Haldir knew they were surrounded, but kept his horse walking at a steady pace along the Old Forest Road. He didn't let on to the king, but wished his elven kind would appear with weapons drawn just to instill fear into the foolish human that rode to his right for most of the trip. Another mile and his wish was granted, when Demythel on horseback blocked the track as they crested a small hill. Haldir greeted him in Sindarin while the caravan halted; most out of sight and wondering why the abrupt halt.
"King Thranduil approaches and I am to hold you here until he arrives," Demythel responded in kind. He let a scornful glance flicker over the king and dismissed him as unimportant.
Seeing the impudence, Fingel challenged. "What's this?" When neither elf responded, he continued. "I am King Fengel and demand an explanation."
"He took his sword to Lord Celeborn and drew blood," Haldir continued in Sindarin and saw Demythel's eyes widen in shock.
"Are you going to kill this reckless king?" Demythel replied.
"Unfortunately no. I am under orders to get the supplies to Dale and Erebor." He looked at Fengel and spoke in Westron. "We are to wait here for King Thranduil."
"And just where does this king live?" Fengel snarled condescendingly. "Shouldn't I be invited to dine with him?"
Haldir and Demythel laughed.
"King Thranduil isn't in the habit of entertaining other races," Demythel slightly lied. He knew when Thranduil heard of his cousin's injury, he would most likely toss the king into his dungeon until the supplies were unloaded and wagon train headed south.
"So you do speak the tongue of men," Fengel raged and looked around. "Which way to the king's home? I'll seek him out so we can be on our way."
The two elves remained silent. Suddenly they both looked in a direction. "Sounds like Thranduil is having issues with his new elk," Demythel amusedly spoke in Sindarin.
"I saw his other hart lying dead inside the walls of Dale and men starting to butcher it for food," Haldir replied in kind.
Fengel heard his guards give gasps of surprise and cranked his head around in time to see a large elk trotting alongside his wagons towards him. His mouth dropped open at the elf riding him and he was even more stunned at one who was a dead ringer for Lord Celeborn riding beside the beast on a horse he was sure came from Rohirrim stock. He remembered to close his mouth as the large rack's tines stopped feet from the nose of his horse and the animal tried to bolt in fright. All of the sudden his horse calmed and he could focus on those before him and hadn't a clue Thranduil soothed the frightened horse. He first addressed Celeborn. "Do all elves resemble each other or you really the one I sliced open?" Before Celeborn could respond or direct Haldir to, the insipid king continued his prattle. "No, Celeborn would still be recovering. You must be his twin."
Thranduil grinned at his companion. 'You didn't tell me a man was able to strike you down. Do you wish I throw him in my dungeon? And I want every detail.'
'You're boring me like he is. Haldir, tell this fool it is me.'
"King Fengel, this is indeed Lord Celeborn and the one on the hart is King Thranduil," Haldir immediately obeyed.
"Your leg, Lord Celeborn; is it well?" Fengel feigned concern; sure his son would be crowned king within three months when word of his slaying at the hands of elves reached Rohan.
'Tell him to forget the leg and pay Thranduil,' Celeborn ordered without taking his eyes off the worthless king.
The king is here for his tribute," Haldir steered the conversation to money.
Fengel turned in his saddle. "Bring the chest up front," he roared.
A guard on horseback pushed to his king's side and set the chest on the saddle horn and retreated back to his position.
"There are fifty six wagons, three hundred and seventy two horses and two hundred men," Haldir rattled off. On the trip he personally counted.
"Three of the wagons carry our supplies," Fengel announced. "And several horses also are packing our supplies."
"They still pay tax," Haldir stated with ire.
"Just how come you are doing all the talking? What are you; another prince like that idiot Legolas?" Fengel just realized the other two hadn't spoken one word, but at his statement, King Thranduil raised his hand.
Forgoing a reply, Haldir yarded the chest off the horse and rode to Thranduil. "I counted it while the men slept last night. It is all there."
"YOU DID WHAT?" Fengel roared in rage, spittle flying as he drew his sword. He would teach this young elf to sneak around his personal belongings. He saw a blur and Celeborn pulled that impressive sword again and swung as before. This time he knew the great lord wouldn't stop. He was right, but instead of his head rolling around on the ground felt the road come up fast and with an expulsion of air and an ooofff sound as wind was knocked from him, leaving him staring up at his horse's belly.
