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Tangled Web  by daw the minstrel

I borrow characters and settings from Tolkien, but they are his, not mine. I gain only the enriched imaginative life that I assume he intended me to gain.

Many thanks to Nilmandra for beta reading this chapter.

*******

12. Revelations

Legolas entered the family sitting room to find everyone else already there. Celuwen was still visiting her parents’ settlement, but Thranduil sat sipping wine in the large chair near the fire, with Alfirin and Ithilden nestled together on the padded, high-backed bench across from him. Sinnarn had moved his chair a little behind his parent’s bench, so that he was not in their line of sight. He looked subdued, which Legolas would have been in his position too, but at least he raised his head and smiled faintly on seeing Legolas. Evidently his second day in Ithilden’s office had been less crushing than the first, testimony to the fact that one could get used to anything, Legolas supposed.  If he had been disciplined like Sinnarn, Legolas was not sure how he would have borne the humiliation. He had found it hard enough to withstand his father’s temper on the first night of the search, although, in truth, Ithilden had absorbed most of it. Since then, Thranduil seemed to have settled into grim acceptance of events that could not be changed.

Sinnarn was only sipping at his wine. Legolas had noticed him limiting the amount he drank on the previous evening too, which seemed wise of him. Ithilden was still angry because Sinnarn was stubbornly maintaining he had had only one cup of wine when on guard duty, and was unconvinced by the fact that Galion had said the same thing. Alfirin, on the other hand, believed Galion completely and had refused to remove him from her staff. Sinnarn’s and Galion’s claim puzzled Legolas. They both seemed so sincere when they made it. Legolas could only conclude that the potent Dorwinion had fuddled their brains enough that they had lost track of how much they drank.

“Good evening,” he said, pouring himself wine and then sitting when Thranduil nodded permission.  He glanced across at Alfirin and flinched to see the dark circles under her eyes. She seemed to feel Sinnarn’s disgrace almost as much as he did.  “I saw Tonduil today, Alfirin,” he said, hoping that news of her brother would cheer her.  “He says that Aerlinn wonders if you would be willing to visit them and give her advice on decorating their cottage.”

“Of course I would,” said Alfirin, brightening a little. “I will go tomorrow.” She seemed to hesitate and then suddenly blurted, “Did the Home Guard find any sign of the Dwarves today?”

Legolas could see Sinnarn flinching. They had all avoided the subject of the Dwarves on the previous evening, partly to spare Sinnarn and partly because Alfirin usually insisted that they not talk about work during meals or this evening family time.  The fact that she brought it up herself was a sign of just how much anguish she was in.

“I am afraid not,” he said gently. “They seem to have disappeared leaving no sign at all.” Even Annael had been unable to find a trace of the Dwarves, which probably meant there was none to be found. Over the two days since the Dwarves’ escape, Legolas had gradually lost any expectation of finding them. His could solace himself only by hoping that they had rescued Hobbit, although in his more gloomy moments, he could not believe that any child really would have survived a month alone in the forest.

Someone rapped at the door, and one of the guards from the Great Doors entered, suppressed excitement in his face.  Startled, they all turned to hear what he had to say.  “My lord,” he addressed Thranduil, “two of the Elves who ply the rafts to Esgaroth have asked for an audience with you. They say they have word of the Dwarves.”

With a cry, Legolas jumped to his feet and then realized that everyone else had too. His face set in lines of grim anticipation, Thranduil crossed the room to the door in half a dozen long strides with Ithilden right behind him. “Legolas,” he beckoned, “attend us so that you can take word of what they say to Todith.”

“I will tell Cook to delay the evening meal,” Alfirin said, sounding suddenly energetic. She plainly hoped that what the raft Elves had to say would somehow help Sinnarn.

At the door, Thranduil paused and looked back to where Sinnarn stood alone. “I think Sinnarn should hear this too, since it involves him.”

Legolas glanced around and saw Sinnarn’s eyes widen. For a moment, he looked afraid. After all, there was no way to tell what news the raft Elves brought. Then he licked his lips and stepped forward. Whatever the news turned out to be, he wanted to hear it. Thranduil smiled approvingly.

