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“For Durin’s sake, lad, at least to me, tell the truth!”
“I am telling the truth, Balin. I wasn’t in that hotel, I had no idea that my father was back in town, and I haven’t’ seen him in more than 60 years!”
Balin sighed of exasperation: “And I believe you, Thorin, but you still aren’t telling me where you actually were that night!”
“As I’ve already said multiple times, I was in my apartment, alone, so no one can vouch for me!”
He didn’t remember how many times he had already repeated the same things, first to the police officers that had come to pick him up at his apartment, then to the lieutenant during the interrogation, several times, and then again to Balin, who was acting as his lawyer even if he had retired some years before.
And Balin too had asked him again and again, because the fact that he hadn’t an alibi seemed unconceivable to him. Or maybe because he knew him so well to understand when he was lying.
But Thorin wasn’t going to change his version, no matter how many times how many people kept asking him.
Balin eventually had to accept his answer, that he believed it or not, and left Thorin to the officers that brough him back to the holding cell.
Lieutenant Bard Bowman had no sympathy for Dwarves. Well, that wasn’t exactly true, he knew plenty of dwarves that were perfectly fine. It was the ones that were loud, and proud, and so stubborn!, that he couldn’t stand! And at the moment he was surrounded by a dozen of them, all screaming, protesting and demanding things that weren’t in their rights at all.
He had known it was going to be a bad case the moment he had heard the name of the victim found in a room of the Misty Mountains Hotel: Thráin Oakenshield. The father of the current leader of the Dwarves of Erebor had disappeared about 60 years before, everyone thought he had been dead for ages, but no, he had decided to die two nights before in Bard’s jurisdiction, and now he had to investigate his murder.
Despite the fact that there were clear fingerprints on the murder weapon (a dwarven dagger) he had a feeling that the case wasn’t going to be an easy one. And when the prints turned out to be the victim’s son, Thorin, who was spotted near the hotel around the time of the murder, the case seemed closed. He had no alibi, and his motive was pretty clear: resentment for being abandoned for all those decades that degenerated in a fight. Not great, but still very plausible.
So, case closed.
Except… except that to lieutenant Bowman seemed impossible that Thorin Oakenshield had killed his own father, not even in an outburst of rage.
He knew Thorin, he was a district attorney, they had worked together several times. Bard didn’t particularly like him, but he respected him: he was honest, reliable and capable, and had sent a lot of bad people in jail. And that was another problem: if he was to be condemned, he would not survive long in prison with all the people there who wanted him dead. And even if he was a pretentious, stubborn jerk, he didn’t deserve that.
Especially considered that Bard didn’t think he was guilty, despite all the many evidences of the contrary.
So it was extremely irritating that he had to face all those angry dwarves who were basically just agreeing with him.
Thorin didn’t even know that his father was in town… he thought, as everyone else, that Thráin was dead… Thorin loved his father, why would he want to kill him… etcetera etcetera. All valid points, and Bard didn’t have a reply to any of them.
But nothing could change the facts: “For the umpteenth time, we have undeniable proofs and he doesn’t have an alibi. Thorin is a district attorney, even he would agree that there is no margin for doubt!”
It was hard to try to convince them without revealing classified details about the case, telling what he really thought or saying the world “guilty”. Luckly Thorin’s lawyer came in his aid, because when they saw Balin Fundinson emerge from the detention zone, all the dwarves assaulted him with questions and finally left Bard alone.
His peace wasn’t destinated to last long, because a few moments after the dwarves finally left, an officer came to him with an expression on her face that didn’t promise anything good: “What’s now, officer Evans?”
“Er… there is someone that wants to talk to you about the Oakenshield case.”
“Well, let them in. What’s the problem?”
The officer looked behind her and Bard saw the problem: the person who wanted to talk with him was Thranduil Greenleaf, the leader of the Elves of Mirkwood.
Great, just great.
If Dwarves could be a gigantic nuisance, Elves were simply nightmares.
Thranduil entered his office like he owned the place, and sat in front of lieutenant Bowman without waiting to be offered.
Bard internally sighed, and externally smiled: “Mr Greenleaf, what can I do for you?”
