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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.

AN: Some of the dialogue in this chapter comes from The Hobbit, Chapters XV (“The Gathering of the Clouds”) and XVI (“A Thief in the Night”)

*******

14. Siege

Eilian scrambled up over the last rock on the broken path next to the waterfall and then, with a caution born of long experience, slid into the shelter of a boulder to wait for the rest of his party to finish the climb. As he waited, he turned impatiently toward the Gate of the Dwarves’ abandoned underground city, eager for a first glimpse of their goal. For a moment, he could not sort out what he was seeing: Where the open mouth of the cave of Erebor should have been, there was now a wall of square-cut stone, and in front of it, where the River Running should have passed to the falls in a narrow streambed, a wide pool filled almost the whole area between the two spurs of the mountain that framed the Gate.

“That wall is certainly not Smaug’s work,” Maltanaur observed from just behind him. “Someone must have beaten us here.”

Eilian nodded reluctantly and took his bow in hand. His father and Bard were both going to be mightily disappointed that someone else had evidently already laid claim to the dragon’s hoard. Eilian flinched at the very thought of telling them about it, and he rather thought that Bard would take the news even more badly than Thranduil would. With some amusement, Eilian had watched the two of them feeling one another out during the last week or so, and Bard had struck him as forceful enough that he had not been too surprised when Thranduil had allowed the so-called King of Dale to decide much of what they were to do. Of course, Bard had not yet made a decision Thranduil would have disagreed with, Eilian thought with a small smile. It would be interesting to see what happened if he ever did.

He glanced back toward the path and found that Galelas, Gelmir, and the three Men who had accompanied them had all reached the top of the falls and were staring at the pond and wall. With approval, he noted that, in this uncertain situation, all of them now held their weapons in their hands.

“We had better find out what we can,” Eilian said. “Galelas, you come with me and Maltanaur. The rest of you wait here. Keep in shelter as much as you can. We do not know how friendly whoever built that wall is.” Following his own advice, he began cautiously picking his way along the narrow ledge that led toward the Gate.

Suddenly, a loud voice hailed them from high on the wall. “Who are you that come as if in war to the gates of Thorin son of Thrain, King under the Mountain, and what do you desire?”

With heart jumping into this throat, Eilian flattened himself against the rocks that rose behind him. Thorin? Thorin was alive and had walled himself and presumably his companions into the mountain? How in Arda had the Dwarf managed that? He exchanged looks with Maltanaur and Galelas, who had also made themselves into the smallest targets they could manage. “Keep quiet, Eilian,” Maltanaur murmured. “You ought to know by now that speaking for the king without a charge to do so will only land you in trouble. With both kings,” he finished emphatically, and Eilian gave a small snort. Evidently Maltanaur had been watching Bard too.

Eilian flicked his finger toward the head of the waterfall, and the three of them moved back toward their companions. “We will report what we have found,” he told them, and the seven of them made their way back to where the Elves and Men were camped.

***

Legolas made his way among the campfires, listening to snatches of Elven harping and singing as he went. They had moved camp after the scouting party returned from the Gate, and while he thought he knew where the Southern Patrol warriors were camped, he was not sure. Warriors who had been home on leave from any other patrols had been placed under Eilian’s command too, but they still made up a much smaller group than the Home Guard, the Eastern Border Patrol, or the soldiers who had come with Bard. Then he heard a familiar voice off to his left and turned toward it.

He emerged out of the dark into the golden glow of the fire to find his brother sitting cross-legged on the rocky ground, listening to Gelmir finish a song of lament for the forest that had grown up to the very edge of the mountain in the days before Smaug. Legolas waited until the murmur of sympathy the song had drawn from its hearers died down, and then he approached, making Eilian look up and smile in welcome. “Sit,” he invited, moving over to make room between himself and Maltanaur.

