Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“You certainly usually find something, if you look, but it is not always quite the something you were after.”

Hands bound behind him, facing a cave full of goblins intent on enslaving them, Thorin gritted his teeth and prepared to be almost as annoyed as he was frightened.

The great goblin was a particularly mis-proportioned creature, not that any goblin was particularly well made, to Thorin’s eye. He looked up at them with an avaricious gleam in his eye. “More trespassers!” he cried.

And Thorin saw for the first time the bound figure kneeling at the Great Goblin’s feet. An elf, dark of hair and with a familiar cast to his nose and mouth, who had been more closely introduced to the goblin whips than any of the dwarrow had been. His bare back was bloody, and his defiant, snarling mouth was bruised.

The elf looked back at Thorin’s company with eyes nearly black in the firelight, and he bared his bloody teeth in a grin that struck Thorin as more feral than he had ever imagined elves might be.

"And who are these miserable persons?" said the Great Goblin.

"Dwarves, and this!" said one of the drivers, pulling at Bilbo's chain so that he fell forward onto his knees. Thorin growled softly.

"Elf friends, no doubt,” the Great Goblin crowed. “Looking for this!” and he kicked the kneeling elf, toppling him off balance. He fell into a sprawl onto one shoulder, nearly at Thorin’s feet.

A wince flickered and was gone from the elf’s face almost before it could register.

The goblins were now making a great deal of noise about Thorin’s sword. As the Great Goblin howled and raved at Thorin, the elf lifted his chin. Thorin tilted his head, as if it would help him hear.

“Close your eyes,” the elf said, and his clear voice cut neatly through the Goblin throng.

Even with his eyes closed, the flash was nearly blinding; if his eyes had been open it would have ruined his dark-vision entirely.

The Great Goblin fell, slain, the sword its own light in the darkness.

“Follow me, quick!” a stern voice commanded, deeper and lower than the elf’s clear tones: Tharkun, of course, come back for his friends.

Thorin had just enough give in the chain between his hands to help Dwalin haul the elf up with them, and then they ran.

“Quicker,” Tharkun commanded. “The torches will soon be relit!”

They paused in the heart of the mountain to cut their hands free, and Gandalf offered Orcrist back to Thorin. Then he turned on the elf. “And what are you doing here?” he asked tartly, handing the third sword in his hands to the elf.

The elf’s bloody mouth split into what was probably quite a charming grin when he didn’t have blood in the lines of his teeth. “Hunting goblins, of course!” he said cheerfully despite his sickly pallor in the light of Tharkun’s staff.

Tharkun shook his head, wearing an expression that might have been straight off Dis’ face when Kili was at his most irrepressible. “No time,” he muttered. “Well, well! it might be worse, and then again it might be a good deal better. No ponies, and no food, and no knowing quite where we are, and hordes of angry goblins just behind! On we go!"

Thorin and the elf exchanged a rueful grin that told Thorin exactly how familiar this elf was with Tharkun, and then they began to run again.

The elf fell back, trotting along beside Dori and Mr. Baggins, and it was he who helped the hobbit settle the most comfortably on the backs of the dwarrow as they took turns carrying him. He offered to help, but his back was flayed so raw by the goblin whips that Tharkun–and Thorin himself if he were honest, once he’d seen the extent of it–would hear nothing of it.

He helped hold the corner, faster than Tharkun and with greater reach than Thorin, and then they were running again, running and fighting.

When they finally burst into sunlight, Thorin sighed softly in relief. Goblin tunnels were nothing like good, solid dwarven halls, but it had been something to be back under stone.

Tharkun led them, trotting briskly, till he deemed them far enough from the tunnels, and then he turned and did his usual count.

“Fourteen,” he muttered, looking at the elf. “Where is Mr. Baggins?”

“Is he not-?” Dori asked, whirling in alarm.

“Last I saw him was that first bigger cave, when the back three fell,” the elf said quietly. “You said follow, and I don’t remember him since.”

Tharkun’s face said the same thing Thorin’s stomach was thinking: that was at least a day ago.

“Oh, I dropped him,” Dori cried.

"He has been more trouble than use so far," said Bombur, slightly apologetically, which Thorin couldn’t exactly disagree with.

Dwalin grumbled, "If we have got to go back now into those abominable tunnels to look for him, then drat him, I say." Thorin shot his friend a dark look, and Dwalin shrugged one shoulder.

Tharkun answered angrily: "I brought him, and I don't bring things that are of no use. Either you help me to look for him, or I go and leave you here to get out of the mess as best you can yourselves. If we can only find him again, you will thank me before all is over.”

“No need,” Mr. Baggins said cheerfully, stepping out of the brush between Dori and Balin. “Here is your burglar.”

Thorin stood back to watch this uproar. It wasn’t quite true to say that he did not care for the fate of their burglar, but it was accurate to suggest that beyond the scope of the quest he had no great interest in the hobbit’s inner workings.

They needed him, he was there, and that was enough for Thorin.

While Balin and the others interrogated their burglar, Tharkun turned on the elf, which Thorin would confess to some curiosity about.

“And where is your better half?” the wizard asked dryly.

The elf flashed his bloody, charming grin again. “Hopefully well on his way to Lorien,” he answered. “Where someone can take the arrow out of his shoulder.”

Tharkun sighed. “And your boots?”

The elf glanced at his bare feet. “Warming the feet of a goblin, I would assume.” He glanced expressively at the company.

“We came through Rivendell,” Tharkun said, as if this answered anything.

“Elladan, at your service,” the elf said to Thorin.

“Thorin Oakenshield, at yours,” Thorin replied, reflexively, entirely uncertain what to make of this elf. He was nothing like the ones they’d met in Rivendell, and even less like the woodelves he remembered from his youth. He certainly couldn’t picture either King Thranduil nor Lord Elrond grinning with blood in their teeth.

Elladan, meanwhile, was licking the blood from his mouth and spitting it to the side, as Tharkun explained to Mr. Baggins how he had come to free them.

“And,” the wizard finished, “We are too far to the North, and have some awkward country ahead. And we are still pretty high up. Let's get on!"

Thorin fell in with Tharkun at the front of the party, and Dwalin took his usual place at Thorin’s shoulder. Thorin was grateful to his friend’s steady dependability, right until the mountainside came out from under them and Dwalin’s stumble took Thorin’s feet out too.

Fili and Kili managed to get into the trees and avoid the worst of the rocks, and Dwalin dragged Thorin into the lee of a great pine.

Once the rocks stopped moving, Thorin looked for his company.

Mr. Baggins was also sheltered in the lee of a tree, where it appeared Bofur had shoved him. Bifur was in a tree with Dori, Nori was upside down from a tree-limb, holding Ori suspended above the slide. Oin and Gloin were standing, where they appeared to have ridden the rockslide quite gracefully. Bombur had found a big rock to hide behind, and Balin and Tharkun were in the tree Mr. Baggins and Bofur were behind.

The elf was an ungainly sprawl among the rocks. “Ow,” he complained, squinting upwards. A new cut had opened above his eyebrow.

“I didn’t know elves could be graceless,” Kili said, much louder than he probably meant to.

Fili slapped him in the head.

Elladan said, “Wait till you see me drunk.”

"Well! that has got us on a bit," said Gandalf before they could go any further; "and even goblins tracking us will have a job to come down here quietly." He offered Elladan a hand up, though.

"I daresay," grumbled Bombur; "but they won't find it difficult to send stones bouncing down on our heads."

“Cheery,” Elladan said.

"Nonsense!” Tharkun retorted. “We are going to turn aside here out of the path of the slide.We must be quick! Look at the light!"

Everyone groaned, but they all obediently trotted on as Tharkun led the way. Thorin privately thought the elf might have had the most to complain about, barefooted and bloody as he was, but he was whistling an airy tune. It was the most elvish thing he’d done, as far as Thorin was concerned.

As they lost the light, Thorin placed himself beside the hobbit, hoping to keep the little creature from getting lost or disheartened.

"Must we go any further?" asked Bilbo, when it was so dark there was nothing to see but the outlines of the company and the shadows of the forest. "My toes are all bruised and bent, and my legs ache, and my stomach is wagging like an empty sack."

"A bit further," said Tharkun.

Thorin rolled his eyes companionably at the hobbit, before realizing he probably couldn’t see.

Then they entered a clearing. It was wrong, though Thorin could not have said why. And the howl of a wolf rent the air.

"Up the trees quick!" cried Gandalf, and the company leapt to obey.

Thorin was in a tree when he realized the problem with the shortest member of his company, but by then the elf had scooped the hobbit up and shoved him into the tree with Tharkun and scrambled up behind. There were some uses to the lanky creatures after all, he supposed.

A warg leapt for the elf’s ankle, and missed by a narrow margin.

Thorin watched, heart pounding, as the wargs set watches below each of the trees that held his Company and set themselves in a ring around the clearing.

As the chief warg became apparent, pacing about and visibly giving orders, the elf leaned down off his branch, legs locked around it and hands free. He was above the height the warg had achieved in its leap for him, but not far enough for Thorin’s taste, for elf or not, he had no real desire to see him eaten. He addressed the chief warg in its own tongue.

Tharkun frowned down at him, and said what was likely a rebuke in elvish, by the sharp tone.

The elf ignored him, still clearly and obviously taunting the wargs.

The wargs snarled and paced and a few lunged at the elf, but he was out of reach. With a snidely cheerful parting shot, the elf swung himself upright, and then climbed up two more limbs to help stabilize Mr. Baggins, who was clinging to his tree with more force than even Ori, who was notably afraid of heights.

Tharkun said something decidedly grumpy to the elf, but still in elvish, so there was no way to know what the elf had said, or what about his stunt had irritated the wizard if not that.

Then Tharkun lit a pinecone with blue fire and flung it at the wargs.

Dwalin cheered enthusiastically as the burning creature fled, yelping.

Tharkun’s next pinecone bounced off the chief warg’s nose and sent him snarling after the nearest underling.

The next set a huge warg near the edge of the clearing entirely alight, and he fled, wailing, into the underbrush, which smoked and sparked after his passing.

Irrepressible, Fili and Kili were shouting suggestions about which warg to burn next. Ori and Nori were cheering particularly good hits.

Thorin, however, saw the movement up the mountain. The goblins were coming. And they had both axes and thumbs, and either would be a problem.

Bonfires were not the problem Thorin had expected with the arrival of the goblins, but they were a problem nonetheless. And one less easily dealt with the goblins trying to climb, anyway. Thorin would decide if it was better or worse than them cutting down the trees if they survived.

Tharkun climbed to the top of his tree and prepared to jump, so Thorin braced himself to jump with him. Dis was going to be furious, he thought, just as the eagle bore Tharkun away.

“Climb!” Thorin shouted, and suited actions to words. The others followed his lead, and his last glimpse of them as an eagle caught him in its talons was of the elf, scooping up Thorin’s hobbit again and dragging them both to the top of their tree.

The eagles’ eyrie was quite a bit too high for Thorin’s taste, but the Lord of the Eagles was a gracious host. He knew Tharkun, clearly, and he seemed to know the elf too. Tharkun was discussing where the eagles might put the company, but the elf was in conversation with two of the other great birds, and they seemed to be exchanging word of some mutual acquaintances.

These two swept off eventually, and returned with firewood in their talons and a collection of herbs in their beaks. These, the elf quickly turned to a paste in a hollow in the rock of the eyrie.

“Oh,” he said, frowning down at the paste.

“Here,” Oin said gruffly, and scooped the mess out of the elf’s hand. He gestured for the elf to turn, and when he did so, started smearing the mess over the terrible wounds of the elf’s back.

“Thank you,” Elladan said gravely, face screwed up against how much what Oin was doing had to hurt.

“Think nothing of it,” Oin grunted. “If we had my pack,” he grumbled, clearly wishing for his own remedies.

“Are you a healer, then?” Elladan asked.

Oin hummed an affirmative.

“Best we’ve got,” Balin agreed. “They call his tinctures ‘Ointments’ back home.”

Elladan grinned, and it turned immediately to a wince as Oin tended his back. “Then I am in good hands,” he said. “Truly, I am grateful.” He glanced at Thorin. “For allowing me to accompany you, as well.”

“Well we were hardly going to leave you there,” Tharkun grumped, coming over from his discussion with the Lord of Eagles to join the group tending to their dinner.

Elladan didn’t reply, too busy hissing as Oin prodded at him.

“This needs stitches,” Oin complained. “And no way to do them.”

“I’ll manage,” Elladan retorted. “I’ve had worse.”

His bare chest was marked with scars that suggested this was true. Thorin wondered how he had survived the wound that had left the scar in the middle of his chest. Elves were perhaps hardier than he had imagined.

“Dinner!” Bombur cried joyfully, beginning to take the meat off the fire.

The Company gathered around, then, eagerly taking the food, and even Mr. Baggins ate his fill, at the generosity of the eagles.

“Rest well tonight,” Tharkun said. “For we are safer than we have been since Rivendell.”

Thorin curled himself into his cloak and slept, deep and unmoving.

The dawn sun woke him as it crested the horizon directly into his eyes, and he found the elf the only one awake, sitting cross-legged by the ashes of their fire.

He smiled briefly at Thorin, and then went back to his contemplation of the mountains.

One by one, the rest of the company woke, and Thorin greeted them each, silently checking them all over. No one was the worse for wear from their time in the goblin tunnels, their tumble down the rockslide, or their brief run-in with the wargs.

Dwalin rolled his eyes at Thorin as he checked him over, and Balin smiled a little condescendingly at him. Thorin punched Dwalin’s shoulder, and tweaked Balin’s beard. He stole Dwalin’s rabbit, too, making his friend make do with mutton.

He didn’t say anything, but he knew Dwalin could read the ‘my right as king’ taunt in the twist of his mouth. Dwalin had teased him enough about it back in the Blue Mountains.

Tharkun was conferring with the eagles, who would carry them on this morning, and then it was flying again. Thorin was glad to get to ride on the eagle’s back this time, instead of in his talons. It was far more comfortable.

“Good flight?” the eagle asked him as he started circling downward.

“I have no comparison,” Thorin admitted. “But no complaints, either.”

The eagle screed a joyous noise and did one acrobatic swoop before depositing Thorin on the great hill of stone.

Thorin bowed politely to him. “Many thanks!” he said. “And what I may do for you, when you have need, only tell me, and I will do my best.”

“No payment needed, for a chance to cheat the goblins and an interesting evening!” he replied, and spread his wings.

The eagle that had carried Tharkun spoke last to the whole company: "Farewell!" he cried, "wherever you fare, till your eyries receive you at the journey's end!"

Tharkun answered, "May the wind under your wings bear you where the sun sails and the moon walks."

“Did you not want to be taken somewhere else?” Balin asked the elf as they climbed down from the great rock.

“I wouldn’t put them out,” Elladan replied. “Kind enough to bring me here! I’ll manage.”

“Nonsense,” Balin said. “You can hardly go wandering off into the wilderness barefooted with nothing!”

Elladan laughed easily. “You have hardly more than I, though boots and a shirt would be a fair improvement of my lot! But if that is an invitation to walk with you a ways, I will take it!” But he looked to Thorin with a question in his face.

“It can be,” Thorin allowed. He wasn’t thrilled about having the elf along, but Balin was right they could hardly send him into the wilds alone with nothing but his naked sword blade.

At the bottom of the rock was a river and a cave, and they settled there for a time to discuss what to do now.

Tharkun, it turned out, did not mean to continue on with them. "I always meant to see you all safe (if possible) over the mountains," he said, "and now by good management and good luck I have done it. Indeed we are now a good deal further east than I ever meant to come with you, for after all this is not my adventure. I may look in on it again before it is all over, but in the meanwhile I have some other pressing business to attend to."

Thorin frowned at the dirt, wondering what they would do now. The rest of the company groaned and pleaded, and the hobbit even wept.

Tharkun huffed in wry amusement. "I am not going to disappear this very instant," he said. "I can give you a day or two more. Probably I can help you out of your present plight,” he added, and mentioned some things about their surroundings.

They bathed, except the elf who had no wish to wet his wounds, and then they turned on. As they went, Tharkun told them about Beorn, the skinchanger to whose house they were journeying, in the hopes that he could help them. When they had passed through the bee pastures into a stand of oaks, Tharkun turned to them. "You had better wait here," he said "and when I call or whistle begin to come after me - you will see the way I go-but only in pairs, mind, about five minutes between each pair of you. Come on Mr. Baggins! There is a gate somewhere round this way." And with that he went off along the hedge taking the frightened hobbit with him.

Thorin looked at the rest of his Company. “Well,” he said. “We shall do as he asks. I will go first, with Dori, I think, as we are perhaps the most mannered of us.”

Balin scoffed, but didn’t argue aloud, because he knew Thorin was right.

“And if the wizard is worried about our welcome, we shall make the best impression.”

Dori looked startled to be thus singled out, but he nodded.

“And then Nori and Ori, for symmetry, I think.”

The brothers nodded politely.

“Balin and Dwalin, then Oin and Gloin, and then Bifur and Bofur, and then perhaps Bombur and the- Elladan?”

“Or the three dwarrow, and I can come last, alone,” Elladan offered. “Might be less confusing?”

Thorin shrugged, not really caring either way. It was only that Tharkun had said to come in pairs. Just then a sharp whistle split the air. “That’ll be us, then,” he said to Dori, and they set off down the path.

Tharkun was a masterful storyteller, and it was telling, how he managed to get the great man interested in the tale by using the interruptions of the arriving dwarrow.

"Good heavens!" growled Beorn at the part of the trees. "Don't pretend that goblins can't count. They can. Twelve isn't sixteen and they know it."

"And so do I. There were Bifur and Bofur as well. I haven't ventured to introduce them before, but here they are."

In came Bifur and Bofur. "And me!" gasped Bombur pulling up behind.

Beorn grumbled. “So a company of fifteen, as you have suggested. How then, did the goblins believe there to be sixteen birds in the trees?”

