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Sons of Fellowship  by Conquistadora

It had appeared to be a productive day.  Suspicions were laid to rest, preliminary alliances commissioned, friendships confirmed.  But, as rose-colored as those steps seemed to be, Legolas soon realized they had only just scratched at the surface, for that evening he stood sullen and silent before a conclave of the innermost court of only the Lords and their sons in a safely sequestered chamber, doors shut and curtain drawn.  Gimli was the subject of their unrest, so Legolas bore the brunt in his stead.   He said not a word as the debate passed between the lords, feeling an indignant twinge of betrayal that they should still be arguing the case at all.  What in Elu’s name was so terribly wrong with Gimli? 


For once, Thranduil was not directly responsible for this impromptu council.  Indeed, he seemed caught between his peers on either side.  He presided in silence, uncomfortably drumming his fingers on the carven arm of his throne as the principle debate was dominated by Lords Galadhmir and Anárion. 


“No,” the latter was saying adamantly.  “The hospitality due a guest is one thing, but we are not obliged to open all doors to him.  It is heedlessly unwise to take a potential opponent so deeply into our confidence.  Have we any more than Legolas’ word as regards the character of this Gimli?”


“Is that not enough?” Calenmir protested, though his father would have liked to shush him.  “When has Legolas ever failed in his trust?”


“The escape of a certain flat-footed wretch comes readily to mind,” Anárion said pointedly.  He was not known for a habitually sharp tongue, but as a remnant of the Fall of Gondolin he was acutely perceptive to any real or imagined vulnerability harbored complacently within the realm itself.  Naturally the escape of Gollum had particularly unnerved him, as it had them all.


“That was no fault of his!” Calenmir protested vehemently, suddenly on his feet, seeming to take greater offense than even Legolas did.


“Calenmir, sit,” Galadhmir commanded, pulling back on his sleeve.


“I must say, Thranduil, that I do not believe Anárion’s fears to be groundless,” Linhir ventured cautiously.  He appeared to be wavering, made wary by his unforgiving duties as seneschal, but unsure of the merit of his own initial disquiet as it gradually diminished.  Beside him, his son Luinar seemed to harbor no doubts of his own, arms crossed rather petulantly as though he had been told to keep quiet.  “We all know the value of the voice of experience.”


“Yes,” Galadhmir agreed with a touch of irony, “and it should be quite clear what may be expected for the callous slighting of Dwarves.  Or have the rest of us forgotten what befell Aran Thingol?”


Thranduil squirmed in his seat, perhaps considering upon just whose head such a blow would fall now.  


“For myself, I shall accept the word of my sister’s son as sufficient,” Galadhmir continued.  “He may have much yet to learn of the world beyond our wood, but he is not blind.  Nor were the members of Mithrandir’s Fellowship chosen for faithlessness.  I cannot speak for the others of his kin, but I hold Gimli to be trustworthy.  It would do us greater harm to spurn him.”


“Nothing is certain,” Anárion returned immovably, perhaps haunted in memory by the inscrutable face of Maeglin.  “You cannot know him any further than he wills.  So long as he remains, his presence within our halls is naught but a growing liability.”


“What would you have me do, then?” Thranduil demanded at last in frustrated exasperation, silencing them both.  “I have seen no guilt in him, and that is not to say I have not looked for it.  I have searched his soul as deeply as I dare, and indeed he suspects us, but one look at us secreted here will hold him blameless for that!”


Anárion drew himself up straighter, seeming at best rather disappointed in his King.  He had earned some of Legolas’ benign resentment, but at the same time he understood it was only Anárion’s jealous sense of security that was inspiring his dissent.  “Thranduil, such sentiments, especially on behalf of a nogoth, might easily be misinterpreted,” Anárion said grimly.  “One might suspect you were becoming rather fond of him yourself.”


“Forgive me if I am!”


In the stricken silence that followed, Legolas at last allowed a slow smile to creep across his face.  His  father was again the very vision of agonized indecision, one hand slapped over his eyes as he slouched wearily against the confines of his magisterial chair.  It was plain from his tone that he did not want to be fond of Gimli – that hairy, uncouth, endearing barbarian – but simply could not help it.


Luinar at last rolled his eyes in utter incredulity.  “Elbereth Gilthoniel!” he breathed, seeing even mighty Thranduil undone at his foundations.  “Will someone explain this madness to me?  I know no one values my opinion, but for pity’s sake voice your own!  Will you tell him?” he asked, giving his father’s shoulder a determined shove.  “Will you tell him what you were telling me last night, about how foolish he is?”


That brutally candid remark arrested the undivided attention of all present, Thranduil not least of all.  “Yes, Linhir,” he said, in the same calm and chilling tone that had unnerved many.  “Perhaps you would like to tell me to my face.” 


Linhir, meanwhile, seemed to regret having ever opened his mouth in the first place.  “As Anárion has observed,” he began deliberately, “I merely think it unwise to open our borders and sanctums to a son of Erebor without first being assured of mutual commitment from that quarter.  From a strictly political position, it smacks of willful capitulation in the face of a rival power.  It is not conducive to a strong public image.”


“I am not a statesman, Linhir,” Thranduil reiterated.  “I do not care what it looks like.  If I must suffer my son to go alone into that den of wolves that is Erebor, I shall not give them ready excuse to molest him by providing Glóin’s son with reason to complain against me.” 


His reasoning was unassailable from that standpoint.  Sacrifices of pride and perhaps of inviolability must be made to ensure amiable relations in the long run, as two wolves may forego a damaging clash with merely a proud sniff. 


But that was only if they could cuff their subordinates into submission.


“And Luinar,” Thranduil continued then, rounding sharply upon what he deemed a disruption waiting to happen, “you will cease your harassment of the Dwarf.  I cannot tell you how to think, but so long as you abide within my halls I can indeed tell you how to behave.  Anárion,” he turned, “your cautions have not fallen upon deaf ears.  Set your mind at rest, for neither have blind eyes fallen upon Gimli.  And now, if there are no further objections,” he sighed at last in a tone that clearly said he did not want to hear them if there were, “I have had quite enough of arguing this case.  Lord Gimli shall stay until he chooses to leave, and I stand by what I the conditions established yesterday.  Those who would challenge it will do so before me alone.  Otherwise, I want to hear nothing more of it.”







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