Recommended listening: Hovhaness — Symphony No. 2, 'Mysterious Mountain'

CHAPTER XVII: THE LONELY MOUNTAIN

The northern outskirts of Dale faded behind Truva and her companions as the spurs of Erebor reared up on each side, ensconcing them in a deep valley. To the west, a trail petered up along the cliffside, leading towards the guard-post upon Ravenhill, where sounded a horn as they forged up the Running River. Beyond Dale, the river's source came into sight, spilling from a tremendous stone archway hewn into the mountain's base to its continuation far below.

This was the entrance to Thorin's halls: sufficient in size for three Gorgoroth trolls walking abreast to pass through without so much as bowing their heads, and fortified with immense gates. The silver sheen of mithril gleamed in the late afternoon sun. Though the gates lay open, they were overseen by a company of two dozen Dwarves, armed and alert. These Guards of the Gate stood just beside the waterfall's crest, where a wide stair led from the entrance to the docks below, its smooth stone steps wet with mist.

A crew of stowadores milled about the docks, ladening ships with goods to be taken downriver. As the trio guided their canoe towards an open berth, several glanced up from their work and recognized one passenger in particular.

'Durin's beard!' cried one stowadore. 'It's Master Gimli, returned!'

'You don't say!' echoed another. 'I thought he was gone for good!'

'Come now, young chap, what excuse have you for staying away so long?' one accused.

The Dwarves fell upon Gimli as he stepped onto the docks, and smothered him with affectionate pats on the back and questions innumerable, until all at once they were brought up short by the gruff cry:

'Oi, what's an Elf doin' here?'

The congregation turned as one to where Legolas stood, his height casting a column of shadow over the central figures, leaving those on the edges to blink in the sun.

'This is Legolas son of Thranduil, Prince of the Woodland Realm,' said Gimli. 'I told you of him when last I came: ever was he at my side during the Long Journey, and countless times has he come betwixt myself and death. I owe him a great debt, and he is deserving of unbounded respect.'

'The very Prince himself!' came the response. 'Whose father saw fit to lock our most revered leaders in his dungeons!'

'And you bring him to our Halls, with the expectation that he be greeted warmly?'

'Absolute absurdity!'

'What's the fuss, now, boys?' said a Guard of the Gate, descending the stair. He was a stout Dwarf with sharp features who went by the name of Buri. Making his way across the docks, he shoved through the commotion, only to halt directly before Legolas. 'And who precisely are you?'

'That's Legolas, the Mirkwood prince!' one stowadore offered.

'I come at the behest of my father,' interjected Legolas, 'with the hope of repairing relations that were once sundered between our people. Will you not deign to grant me entrance, so that I may convey my sympathies for the loss of King Dáin Ironfoot, and hail ascended King Thorin III Stoneshield?'

'You speak pretty words, Elf,' said Buri. 'But of what worth are pretty words when your actions have proven false?'

'I beg of you, afford him the opportunity to speak his piece,' Gimli implored. 'It is not Legolas himself who has ever acted against our people, save in mistaken assumptions now rectified – a fault many of us are equally guilty of.'

Truva looked from one Dwarf to the other, then to Legolas' seemingly passive expression. As sincerely as she wished to speak in his favour, she had no standing with the Dwarves; it would only serve to detract from Gimli's arguments. She settled into the background.

'Never before has an Elf entered the Lonely Mountain,' Buri said with a frown.

'A great many "never befores" have been changed in the wake of the War,' Gimli urged.

Buri mused for a moment further, his frown deepening. Then, quite suddenly, he turned on his heel and forged a path through the onlookers. Gimli stomped after him up the stair, followed in turn by Legolas, Truva wordlessly bringing up the rear.

In their wake, the gathering of Dwarves folded in on itself and broke into frantic whispers. The remaining Guards of the Gate looked on in puzzlement as Buri led the three companions through Erebor's prodigious gates, though an additional pair fell in behind Truva. Once inside, the company was plunged into impenetrable darkness – or so it seemed, in contrast with the blinding sunlight outside.

Unable to see where she stepped, Truva halted quite abruptly, causing one of the guards behind to bump into her. As he muttered quiet curses, Truva's eyes slowly began to adjust, revealing the scene about her: an expansive atrium, illuminated by a silvery light to its towering peak. Along Truva's left flowed the very source of Running River; at her right, the floor dropped clear away to a lower level, unseen but effusing a warm glow. The flagstone aisle underfoot branched off to arc in sturdy bridges over river and gap alike, leading to an array of offshoots and crosspaths. In alcoves between each entrance rose up colossal statues, monuments to Dwarven kings of old.

In each and every corner of the atrium, spectators stood gawping at the new arrivals. But Buri paid them no mind, nor did he pause, prompting Truva to jog to catch up. She felt conspicuous, as though she were on display – for though Legolas drew the majority of the Dwarves' attention, still her height and features caused some to turn their eyes upon her as well.

As the company made its way from one end of the atrium to the other, she paused once again to peer over the unrailed edge into the lower level. Down below, a hive of market activity buzzed within a patchwork of muted stall roofs, oblivious to the events playing out far above. Truva had always imagined the halls of Dwarves to be dark and sterile, but there was a surprising warmth to the Lonely Mountain that belied its name.

