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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.

*******

13. A Creature of Fire

Sliding from his horse, Legolas retrieved his pack.  “Go and enjoy what grass you can find,” he told the stallion, slapping him on the rump. “I will call you when I need you again.” The horse lowered his head to the ground immediately and began wandering toward the small stream, munching what mid-day meal he could find on his way. A crow cawed, and Legolas looked up to see a flock of the black birds winging their way west. The birds are on the move today, he thought. Perhaps they feel the winter creeping up on us. The weather had turned cold in the last week, and he would not be surprised if First Snow came early.

He went to sit next to Beliond and Annael, who had opened their packs and were drawing out apples, bread, and cheese, the same meal that Legolas knew he was likely to find in his own pack. Annael also seemed to have some sort of seed cake, wrapped in an oiled cloth to keep it from dripping honey on the other items he carried. Not for the first time, Legolas envied his friend the females who loved him and saw to it that small pleasures lay in wait for him. Legolas drew off his gloves and began eating.

“The spiders seem to be staying home out of the cold,” Annael commented. “We have not seen one in a week.”

“Soon we will have nothing to do,” Beliond agreed, “although perhaps Legolas can dream up a lost child for us to hunt.” They both laughed, and Legolas threw them a sour look. “So,” Beliond went on, “do you know if Sinnarn is likely to be rejoining us any time soon? I ask for Nithron,” he added, when Legolas looked at him in surprise. “He misses the young fool.”

Next to Legolas, Annael looked down at the seed cake he had just unwrapped, studiously avoiding any semblance of interest in Legolas’s answer. He had not spoken of Sinnarn at all since the Dwarves’ escape, although Legolas knew that his nephew had seen Emmelin most evenings. Legolas had no idea how Annael was reacting to Sinnarn’s disgrace. “I have heard nothing about how long Sinnarn is to spend in the troop commander’s office,” he answered Beliond. “I do not think he knows either. I suppose it will depend on when Todith or some other captain is willing to take him back.”

Annael cleared his throat. “Sinnarn should not have to pay forever for one mistake,” he said. He broke the seed cake into pieces and offered them to Legolas and Beliond. Legolas smiled to himself as he took one. Annael was one of the most generous people he knew with more things than seed cakes.

Suddenly Legolas looked up, his attention caught by a whisper from the trees that was hidden beneath the sound of leaves fluttering in a gust of November wind. “Something has happened,” he said.

***

Eilian leaned back on the bench in front of Gelmir’s cottage with his long legs stretched out in front of him. Gelmir’s naneth had chased the two of them out, saying that her son needed the fresh air, but Eilian suspected that she was tired of having them cluttering up her sitting room. “Have the healers said when you will be ready for active duty again?”

Gelmir gave a satisfied smile. “I am cleared for duty as of tomorrow,” he said, “but Ithilden says I can take some extra leave and go back south when you do.”

“Good,” Eilian approved. “Tynd will want to see the aftereffects of the technique Elrond used to stitch your wound. He wanted me to ask about some details of it, but they were too gruesome, so I blocked my ears when he asked me.”

Gelmir laughed. “Tynd has probably found acting in your stead as captain of the Southern Patrol so tedious this time that he will need extra leave to recover from it.”

Eilian laughed too, but his attention was not really on what Gelmir was saying. The trees were astir with something he could not quite make out. He tilted his head to listen. “A creature of fire has fallen!” he exclaimed, making Gelmir start and jerk his head around to look at him.

***

Ithilden frowned. What in Arda was causing the commotion in his outer office? He rose and started toward the doorway, but before he reached it, Tinár appeared in it, his face betraying his excitement. He must have just returned from his mission to the Eastern Border Patrol for he was still wearing his cloak. Ithilden could see Calith and Sinnarn behind him. Calith had evidently tried to stop Tinár from entering Ithilden’s office, and Tinár had shaken him off. The aide was still catching at his arm and frowning disapprovingly.

“My lord,” Tinár gasped, “Smaug is dead!” Calith’s hands loosened from his arm and fell to his sides.

Ithilden became aware that his mouth had dropped open in a most undignified way. “How?” he demanded.