“Well,” Tharkun said slowly. “To be honest we had somewhat stolen a prisoner of theirs while we were in the tunnels, and we brought him with us.”

“Well, where is he, then?” Beorn asked.

“Hallo, Beorn,” Elladan said cheerfully from the gate.

Beorn’s gaze jerked to the elf. “Little Thundercloud!” he cried joyfully, and bounded to his feet to rush to hug the elf.

“Gently,” Elladan said, letting himself be hugged, but managing it carefully. “The goblins used me somewhat ill before our friends pulled me out.”

Beorn looked at them anew. “Well,” he said. “Friends of yours, then, I suppose they can stay,” he said gruffly.

Elladan beamed. “Thank you!” he said warmly. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard word of my brother? We were separated.”

This was the first Thorin had heard of it.

“No,” Beorn said slowly. “But no matter. You will have food and rest here, and I will supply you before you move on.”

Tharkun scowled at Elladan behind Beorn’s back.

Elladan grinned innocently at him all the while.

“So how do you know each other?” Bilbo asked Beorn, gesturing at Elladan.

Beorn grinned. “A thunderstorm, the pair of them, coming down out of the mountains after the goblins,” he said, showing his teeth. “And an enemy of goblins and wargs is a friend of mine.”

“My brother and I often hunt in the mountains for goblins and orcs,” Elladan explained. “And we met Beorn some years ago in a spring campaign, he got us out of a tight spot, and now we stop by when we’re in the area to say hello and bring him news of the hunt.”

“Thundercloud?” Tharkun said wryly.

Elladan winked at him.

Beorn replied, “Face like thunder as he chased them down the mountain, his brother loosing silver-tipped arrows like lightning down after them? Of course the fell creatures call them a Storm!”

“You know this area well, then,” Balin said, and it was impossible for Thorin not to know what Balin was thinking.

Thorin scowled and said nothing.

Elladan said, “As well as one can, when it changes so often.” And then he let Beorn pull him aside to cluck over and tend to his back.

Thorin shot Balin a dark look.

Balin looked back blandly.

“Hmm,” Tharkun said, looking between them.

Thorin had a bad feeling about that.

They stayed in Beorn’s house for two days, resting and eating, and the elf’s back healed slowly. But eventually, Beorn gave them their ponies, gave them supplies, and gave them good advice about the crossing of the dark wood.

They mounted up and left Beorn’s lands, and Tharkun and the elf rode with them for a ways. He said his farewells on the edge of the forest, once they had sent away the ponies.

The elf, in soft leather shoes made by Beorn, and a soft woolen shirt to cover the bandages on his back, released the horse he had been riding too.

Tharkun shot him a look. “Are you sure?” he asked.

Elladan grinned. “It is the quickest way to get news to my father,” he said.

“True enough,” the wizard sighed. “Well,” he said, “You and Mr. Baggins should keep an eye on the dwarves for me.”

Thorin scoffed.

Elladan laughed. “Never fear, Master Oakenshield,” he said cheerfully. “I am bound for the halls of the elvenking, and my road is beside yours only a little longer.”

“To be true,” Balin said, “I will be somewhat relieved to have you with us a ways, since you’ve walked this road before.”

“I have, and it is every bit as dark as Beorn warned,” Elladan agreed, shouldering the satchel that contained his supplies, since he could hardly wear a pack on his flayed back.

“Fare you well,” Tharkun said, and, “Stay on the path!” and then he was gone.

Thorin sighed deeply, and turned into the forest.

It was a horrible place. Thorin could not understand who would make their home in such a wood! The path stretched drearily before them, a tunnel of gloom through which the sun could barely reach, and the nights were grim and dark and full of eyes.

The elf sang during the day, or whistled, the tune cheerful enough and the words in elvish. At mealtimes, which were small and unhappy, he coaxed smiles and stories out of the others. At night he took his watches without complaint, and slept like the dead when it wasn’t his turn.

Thorin supposed he couldn’t complain of him as a traveling companion.

Elladan did turn out to be useful when they reached the enchanted river. His eyes were sharper than even Mr. Baggins’, and his aim with the hook unerring.

They had a boat and a plan, and everything almost went according to it.

Dwalin had climbed out of the boat and Bombur was following when a deer came hurtling through the middle of them and knocked them all down.

Thorin had drawn his bow as soon as they’d landed, prepared to defend his company if the boat had a guardian they knew not of, and he shot the stag mid-leap above the stream, and it sounded as if it landed on the far bank.

Mr. Baggins’ yell for help had all the dwarrow turning.

The elf was kneeling on the edge of the bank, Mr. Baggins clinging to his belt for dear life. Elladan was nearly parallel to the water, holding the boat tightly in both hands, and Bombur clinging to his shoulders, one foot in the boat, the other nearly in the muddy water.

At once Dwalin lunged forward and hauled Bombur the rest of the way to shore.

Bifur and Dori caught the elf’s hips and hauled him backwards as well.

Balin moved Mr. Baggins, and Fili caught the boat.

Thorin exhaled in relief.

“Shit,” the elf said.

Everyone turned to look at him, and the wetness of his shirt was clear even in the dim light. His arms, chest, and hair were soaked. He must’ve gone under before he managed to pull himself–and Bombur–back out. “I’m going to-” he slurred, and then he toppled over into Dori’s hold.

“Oh!” Dori cried, steadying him.

“Is he-?” Mr. Baggins asked.

“Asleep, I think,” Balin said, peering at the elf’s eerie, open eyes.

Bombur was asleep next to Dwalin, one whole leg of his trousers soaked too.

“Well,” Fili said, looking at Thorin for approval. “Kili and I will go get that deer, if you like, while Oin checks Bombur and the elf over?”

Thorin nodded his approval, and the boys set to as Oin knelt next to their slumbering companions.

“Just sleeping,” he ruled eventually. “Both of ‘em, I should say, except that I can’t say whether it’s normal he’s got his eyes open.” He gestured at the elf, loose-limbed on the path.

Thorin shrugged.

The boys returned with the deer without issue, and it was decided they would eat there, on the path to see if Bombur or the elf would wake.

Dinner was a relief after so many days hungry, and they took care to prepare and ration the deer, too. A portion was saved for Bombur and for for elf, and watches were set, for the light was already fading.

Bombur woke with the morning, much put out to rouse from his lovely dreams, but he ate the venison with few enough complaints.

Elladan slept on. Eventually they resolved to carry him, for they couldn’t stay there.

“Well at least he isn’t heavy,” Dwalin grunted. “Even if he is too tall.”

Thorin didn’t reply. He also wasn’t helping–let it be his Kingly privilege again, but he would not be carrying the dratted elf.

“At least we’re not carrying Bombur!” Ori added, but he grinned at Bombur to soften the tease.

“Such lovely dreams,” Bombur lamented.

And it was a miserable slog onwards, but onwards they went.

On what might have been the third day or might have been the fifth, the elf woke. “Shit,” he said again, sitting up.

“All right, master elf?” Balin said.

Elladan looked around. “Have you carried me all this way?” he asked. “I’m sorry, that must have been dreadful.”

No one quite wanted to tell him that it was, though of course it had been. “Well we couldn’t leave you,” Mr. Baggins finally said graciously, though he could, since he hadn’t had to help with the carrying. Even Thorin had been roped in, in the end.

The elf smiled at him. “Well my thanks,” he agreed. “You’ve covered some ground, I should say, even with my dead weight.”

It was hard to say in the dim light, but Thorin rather thought the elf’s pallor was quite poor.

“Have we?” Balin asked. “It feels quite endless to me.”

Elladan looked around. “Did you come down a slope?” he asked. “This is the oak grove.”

They agreed there had been a slope.

“No, not much further now, then,” Elladan agreed.

“And no food at all,” Bombur moaned.

“And nothing to be gained by sitting here,” Thorin replied. “Let’s go.” And he led them on.

That evening, as they walked on looking for a place to camp, Balin saw something off the path. “What is that?” he cried. “I thought I saw a twinkle of light in the forest."

The Company hurried forward till they drew level with the lights, and then they looked at Mr. Baggins and the elf, both of whom had better eyes than any of the dwarrow.

Mr. Baggins was squinting into the depths of the wood.

The elf had an uncanny smile on his face. “A feast,” he said quietly. “Of the woodelves.”

This roused a great argument amongst the company, whether they should go and try to join. They had been warned repeatedly not to stray from the path, but what danger could the woodelves be?

This made Elladan laugh. “They are merry folk, if they like you, but they do not like outsiders, and they do not welcome interruptions lightly,” he said. “Their king is, at best, not overfond of dwarrow.”

Thorin scoffed. “The feeling is mutual,” he grumbled.

“And he is not fond of me, either, I should add,” Elladan said, that uncanny smile touching his lips, “And yet I might be able to speak for you, if you will say nothing of your errand.”

Of course, this made Thorin bristle, because they had said nothing of their errand to this elf either!

Elladan held his hands up in peace. “I only mean that he will take ill to any mention of the dragon. You ought instead be visiting kin in the Iron Hills, I should think.”

Balin muttered something about teaching his nan to suck eggs.

Elladan bowed, hands still up. “If you are determined to beard the woodelves in their den, I will speak for you,” he said. “But let it be known that I do not advise it!”

The company had clearly made their choice, but they still looked to Thorin, which he appreciated. He didn’t particularly want to meet with the elves, but he also didn’t know how they would move on without food.

And even if the edge of the forest was as near as the elf said–which Thorin was skeptical of–what good would that do? They had no arrows for their bows and no way to hunt even outside this terrible dark wood.

“We will seek the elves,” he said reluctantly.

Elladan bowed and said, “Stay close to me.”

He led them into the undergrowth, and it was immediately a struggle to stay near him. He moved slowly, though, for their sake, and he stopped on the edge of the clearing.

With two fingers in his mouth, he whistled a soft tune, sounding more birdlike and less musical. The revelry in the circle ceased.

Elladan spoke in elvish in a clear voice for a few moments, gesturing at them beside him.

Then the lights went out and everything went dark.

Thorin woke in what was unmistakably a throne room, and his hands were bound. He’d been in this position before, recently, and it had been terrible then. It wasn’t significantly better now.

The elf was, once again, bound and kneeling at the feet of the king.

Thranduil, the woodland king, sneered down at the elf on his knees.

Elladan had his head tipped up proudly, but he wasn’t snarling like he’d been at the goblins.

“Thorin Oakenshield,” Thranduil said, looking past Elladan at him.

Thorin lifted his chin.

Thranduil stepped around Elladan as if he wasn’t there and crossed to Thorin. "Why did you and your folk try to attack my people at their merrymaking?" he demanded.

"We did not attack them," answered Thorin steadily, "we came to beg, because we were starving."

"What were you doing in the forest?"

"Looking for food and drink, because we were starving."

"But what brought you into the forest at all?" asked the king angrily.

At that Thorin shut his mouth and would not say another word.

“Your guide,” here Thranduil sneered the word, as if mocking both Thorin for needing one and Elladan for being one, “Says you are on the way to the Iron Hills, to see your kin.”

Thorin inclined his head. “It is so,” he said. “And if you do not believe him, I do not know why you would believe me telling the same truth.”

“I do not! Because you’re both liars,” Thranduil sneered.

Thorin said nothing. He was slightly surprised to find himself indignant on Elladan’s behalf, though. He understood well enough why the Woodland King might distrust him, but no reason at all he should mistrust another elf.

"Very well!" said the king after a few moments of silence. "Take them away and keep them safe, until they feel inclined to tell the truth, even if they wait a hundred years.”

Elladan didn’t fight when the guards hauled him up between them, and his legs seemed slightly wobbly beneath him. Thorin jerked his hands free and walked, head up and proud, even if they were leading him to a dungeon.

He was admitted through the cell door with a gesture; Elladan was shoved roughly in after him, and Elladan fell badly.

His face did the brief, flickering wince from the goblin tunnels.

The door clanged shut.

“You were not kidding about him not liking you,” Thorin observed.

Elladan huffed a laugh into the floor of the cell, where he rested his face. “He does not,” he agreed. “Turn around, I can probably untie your hands.”

Thorin sat with his back to the elf while he wrestled with the knots, and eventually the ropes came free. He returned the favor, untying the elf’s hands, and Elladan rolled up to one shoulder, but stayed prone. “If I’m honest,” Elladan said quietly. “The world is spinning rather alarmingly.”

Thorin tipped his face up. He was ghastly pale in the torchlight, worse than usual. His skin was hot to the touch. “Here,” he said gruffly, and started stripping the elf’s shirt off with firm hands.

Elladan was pliant as a ragdoll as Thorin freed his arms from the sleeves and then carefully peeled the shirt off the bandages. The shirt, like the bandages beneath, had soaked through, an unpleasant mixture of blood and pus. “Why didn’t you say anything?” he asked. The elf had to have known his back was growing infected.

Elladan scoffed into the floor again. “To what end?” he asked. “I know you don’t like me.” Then he closed his eyes and slept, and it was perhaps even more unnerving than him sleeping with his eyes open had been.

When the guard brought a meal, Thorin asked for treatment for the elf. The elf, meanwhile, ate little and went back to sleep. He appeared to be having feverish dreams.

The guard didn’t reply, but there was water, rags, salve and bandages with their next meal. Thorin had been hoping for an elvish healer for the wounded elf, but he supposed he would have to do it himself.

Cleaning the oozing wounds was the work of hours, because Thorin was trying to be careful of the stitches Beorn and Oin had collaborated to put into the worst of the wounds. In the end, though, he had to pick all of them out to flush beneath them, since that appeared to be where some of the infection was.

Elladan whimpered in his sleep.

Thorin bandaged him carefully and battled down his own guilt. The elf had done nothing but help them, and he’d suffered in silence because he’d thought they wouldn’t help him in return.

Thorin thought they were being fed twice a day, and if that were so, it took four miserably long days for the elf’s fever to break and the wounds on his back to stop being so inflamed. It was another two before Elladan was capable of sitting up for more than a little while, and another beyond that for him to stop looking so dreadfully pale.

He still slept a great deal, but he was considerably more interesting when he was awake. He could be prodded into telling stories, if Thorin asked the right questions, and he seemed to know a great many folktales and children’s bedtime stories.

“A little brother,” was all he said in reply to pressing on this point, though he gladly told Thorin all the stories he wanted to know. It passed the time, and he had a good voice for it.

When the elf grew tired, Thorin found himself telling stories of the quest before they’d found the elf, about the feast in the hobbit hole and the mark on the door, the trolls, their time in Elrond’s house, the stone giants.

Elladan smiled with his eyes closed, listening.

“Hisst, Thorin!” a voice cried on what must have been the thirteenth or fourteenth day.

“Bilbo?” Elladan said wonderingly.

Thorin pressed himself to the keyhole.

Bilbo was outside the door, invisible. He had learned his way around the palace, was burgling himself food, and knew where everyone in the company was. “Except Elladan,” Bilbo said sadly. “I can’t find him anywhere.”

“He’s here,” Thorin replied. “They put him in with me.”

“Hi Bilbo!” Elladan called, pitching his voice to pass through the door, since Thorin was still at the keyhole.

Bilbo made a soft noise of relief. “Oh good,” he said. “That’s all of you then.”

“Now you have only to get us out,” Thorin said, smiling. He didn’t doubt for a moment that the hobbit could do it.

“Only, he says,” Bilbo muttered fondly. “Yes, well. Is there anything you’d like me to tell the others? Fili told me to tell you he’s okay, and so is Kili. Kili said he’s fine. Dwalin said,” and here Bilbo fumbled through a Khuzdul word Dwalin had clearly told to him phonetically instead of telling him what it meant.

It was a swearword anyway.

Thorin laughed for the first time since entering Mirkwood. They were going to be all right, he thought. Even their elf was on the mend.

Bilbo appeared with keys and a plan, and Thorin followed gladly. He even climbed into the barrel without too much ill will about the process, though it took him some time to get both his legs and his arms comfortable in the narrow barrel. It beat staying in Thranduil’s dungeons by a long stretch.

Even the elf folded into his barrel with only a soft hiss between his teeth, lanky legs tucked up close to his chest and his forehead bowed forward to his knees.

It was a long and unpleasant journey. Thorin’s limbs soon fell to tingling and then to sleep, and the air grew very stale and musty. The barrel jounced and jolted along, bouncing his head off the sides and top. The straw, which the hobbit had packed around him to try to cushion him, stabbed into his face and hands and he couldn’t move to shift it. There was nothing to eat, nothing to do, and no way to sleep.

When Bilbo pulled him out again, Thorin was not, at first, inclined to be grateful.

"Well, are you alive or are you dead?" asked Bilbo, probably understandably cross. He did not look the better for his journey either, now that Thorin had a look at him. "Are you still in prison, or are you free? If you want food, and if you want to go on with this silly adventure- it's yours after all and not mine-you had better slap your arms and rub your legs and try and help me get the others out while there is a chance!"

This was a fair point, and Thorin did his best to be of use to the little creature, badly outweighed by the dwarrow in their barrels. Fili and Kili were in fine spirits, and were more helpful than Thorin, he felt, and more helpful by far than anyone else in the company.

The elf unfolded from his barrel grey-faced and tight-mouthed with pain, and only in that moment did Thorin realize his injured back had been pressed to the side of the barrel the whole time. He shook his head, though, and muttered, “Give me a moment and I’ll be up to help.”

“Stay down,” Thorin answered, who had all his company but Oin and Gloin, and Fili and Kili had just made a noise of discovery.

Still, the elf was upright and steadying Oin’s barrel by the time Thorin had helped the boys free Gloin.

Thorin looked at the sorry state of them all, mostly limp on the banks. "Well! Here we are!" he said. "And I suppose we ought to thank our stars and Mr. Baggins. I am sure he has a right to expect it, though I wish he could have arranged a more comfortable journey. Still-all very much at your service once more, Mr. Baggins. No doubt we shall feel properly grateful, when we are fed and recovered. In the meanwhile what next?"