On the atrium's far side, a tremendous corridor bisected the hall, forming eastern and western wings. Directly ahead, however, three staggered rows of hexagonal columns created a screen between the Mountain's entrance and the space that lay beyond. Weaving between these pillars, Buri led the company to a second hall – smaller in scale yet no less grand, its flooring an ornate pattern of black and white marble depicting a hammer and anvil crowned with seven stars. From a tiny window high upon the wall, a single ray of light beamed down upon a raised dais, where sat an unoccupied throne.

'Who goes there?' boomed a voice, the echoes reverberating so that its source could not be pinpointed. 'Who disrupts my council?'

'Buri, my lord,' said the guard. 'I come to you only because Master Gimli has returned – and he brings with him a most peculiar guest.'

'Gimli!' From behind the dais emerged a Dwarf, whose opulent robes of sable cloth, woven with glittering silver, clearly marked him as none other than the King.

'My lord,' cried Gimli, falling immediately to one knee. Truva and Legolas promptly followed, bowing their heads before this magnificent figure. 'Hail King Thorin III Stonehelm, son of Dáin II Ironfoot of Durin's folk!'

'An Elf?' was King Thorin's hushed response, though his voice swiftly crescendoed: 'You would bring an Elf into these hallowed halls, when they have brought nothing but grief to our people – demanding treasure undeserved, and imprisoning our forebears unprompted?'

'I was likewise hasty to scorn Legolas at first, as you well know,' said Gimli, who did not rise. 'I thought as you do now: that Elves have been a source of antagonism and suffering to our people for ages upon ages. But I have travelled many thousands of miles, and endured many ordeals since departing these halls for Nâlabizar. I came to understand the differences between Dwarves and Elves are not few – yet when viewed as individuals, those differences are not so significant in the end. I owe my life to Legolas many times over; had we not fought side-by-side as brothers, I would never have returned to you at all.'

The Dwarven King made as if to speak, storm clouds darkening his features, yet Legolas interjected:

'My Lord Thorin,' said he, like Gimli still upon a knee. 'I do not beg forgiveness for the past trespasses of my kin. There are no words or actions that can undo what has already been done. I ask only that you look with open mind upon a future that imagines Dwarves and Elves coexisting peaceably, if not in outright camaraderie. I believe the War affected my father greatly; I come bearing his sincere desire to forge a bond that has not existed in more than an Age between us.'

'It is all very well and fine for the Elvenking of the Woodland Realm to change his mind upon any wisp of a whim. But it was not he who suffered at our hands, and the other way around, rather,' growled Thorin King. 'Does Lord Thranduil think the sheep is so foolhardy as to suddenly trust the fox?'

'He is not so insensible, no,' said Legolas. 'It is merely his desire to make the offering, in the hopes that one day the sheep shall come to see he is not a fox after all, but a sheepdog.'

These words elicited a deep, barking laugh from the King. 'I find it amusing you would make yourselves out to be guardians of the Dwarves, when for millennia it has been we who protected ourselves – often in spite of the Elves!'

'Not so long ago, our peoples fought together against a host of Orcs and Wargs before this very mountain,' said Legolas. 'Though my father's intentions were perhaps not so pure at the time, is it so impossible to imagine he might one day be redeemed?'

'Will you not hear our tale before determining there is no hope for good in the hearts of the Folk of the Wood?' implored Gimli.

Thorin looked from one to the other, then heaved a deep sigh. 'I will listen to your tale,' he said. 'But first, do tell me who this companion of yours is.'

For several moments, Truva did not realise he spoke to her, for the pain of her knee upon unforgiving marble occupied a large portion of her mind. It took a sharp nudge from Legolas to return her thoughts to the present conversation.

'I am Truva, my lord!' she exclaimed quite suddenly, bowing her head once more. 'Marshal of the East Riddermark; I too bring greetings from my King, Éomer Théoden's sister-son – though I believe our history with the Lonely Mountain to be far less complex than that of the Elves, and hope that you might accept our offer of allyship more readily.'

When Thorin laughed this time, it was warmer and far more inviting. 'The horse-lords!' he cried. 'Never would I have imagined playing host to an envoy of such origin, and yet here you are! Gladly do I welcome King Éomer's overtures; indeed – come here, fair shieldmaiden,' he said, beckoning Truva forward.

She rose swiftly, but nearly fell upon her face in stepping forward, for her abused knee would not hold. The King stepped forward instead, motioning for her not to exert herself. From his finger he drew a ring forged of purest mithril, embellished with intricate knots and an emerald set in the very centre.

'It is said this jewel was taken from Nauglamír itself – the Necklace of the Dwarves, worn by Lúthien and adorned with the gems of Valinor,' said he. Taking her hand in his, Thorin placed the ring into her palm, then folded her fingers over it. 'Convey this ring to King Éomer as a symbol of my goodwill.'

'He will be glad to hear your answer, my lord,' said Truva.

'That pleases me,' said the King, and his beard twitched in smile.