Thranduil sat with one leg crossed on the other, looking at him with the usual elven arrogance, just raised to the umpteenth degree due to him being their boss.
Bard waited patiently, the false smile cracking every second more, then before his irritation grew too much, he spoke again: “Officer Evans said that you wanted to talk about the murder of Thráin Oakenshield…”
Thranduil nodded, still silent. Bard summoned all his patience: Greenleaf wasn’t only the de facto king of the most powerful group of Dale, but also the richest man in town, and offending him wasn’t an option for a lieutenant that still wanted to arrive to retirement.
Thankfully, Thranduil finally spoke: “I have information about the Oakenshield murder. It may not be what you are expecting, but I know you are a good cop, so I suppose that finding out the truth is more important for you than having an uncomplicated case.”
That startled Bard a little bit: the rivalry between Elves and Dwarves was legendary, surpassed in ferocity only by the one that both sides had for the Orcs, so he was sure that if Thranduil wanted to meddle in his investigation was to gloat about Dwarves killing each other or to obtain juicy information from him. Now he wanted to make his case more complicated? What did he have in mind?
This time the elf didn’t make him wait too much: “I heard that you have in custody the victim’s son, Thorin Oakenshield. May I ask what brought you to make this arrest?”
‘Ah, here we are!’ thought Bard. The “king” wanted more to gain information than to give it. He sighed internally again: to tell him everything was the easiest way to get rid of him, but as Thranduil had said, he was a good cop: “I cannot divulge information about an ongoing case to a civilian.”
Thranduil smirked: “Of course, of course,” he calmly said: “I shouldn’t have asked. I’ll try to guess, then: you have proof, and he doesn’t have an alibi. Don’t bother to answer, I don’t really care. I am here to tell you: he didn’t do it.”
Ok, now that was interesting: why the elf was interested in saving the dwarf from jail? And did he really have same sound information?
“I’m listening,” he said.
The elf seemed to hesitate, but then he looked Bard in the eyes and said: “Thorin Oakenshield cannot have killed his father, because at the time of the murder he was elsewhere.”
He paused, Bard waited, then Thranduil continued: “He was with me.”
Now, that was a surprising turn of events: Thorin had, finally, an alibi, and it was his most famous rival that was giving it to him. There was something fishy going on there.
“How do you know at what time the murder was committed? It’s not an information that has been realised to the media.”
“I don’t,” answered Thranduil: “But I know it happened in the night between the 17th and the 18th, am I right?”
“Yes, that is correct.”
“Well, Thorin has been with me, in my apartment downtown, from about 7.30 p.m. on the 17th to 9 a.m. on the 18th.”
Slowly, and painfully, Bard started to understand what the elf was talking about: together all night, Thorin and Thranduil, in the elf’s apartment… were they in a secret relationship? The leaders of Elves and Dwarves, together?! Complicated was an understatement!
Since the lieutenant wasn’t saying anything, Thranduil continued: “I can make an official statement, if you want.”
Bard shook his head: “No, no, wait. If what’re you telling me is the truth, why didn’t Thorin say anything?”
That smirk again: “Come on, lieutenant, I’m sure you guessed what it means that we’ve spent the entire night together. It’s not something we are happy to divulge.”
“I can believe that, but at the cost of spending decades in jail? Thorin’s not stupid, he would have said something to save himself.”
Thranduil smiled again, but this time it was less smug and more… affectionate: “No, lieutenant, he wouldn’t. For the simple reason that I asked him not to. And he’s loyal to a fault, I think you know him enough to believe that.”
Bard had to admit that it was plausible, but he was still unconvinced: “Thirteen and a half hours are a long time, how can you be sure that he never left the apartment? Maybe when you were asleep.”
At that Thranduil actually chuckled: “We weren’t exactly sleeping, lieutenant. Yes, he napped for a little bit, but I didn’t. As I am sure you know Elves need very little sleep, and when I’m with Thorin I don’t want to waste time being unconscious.”
‘TMI! TMI!’ thought Bard. Out loud he said: “Still, it’s just your word, how can I know that you’re not lying?”
