Recommended listening: Schoenberg, Verklärte Nacht for string orchestra

CHAPTER XV: CALENGROTH

Truva was awoken by Legolas thrusting aside the curtain to her chamber. Whether it was still night or already morn she could not guess, for in the dark Beorning halls there was no indication of time's passage. She blinked, eyes bleary in the light of the torches in the hallway beyond, and sluggishly extricated herself from the woollen nest.

'You are not one to sleep so late,' remarked Legolas as she stumbled out into the passageway and stretched luxuriously.

'There is a uniquely soothing atmosphere about the Beornings' den, and I find myself loath to leave its comforts,' said she.

'Be that as it may, it is best to press on. The sooner we discover what became of the Ithryn Luin, the sooner we rejoin Aragorn and the armies we are parted from.'

'Nor would I wish to overburden Grimbeorn and our gracious Beorning hosts,' Truva agreed. 'It grieves me to see how greatly they suffered this past year.'

Gimli likewise seemed eager to move on with all swiftness when they spoke of such plans with him in the main cavern, for though there could be no question of the Beornings' generosity, it was apparent – through many sidelong cast glances and hurriedly stifled whisperings – that the Dwarf was not wholly welcome in the Den.

A rather sheepish young Dysig had just presented the travellers with bowls of porridge and honey when Grimbeorn appeared at their breakfast table. The Beorning leader placed two bundles before them.

'Your belongings, laundered to the best of our washers' abilities in so short a time,' he said, indicating the larger of the two parcels. Then, almost reverently, he pushed the second forward. 'And a supply of honey-cakes – though I must emphasise they are not for eating! Our stores of honey are low; these cakes are intended for none save the mouth of King Thranduil. I entrust you to convey them to him as a symbol of goodwill.'

'My father will receive them untouched, and in as fresh a state as we can manage,' said Legolas good-naturedly, though Gimli wore a peeved look, for he most desperately wished to taste the Beornings' famed honey-cakes. Even so, it was with an unexpected hint of warmth that he and Grimbeorn bade each other goodbye in the chill, early morning air beyond the Den's entrance, when the travellers were garbed in their own attire once more.

'I thank you kindly for the generosity you have shown us, however brief our interlude may have been,' spoke the Dwarf, with only a moderately begrudging air.

'Any are welcome amongst the Beornings – so long as their heart is pure as that of the bees that once populated our hives,' replied Grimbeorn. 'I would most certainly not turn you away, Master Gimli, were you to call upon the Den again.'

'Broad is the heart of the Beornings and their chieftain, in coming to see the loyalty of Dwarves far swifter than I,' said Truva.

'It was his companions speaking in his favour that moved me most,' said Grimbeorn. 'Trustworthy is he who walks together with Thranduil's son and an Eorling warrior, whose ancient kin is mine own.' He then clasped each of the travellers' shoulders in turn. 'Please convey my warmest greetings to your father, Woodland Prince, and may you find whatever answers you seek, horsemistress. Dwarf – fare thee well.'

With that, the three companions made as if to depart, but Brimbeorn started quite suddenly as if something had just occurred to him. 'Would you go on foot?' he asked. 'It is no more than three days' journey to the Elvenking's halls, were you to ride.'

'But we have no mounts,' said Gimli, a hint of unease in his voice. Ignoring the Dwarf's protests, Grimbeorn turned his face skyward. From his throat ripped a low cry, much like that he had given at the Den's entrance. The sound reverberated in Truva's very bones, and though it was not loud, it echoed amongst the trees. Before it even died out, three shadows came trotting through the dappled light: two beautiful blue roan steeds and a shaggy grey pony.

'They know their way home,' said Grimbeorn, 'and though the Orcs were once not so circumspect, there are now none who haunt these woods that would risk the Beornings' wrath in doing anything so untoward as endangering our dear friends. Turn them loose when you have arrived at your destination, and may you someday return in their wake.'

Truva rejoiced to be on horseback once more, and felt quite at ease, despite the lack of any saddle or bridle. Gimli was not so sure-seated, however, and the Beornings' mounts were not nearly as dependable as the Mearas of the Mark. Several times did the Dwarf nearly slip to the forest floor, and ultimately resorted to the solution that had proved successful throughout the War: riding together with Legolas – though it was still with a great deal of his grumbling that the companions resumed their journey, leaving the pony in Grimbeorn's care.

Through sparse copses of beech and oak they rode; then, as they pushed further northward, these were replaced by dense, dark firs that grew so tall and thick they nearly blocked out the sun. Yet Legolas guided them surely, for the nearer they drew to his home, the more familiar he became with the land. They made exceptionally good time, and gained the Old Forest Road on the second day following their departure.

Here they made camp. From their campfire, they watched as more than a few journeymen rode horses along the wide dirt track, as merchants drew their carts piled high with wares, as a healer passed by in a rush, kit tucked firmly beneath one arm. All travelled boldly and openly, the fear that had kept them at home for so many years dispersed by tenuous peace. The Road, long neglected save by those with either desperate or nefarious purpose, had begun to show signs of reclamation.