Hands reached down and violently jerked him to his feet and he was slammed against his mount's side. Once again he was looking into raging blue eyes of Lord Celeborn.
"If King Thranduil drops his hand; all your men will die together. You insulted his son. He has killed men for less." Done speaking, Celeborn released him and stalked to his horse.
Fengel watched Celeborn walk away and couldn't discern so much as a limp. He wondered at the magic of elves to heal so swiftly and didn't move until the lord was on his horse; then he mounted and for the first time looked over the elk's rack to address Thranduil. "I will cause no further annoyance to you or Lord Celeborn. I was out of line addressing your son as such; please accept my sincere regrets." His eyes drifted to the king's hand that didn't twitch.
"You will continue a short distance to a marsh. Don't veer off the road as we won't come to your aid," Celeborn ordered. "You will go north across a bridge at an intersection. It will take you three days to reach Dale and is all uphill. King Bard of Dale and King Thráin of Erebor will instruct you." He made a slight motion and an elf stepped from around a massive tree and handed a sealed letter to Haldir.
"That is a letter to King Thráin of Erebor. See he receives it immediately upon your arrival. If word reaches me that Fengel detained you; he knows the consequences."
"We mine our own ore," Fengel recited. He saw the elven king smile in his direction; although the hand remained raised.
"You will remain at the mountain until the dwarves arrive. There are three parties converging on the mountain. It is too dangerous to be caught out in the open with such a small entourage. The forces of Sauron are on the prowl and you will help fight when they attack."
"You order me as if a serf in your realm," Fengel blustered. He wasn't used to being addressed as anything except reverently by his subjects.
'YOU ARE,' Celeborn screamed silently and only the elves heard his roar of anger. "I am just trying to get your wagons and men home alive. Haldir won't be guiding you. When you return to Rohan; at the bridge keep going south. It will take you along the east side of Mirkwood to the shallows. Your men are familiar with the area."
"You are sure of an attack?" It just dawned on Fengel what the lord said.
"Yes." Done with the fool of a king, Celeborn turned his horse into the forest and it swallowed him.
Fengel didn't motion his caravan forward and waited for the king to address him; hoping for a better reception.
Thranduil mentally shouted, 'Stand down,' and lowered his hand. He smiled when Fengel flinched. Without a word, he turned his new mount to follow Celeborn.
Fengel looked to where the elf stopped them in the road and he too was gone. He motioned for them to continue and looked at Haldir. "Did Thranduil really have his warriors ready to kill us? I didn't see anyone."
"If you did; King Thranduil would punish them severely. Ask around Dale about Thranduil."
"Elves," a guard yelled above the din of dwarrowdams cooking and dwarflings burning energy off before bedtime.
Lord Fárin stood from his place near a fire with meat stretched across a metal cooking rod. The smells of burning flesh made his stomach rumble with anticipation and a stream of imprecations burst forth when a group of elves rode boldly into their camp. He looked them over and choked back an order for them to leave when a dwarf emerged on a pony from the midst of them. It was obvious the elves were protecting the dwarf. He stamped across the yard to challenge any dwarf riding with elves. His old eyes met amused blues of Thorin. Anger evaporated and he hollered in a loud tone that stopped all conversations, except the spreading of one word, 'Thorin'.
Thorin dismounted and got the tedious business of greeting his uncle out of the way. "Uncle Fárin, may we join you?"
"Bloody better, lad," Fárin cheerfully greeted and grabbed him and slammed his forehead into Thorin's, completely forgetting he was manhandling the king. As soon as he stepped back, he remembered the lad was now his sovereign. "No disrespect meant, Thor… I mean, King Thorin."
Thorin motioned for the group of elves to dismount. "These are my traveling colleagues; Lord Erestor, Lord Elladan, Lord Elrohir and their guards. All are from Rivendell."
"By all means, join us," Fárin forced out. "We found ah small band of elk taking ah drink at water's edge an tonight we feast."
"Good; I've eaten nothing but bread since entering High Pass. A real meal is most welcome," Thorin responded with more enthusiasm than he felt. He saw a younger dwarf who looked like Fárin, waiting impatiently for an introduction and made the first move. "Which cousin are you?"
Dárin beamed and reminded Thorin of Gimli and Thorin Stonehelm at that moment. "Dárin, the youngest son."