To see the twinkle in Thorin's eyes – not unlike that which had so often been spied in Théoden King's – Lord Thranduil's warning nearly slipped Truva's mind, as did the knowledge that Thorin's kin was perhaps the source of her childhood misery. Still, it was surely not the Dwarven King himself who had committed such heinous acts, and so Truva indulged in the feeling of warm affinity.

'Buri!' cried Thorin then.

The guard stepped forward at once. 'Yes, my lord?'

'See to it that this ambassador of the Rohirrim is shown the full glory of the Kingdom under the Mountain. Answer all her questions, and when she tires, provide her with our finest accommodations. In short, demonstrate to her the full hospitality of the Longbeards.'

'Yes, my lord,' said Buri, bowing low and exiting the throne room. With her own bow and a last glance at the tense figures of Gimli and Legolas, Truva followed after the guard, weaving past the wall of columns out into the atrium once again.

'As if I would give a visitor anything less than the most spectacular tour,' Buri grumbled to himself. 'Right, first things first.'

Without so much as consulting Truva, he took an immediate left into the atrium's eastern wing, where the full length of the corridor was lined with small alcoves. A stream of Dwarves seemingly materialised from these alcoves, or entered into them and – to all appearances – vanished. Truva stared in complete incomprehension as Buri stepped in front of the third alcove and waited for a box to levitate within, containing three Dwarves. They acknowledged Buri with a quick nod of the head before emerging into the corridor and shuffling off towards the atrium.

'Well?' Buri asked, turning to Truva expectantly when she did not budge. 'Whatever's the matter? Have you never laid eyes on a lift before?'

Truva eyed the immense boxes rising and falling in the nearby alcoves with suspicion. 'Indeed, I have not.'

'Don't be silly, there is nothing to fear,' said the guard, flapping his hands to herd her into the box. 'It is operated by counterweights and pulleys, and is quite safe. Such a system allows us to move from one level to the next far more rapidly than via stairs.'

Truva stepped tentatively into the box. Before she could gather her wits, Buri had seized a rope running through a hole in the floor and up into the darkness above, and pulled. As the box's floor began to descend, Truva braced herself against its walls, feeling entirely unsteady. Down, down they went, down until a second opening revealed a well-lit chamber beyond.

She saw then that the market extended far beyond the small area she had glimpsed from above; for tucked beneath the floors of the upper levels was an expansive mess of tents and stalls. Dwarf-wives and -husbands (Truva certainly could not tell which was which) bustled here and there, in search of anything one might obtain at a market. There were tradesmen, too: leatherworkers and weavers, carpenters and locksmiths, each with their own shop erected amidst the chaos. On occasion, Truva caught sight of particularly tiny Dwarves, who she took to be children in spite of their bushy beards.

'Wander where you will,' said Buri, gesturing vaguely. 'I will follow.'

Needing no further encouragement, Truva stepped towards the row of greengrocer stalls nearest the lifts. A path immediately cleared before her. Half the Ereborian residents went about their business as though nothing were out of the ordinary, purposefully ignoring the towering outsider walking amongst them, while the other half stared openly before turning swiftly to their companions and whispering behind their hands. Truva strove not to allow their standoffish tendencies perturb her as she examined a stunning diversity of mushrooms – though there were greens and grains and fruits as well, in no way dissimilar to the markets of Edoras.

'Are these crops grown in the Lonely Mountain, or are they imported?' she asked Buri, leaning in close to inspect a heap of fresh rhubarb.

'There are fertile lands on the northern slopes of Erebor, and along the banks of Celduin,' he replied, 'We did not grow our own provisions in ages past, and discovered through terrible misfortune how foolhardy relying upon outside sources was. Even so, much of our foodstuffs still come from the Kingdom of Dale, in exchange for our metalworks.'

Truva nodded, observing the fingers of a textile worker flit through the colourful threads of a tapestry in the next stall. Even in its incomplete state, the textile's image of Gimli with axe raised in battle was unmistakable. Similarly, the neighbouring stall – a woodworker – boasted carven figures of the very same Dwarf. Yet even as Truva bent to inspect the craftsmanship, she heard whispers of a pair behind her.

'I do not understand why they idolise him so,' murmured one Dwarf to his companion.

'They say he achieved great feats of valour in the War,' said the other, their voice equally low. 'Killed forty-two enemies in a single battle.'

'Yet how many did he kill in our battle? Not one!' quipped the first, before their voices faded off. Truva glanced over her shoulder to see who might have spoken, but could see nothing save the typical swirl of the market.

Shaking off the conversation, she moved on to a stall where one Dwarf sat upon a low stool, working a swath of leather with a needle. Belts, shoes, coin purses and all manner of goods lined the display, and Truva gazed in awe at their beauty.

'Best leatherwork you'll find this side of the Greenwood, milady,' said the Dwarf, observing Truva with amusement, light brown eyes gazing out from beneath long lashes.

'I do not doubt it,' said Truva, running a gentle finger along the length of a dagger sheath, embossed with bold patterns. Not even in the Riddermark had she seen such fine quality of craftsmanship. She glanced down at the worn sheath hanging from her waist. 'I have only a little silver from my homeland; will this be acceptable?