The company rose before dawn the following morning, hoping to gain the Elvenking's Halls within the day. With Legolas in the lead, they struck out across the Old Forest Road and made for the craggy foothills of the Mountains of Mirkwood. Even as the sun rose to cast soft periwinkle dapples of watery light upon the forest floor, their steeds wove sure-footed over rock and bramble, pace unaffected by the sharp incline or thickly growing pines.

Only a short while had passed, however, before Truva noted a tree swaying counter to the breeze. Unease flooded her mind as she recalled how Grimbeorn's forces had dispatched a band of Orcs trailing them from Lothlórien. Determined not to doubt herself this time, Truva indicated the tree to her companions:

'I believe we are being followed,' she said.

Legolas did not so much as turn his head. 'Yes,' he said, whilst Gimli peered up into the tree's upper branches. 'My brethren have watched us from the very moment we stepped into the new borders of the Woodland Realm – and indeed a good deal earlier.'

'Why do they not approach outright and greet us?' asked Gimli.

'Though I claim this land as my home, an Ereborian Dwarf and Rohirric shieldmaiden cannot,' said Legolas. 'War serves to bring unlikely allies together, but also serves to amplify preexisting mistrust between them; in the minds of the Wood-elves, I travel with two strangers – one of whom belongs to a race long hostile to them. They have not the benefit of our shared journey, my friend.'

Gimli harrumphed. 'And what path must our journey take now? I see nothing save mountainous peaks ahead.'

'There is a low pass, well-known to my people,' said Legolas. 'Just beyond it lies the Gûlduin, which shall give us an easy path to the river Táwarnen and our destination.'

Truva was content to accept this explanation, though Gimli started. 'The Gûlduin?' he exclaimed. 'You cannot possibly refer to the Enchanted River! I have heard the tale of poor Bombur a great many more times than once; the hapless Dwarf fell into its obsidian waters, and my father and the others of King Thorin's party were left with no resort save to carry him, tied with rope, for six days – six!'

'That is the very same river,' replied Legolas. 'Do not step foot in its currents and there shall be no cause for carrying or rope-tying.'

Gimli gave a huff but fell silent, perhaps recalling the numerous occasions on which the Dwarves' quest to recapture Erebor – which he had shortsightedly been excluded from – was recounted in the halls of that very mountain.

Throughout the remaining morning, the company ascended towards a gap in the Mountains of Mirkwood, and it was only a few hours past noontide when they reached its upper heights. They did not pause for lunch, however, and immediately began to descend the opposite side. Here, the great oaks and beeches gave indication that a tremendous assault had taken place; much like the trees of Lothlórien, their boles were scorched black, their canopies and slighter branches vanished by the furious greed of fire. Ash darkened the forest floor, unfed by the previous autumn's fallen leaves.

Then the sound of rushing water became audible. Soon, a glittering river was visible through the murk of forest shade and overcast skies. From afar, its currents appeared darker than a starless night sky, and at first Truva believed this to be a trick of the light; yet as they approached she saw that it was not. The same blackness that had guarded the walls of Orthanc and Minas Tirith, the same abyss that had been present within the palantír all those years ago, beckoned to her now, drawing her in with the hint of a promise, a glimpse of a world which lay beyond sight—

Legolas' arm caught her across the chest. She had dismounted and begun walking towards the river, oblivious to all around her.

'Do not hearken to its call,' murmured the Elf.

Truva shook her head to dislodge the hazy sensation clouding her mind, though that seemed to have little effect. She and Legolas remounted, and the company continued down the mountain through the burnt forest, following the course of Gûlduin as it tumbled over rocks and through narrow gaps in the mountainside. Even though Truva did not cast her eyes upon the river's waters, still she fought to repel its attraction. Legolas rode beside her, wary of any waver in her path.

The hours of the day dragged on, discernible only through the gradual shift of faint light from east to west as the sun tracked its determined path in the sky, unseen behind cloud cover. When the ground beneath the travellers began to even out and the Gûlduin curved westward, Legolas deviated from its banks, instead tracking northeastward. Truva was relieved to be free of the river's allure, yet the woods were darkening, and she wondered whether they would gain the halls of the Elvenking that evening after all.

Darkness turned to near-impenetrable black, yet still Legolas did not halt.

'Why do we make such haste?' grumbled the Dwarf as his stomach gave a particularly loud complaint. 'It is well past midnight; can we not make camp and proceed in the morning?'

'There is no saying what yet lurks,' said Legolas, his characteristic self-possession belied by the frequency with which he scanned their surroundings. 'Though it is said all evil was cleared from these Woods in the wake of the War, so too was it said of Gondor – and we saw how little truth those assurances held. It is best we find shelter in the halls of my father before we rest.'