Thorin nodded and passed him by, leading the elven lords to Fárin's fire. He looked around at the stone buildings now occupied with dwarrowdams and the youngest dwarflings. He saw water steaming from large cauldrons and knew the young would have baths tonight. He sat on a log that was hewn into a bench and from the weathered grey color must be in that spot for a hundred years he figured. When a servant bowed before him and held a pole with cooked meat from the ribs, Thorin speared one with his knife, tugged it off and nodded at the elven lords to do likewise. Tearing off a chunk with his teeth, he decided now was the best time to share his news. "How long have you been camped here?"
"We arrived last night an when the dams spotted buildings, they pleaded their case for ah few days rest before the final push through Mirkwood. I told them we wouldn't stop again until the mountain. Tell me all ye saw an did, Thorin."
"Before I go into details, there was something left out of the raven's notes." He noticed several dwarven lords were gathered around them and that was good. They would get the news directly from him and nothing would be lost in the translation. He looked into Fárin's eyes, "Father is alive and king, not me."
"Ye are makin tasteless jokes, Thorin." Fárin disproved with his tone.
"No joke and these three have seen him." Thorin motioned to the elves.
"I spent the winter at Erebor," Erestor concurred. "With permission from King Thráin that is."
"My brother-in-law really lives?" Fárin was astounded. "Where was he all these years?"
"The dungeon of Dol Guldur," Thorin tersely replied and proceeded to fill them in on the previous year up to and including his latest injury. "The elves want us to form a large group for safety. They will be here in a few days with the Longbeards from the Blue Mountains. We will wait and allow them their rest before moving on together."
Fárin listened to the command and realized he was outranked and that irked him. "I think two groups moving close, but separate would make more sense. Do ye have any idea how large ah party eight thousand dwarves make?"
Thorin raised his eyebrows in disbelief. "Are you so senile you don't remember Smaug?" Thorin countered while the dwarves ringing them laughed.
"I guess I'm not thinking clearly, lad. I'm still in shock at yer news. Why didn't Thráin mention he lives in the note?"
"He wanted to see your face, but the situation has changed and my group knows he lives."
"That figures," Fárin grumped. He suddenly grinned. "That gives ye ah few days ta meet our only lass in competition for yer hand."
Thorin didn't have to look at the elves to know they were laughing; he could hear them.
Estel ran and played a game of tag with dwarves his size. The fact they were almost forty didn't enter his head and he thought them closer to his age. "Gotcha," he cried and turned and ran; jumping over a bolder easily escaping his pursuer.
On the side of the ravine, Glorfindel sat on Asfaloth and watched him carefully. He knew goblin's would prowl after dark and the sun was setting high on the mountains and it already dusk in the narrow gully they crowded into against the high mountain chill and safety should a band of orcs be traveling the pass after dark, or worse, trolls. Elrond ordered no fires and there wasn't any wood this high up anyway. Glorfindel saw Gilraen speak to Erak and he whistled for the boy. He stopped monitoring when the boy ran to his mother, was told something and crawled under an elven wagon. There wasn't room for tents so everyone made do and most dwarven males were settling down in the open, heads positioned upwards on the slopes. Suddenly his fëa felt a disturbance. He moved around the bend to the trail just as a band of orcs sniffed the air and turned into him.
"Elf," cried one in black speech. For sounding the warning, he died first. Glorfindel figured there was about forty in the band and wondered why they were crossing the pass and from whence they came. He mentally shouted, 'ORC S AT THE ENTRANCE,' and jumped off his trusted mount with orders for him to seek safety and drew his sword in time to deflect two arrows and moved into them so they couldn't draw their bows. He lit from within, startling the orc just long enough for him to take its head and he swung in a circle, slicing the one trying for his back across the belly. Arrows filling bodies all around had him backing up so the others could practice. He glanced around and saw Elrond and Círdan on a bolder watching warriors dispose of the last of their foe. He jumped effortlessly beside them.
"Elrond acquiesced to a pleading request of letting my warriors fight this band. It's been many a long century since we saw any real conflict."
"You will have to explain to your loyal guard my orders," Elrond told Glorfindel. "I instructed them to back up our guests and not selfishly assume Lord Círdan's warriors cannot fight. I did hear comments from ours to the effect if you were injured; they would teach city dwellers how to fight."
"The direct quote was, 'Stupid Sindar city elves don't know a staff from an arrow and you were likely to be injured from friendly fire," Círdan clarified with a grin. "'And we don't have time to train you,'" he finished.