Legolas followed his father and brother to the Great Hall, where Thranduil seated himself in his great carved chair, and Ithilden took up a place standing next to him. Legolas stood to one side, with Sinnarn beside him. He could hear his nephew’s quick breathing and then knew when Sinnarn had made the effort to bring it under control. Thranduil seemed to wait a moment for them all to compose themselves, and then nodded, and the guard brought the raft Elves in from the antechamber.

They came about halfway into the room then each dropped to one knee. Thranduil signaled them to rise. “What have you to tell us?” he asked.

They had evidently agreed ahead of time which of them was to speak, and the shorter of the two stepped forward. “My lord, we arrived at Esgaroth last night, and as usual, we were invited to the feast that the town Master holds. The meat had just been brought in when the door was flung open and in walked three of the Dwarves who escaped when we were here two nights ago. They looked a ragtag group, but one of them stood up as bold as you please and declared that he was Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, King under the Mountain and that he had returned to drive away the dragon and reclaim the treasure that was rightfully his.”

Legolas glanced at Thranduil, whose eyes had narrowed as he listened to this tale. They all knew the legend of the Dwarven King under the Mountain who would return one day and make gold run down the river to Esgaroth. Over the years since Smaug had destroyed Erebor, Legolas had heard it repeated often enough in songs and stories by the Men of the lake. If the leader of the Dwarves was claiming to be the returning king, he was bold indeed, and Thranduil was unlikely to take such temerity well.

“We tried to tell the Master that these Dwarves were your prisoners, my lord,” the raft Elf continued, “but people all around us began shouting about the King coming back and the river running gold. We could hear them outside as well, shouting and singing all up and down the quays. The Dwarves must have been gathering a following of Men as they came through the town.” His voice had been firm, but now it seemed to Legolas that it was shaking a bit. Both his face and that of his companion suggested that something unusual had happened in Esgaroth, that the Men’s enthusiasm for the Dwarves had somehow shaken the confidence of these Elves that the Dwarves were their rightful captives.

“Men can be fools,” Thranduil said, his disgust apparent.

“Yes, my lord,” the raft Elf agreed, a little doubtfully. “The town Master seemed swept up in all the enthusiasm too. He gave up his own chair to Thorin and let the other two Dwarves and the hobbit sit at the head table. And when we left, Men were singing and leading the rest of the Dwarves into the town too.”

Legolas scarcely heard the last bit of this because his heart had given a great, joyous leap. “Hobbit?” he exclaimed and then realized that he had interrupted.  “I beg your pardon, my lord,” he apologized to Thranduil, who had raised a disapproving eyebrow at him. “I am simply relieved to know that the child is all right.” He could not believe that in all this disastrous confusion, at least one thing had gone right.

“Child?” the raft Elf said uncertainly. “We saw no child.”

Legolas frowned. Surely the raft Elf had just said that the child had been seated at the head table. He glanced at Thranduil for permission to take up the questioning and, at his nod, turned to the raft Elf. “But you said Hobbit was there.”

“There was a hobbit with the Dwarves, yes,” the raft Elf agreed.

“'A' hobbit?” Thranduil intervened.

“Yes, my lord. His name is Bilbo Baggins, and he called himself a hobbit, which he said was the same thing as a halfling.”

“A halfling,” Thranduil repeated.  Legolas felt as if that word should mean something to him, but at the moment, he was still trying to make sense of the raft Elf’s explanation. He looked up to find his father watching him with the corners of his mouth twitching. “A halfling, Legolas,” he said, amusement thick in his voice. “A Perian.”

And as if someone had lit a torch in a dark place, Legolas suddenly saw what had remained obscure to him before. The “child’s” appearance, the Dwarves’ “neglect,” the amusement he had roused every time he questioned the “parents”: all of it now made sense. Next to him, Sinnarn made a soft noise that sounded distinctly like a smothered laugh. Legolas shot him a murderous look, and Sinnarn looked down and bit back a long wavering breath that Legolas recognized quite well as suppressed mirth. As Legolas turned his eyes ahead again, he caught of glimpse of Ithilden with his hand over his mouth, and centuries of being a younger brother told him what expression the hand covered. Heat crept up his face. He would never, ever hear the end of this.