And so they pressed on, the night growing ever deeper. Several times Truva's eyes threatened to close, and she nearly slipped from her mount's back more than once. Plucking a bud from one of the few pine trees untouched by fire, she lodged the bright green harbinger of spring between her cheek and gum, chewing it whenever she felt herself nodding off, as Éothafa had taught her many years ago.

If there was a moon, it was not visible; cloud cover still plagued the sky. Without the guidance of Legolas, both Gimli and Truva would have been travelling blind. Yet soon another shepherd presented itself: the renewed sound of rushing water.

'It shall be all the harder to resist in your lassitude,' said Legolas, appearing beside Truva. 'We come now upon the northern arc of Gûlduin, where it feeds into the Táwarnen. Just beyond the rivers' confluence lies the entrance to the halls of my father. I trust you will not falter so close to our destination.'

Truva gave a short nod, and surreptitiously pinched the inside of her forearm to see if it might spur her into wakefulness. Instead, it simply bestowed upon her a dreamlike separation from the pain. A slap on the cheek likewise effected little result, as did several additional pine buds.

Then another glimpse of the entrancing river came through the trees, its currents mysteriously glittering in nonexistent light. Truva fought the waters' lure, and yet the Gûlduin was like a void, drawing her in unwilled. Her breath suspended, anticipating the coming flood, rising up from the banks to her chest, past her throat towards her nose—

All at once, Legolas' hand was at the back of her cloak, dragging her away from banks slippery with soot-rich mud. The abrupt action drew Truva back into the present. She tore her eyes away from the obsidian waters, only to find herself staring at the forest floor.

'I thought the Rohirrim to be a very stern peoples,' said Gimli, his manner not wholly unpatronizing, 'and our Marshal the most stoic of them all; what misfortune is it, when even so bold a shieldmaiden cannot resist the Enchanting River's enticement. I feel a great increase in sympathy for poor Bombur.'

'The Gûlduin affects each to a different degree, regardless of origin,' said Legolas, helping Truva to her feet. 'Let us hope the joining of the rivers shall sufficiently negate these effects, and we shall pass unbothered across the Táwarnen's span.'

For indeed, a pathway through blackened beeches opened before them, revealing the rushing Forest River just ahead – or what Truva assumed (by its sound) to be the river, for the scene was so dark that little could be seen. Even when the company drew nigh to a high bank and the water itself became visible below, still the opposite side was obscured by darkness.

'Have our mounts any need to risk themselves in the crossing?' asked Truva, her hay cognition recovered somewhat. 'Let us loose them, and trust they shall return safely to their homeland, as promised by the Beornings.'

'Wondrous idea,' exclaimed Gimli, already on the ground.

Even without prompting, the first of the blue roans turned towards the Den and trotted off, though Truva could not help but allow her hand to linger on her own steed's withers in a sentimental goodbye; nor was the horse eager to part with her, for he nuzzled her chin briefly before darting off after his companion. As there was kinship between the Beornings and Eorlingas, so too was there some connection between these beasts and the Mearas.

'Now, to cross the river,' said Legolas.

He reached out with one hand, as if feeling for nothing in the empty air. After a time, his fingers clasped some unseen object. The rope itself was imperceptible to Truva and Gimli, but it cut a line clear across the Forest River as Legolas pulled it, dripping with water, above the currents' surface and wound it about a stout post.

'An Elven bridge,' groused Gimli. 'I thought I had seen the last of them when we crossed into Lothlórien with the Fellowship!'

'And we were in possession of additional ropes for hand guides then,' said Legolas, 'a benefit we do not have now. We shall have to cross as is.'

Truva, having fully recovered her senses – save a slight fog of confusion, which could in good faith be attributed to her fatigue – looked on with trepidation. To cross the Forest River's vast expanse on no more than a single thread of rope held no attraction to her. Only the promise of rest compelled her forward.

Legolas immediately held up a hand to stop her. 'You are not known in these lands – nor you, Gimli. Though our movements are watched even now, and those who guard the Wood are sure to know you are my companions, it is best not to tempt the unknown. I shall cross first.'

He stepped out onto the invisible line, walking with no more difficulty than if on land, and within moments he could just barely be discerned upon the steep bank opposite, beckoning for the others to cross.

'Would you like to have a go of it first, Marshal?' asked Gimli. 'I should like to attribute my offer to a reluctance on my part to leave you on this bank alone, but I know you to be perfectly capable of defending yourself – and in truth, my hesitancy is due more to the need for several additional moments to compose myself.'

Truva gave him a curious look. What little cheek visible beneath Gimli's beard flushed scarlet. 'Don't tell the Elf,' he whispered.

'I shan't,' said Truva with a sly smile. 'I do believe you yielded in a most gentlemanly manner to my desire to cross first.'

'Aye, that is as good an explanation as any,' he muttered in approval.

Truva approached the riverbank and felt about for the rope. In spite of the darkness, she had expected at the least a faint visual sign of its presence, but it was not until the soft, drenched threads were in her very hands that she saw a blurry disturbance – simultaneously there, and yet not.