“I suggest Laketown. What else is there?” the hobbit said, full of sense as usual. Thorin wondered, now, why he had questioned their burglar’s worth in the beginning. Had he always been so sensible, and the dwarrow too blind to see it, or had he grown on the journey, as the boys had?

Some of both, he thought, as his three most upright company members followed him to the gates of Laketown. After the usual bandying with the guards, Thorin was taken to the Master at his feast, and he smiled.

It had been long since he had stretched his diplomatic arts, and longer still since he had made a proper, kingly spectacle, and he would revel in this, just a little, as he did it.

"I am Thorin son of Thrain son of Thror King under the Mountain! I return!" he cried, spreading his arms wide.

The chaos was immediate.

“I think you liked that,” Bilbo muttered.

Thorin didn’t answer, but did hand him a meat pie when they were seated, with a wink.

The others were brought to the town, and a house was made available to them. Their bruises were salved and their sodden things dried. A healer tended very gently to the places the barrel had reopened on Elladan’s back, but she was positive about its previous care and said he should be well again soon.

Elladan smiled at her, the charming grin–without the blood this time–of their first meeting on his lips.

He, indeed, was very popular among the townsfolk, being less ethereal, perhaps, than the woodelves, and far more gregarious than the dwarrow. He acquired them supplies in great quantities for very little cost, and brought little treats to Bilbo every time he returned to the house.

When Thorin announced his intent to leave, the Master sent them on with fanfare.

“He’s glad to see us gone,” Elladan remarked he walked beside their ponies towards the mountain. “You were impacting his bottom line, and he very much hopes the dragon will eat you.” He waited until they had left the men of lake at the river, though.

“Well I don’t!” Bilbo cried. He was the only one of them in truly poor spirits, though they had all flagged in the shadow of the mountain, but he really was a creature of civilization, and Thorin couldn’t blame him for preferring good beds to dragons. It wasn’t his mountain, after all. And he’d come.

So had the elf, and he just shrugged when Fili asked why he hadn’t stayed in the town, or even turned back towards his homelands.

When Thorin pressed him that night, in the small hours when Elladan woke him for the last watch, Elladan turned very elvish indeed. “Do you see that star?” he asked, pointing at the Wanderer.

Thorin nodded.

“That star is important to us, as it is a gemstone, carried by the Mariner who threw down the last of the great dragons, at the end of the First Age.”

Thorin nodded again, somewhat regretting asking.

“He’s my grandfather,” the elf said.

Thorin frowned at him, but didn’t interrupt.

Elladan shrugged, as if this was an answer. “Well,” he said finally, “I can hardly stand by and leave a dragon, can I?”

“Mean you to slay it, then?” Thorin asked wryly. At least he had boots, now, but he’d lost his sword to the woodelves, and had left unarmed rather than take one from Laketown.

Elladan huffed in amusement. “No,” he said. “But I do mean to see him slain.” Then he returned to his bedroll and dropped immediately to sleep, eyes open and eerie again.

Thorin frowned at him for a while, and then focused himself on his watch.

Bilbo proved, again and again, the most steady of them. He kept thinking and puzzling, and he found the trail. He found the door. Thorin would owe this hobbit his kingdom, if they survived.

Bilbo found the knocking thrush, too. Or understood it, at least.

The elf, back healed and always singing to the wind, climbed far more of the mountain than the dwarrow were willing to. He let them tie him to the face, though he made it clear he was doing it for their benefit and not his, but he never faltered or stumbled.

When Bilbo figured out the riddle, and the dwarrow came hastily up the face, the elf was far above, and he slid down to them in a dizzying tumble of small rocks.

“The key!” Bilbo shouted, and Thorin hurried to shove the key–around his neck all this time–into the keyhole the sun had opened.

The snap of the key turning in the hole reverberated straight into Thorin’s heart. Home.

The ache in his chest and the resonance of the key might have prompted him to be slightly more overblown than he might have normally, when sending a friend into danger or even asking a contracted worker to do what he had been hired to do.

Still, Bilbo’s pert reply really was a bit much, and his invitation for company got exactly what Thorin might have expected.

Fili and Kili’s discomfort at sending him alone surprised Thorin very little–they were both bold lads, and fond of the hobbit beside. Balin, too, surprised him none by offering to go partway down the tunnel, for his old friend was equally fond of the hobbit, and no less brave than the lads for all his courage was now tempered by the weight of his years.

Elladan said, “He will know me for an elf at once, and that will do you no favors, I think, so I will only send you with my hopes and this: May Orome guide your steps, Manwe lend you wisdom, and Elbereth light your path.” He kissed Bilbo’s forehead, and then stood back.

Bilbo smiled at the elf, and then turned to the mountain. Balin walked beside him, and they vanished into darkness.

The elf looked back up the mountain he’d been climbing when Bilbo had called them all.

“What are you looking for?” Kili asked him. The lads were quite fond of the elf, as well as the hobbit, and found his stories vastly entertaining.

Elladan shrugged one shoulder. “My people are not so fond of trees as the woodelves,” he said wryly, “But even we prefer plants to bare stone.” Then he scaled the face above the door and shimmied over to another shelf well above their heads.

“Strange creature,” Dwalin grumbled, worried for his brother and unwilling to show it.

Thorin watched the elf climb, since it was something he could watch, helpless as he was in the face of his burglar in a dragon’s den. He was still watching when the elf climbed down again as the sun set, and settled by their little fire, singing a song to the stars.

Bilbo’s return with the silver cup set off first a round of delight, and then a great rumbling in the mountain.

“My cousins!” Bifur cried.

"They will be slain, and all our ponies too, and all our stores lost," Dori moaned. "We can do nothing."

"Nonsense!" said Thorin, shoving down his alarm to focus. "We cannot leave them. Get inside Mr. Baggins and Balin, and you two Fili and Kili-the dragon shan't have all of us. Now you others, where are the ropes? Be quick!"

With Fili and Kili safe–his boys, his heirs–he could focus on the ropes, the strength, the speed to pull Bofur and Bombur to safety. He would not leave any of his company to certain death.

They hauled up Bofur, and then Bombur, and then the first of the supplies. And then the dragon was upon them.

“The elf, where’s the elf?” Dwalin bellowed over the roar of his coming.

Thorin thrust the others ahead of him into the tunnel, and dared to look back.

The door was cracked, and there was no sign of the elf. Fire swept down, turned the grass to ash, and tried the edges of the crack in the door. Thorin held his breath and curled his fingers in, trusting his maille to shield the rest of him, and then the shadow of the dragon was gone.

The ponies screamed from far away, and Thorin closed his eyes. “That will be the end of them, poor beasts,” he said.

The silence felt louder than even the dragon had been.

There was a shadow across the crack in the door, even in the moonlight. “All right?” Elladan asked, pushing at the entry.

“Are you?” Fili retorted, hurrying forward to pull him into the tunnel.

There was soot upon his face, and the rope he’d used while climbing ended just off his waist in a charred mess, but he smiled easily. “I loosed the ponies,” he said, “And sent them as far and as fast as I could convince them. If nothing else,” he said grimly, “They will give Smaug a hunt, and us time to recover.”

“Fool,” Thorin grumbled, greatly relieved to see him.

Elladan beamed at him as if he knew.

“Now what?” Fili asked softly, looking at Thorin.

“I don’t know,” Thorin said. “But I do know I will not figure it out exhausted and hungry. It is late, and we should sleep if we can. Set a watch at the door, and a little down the tunnel,” he added.

“I will watch from the step,” the elf offered. “I need less sleep than you, and I think I would find no rest in the tunnel at any rate.”

“And my blood is too up to sleep now,” Dwalin rumbled. “I will take the tunnel watch.”

“Wake me,” Fili offered, “When you are ready for your rest.” He was a good lad, and Thorin would be beyond honored to leave everything he had to him. He only hoped it could be a home.

Thorin yielded to the urge, and tucked Kili between himself and Fili and slept that night with his nephews close.

The morning dawned with clearer heads. Thorin did his best to quash the grumping from his Company about their burglar’s waking of the dragon, for as Bilbo rightly pointed out, “What else do you suppose a burglar is to do?"

But the hobbit was brilliant, and had a way of thinking about things entirely different to Thorin, and Thorin was not above asking a friend–as he hoped Bilbo now was–for advice in a tight spot.

"Well, if you really want my advice,” Bilbo began slowly, obviously pleased to be asked and also not quite sure what his answer was. “I should say we can do nothing but stay where we are. By day we can no doubt creep out safely enough to take the air. Perhaps before long one or two could be chosen to go back to the store by the river and replenish our supplies, particularly as deft as Elladan is climbing that rock face.”

The dwarves murmured their agreement, and Elladan nodded easily.

Bilbo continued, “But in the meanwhile everyone ought to be well inside the tunnel by night,” which was sensible advice.

“Now!” Bilbo said, frowning at them. “I will make you an offer. I have got my ring and will creep down this very noon-then if ever Smaug ought to be napping-and see what he is up to. Perhaps something will turn up. 'Every worm has his weak spot,' as my father used to say, though I am sure it was not from personal experience."

“If you are sure,” Thorin said softly. He both very much wanted to know more about the dragon and how they might kill it, and loathed sending their burglar into danger.

“I am,” Bilbo said promptly. “For I’ve no wish to sit on this stoop till the breaking of the world, and I don’t see how that isn’t our fate unless something significant changes.”

And there was no arguing with him after that, though both Balin and Kili tried.

Elladan sat near the almost-closed door and watched the sky, his eyes focused on something none of the dwarves could see. They left him to his elvish oddities, but Nori hovered rather obviously in case he needed anything.

When Bilbo turned down the tunnel again as the noon sun shone on the step, Elladan left his seat by the door and passed the dwarves, and padded on his quiet feet until he was difficult to distinguish from the shadows of the tunnel. And there he sat with his head cocked, as if listening for a long time.

Thorin was nearly dozing, not even his worry a match for the boredom of waiting, when the elf bounded suddenly to his feet and vanished into the dark of the tunnel.

Elladan’s sudden movement alerted the dwarrow, and they were ready and waiting when the elf and hobbit emerged from the darkness. Bilbo was tucked in close to the elf’s side and they were both quite singed, Elladan the worse, as if he had shielded the hobbit with his body.

Oin and Balin tended them quietly, and Biblo muttered quite incoherently to himself for a time.

The elf sighed softly. “It was well done,” he said gently to the hobbit.

“Never laugh at live dragons,” Bilbo retorted, but he calmed. And he grudgingly spilled the tale of his exchange of words with the dragon. He ended with, "I am sure he knows we came from Lake-town and had help from there; and I have a horrible feeling that his next move may be in that direction. I wish to goodness I had never said that about Barrel-rider; it would make even a blind rabbit in these parts think of the Lake-men."

Balin pressed his hand warmly and insisted, "It cannot be helped, and it is difficult not to slip in talking to a dragon, or so I have always heard!" He added, nodding at Elladan, "I too think you did very well, if you ask me-you found out one very useful thing at any rate, and got home alive, and that is more than most can say who have had words with the likes of Smaug. It may be a mercy and a blessing yet to know of the bare patch in the old Worm's diamond waistcoat."

The thrush trilled softly.

Elladan smiled at it, though Bilbo scowled.

Thorin tried to reassure him. “The thrushes are good and friendly,” he said carefully. “This is a very old bird indeed, and is maybe the last left of the ancient breed that used to live about here, tame to the hands of my father and grandfather.” He could remember, as a pebble, his father talking to the thrushes, and it made something ache in his chest. He had not thought of those far flung days since the lads were young, and he was telling them stories of the Mountain.

While he woolgathered, the others of the company discussed the hollow place in Smaug’s under-armour. Thorin came back to focus when Bilbo interrupted them. “Smaug knows how I came in, and he’s canny enough to know or guess close enough to where this comes out, and I am sure we are quite unsafe on this doorstep!”

“You are very gloomy,” Kili said reproachfully. “He could block the bottom of the tunnel, if he is so worried about us, and he hasn’t–we should have heard it!”

Elladan said, “He has not, but that does not mean he isn’t plotting blocking it from this end, and with our bodies should please him very much.” He looked between them. “Bilbo is right.”

“He probably wanted to lure me in again, but now he will come out and hunt tonight, and like as not destroy this whole side of the mountain.”

Thorin was not convinced, but the elf and the hobbit together were insistent, so the dwarrow eventually went into the tunnel.

Balin flat out refused to shut the tunnel door. “We shall be trapped, and the only way out will be past the dragon. I should prefer that be a last effort, not a first!”

Bilbo grew more and more agitated, and the elf grew quieter and stiller. Elladan stood closest to the door, head tilted as if listening again. Bilbo muttered, “I fear that dragon in my marrow. I like this silence far less than the uproar of last night.”

The elf’s head snapped up, eyes focused on something beyond the door.

“Shut the door,” Bilbo pleaded, even as the elf lunged for the doorstop.

Thorin yelped in alarm as the elf kicked the stone out and shouldered the stone.

It closed with a terrible clang, and Dwalin cried out in objection.

“Now what did you do that for?” Dori protested.

Even before he finished the sentence, a blow smote the side of the mountain and rocks clattered from the ceiling.

Thorin, closest, jerked Bilbo from the path of a larger stone, and the whole company fled further down the tunnel. Dwalin had the elf by the sleeve, towing him along as he bent to shield his head from the low ceiling.

Thorin could not have said how long they sat in darkness and despair and fear.

Eventually, though, the elf said quietly, “I will try the door. I need air.”

“Carefully,” Bofur murmured. “The tunnel may be unstable.”

And so it was. The elf could not even get to the door through the rubble of the collapsed tunnel. “That door shall never open again, key, thrush, and Durin’s Day or no,” Balin observed.

Bilbo was the only one undaunted, for the lack of air seemed to do something strange to the elf. Bilbo said stoutly, "While there's life there's hope!" as my father used to say, and 'Third time pays for all.' I am going down the tunnel once again. I have been that way twice, when I knew there was a dragon at the other end, so I will risk a third visit when I am no longer sure. Anyway the only way out is down. And I think this time you had better all come with me."

Thorin nodded and took his place beside the hobbit. Bilbo would not walk this path alone a third time, not while he had a say. That, and Thorin’s dark-vision was better than Bilbo’s so he knew when they hit the end of the tunnel and Bilbo didn’t.

Which Bilbo illustrated by falling down the stairs. Oops.

There was a long silence, and then Bilbo demanded light.

The other dwarrow tried to shush him, and Bilbo would have none of it. Thorin considered the hobbit to be their resident expert, and would take his word. He sent Oin and Gloin back for torches.

“You’re sure?” he asked the hobbit in an undertone.

Bilbo scoffed. “He’s clearly not at home,” he said.

Elladan hummed agreement, but Thorin wasn’t sure he believed him; the elf’s dark-vision was even worse than the hobbit’s in true-dark like this.

Bilbo took the torch and turned into the hall. The dwarrow refused, but the elf followed at the hobbit’s side. Elladan refused a torch, though, simply staying in the circle of the hobbit’s light.

Thorin watched them go, worry tight in his throat. But the chamber stayed silent. They ascended the treasure pile, and then vanished behind it, and then reappeared to their sights again, winding their slow way across the hall.

Abruptly, the light went out, and Bilbo squeaked alarmingly.

Thorin startled, half a mind to go after him, but Dwalin held his wrist.

“Help!” Biblo shouted.

“Bring a torch,” Elladan called, his voice clear and sharp across the cavern.

Thorin gave the order, and he was the first one across the room to find their burglar.

“It is about our turn to help,” muttered Balin, following, “Anyway I expect it is safe for the moment.”

“No sign of the dragon,” Thorin agreed.

Dwalin grunted, hand on his axe.

“Only a bat,” Bilbo assured them as the circle of light fell across him again. “And a dropped torch, nothing worse.”

“No,” Elladan agreed, staring into the darkness. “There’s nothing dangerous here except what we bring with us.”

“And what does that mean?” Dwalin grumbled.

“Hmm?” Elladan asked, gaze coming to rest on them for the first time. There was a strange look in his eyes.

“Nothing,” Dwalin replied, low-voiced.

Elladan looked unerringly in the direction of the nearest balcony. “I am going outside,” he said. “I will return within the hour.”

“We’ll look for you, if you don’t,” Fili warned him, and they let him go.

The rest of the company was already beginning to wander the cavern. “Stay in sight,” Thorin ordered them, and got a scattered handful of vague acknowledgments.

Fili and Kili were playing with the harps, and Nori, Oin, and Gloin were picking up coins and gems. Dwalin had found the armory, and Balin was sifting through some of the larger artefacts, muttering about history.

Thorin walked slowly around the perimeter of the great room, and then did a slow cross of the middle. Surely the Arkenstone was here somewhere! But he did not find it, and it did not quite feel like time to bring it up.

“Here,” Dwalin called, and Thorin went to him in the armory. “Better gear than we got in Laketown!”

Thorin, who had felt quite naked without his mail and sword, smiled slightly and let his friend help him kit. Then he found the surcoat.

It was glittering mithril, made small. Perhaps for some elvish princeling long ago. It had not come from the armory of Erebor, but Thorin would not frown on the fortune that had put such a thing in his grasp.

Bilbo would look very fine in it.

“Bilbo,” he called. “Come and let us outfit you! It is the very least of what you deserve.”

“Oh,” Bilbo murmured, yielding to the mithril coat and helm and the belt of pearls. Then he laughed. “I feel very fine,” he said, “But I expect I look ridiculous.”

He did not, Thorin thought, but only said, “If you will not take it as a gift, take it as the first of what we owe you.”

Bilbo scoffed. “Never in my life have I received a gift so much, but if it is given freely, in friendship, I would not scorn it.”

Thorin said softly, “It is.”

