As the company approached the gates of Rivendell, their ponies clopping softly over the smooth stone pathways, the dwarves could not help but glance around in awe. Despite their ingrained distrust of elves, even Thorin seemed momentarily distracted by the sheer beauty of the place. Towering statues, carved with impeccable detail, lined the entrance, their forms graceful and imposing, while shimmering waterfalls cascaded down from high cliffs, filling the air with a calming murmur.
Sirius, though equally captivated, kept his face neutral, hiding the sense of wonder bubbling up inside him. The stories about Rivendell didn't do the place justice. It was a sanctuary, a haven of peace and light amidst a world that had seen too much darkness. But beyond the beauty, there was something else that caught his attention—the elves themselves.
The dwarves, with some reluctance, left their ponies in the designated grazing area at the front of Rivendell. Gandalf had assured them that the ponies would be safe, and that there was no need to worry about them wandering off or being harmed. "The lands around Rivendell are well-guarded," Gandalf had said, his voice filled with calm authority. "Your ponies will be as safe here as you are."
Thorin, though skeptical of anything involving elves, nodded reluctantly. The rest of the company followed his lead, though a few of them, like Bombur and Dori, glanced back at their ponies with visible concern. The ponies, however, seemed more than happy to graze on the lush green grass, their tails swishing lazily in the breeze.
Sirius watched this with some amusement. For all their toughness, the dwarves seemed unusually attached to their ponies. But then again, those animals had been their only reliable companions on the long journey thus far. Leaving them behind, even in a place as peaceful as Rivendell, felt unsettling. Still, they had no choice, and Sirius trusted Gandalf's judgment.
Gandalf, walking confidently at the front of the group, spotted a tall elf who seemed to be waiting near the main entrance. The elf was garbed in silver and green, his hair cascading down his back like a waterfall of golden silk. His posture was regal, every movement calculated and precise. He approached Gandalf with an air of quiet authority, though there was no trace of arrogance in his expression.
Gandalf and the elf exchanged words in Sindarin, the flowing Elvish tongue that Sirius understood perfectly. Years ago, Legolas had taught him this language during one of Sirius's many adventures across Middle-earth. It had taken time, but Sirius had always had a knack for languages, and he enjoyed learning something that felt as old and magical as the Elvish tongue.
The dwarves, however, did not share Sirius's advantage. They shifted uncomfortably, glancing at one another with confusion, their brows furrowed as they tried to make sense of what was being said. Thorin, in particular, looked frustrated, his arms crossed tightly over his chest as he watched the exchange between Gandalf and the elf.
Sirius, standing back with the dwarves, decided to stay silent. He had no intention of revealing that he understood the conversation. There was something amusing about watching the dwarves squirm in their confusion, especially since they prided themselves on being distrustful of elves. Plus, he thought it might be wise to keep his knowledge of the Elvish language to himself—for now, at least.
From what Sirius could hear, Gandalf was asking about the whereabouts of Lord Elrond, the master of Rivendell. The elf, with a slight frown, replied that Elrond was not present at the moment, as he had traveled to consult with other elven leaders about matters in the wider world. He would return soon, the elf reassured Gandalf, and they would be welcomed in the meantime.
The dwarves, oblivious to the conversation, started to murmur amongst themselves, their voices low and gruff. Sirius heard Thorin mutter something about "trickster elves," while Dwalin and Gloin grumbled about how the elves were probably plotting something behind their backs. Their mistrust was palpable, and Sirius couldn't help but smirk to himself.
To Sirius's trained eye, the elves of Rivendell seemed remarkably similar to their kin in Mirkwood—tall, elegant, with silky hair and an air of superiority that was hard to ignore. Their movements were fluid, almost too perfect, and they carried themselves as if they were above the troubles of the world. Even their pointed ears and ethereal beauty seemed to set them apart, marking them as a different kind of being, more distant and aloof than the rugged dwarves who stood in contrast beside them.
But despite their serene exterior, Sirius knew there was more to the elves than just their beauty. There was strength in them, an ancient power that could be felt even in their calmest moments. He had seen it in Legolas, in the way the elf had fought with precision and grace, and he was sure that Rivendell's elves were no different. They were warriors, whether the dwarves believed it or not.