There was no doubt in Truva's mind that traversing the rope in the manner of the Elves would not be possible for her mortal feet, and so she followed it to where the bank fell sharply away. Standing upon the rocky precipice, she curled her legs and arms about the rope and hung upside down, crawling across the span like a particularly clumsy monkey. Still, she arrived without incident, and giving a deep sigh of relief clambered onto the far bank.

Gimli followed using much the same method, and soon the trio stood shoulder to shoulder, backs to the Forest River as they looked upon the mouth of an immense cavern delving into the steep hillside. Three towering beeches shot upwards, although closer inspection revealed them in actuality to be pillars hewn from the stone itself, designed to resemble a living addition to the forest. Between the boles arched two tremendous gateways, shut tight against the world.

'Calengroth: the Halls of the Elvenking!' Legolas declared, spreading his arms wide. He stepped forward and extended his hand to brush a stone pillar reverently with his fingertips, then leaned heavily upon the left-hand arch of the entryway to reveal a tiny wicket gate. Slipping into the thin ribbon of space, he motioned for the others to follow before closing the door and plunging them into utter darkness.

An echo of footsteps upon stone greeted them. From far in the distance came a faint glow, and as it drew nearer, the pooling light illuminated their surroundings. They stood at the forefront of an expansive hall, lined with two rows of beech-pillars, whose uppermost branches reached to the very rafters and met at the vaulted roof's peak. The polished stone beneath the companions' feet was at once black and multicoloured, flashing between pinks and greens and oranges. In her lassitude, Truva allowed the sight to consume her consciousness, oblivious to Gimli's gasps of wonderment.

'Brother!' said a voice as softly as would reach them without reverberating terribly in the resonant hall. Truva's attention snapped forward to take in the tall Elf who strode towards them bearing a silver lantern, only to discover it was none other than the elder son of Elrond.

'Elladan!' cried Legolas, embracing the Elf when he drew near. 'What brings you from Imladris?'

'The halls of my father grow cold,' said he. 'It is said that the last ships will soon pass into the West, but I mean not to go with them – not yet. Thus have I witnessed too much loss these last few seasons, and it seems to me Eryn Lasgalen proves more a haven than the Last Homely House.'

'You shall always be welcome here, my friend,' Legolas reassured him.

'And well it is to see you, Truva Marshal of the Mark, and you, Gimli son of Glóin.' Elladan turned to greet the others, who bowed in return. 'I thought you to be in the south, repairing the defences of Minas Tirith, or perhaps settling in at Aglarond. Surely you have not completed these tremendous tasks in so short a time; what business is it that brings you north?'

'The tale of our recent ventures is by no means a short one,' said Legolas. 'But my companions are weary, for we have travelled far this day. Might I request you see them provided with appropriate accommodations?'

'Most certainly, but do you not join them?'

'My father will surely wish to learn of what news I have to share – and receive the Beornings' honey-cakes all the swifter. I will seek him out before I rest. But tell me, where might he be found?'

'The comings and going of King Thranduil are ever mysterious,' said Elladan. 'Perhaps you might begin in the lower halls; it is there he is most often to be found of late.'

'Very well,' said Legolas, striding off in the direction by which Elladan had come. 'Rest well, my friends; I shall rejoin you swiftly.'

He disappeared silently into the darkness beyond the entry hall's gleaming pillars – though this went wholly unobserved by Truva and Gimli, who nearly slept where they stood. Elladan roused them with a gentle hand upon their shoulders, motioning for them to follow after him towards a smaller corridor to the left.

The path along which the three passed was skillfully hewn, yet Truva could afford no energy to its details, for her attention was entirely devoted to placing one foot in front of the other. Lost to her was the curved entryway they turned through, and the elaborate atrium beyond – featuring a garden in full bloom despite the cavern's depths – as well as the manuscripts and tomes shelved from floor to lofty ceiling. She took no note of the series of adjacent chambers or which doorway Elladan ushered Gimli into. It was all she could do to stumble into an adjacent room, collapse onto the bed, and fall immediately into slumber.

It was not rest that Truva found, however. She was visited by a dream, which at first seemed of the most pleasant sort. Even in slumber, a smile sat upon her lips; for from the haze emerged Aragorn, as bold and self-assured as upon his coronation day. A calmness overtook Truva, yet as she reached out to accept the hand he offered, it transformed into a black serpent, scales slithering and gleaming in a blood-red light. Its movements were slow, entrancing, even when it reared its head to strike. Its fangs flashed—

The nightmare shattered. Truva sat bolt upright, sweat heavy upon her brow. Through the thin, floral lattice walls of obsidian rock that enclosed her bedchamber, a gentle light filtered in. It was not the blinding glare of aboveground, but a diffuse, blue-green glow that illuminated her surroundings with a delicate wash. It did not give the impression of day, and yet it was certainly brighter than the complete darkness of night; surely it must be morning.