Bilbo smiled back. “Thorin!” he said softly, “What next? We are armed, but what good has any armour ever been before against Smaug the Dreadful?We were seeking a way of escape; and we have tempted luck too long!”

“You speak the truth!” answered Thorin, shaking himself. How long had he wandered the hall, unthinking of their danger? “Let us go! I will guide you. Not in a thousand years should I forget the ways of this palace.”

“What about Elladan?” Kili asked, pausing framed in a doorway. He was wearing a silver-and-sapphire clip in his dark hair, but didn’t appear to have collected any more treasure–only the armaments they had all collected.

“Here,” the elf said. “And you have not kept your word,” he added to Fili, behind his brother with several more knives than any single dwarf needed but no other ornaments either. “For I have been watching the skies for nearly two hours, and not one of you came looking.”

“Well you found us well enough,” Gloin grumbled.

“And so might have the dragon,” Elladan replied tartly, “With the racket you all were making. But I do not think he will be a trouble to us. There are lights on the Long Lake, and many more lights beside the Long Lake.”

“And what does that mean?” Dwalin grunted. He had the least patience of all of them for Elladan’s wandering speeches.

“Only that the town burns, and the men camp on the shores,” Elladan replied. “But I do not imagine much camping would happen were the dragon not slain.” He shrugged. “Certainly, I saw no sign of him in the skies, and the birdsong was untroubled.”

“No dragon,” Dori said, glancing longingly back towards the treasure chamber.”

“No food, either,” Bilbo grumbled.

“He’s right,” Thorin agreed. “We must go and see what of our supplies can be reclaimed, or feed ourselves as we can.”

“Lead the way,” Bilbo said. “You said you knew the way.”

And so he did, because he did. The destruction of the home of his memory ached sharply in his chest, and not even the hope that the dragon was slain could stir him from his grim thoughts.

Bilbo trotted silently at his side, though, and that helped a little.

Thorin paused for a moment in the ruined feasting hall of his grandfather. He tried to speak, and found the words wouldn’t come.

“This was the feasting hall,” Balin said quietly, when it became clear Thorin couldn’t.

Bilbo squeezed his hand.

Thorin squeezed back, grateful, and then led the way onwards. Feed the hobbit, he instructed himself. The time to grieve will come.

The headwaters of the Running River cheered him, some. There was life, there was hope, and there was–hopefully–no longer a dragon. “There is the birth of the Running River,” he said to Bilbo and the others who could not know. “From here it hastens to the Gate. Let us follow it!”

The gate opened out onto dawn over the plains of Dale. The sun crested gently to the east and sparkled on the water. The dragon’s desolation glittered, fairer in this light than any other, shielded as it was from truth by the twilight.

“Light and air!” Bilbo said brightly. “But still no food.”

“Perhaps we ought not stay here on the step, if the elf is wrong and the dragon may return,” Dwalin said, looking south towards the lake.

Elladan too, was staring south. His head was cocked. “The birds are gathering,” he murmured.

Thorin glanced at him, but the elf had been queer for several days now, since the dragon had smashed the mountain, and Thorin had not the time to parse it now. “The old watch station?” he suggested.

“A hard walk,” Balin murmured, “If the road is smashed.”

“Dear me!” grumbled the hobbit. “More walking and more climbing without breakfast! I wonder how many breakfasts, and other meals, we have missed inside that nasty clockless, timeless hole?”

“Come, come!” said Thorin laughing—his spirits had begun to rise again, and he rattled the precious stones in his pockets. “Don’t call my palace a nasty hole! You wait till it has been cleaned and redecorated!” He offered Bilbo a slight smile, trying to share his joy.

Bilbo smiled wanly. “I suppose,” he agreed. “Only it is very hard to keep my spirits up with so little food.”

“Fair,” Thorin agreed. “And hopefully there will be foraging along the way, lest our burglar waste away.”

“Two nights,” Elladan said. “And the day between, we lost in the dark of the mountain.” His nostrils flared as he looked skyward again. “Winter draws nigh.”

Dwalin caught Thorin’s gaze and rolled his eyes extravagantly. Elves, he might have shouted, so clear was the look.

Thorin smirked back.

The bridge was ruined, as Balin had feared, but there was a bullace bush near the bank and a patch of sloes nearby. Thorin made a call. “Let’s stop here, in the shelter of the valley, and eat. Then we can consider our path.”

Bilbo fell to with good will, despite the bitterness of the berries. The dwarves joined him slowly. The elf stood with his head tilted, looking south, for a moment more before joining them.

It was Fili who nudged him. “You’ve been exceedingly elvish of late, friend,” he said softly.

Kili said, “You have! What is it?”

Elladan sighed. “I apologize. I shall endeavor to be less elvish in the future.”

“Or you could tell us the problem,” Kili prodded.

“If aught is ill, we would amend it,” Thorin added.

Elladan looked sharply at him, and for a moment, he reminded Thorin of no one so much as Lord Elrond, weighing their quest in the moonlight. Then he sighed and was merely their friend again. “I am unsettled, and I do not know why. Foresight runs in my family, but it has never been my gift. But I’m worried about my brother, and something about this mountain simmers in my belly, even without the dragon.”

“An ill feeling is nothing much to go on,” Bofur said apologetically.

Elladan shrugged. “I know,” he said. “But all I know is that nothing good has ever come of fighting over treasure.”

“Who’s fighting over it?” Dwalin growled.

Elladan shrugged.

Bilbo fidgeted nervously. “I don’t want to fight,” he said. “Surely it’s yours?”

“Well, most of it,” Balin said. “Some belonged to Dale.”

“There’s no one left of that line,” Ori argued.

“Girion was slain,” Balin said, “But plenty of the folk of Dale escaped.”

“A pointless argument, since the dragon took it all, and it is now in the mountain,” Thorin said, something stirring in his chest.

“Look, the thrush!” Bilbo said. “He seems to have survived the destruction of the mountainside.”

“Is he trying to communicate?” Kili asked.

“I believe he is trying to tell us something,” said Balin; “but I cannot follow the speech of such birds, it is very quick and difficult. Can you make it out Bilbo, Elladan?”

Bilbo shook his head, but Elladan cocked his head. “He speaks Westron well, for a bird! Some of my kin speak the tongues of birds, but I can manage Westron in a thrush accent.” He smiled. “He says the dragon is dead, he saw it die three nights ago, on the Long Lake. But he brings a warning: news of Smaug’s death has gone far already, and already folk come to see the treasure claimed.”

Thorin felt fury surge through him. “None shall have our treasure!” he cried. “Thrush, friend, are the ravens of Ravenhill still about, can they be called upon?”

The thrush trilled and flew away.

Elladan said, “He also said not to trust the Master of Laketown, but the bowman who slew the dragon is of the line of Girion of Dale, and he is both grim and true. Bard is his name, and he is a worthy ally.”

“I will not buy allies in gold,” Thorin snapped.

Elladan looked away, and shortly a great raven settled on the bush nearby. “I am Roac, son of Carc,” he said. “And I have come for the old friendship between the Ravens of the Hill and the people of Durin.”

“Glad I am to renew our friendship, son of my friend,” Thorin said softly.

“This counsel will I offer,” Roac said. “Thirteen is small remnant of the great folk of Durin that once dwelt here, and now are scattered far. We would see peace once more among dwarves and men and elves after the long desolation; but it may cost you dear in gold. I have spoken.”

Thorin snarled silently. He would not buy allies or yield gold unearned. “You and your people shall not be forgotten,” he told the old raven. “But none of our gold shall thieves take or the violent carry off while we are alive. If you would earn our thanks still more, bring us news of any that draw near. Also I would beg of you, if any of you are still young and strong of wing, that you would send messengers to our kin in the mountains of the North, both west from here and east, and tell them of our plight. But go specially to my cousin Dain in the Iron Hills, for he has many people well-armed, and dwells nearest to this place. Bid him hasten!”

“I will not say if this counsel be good or bad,” croaked Roäc, “but I will do what can be done.” Then off he slowly flew.

Elladan was looking south again. “There is an army marching below those birds,” he said. “I see the lights on their weapons, but I cannot say who they are.”

“I can,” Thorin growled. “Elves.”

Elladan narrowed his eyes. “Perhaps,” he agreed. “I cannot say who could make it here in such time except Thranduil, that’s true.”

“Back now to the Mountain!” cried Thorin. “We have little time to lose.”

“And little food to use!” cried Bilbo, always practical on such points.

Thorin had no time to reassure him. They had fortifications to lay in.

Chapter Text

“It does not do to leave a live dragon out of your calculations, if you live near him.”

Leaned low over Wilwarin’s neck, teeth gritted against the pain of the arrow in his shoulder, Elrohir was well on his way to Lorien before he realised that while Gwaerhin was keeping pace behind Wilwarin, his brother wasn’t on his horse.

He was too close to the borders of the wood, and losing too much blood too quickly, to be able to turn back, but when Haldir carefully gathered him off Wilwarin, he managed to get out, “Search for Adan,” before he blacked out.

He woke with his grandmother running her fingers through her hair, singing softly in Quenya.

“Grandfather hates that song,” he rasped.

“He’s searching for your brother, so he needn’t know,” Galadriel replied, cradling his head to pour tea into his mouth. She shook her head grimly in reply to his questioning look. “They followed your trail back to the site of your skirmish, and there’s no sign of him.”

Elrohir closed his eyes, probing his bond with his twin. All he could tell was that Elladan was alive. Which was better than nothing, but not particularly helpful in finding him.

“Rest,” his grandmother admonished him. “You’re healing well, but they had to cut the head out of your shoulder, and it’s going to hurt for a time.”

His arm was bound to his chest, he could tell, to immobilize the joint, and there was a dull ache behind the slow spread of numbness from the tea. He knew it would heal faster, allowing him to go after Elladan sooner, if he rested, so he let his body go lax against the bedding again.

Galadriel picked her song back up mid-verse, and the old song of Valinor followed him into dreams.

He dreamed of dark tunnels and Elladan’s pain, and dwarves. He woke again for food and more pain-relieving tea and said, “I think he’s okay.”

Galadriel smiled. “He’s hidden from me, even when I look, but I trust your bond.”

“He’s not sleeping much,” he said. Wryly, he added, “Not like me, but when he does I can see his dreams. He’s not afraid, and he’s not particularly worried, except maybe about me.”

Galadriel said, “Glorfindel arrived yesterday. He said your father had a bad feeling. When you’re up for it, he’ll ride with you, wherever you’re going.”

Elrohir smiled. “Good,” he said softly. He was going looking for Elladan well before his shoulder would be out of its sling, so Glaur’s help would be invaluable on the road. “I’ll be glad of his presence, and his help.”

His grandfather arrived with dinner, then. “It’s good to see you awake,” he said gravely, his smile small and soft.

Elrohir let his grandparents help him sit up. “Good to be awake. I dreamed about Adan. He’s okay.”

Celeborn sighed in soft relief, and held the bowl of soup so Elrohir could eat. “Your battle site did not leave me with great confidence,” he admitted softly. “There were signs of goblins everywhere, and no evidence of any other tracks anywhere. And I know as well as you how hard it is to track Elladan when he doesn’t want to be, but the fact that he hadn’t followed your very obvious trail is. Worrying.”

Elrohir hummed. “He got taken,” he said. “I’m pretty sure. But he’s free now, and he keeps dreaming of dwarves.”

“Dwarves?” Galadriel asked.

Elrohir shrugged his good shoulder. “I don’t know. But he’s not hungry and not in pain, so if there are dwarves, they’re taking care of him.”

Celeborn sighed. He had no great love of dwarves, but he knew it was a prejudice not grounded facts and tried not to let it influence him. “If they have helped him, I suppose I will be grateful,” he said, letting his mouth twist wryly.

Galadriel kissed his cheek. “You will be gracious, if you’re even involved,” she said. “Adan certainly wouldn’t bring them here.”

Celeborn inclined his head. “I will be grateful from afar,” he said. “And much happier for it.”

The soup bowl emptied; Elrohir had been hungrier than he’d realised. “Down again?” he asked. “I’m tired, all of a sudden.”

“Good,” Galadriel replied. “Rest.”

Elrohir obeyed, despite wishing it could be other.

Elrohir was awake for more time and moving slowly about his talan when Mithrandir arrived. Celeborn helped Elrohir down the ladder to join the discussion in Galadriel’s receiving chamber, part of the great royal talan.

“Elrohir!” Mithrandir said, smiling.

Elrohir waved his good arm.

“Well that is one mystery solved,” the wizard said, cheerfully enough despite his grave countenance. “Your brother will be deeply relieved.”

“You’ve seen Adan!” Elrohir cried, sitting forward.

“I have indeed, and a great use he was if I am honest,” Mithrandir said. “Briefly, for unfortunately my errand is grim and urgent, I was traveling with a company of dwarves on an unrelated errand when we stumbled upon your brother in the goblin tunnels, and made him part of our escape. He was a little worse for their keeping, but in good spirits, and when I left him he had made friends with the dwarves and had agreed to guide them through the Greenwood.”

“Of course he had,” Elrohir muttered. “But he’s all right?”

“Beorn helped the healer of the dwarven company tend to his injuries, and he was in good health and good spirits when I left him,” Mithrandir promised.

Elrohir sighed his relief, and then nodded to his grandparents.

“What is your urgent errand with us, then?” Galadriel asked.

Mithrandir nodded grimly. “I have finally had word from Curunir, and he accedes that allowing Gorthaur to remain in Dol Guldur, collecting rings of power is not wise. We should strike now.”

Galadriel nodded slowly. “Glorfindel is here, and would ride with us,” she said. “And Elrond could be here in a few weeks, if you are willing to wait.”

Mithrandir nodded. “I think we must,” he said. “And give Curunir time to get here. He is coming north from Isengard, where he has been reading the records.”

“Well then,” Galadriel said gravely. “We have much to prepare for. I’ll send Elrond a message.”

“Tell him we’re fine,” Elrohir said.

Galadriel kissed his forehead as she went past, aiming for her desk. “Of course,” she said.

Elrohir, his grandfather at his elbow for when he inevitably tired, started descending the steps of the great tree, as he had done twice daily since he’d gotten back on his feet. He was slowly building his stamina again, and his shoulder barely hurt at all as long as he didn’t jar it.

“You’ll ride with them, won’t you?” Celeborn asked.

“Just to the forest,” he said. “Then I’ll turn north looking for Adan.”

Celeborn nodded. “If you were hale and fighting fit, still I would be glad of it, and like this I cannot speak to my gratitude for your good sense.”

“Or my worry,” Elrohir said wryly. “No, I know I’ve no business in a direct confrontation with Gorthaur.”

Celeborn kissed his temple.

They made it to ground level, and Elrohir turned back up the steps. “Hopefully it won’t take them long to run him off, and Glaur can come north to help me,” he added. “Because I probably need help, but I’d rather he go with the White Council, rather than me in this case.”

“He will too,” Celeborn predicted. “But he’ll be as torn about it as you are.”

“More,” Elrohir said glumly, and paused against a railing to breathe. He hated how weak he still was.

Curunir had arrived in Lorien, and Elrond was crossing the Hithaeglir when the letter from Thranduil came. It was addressed to Celeborn, clearly a personal letter rather than a diplomatic correspondence.

Celeborn laughed uproariously as he read it.

Galadriel, Elrohir, Glorfindel, and Mithrandir waited with visible eagerness for the contents of the letter. Curunir was also interested, but trying to hide it.

Chuckling, Celeborn read out, “Dear Celeborn. And also your wife, I guess.”

Galadriel cackled gleefully.

“I have been the unfortunate host to a number of dwarves; I know you will feel my pain. Perhaps you can also feel my frustration when I tell you that your grandson was guiding said dwarves, had indeed, brought them into my forest himself.” Celeborn looked at Elrohir. “Confirmation he did go to the Greenwood, then.”

“I’m sure that went over well,” Elrohir said wryly, fully aware of how somehow Thranduil seemed to like Elladan even less than Elrohir or Elrond.

Celeborn continued, “I confess I may have been overhasty in choosing to show my displeasure by playing a joke on them (he spent a very small amount of time in a dungeon).”

“He what?” Galadriel demanded sharply.

Celeborn waved at her to be quiet. “But I promise you I meant to release them promptly,” he continued, “Except for the small issue of them releasing themselves.”

Elrohir laughed aloud at this.

Celeborn finished, “There are dwarves loose in my kingdom Celeborn, and it's your grandson's fault. Make him stop.”

“Serves him right,” Galadriel grumbled.

“How much yelling do you imagine Legolas did when he discovered Thranduil had locked Elladan up?” Elrohir inquired.

Celeborn laughed, tipping his head back. “He probably hasn’t stopped yet,” he replied when he could speak again.

Elrohir grinned. “I’ll head straight for the woodelves, then,” he said. “When I split from you.”

“I like that,” Glorfindel said. “It makes me feel better about leaving you.”

“I think I’m leaving you,” Elrohir answered.

Glaur patted his good shoulder. “Still,” he said.

Elrohir rolled his eyes, but allowed the fussing without further complaint.

His shoulder was out of its sling and only twinged when he strained it by the time his father arrived and it was time to turn north, so Elrohir was less concerned about his ability to travel solo than he had been before the extra wait of White Council had been added to his plans. And then between Gawerhin and Wilwarin, Elrohir hardly had to worry about danger at all. Then the woodelves on patrol found him only a few hours after entering the woods.

Taurphen, the patrol leader, greeted Elrohir cheerfully and took charge of Gwaerhin with a few polite words to the horse. Gwaerhin acceded, but the tilt of his ears suggested Taurphen was on sufferance.

“Sorry,” Elrohir said. “He’s a one-elf horse.”

Taurphen bowed generously to Gwaerhin. “I know, friend,” he said gently. “I’m not your elf, nor would I try to be. I’m only trying to help Elrohir manage, as he seems to be down a hand.”

Gawerhin snorted, but consented to be led.

