Chapter Text
"Mithrandir." I greeted.
"Ah, Lindir."
Thorin leaned to Dwalin and whispered, but my keen elvish ears allowed me to hear. 'We use the toilets, then leave.'
Note to self; buy disinfectant.
I chose to not to mention it. "We heard you had crossed into the valley."
I caught the dwarves' not so hidden annoyance at me speaking a language they could not understand, but again I chose not to mention it.
"I must speak with Lord Elrond."
"My Lord Elrond is not here."
"Not here?" Aye, that is precisely what I just told you. "Where is he?"
I was about to come up with an answer, but the sound of the hunting horn - you know, the one that informs our enemies ahead of time that we are approaching - cut me off. The elf war party had returned.
This will be fun.
"Close ranks!"
Wait, what? The dwarves drew their weapons as they were surrounded. This isn't your land, you know.
"Gandalf." Lord Elrond smiled.
"Lord Elrond. My friend, where have you been?"
"We've been hunting a pack of orcs that came up from the South. We slew a number near the Hidden Pass."
Lord Elrond dismounted from his horse. And they... hugged? Why do I never get this treatment when I return from...
From...
I have a life outside of Rivendell!
"Strange for orcs to come so close to our borders. Something... or someone... has drawn them near."
Wait. Hold on. Don't give me your sword. One, I am a minstrel, when did I become your personal assistant? Two, I cannot be held responsible for what may or may not happen while I have this.
"Ah, that may have been us."
Thank you, Mithrandir. Helpful as always. I've always wanted Orcs outside our borders. How did you know?
Thorin's approaching Lord Elrond. Thorin's approaching Lord Elrond. Don't approach Lord Elrond, Thorin.
"Welcome Thorin, son of Thrain." Elrond greeted in his 'warm as summer' way.
"I do not believe we have met."
You can know of people without meeting them, Thorin. I know of the true Eärendil, famed 'star' of Middle Earth. It doesn't mean I have ever, or have any desire to, meet him. King Under the Mountain, people know of you. Live with it.
Or not, as the case may be. I don't mind.
"You have your Grandfather's bearing. I knew Thror when he ruled under the mountain."
"Indeed? He made no mention of you."
I can tell by Lord Elrond's eyes that you will pay for this dearly, Thorin son of Thrain son of Thrór, King Under the Mountain.
He tells me to ready the fire and prepare food, but in elvish, his tone matching one usually associated with a threat. I turned and walked up the stairs back to the house so I could... prepare some food. Evil grin.
As I was leaving I heard;
"What is he saying? Is he offering us insult?"
"No master Glóin, he's offering you food."
"In that case, lead on."