Truva emerged from her chamber into the atrium and properly observed all that she had been too exhausted to take in the previous evening. The garden was especially alluring, for it was comprised of plants entirely unfamiliar to her: lush arrowhead fronds and bold-coloured petals – all of which seemed to breathe in the strange light, only to exhale a golden dust, the motes of which floated upon languid air currents.

'No sense in spectating plants when there's breakfast to be had,' Gimli spoke suddenly behind her.

Truva turned with a leap. Already the Dwarf was ascending a dais at the far end of the atrium, where a long table stood piled with all manner of fresh fruits and vegetables, alongside steaming bread fresh from the oven.

'What do you suppose has become of Legolas?' she asked, taking a seat across from him at the table.

'Who's to say?' Gimli replied, mouth already full. 'But I should like to make a most thorough examination of this cave system before he reappears and lays duties at our feet. These Halls are truly spectacular! Never before have I beheld such speleothems and speleogens; only having read of it the texts of old did I recognise the well-defined boxwork arching overhead last night. And the rimstone! Like its own calcite waterfall!'

Truva allowed the Dwarf's incomprehensible prattle to flow about her, nodding cursorily each time he gave a particular emphatic exclamation. He had just begun to expound upon the delicacy of their own atrium's frostwork when Elladan appeared in the archway.

'Ah, so you have eaten,' he said, though it was more than apparent they were scarcely halfway finished. 'Most excellent. The King requests your presence – though to say it is a "request" belies the demanding nature of his expectations.'

Grumbling about a breakfast wasted, Gimli rose, and Truva was close behind. They followed Elladan as he strode through a maze of corridors leading ever further into the hillside – and Truva indeed saw the beauty of the honeycomb patterns Gimli had described to her.

They soon came upon a pair of massive oaken doors, carved in the likeness of patterned ivy vines – though it was crafted with such skill that, much like the beech-pillars, Truva was forced to lean in close and confirm it was not, in fact, living. Elladan swept aside one door to reveal a platform, so small they could scarcely fit as three. Beyond, the earth dropped sheer away and opened onto an immense cavern, the ceiling of which soared higher even than Truva believed the caves to delve; she could not comprehend how its rafters did not open onto the sky above.

Here too golden dust like that of the garden filtered through the air. It wafted from the floor far below to the topmost reaches of the cavern, casting a golden hue upon the awesome sight. Truva bit back a gasp, but Gimli was not nearly so reserved.

'It is as the tales have claimed: so very much like Menegroth, which my ancestors likewise aided in the construction of. A testament to the artistry of the Dwarves, these Halls are!' he exclaimed.

'Welcome, travellers,' echoed a voice from across the expanse, where the stone rose from the floor to create an island, connected to many entryways by a series of natural stone bridges. Here the golden light swarmed thickest. In its midst stood Legolas, with Elrohir beside him, and it was the latter who had spoken greeting. But most prominent amongst them was the commanding figure of Thranduil – unmistakable in his similarity to his son, and for the towering crown of woodland flowers upon his head.

Elladan stepped nimbly across the narrow bridge, though when Truva went to follow, she glanced down to see no barrier between herself and the fall, and suddenly found her balance wavering. Yet she gained the terrace safely, as did Gimli, and they bowed low before the Elvenking.

Legloas stepped forward to stand at their side. 'I present to you Gimli son of Glóin, Lord of Aglarond, and Truva, Marshal of Rohan's East-mark,' said he.

Truva made as if to bow again at this declaration, but when Gimli did not, she straightened abruptly. Thranduil gazed upon them a moment in silence before he spoke at last:

'My son has detailed the many services you each have rendered in days of late, and your experiences in Pelargir.' His voice was sonorous and bold, possessing a warmth that contrasted sharply with his stern exterior. Truva knew not whether to keep her distance, or allow herself to feel comforted. 'It is my honour to welcome such heroes into these Halls.'

'And were you equally honoured to welcome my father, Glóin, or my uncle, Óin?' said Gimli, his gruff voice quickly rising in volume. Truva stared at his sudden brashness. The sons of Elrond too shifted in a rare display of discomfort, but the Dwarf forged on: 'What of my other kin: Balin and Dwalin? What of Fíli and Kíli, and Thorin himself? Thirteen Dwarves you kept under lock and key! And for what reason – to what end?'

'I see the Dwarves' propensity to bear grudges remains undimmed by our shared tribulations in days of late,' remarked Thranduil. His composure did not waver in the slightest. 'It was those very Dwarves who trespassed upon my lands – bringing with them antagonised enemies – and sought to steal from the tables of my people.'

Gimli's only response was a dissatisfied grunt.

'And yet my son counsels me to seek peace with the Dwarves,' Thranduil continued, 'for the assaults made upon our respective kingdoms during the War were not insignificant, and he argues it would behove us both to capitalise upon our close proximity. What say you?'