Taurphen issued orders to his patrol, and they vanished into the trees. He walked along easily at Wilwarin’s side, Gawerhin trailing them. “His majesty will be glad to see you,” he said.

“That’ll be a change,” Elrohir said wryly.

Taurphen, who knew the twins well after their long friendship with Legolas, chuckled. “It will,” he agreed. “But the Prince is in a towering fury at his father, and the king will be glad to see you, if you can smooth things over.”

Elrohir shrugged his good shoulder. “I make no promises, but it will be good to see Las.”

Taurphen shook his head. “According to Lachiel, you could hear the prince yelling three floors down.”

Elrohir huffed. Legolas was generally soft spoken, a more thoughtful and generous version of his father, but when he was in a temper, he was every inch his mother’s son. Pelilassiel had been a tempest. “I mean. He locked my brother in a dungeon. I’m not sure I’m not going to shout too.”

Taurphen inclined his head ruefully. “It would be deserved, I think. None of us can figure out what he was thinking, throwing Lord Elrond’s oldest in a cell, even as a joke, which Lachiel swears he meant it to be.”

Elrohir shook his head. “His letter to my grandfather suggested that he did,” he agreed. “I can only assume Adan was very trying.”

Taurphen chuckled. “Lachiel was on the door, you can ask her when we get there.”

Elrohir intended to do so, once he’d greeted the king and caught up with Legolas.

According to the gate guards, Legolas was with the king when they arrived, so Elrohir would get to see them simultaneously.

Taurphen announced him and then took position next to Lachiel on the door, obviously angling to hear what was said.

There was almost ice in the air between the king on his throne and the prince standing on the edge of the dais.

Elrohir inclined his head in a very proper Sindarin bow to a king from the heir of another realm. “King Thranduil,” he greeted very evenly.

“You don’t have any dwarves, do you?” Thranduil grumbled.

Elrohir retorted, “I don’t. Should I? Is that the new custom?”

“No!” Thranduil cried.

Legolas’ stern facade cracked, mouth twitching.

Elrohir cocked an eyebrow. “As you can imagine, my lord, I’m here looking for my brother. Last I heard he was here.”

“Yeah dad,” Legolas said lightly. “Where’s Elladan?”

“I don’t know,” Thranduil grumbled. “I don’t keep track of him!”

“Clearly not,” Legolas sing-songed.

Thranduil sighed. “Look, I’m sorry I locked him up and you can tell your father I said so, but I thought they would give in.”

“Have you ever met a dwarf?” Elrohir asked before he could consider the words.

Thranduil narrowed his eyes at him.

Elrohir shook his head. “Forgive me sire,” he said. “I didn’t mean it like that. Only that they are, to a dwarrow, the most stubborn, pig-headed group I have ever met. And then there’s Elladan.”

Legolas huffed a laugh. “He is impressively stubborn,” he agreed.

“I thought he would realise I was messing with them,” Thranduil grumbled.

“He was hurt,” Elrohir said. “He might’ve had other things on his mind.”

“No, what?” Thranduil said, sounding very surprised. “He was fine.”

Elrohir shook his head. “He’d been injured in the goblin tunnels. Beorn tended it.”

“The dwarf-king did ask for healing supplies,” one of the nearby guards said. “I’d forgotten.”

Thranduil turned narrow eyes on the hapless guard. “He. What?” he asked very dangerously.

The guard blinked, seeming to realise his danger. “Uh. I gave them to him?”

Legolas said, very softly, “And you didn’t get a healer?”

The guard looked from the king to the prince. “Uh.”

Lachiel whistled. “To the course, Nangirion,” she ordered sharply.

He fled with a grateful look at his captain.

Thranduil snarled softly after him. “I didn’t know,” he told Elrohir, sounding more tired than Elrohir had ever heard him. “I am,” he added wryly, “Regretting many of my choices right now.”

“I just want to find him,” Elrohir said. “Where did they go?”

“We don’t know,” Legolas said. “Genuinely, we don’t know how they got out.”

Elrohir raised his eyebrows. “You lost my brother and a group of dwarves?”

“Thirteen of them,” Legolas agreed.

“Thorin Oakenshield was their leader,” Thranduil said. “They had to have been heading to the mountain. Elladan was the only one who told me anything, but he insisted they were heading to visit kin in the Iron Hills. But I know the Durin line, and that was definitely the King Under the Mountain. Where else could they have been going?”

Elrohir tipped his face skyward. “Of course he’s gotten himself involved in a quest with a dragon,” he muttered. To Thranduil, he said, “I appreciate the information. And if I find my brother in one piece, I’m sure I can find some generosity in my heart to explain this to my father and grandparents in a reasonable way.”

Thranduil sighed again. “I’ll write Celeborn again in light of this new information,” he said. “I assume you’re heading on to the Long Lake? I will send some of my folk with you.”

“I’ll lead them,” Legolas said, and his tone brooked no argument.

Thranduil looked like he wanted to protest, but met Legolas’ cold eyes and inclined his head.

“Come,” Legolas told Elrohir. “Let me make you comfortable here, and we’ll leave in the morning.”

“I’m grateful,” Elrohir admitted. He was tired. “Oh shit,” he said aloud. “I’m so tired I forgot I have a letter from Curunir.”

Thranduil’s eyebrows hiked.

Elrohir fished the letter–Curunir had signed it, but Galadriel and Elrond had written most of it between them–from his gambeson. “The White Council sends their regards, their respects, and a request for forgiveness rather than permission.

Thranduil’s eyes narrowed as he opened the letter. “Explain,” he said when he had read the brief half dozen lines.

Elrohir shrugged. “Gorthaur is in Dol Guldur. You know that, I know that, the White Council knows that. They’re running him off.”

“Now?” Thranduil hissed.

“Informally,” Elrohir added, “Grandfather indicated it might be politic of me to mention in this moment that you lost my brother.”

Thranduil sat back in his throne, frowning. “This is Curunir’s doing,” he said after a moment. “Galadriel’s been after him about Dol Guldur since the dragon came.”

Elrohir said nothing. His father had also expressed frustration with Curunir’s hesitation.

Thranduil grumbled in irritation, but waved Elrohir off. “Thank you for the missive,” he said. “Legolas, see him into bed before he falls over.”

“Yes sire,” Legolas said, and ushered Elrohir out of the throne room. “Oh I’m so sorry,” he said as soon as they were out of earshot. “I was on patrol or I’d never have let him.”

Elrohir shook his head. “It’s not your fault your father’s sense of humor leaves something to be desired,” he insisted. “And I’m not going to be mad till I know if Adan is.”

“He won’t be,” Legolas grumbled.

“Which is fine, because you appear mad enough for all three of us,” Elrohir said.

Legolas sighed. “I am,” he said. “I can’t imagine what he was thinking.”

“Dwarves,” Elrohir said wryly. “And you know how Adan pushes all his buttons. I’m sure he wasn’t thinking.”

Legolas inclined his head, but didn’t answer. He guided Elrohir into the guest suite he always shared with Elladan when they visited, and scooped up Elrohir’s weapons–and Elladan’s– on his way out. “I’ll clean these for you,” he said. “And be ready in the morning.”

Elrohir waved halfheartedly after him, already collapsing into bed. His shoulder hurt, he was exhausted, and he missed Elladan like a phantom limb.

Gwaerhin greeted Legolas with great happiness and pushed and nuzzled and pouted until Legolas agreed to ride him. “And what am I supposed to do when we find Adan, hmm?” Legolas asked him. “Walk?”

Gwaerhin blew dismissively and turned towards the gates.

Elrohir chuckled. Wilwarin followed Gwaerhin with her ears up. She was ready to be moving again too.

They made good time through the woods, Gwaerhin eager to find his elf again and Wilwarin always ready to stretch her legs, but not quite good enough time that they weren’t going to have to camp at least once on the way to the Long Lake.

They were, in fact, setting up camp in the brush near the edge of the river, the mountain two days on horseback to their north and the Long Lake one to their east, when the mountain belched fire.

“Down,” Elrohir hissed to the horses, and Gwaerhin and Wilwarin both folded to the earth and let Elrohir hide them in the brush while Legolas frantically extinguished their fire.

They crouched together under Elrohir’s cloak–woven by his grandmother and the best camouflage he’d ever had–and watched the dragon cut across the sky.

This was not a dragon hunting for food. There was no leisurely search for prey. This was a dragon on the warpath, and he bore down on the town of Esgaroth with all the destructive inevitability of a wildfire.

Legolas made a soft noise of dismay as the dragon belched flame and the roofs caught. “I have to tell my father,” he said softly. “The treaty–we owe them aid.”

“Go,” Elrohir said, straightening. “Wilwarin’s faster.”

“I’ll be quicker afoot, in the trees,” Legolas replied, and he scooped up his pack and was gone.

Gwaerhin whickered softly as he left. Elrohir brushed his palm over the stallion’s nose gently.

Elrohir watched the dragon’s destruction of the town with his lower lip between his teeth and his heart in his throat. He was too far even for elven ears to pick up the dragon’s warcries, but he did see the jerk in his flight.

Then Smaug plummeted straight into the lake.

Elrohir hissed, lunging to his feet.

Steam billowed up from the lake, obscuring everything. He paced, waiting for the skies to clear again. Waiting to know.

Finally, finally, in the small hours of the morning, a breeze picked up enough to blow the clouds off the lake.

Fires on the shores, campfires. The refugees of the town, Elrohir thought, squinting in the gloom. Bits of the town were still burning, but the scale of destruction was impossible for Elrohir to gauge in the dark. But it was clear, the dragon was dead, and there were survivors.

Elrohir looked at the horses. “What do you think?” he asked them softly. “Go help, or keep looking for Adan?”

Wilwarin stood, scattering brush around her. She shook the bracken off her flanks, and she crossed to Elrohir to nuzzle his shoulder.

Gwaerhin was looking towards the mountain, where Elrohir’s bond insisted Elladan was. He huffed softly.

Wilwarin’s tail flicked, and she looked north. Then she pushed him towards the lake. Gwaerhin snorted, and turned as well.

“Okay,” Elrohir said, sighing. “We go to the Lake.”

He walked, leading the two horses in the dark, finding his footing carefully. He took a brief rest when the sun was high, and then pushed onwards. He arrived at the Lake just before midnight.

“Ho the camp!” he called, approaching the edge of the nearest circle of firelight.

“Who goes?” someone called.

“A traveller,” Elrohir answered. “I saw the dragon strike from upriver, and came to see what aid I may be.”

“One person,” the voice scoffed. “Another mouth to feed.”

“I’m a healer,” Elrohir answered. “And I brought my own supplies.”

“Bring him in,” another voice said.

A stern-faced man rose from the nearest fire and came to meet Elrohir. “I’m Bard,” he said. “Welcome to the Long Lake.”

“Elrohir Elrondion,” he answered. “And if a message could be sent to whoever’s in charge, I can tell them–I was traveling with Prince Legolas of the Greenwood, and he returned to his father’s halls to bring aid, in the name of the treaty between you.”

“I’m as close to in charge as we’ve got,” Bard said. “And I am glad to hear it.”

Elrohir gestured for Gwaerhin and Wilwarin to stay, and stepped forward into the circle of light.

There was an immediate reaction from the men of the Lake.

Elrohir smiled. “You met my brother, Elladan, then,” he said.

Bard exhaled slowly. “We did indeed.” He gestured for Elrohir to join him by the fire. “He left the Lake thirteen days ago, in the company of a number of dwarves and a strange creature who called himself a hobbit.”

Elrohir nodded. “They are known to me, though the specific one is not.”

Bard said, “They were bound for the mountain,” he said, and then more gently, “The wrath of the dragon’s coming, it is unlikely they survived.”

“He lives,” Elrohir replied.

Bard clearly didn’t think his chances were good, but Elrohir could feel Elladan’s dreams. “You say you’re a healer?” Bard said instead.

Elrohir nodded. “And I will be glad to help as I can.”

“The herb women and the doctors who survived are on the banks, using the cool of the water to soothe the burns. My watch is nearly over and I’m done in, but my Bain’ll take you.”

“Yes Da,” a boy at the fireside said brightly, bounding to his feet.

“My thanks,” Elrohir said. “I’ll settle my horses myself when I’ve seen the patients,” he added. “Best no one else touch them. Gwaerhin’s wartrained, and he doesn’t like strangers.”

In illustration, Gwaerhin lowered his head and pinned his ears at a man with a torch passing too close. Wilwarin stood nose to hip with him, and her ears were turned out watchfully.

“Follow me!” Bain said, and led the way.

Elrohir followed the boy around the edge of the camp. “Thank you,” he said softly.

“You’re welcome,” the boy said easily. “Da says to never turn down help when it offers!”

“That’s good advice,” Elrohir agreed.

“Mistress Hilda,” Bain said, catching the edge of a woman’s apron. “This is Elrohir Elrondion, and he’s a healer. Da sent him over.”

“Bema praised,” the woman said, looking Elrohir over. “And elf healer. I won’t turn you away.”

Elrohir ducked his head. “You know your work, Mistress,” he said. “Put me where I’ll be most use.”

And Mistress Hilda did so, her hands ever steady and her voice soft and kind.

There were as many crush and fall injuries as there were burns, and these Elrohir mostly left to the competent human doctors and herb women. The badly burned, though, he tended with an herb-paste of his father’s recipe and a soft Healing Song on his lips.

Mistress Hilda went to bed with the dawning, and the doctor who took her place was no less confident and no less glad of Elrohir’s help. He had a good heart too, often checking to see if Elrohir needed to rest.

The sun was sliding behind the Hithaeglir by the time Elrohir felt comfortable leaving his patients, and he returned to Bard’s fire.

Thranduil, Legolas, and a well-dressed and very grumpy man, had joined Bard and Bain.

There was also a man nursing newly broken fingers.

“He warned you,” Bard said wryly.

“Gwaerhin,” Leoglas said in explanation.

Elrohir inclined his head, rubbed the stallion’s chevron with his palm, and said, “I did warn them.”

Gawerhin huffed.

Elrohir removed both horses’ tack and settled it near the rock Legolas was sitting on, and then joined his friend on the rock.

The horses wandered off to graze.

“Supplies are being distributed, our craftsmen are talking with yours about rebuilding and now that Elrohir has rejoined us, let us come to the heart of the matter,” Thranduil said to the grumpy man. “You want to march on the mountain in force.”

“No force needed,” the man said.

“He’s the Master of Laketown,” Legolas murmured near his ear. “And everyone hates him.”

“It’s unlikely the dragon left anyone alive,” Bard agreed.

“Bard slew the dragon, he’s the popular leader,” Legolas added softly.

“My brother is alive, and he isn’t distressed,” Elrohir said. “So I think it likely that the dwarves are also alive.”

“How do you know?” the man with the broken finger demanded.

“We’re twins,” Elrohir said. “And we’re. Connected is the best word I can come up with in Westron right now. At this distance we can’t communicate, but I know he’s there, and I know he’s not upset.”

The Master scoffed.

Bard looked thoughtful.

“Full force is still hardly needed against fifteen people,” the Master said.

“I fail to see the purpose,” Thranduil said.

“They woke the dragon, they caused the destruction. Recompense is owed,” the Master retorted.

“I am heir of Dale,” Bard said quietly. “And the treasures of Dale do not belong to the Kingdom Under the Mountain.”

Thranduil hummed. “A threat in force is hardly going to make the King Under the Mountain prone to listening to your suit,” he observed.

“He seemed reasonable,” Bard said, but he sounded skeptical.

“You have never met a dwarf when payment is in question,” Thranduil said darkly.

Legolas squeezed his father’s wrist.

“I’m riding the mountain in the morning,” Elrohir said. “I can make an overture, if you like.”

The Master scoffed and hemmed and hawed, but Bard regarded Elrohir shrewdly for a long time. Elrohir met his gaze steadily.

“I liked your brother,” Bard said. “In our brief interactions. And I appreciate that you turned aside from your errand to help us. I will trust you to press the suit of the people of Dale.”

Elrohir nodded gravely. “I will do my best to requite that trust,” he said.

The Master scoffed, but eventually allowed that Elrohir could broach the matter, until the men could arrive to do their own negotiating.

Elrohir and Legolas went to care for the horses, uninterested in the rest of the discussion. “How long until the Master talks the men into marching on the mountain, and your father follows to try to keep things sane?” Elrohir asked when they were out of earshot.

“When my father is the voice of sanity, there is a problem,” Legolas replied. “A week,” he judged, “Before greed gets in the way of good sense.”

Elrohir sighed. “Perhaps I will have talked the dwarrow around by then.”

“Do you really think you can?” Legolas asked.

“Elladan might be able to,” Elrohir conceded. “He knows them.”

Legolas nodded. “To be true, I would like to be on the road, but I know you’re right that we should wait till morning.”

“I’ve made Wilwarin and Gwaerhin walk in the dark enough this trip,” Elrohir replied. “Not tonight, not without more need.”

Legolas nodded, stroking Gwaerhin’s shoulder. In unspoken agreement, they rested with the horses that night, probably deepening the men’s opinions on the strangeness of elves, but enjoying the peaceful quiet of the plains.

Headed north across the plains, his bond with Elladan opened up abruptly.

Rohir? Elladan asked.

Adan! Elrohir cried, heart leaping in his chest. Are you all right?

I’m fine, Elladan promised. Your shoulder?

All but healed, Elrohir answered.

“Is that Adan?” Legolas asked.

Elrohir nodded. Legolas is with me, he added.

Tell him his dungeons suck, Elladan replied promptly.

When Elrohir repeated this aloud, Legolas laughed, slumping down to press his face into Gwaerhin’s mane.

Oh, I see you! Elladan said.

You’re in the Mountain, then, Elrohir said, just to be sure.

Elladan agreed wordlessly. They’re fortifying it, he said grimly, Because they saw the army on the horizon.

It’s the woodelves, Elrohir said. They came to help the men of the Lake.

Thorin is convinced they’re coming for his treasure. There was a tension on the his that had all of Elladan’s worry and dismay behind it.