“I am not completely certain,” Tinár said, his chest puffing up visibly at being the center of attention. “Hard as it is to believe, I think the Men must have shot him.” Even at this moment of crisis, he paused to sneer at the inferior skills of Men.

“Just report!” Ithilden snapped. He had little use for Tinár’s prejudices at the best of times.

Tinár was plainly put out, but he had learned to repress the most obvious signs of it in Ithilden’s presence. “I was at the Eastern Border Patrol’s camp last night,” he said. “They had just been telling me that some of their scouts had seen flashes of light around the mountain the night before when someone spotted what looked like a distant spark flying south along the lake. It got bigger and bigger, and suddenly we realized it was Smaug himself. Even from where we were on the edge of the woods, we could see him breathing fire at the town and then we could see flames leaping up. He must have set the whole place on fire. And then, all at once, we heard a shriek like nothing I have ever heard before, and Smaug fell from the sky, and the next thing we saw was steam rising from the direction of the town.”

Behind Tinár, Calith and Sinnarn were both listening, wide-eyed. Ithilden’s heart was pounding. Could it be true that the dragon was dead? “I must speak with the king,” he said, grabbing at his cloak and starting out of the building and on his way to the palace. He arrived at the door of Thranduil’s office just in time to see the spy he had met earlier departing. The spy nodded to him and hurried past, leaving Ithilden to knock at his father’s door and enter, knowing that Thranduil had probably already been given any news he might be bearing.

He found his father pacing in front of the fireplace, concentrated energy ready to explode from his taut muscles. “I was about to send for you. We have plans to make.”

Ithilden eyed him cautiously. “You have heard about the death of Smaug.”

Thranduil waved an impatient hand. “By some chance, the Men have apparently killed him. I suppose we must at least be grateful to the Dwarves for flushing him out of his den and sending him to meet the Men’s arrows, although the Men are undoubtedly not particularly thankful to have had Smaug sent down upon them.”

For the first time, Ithilden thought about the Dwarves. “Did your --,” he hesitated, “your visitor know what happened to the Dwarves?”

Thranduil grimaced. “The dragon spent the night before the one on which he died sending flames into every nook and cranny around Erebor. They could not possibly have survived the attack. Indeed, I would say the fact that he left the mountain to go to Esgaroth is almost certainly a sign that he had already destroyed the Dwarves. The news we have had today will be the last we shall hear of Thorin Oakenshield, I fear. He would have done better to have remained my guest.” He turned to face Ithilden, determination on his face. “It is an ill wind, all the same, that blows no one any good.”

Ithilden blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean the dragon’s treasure is now unclaimed and unguarded, and I intend to have it.”

Ithilden’s breath caught. The Dwarves who had once inhabited Erebor had been prosperous. Indeed, rumors of a huge store of jewels and other precious objects were supposedly what had drawn Smaug to the mountain less than two hundred years ago. A treasure like the one that now lay ownerless and glittering in the mountain’s silent dark would be enough to buy anything Thranduil’s people might ever need.

“Gather every warrior you can and be ready to move by tomorrow morning,” Thranduil ordered. “See to the arrangements.”

Ithilden hesitated. “Do you expect a battle?”

“It has been my experience that treasure that is unguarded does not stay that way for long,” Thranduil answered grimly.

Ithilden could not argue with the truth of that statement. Nonetheless, he eyed his father closely. There was a barely suppressed excitement about him that Ithilden had never seen before. Unable to make it out, he saluted and hastened away, his mind already busy with the scores of details that would have to be seen to in order to ready an army to march in the morning. He began issuing orders as soon as he had stepped through the doorway to his outer office.

“Sinnarn, go and fetch Eilian, Todith, and Legolas. Calith, we need supplies to feed and tend to the needs of the Home Guard, any warriors who are home on leave, and the Eastern Border Patrol for at least two weeks. We are going to Erebor, so some of the supplies can travel by raft up the lake. Where is Tinár?”

“He went home to rest,” Calith answered, busy making notes.