Gimli sputtered quietly. 'I know not what to say, and indeed cannot say anything – for I am not King under the Mountain, nor have I any right to speak in his stead. It is Thorin III Stonehelm, son of Dáin II Ironfoot, recently ascended to the throne, with whom you must consult.'

'You travel soon to your home, do you not?' asked the King.

'I suppose we intend to.' Gimli glanced, unsure, towards his companions. They had not discussed how swiftly they might move on from the Elvenking's Halls; the mere act of arriving after their northward dash had seemed accomplishment enough. But fascinated as Gimli was by Calengroth, even now his posture spoke of a desire to be reunited with his kin. Legolas, on the other hand, appeared content to linger at least a short while in his home – though in truth he was unreadable as ever. Of no help whatsoever was Truva, who was torn as ever between the desire to fulfil her duty and the fear of what she might discover in doing so.

None of them offered any further clarification as the Elvenking continued. 'Then convey this to Thorin Stonehelm: that Thranduil of The Northern Wood of the Greenleaves is willing to make amends for any wrongdoing enacted unto Durin's Folk beneath the Lonely Mountain, and in the future extends his hand in allyship to those people.'

This brought Gimli up short – for he had not expected capitulation on the Elvenking's part. He stood scrutinising Thranduil a moment, as if determining the veracity of this overture.

'I see now that Legolas is very much his father's son,' he said at last, 'for he is likewise just and magnanimous; and though our friendship suffered at its outset for the past misdeeds of our people, we overcame all such hindrances in good time. If this be the future between Dwarves and Elves, I will encourage my kin to consider your offer with generosity of mind.'

'I can hope for little more,' said Thranduil, and perhaps the ghost of a smile pulled at the corner of his lips before he turned to Truva. 'And what venture is it that tasks one so strange to these lands, seeking an audience with the Elvenking?'

Truva willed herself not to quaver beneath the Elf's piercing scrutiny; his was not the kindly gaze with which Théoden King had enshrouded her when first she came to the Mark, or even the gracious placidity of Lady Galadriel's eyes. Truva could scarcely summon the simplest of words in response:

'I wish to learn of my parentage,' she mumbled.

'I see,' said Thranduil. 'Although my relevance in this matter escapes me.'

'It is believed her origins might be of the East,' said Legolas, noting Truva's discomfort and stepping in. The King's gaze grew more intent at these words.

'Has Mithrandir any hand in this?'

'It is due almost entirely to the Wizard's urging that we come before you at all,' said Gimli.

Thranduil considered this a moment further before sweeping suddenly off across a bridge, making for an entrance different from that by which Truva and Gimli had come. 'I believe this discussion calls for more comfortable surroundings,' he called over his shoulder as the others hastened after him, 'and the remainder of your breakfast.'

Through more winding, disorienting corridors he led the party until they arrived at another archway which opened onto a second chamber. Not nearly as expansive as the main hall, it was all the more grand for its smaller size. As with Legolas' rooms, a garden rose up in the very centre – an elegant tangle of blossoms and leaves, the tips of several living trees nearly brushing the ceiling. Gossamer curtains floated upon a nonexistent breeze between stone archways, and a quiet waterfall tumbled from above to course a path across the polished obsidian floor and disappear belowground.

Thranduil motioned for all to take seats upon sofas and divans, which were swaddled in embroidered silks and arranged in a loose circle. Truva perched stiffly on the edge of one chair, unable to relax now that the subject of her distress had been broached. But the Elvenking did not seem as hasty to address her, and first bade more dishes be brought before them. It was not until a low table had been burdened with food and wine that he fixed Truva with his unnerving eyes.

'Let us begin with your parentage,' he said. 'My son has referenced it obliquely, but I would have you tell me all that you know.'

Blunt would be best, Truva reasoned; in truth, she could manage no lengthy explanations. 'I was sold at a young age – so young that it precedes my memory – to a slave owner in the Hidlands,' she said. 'Beyond that, all is speculation.'

Thranduil's scrutiny did not relent, and indeed increased a great deal at these words. 'I have come to understand the Hidden Lands exist somewhere amongst the northern reaches of Hithaeglir, and yet you come inquiring about the East,' said he. 'I assume your curiosity is, in some way, related to the route which exists between the Iron Hills and Hidlands, as you call that realm.'

'Might you have any information to alleviate that curiosity?' asked Truva, examining the Elvenking's impassive features. 'The Beornings asserted that Iron Hill Dwarves passed with some frequency along the Old Forest Road, yet could offer no further details; nor had they ever noted any Easterling within their territory.'

Thranduil fell silent for quite some time. His eyes rested upon the waterfall, observing as it cast up clouds of mist to mingle amongst the golden motes in the air. 'Only once,' he said at long last, 'several tens of years ago, have I encountered an Easterling beneath the leafy shadows of Eryn Lasgalen – a woman, most distraught.'

'But the skin-changer claimed it was primarily children taken by the— by the Dwarves,' interjected Gimli.