So I should probably hold off on mentioning that Girion’s heir is interested in rebuilding Dale?

Elladan palpably winced.

Or that the Master wants reparations for them sending the dragon down on the town?

Maybe let me start that conversation, Elladan said slowly.

I’m glad you’re all right, Elrohir said. When Thranduil said you didn’t realise he was messing with you, I was worried.

Yes, I realised that later, Elladan said. In my defense I was quite feverish for the first bit.

Adan!

Whip-lashes get infected like anything, you know that, Elladan said, as if to wave away his concerns.

You are not helping, Elrohir hissed in reply.

You had an arrow in your shoulder, you don’t get to yell at me about injuries, Elladan retorted.

I went straight to Grandma, though, Elrohir replied. And you went, where, Beorn’s?

He helped, Elladan said. And then I fell in the Enchanted River, and that made everything worse.

Adan, Elrohir moaned softly.

I’m fine, Elladan insisted. And I didn’t get eaten by the dragon even a little!

Yes, we’re still talking about you joining a quest later. I thought we agreed: no quests without both of us!

I didn’t mean to, Elladan protested. Oh, shit, dwarves, got to go! And then he was gone.

Elrohir buried his face in Wilwarin’s mane.

“That good, huh?” Legolas asked.

Elrohir related all his brother had told him of his adventure so far.

“Not even a little eaten,” Legolas agreed, laughing a little.

It was evening again before Elladan loosened his hold on their bond enough to talk. I’m on watch, he said. I see your camp.

Elrohir tipped his head up, focusing. At this distance, the gate of the mountain was visible, half-blocked by a stone wall. They’re building, he observed.

Elladan hummed agreement in his mind. Thorin is determined that no one will have his treasure. Ironfoot is on his way from the Iron Hills to ensure it.

Elrohir sighed. Thranduil is stalling the Master of Laketown, he told his brother. But I don’t know how long it’ll hold.

It won’t, Elladan replied. Ravens brought word this morning that the men of the Lake were headed this direction.

Elrohir cursed softly, aloud.

Legolas made a questioning noise.

“You and I both overestimated your father’s ability to make the men heed sense.”

Legolas cursed too. “They’re coming here?”

“According to the ravens.”

You’ll be here before they reach the ruins of Dale, Elladan said reassuringly. You could push a little tomorrow and be here by dusk.

Elrohir sighed. “We’ll start early,” he said, both to Legolas and his brother.

“Who goes?” a dwarf challenged.

“Hail and well met, dwarrow and friends!” Elrohir called. “I am called Elrohir, and you count my brother Elladan among your companions!”

“Who’s with you?” the voice demanded.

“I am Legolas, called Greenleaf,” Legolas replied. “And I came bearing apologies and regrets from my father, the king of the woodland realm.”

There was a scoff.

Legolas said, “I have no intention of pressing where I am not welcome, and if you do not want me, I will take the horses down and camp on the plains until such time as my companions rejoin me.”

“We have no interest in words from the wood,” the dwarf replied.

Legolas bowed politely in the direction of the wall, and turned Gwaerhin back down the narrow trail.

Elrohir dismounted, shouldered his pack, and sent Wilwarin after them. “What of me?” he asked. “May I speak to my brother?”

“You are welcome and we would call you friend, for the great deeds your brother has done for us,” the dwarf replied. “And if you are as deft as he, I think you will not find it difficult to climb the wall.”

“I do not,” Elrohir agreed. “But thought it courteous to wait for permission.”

There was a bark of laughter from within, and Elladan called, “Come on up, Rohir!”

Elrohir scaled the dry stonework easily. It was already taller now than it had been the night before, nearly thrice a man’s height, and leaving very little room for an elf of Elrohir’s stature, bearing a pack, to slip between the top and the ceiling. He clambered down just as easily, and was immediately caught in his brother’s tight embrace.

“Adan,” he breathed.

Elladan clutched him tightly, face pressed into his neck. “You’re okay,” he whispered after a moment, and finally eased back. “Rohir, meet the company!”

Elrohir bowed politely, hand over heart, as Elladan gave him the names of the company. It was Balin, son of Fundin who’d been doing the talking, but Thorin Oakenshield watched with stern eyes.

Elrohir gave Bilbo Baggins a firm handshake and a polite greeting, knowing well how the shire-folk had their dealings, and greeted each of the others politely in dwarvish fashion.

“And you are not the worse for your part in the goblin adventure?” Balin asked him. “Elladan was quite worried about you!”

“Arrow to the shoulder,” Elrohir said. “But my grandmother’s healers are good, and I am none the worse for it. I appreciate the care you have taken my brother,” he said. “Particularly you, King Thorin,” he added. “I was told it was you who tended him in the dungeons of the wood, when no healer would be sent. I am grateful.”

Thorin scoffed, waving away the gratitude. “Nothing that would have needed doing were that place less wretched and its people less cruel,” he said.

Elrohir inclined his head. “If you will,” he began hesitantly, “The guard was reprimanded most sternly for not sending a healer, when the king and the prince learned of his actions.”

Thorin narrowed his eyes at Elrohir.

Elladan said, “Las is a friend.”

Thorin’s stern gaze swept to Elladan. “I’d think a friend wouldn’t throw you in prison.”

“I told you his father hates me,” Elladan said wryly. “Our friendship is part of why.”

“He wasn’t home,” Elrohir added. “Apparently you could hear the yelling for three floors, when Legolas returned to discover what his father had done.”

Thorin looked slightly gratified by this.

Elrohir shot his brother a dry look. “Apparently it was meant to be a joke at your expense,” he added. “Thranduil insists he thought you would realise he was messing with you.”

Elladan covered his eyes. “And I probably would’ve, if I hadn’t been so feverish. I suppose it’s my fault we spent so long in there.”

This, Thorin could not bear. “Your fault?” he snapped, “When that,” and here he grumbled a word in Khuzdul that Elrohir was probably glad he did not know, “Did it, joke or not? I’m not laughing!”

“Nor I,” Mr. Baggins said firmly. “Poor taste.”

Elladan put his hands up. “I only wish I had realised, and had gotten us out sooner. And more comfortably!” he added, laughing, “Not that your barrels were not inspired,” he added ruefully to the hobbit.

Elrohir got a flash of climbing into a barrel in the cellar from his brother. “Is that how you got out?” he asked, wonderingly. “They hadn’t figured it, by the time I arrived.”

Mr. Baggins looked smug. “Thag you very buch,” he said, which appeared to be some kind of in-joke, because the dwarrow and Elladan chuckled.

“Come,” Thorin said, “Let us go further in, and join us for our small meal,” he added to Elrohir.

“You do me honor,” Elrohir replied. “And I’ve some supplies in my pack which can be added to the general stores. Mostly waybread, but made by our grandmother, and likely to be better than cram.”

This was met with goodwill from the dwarrow, and he followed them down the corridors till he was quite turned about. He bumped shoulders with his brother. “You all right?” he asked quietly.

Elladan shrugged. Unsettled, he replied silently. I don’t know. “It’s nothing,” he said aloud.

Elrohir shot him a glance. “Spent too long underground,” he said easily. What feels wrong?

Thorin’s acting off, Elladan answered. “Don’t let the dwarrow hear you say that,” he said, laughing slightly.

Dwalin, walking just ahead, scoffed, but there was a note of fondness in it.

Elrohir winked at Elladan.

As they ate, the dwarrow and Elladan told Elrohir of their time in the mountain, Mr. Baggin’s great courage and good sense, and their hopes for the coming of their kin.

Finally, Elrohir could hold in the question no longer, “Think you truly that it will come to fighting?”

“It shouldn’t,” Thorin answered, frowning at him.

“Then why are you sending for an army?” Elrohir asked.

“Nay,” Balin said. “More hands to help, is all. Thirteen is no number to clean up this mess.”

Elrohir arranged his face to agreement, but asked his brother silently, Are they lying to me or themselves?

That’s what I’m not sure about, Elladan replied grimly.

Aloud, Elrohir only observed, “I suppose more hands would make sorting out the different treasures easier.” He looked around the great hall, what of it was visible in the torchlight. “How much of this is Erebor’s, and how much from Dale or other places, do you think?”

Thorin said, “It’s all Erebor’s.”

Elrohir blinked at him. “I’m sorry?”

Thorin gestured around. “It’s here, isn’t it?”

Elrohir inhaled and then exhaled. Then he said slowly, “I suppose it is.” Elladan, he hissed mentally.

I know, his brother replied. “Surely you mean to return Dale’s share to its people?” he said carefully.

Thorin narrowed his eyes at Elladan. “Why?” he asked.

“If nothing else, Bard did slay your dragon,” Elladan replied, voice light despite the tension in the air.

“I didn’t hire him to do that,” Thorin answered. “If he did it of his will, I don’t see what it has to do with me.”

Elladan’s jaw tightened. “Thorin Oakenshield,” he said very quietly. “If you speak as you truly believe, and not out of misguided greed and the lingering pall of the dragon, you are not the dwarf I thought you were.”

“Get out,” Thorin said flatly. As Balin and Fili both tried to speak, Thorin raised his voice. “Get out!”

Elladan stood. “So be it,” he replied. “And when the war you are brewing comes to fruition, I hope only that it is short, and that you are the first to fall, that wiser than you may fill the void of kingship, and cease this folly.” Elladan turned to look Dwalin in the eyes. “Nothing good has ever come of fighting over treasure,” he said fiercely. To Balin, he said, “There’s nothing dangerous here except what we bring with us.” He crossed around the fire to kneel and hug Mr. Baggins very tightly. “Be careful,” he murmured, very softly. To the company at large, he added, “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Then he walked back towards the gates.

Elrohir looked at Mr. Baggins. “I’m leaving you my pack,” he said quietly. “All that’s in it is food.” Then he followed his brother.

When they landed again at the foot of the wall, Elladan was breathing far harder than the climb merited.

Elrohir stepped silently over and leaned their shoulders together.

“I liked him,” Elladan said. “I liked him, before we got here.”

“I know,” Elrohir said quietly. “But you can’t make him listen.”

“Hopefully the others do,” Elladan replied, and then he started down the narrow path towards Legolas’ campfire.

Lachiel, the captain of the Woodland Royal Guard, sat next to Legolas at the fire. “The Lakemen and the King are camping in the ruins of Dale,” she reported. “They’ll be here tomorrow midday, I expect.”

Elladan sighed. “This isn’t going to go well.” He sat next to the fire, and then tipped himself backwards to lay, staring up at the stars.

“There’s only so much you can do,” Legolas said kindly. “And then things must fall out as they must.”

“Do we know where Dain is, in relation to all this?” Elrohir asked.

“Less than two weeks away, but more than one” Legolas reported, “According to my new friend thrush.” His mouth twisted bitterly. “The birds, too, wish to prevent a war between the men and the dwarves, even the carrion-birds.”

“Thorin will not treat with the men as long as your father is with them,” Elladan speculated.

“The men will starve or freeze without us,” Legolas replied. “And I know the next thing out of your mouth will be to leave them the supplies, but the Master is corrupt, and they don’t have a quartermaster, and Bard hasn’t the time to oversee that and all the other nonsense of leadership.”

Elladan continued to stare at the stars. Elrohir could feel him turning the problem over and over in his mind. Elrohir nudged him gently across their bond, a reminder that one of his duties as Glorfindel’s second was to act as quartermaster when on the march.

Elladan’s attention sharpened. “If a quartermaster could be provided, would your father stand back?”

“I think I could convince him,” Legolas answered. “Why?”

“Me,” Elladan said.

“Oh,” Legolas said. “I think that would sway him, yes.”

“Take Gwaerhin, and go,” Elladan said. “Now. He can’t even come over the hill with the men.”

Legolas bounded to his feet. Gawerhin had heard his name and met Legolas at the edge of the circle of firelight. He huffed disapprovingly at Elladan, ears flicking backwards.

Elladan rolled to his feet and went to his horse. “Hi, dear one,” he murmured, rubbing Gwaerhin’s face.

Gwaerhin butted his head into Elladan’s chest.

“Please,” Elladan asked gently, still stroking.

Gwaerhin sighed heavily, but turned back to Legolas.

Legolas rubbed his shoulder affectionately. “I know,” he told Gwaerhin, “I’m not thrilled about being sent into the darkness after just finding him again either.” Then he mounted, and they turned towards Dale. “You owe me, Peredhel!” Legolas called over his shoulder, and then they were gone.

Laechiel sighed. “I suppose I follow?” she said dryly.

“You can wait till light,” Elladan said. “I just need the army gone.”

Lachiel inclined her head. “The elvish one, anyway.”

“If Bard will listen to sense when he gets here, the men won’t be an army,” Elrohir replied.

“Fair enough,” Lachiel said. “I only hope you two are right, and you can manage this.”

Elrohir hoped so too.

Lachiel left with the dawning, and Elladan and Elrohir settled in to wait for the Lakemen to arrive.

Bard, the Master, and Gwaerhin approached together. Gwaerhin headbutted Elladan gruffly, and then went to join Wilwarin at grazing. The two men faced the twins with their arms crossed over their chests.

Bard said, “I hear you’re my new quartermaster.”

Elladan nodded. “If that’s all right,” he agreed.

“I’m not sure I understand why it was necessary,” Bard admitted.

“Thorin isn’t going to treat with you with elves on his doorstep,” Elladan replied. “Not after the treatment we got in the Woods.”

Bard inclined his head. “So the elves had to go,” he acknowledged. “At least as far as the edge of the woods.”

“I didn’t imagine they had gone all the way home, no,” Elladan agreed. “Okay, I’m going to go get the camp started,” he said, and nodded politely to the Master and trotted towards the confused milling of the men.

“And who put the pair of you in charge, anyway?” the Master demanded of Elrohir.

Elrohir raised one eyebrow at him. “Do you have a complaint about anything we’ve done, or are you just mad it’s not you giving the orders?”

The Master spluttered.

Something like humor touched the edges of Bard’s mouth. “You’ve spoken with Oakenshield, then?” he asked.

Elrohir nodded. “He’s.” Then he stopped. “I didn’t know him before,” he said slowly. “But Elladan says he’s different in the Mountain, than he was out of it.”

“He was a proud creature,” Bard said quietly, “Stern, but fair, I thought. A good leader of his company, and I thought perhaps a good king to his people.”

“He’s dead set that the treasure in the mountain belongs to him,” Elrohir said quietly. “I mentioned the wealth of Dale and he rejected me outright. As for the dragon, he claims he owes you nothing, since he didn’t hire you.”

The Master squawked some half-thought about knowing it, and Bard shut him up with a sharp word and a gesture.

“That isn’t like the dwarf I met,” Bard agreed. “He spoke frequently of payment, of the return of what was ours, of reestablishment of trade. I knew it might’ve been pretty words from a beggar to get help, but it didn’t feel so.”

“My brother is a good judge of character,” Elrohir said. “And you seem to be too.” He looked away. “My people of old spoke of the curse on dragon-gold, though it was said to dispel with the death of the dragon, we have, perhaps, a looser definition of short time periods than you. It’s possible there is some ill-intent still lingering after the dragon.”

“We have stories of it too, the dragon’s breath,” Bard said.

Elrohir nodded. “My only advice would be to remember this is his madness speaking and try not to let him rile you. But don’t let him walk over you, either.”

Bard nodded. “You, wait here,” he snapped at the Master, and turned alone up the narrow path to the gates.

The Master spluttered and snarled after him a moment.

Elrohir didn’t watch Bard go. “Come,” he said firmly to the Master. “Let’s let your people see you being useful for once,” and he towed the miserable man after him, following his sense of his brother and the currents of people in the rapidly forming camp.

The Master resented every second of it, but he obeyed the honeyed note in Elrohir’s voice when he suggested that the Lakemen would be grateful to see their Master working so hard to help them, and he spent two hours as a credible errand runner for Elladan as Elladan set up the camp with a firm hand and a kind smile for everyone.

His brother had charmed half the camp by the time Bard returned, and the Master was taking what he considered a well-deserved nap in the tent Elladan had allotted him–smaller than he thought fair, but larger than any of the others.

Bard smirked when he heard this from one of the guardsmen who was overseeing Elladan’s work.

“Well it didn’t go well,” Bard reported. “But we didn’t shout at each other either.” He shrugged. “It was an opening of negotiations only. I asked for the treasures of my city to be returned to me, that we might rebuild. I said nothing of the slaying of the dragon, nor owing Laketown.”

“Wise,” Elrohir said. “He would not have taken that well.”

“But even request for what is mine he took ill,” Bard said.

Elrohir nodded, not surprised. “Well,” he said, “We have a week, at least, before his kin from the Iron Hills arrives and things change significantly.”

“Should we camp here, between them? I do not want it to seem that we are cutting him off in threat,” Bard said.

“Aren’t we?” the Master asked. Someone must have woken him with the news Bard had returned.

“No,” Bard said sternly. “I will not begin my rule of Dale with threats of violence. That’s no way to do diplomacy.”

“Neither is what he’s doing,” the Master whined.

Bard shot him an irritated look. “Then I will begin my rule on the moral high ground,” he said tartly. He looked back at Elrohir. “Should we move?”

“I’ve got the camp set so there’s plenty of room to go around,” Elladan called from where he was talking to a young mother with a baby on her chest. “Since we’re not fighting about things, there’s no reason they can’t just walk past us.”

Bard nodded. “I told him I would return in the morning to reconvene. He insulted me, so I said I was leaving until we could have a civil discussion.”

Elrohir nodded. “I like that, as a tactic.”

Bard huffed a sad laugh. “It’s how my mother used to talk to me, when I was a stroppy adolescent, trying to get my way.” He shook his head. “Speaking of, my son?” he asked, gesturing around.

Elrohir hadn’t seen the boy.

Elladan said, “Over here,” so Elrohir and Bard, still trailing the Master like the worst kind of hound, crossed to Elladan’s command centre.