Legolas folded his long legs under him and nodded to Galelas, who sat on Eilian’s other side. He and Galelas had been novices together but had never gotten along very well. Galelas had always resented Legolas’s skill, and Legolas had found it hard not to react with hostility. Legolas suspected that it was not an accident that he and Galelas had seldom been assigned to the same patrol. Galelas had served under Eilian several times, however, and it was obvious to Legolas that Galelas admired his brother and Eilian liked him, a fact that had softened Legolas’s dislike once he was certain that he himself was still far more precious to Eilian than Galelas was. “I hear you ran into our Dwarves today,” Legolas said.

Eilian laughed. “We ran into Thorin at any rate. I could not vouch for the others.”

Legolas could not help smiling. He knew that Thranduil had been dismayed by the news that Thorin was occupying the mountain, but the Dwarves’ survival had lifted Legolas’s mood, which had been dark ever since they had entered the area Smaug had desolated. Legolas had seen dragons in action, and the experience had not left him with happy memories. Then, as he had watched his father and Bard conferring throughout the day, his apprehensions had risen again. Surely they were not going to try to take the treasure away from the Dwarves by force.

“What will happen now?” Legolas asked.

Eilian shrugged. “Whatever Adar and Bard decide, although I will tell you that at the moment, Bard seems to be doing most of the talking.” He grinned. “Have you had a chance to talk to your hero yet, brat?”

Legolas made a face. Leave it to Eilian to notice that he had been trying to approach the Mannish archer who had killed Smaug. He had not realized that Men could be such fine archers or, for that matter, such inspiring leaders. “No. He is busy and spends most of his time with Adar or Ithilden.” Legolas was not about to admit that the grim-faced Man also intimidated him, but Eilian’s amused look suggested that he suspected it anyway.

“Captain?” said an unwelcome voice, and Tinár stepped into the circle around the fire. They all turned, and Eilian raised an eyebrow in response. “The king requires your presence.”

Eilian groaned but rose to his feet immediately. “You had better not wait for me, Legolas. Bard is interested in every detail about the terrain around the Gate. I may be some time.” He strode off and was soon lost in the darkness.

Legolas had risen in preparation to be off when he heard Galelas greet his brother. “Hello, Tinár. I hope you are well.”

“As well as can be expected, given the responsibilities I have been carrying as Ithilden’s chief messenger,” Tinár sniffed. “You cannot possibly understand what a strain it has been.”

Legolas stared at him in open-mouthed astonishment. What a fool! He glanced at Galelas, who let out as exasperated breath. “Tinár,” Galelas snapped, “I have just returned from three months in the south, including a trip to Dol Guldur. Do not talk to me about the strain of carrying messages around the camp.”

Maltanaur gave a quiet chuckle, and Tinár’s face turned red. Without another word, he spun on his heel and disappeared. “Good for you, Galelas,” Maltanaur said.

Galelas made no response but glanced quickly up at Legolas and then looked away again. “You are one of the luckiest people I know, Legolas,” he said, his eyes on the campfire and his voice bitter.

“Yes,” Legolas agreed, not knowing what else to say. “I am.” And he turned and started toward the Home Guard’s camp.

***

Thranduil walked easily along beside Bard in the early morning light. He and the Man had sat up a good part of the night discussing what they would do this morning. Bard had been unbending in arguing that he and the people of Esgaroth had just claims on at least part of the treasure, and Thranduil had had to agree with him. From the minute he had heard Eilian say that the Dwarves were alive, he had known that taking the treasure for the Elves was no longer a possibility, for they had no rights to it if the Dwarves were back. But it seemed to him that Bard and his people did have a right to some of what was in Smaug’s hoard.

From the corner of his eye, he could see Sinnarn carrying the green banner of the forest, a counterpart to the Man carrying the blue banner of the lake next to Bard. Ithilden had not been happy that both his father and his son were to be of the party that walked in the open before the Gate when they did not know how far Thorin intended to take his hostility toward them. But Thranduil had insisted that he needed to stand by Bard’s side, and Sinnarn was the messenger on duty and thus the one who should be asked to carry the banner. Ithilden had given in to Sinnarn’s silent plea to be allowed to do it, just as he had given in when his son had objected to being left behind in Esgaroth to help Calith organize matters.