'And so I believe to be true,' conceded Thranduil. 'I did not think this woman a captive; and though she spoke a language unknown to any within these borders, the distress upon her face spoke with sufficient fluency.'

'Do you suppose—?' began Legolas, but stopped abruptly with a glance at Truva. Her eyes were trained upon where the stream vanished into its swallet; they did not need to exchange looks in order to know what thought was upon each other's minds.

'All we have are suppositions; there is no certainty in such matters,' said the King.

'What became of this woman?' asked Elrohir, for even the Elves of Imladris were intrigued by the wanderings of an Easterling in Mirkwood.

'We offered her food and shelter, and though she would not eat, she went to her rest readily enough. Grief brings with it exhaustion beyond compare.' Thranduil sighed and hesitated a moment further before continuing. 'She must have slipped through the gates of Calengroth in the deepest hours of the night, for come morning she was discovered just below the surface of Gûlduin.'

There was a sharp intake of breath from his audience; such a fate was shocking to all present.

'It might be of no relevance,' offered Gimli. 'A woman of no relation.'

'It is a mere circumstantial occurrence,' Legolas added.

Truva suddenly wished to divert attention from the issue at hand, wished to evade their pitying eyes. 'Yet my origin is not the true intention of Gandalf's task,' said she. 'It was merely a pretext by which he might send me in search of the Blue Wizards.'

'The Ithryn Luin,' Thranduil mused. 'Yes, it is believed that for a time Curunír drifted out of the East and lingered for a time north of our borders, in the Ered Mithrin or Withered Heath; yet he came alone. As for the Blue Wizards, Mithrandir was wise in his presumption that they are most likely to be found still in the East – if they are to be found at all.'

'Can you offer us no greater certainties?' asked Gimli. 'Ever since we set out upon this journey, we have heard nothing save "perhaps" and "maybe", yet not once have we been provided anything more definite.'

'Even the sight of an Elven King is limited,' said Thranduil archly. 'That knowledge which Mithrandir does not possess is frequently obscure to me, also. I too wish that I could aid you further on your journey, but I am afraid I have told you all I can.'

'You have shared a great deal previously unknown to us,' said Truva, rising quite suddenly. 'And it is with a grateful heart I thank you for your counsel. Now I must beg permission to excuse myself, for I am most thoroughly exhausted; I did not sleep well last night – though it is not due to any lack in your hospitality.'

'I am terribly sorry if I have caused you any distress,' said the King, rising with her.

'No, no,' Truva reassured him. 'Indeed, I would have been far more distressed had you kept secret this information.'

Then, without a further word, she bowed deeply and exited the Elvenking's chambers. Having been so entirely turned about, both spatially and emotionally, Truva was prepared to wander blindly in search of her accommodations. But she had not made it so far as the end of the corridor before Legolas was at her side, turning her about and ushering her in the opposite direction, Gimli following close behind.

The trio made their way in grim silence through the dark passageways. No notice of Calengroth's geological wonders was made now, and as soon as they reentered the atrium, Truva darted about, gathering her belongings.

'Surely you do not intend to leave this very moment!' Gimli exclaimed as she haphazardly shoved a spare tunic into her rucksack. 'Eager as I am to find myself back beneath the shadow of Erebor, even I do not feel the need so pressing!'

'No,' said Truva. 'I will leave on the morrow.'

She then paused, bow quiver in hand, and turned unseeing eyes upon her companions. 'But if you wish to stay, I would not fault you. For Legolas, you have returned home at last, and come amongst those from whom you have long been parted. And as his fast friend, Gimli, any reluctance on your part to leave is understandable, as is your desire to explore these magnificent caves. I will forge onward – alone, if necessary.'

Silence settled momentarily amongst the small company. Legolas crouched to offer her a coil of rope. 'It is not necessary,' he murmured. 'You will not go alone.' Gimli nodded in agreement.

With a soft 'oh', Truva fell back against the dais, legs splayed out before her, mouth open ever so slightly. Confusion clouded her mind; she knew not what to think, nor what to say save, 'Thank you.'

Gimli merely gave her a sympathetic pat on the shoulder before turning to prepare his own pack.

They worked in silence – though the task was soon done, for their possessions were few, and thus the trio set out for the kitchens in search of provisions. Legolas led them along yet another dizzying route of pathways until they emerged into a long, bleak hall. Along the far wall ran a bank of fires, their single, wide chimney rising up into the shadows of the lofty ceiling. A small contingent of Wood-elves stood circled about two long tables, though they swiftly disappeared, as had many of the other Calengroth residents Truva and her companions passed in the Halls.

Glad to have the kitchens to themselves, Legolas and Gimli set upon the larders at once, gathering all manner of dried fruits and meats, nuts and bread. They even came upon a store of lembas, piling the leaf-bound waybread upon one of the tables. But the stores were far too narrow for three to work, and so Truva wandered about the kitchen, inspecting peculiar forms of cutlery the purpose of which she did not know.

