," said Saruman.
"I still see no reason why you could not have made the journey to Rivendell; it would not have been much farther for you, and it would have spared me a lot of trouble."
"Rivendell is out of the way."
"Not for me."
"Besides, they are having one of their general councils* here and you would have had to come anyway, so stop complaining. This is a more central location."
"Central for whom? Rivendell is not a great distance for the others."
"It is for Thranduil, elvenking**," replied a third voice.
Elrond turned, attempting to conceal his annoyance. "The matter must be vital if it drew you out of Mirkwood," he said.
Thranduil had just stepped off the stairs onto the platform. Being the only elvenking in Middle Earth, he tacked on the title as often as possible because he liked to swing his weight around.
"That's right, you old spider," said Saruman, with a revolted glance at Thranduil's favourite crown. "I was afraid you weren't going to crawl out of your hole and show up. Well, we are all here, then."
"What about Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel?" asked Elrond.
"Celeborn?" said Saruman. "Leave that junkie to tend his psychedelic mushrooms. And Lady Galadriel can get live streaming in her mirror if she wants to hear what we have to say. This is an unofficial meeting; I wanted to speak to you two alone."
"Let's get on with it then," said Thranduil.
Saruman took a bundle from beneath his robe and placed it on an ornate table near the middle of the platform. He slowly unwrapped the leather covering and laid to view a crooked sword, curiously inscribed on the blade.
Elrond approached and lifted the sword for closer inspection. "Where did you come by this?" he asked.
"It was found in the northern reaches of the Misty Mountains," Saruman replied. "—In an orc den."
Elrond snatched his hand back, dropping the sword onto the floor with a crash.
"Be careful with that," said Saruman. "It's evidence."
"Evidence for what?" asked Elrond, taking out his handkerchief and applying iodine to his contaminated fingers.
"That is why I called you here. You're the experts—is it elven work?"
"How could it be?" asked Elrond. "It's an orc sword."
"The craftsmanship is beyond any orc," said Saruman. "Rough, true, but it's steel, not iron. These swords are appearing more and more frequently in the possession of the Misty Mountain orcs—and not only swords, but knives and armour as well, of far better quality than orcs can generally get."
"Where do suppose they are coming from?"
"I thought I would ask you that question," said Saruman.
"You suspect an elf made them?" asked Elrond. "Impossible. Never has an elf had dealings with the orcs."
He looked at Thranduil, hoping for corroboration, but Thranduil was staring thoughtfully at Saruman.
"What can this have to do with you, that you came all this way to tell us of it?" he asked.
"I am a friend to the elves," said Saruman. "I thought this matter worthy of your attention."
"It cannot be the work of an elf," Elrond insisted. "Besides, the orcs would never bargain with one of us."
"Strange things sometimes happen," said Saruman, examining his fingernails.
"What do you mean by 'strange things?'" asked Elrond. "If you know more of this than you are letting on, I beg you to reveal it."
"I know nothing beyond what I have told you; I'm quicker at arriving at conclusions, that's all. I certainly think it possible that one of your people may have dealings with the orcs. –Perhaps one who vanished into the mountains and whom you thought dead long ago...but never found his body."
"I will look into this matter," said Elrond. "If one of our kind has fallen among the orcs we will not fail to rescue him."
"You can keep that," said Saruman, nodding towards the sword. "I hope it will help you in your quest. And now I had better have a look at the conference schedule. I hope I won't be stuck here very long—I've got a recording date with Manowar next Wednesday."
He rose and, after the usual formalities, departed. When he had gone, Elrond looked again at Thranduil.
"What do you think of what he said?" he asked.
"I wonder what he thought he could get out of us," said Thranduil, donning a pair of latex gloves and picking up the sword from the floor.
"I withstood his accusations for the honour of our race, but he was right, you know. It might be elven work."
"It looks like the work of Hrothmar, son of Hemir," observed Thranduil.
"But he was lost years ago," said Elrond. "—In the orc wars."
"He was killed," said Thranduil.
"Who told you that?"
"One of the Lothloriens. I seem to recall that it was Findor, son of Fingol."
"My son told me otherwise. He said he was never found after the battle."
Elrond took a step towards Thranduil and glared at him earnestly. "You know the Wood-elves better than I," he said; "would he have joined the orcs?"
"No elf would," said Thranduil. "It is not the way of our kind."
"It is not impossible for one of us to fall," said Elrond. "Remember how Maeglin betrayed the hidden city to Morgoth."
"That was only a legend. You never saw it happen and neither did I."
"You do not believe the truth of the old tales?" said Elrond incredulously.
"I believe nothing I have not seen with my own eyes," said Thranduil. "And I have never seen an elf have parlance with the foul race."