Ithilden turned to Sinnarn, who was fastening his cloak, excitement gleaming in his eyes. “Get him after you have found the various officers. He will have to take a message back to the Eastern Border Patrol immediately.”

Sinnarn flew out the door, while Ithilden went into his own office, trailed by Calith. They spent the next few minutes listing tasks to be done, and then the slam of the outer door announced the arrival of Eilian.

“Is it true that Smaug is dead?” Eilian asked eagerly.

“Yes,” Ithilden answered, his mind still on his plans. “I need you to get your warriors ready to march to Erebor in the morning.”

Eilian paused in the act of dropping into a chair in front of Ithilden’s desk. “They are on leave!” he protested.

“The king has ordered it,” Ithilden said tersely. He did not have time to argue with Eilian. “We are going to Erebor to claim Smaug’s treasure.”

Eilian let out an exasperated sigh. “That would be useful, I am sure, but my warriors have earned a rest, Ithilden!”

“Eilian, have your warriors ever gone without anything they needed?” Ithilden demanded sharply.

Eilian looked taken aback. “No.”

“And for that you can thank Adar, who has parted with most of what he had to buy it. Treasure is indeed very useful, and when you undervalue it, you are showing your ignorance of what has been done to feed and clothe and mount and arm you.”

Eilian made a face. “I am sorry.” He stood. “Very well. I will have them ready for you in the morning. Will we need horses?”

“No, it would be too hard to feed them in the desolation around the mountain. The troops will go on foot.”

Eilian nodded and left the office just as Todith and Legolas arrived. Ithilden began issuing his father’s orders again, wondering how it had come to be that the death of Smaug had led to him mobilizing his troops.

***

Bow in hand, Legolas automatically scanned the woods around him, but given the large troop of Elves in which he marched, he did not really expect to find danger. The Eastern Border Patrol had joined the rest of them in their camp the night before, and now they were in the middle of the second day of their journey.

He looked toward the head of the long line to see his father mounted on his great stallion, with his guards riding near him carrying the green banners of the Woodland Realm. He had never served under his father’s command before, although he supposed that most of the real command still lay in the hands of Ithilden, who had just ridden down the line checking it. But then he had also never been on a mission whose purpose was to secure a treasure.

He did not exactly object to such a mission. The dragon’s hoard was there for the taking, and the Elves might as well have it. He understood from what his father and Ithilden said that they needed it. Still, he fervently hoped that no one was going to oppose the Elves’ claim. He would not want to have to kill someone over a pile of jewels. He looked up uneasily at the flock of crows that seemed to be accompanying them. The birds were usually taken as a sign of war, and he hoped that this time the omen was false.

He felt again a twinge of regret over the deaths of the Dwarves. He wondered whether if he had been quicker to understand, they might still be alive. They had provoked him mightily when they were in Thranduil’s custody, but at least he could no longer accuse them of neglecting a child, and he understood why they had found his questions amusing. And their contribution to the death of Smaug had strengthened his belief in their courage.

Few people in this long column on its way to appropriate treasure seemed to be thinking about the Dwarves though. The only other person who had talked to Legolas about them was Sinnarn. In the company of Nithron, who had been assigned to him again the minute they left home, Sinnarn had come to the Home Guard camp the night before, approaching his former comrades a bit shyly, Legolas thought. His nephew had evidently been unsure of his welcome from warriors who might have lost their trust in him, but after a second of surprised silence, someone had called a greeting, and soon Sinnarn was sitting between Amdir and Legolas, warming his hands at the fire.

“It seems a pity the Dwarves will get no reward except death for driving out Smaug,” Sinnarn had observed to Legolas in a low voice, as the talk of the others flowed around them. While it was true that the Dwarves’ actions had not particularly endeared them to Sinnarn, it was also true that he had spent more time with them than anyone else had, and his interest in them had apparently not been completely destroyed. Legolas had nodded. It did seem wrong somehow that the Elves were to profit from the Dwarves’ foolhardy bravery.

When Sinnarn had risen to return to Ithilden’s camp for the night, Todith, who had remained silent until then, had looked up and said, “Come and see us again, Sinnarn.”

“I will,” Sinnarn had said, looking pleased, and he and Nithron had gone on their way.