Bain was in the nearest supply wagon, clambering over the carefully stacked crates and bundles to hand things down to Elladan. “Hi Da!” he said brightly. “Adan said I could help!”

“He’s little enough that he fits under the cover,” Elladan said, smiling at Bard. “He’s been very useful.” To the boy, he said, “Can I get another blanket?”

There was a scuffling noise, and then Bain’s bare feet appeared in the gap as he rifled behind him. Then he turned again, emerging with his hair askew, and handed a blanket down. “That’s the last one in that crate,” he reported.

“Can you get the crate out without creating an avalanche?” Elladan asked.

Bain bit his lips, looking around him. He shook his head.

“Can you put the things in that crate,” Bard suggested, nodding at the open crate at his son’s elbow, “Into the empty one, and get that crate out?”

“Ooh!” Bain said, and vanished into the wagon again, presumably to do so.

Bard smiled wryly at Elladan. “Thank you,” he said softly.

Elladan winked.

With Bard present, the setup of the camp went much faster. No one argued with Elladan–not that terribly many had in the first place–with the newly christened Lord of Dale present, and Bard wrangled the Master far more deftly than either Elladan or Elrohir had the patience to.

The families were settled, fed, and content, and Bard’s guardsmen–who should have been the Master’s guardsmen, but their loyalty was evident–were barracked neatly in rows on the far edge of the encampment from the mountain.

The Master took his dinner in his tent with a few of his sycophants, a fact neither Bard nor the twins protested in the least.

Bard, Bain, and the twins took their supper at the fire in the middle of Elladan’s command centre, visible to most of the camp, and they waved cheerful greetings to all who passed.

There was little doubt whose side the people would fall on if it came to confrontation between Bard and the Master, but Elrohir rather thought Dale’s new Lord was managing that particular bit of interpersonal tension very well.

The stars were out and the moon was rising when a cloaked figure joined them at the fire.

“Las!” Elladan said cheerfully.

“Hallo,” Legolas replied, tipping his hood back. “I don’t suppose there’s food leftover? I’ve been traveling all day.”

Elladan offered the remains of his stew, which Legolas fell on with good will. “What brings you here?”

“Other than to see you, which I scarcely got to do the last time before you sent me haring off across the valley?” Legolas retorted. “No,” he said ruefully, “Actually my father sent me.” He nodded at the parcel at his feet. “To be returned to the dwarves, with our apologies. The rest is being sent.”

“Is that?” Elladan asked, touching the parcel. Part of it was clearly a sword.

“Oakenshield’s gear,” Legolas replied. “Runners sent that ahead, but the rest is being brought from our Halls as we speak.”

“I’ll take it when I go back tomorrow. Maybe it will sweeten him,” Bard said hopefully.

It did not sweeten him, and he insulted Bard again, and Bard left with the same parting words.

Legolas, helping Bain climbing about in the covered wagons, scoffed when he heard. None of the rest of them reacted. Elrohir had expected nothing less, though he’d hoped for a great deal more.

The pattern established itself over the next several days. If Elrohir were honest, this was the boring bit of diplomacy. It was, he had to remind himself firmly when he found himself lamenting boredom, far better than war.

Then the dwarrow arrived, several days sooner than expected. “They must’ve pushed hard to get here so fast,” Elladan muttered to him as they hid behind a supply wagon to watch Bard greet them.

“Hail and well met, friends among the dwarrow,” Bard said. He had picked up the twins’ habit of using the correct Khuzdul plural, and the messenger visibly startled at it. “I am Bard of Dale, of the line of Girion. Whom do I greet?”

“We are sent from Dain son of Nain,” the messenger replied. “We are hastening to our kinsmen in the Mountain, since we learn that the kingdom of old is renewed. But who are you that sit in the plain as foes before defended walls?”

“Never foes,” Bard replied. “No, let it not come to that. We are refugees, and the sheltered side of the hill was warmer to us than the ruins of our city of old.”

The dwarf-messenger regarded Bard for a long moment. “If you are friends, why do you waylay us?” he asked.

Bard shook his head. “I sought only to send my greetings,” he said. “And having done so, I will leave you to your journey! Thorin, kinsman of your lord, waits for you in his halls. Pass without concern for us. We will not hinder you!”

The dwarf nodded sharply and continued on towards the mountain.

Bard glanced back at the twins.

Elladan shrugged.

Elrohir nodded.

Presently, another dwarf approached the camp. “Where’s this Bard?” he demanded.

“Here,” Bard said. “How may I be of use?”

Dain Ironfoot scowled. “What do you mean by this?” he demanded.

Bard inclined his head. “Forgive me, Master Dwarf, but I do not understand.”

“I am Dain, son of Nain,” Ironfoot said.

Bard bowed politely. “Bard of Dale, at your service,” he replied. He’d gotten a crash-course in dwarven niceties from the twins, and had done very well at it so far. “What can I tell you that will answer your question?”

Elrohir, leaning on a supply wagon nearby, nearly smiled. Bard’s patience had been legendary before he’d started talking daily with particularly trying dwarrow. At this rate, he was going to go down in history as Bard the Patient instead of Bard the Dragonslayer.

Ironfoot said, “This,” while waving around at their encampment.

Bard said, “Our city on the Lake was destroyed by the fall of the dragon, and this side of the hill gets less wind than the far side, as we are currently living in tents.” He inclined his head. “I confess it does make easier my daily walks to the mountain to treat with the King Under It.”

Ironfoot’s eyes narrowed. “Why treat with him?” he asked.

“I am of the line of Girion of Dale,” Bard said. “It is my wish to rebuild the city of my ancestors. I ask King Thorin only for the treasures of my people be returned, that I might pay for the reconstruction of my city, and of Esgaroth.”

Ironfoot frowned. “And he’s refused you?” he asked.

Bard inclined his head. “He does, though he has not yet given me a reason. I confess I do not stay very long after he starts insulting me.”

Ironfoot huffed a short laugh. “I wager that irritates him,” he said, sounding much more cheerful and less suspicious all of a sudden. “Well, that’s interesting, and no mistake. I think I’ll wait and see what my messenger brings back before I go wandering in there,” he said, and then he was gone, hiking back towards the waiting muster of dwarrow.

Bard blinked after him.

“Ironfoot’s like that,” Elladan said.

“You know him?” Bard asked.

“Of him only,” Elladan replied. “But I suspect if you asked him about my old swordmaster, you’d get some stories. The last time he went to the Iron Hills as an emissary of my father, Glorfindel said he had the worst hangover of his life.”

Bard looked after the dwarf, something speculative on his face.

Legolas appeared from the far edge of camp. “Mithrandir is coming,” he said. “In a hurry, he looks to be.”

“Quick,” Elladan said, catching Bard’s arm and towing him towards the ground between the camp and the dwarrow. “Ironfoot!” he called

Ironfoot turned back, just yards from the first of his people.

And then Mithrandir arrived from the hills. “Quickly!” he cried. “There is not a moment to lose!” He gestured above them, where the skies were darkening rapidly. “The Goblins are upon you! Bolg of the North is coming, O Dain! whose father you slew in Moria. Behold! the bats are above his army like a sea of locusts. They ride upon wolves and Wargs are in their train!”

Bard said a word that Elrohir had never heard before. Ironfoot said one in Khuzdul that sounded similar in feeling if not in meaning.

Mithrandir looked at the twins. “I might’ve known I’d find you two in the middle of all this,” he grumbled.

“You’re welcome,” Elladan replied. “For it’s us you’ve to thank that you haven’t found a battle here already.”

“He’s not wrong,” Bard agreed. “Also, who are you?”

“Gandalf the Grey, they call me in your tongue,” Mithrandir replied. “Tharkun, in yours,” he added to Ironfoot. “Quickly, a council must be had.”

Legolas appeared at Elladan’s shoulder. “My father is on the way,” he reported. “But he won’t beat the goblins, I don’t think.”

“Unlikely,” Mithrandir agreed. “But he may arrive in time to stop us being slaughtered.”

“You,” Ironfoot said, pointing at a dwarven archer nearby. “Run for the mountain and tell my cousin what’s toward.”

“Aye sir,” the dwarf called, and dashed away.

“The only plan that makes sense is to arm the wings of the mountain, and let them come between us,” Ironfoot said.

“We are not numerous, and we are not fighters,” Bard replied. “But we will do what we can.”

“Your civilians can retreat into the mountain,” Ironfoot offered.

“Can they?” Elrohir asked softly.

Ironfoot met Elrohir’s eyes. “By my word, they can,” he said, “And if my cousin contests it, I will hit him directly in his kingly dignity.”

Elrohir inclined his head. “Bard, go now and arrange it.”

Bard nodded, and headed for the camp at a run.

Elrohir looked at his brother. “Go, arm the guard and start getting them in their places. They’ll listen to you till Bard gets there, but it’ll take time we don’t have to get them organized.”

Elladan nodded, and followed Bard at a brisk trot.

“We’ll take the west wing, and be joined by the woodelves when they arrive,” Elrohir told Ironfoot. “The goblins are coming from the north, and around the east wing–there will be more of them on your side, but they will see us first.”

Ironfoot nodded. “It’s a sound plan,” he agreed. “For one made on the fly.”

“Sometimes the fly is all you have,” Elrohir replied practically.

Mithrandir nodded grimly as Ironfoot returned to his lines to assemble his people on the eastern wing of the mountain. “You look better than when I saw you last,” he said gravely as they walked towards the rapidly emptying camp.

Elrohir went to Gwaerhin and Wilwarin and started gearing them up for war. “You look worse,” he replied as Gwaerhin flicked his ears at the wizard.

Mithrandir said, “A goblin horde was not what I wanted after seeing to Dol Guldur.”

“Is all well on that front?” Elrohir asked.

“As it can be. No one harmed, and the place cleansed.”

Elrohir nodded.

“Your father’s on his way home, Glorfindel with him, because neither of them imagined you’d put yourselves in the middle of a war.”

“I don’t know why not,” Elrohir muttered. “It’s not like we haven’t done it before. On his orders, even,” he added, thinking of the Gladden Fields.

Mithrandir shook his head at him.

“Mithrandir,” Elladan said, appearing out of the tentline. “I have a question, if we have a moment before battle.”

“One,” Mithrandir replied tartly, “So I hope it’s an important question.”

“How likely is it that the Arkenstone is a silmaril?” Elladan asked.

Mithrandir actually fumbled his staff in surprise as he turned to look at Elladan. “Unlikely,” he said, very tightly. “Why on earth would you ask such a thing?”

Elladan shrugged. “All anyone ever said of them was ‘white, faceted, very shiny,” he said. “And that quite neatly describes the Arkenstone as well.”

“No,” Mithrandir said forbiddingly.

“Is that, ‘no it isn’t likely,’” Elladan asked, “Or ‘no, I hate that but you’re probably right?’”

Mithrandir closed his eyes. “It is not merely unlikely, it is impossible. One is in the stars, one is in the sea, and one is in the earth.”

“Didn’t they dig up the Arkenstone?” Elladan asked.

Elrohir closed his eyes.

There was a goblin warcry on the wind.

Mithrandir pointed at him. “It’s impossible,” he repeated, and then turned to take his own place on the battlefield, high on the western wing.

The twins took theirs, low on western wing, where the two horses would be more effective.

Legolas climbed a nearly-sheer face behind them to find a ledge to kneel on to cover them with his bow.

“Hey, my sword!” Elladan said cheerfully, finding it in its scabbard on Gwaerhin’s saddle.

Elrohir smiled. “Yes, Thranduil gave it to me, since I had your scabbard to put it in.” He squinted east, watching the approach of the army. “Do you really think it’s a silmaril?” he asked softly.

Elladan shrugged. “I mean, I hope not, but I had to ask, you know?”

Elrohir did know. He glanced at the sky, not particularly surprised to find Earendil rising early, bright even through the clouds. “Good luck,” he said quietly to his brother. “Don’t die.”

Elladan grinned at him. “You too,” he agreed, and heeled Gwaerhin into a charge.

Elrohir was no stranger to battle, and this one was not particularly different to any of the others he had been in. They were brutal and bloody and terrible. The coming of first the woodelves, then the eagles, and then Beorn kept it from being a slaughter, but it was a grim and fell as any field Elrohir had taken.

Still, in the aftermath, no matter his exhaustion, Elrohir set aside his blade and his bow and shed his corslet and jerkin, and tended the wounded in his shirtsleeves.

The mannish doctors had their hands full with their wounded, and the woodelves were wary of the dwarves, so Elrohir found himself working closely with Oin and the handful of healers in Ironfoot’s company.

Elladan and Legolas were somewhere in the plain, organizing the camps again, integrating the surviving Lakemen into the woodelves’ encampment and establishing supply lines from the south.

Bard, leaning on a spear in his exhaustion, was overseeing everything so that none of the Lakemen would argue, but doing very little. He ought to have been sitting, at least, for the wound on his thigh, but he was as stubborn as any of them, and Bain was helping to prop him up, so they left him.

Ironfoot was organizing the burial parties and Thranduil the elven pyres.

Thorin Oakenshield was currently exsanguinating slowly under Elrohir’s hands.

Elrohir was trying to keep that from happening, but the dwarf seemed determined to fight him on it.

“Stop that,” Mr. Baggins said tartly, coming into the tent with a mug of something steaming.

Thorin startled. “Bilbo,” he said hoarsely.

“Nonsense,” Mr. Baggins snapped. “Sit still and stop your fussing and let Master Elrohir do his work.”

Thorin wilted on the cot.

Elrohir seized his advantage with both hands and set to work, Song on his lips, needle in hand.

Mr. Baggins sat at the dwafking’s bedside and humphed and tutted and scolded everytime he so much as moved or looked at Elrohir like he might interrupt.

Finally, Elrohir was certain the dwarf wouldn’t die. He sat back on his heels, wiping his hands on a cloth. “There,” he said. “You’ll live.”

Mr. Baggins tutted again.

“Thank you,” Thorin said grudgingly.

Elrohir shook his head tiredly. “You’re welcome,” he said. “And your nephews will too, I might add, though it was closer with Fili than even with you, though he fought me significantly less on it.”

Mr. Baggins smiled at him. “You have my ungrudged and earnest gratitude,” he said, “Even if this great lummox cannot express an emotion lest he expire of it.”

Elrohir smiled at the hobbit. “To be fair I did it more for you than for him anyway,” he said. “And for the kindness he did my brother all those weeks ago.”

“Very fair,” Mr. Baggins agreed. “Now this is for you,” he added, handing Elrohir the mug, steaming significantly less now.

It was tea, and it was barely lukewarm, and Elrohir didn’t care. He drained the mug in a go, eyes closing. “Thank you,” he said when he was done, voice considerably clearer than it had been.

“And Oin told me to send you to your rest, that the other healers had taken shifts hours ago, and it was your turn.”

Elrohir had just watched this hobbit browbeat to meekness the most stubborn dwarf Elrohir had ever known; he wasn’t going to argue. “Yes, that sounds good,” he agreed, and levered himself, groaning, to his feet.

As he slipped from the tent, he heard Mr. Baggins say, “You know, I never imagined elves might groan as if their knees ached like the rest of us.” and he couldn’t even laugh, because they did.

He followed his bond with his brother to a fire on the edge of the elven encampment, where Wilwarin and Gwaerhin were eating mash from borrowed buckets and Legolas tended a pot of stew over the fire.

Elladan was an ungainly sprawl in his bedroll, so exhausted he was sleeping the mortal way, mouth open and breathing only just shy of a snore.

Legolas winked at him and served him a dish of stew and produced a hunk of bread. Then while Elrohir ate, Legolas worked his battle-braids out of their sweat-mats and gently combed out his hair before putting his usual braids back in. Hair done, bowl empty, he obeyed Legolas’ silent chivying and toed off his boots and climbed straight into the bedroll beside his brother.

Elladan rolled over in his sleep, curling around Elrohir and tucking his face into Elrohir’s throat. Elrohir bowed his own face into his brother’s hair and went straight to sleep, his own exhaustion pulling him down quickly.

Chapter Text

“If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world.”

Elladan woke overwarm, tangled up with his brother, his horse attempting to eat his hair, and an injured dwarf king at his fire. He flailed blindly at Gwaerhin’s nose, ignoring the horse’s affronted huff, and attempted to sort out which limbs belonged to him and which to his twin.

Legolas finally took pity on him and peeled the blanket back, at least. He even generously recovered Elrohir, who’d slept through the entire ordeal.

Elladan batted Gwaerhin’s nose away from his person a second time and stumbled to the fireside. Legolas handed him a bowl of porridge, and then made himself scarce with a wink.

Gwaerhin huffed and took position behind him so he could investigate Elladan’s breakfast with impunity.

Elladan relented, and gave him the apples out of the porridge.

Gwaerhin took them as his due, but left his nose draped over Elladan’s shoulder. He was glaring at the dwarf, Elladan realised, and he supposed he should deal with that, then.

“Hello Thorin,” he said.

Thorin grunted.

“Hi Bilbo,” he added to the hobbit.

“Hello Elladan,” Bilbo replied warmly. “How are you?”

“Well,” Elladan replied. “Not injured in the battle,” he said. “Your head okay?”

“Barely a knock,” Bilbo said airily. “Your brother set it quite right.”

Thorin grunted sourly.

Elladan tried not to laugh. “He is good at that,” he agreed. He finished his porridge and set aside the bowl.

Gwaerhin briefly followed it to make sure it was empty, and then pressed his muzzle right back over Elladan’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” Thorin blurted.

Elladan met his gaze. “For?” he asked quietly.

“Throwing you out, calling you names,” Thorin said. “Not listening to you.”

Elladan nodded once, decisively. “You’re forgiven,” he replied. “Assuming you don’t plan to resume your hoarding.”

Thorin shook his head. “No,” he said quietly. “No, not that,” he said. “Dale’s share will be returned, with a hefty reward for Bard, for slaying the dragon. And reparations to Esgaroth are already underway.”