Thranduil turned back to the raft Elves. “Did you get any sense of how the Dwarves escaped?”

“No, my lord.” He and his companion both looked a little awe-stricken. Whatever the scene in Esgaroth had been like, it had plainly led these two Elves to think that the Dwarves might indeed have magically escaped from locked cells.

With an impatient wave of his hand, Thranduil leaned back in his chair. “Thank you for bringing this news to us. You may go,” he said, and the two raft Elves bowed and took their departure.

When the door closed behind them, there was a moment’s silence, and then Thranduil gave a derisive snort. “So thirteen Dwarves and a Perian are going to kill Smaug and take his treasure, and then Thorin is going to reign as King under the Mountain. They will all come to a bad end and serve them right, the fools!”

Legolas could not help but agree with his father’s assessment. How could a handful of Dwarves hope to prevail against Smaug? Not even the warriors of the Woodland Realm ventured into the desolate area around the mountain. And even if one assumed that Thorin was the rightful king, how could this tiny band hope to achieve his return? They were on a fools’ errand, he thought, but somehow, he could not help but admire the little company, marching bravely toward the mountain where evil dwelt that they might regain what was theirs and bring about the return of their king.

“I still do not understand how they escaped,” Sinnarn said, coming back to the matter that was most important to him.

“They must have gone with the rafts somehow,” Ithilden reasoned, his brows drawn together. “They could not have reached Esgaroth so swiftly by any other means.”

“But how did they get out of their cells or the stronghold?” Sinnarn persisted. “And how did they avoid being seen on the rafts?” He was obviously hoping for an answer that would make his drunkenness of no consequence to the Dwarves’ escape.

They all looked at one another. “I suppose they could have swum out through the watergate when the empty barrels were being sent through,” Ithilden ventured. “But they would have been taking a terrible chance on being seen, even in the dark.” Sinnarn grimaced. If the Dwarves had gone out the waterway, then they had done it not thirty feet away from him, drunk with his head on the table.

Thranduil stood, signaling that all speculation was at an end. “I will send people to watch them and the shores of the lake to the north,” he declared. “I am not sure I believe this tale about attacking the dragon, but since these are Dwarves, I do believe they are in search of treasure, and no treasure will come back through the forest without my having something to say in the matter. They have caused enough trouble that they owe us reparations.”

Legolas tried to step aside to wait for his father to precede him toward the door, but Thranduil put his arm around Legolas’s shoulders and drew him along with him. “Legolas, did you pay no attention at all when your tutor talked about the peoples of Middle-earth?” he asked with a grin.

Legolas sighed. He had known this was coming. “Evidently not,” he said stoically. Behind them, Sinnarn actually laughed out loud. Legolas supposed he should be happy that he had made his nephew feel better, but what he really felt was that the coming meal would be a long one.

***

Ithilden skimmed the dispatch Tinár had just brought from Eilian. The movement of Orcs toward the Misty Mountains had slowed to a trickle, and Eilian’s patrol had met none for a week now. Almost as startling, the atmosphere of the woods to the south was lightening, both in the sense that more light penetrated among the trees and in the sense that the spirits of Eilian’s warriors were less oppressed.

Hardly daring to hope for what this report might imply about the Realm’s future, Ithilden calculated how long it would be before Eilian and some of his warriors would be home and he could question his brother in person about what he was seeing. A matter of only a few days, he thought with a slight quickening of his pulse.

“My lord?”

Ithilden looked up to find Calith standing in his doorway. “Yes?”

“The king has sent for you. He awaits you in his office.”

Ithilden stood, handed Eilian’s dispatch to Calith, and reached for his cloak. “I will be back as soon as I can.”

“Lord Eilian sends good news,” Calith said. He had already read the dispatch, of course.