A faint, unexpected noise in the woods to Legolas’s right made him jerk his head around toward it. Beliond was immediately alert too. “Come,” Legolas urged, and the two of them leapt into the trees to check on it, the eyes of their companions following them as they nocked arrows in their bows.

Moving rapidly through the branches, Legolas and Beliond had traveled for perhaps five minutes before they found what they sought. A Man rode among the trees, moving quickly toward the Elven host. Although the Man’s bow was still on his back, neither Legolas nor Beliond was taking any chances, and they had their own bows drawn when they dropped to the ground to confront the rider.

With alarm on his face, the Man brought his horse to a hasty halt and lifted his empty hands so they could see them. “I have a message for the Elvenking from Bard of Laketown.” He kept his eyes on their arrows, but he did not hesitate to speak. “The people of Laketown are in great need of the king’s aid.”

Legolas and Beliond exchanged a quick glance. Legolas had not thought about it, but he found it only too believable that the Men of Esgaroth might need help if the story of Smaug’s attack on them was true. He released his draw. “This way,” he indicated, and the Man urged his horse forward again, with Legolas and Beliond running lightly along on either side of him to guide him.

Ithilden seemed to spot them the minute they came in sight of the Elves. He had probably received word of their leaving the column and was watching for them. As soon as they appeared, he raised his hand over his head and called for a halt. Legolas and Beliond escorted the Man along the edge of the line to its head, where Thranduil awaited them. The Man slid from his horse and dropped to one knee. “My lord,” he said, “I bring a message from Bard of Laketown, begging you to come to the aid of a homeless and starving people.”

Thranduil raised an eyebrow. “And who is Bard?”

“Bard is the archer who killed Smaug,” the messenger answered, captivating Legolas’s attention immediately. He had to bite his tongue to keep from asking more about this archer.

“Was the town Master killed that Bard is the one sending for help?” Thranduil asked.

The messenger hesitated. “No, my lord, but the Master was at a loss as to how to manage the grievous circumstances in which we found ourselves.” His tone was dry, and Legolas wondered just how inept the town Master had been to merit such skepticism from one of his people.

For a second, there was silence, and Legolas looked up at his father’s face in surprise. He would have expected Thranduil to react with immediate if irritable sympathy to such an appeal for help, but his father’s face looked oddly distant, as if his thoughts were on other matters. Then something in the king’s face shifted, and he seemed to focus on the Man. “Tell me of what has happened,” he said. Legolas frowned. Could there be a note of regret in his father’s voice?

“Smaug burned most of the town,” the Man said, “and what he did not burn was smashed in his fall. We have many who were burned or hurt by falling buildings and many others who were pulled from the lake and have sickened in the cold. We have few shelters and little food, and we beg your help, my lord, as one who has been a good neighbor to the Men of the lake.”

Like everyone around him, Legolas turned to his father to await what would certainly be his consent to help the Men. For a long moment, Thranduil looked away to the northeast. Surely he was not going to refuse to help, Legolas thought with a sudden sense of shock. Then, with a soft sigh, Thranduil turned to Ithilden. “Send as many of our supplies as we can spare down the lake by raft. We will go to these people’s aid.” Relief flooded Legolas’s system, along with a little guilt for how he had misjudged his father. Thranduil was speaking to the Man now. “We will make what haste we can, but we are some distance from Esgaroth, and most of us are, as you see, on foot. Ride back and tell Bard to watch for the supplies and expect us in two days’ time.”

Smiling enormously, the Man came to his feet. “Thank you, my lord. We will await your arrival.” He swung himself back into his saddle, and turned his horse homeward. But Legolas was not watching him. He had kept his eyes on Thranduil, who was looking northeast again. And he had noticed that his father was wearing the elegant sword that the Elves had taken from Thorin Oakenshield.

***

“I cannot tell you how grateful we are for your aid, my lord. I would never have offered help to Thorin Oakenshield if I had known what he would bring down upon us. This is all the fault of the Dwarves.” The Master of Esgaroth looked resentfully at the chaotic scene around him. With Ithilden’s aide, Calith, organizing their actions, Thranduil’s Elves were already spreading out among the sick and sorrowing people of Esgaroth.