Thranduil had heard them arguing when they both thought he was asleep. “Adar, please,” Sinnarn had begged. “Let me come with you. Give me a chance to prove that I can be a warrior again.” And after a long hesitation, Ithilden had allowed it. It had been the right thing to do, Thranduil thought, a little regretfully. Sinnarn needed a chance to redeem himself if he was to become a whole person again. Nonetheless, Thranduil was glad to know that Nithron was walking within a foot of his grandson, his wary, experienced eyes scanning the top of the wall for a glimpse of a bow that might loose an arrow at his charge. Thranduil supposed that Ithilden had enjoined several of the Elven guards who walked with them to do the same for him.

They were nearly to the newly-built wall now, and Thranduil eyed it with curiosity. What treasures did it conceal? he wondered, and to his own dismay, he felt his heart beat a little faster at the thought. The Dwarves have survived, he reminded himself. The treasure already has owners.

A familiar voice suddenly made itself heard. “Who are you that come armed for war to the gates of Thorin son of Thrain, King under the Mountain?” Thranduil had last heard that voice in his own Great Hall when Thorin Oakenshield had defied him.

“Hail Thorin!” called Bard. It had seemed fitting that he should speak, given his rights and those of the people of Esgaroth. Thranduil did not really think he could have stopped the Man from speaking in any case. “Why do you fence yourself like a robber in his hold? We are not yet foes, and we rejoice that you are alive beyond our hope. We came expecting to find none living here; yet now that we are met there is a matter for a parley and a council.”

“Who are you, and of what would you parley?” Thorin sounded as unbowed as ever. Really, thought Thranduil, Dwarves could be impossibly stiff-necked. Next to him, Bard drew a deep breath and launched into his argument.

“I am Bard, and by my hand was the dragon slain and your treasure delivered. Is that not a matter that concerns you? Moreover I am by right descent the heir of Girion of Dale, and in your hoard is mingled much of the wealth of his halls and town, which of old Smaug stole. Is not that a matter of which we may speak? Further in his last battle Smaug destroyed the dwellings of the men of Esgaroth, and I am yet the servant of their Master. I would speak for him and ask whether you have no thought for the sorrow and misery of his people. They aided you in your distress, and in recompense you have thus far brought ruin only, though doubtless undesigned.” The arguments had seemed good to Thranduil, but they apparently failed to impress Thorin.

“To the treasure of my people no man has a claim, because Smaug who stole it from us also robbed him of life or home,” the Dwarf shot back without hesitation. “The treasure was not his that his evil deeds should be amended with a share of it. The price of the goods and the assistance that we received of the Lake-men we will fairly pay—in due time. But nothing will we give, not even a loaf’s worth, under threat of force. While an armed host lies before our doors, we look on you as foes and thieves. It is in my mind to ask what share of their inheritance you would have paid to our kindred, had you found the hoard unguarded and us slain.”

Thranduil could not suppress his disgust. Was Thorin so Dwarvishly smitten with treasure that he could not see what he owed to Bard or the people of Esgaroth?

Bard answered far more calmly that Thranduil could have done. “A just question. But you are not dead and we are not robbers. Moreover the wealthy may have pity beyond right on the needy that befriended them when they were in want. And still my other claims remain unanswered.”

“I will not parley, as I have said, with armed men at my gate,” Thorin reiterated. “Nor at all with the people of the Elvenking, whom I remember with small kindness. In this debate they have no place.  Begone now ere our arrows fly! And if you would speak with me again, first dismiss the Elvish host to the woods where it belongs, and then return, laying down your arms before you approach the threshold.”

Thranduil caught his breath. So the Dwarf was demanding that the Man send the Elves away. His eyes narrowed as he glanced at Bard. Now he would see how far the Man was to be trusted. Bard claimed to be grateful; he claimed to be a friend. How long would his gratitude and friendship last in the face of Thorin’s demands?

“The Elvenking is my friend,” said Bard, “and he has succored the people of the Lake in their need, though they had no claim but friendship on him. We will give you time to repent your words. Gather your wisdom ere we return!” And with that, he turned and started back toward their camp, leaving Thranduil to follow, musing on the possibility that Men might be allies worth having after all.