“He does,” Ithilden agreed, slapping Calith’s shoulder. “Perhaps we will all have to stop doing this and spend our time singing in the woods.”

Calith smiled. “The Home Guard found another spider’s nest yesterday,” he observed dryly.

Ithilden laughed. “Then we probably should not close up shop just yet,” he agreed.

Fastening his cloak, he walked into the outer office, where Sinnarn sat at the second desk copying a message that Tinár would take away when he had had a chance to rest from his previous mission. After the first week, Sinnarn had no longer been required to stand at attention during the day, but he was still serving as a local messenger. It tore Ithilden’s heart out to see him look up hopefully as he came out of his office. Sinnarn had been commendably close-mouthed about his situation, making no protest here and saying nothing at all about it at home, but Ithilden knew he was humiliated by his current position and frustrated by being unable to function as a warrior.

Ithilden had always trusted in Sinnarn’s good heart, but he had also always thought that his son was a little too eager for entertainment and excitement to be relied on. He had therefore been careful to place Sinnarn under captains who would make use of his skills and be patient in helping him develop a more serious understanding of his role. In a way that Ithilden would never have predicted, however, Sinnarn had settled down in the Home Guard in the last few years and begun taking his responsibilities seriously. Ithilden could not help but think that it was a great pity that a single slip with a cup of wine had had such dire consequences for his son.

He wondered fleetingly yet again if it had been “a” cup of wine, as Sinnarn and Galion had both insisted. Sinnarn was almost always truthful, so Ithilden had been startled to think that he would lie about his actions, and yet, he also did not see how Sinnarn could have been rendered unconscious by a single cup of wine. He nodded curtly at his son and then set off for the palace.

The Great Doors stood open today, as they had since the raft Elves had brought word of the Dwarves’ whereabouts and they no longer seemed to be an immediate threat. Ithilden entered his father’s office to find an Elf who looked only vaguely familiar standing in front of Thranduil’s desk. His clothes looked travel worn, and his face had a closed expression that told Ithilden immediately that he must be one of Thranduil’s spies. Thranduil frequently passed information from these spies to Ithilden, but they were the king’s agents, and Ithilden knew very little about them.

“Tell Lord Ithilden what you just told me,” Thranduil instructed the spy.

The Elf turned to him. “The Dwarves are on the move again, my lord. They left Esgaroth a week ago and passed all the way up the lake and part way up the River Running. The Men sent ponies and ample supplies with them. They appear to be headed toward the mountain.”

Ithilden looked at his father. “Just as they told Esgaroth’s Master they would,” he said, unable to keep the surprise from his voice. Thranduil nodded and then turned to the spy.

“Take some rest and then return to your post. I want to know everything that happens.”

“Yes, my lord.” The spy bowed and withdrew.

For a moment after he left, Thranduil sat staring at his desk. Then he roused himself and motioned Ithilden into a chair. “What do you make of it?” he asked. “Could Thorin really believe that he can take the treasure of Erebor back from Smaug?”

Ithilden lifted his shoulder helplessly. “Unless he is being very devious, it would appear that that is what he means to try to do at any rate. How they can hope to succeed is beyond me.” The idea staggered him. Smaug was the most powerful evil creature that Ithilden had ever encountered.

“I suppose so,” Thranduil sighed. “I must admit I would not mind having some of the dragon’s treasure come our way though. I would like to replenish our armory and lay in wealth to buy what we would need to survive against any further move Sauron might make against us. The long struggle against him has depleted our resources, and my people may have needs that I would want to meet.”

Ithilden nodded his agreement, although he privately thought that if the Dwarves somehow managed to wrest any of Smaug’s treasure from him, they would be very unlikely to pass any of it along to the Wood-elves who had held them prisoner. The Elves’ need was undeniable though. The White Council’s expulsion of Sauron had come just in time, as far as his troops were concerned. They were short of everything from horses to waybread.

“I will tell the Eastern Border Patrol to increase their watch on what happens along the lake,” he told his father, who nodded and sent him on his way.