"I pray it has not come to pass. But if it has, we must be cautious."
"It must not be known."
"I did not mean that; I meant an elf aiding the orcs could bring great danger. And we are already facing the growing menace in the east."
"It must be looked into, as you said," replied Thranduil, throwing the sword onto the table.
"If only there were a way of knowing the truth at once."
"You might ask Galadriel—she has the mirror."
"Yes, but I don't entirely trust her. Sometimes I think she makes up some of the things she sees in that mirror. You ought to speak to those of your elves who knew Hrothmar—those you trust—and hear what they say of him."
"There is nothing they could tell me," said Thranduil. "And besides, I don't trust any of them."
Elrond sighed. "It is our bane," he said. "Our kind are fated to hold together against the rest of the world and yet never to trust each other. It has been so from the beginning. I do not wish to believe evil of Hrothmar, but the possibility cannot be overlooked. We all walk along a razor-thin edge; only the slightest diversion to the left or the right and we plunge beyond the reach of aid."
"And if we do," said Thranduil, "no aid can avail. Destruction is utter. Do not waste pity on those beyond your effort."
"It may not be," said Elrond. "I cannot be sure of that. In any case, I ask you to make me a promise."
"What is that?" asked Thranduil, raising his eyebrows.
"Should you find the elf—if elf it be—who forged this sword, that you notify me before you make any decision concerning him."
Thranduil returned Elrond's stern gaze negligently. "Certainly," he said. "Other matters consume my time at the present, however, and this mystery may remain unsolved for many years yet."
He gave the sword a last desultory glance and strode across the platform and down the stairs. Elrond watched him go with furrowed brows.
About an hour later Lindir found his employer at the foot of a Mellorn tree and approached with a tentative cough.
"My lord Elrond," he said, "the council-they're waiting for you."
"I told them to start without me," said Elrond. "I'll be up presently."
"Lady Galadriel insists—"
Elrond glared at him so hard that his timorous lieutenant departed without pressing his injunctions. For a time Elrond stood, sunk in thought, until roused at last by an elf appearing behind him.
"Someone said you wanted to see me?"
"Oh, hello, Findor," said Elrond. "I thought you were Thranduil's son at first. Yes, I wanted to speak to you. You perhaps remember the orc wars of the last century?"
Findor made no answer, for he made it a principle never to respond to obvious questions, even to someone of Lord Elrond's status.
"You probably remember a certain Wood-elf," Elrond continued, "—Hrothmar, the elven smith. He was of your company the night of the final attack."
Elrond paused, waiting for confirmation. "Or was he?"
"He was," said Findor.
"But he was not there during the attack?"
Findor was silent for several minutes, staring at Elrond. "What makes you think that?" he asked finally.
"The simple fact that he left the camp that night and was seen running towards the Misty Mountains, and that was the last time he was ever seen…and it was two hours before the attack came."
Elrond delivered this news with a very keen look at Findor. "My son informed me of this," he went on. "What you can tell me of that night will be very valuable."
"He and the other son of Hemir had been placed under arrest for disorderly conduct and escaped," said Findor. "I did not think it wise to pursue them; I thought it unlikely that they would reach Mirkwood with so many orcs about."
"What did he know that you didn't want Thranduil finding out?"
Findor looked frankly surprised. "What do you mean?"
"I may not be able to read minds like your Lady Galadriel," said Elrond, "but I can read motives because they are revealed by actions. He was captured by the orcs, and you said he was dead. Perhaps it would have caused unpleasantness for you if he had been rescued."
"It is not as you think," said Findor. "It was he who had something to hide. I saw him go in secret to the dark tower of sorcery."
Elrond frowned. "What did he do there?"
"I know not, but he was not to be trusted."
"Why did you never tell anyone of this before? This is a serious matter."
"It would have brought calumny upon our race. Besides, there can be no reason to disclose it now. He cannot have long survived capture."
"You know of my wife's ordeal," observed Elrond.
"This is different," said Findor. "It has been more than sixty years since the orcs took him. He has long ago fallen into shadow."
"That is all I wanted to know," said Elrond.
The council ended two days later and the various parties of elves prepared to depart. Elrond approached Thranduil to take his leave, accompanied by Elrohir.
"I remind you of your promise," he said, as goodbyes were exchanged. "My son will accompany you back to Mirkwood so as to bring me word should something turn up."
Thranduil glanced at Elrohir with an inhospitable expression. "You doubt the word of Thranduil, elvenking?" he asked.
Elrond smiled in a conciliating manner. "That's right."
* See The Sailing Moon, by OneSizeFitsAll, chapter 6
** It is actually farther as the Nazgul flies, but the journey is quicker because the elves can travel by boat down the river and have no mountains to cross.