The smirk was back again, but the tone of Thranduil’s voice was a bit exasperated: “Lieutenant Bowman, I am sitting here, telling you that I am in a homosexual relationship with the man that should be my worst enemy. Can you imagine how much damage this information will do to me? Elves are not exactly progressive in their thinking, and not at all prone to forget their hostility with the Dwarves. I may lose… well, I may lose pretty much everything. Why would I tell you this, if it wasn’t true?”
Bard didn’t have a reply for that: Thranduil was right. And, besides, he knew that Thorin was innocent, now with his… boyfriend giving him an alibi he could be released and Bard could start looking for the real killer, someone that was interested in both having Thráin dead and Thorin framed for his murder.
He asked some other questions to Thranduil, who was very patient and answered everything, and then signed the transcript of his statement.
Bard prepared the documents for Oakenshield’s release, and before the end of his shift everything was settled.
Thorin sat on the metallic bench in the holding cell, with his elbows resting on his knees, his head bowed and his hands almost tearing his hair out. He hadn’t had time to deal with his father’s death that he was arrested for his murder. He was still kind in shock when he was interrogated, he’s not even sure about what he had said, but he must have given the wrong answers because they’d arrested him.
Lieutenant Bowman had talked about fingerprints, about witnesses seeing him near the hotel, a lot of absurd things because he hadn’t been in that room, he didn’t know his father was in town, he didn’t even have the chance to see him again one last time, after all those years.
The only clear thought in all of that confusion was that, when asked for his alibi, he had lied. That was the only thing he was sure of: he hadn’t said anything about Thranduil, he had kept his promise of secrecy.
It was actually quite ironic, because that night they had fought precisely about that. Thorin was tired of having to lie to his friends and family, to have to invent excuses to be with the man he loved, to have to pretend to hate him so not to raise suspicions.
But Thranduil had been adamant: he had said that for him it was too difficult, that Thorin didn’t understand that their position was very different, and a lot of other irritating things that for Thorin only meant that he wasn’t worth enough for Thranduil.
And yet, not even for a moment he had thought about exposing his relationship with the elf, not even to his friends, not even to save himself. He couldn’t betray Thranduil. He loved him too much.
So he was now sitting in that cell, on the verge of total desperation, thorn between mourning about his father and despairing about his situation.
He was so lost in all of this that he didn’t even notice that Lieutenant Bowman was in his cell, he must have called Thorin more than once judging by the urgency and concern of his tone.
It took a few seconds for Bowman’s words to sink in and a little more to believe them: he was free to go.
“You found the real killer?” he asked, anxiously.
“No, not yet. But a witness came forward to give you a solid alibi, so we are letting you go.”
Thorin was incredulous, but followed Bowman outside. Before going out the door, the lieutenant stopped, put a hand on his shoulder, looked him in his eyes, and said: “I will get to the bottom of this. I’ll find out who killed your father.”
“Thank you,” Thorin simply answered, at the moment still too stunned to say more. The lieutenant hadn’t said from where his alibi came, and he was starting to worry about it.
When he came out of the detention zone and into the bullpen, he found his worries answered: Thranduil was waiting for him.
He seemed calm, so Thorin didn’t know how to interpret his presence there, but he noticed that the smile that appeared on the elf’s face was a bit strained.
“Greenleaf,” he greeted, not able to hide the surprise in his voice.
“Oakenshield,” said the other, coming closer, and Thorin noticed that his smile became sweeter and sincerer: “It seems that our little secret’s out.”
Bard went back to his desk, to leave them a bit of privacy. He watched them exchange a few words, then leave the precinct together, and he noticed all the astonished looks that followed the couple: he didn’t envy the two one bit.
Then he looked for officer Evans, and asked her to bring him all the files concerning the murder of Thráin Oakenshield: “We have to start all over again.”
“Let me give you a lift home,” was the only thing Thranduil had said, and “Thank you,” was the only thing Thorin had answered.
When they reached the car, Thorin wasn’t surprised to see the green Jaguar: Thranduil usually travelled with a chauffeur, but to come to his rescue he had preferred to drive himself.
They sat inside, but Thranduil didn’t immediately start the engine. He wanted to talk. After some other moments in silence, Thorin turned to look at him, and said:
“I’m sorry,” just at the same time that Thranduil turned to him to say the same exact thing.