In the hall outside of Thranduil’s office, he met Celuwen, who had returned from her parents’ settlement on the previous day. She was evidently on her way to speak to Thranduil, probably about the settlers’ desire to move deeper into the forest. Her parents and their neighbors had been greatly excited by the news she had brought about Sauron’s departure. They could hardly wait to return to the trees that they thought of as their own.

“Eilian should be home any day now,” he told her, smiling as her face lit up at the thought. “He says there are scarcely any Orcs left for him to fight, so he might as well come home to you.”

She raised an amused eyebrow. “If he really said that, he is going to regret it.”

Ithilden laughed. “It was not actually in the dispatch,” he confessed. “I had to read between the lines.”

She laughed and knocked on Thranduil’s door, and Ithilden started toward his office, musing on the Dwarves as he went. Suddenly, he stopped dead in his tracks. With no warning at all, he had remembered Mithrandir’s warning about Smaug at the White Council meeting. What was it he had said? Smaug was one of Sauron’s creatures and could do great damage in the north if he were not disposed of. Slowly, he began walking again. Could there be any connection between Mithrandir’s words and the Dwarves actions? He did not see how, but with Mithrandir, one never knew. He would have to keep the wizard’s words in mind and repeat them to Thranduil too. He fervently hoped his warriors were not going to have to fight Smaug. He was tired of sending Elves to their deaths.

***

“Go!” Eilian urged, and his horse laid his ears back and broke into a gallop, riding straight toward the bench that stood along one edge of the green. With Eilian crouched low on his back, the animal took off and soared lightly over it, and then tore on into the green, slowing to a halt only at the last minute as the other warriors from the Southern Patrol rode out of the woods and swirled around him in a laughing, excited mixture of Elves and horses. From all around them, family and friends came running. From the most dangerous reaches of the Realm, about a third of the Southern Patrol’s warriors had come home on leave, and this time, some of them would be staying.

Laughing, Eilian ducked out of the way as Maltanaur’s wife rushed up. Next to him, Galelas stood alone, smiling slightly at the sight of her running her hands over Eilian’s keeper as if making sure he was intact. Eilian grimaced and silently cursed Galelas’s abominable family. As if having a brother like Tinár were not bad enough in itself, his parents seemed blind to both Tinár’s faults and Galelas’s value. He laid a hand on Galelas’s shoulder. “Hot baths and soft beds tonight, Galelas!” The younger warrior smiled at him, and then Eilian’s attention was caught by the sight of Celuwen running down the stairs from the palace.

With a cry, she flung herself into his arms and buried her face in his neck. He had one arm around her waist and one around her shoulders so that his hand gripped the back of her head with his fingers tangled in her hair. “My love, my love,” he murmured into her ear, feeling her hot tears on his neck and the warmth of her body pressed against him. She drew back and put both hands on his face and kissed him, and he forgot for a moment that there was anyone else on the green.

“Welcome home, iôn-nín,” said Thranduil’s voice, and suddenly the green was abuzz with people again, and he lifted his mouth from his wife’s to find his father smiling but raising an eyebrow.

“It is good to be home, Adar,” Eilian said letting Celuwen go but grinning unrepentantly. He clasped his father’s extended arm and then embraced him. Behind Thranduil, he could see Galelas’s parent finally making a tardy appearance. About time, he thought disapprovingly, and then found himself being drawn up the palace steps and into his home.

Within minutes, the rest of his family had materialized from nowhere and surrounded him in the family’s sitting room. He embraced Ithilden and then Sinnarn, who, he was relieved to see, looked reasonably composed. From the letters he had gotten, Eilian had feared that his nephew might have sunk into misery. The Valar only knew that Eilian would have done so if he had been in Sinnarn’s shoes.

And then Legolas was slapping him on the back and laughing. “Brat!” Eilian cried. “I have missed you mightily. One of the reasons I was eager to come home was so that you could educate me about Periannath.”

“Not you too,” Legolas groaned.

“Me especially,” Eilian said happily. It had been far too long since he had had a chance to tease his younger brother.

“Do you want time to bathe and rest, Eilian?” Alfirin asked. “The evening meal is almost ready, but I can tell Cook to delay it.”