Elladan nodded. “Good,” he said.

“Mr. Baggins is, strangely, refusing his share, though he won’t say why,” Thorin continued, shooting a fond look at the hobbit. “But I wanted to see if- if there was anything you-” he broke off. “I know you’ve no want or need of gold,” he said more quietly. “And you did it for kindness repaid. But we would not have done so well without you, and I would reward you for it, however you would let me.”

Elladan smiled at him, sadly. “Perhaps less, when I tell you the truth,” he said quietly.

Bilbo nodded slowly in return to Elladan’s quick glance.

Thorin’s head cocked.

“Thorin, I told you once that my grandfather was a star, do you remember?”

Thorin nodded. “Elvish nonsense, I thought then,” he admitted. “I couldn’t figure out what it had to do with you coming with us.”

“There is a long story,” Elladan said. “That concerns my family deeply, about Earendil the Mariner, who carries the wandering star, and about the three gems that were made in the youth of the world, that caused a war among the elves. The Mariner slew a dragon, and took one of those three gems to the sky. Of the other two, one was cast into the sea, and one into the depths of the earth.”

Thorin nodded along, listening intently, but still clearly uncertain where this was going.

“They were magic,” Elladan said carefully. “And ensnared all who held them. And the only description the stories ever gave was ‘white jewels, which shone with an inner light.’”

Thorin’s face cleared in understanding. “The Arkenstone,” he said.

Elladan nodded. “If it were indeed a silmaril? Even more ill would come than the dragon,” he said.

Thorin nodded. “Now that you have said the name, I think I have even heard stories of the cursed jewels of the elves,” he admitted. “So you came to ensure, what?”

“My family was destroyed by the quest for those jewels,” Elladan said. “For an oath was sworn to retrieve them.” He looked west. “There is still one who swore that oath,” he said quietly. “And I would not see it sunder my family again.”

“Fret not,” Thorin said gently. “For the Arkenstone has not been found, and the whole dragon-horde has been catalogued by now. I suppose it is lost forever.”

Elladan looked back to Thorin steadily. “It is not,” he said quietly. “You have not found it, and Bilbo will not claim his share, because the Arkenstone is in my pocket.”

Thorin stared, mouth open in artless surprise.

Elladan removed the gemstone, long ago tucked there by Bilbo’s deft hands as Elladan had hugged him goodbye, and held it out in the flat of his hand towards the dwarf.

Thorin took it in reverent fingers. He swallowed tightly. “It- it is not-?” he asked, voice hoarse.

“Gandalf assures me that it cannot be,” Elladan replied. “I believe him.”

“I believe I ought to be very angry,” Thorin said quietly.

“Probably,” Bilbo agreed sadly. “We did steal it.”

“Hire a burglar, one should not be surprised to be burgled,” Thorin said fondly. “You did not trust me to be in my right mind about it.”

“Not in the least,” Bilbo agreed. “You were already quite strange by then, and Elladan’s disquiet quite convinced me that it was something to worry about, rather than a mood that would pass.”

Thorin looked back at Elladan. “And if it had been one of these cursed stones?”

“You would never have known I had it,” Elladan replied, “And I would have taken it to the sea and flung it after its brother, since the sea would in that case have proved a more trustworthy steward than the earth.”

Thorin nodded slowly. “Yes, I expect I ought to be quite furious,” he said again. “Strange that I am only grateful.”

Bilbo looked quite startled.

Elladan smiled. “I’m glad to hear it,” he admitted. “I wasn’t looking forward to arguing with you again.”

“I think I’ve argued with everyone enough to last a lifetime,” Thorin said quietly. “Balin and Fili, at least.” Then he huffed. “Probably Bard, too.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Elladan replied. “He’ll take shameless advantage.”

“He will be a good lord to Dale,” Thorin said.

“He will,” Elladan agreed. “And will you be a good King Under the Mountain?” he asked.

“For a little while,” Thorin said. “And then, when all of this is settled, and I can leave him a stable kingdom, Fili will be an even better one.”

“Do Dwarf-kings retire?” Bilbo asked in surprise.

“This one will,” Thorin answered.

“What will you do?” Bilbo asked. “Stay and advise Fili? Go traveling? I thought you wanted a home.”

Thorin looked steadily at Bilbo. “I thought I might travel a bit, and then settle in at home. If my hobbit will have me.”

Bilbo’s mouth dropped open.

“The Shire won’t know what hit it,” Elladan observed.

Both dwarf and hobbit startled, like they’d forgotten he was there. Elladan winked at Bilbo. “Is this your penance, O King?” he asked Thorin softly.

Thorin shook his head. “Only that nearly losing it made me see what I really wanted.”

“Good,” Elladan said softly. “Stop by my father’s on the way; I’ll be glad to see you, and I suspect he’s going to keep us home a bit after this misadventure.”

“Your father?” Bilbo asked.

Elladan startled. Had neither of them said? Surely they had said? “Lord Elrond,” he said slowly. “I thought I said?”

“No,” Thorin said, sounding appalled. “You did not say!”

“Uh, oops?” Elladan offered, and was quite gratified at the way the dwarf-king and hobbit both laughed.

Thorin shook his head, grumbling into his beard. Something about leaves?

“Sorry, what?” Elladan asked.

Thorin glowered.

Bilbo laughed. “The dwarves were somewhat. Put out by the food on your father’s table,” he said.

Elladan tilted his head. “Why, did he serve that weird floating meatball from Doriath again?”

Both hobbit and dwarf stared at him. “Meatball?” Bilbo said.

Elladan frowned. “Yeah, a single meatball, the size of your fist, floating in broth. It’s filling, I guess, but it doesn’t taste like anything but salt.”

“You’re vegetarian,” Bilbo said.

“I am not,” Elladan assured him. “We are not. Did he-?” he frowned. A suspicion crept through him. “Did he only feed you salad?”

Thorin looked like steam might come out of his ears.

Bilbo nodded, bewildered.

Elladan buried his face in his hands to muffle his amusement. “Oh Powers,” he wheezed. “Oh I am so sorry.”

“What.” Thorin demanded.

Elladan managed to gasp out, “My father thinks he is very funny.”

Thorin made a subterranean noise of impotent fury.

Elladan bit his lips till he had himself under control, and then picked up his head. He nearly lost it again at the look on Thorin’s face. “Look,” he said, smothering a giggle. “I assume he wanted you to leave, right?”

“He did have some urgency about him,” Bilbo agreed. He seemed to see the amusement, at least, although he’d probably eaten a good deal more of the salad and therefore been less hungry than the dwarves.

“Get rid of you before the White Council could stop you, I assume,” Elladan speculated. “And it worked!”

Thorin glowered. “I expect better fare if I return in the future,” he grumbled.

Elladan grinned. “I promise,” he said. “I will hunt the deer myself if he looks to be planning to do so again.”

Thorin grumbled. “Then I suppose I can prevailed upon to visit.”

Elladan grinned.

Bilbo smiled back at him. “There are many plans to be made,” he said. “But I for one think they ought to be made after we’ve eaten.”

“Always practical,” Elladan said to the hobbit. “I am still hungry,” he admitted.

“Well you slept for two days,” Bilbo said wryly, “So I’m not surprised. Will you join us? The Company are having a dinner together to celebrate Fili being up and around.”

Elladan nodded. “Gladly,” he agreed, nudging Gwaerhin’s nose aside to go find his boots. Then he caught his horse by the muzzle. “Stop,” he ordered when Gawerhin tried to lip his shirt. “Tell Rohir where I’ve gone when he wakes, okay?”

Gwaerhin blew grumpily, but backed up two paces till he could turn and rejoin Wilwarin beside the pile of hay.

Elladan shook his head ruefully and turned to watch Bilbo tenderly helping Thorin up. He shortened his stride to keep pace with the dwarf’s slow steps.

He’d told the truth, those days ago, when he’d said foresight had never been his gift. But he had an inkling, a twist in his gut like the warnings from before, as he watched the pair make their slow progress, that everything was going to be okay in the end.

Chapter Text

"Some courage and some wisdom, blended in measure."

Elrohir was in the healer's tents, making himself useful. Elladan followed suit, working with the pallbearers and armorers until the dwarves kicked him out and the woodelves politely demurred further help from Lord Elrond's Son.

Then he went to find Mithrandir.

The old wizard was standing alone on the edge of the battlefield, a pensive look on his face. "Elladan," he said sternly.

"So," Elladan said leadingly. "That question I asked you before the battle."

Mithrandir shot him a look. "To know for sure I would need to see it," he admitted. "But the idea unsettles me."

"I got that impression," Elladan said wryly. "If you can get us in private, I can arrange that," he added quietly.

"You-" Mithrandir hissed.

Elladan shot him a dark look, and his mouth clicked shut. Then the maia gestured sharply with his head, and led Elladan through the camp to a small tent. "This is actually yours," Mithrandir said tartly, "But no one could find either of you to show you."

Indeed, Gwaerhin and Wilwarin were both grazing peaceably behind the tent. Elladan followed Gandalf within, ducking under the low canvas. When the flap swung closed, Elladan drew the Arkenstone from his trouser pocket, where it had been since Bilbo had dropped it there during their hug farewell in the mountain.

Mithrandir's breath hissed between his teeth. "I saw them once," he said quietly. "In Tirion in Valinor, when the world was young, and Feanor wore them on his brow."

Elladan bit his tongue. "And?" he asked quietly.

Mithrandir nodded gravely.

Elladan swore quietly. "Okay," he said, and dropped it back into his pocket. "I'll deal with this, then."

Mithrandir opened his mouth, and then closed it again. "No one can know," he said. "I don't even want to know what you do with it."

"Elrohir," Elladan said apologetically. He could hardly keep it from his twin. "But no one else."

"Fair," Mithrandir said, and stomped out of the tent.

Elladan swore again, just for good measure, and then went to see how else he could help.

.

They escorted Bilbo all the way back to the Shire, because Elladan figured it was the only excuse his father wouldn't fight too hard about letting him out his sight again for a while. And once the hobbit was safely over the borders of his homeland, he looked at his twin.

"You going to finally tell me what's got you so quiet?" Elrohir asked.

Elladan shrugged. He'd never quite dared speak the issue near anyone, and they'd had no privacy since their guest room in the Woodland Realm. Still not entirely certain how to explain, he turned their course westward.

"Are we sailing?" Elrohir asked after a while.

"No!" Elladan cried. Then he sighed and just blurted it out. "The Arkenstone was a silmaril."

Elrohir swore more vituperatively than Elladan had.

"So we're going to the beach," Elladan continued. "And then I'm pitching it as hard as I can out to sea."

"Is that wise?" Elrohir asked.

"Well the sea's kept a better hold of the other one than the earth did this," Elladan retorted.

"Fair," Elrohir observed. "All right, to the beach," he agreed. "Do you think he knows?" he wondered.

Elladan shrugged. "If he does, you better hope we're faster," he said after a while.

Elrohir frowned. "You don't think-"

Elladan shook his head. "I don't know," he answered, and turned them down the Baranduin towards the sea.

He was only too glad, two days later, to haul back and pitch the silmaril as hard as he could off the headland.

They watched the light flash once, on the edge of the horizon, and then vanish into the sea.

"Are you going to tell dad?" Elrohir asked quietly.

Elladan shot him a look.

"I'll follow your lead," Elrohir said. "This was- this was the right thing, but I wouldn't've thought of it."

Elladan shrugged. "I- I don't know," he said. "I- my gut says tell no one, but surely he'd keep it a secret?"

"Unless the White Council needed to know," Elrohir said quietly as they rode back inland.

That was Elladan's fear too, and he didn't especially want the White Council to know. "Mithrandir said he didn't want to know what I did with it."

"So no," Elrohir said. "We tell no one."

Elladan nodded. "Should we stop in Lindon on the way?" he asked.

Elrohir shrugged, but his eyes had sharpened.

Elladan grinned at his brother, and turned them back north, up the coast towards Harlindon.

.

Elladan sent Elrohir into the little fishing village to get them supplies, and waited at their camp, just above where the little creek broadened out into the gulf.

The longer he'd carried the silmaril, the more he'd felt like he was slowly crawling out of his skin. Something about it, silent and secret in his pocket, scraped like ants across his fea. He was not usually glad to be alone, but he felt really truly actually alone for the first time since Bilbo had put the cursed stone in his pocket.

He tended the fire, started their supper of pheasants, wild carrots, and flatbread, and made sure their lean-to was properly anchored.

As he was settling back down beside the fire, a roaring noise jerked his head around just in time to watch as a great, localised wave swept up the creek to their camp, crashed over the embankment below Elladan's seat, and receded, leaving a bedraggled, wet form in it's wake.

The elf stumbled to his feet, swearing viciously in Quenya.

"Not entirely polite," Elladan observed in the same tongue.

The elf startled hard, stared up at Elladan for one fraught moment, and then bolted down the beach.

Elladan considered the dark hair, and the unmistakable treelight in the grey eyes, and the ugly burn on the hand he'd used to swipe his bedraggled hair back from his face.

Down the strand, a wave swept up, caught up Elladan's strange visitor, and deposited him back where he'd landed before.

Elladan and Maglor Feanorion stared at each other. "Supper?" Elladan offered blandly.

"You look exactly like your father."

"So they tell me," Elladan said cheerfully.

"You also speak Quenya just like him," Maglor said.

Elladan nodded. "He is who taught me, to grandmother's dismay," he agreed readily. Then he repeated, "Supper?"

"Shit, did he actually marry Altariel's daughter? I thought I heard that somewhere."

"He surely did," Elladan agreed. "Are you willfully ignoring the invitation or still so bewildered by me that it hasn't registered."

"Bewildered," Maglor said after a moment, and ventured slowly closer. "Why are you inviting me to supper?"

"Because there's enough for three, and you, frankly, look like you could use a good meal?" Elladan offered. "I'm also going to invite you back to Imbelaris with me, but I'm going to wait a bit so you're more ready to hear that."

Maglor blinked at him. "That is not making me less bewildered."

"Really?" Elladan asked skeptically. "You can't imagine why Elerondo Perelda, who introduces himself as Earendillion, Kanafinwion, Nelyafinwion, might have taught me about my grandfather?"

Maglor just blinked at him again.

Elrohir picked that moment to wander up the beach.

Maglor flinched, and then got a good look at him. Then he said the Quenya swearword again.

"Rude," Elrohir replied.

Maglor sat down right where he was in the sand and buried his face in his hands. It was very difficult to tell if he was laughing or crying.

.

Maglor ate supper with them.

And then in the grey twilight, the creek swelled with water again.

Elladan tensed. What else could the ocean offer him?

Two figures emerged from the water. One, vaguely female, looked like nothing so much as a drowned corpse with seaweed instead of hair. The other, vaguely male, had the skirt of an octopus instead of legs, and the upper half of a elf, if elves were green. They both had shark teeth and eyes.

"Hail and well met, Lord Osse and Lady Uinen!" Elladan said, rising to bow and ignoring Maglor's squeak. The twins had not actually met Osse and Uinen, but they knew Cirdan well, and he'd told stories containing the pair, and there wasn't really anyone else they could be.

"You are much more self-sufficient than our first elf," Uinen said to Elladan.

"Uh, thank you?" Elladan said.

"It's very good," Uinen agreed. "We work so hard to feed him! But you feed yourself."

"Sure do," Elladan agreed, shooting Elrohir a blank, What the hell?

Elrohir shrugged minutely.

"We hoped you would teach Makalaure," Osse grumbled. "Poor thing can't even hunt."

Elladan opened his mouth, and then closed it again. First elf. Feed, Maglor. Self-sufficient. "Sorry," he said, "Just checking, but- are you taking care of Maglor? And now me," he added, silently hoping he was wrong.

Uinen nodded brightly. "We are very good a taking care of elves!"

Maglor mouthed, 'Raw crustaceans.'

Elladan hid his wince. "That's very kind of you," he said finally. "I am very self-sufficient, but I also never turn down friends or help."

Elrohir snorted at him.

"Can I ask why, though?" Elladan said plaintively.

"Fair's fair," Osse grunted.

Uinen nodded as if this made sense. Elladan considered what he had in common with Maglor. Then he sighed very deeply. "I. Really. Do appreciate your care," he managed, "But I'm not going to stay on the beach. Is that- will that upset you?"

"Oh, no, dear," Uinen said, patting his shoulder with a clammy, terrible hand. "We want you to keep doing what you're doing. We may ask Bruinen and Baranduin to look in on your sometimes for us."

"And we do come to Harlindon pretty often," Elrohir interjected. He looked like he was trying not to laugh. "We'll visit."

"Oh, you're sweet, lovey," Uinen said, and patted his cheek.

Elrohir didn't flinch by sheer force of will. Her hand was terrible, cold and clammy and slightly the wrong texture.

"No," Osse grunted. "We want you to take Makalaure with you."

Maglor squeaked again.

Elladan and Elrohir looked at each other. "We made the offer," Elladan said after a moment. "But he hadn't said yes yet."

"Oh, Fingerling, you have to," Uinen told Maglor, petting his shoulder.

Maglor nodded vigorously, skittering back behind Elladan. "Okay," he muttered into Elladan's back.

Elladan found his mouth shaping the word 'fingerling' without his brain's input. "Okay, so that's settled," he managed to croak out.

"Perfect," Uinen said brightly. Then she looked at the sky. "Is it sleep time for elves?" she wondered aloud, and then didn't wait for an answer. "We'll let you sleep. Safe travels, come visit! Take care of yourselves and each other!"

"Be safe, come home, make good choices!" Elrohir murmured, in an imitation of their mother that had only recently stopped being gut-wrenching.

Elladan told his twin to do something anatomically impossible, highly uncomfortable, and deeply rude.

Elrohir laughed at him unrepentantly.

Maglor came back with them to Imladris. Their father's joy was almost worth Uinen.