At their camp, Ithilden was waiting for them, impatient to hear what had happened, and Thranduil told him the tale in as few words as possible. “What do you intend to do?” Ithilden asked.

“We need to discuss what our demands will be,” Bard said immediately.

Both Ithilden and Thranduil turned to look at him. “Thorin is not going to give in easily,” Thranduil observed tentatively.

“Neither will I,” Bard declared. “I will grant that most of what is in that dragon’s hoard does belong to the Dwarves, but Smaug took some of it from Dale. Moreover, if it were not for me, the dragon would have slain them all. I believe I am owed something for that.”

Thranduil looked at him thoughtfully. In the last week, he had come to respect Bard as he respected few other Men. The Man was tough, smart, and determined, and he cared for the well-being of his people. If Bard intended to rebuild the town of Dale, Thranduil wanted him as an ally, even more so given that the Dwarves were back. He would support this dark, grim Man if he could. “What would you demand then?”

Bard hesitated. “At least a twelfth of the treasure should come to me as the dragon-slayer, and as the heir of Girion,” he finally said. “Even that share would be an enormous amount, and I would be willing to donate some of it to Esgaroth myself.”

Thranduil considered. A twelfth of the treasure did not seem too great a price to pay for the death of the dragon. “And if Thorin will not give it? Digging him and his companions out of their lair would be difficult.”

“If he will not do what is right, then we will lay siege to the mountain,” Bard declared. “Thorin will find that gold is far better to look at than to eat.”

Slowly, Thranduil nodded. “So be it.” He turned to Ithilden. “Let a messenger be sent with the demand and the warning.” Ithilden grimaced ever so slightly and then waved Sinnarn forward from where he stood waiting.

Within minutes, Sinnarn was off to the Gate again, and within a short time after that, he returned with a pale face and an arrow protruding from his shield. In violation of all that was right, Thorin had shot at their messenger. Nithron was so outraged that he was trembling. With tight-lipped determination, Ithilden set guards to insure that no one could get into or out of the Gate unseen. The siege of the mountain was underway.

***

“I am going to go inside and get out of the wind for a few minutes,” said Amdir, and Legolas nodded, still scanning the open area that was spread out below him to the west, south, and east. He, Amdir, and Beliond were on guard duty here this afternoon, and a cold task it was turning out to be. The abandoned Dwarven guard station behind him provided their only shelter from the November wind that seemed to come straight from the Grey Mountains, smelling of snow. Their task today was not to watch the Gate, but to keep an eye out for anyone who might be trying to approach the mountain and bring aid to the Dwarves.

Legolas had never been part of a siege before, but five days into this one now, he had decided that they were tedious affairs. Indeed, he knew that Todith was assigning the Home Guard warriors to make arrows, clean the camp, and stand extra watches just to keep them busy so that they would not grow too restless.

Eilian was already bored almost beyond his bearing and had taken to coming around to the Home Guard camp each night to try to get Legolas to wager with him on all manner of unlikely events. On the previous night, he had wanted to bet on whether Bard would give Thranduil any part of whatever the Dwarves gave him. Cynic that he was, Eilian thought he would not, but Legolas had more faith in the Man. At least Eilian knew enough not to wager with his own warriors, Legolas thought.

Suddenly, he stiffened. Because he had not expected anyone would be foolish enough to try to cross the unsheltered expanse of land in front of him, he had to look twice in order to make himself believe it when he saw a small figure in the distance. “Beliond,” he said, “look there!” His keeper swung around from the western edge of the little plateau and looked in the direction Legolas was indicating.

“One person only,” Beliond said, confirming Legolas’s judgment.

“Amdir!” Legolas called. “Come! We need to go greet a visitor.”  Within minutes, the three of them were flying down the path from their vantage point, prepared to stop whoever was approaching. Legolas kept half his attention on the intruder, and when he was almost to the foot of the path, he suddenly stopped, squinted into the sun to be sure, and then grinned. “It is Mithrandir!” he called.  He waved at Beliond. “You and Amdir go back. I will see our guest to the king’s tent.” Beliond and Amdir slowed and then turned to start back up the path again, while Legolas scrambled the rest of the way down to wait for the wizard to approach.