“Do not do so on my account,” he told her, putting his arm back around Celuwen’s waist and pulling her snuggly against him. “I have been daydreaming about this meal ever since we ate some unbelievably dreadful acorn meal mush at mid-day.” She laughed and hurried off to tell the servants to serve the meal.

They all trooped into the dining room and took their places. Eilian let his hands linger on the back of Celuwen’s shoulders and neck when he slid her chair in for her and was rewarded by feeling her give a tiny shiver. He smiled secretly as he sat down. He had told the truth when he said he was looking forward to this meal, but he was also looking forward to it being over so he could lead his wife off to their apartment and take her to bed and love her. He had been sleeping alone for what seemed like an eternity.

Alfirin had not known he would arrive today, so the meal was nothing special by the standards of those at home, but to a warrior who had eaten camp food for months, it was unbelievably well-prepared. Palace hunters had recently brought down a wild boar, so there was roast pork accompanied by squash sweetened with honey and fresh bread.

Eilian ate heartily but said very little, as talk of his family’s day swept back and forth around him. Sinnarn was quiet, Eilian thought, but Legolas was letting all talk of hobbits roll off his back with great aplomb. Celuwen wanted to talk about her visit to her parents’ settlement, and Eilian tried not to show how happy he was to have missed seeing her father, Sólith, who had recently become the settlement’s leader. Sólith had been furious when Eilian and Celuwen had walked out of the woods one morning and announced that they had bonded the previous night. In Eilian’s opinion, the only reason Sólith had not gelded him on the spot was that he wanted grandchildren.

“Adar,” Celuwen said, “all they ask is to be allowed to move to where the settlement used to be before the woods grew so dark. Given what Eilian has told us about the south, surely the woods will be safer now. And really, I do not think you would be successful if you tried to deny my adar permission to do it anyway. He can be very stubborn.”

Eilian nearly laughed at the understatement but managed to turn the sound into a cough. Celuwen turned to frown at him, and he took her hand and raised it to his mouth to kiss her fingers. Her mouth trembled, and she pulled her hand away, blushing slightly. At the other end of the table, he could see Alfirin looking disapproving over their talking about the Realm’s affair at the table. “We should move to the sitting room,” she said and rose, drawing the rest of them to their feet too. They all moved aside, waiting for Thranduil to lead them from the dining room.

Suddenly, Eilian knew that an evening spent chatting with his family would be agonizing beyond what he wanted to bear, and he put his arm around Celuwen’s shoulders. “I find that I am more tired that I thought,” he said, knowing that the grin on his face was betraying his true intentions. “I think that Celuwen should come and help me unpack and then I think I need to go to bed.”

The rest of them turned to him with varying degrees of skepticism on their faces. “Wait, Eilian,” Celuwen protested. “I need to finish speaking to Adar about the settlement.”

He laughed and swept her up in his arms. “I cannot wait,” he announced. He started out the door, carrying Celuwen. “I am sorry, Adar,” he said to his father, “but I find I have a pressing need for my wife.” He heard Alfirin smother a giggle and saw Legolas roll his eyes.

Celuwen looked over his shoulder at Thranduil. “My adar is really set on this. You should simply give in to him on the matter,” she called. “Once you have done that, you will be able to reason with him on more friendly terms about other matters.”

Eilian’s back was to Thranduil as he carried his wife down the hall, so he could not see the look on his father’s face, but he could hear the dry amusement quite clearly in his voice. “I might give you the same advice, daughter,” Thranduil called after them.  Eilian gave a short burst of laughter, and Celuwen turned her blushing face up to him and laughed too. And then he had reached the door to their apartment, with a smiling servant running to open it, let them in, and close it firmly behind them. And then he was really and truly home.

*******

AN: Small bits of the dialogue in this chapter are taken from Chapter X of The Hobbit, “A Warm Welcome.”

The idea that Mithrandir was worried about Smaug (and thought that Sauron was getting ready to attack Rivendell) can be found in The Return of the King, Appendix A, Part III, “Durin’s Folk.”

 





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