The Dwarf rose from his work and took into his hand the coins Truva extended towards him, inspecting each carefully. 'Silver in the land of the Horse-lords is silver in the Kingdom under the Mountain,' he said. 'Though in truth you flatter me in offering so much.'

He returned all the coins save one, and passed the sheath to Truva. She eagerly fastened its belt about her waist and transferred her knife into its soft casing, though she struggled somewhat with Thorin's ring still clutched in her hand.

'I can aid with that, too,' said the Dwarf, selecting from a second shelf a black leather thong, crafted of thin braided strips. Taking the strap reverently in her hands, Truva threaded it through the ring then looped it about her neck, tucking both thong and ring beneath the cloth of her tunic.

'Thank you kindly, Master Dwarf,' she said. The leatherworker merely returned a warm smile from behind his beard before returning to his work.

As they drifted toward the next stall, Buri gave a light harrumph. 'I still do not understand how outsiders cannot distinguish male Dwarves from female,' he declared. 'Is the difference not startling?'

'The leatherworker is a Mistress?' asked Truva in genuine shock, only to fall under Buri's withering glance.

'Incomprehensible,' he mumbled, shaking his head.

When at last Truva was satisfied with her tour of the market, Buri led her back to the lifts and down to an even lower floor, where the waters of River Running seeped into the earth and created a network of damp caves. Here grew whole forests of mushrooms, to be harvested and sold at market, or used in medicines. They also explored great smelting chambers, and caverns where long lines of sluice boxes were used to process placer ores. But the mines themselves, Buri explained, were far deeper within the mountain, and would take far longer to navigate.

'If you are yet curious, I will guide you through the mines on the morrow,' he offered, and Truva readily agreed.

And so, when the gas lanterns of the underground city were dimmed to signal eveningtide, Buri led her back to the lifts once more. This time, however, he took her upwards, passing the exit for the throne room and continuing on until they reached a floor several levels higher. Unlike the expansive atrium network, these corridors were far narrower and entirely deserted, making their progress all the more swift. It was not long before Buri pushed aside a heavy oaken door to reveal a small inner chamber.

'Truva!' exclaimed Gimli. Already he and Legolas sat at a long table, enjoying their evening meal. 'We wondered where you had gotten to.'

'I see now why you are always eager to return home,' said Truva as Buri bowed and slipped out surreptitiously, shutting the door behind him. 'It is truly incredible – the resources your people have built here, the architecture, the culture!'

'Indeed, I was gone but a few months, and yet it felt as though I had spent a century away,' said Gimli. 'But come, dine on the feast that is an ordinary Ereborian meal.'

A tremendous hearth was set into the chamber's dark walls, between ornate pilasters hewn from the living rock, where a blazing fire sent curls of smoke up the chimney. Truva sat nearest this – for though the chill within the mountain was not nearly so intense as that without, the tendrils of winter still swirled along its halls – and gratefully accepted a portion of the salted pork Gimli had so often rhapsodised about.

'I trust your talks with Thorin King went well, then,' she remarked as Legolas passed her fresh bread and cheese, 'considering how we dine peaceably in his Kingdom, and have not yet been cast out.'

'I do not believe the situation is fully resolved, nor do I think it ever shall be,' admitted the Dwarf. 'Yet neither is it hopeless, I feel. Above the conflict with Lord Thranduil and the Wood of Greenleaves, King Thorin seemed rather more upset that I have not altered my intentions of removing to the Glittering Caves.'

'He does not approve?' asked Truva. 'But already you have been made Lord, and spent much time examining the caves with those who wish to join you!'

'Thorin fears Erebor is still weak,' Gimli explained, 'and that my removal to Glǽmscrafu would leave the Mountain's defences vulnerable. He forgets that a robust southern defence is perhaps even more advantageous than the insular philosophy we have adhered to these past Ages. And his fears have surely been fanned by the whisperings of Dwarves who were too hesitant to set forth upon my first expedition, but have since reconsidered.'

'The mood in these halls is already tenuous,' Legolas warned. 'You would do well not to speak openly on these matters, and disturb the balance further.'

'Perhaps,' mused Gimli. 'We shall see what becomes of things at the feast tomorrow.'

'There is to be a feast?' Truva interjected.

'To hail the victorious hero returned!' Gimli spread his arms wide and laughed in a manner that was not entirely joyous, tinged as it was by irony; it remained unspoken yet understood between the three that, while they had most certainly been victorious, none felt themselves to be heroes.

The following morning, Buri interrupted their breakfast to make an official announcement regarding the feast, and to specify the invitation extended even to Legolas. He then acknowledged his promise to escort Truva on a tour of Lonely Mountain's mining facilities, and suggested they had best depart immediately if they wished to conclude before the festivities. When Legolas rose to join them, however, Buri held up his hand.

'King Thorin has seen fit to dine with Elves, but not reveal to you our most closely guarded secrets,' he said. 'Of the outsiders, the Marshal alone has been given permission to explore the depths of Erebor.'

'And what would he do with such knowledge?' challenged Gimli. 'Delve into the deposits of Greenwood? Skilled as the Elves are in all their fine arts, they shall never match the Dwarves when it comes to hewing rock and earth.'