Elrond winced. "I hoped you hadn't heard that."
"And I hoped you missed, 'Uneducated Ñoldor kinslayers automatically kill elves over enemy.'" Círdan couldn't contain his laughter.
"I heard," Elrond ground through his teeth. "I don't want a civil war before we reach the mountain." He looked at Glorfindel. "You deal with all of them."
"Glorfindel grinned in delight. "I see a competition at journey's end."
"I'm sure Thranduil will have a few who would like to form a three way contest," Círdan responded enthusiastically.
Taíban stepped up with another message written on a scrap of hide in black speech. He handed it to Círdan just as Fili and Kili arrived.
"You didn't save any for us," Kili lamented.
"Nay lads," Círdan said as he jumped off the rock so not to tower so far above them. He saw Elrond and Glorfindel do likewise. "It's best if elves take all watches at this end of the ravine." He turned to Taíban, "Post our guards near here. Elrond's warriors are correct in that ours need a refresher course. He handed the scrap to Elrond. "Your mastery of their language far exceeds mine."
"I doubt that," Elrond commented. "You don't want your fëa disturbed."
Círdan smiled fondly at his younger friend.
"It says to find the dwarves and kill dams." Elrond, with a disgusted flick of his wrist threw it on the fire of burning bodies. "I want all females looking exactly like the males. They already do, so I don't understand why the orcs think they can tell them apart."
"They can smell them," Glorfindel supplied. "I was watching them sniff us out."
"After all these millennia, I didn't think anything new reached my ears," Círdan commented. "How do you know they can smell female dwarves?"
Glorfindel grimaced. "Thráin made a comment to Erestor, who felt obliged to share with me, and now I'm glad he did. Usually I pay as much attention to Erestor's nattering as I do the elleth in the sewing room."
Círdan smiled at the thought of Glorfindel listening to the females gossiping.
"When Thráin was in captivity, he watched when they would capture dwarves and they would separate the females unerringly by sniffing them. Then they would have their way with them before feasting upon their flesh."
"Thráin saw all this?" Círdan mournfully exclaimed in a low tone; for Fili and Kili were still helping move orcs onto the pile. Although they spoke Sindarin, he didn't want to chance them overhearing and knew they understood more than they could speak. He didn't know if Thráin spoke of it outside Erestor and would enquire."
"He saw much during his captivity and will be most helpful with his knowledge," Elrond wisely extrapolated. "Glorfindel, set extra watches. I'll be near Estel the rest of the night. I'm questioning my wisdom in bringing him now."
"You can't protect him forever," Glorfindel cautioned. "He will soon shake the form of child in favor of a man. This trip in a way is farewell to that boy."
Elrond's expression darkened and a fleeting ghost of sadness flashed and without another word departed with Círdan.
"Daernaneth," Arwen called as she rounded a Mallorn root protruding from fertile soil that was much taller than she, "what has the mirror revealed?"
Galadriel straightened her stiff back and sent healing to it. "Your adar is on top of High Pass. He will join the dwarven band that passed here at Old Ford Bridge and they will tackle Thranduil as one large group. Círdan is with them still."
"I wish we could travel north and see him. I haven't been to the Haven's….," she trailed off. "Adar never went back. He sends the twins in his stead. Once they took me, but were so angry inside they camped on the hills so their presence didn't disturb anyone. I spent a month with Lord Círdan and he was the perfect guide. I kept telling him I understood if he had duties, but he shushed me each time. He told me I was welcome to come live with him and brighten his home."
Galadriel smiled in understanding. She had received a long letter from her old friend of the visit and how he was going to steal Arwen from them. She couldn't believe it was already a memory of a hundred and seventy years. "I'm done for the night. Has Legolas returned?"
They started the climb to the talan. "No. He takes everything so seriously. Daeradar told him he was in charge and he feels it his duty to ride patrol instead of delegating."
Galadriel laughed. "I remember your daeradar riding patrols in Doriath and how I longed for his return. I am sad you don't pine for Legolas as I did Celeborn."
"It's time to tell more stories and get back to work on my dowry," Arwen decided.
"Your dowry will be fit for a queen. Why the jewels Thráin sent rival any royal wedding in Aman and I've never seen such wealth in Middle Earth for a wedding. We now have enough gems to make your diadem and jewelry. I have a multitude of ideas and we need to spend a day sketching."