With difficulty, Thranduil refrained from telling the Master that he was a dithering fool who had failed his people in their time of need. “My messenger tells me you were on your way to the Lonely Mountain when he found you,” said the tall, grim-faced Man standing just behind the Master, and with intuition born of centuries of rule, Thranduil recognized a person who was both in control and interested in negotiating.

“Indeed we were,” the king acknowledged, “but we would be generous with our friends, even as they are generous with us.”

“This is Bard of the line of Girion of Dale,” the Master introduced his companion somewhat grudgingly. “I believe he is interested in returning to Dale now that Smaug is gone.” The Master’s smile was malicious. He clearly had no great love for the other Man and wanted him gone.

Thranduil and Bard regarded one another for a moment. “We should speak further about these matters,” Thranduil said, and Bard nodded. This Man would be a better ally than enemy, Thranduil thought. There was enough treasure at Erebor to satisfy them both. Or there should be. For a moment, he thought longingly of the beautiful things that lay hidden beneath the mountain. He had told Ithilden that the treasure would enable him to provide for his people, and it would indeed do that. But it would also be a pleasure to own in itself. Then, in his mind’s eye, he again saw Legolas’s puzzled face, waiting for him to declare that he would go to the aid of the Men. He sighed. Living up to one’s children’s expectations was challenging sometimes. He would speak to Bard about combining their efforts as soon as the needs of the people of Esgaroth had been seen to.

He turned back to the Master. “Your people will need shelters against the winter. I will give directions that trees should be cut so that your people and mine can build huts.”

“That would be most helpful, my lord,” the Master said. Bard raised an eyebrow. He undoubtedly wanted to know what Thranduil wanted in exchange for the lumber. Thranduil smiled pleasantly at him, and Bard bared his teeth back.

A familiar laugh caught Thranduil’s attention, and he glanced down the small hill on which they stood to see all three of his sons standing together near one of the campfires. It had been Eilian he heard, and his middle son was just handing a wine skin to Legolas. Eilian was probably teasing Legolas about something, although Thranduil knew it was unlikely to be about Hobbit the Dwarf Child. Those jokes seemed far less amusing now that the Dwarves and the hobbit were dead. Legolas had always tended to hold himself responsible for the safety of everyone around him, and Thranduil suspected he was taking the Dwarves’ deaths to heart.

He looked at the Master and Bard. “You will excuse me,” he said, and they nodded and moved off to where a meal was being served.

“If you wish to speak to me again, my tent is over there,” the Master said, pointing to one of the few shelters in the area. Thranduil kept his face carefully expressionless as he nodded. If the people of Esgaroth chose to elect a donkey as Master, it was none of Thranduil’s concern.

He turned to look once again at his sons, tall, strong, and beautiful in the way that was so natural to Elves that Thranduil noticed it now only in contrast to the rougher features of the Men around them. Ithilden was speaking, and the other two were listening attentively. As well they might, Thranduil thought. His oldest son’s words were always worth heeding, something Thranduil reminded himself of on a regular basis.

But the other two had come into their own now too. Eilian’s minder, Maltanaur, had predicted that his marriage to Celuwen would be the making of him, and so it had proved. He was more focused, less restless, and the considerable skill and wits that Eilian had always possessed had emerged more clearly. And seeing Legolas in the Home Guard had been a revelation for Thranduil, who tended to think of him still as an untried youth. As he had watched his youngest son assume responsibility not only for his own actions but also for directing those of others, Thranduil had realized that his child was a child no longer.

As Thranduil paused in the shadows, he saw Sinnarn approach the little group with a tentative step. But all three turned to welcome him, and Ithilden put an affectionate hand on his shoulder. How fortunate I am, Thranduil thought. My life is rich in treasure already.

He and his guards would camp with the Home Guard tonight, Thranduil decided. The homeless people of Esgaroth could have his tent. He started to walk toward his sons and grandson.

*******

AN: Some of the dialogue in this chapter is taken from The Hobbit, Chapter XIV, “Fire and Water.”

 





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