'Still,' said Buri, apologetic, 'it was verboten by the King.'

'Then I will not go,' said Truva, sitting back down to breakfast.

Buri shifted from foot to foot, the conflict between his duty to Thorin and an intense desire to demonstrate the source of Dwarven pride clear on his face. The three travellers continued to eat, casting only the briefest of glances between each other and refusing entirely to look at Buri, until at last he gave a sharp harrumph.

'Very well,' he said. 'But be quick about it – I don't fancy getting caught disobeying an official decree.'

The three rose as one and strode out the door, leaving Buri to follow in their wake. Deep into the mountain Gimli led them, travelling first by lift, then by cart along cramped tunnels, always tucked amidst a press of Dwarves scurrying about their business. The company eventually emerged onto a high ledge overlooking a vast subterranean cavern through which the Celduin flowed. Massive water-wheels turned in its current. The sound of rushing water was so deafening that nothing else could be heard, though Buri succeeded in using gestures to explain that giant bellows at the far end of the cavern were used to ventilate the mines' ore shafts.

Thus the two Ereborian hosts guided their foreign guests, detailing their methodologies in words when they could, and using gestures when they could not. The finer points of Dwarven metallurgy they avoided, for even Gimli's secretive nature prevailed; yet their elation in boasting of their peoples' skills was apparent as the company delved deeper into the Lonely Mountain.

Legolas took in these sights with his typical impassiveness, though his occasional appreciative remark at the Dwarves' ingenuity sent Gimli into increasingly complex explanations. Truva, on the contrary, stared openly in fascination; she had never been privy to what little mining occurred in the Hildands, or even in the Mark, and so each step of the process was unfamiliar to her. Most striking of all was the machines' immensity, which made her feel so very insignificant – as though she were an ant to be crushed beneath the oliphaunt's foot. She greeted Buri's suggestion that it was time the company returned to the upper levels with equal parts disappointment and relief.

When they gained the main atrium, it was surprisingly still. The stream of Dwarves typically bustling across bridges and along passageways seemed slackened, and the commotion of the market below abated. But however empty the atrium may have been, it was most certainly not quiet – for a great clamour emanated from the western wing corridor. As they drew near, a flood of warm light enveloped them, spilling from between massive doors bearing the insignia of Durin's hammer and anvil, which lay ajar.

The feast was already underway within. Entire roast boars and deer graced long tables stretching from door to dais. Platters laden with pies or bread loaves or cheeses were borne from corner to corner by a flock of serving masters. Pheasant, duck, geese, partridges: all could be known by which feathers adorned the dishes, tucked in as they were amongst apples and pears, preserves of peach and plum, and cherry tarts. Foremost of all was, of course, great tankards of ale.

Even had the travellers wished to take a surreptitious seat amidst the chaos, Truva and Legolas' height very quickly gave them away. Thorin King spotted the party at once and beckoned for them to join himself and several advisors at the head table. But even as the travellers were seated, Thorin raised a horn and sounded it, for he would not allow their arrival to go unannounced.

'My dear Longbeard brethren!' he cried over the gathering's chatter. The din fell to a hush. 'Today, we welcome back into our number one of our very finest: Gimli, son of Glóin!'

The Dwarven King was swiftly interrupted by a riotous cheer from those gathered. He did not rush to quiet them, but waited for them to settle before he spoke again: 'Once before has Gimli returned to us, after venturing forth as emissary to the lands of Nâlabizar and wielding his battleaxe on the southern front during the War.'

Whispers broke out at these words, and many eyes fixed upon Gimli. Truva recalled with a start the conversation she had overheard in the market the previous day; it seemed Gimli's long absences were considered disfavorable by more than a few. Nor did these hushed exchanges escape the ears of King Thorin, though whether he attempted to curtail criticism or flame it Truva could not be sure, for even by his own word Thorin's position was indiscernible to her:

'And he returns again now,' he continued, 'having defended our southerly neighbours from yet another assault, thus protecting us from threats we had no awareness of. In each of these quests, he fought alongside the Horse-masters – both before their own great fortress, and those of Abanulkâmin – and so an ambassador from the land of those people comes into our presence, offering goodwill and allegiance—'

'And the Elf?' came a cry, interrupting him. 'What is his purpose here?'

'Has he come to demand our gold?'

'Will he command us to repair the damage war has done to his Halls? For we shan't!'

'It is with friendlier intentions he comes,' said Thorin, though his own doubt tinged his voice. The murmurs of the audience began to grow louder. 'He asserts he has come with the Elvenking's amenability to repairing the bond between Mountain and Wood.'

'Elves cannot be trusted!' exclaimed another. The hall erupted into disarray, each Dwarf determined to make his own mind heard.

'Legolas is of good honour!' Gimli shouted, rising so suddenly from his chair that it toppled over behind him. 'As you well know, to wield weapons side by side reveals much which cannot be hidden. Too many battles have I fought in days of late; yet time and time again, Legolas has demonstrated no less honour than any of you! His kind are strange folk, 'tis true, as their long years endow unto them perspective we cannot comprehend – yet fealty and truth find equal value in their minds as they do ours.'