As the war horn echoed through the valley, the dwarves froze for a moment, startled by the sudden sound. The thunder of hooves followed quickly, and in a heartbeat, the company of elves appeared on horseback, their weapons gleaming in the sunlight. The elves rode swiftly toward the dwarves, their long, elegant forms making them appear even more formidable from atop their steeds.
Without hesitation, the dwarves drew their weapons and formed a protective circle, placing Thorin and Sirius in the center. The sight of the tall elves charging toward them, weapons drawn, sent a ripple of tension through the group. Sirius, though unsure of the elves' intentions, could feel the anxiety and mistrust thick in the air. The dwarves were no strangers to battle, and they were ready to fight if need be.
Sirius glanced around at the tense faces of his companions. They had abandoned their ponies, trusting Gandalf's assurances of safety, but now they felt exposed. The sheer height of the elves, combined with their powerful steeds, made the dwarves feel even smaller and more vulnerable than usual. The ground beneath them seemed to tremble as the horses circled them, the elves' sharp eyes glinting in the midday sun.
The elves encircled the company in silence, their weapons drawn but not yet raised. The dwarves tightened their grips on their axes and swords, ready for battle at a moment's notice. Thorin's face was set in a fierce scowl, his pride and suspicion toward the elves as strong as ever.
Just as tensions reached their peak, Gandalf stepped forward, his staff in hand, and called out in a voice full of authority. He recognized the lead elf instantly—Lord Elrond, the ruler of Rivendell—and began speaking in Sindarin, the elegant Elvish tongue that few of the dwarves understood.
Sirius, however, understood every word. He listened intently as Gandalf explained their presence and purpose in Rivendell. Lord Elrond responded in a calm, measured tone, discussing the dangers of the road and the need for caution. The elves' weapons, it seemed, had been drawn as a precaution, not a threat, as they were wary of intruders.
Despite the conversation being one of diplomacy and invitation, the dwarves grew more agitated by the second. The words exchanged between Gandalf and Elrond meant nothing to them, and their already deep-seated mistrust of elves only fueled their anger. More than once, one of the dwarves, eyes burning with suspicion, made a move to lunge at an elf, mistaking their calm demeanor for mockery.
It was Sirius who stood between the dwarves and disaster. Though his heart raced, he remained outwardly calm, using his sword to lightly tap the shoulders of those who seemed ready to attack. "Hold back," he murmured in a low voice, his tone steady but firm. "They're not enemies. This isn't a fight we want to start."
Bofur, one of the more hot-headed dwarves, growled under his breath. "How do you know that, Jimmy? Look at the way they're staring at us. They're mocking us, the tall, pointy-eared... cowards."
Sirius shook his head. "They're not mocking you. They're discussing the dangers of the road ahead, nothing more. If you attack them now, it'll only make things worse."
Bofur glanced at Sirius, his grip on his weapon tightening, but something in Sirius' voice made him hesitate. The other dwarves, equally mistrustful, held their weapons at the ready but did not strike. It was clear that the elves' superior numbers and height made them feel threatened, but they trusted Sirius enough not to make a fatal mistake.
Gandalf and Elrond continued their conversation, oblivious to the tension between the two groups. Eventually, after what felt like an eternity to the dwarves, Gandalf turned to the company and spoke.
"Lord Elrond has invited us to Rivendell for food and rest," Gandalf announced in the Common Tongue. "He offers his hospitality freely, and there is much we can learn here."
Thorin, ever the skeptic, crossed his arms over his chest. "And why should we trust him, Gandalf? Elves have never been our allies."
Gandalf gave him a pointed look. "Because without Lord Elrond's help, we may never find the answers we need. And because we cannot afford to make enemies of those who offer us aid."
Thorin grumbled under his breath, but nodded, seeing the logic in Gandalf's words. The dwarves, still wary, sheathed their weapons but kept their eyes on the elves, ready to spring into action if needed.
Sirius let out a quiet sigh of relief, glad that the situation hadn't escalated into violence. He could see the tension in the elves' expressions as well, but their discipline kept them from reacting to the dwarves' hostility. Sirius knew that if things had gone differently, the outcome could have been disastrous.