“Mae govannen, Mithrandir,” he greeted the wizard. “What are you doing here?”

“Mae govannen, Legolas. I have heard that Smaug is dead, and I have come to see for myself and to check on the whereabouts of some friends of mine. I did not expect to find your adar’s warriors here, but it is just as well you are, all things considered.”

Legolas blinked. As often in conversations with Mithrandir, he was not sure he had completely understood what was being said. “Are your friends here?” he asked cautiously.

Mithrandir smiled wryly. “If Thorin Oakenshield and his companions have returned to the mountain, then yes they are.”

Legolas gaped at him. “The Dwarves are friends of yours?” he demanded. “And the hobbit too?”

“Oh yes, the hobbit especially.” Mithrandir smiled serenely in the face of the growing outrage that Legolas knew was showing in his face.

“Why did you not warn us they were coming? Do you have any idea of the amount of trouble they caused?”

“I do not, although I am sure you will tell me as you show me into your adar’s presence, but Smaug is gone, is he not?”

“Yes, but no thanks to them! Bard of Esgaroth killed him.”

“But the Dwarves played their part too, I will wager,” Mithrandir said comfortably. “And perhaps they will have a part to play in what is to come also.”

Legolas frowned. “I suppose it would do no good to ask you what you mean by that,” he said caustically.

Mithrandir smiled. “I fear we are keeping Thranduil waiting, and my experience has been that that is never a good thing.”

Legolas gave a small snort and began guiding the wizard toward his father’s tent.

***

“Legolas!” called Amdir, his voice urgent, causing Legolas’s breath to catch in what should have been a routine round to check on the night guards. He turned toward Amdir’s voice and found, to his utter astonishment, that Amdir and Annael were walking toward him with Hobbit the Dwarf Child grasped firmly between them. No, he thought, narrowing his eyes, not Hobbit -- Bilbo Baggins. What was he doing here?

“He says he wants to speak to Bard,” Annael announced.

Legolas looked at Bilbo and smiled a little maliciously. “Bard is with Thranduil,” he said, “and I think both of them might like to speak to Master Baggins. I know I would.”

Annael kept a commendably straight face, but his eyes danced as he looked at Legolas. Bilbo, on the other hand, had the good grace to blush. He was dressed quite ridiculously in what looked like good Elven armor with a soaking wet jacket over the top, but he pulled himself erect with as much dignity as he could muster and said, “Your kind heart does you much credit, Master Elf, and I would stay to explain, but I have not the time. I beg leave to speak to Bard.”

Content for now to wait, Legolas jerked his head in the direction of his father’s tent, in front of which he knew Bard and Thranduil sat before a large fire. “Come,” he said and led the way.

The appearance of Bilbo brought both Bard and Thranduil to their feet. “Bilbo Baggins!” exclaimed Bard, and then his eyes narrowed. “What brings you here?” he asked distrustfully. So far as Legolas could see, Bard was even more cynical than Eilian.

Bilbo bowed to both leaders. “Greetings, Master Bard, and you too, my lord. I know you by sight, though perhaps you don’t know me to look at. I have news to give and an offer to make if you will but listen.”

Thranduil and Bard glanced at one another, and then Thranduil waved Legolas, Annael, and Amdir aside so that Bilbo could speak to him and Bard in private. “You two can go,” Legolas told the others. “Sinnarn is just over there. I am sure he will be more than willing to help me guard our guest.”

Annael smothered a laugh. “Leave him in one piece, Legolas,” he said, and then he and Amdir went back to their watch.

Legolas went to sit next to Sinnarn, who was with a nearby group of Ithilden’s guards and aides. His nephew was eyeing Bilbo with undisguised hostility. “What does he want?” he asked.