In the hush that followed, the King spoke once more: 'I will travel to the Wood of Greenleaves to speak with Thranduil, and determine what resolution might be had between us, if any.' The uproar was immediate, but Thorin held up his hands for silence. 'Such does not indicate acceptance or agreeance, merely willingness to talk – which might behove us in these uncertain times. This is my decision as King.'

Grumbles washed over the gathering, but the outright objections ceased. Thorin King then raised his tankard and said, 'Now let us drink! To those who were gone but now return, and to those who are gone and never shall! Baruk Khazâd!'

'Baruk Khazâd!' the assembly shouted in return. Even Legolas joined in, for often had Gimli's companions heard him cry such words in battle.

Pacified by the promise of more food and drink, the Dwarves returned to their feast, and a less contentious atmosphere reigned. Truva set eagerly upon a heap of mutton pie, but no sooner had she seized her knife than Gimli took her by the arm and led her down from the dais, Legolas on his other side.

'Come, meet my Father!' he insisted, dragging them a short distance along the centremost tables. He stopped quite suddenly before an elderly Dwarf with a shock of white hair, who appeared rather shorter than the others, bent by advanced age. Truva made as if to bow, but Gimli interrupted her:

'Father!' he groused. 'Why do you not sit at the high table with the other advisors?'

'What? Speak up!' shouted the elderly gentleman, though there was a gleam in his eye (he had, of course, been conversing easily with his companions only moments before).

Oblivious to his father's feigned bumblings, Gimli made pointed gestures towards where Thorin King sat with half a dozen elegantly-garbed Dwarves. 'The high table!' he spoke in a loud and clear voice, enunciating every syllable. 'You are one of the King's most esteemed counsellors; you ought to be sitting amongst them!'

'Sit with those stuffy statesmen?' huffed Glóin. 'Bah! I much prefer the company of old Dwalin here.' He indicated a similarly wizened Dwarf, who wiggled his fingers in greeting before stuffing a pork pie into his mouth; he clearly wished to avoid the conversation.

'Lord Dwalin likewise ought to be seated beside the King in a place of honour!' Gimli huffed in exasperation.

'Let us old grandfathers drink our ale in peace,' said Glóin. 'Though you're more than welcome to join us here, if you've a mind to – even that Elvish fellow.'

Legolas seized on this opportunity at once. 'I understand you were among the party of Dwarves my father imprisoned in the dungeons of our Halls,' he said, swiftly taking a seat beside Glóin and refilling the Dwarf's tankard.

'That we were,' answered Glóin with a puzzled glance to Dwalin.

'I must admit, there is no small part of me that is thankful I was away visiting Imladris at that time,' Legolas continued. 'It shames me to imagine how I might have treated you, for I do not think it would have been well; I did not understand Dwarves as I do now, and I allowed past preconceptions too strong an influence over my mind. Regardless, I should like to express my most sincere regret for the treatment you received in Taur-nu-Fuin. I work even now to overcome my own predispositions, and encourage my kinsfolk to do the same.'

'Your words do you credit,' said Glóin. 'Let us hope your actions do, also.' Though his words were laced with hesitancy, the elderly Dwarf filled Legolas' tankard in return. No toast passed between them, but still they drank together.

'And what of you, shieldmaiden?' asked Dwalin, speaking at last. 'Come, sit and tell us what business brings a horselady all this distance from her homelands.'

'Not a lady,' Truva clarified out of habit, joining Legolas on the bench. 'As a Marshal and envoy of Éomer King, I bring greeting to the realms of the north, to solidify or establish our allegiances and reassure you of our unfaltering loyalty.'

'All that for a hullo,' said Dwalin, eyebrows high. 'And a Marshal, at that!'

'Close relations during times of peace – perhaps even more than during war – are essential to ensuring a region's viability and prosperity,' said Truva, avoiding the others' eyes. Not even to Thorin King had she spoken of the true purpose underlying her travels, and thought it best to continue her discretion.

'Wise words,' said Glóin, and offered her a pint.

The two elderly Dwarves began to pepper both Truva and Legolas with further questions, drawing in neighbouring ears as early evening slowly shifted into true night – though it was not an easy distinction to make in the spacious underground halls. The lanterns were not dimmed as they had been the previous day, and neither the feast nor the noise abated; ever was there a new dish upon the table, a new topic of conversation upon the tongue, a new song upon the strings of a viol.

But even as the House of Durin made merry, currents of a chill mood swept through the revelry. They followed Gimli in particular as he made his way surreptitiously through the revellers; and each time he approached an old acquaintance, the effects rippled outwards to set unease into the hearts of those who listened.

'Immense caverns, with walls of shimmering gems and rich deposits just below the surface!' he whispered to a cluster of Dwarves just down the table. 'The halls of Khazad-dûm shall ever be more inspiring of awe, yet Kheledgathol will one day boast an elegance not found elsewhere!'

'It makes me ill at ease when he speaks so,' murmured Glóin to Dwalin, his voice low. Truva leaned in close with the hope of gleaning new information.