As the elves dismounted and began to lead the group toward Rivendell's main hall, Sirius fell in step with the others, still quietly marveling at how easily things could have spiraled out of control. But for now, at least, they were safe—and the mysteries of Rivendell awaited them.
the feast quickly descended into chaos. The dwarves, frustrated by the lack of meat and the slow, ethereal music of the elves, had little patience for the delicate dishes placed before them. Though Sirius tried to respect the customs of their elven hosts, he couldn't deny that even he found the food strange and bland compared to the hearty meals he had enjoyed in his life.
As the dwarves banged their hands and feet on the table, singing boisterous dwarven tunes, the elves looked on in a mixture of bewilderment and distaste. The dwarves' deep, booming voices clashed with the soft, lilting melodies of the elven harpists, creating a cacophony that echoed throughout the hall. Thorin, seated at the head of the table, led the song, his deep voice ringing out louder than the rest.
It didn't take long for the tension to reach its peak. Some of the dwarves, irritated by the lack of food they deemed edible, began tossing pieces of fruit at each other in jest. What started as a playful exchange quickly spiraled into an all-out food fight, with apples, grapes, and bits of leafy greens flying across the room.
Sirius, caught in the middle of the mayhem, ducked as an apple soared past his head. He watched in disbelief as the dwarves laughed and flung food at one another, their spirits high despite the increasingly strained atmosphere. The elves, for their part, remained silent, their expressions unreadable, though it was clear from the way they stiffened in their seats that they did not appreciate the dwarves' antics.
Gandalf, seated at the far end of the table, rubbed his temples in exasperation. He leaned over to Sirius, his voice low. "I warned Elrond that bringing dwarves to a feast might be… challenging. But this is worse than I feared."
Sirius smirked, though he, too, felt the awkwardness of the situation. "They're just being themselves. You know dwarves—they won't change for anyone."
Gandalf sighed heavily. "Yes, but I had hoped they might show a little more… restraint."
As the food fight continued, Lord Elrond rose from his seat at the head of the table, his face calm but stern. He raised a hand, and with a single motion, the hall fell silent. The dwarves, still grinning and holding half-eaten fruit, paused in mid-throw. The music had ceased, and the room was now filled with an uncomfortable quiet.
"My guests," Elrond said in a measured tone, "we have welcomed you into our home with open arms, and yet you repay our hospitality with disrespect."
Thorin stood, his face flushed with indignation. "We meant no offense, Lord Elrond. But your food is not fit for dwarves. Where is the meat? The ale? How can we feast on leaves and twigs like goats in a field?"
Elrond's eyes narrowed slightly, though his voice remained calm. "We honor the land and all living creatures. To take a life for the sake of indulgence is not our way. But we did not expect you to understand."
Thorin bristled, but Gandalf quickly stepped in, placing a hand on Thorin's arm. "We are grateful for your hospitality, Lord Elrond. Perhaps there has been a misunderstanding. The dwarves are used to… different customs."
Elrond nodded slowly. "I see that. But I would ask for respect under my roof. We may have our differences, but we are not enemies here."
Sirius, sensing the growing tension, decided to speak up. "I think both sides can agree that this is a… unique situation," he said, trying to diffuse the situation with a light tone. "The dwarves meant no harm. And I'm sure, with a little understanding, we can avoid further incidents."
Thorin shot Sirius a glance, but the words seemed to calm him somewhat. He sat back down, though the tension in his shoulders remained.
The dwarves, grumbling quietly, resumed their seats, though the jovial atmosphere was gone. The elves, though clearly displeased, returned to their quiet conversations, the music restarting—though now even more subdued than before.
Sirius couldn't help but chuckle quietly to himself. For all their differences, he realized that both elves and dwarves shared one thing in common: a fierce pride in their respective ways of life. And though the night had not gone as planned, he felt that perhaps, in their own strange way, the dwarves had made an impression on their elven hosts—one they wouldn't soon forget.
As the feast drew to a close, Gandalf leaned over to Sirius once more. "We'll have much to discuss in the morning. I only hope the food fight won't be the first thing they remember."
Sirius smirked. "I wouldn't count on that, Gandalf."
Author's Note:
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