Legolas shrugged and sat back to watch the scene unfolding in front of him. At the moment at least, Bilbo seemed to doing most of the talking, presumably explaining whatever it was he wanted. He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and waved it around for a bit, but Bard seemed unimpressed and even angry. And then Bilbo pulled something else out of his pocket, unwrapped it, and held it out to Thranduil and Bard. Even from where Legolas sat, whatever it was Bilbo held gleamed white in the dark, as if he held a star in his hands. Thranduil leaped to his feet and stared at the thing, and Bard, too, regarded it in wonder. And then, after a second of hesitation, Bilbo handed the gleaming thing to Bard, who held it as if dazed and then pulled its wrappings around it again.

Thranduil turned and signaled to Legolas, who plucked at Sinnarn’s sleeve and led him toward Bilbo. “Really I must be going, and quickly,” the hobbit was saying as they approached.

“Take him to the ford and get him across as dry as you can,” Thranduil instructed. He glanced at both of them, and amusement flickered across his face. “Mr. Baggins is my guest,” he stressed.

“Yes, my lord,” Legolas answered reluctantly and gestured to Bilbo to come with them. Bilbo hesitated for a second, with his eyes on Sinnarn, who was smiling nastily. Then he set off, walking between them.

“Master Guard,” he said, almost as soon as they had left the circle of the campfire, “I fear I owe you an apology.” Both Legolas and Sinnarn turned to him, and Legolas realized that the hobbit was talking to Sinnarn. “I hope you did not get into too much trouble when we – left.”

Sinnarn glared at him. “As it happens, I got into a great deal of trouble, and as to your leaving, I am most curious as to how you managed it.”

Bilbo looked sheepish. “I distracted you, and then I poured more wine into the flagons, don’t you know. I suppose the wine was strong enough to confuse you so that you did not notice.”

Sinnarn’s mouth had dropped open. “I was not that confused! At least not at first. How did you manage it without our seeing you?”

Bilbo shrugged. “That is another story that perhaps I will tell you someday,” he said vaguely.

Legolas thought of the daily humiliation that Sinnarn had endured for over a month. He thought of Alfirin’s anguished face and Ithilden’s stoic attempt to mete out even-handed justice. And he wanted nothing so much as to beat the hobbit senseless. At that moment, they passed the tent where Mithrandir was housed, and he strode toward them, smiling at Bilbo. “Well done, Mr. Baggins!” he exclaimed, slapping the hobbit on the back. “There is always more about you than anyone expects!”

“Indeed,” murmured Sinnarn, a little indignantly. Legolas drew a deep breath and reminded himself that Thranduil had declared Bilbo to be his guest.

It was Bilbo’s turn to look startled now. “Gandalf! How did you get here?”

“All in good time!” Mithrandir answered with a smile. “Things are drawing towards the end now, unless I am mistaken. There is an unpleasant time just in front of you; but keep your heart up! You may come through all right. There is news brewing that even the ravens have not heard. Good night!” And with that, he retreated toward his tent, leaving all three of them staring after him apprehensively.

After a moment, they turned and began walking along again. Legolas was thinking about Bilbo’s explanation to Sinnarn, and it seemed to him to raise as many questions as it answered. Surely there was some sort of magic at work here. He turned to the hobbit again. “How did you get into the stronghold? Where did you hide? And how did you get out again?”

“I really must be getting back to my companions now,” Bilbo said evasively. “Perhaps if we meet again, I will tell you more.”

Legolas and Sinnarn looked at one another over Bilbo’s head. Legolas knew that his nephew was no more satisfied than he was, but the time for questions had run out. They had reached the ford, and Bilbo was looking at the cold water distastefully. “I will carry you across,” Legolas volunteered, remembering his father’s admonition to get the hobbit across as dry as they could.

“Very well,” Bilbo conceded, and Legolas picked him up and slogged along over the stones, only slightly tempted to drop him. He set the hobbit down on the other side. “Until we meet again,” Bilbo called cheerily and disappeared into the night.

TBC

*******

Many thanks to everyone who is reading this story and especially to those who have taken the time to review it. I know it’s been kind of a long haul, but I hope it’s not been too tedious. I thought I’d be all the way through to the start of the battle in this chapter, but I didn’t make it.

 





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