'That is sure to be overly sufficient,' said Legolas after a time, eyeing with satisfaction the victuals he and Gimli had accumulated. 'If it is indeed the Lonely Mountain we make for, our journey shan't be long, as it is.'

'I suppose so,' said Gimli, though his sceptical tone suggested he was not as convinced.

The two gathered the provisions and made for the door, but even as Truva struggled to transfer a small handful of lembas into her heavily-laden arms, several slipped and fell to the floor. She raced to collect them, fearful that she would lose the way if left behind; already her companions' conversation faded along the hallway.

She had just plucked the last wafer from a cold oven hearth when a voice spoke behind her.

'I believe you have forgotten something.'

Truva glanced up from where she knelt on the floor, only to spy the Elvenking standing, tall and regal, by a second entryway. He held what appeared to be a bundle of lembas – for though its contents were slightly smaller, they were wrapped similarly. Truva stood upright and unloaded her handful of Elven waybread onto the table.

'What is it?' she asked.

'The Beornings' honey-cakes,' said Thranduil, extending the bundle to her. 'There were too few to divide amongst the others, and I typically find myself disinclined to share as it is – yet perhaps they might benefit you more than myself.'

Truva did not reach out to take the bundle, and so Thranduil extricated one cake and peeled back the leaves to reveal a small amber wafer: twice-baked yet still moist with honey. Taking her hand in his, he pressed the cake into her palm.

'They have been known to keep up to a year, yet are best eaten fresh,' he said, motioning for her to eat.

Truva raised the cake hesitantly to her mouth and took the smallest of bites – though she swiftly took a second, larger one, so enraptured was she. This was not the dry, flavourless cakes of the Riddermark; its taste was somehow both light and rich, each variant of flower pollen discernible, the very life cycle of the bees themselves whispering their story upon her tongue. She understood now why the Elves had a fondness for such an ephemeral delicacy.

Thranduil observed her closely as she ate, his shrewd eyes glittering in the low light of the kitchen fires. When she finished the first cake, he handed her a second. Only once her mouth was too full to respond did he speak again.

'I have come to caution you,' said he, 'and you alone; for there are others of your party who might not take so kindly to the words of warning I have to give.'

Truva would have protested – for she knew he spoke of Gimli, and that his assessment of the Dwarf's trustworthiness was misguided; but the honey-cake was terribly sticky, and she could not open her mouth without appearing impolite. The Elven Lord took her silence as an indication to continue.

'If you go indeed to the Lonely Mountain, I counsel you not to bring the matter of your birth before King Thorin. He is ruled most acutely by pride, even by Dwarven accounts, and to accuse his kin of such ignoble behaviour as thieving children would not endear you to him. It is dangerous – not only to yourself, but also to the tenuous truce between that land and mine own, and that of the Beornings; particularly if Thorin were to learn by which means you had come upon your information. This issue could threaten the fragile stability of the entire northern region.'

'And what of the children?' asked Truva, having finally succeeded in swallowing. 'What of those families sundered by the actions of the Iron Hill Dwarves?'

'There are other ways to effect change that do not involve direct confrontation,' said Thranduil, drifting towards the main door of the kitchens and beckoning for her to follow. 'Methods that, for their subtlety, are far more likely to be met with success. If you are to serve as Marshal, you would do well to master these nuances of diplomacy.'

Truva's cheeks burned at the Elvenking's insinuation – perhaps all the more so because she knew it was not unfounded. Yet she could not help but wonder whether Lord Thranduil himself was not already working to his own advantage; the Wood-elves would benefit most greatly from an easing of tensions amongst northern kingdoms, and it seemed their king placed greater precedent upon that over the wellbeing of lost children.

It was such thoughts that engrossed Truva as her host strode back through the maze-like corridors of Calengroth to Legolas' chambers, and plagued her even as she lay abed that evening. She stared up at the green-glow speckled across the ceiling of her bedchamber, clutching the Star of the Dúnedain in her hand. Now more than ever she longed most desperately for Aragorn's soothing presence, for his calm voice and level-headed counsel. It was he who allowed her to see all ends, even when the ultimate decision fell to her.

As she drifted off to sleep, Truva was visited by the obscure form of a woman drowned in the river Gûlduin.

Author's note: To readers who may not be aware, FFN's stats have been down ever since there was a server issue on Sept. 15th. Considering how the only FFN comments on this sequel have either been spam or literal hate speech, stats were previously my sole source of 'feedback'.

I will therefore no longer posting new chapters on FFN until stats are reinstated — if they are ever reinstated at all. The FFN upload and editing system is just too irritating and its functionality too limited to justify conversing with the void. (In addition, I don't appreciate FFN benefiting from ad revenue while failing to fulfil the site's basic needs.) Next week will be my last chapter, unless there is some change in status before then.

Please feel free to join me on AO3, where there is a great deal more reader interaction, and far more reliable (albeit less thorough) stats — plus greater functionality and actual responses to spam, etc. My username there is 'blueoncemoon'.