“What are you sorry about?” again both said at the same time.
That made them laugh, and all the tension melted away, they both felt at ease as usual when in each other’s company, despite all the troubles their relationship brought them.
Thranduil took Thorin’s hand, and explained: “I’m sorry for your father,” squeezing it to infuse his affection.
“Thank you,” Thorin squeezed his hand in return. They weren’t good at this, talking about feelings. But they both needed to.
“I actually still don’t know how I feel. I thought my father was dead, I already mourned him years ago. What hurts me the most is that I can’t understand why he disappeared for so long, and why he was back, and if he intended to tell me or not… I…”
Thranduil left his hand to cup his face, then leaned to kiss him, a brief peck on his lips.
Thorin was taken aback, and looked terrified around: “What are you doing?” They were parked in the street outside the police station: “Someone could see us!”
Thranduil chortled: “Someone, well, a lot of someones, had already seen us leave the precinct together, then sit in this car together and probably hold hands. I don’t think we should bother with secrecy anymore.”
“I’m sorry,” this time was Thorin’s turn to explain: “I didn’t want to involve you. Even if I disagreed with you, I understand your reasons, and despite everything I said the other night when I got angry, I would have never broken the promise I made to you!”
Thranduil smiled: “I know, Thorin, I know. That’s why I decided to come.”
“Still, I’m sorry that I was the cause of the disruption of your life. It must have costed you a great deal to make that decision.”
Thranduil’s smile broadened: “No, actually, it didn’t. It was the simplest decision I ever made: you were in trouble and I had the power to help you. There wasn’t really any other alternative.”
Thorin smiled at that, feeling at the same time also a little guilty: among the many angry things he had said to Thranduil during their fight, there was the accusation that the elf didn’t really love him and was using him as a plaything because being with his enemy made things spicier.
And now Thranduil was showing him how wrong he had been about that.
But the elf hadn’t ceased to surprise him: “You know what’s the funniest thing about all of this situation?” he sounded amused, and truly not angry or desperate or any negative emotion Thorin thought would have been a proper reaction to the whole situation.
“What is it?” he asked, sincerely curious.
“I don’t care,” Thranduil simply answered: “I don’t know what is going to happen now with my family and my people, what I’m going to face - I’m sure it would be a total excruciating mess - …and I don’t care!” he laughed, and Thorin could tell it was a real laugh, not fake, not hysterical, but full of excitement even if a bit scared.
Thranduil finally started the car, and merged into traffic.
“What are you going to do now?” Thorin asked him.
“I have no idea! What do you want to do?” he gave Thorin a side-glance furnished with a mischievous grin.
Thorin pretended not to notice: “If it’s the same for you, I wouldn’t go home but to my sister’s. Balin said that she, Fili and Kili were really worried, and I think all the company will meet me there once they know I’m free.”
“Oh, yeah, sure, no problem, just put the address in the sat-nav.”
Thorin obeyed, but he could see that Thranduil was disappointed, so he went on: “Thank you. You know, I’m also quite hungry, and a big family dinner is exactly what I need right now.”
“I understand.”
They stayed silent some brief moments, the directions from the sat-nav the only sound in the car. Then Thorin abruptly asked: “Would you like to come with me?”
The car swerved a little bit, and Thorin chuckled: “You missed a turn!” he teased.
“Are you serious?” asked Thranduil.
“Yes, didn’t you hear? It said turn left at the last-”
“Don’t play dumb with me! Are you serious about me coming to dinner.”
“Yes, why not? If we’re going to make our relationship public, I think there’s not better moment to introduce you to my family and friends than now that you’ve just saved me!”
Thranduil nodded, it made sense.
“And after they’ve accepted you, you’ll have your back covered for when we’re going to do the same with your people.”
“It will be way, way worse.”
“I know. I don’t care. As long as we’ll do it together, I’m ready for everything.”
Thranduil smiled, and squeezed Thorin’s hand: “Ok then, dwarven family dinner, it’s really happening! I must be getting crazy, but I’m actually almost excited about it!”
“You’ll see, it will be fun!”
It wasn’t. But it was worth it.