'Do you not intend to go with him when he removes permanently to the Caves?' asked Dwalin.

'I do, I do,' admitted Glóin. 'I simply do not think he comprehends the full breadth of Thorin's displeasure with such notions.'

'My displeasure with what notions?' said a voice behind them. All three spun round to find Thorin King standing directly behind them.

'What?' shouted Glóin, suddenly hard of hearing again.

'It is no matter you are not already aware of, my lord,' Dwalin clarified. 'We speak merely of Gimli and his new lordship over the Glittering Caves.'

'I see,' mused the King darkly, taking a seat beside Truva. Glóin and Dwalin took this momentary pause as an opportunity to turn and strike up a conversation with those sitting upon their other side, but Thorin would not so easily allow Truva to evade his inquiries.

'And what have your people to say of this arrangement?' he asked. 'Did these Caves not once belong to the Rohirrim?'

'It was Éomer King himself who offered Gimli lordship,' Truva replied, 'and thus warmly welcomes a closer bond with the Dwarves, who proved loyal and invaluable during the War.'

'Yes, comradeship and so on and so forth,' said Thorin, waving his hand. Then he altered tack and broached a new subject entirely. 'In my talks with Gimli yesterday, he mentioned you travel to our lands with some secretive purpose – a purpose that might have some connection to the Dwarves.'

Trepidation overcame Truva; she recalled Lord Thranduil's warning and the danger of accusing the Longbeards of impropriety before their very leader himself. But it had also been more than apparent the Elvenking cared only for his own advantage, and not one whit for Truva's plight. Perhaps King Thorin's sentiments would be no different – and yet, if any Dwarf was capable of wielding sufficient influence to uncover this mystery, it was he.

'Perhaps the issue he referred to was that of my parentage,' Truva began. One of Thorin's eyebrows raised the tiniest of fractions. Had Truva not been staring at his face for any indication of his thoughts, she would not have noticed it.

'And what concern have I for the parentage of a mere Rohirric shieldmaiden?' he asked, though he was quick to amend: 'Glorious emissary though she may be.'

'Have you heard tell of the Hidden Lands, in the northern reaches of the Misty Mountains?'

'It was not until Gimli first returned from the War that both rumour and confirmation of this realm's existence came simultaneously to my ears, but the name is no longer unfamiliar to me. I am most sorry for your experiences.'

Truva weighed her words carefully. 'Then perhaps you have learned the method by which many slaves who once languished in the Hidlands were obtained.'

'Slaves beget more slaves, do they not?' Thorin postulated with a casual shrug of his shoulders.

'Not so swiftly or frequently enough, or with sufficient diversity to satisfy the Hidlanders' ravenous taste for violence.'

'Then do tell.' Thorin folded his arms across his chest and sat back, face impassive. Truva cast a glance about them, searching for eavesdroppers, but all were preoccupied with their own carousing.

'They were brought from other lands,' she whispered. 'Taken, stolen, snatched from their homes and loved ones, transported great distances and subjugated for the base intrigues of despicable men.'

Thorin continued to stare at her, unblinking, and so she forged on: 'These thieves came most often from the east, over the High Pass in the Misty Mountains, taking advantage of the Woodland Elves' apathy and evading the Beornings' toll points with passages of Dwarven construction.'

'Dwarven construction,' Thorin repeated, beginning to untangle the implication of her words. 'There are the remnants of many a clan out East: Ironfists and Stiffbeards, Blacklocks and Stonefoots – those that did not flee into my father's protection under the days of Shadow; it is said they have fallen to ways of evil mind, and the atrocities you speak of would not be outside their nature. But if it is such Dwarf-kind you seek, I cannot help you – for none know where these clans make their homes, if indeed they make them at all. Nor does my influence extend to Rhûn; I do not consider them kin.'

'Have you ever known such characters to venture so far Westward?' Truva pressed. 'Chief Grimbeorn of the skin-changers suggested the interlopers might be known by their long beards and colourful hats. Is it beyond all possibility that those who inhabit the Iron Hills were at least in some part responsible for this supply of human livestock?'

Thorin's response was immediate. He leapt to his feet, face scarlet and mouth pulled down into a deep frown behind his beard, seething with anger. 'You dare come into my Halls, partake in my generosity, and in return accuse my folk of trafficking human slaves?' he cried.

Truva realised far too late that Lord Thranduil had been correct; nothing was to be gained from seeking Thorin's aid. He radiated the same fire with which Éomer had once defended Truva against the three hunters' specious accusations, but Théoden King had been there to temper his sister-son's passion. Even so, it was one thing to question an outsider who had only recently come into the Eorlingas' presence, another entirely to question longstanding kin. Thorin was a young, prideful king, bereft of the wisdom Théoden possessed; he would not help.

'They are not merely accusations,' Truva mumbled, but her protestations stumbled upon her lips. The entire congregation sat so silent the brush of beard upon tankard could be heard. Ereborian King and Hidland Marshal alone were the sole focus of each and every eye.

'It was not so long ago I myself lived in the Iron Hills!' Thorin exclaimed. 'It was my birthplace ere we returned to this Mountain after many years of wandering. Those lands lie within my kingdom, and under my rule; those who live there are my brothers, no less a part of the Longbeard clan than any whom you dine with this very night. Look at their faces – look! Do you think these Dwarves capable of tearing a baby from its mother's arms?'

'I saw them myself,' Truva muttered, eyes downcast. 'They came into my village, leading chains of bound captives to be sold in exchange for gems and metals.'

'It is not possible,' said Thorin, with a rough shake of his head. 'It cannot be.'

'I do not ask that you accept my words on blind faith. All I ask is your leave to investigate the goings-on of the Dwarves residing among the Iron Hills.'

'I do not grant it!' shouted the King. 'I do not grant you leave to travel there, and indeed I do not grant you leave to travel anywhere within my kingdom! You are no longer welcome here – neither you nor those for whom you speak.'

He reached out in that very moment to snatch the ring he had bestowed upon Truva from her breast, where it had come untucked from her tunic. But the leather thong was of impeccable construction and did not give. She was dragged forward as Thorin tugged viciously at the ring, eventually managing to slip the band from about her neck.

'I wish to see you gone completely from my presence,' the King continued, folding the ring into his hand, 'but it is already late, and I would not turn out a guest so deep into the evening – nor would I grant you the opportunity to accuse me of such a misdeed. No, you will leave on the morrow to go whither you will, save anywhere within my dominion; from the border of Greenwood to the Iron Hills, and the Withered Heath in the north throughout King Dain's realm of Dale you are banished.'

Truva inhaled a deep breath before speaking. 'I am sorry to see us parted thus,' said she. 'But the Eorlingas' loyalty shall not be swayed so easily; our hand is ever extended in offering of alliance, should you reconsider.'

King Thorin said nothing in response. He merely stood glaring, arms still crossed, as she rose. Those about him absorbed the hostility he exuded and amplified it tenfold; even Glóin and Dwalin refused to meet her eyes, though they sat half-slumped, as if in defeat. Under crushing silence, Truva paced between the long tables until she exited through the halls' main doors, but even as made her way along the corridor, the sound of shuffling feet came from behind. She turned to see Gimli and Legolas striding after her.

'You needn't abandon such a marvellous feast for my sake,' she insisted.

'In truth, I do not think we are particularly favoured guests, either,' grumbled the Dwarf.

All three fell quiet as they traversed empty, echoing halls to their chambers. Once returned, however, none seemed inclined to sleep, and so they sat about the fire together, absorbed in their own musings. Quite suddenly, Truva spoke:

'You must stay.'

'Beg pardon?' Gimli questioned, startled.

'Thorin King's words were unmistakable – I am to leave the Lonely Mountain; he said nothing of you two. Before us lies the most promising opportunity to ease tensions between Eryn Lasgalen and Erebor as ever there has been, and it must not be squandered. Who knows what will be uncovered in the East? Perhaps it is a wild-goose chase, and will ultimately prove fruitless. But if there is any quarter from which succour is more sure to be gained, it is here in the north. You must stay for the sake of Aragorn King, and for the armies he leads.'

'It is not safe to travel unaccompanied in unfamiliar lands,' Legolas stated.

'Or perhaps I shall draw less attention as a lone Man than were I to travel in the strange company of a Dwarf and an Elf,' Truva countered. 'If my origins are truly Easterling, then I shall find little difficulty in disguising myself. Nor am I defenceless – this you well know.'

Her companions pondered the notion for quite some time. Silence reigned and the fire slowly began to die out, its edges settling into embers as the central flames burned ever lower.

'My father is sure to be more amenable if I am present when Thorin travels to Eryn Lasgalen to meet with him,' said Legolas at last.

'As will King Thorin, if I am granted any opportunity to wield influence,' added Gimli. 'And there is a smattering of Dwarves here who might yet be willing to relocate to the Glittering Caves; any who do so can surely be counted upon to stand beside Gondor.'

'Then we are decided,' said Truva. 'I shall depart in the morning to seek answers in Rhûn, whilst you remain behind and speak reason into the minds of the northern realms' leaders.'

The three returned to their introspection, pondering what was to become of them, and whether any were likely to find success. After a brief spell, Gimli stood and disappeared into his chambers before returning with a small object clasped in one hand. This he extended to Truva.

'It is not nearly so significant as a King's jewel,' he said, 'yet perhaps you might accept it nevertheless.' Into Truva's palm he pressed a small wooden figure: an intricate carving of a horse – but not just any horse, for its features were clearly those of Bron.

Tears sprung into Truva's eyes, for still her loyal companion raced in her heart despite the time that had passed. Memories came flooding back – memories of all she had endured the previous year; of having lost not only Bron, but Théodred also, and Théoden King, and Éothafa. She thought too of Aragorn, and how desperately she longed for his comforting embrace when sorrow overwhelmed her.

'Thank you,' she whispered, tears coursing unchecked down her face. She was not alone, however; a single watery track glistened along Gimli's cheek in the firelight, as well. 'I shall cherish it always.'

And then – most unexpectedly – Gimli stepped forward and embraced her. No words were exchanged between them, for indeed what words could be said?