Despite Thorin’s ultimatum, the debate had continued for a disproportionate length of time. At last Gimli had won his freedom from the heated circle, understanding now in a dim way what had made Legolas break for the open air the night before. Tempers were running high, making kindred company uncomfortable. And so he went in search of more agreeable companionship.

He worried about Legolas, especially since he had been pulled away by the council at a crucial moment. It seemed he was not making a very fine figure of a host thus far. Curse Náin. What a shambles he had made of their efforts! Whatever tentative threads of trust had been woven between the Wood and the Mountain were certainly severed now, though he knew many of the grisly details would not come directly to Thranduil from his son’s mouth. Legolas had worked too hard already seeing this alliance established to let a splinter strike it a death blow.

He rapped on Legolas’ door there in the corridor, but received no answer. When a second knock earned no more acknowledgment than the first, he cautiously peeked inside. No one but Scatha looked up to greet him. "Oh, now where has he gone?" he grumbled to himself, perceptive enough to know the Elf was still riding the vestiges of a pugnacious mood. It made him uneasy to know Legolas was at large in the Mountain alone. He thought the Elf had better sense than that.

But his mind was soon put at ease as he turned to see his friend on his way back from the other direction. "Where have you been?" he demanded at once.

"To keep the company of the horses," Legolas answered succinctly, brushing past into his room and inviting Gimli in behind him. "I find them to be simpler companions."

"No doubt." Gimli closed the door behind him. "How is your hand?"

"It is nothing," Legolas insisted, though it seemed he made an effort to keep it hidden as he sat beside Scatha on the bed and inspected the bandaging on the shortened tail. He seemed dissatisfied with it. "Help me change this, will you? I could use another hand."

"First show me yours," Gimli insisted, knowing Legolas was purposefully making light of his injury.

"It is not – "

"Show it to me." With a brazen will that Legolas only resisted with half a heart, Gimli took it for himself and turned it up to see the damage in the full light. He grimaced a bit, for the dark slit was still plain to see though it had begun to heal in the last hour, accentuated by the ugly bruise surrounding the point of impact like frozen ripples.  "I am sorry about all this, Legolas."

"I am certain you are." He snatched his hand away to gather a reluctant Scatha into a firm hold against his side. "But it is my own fault."

"What?" Gimli turned back with a roll of fresh bandages in his hand – at least Legolas had been provided with that much. "And next I suppose you will claim responsibility for Náin’s words as well?"

"Náin is another matter," Legolas stated frigidly, bracing himself as Scatha struggled against him. "But we should not have put this trial to Erebor yet. They are not ready."

"That I cannot argue," Gimli admitted ruefully as he caught hold of the writhing tail long enough to loose the old bandage, deeply stained already. "But it may please you to know that at this very moment Náin has borne twenty-eight hard lashes to redeem every letter of your name. By Thorin’s command he is now chained in a cell so long as you stay."

"Good," Legolas grunted, watching as Gimli endeavored to re-wrap the wounded tail. "I may pity him tomorrow, but for the moment I care not.  A single day in the dark cannot matter much in the life of a cockroach. Ah!" He pulled his hand away as Scatha unwittingly clawed at it, utilizing a terse but colorful word for which Gimli did not ask a translation.

"One day? You will admit defeat already?"

"I cannot see that I have any choice in the matter," Legolas said. "My presence is only making matters worse, and I would leave before Erebor becomes more like Orodruin. Your father will be no more inclined to endure my company even if I should remain through the winter. I do not renounce the challenge, but it would be better pursued at another place and another time."

Again, Legolas’ reasoning was unassailable, much though Gimli would have liked to refute it somehow.  But it was still regrettable.

"Oh, you’re right, of course," he grumped, letting Scatha’s tail go now that it wore a new bandage. The little beast fled to the chair in the corner, plainly wanting to be left well enough alone for a while yet. Gimli could understand how he felt, and eloquently expressed his dissatisfaction with the whole episode with a choice word of his own.

The Elf seemed to regret it as much as he did. "Some things cannot be helped,” he said. “It is a wonder that we found our way this far, and Thorin has been pleasant enough." He looked down on him now with a hint of a smile, like the sun behind a cloud. "After all, it is more encouraging to laugh at life than to lament it."

"True enough. But you can’t thumb your nose at your enemy for long before you must face him again. I wonder what will befall us the next time."

"I prefer to think that nothing will mar the next time," Legolas said. "These past days were not fruitless. We may not have earned the goodwill of all Erebor, but what of Lóni? And Flói, and Frár?" Now he did smile. "And Káli. I have decided you are very much your mother’s son, Gimli."

"And you are more your father’s son than I realized before," Gimli returned, unable to help smiling himself. "What now shall we do with mine?"

Legolas stopped to become thoughtful again. "I do not know," he said grimly, gathering his legs beneath him on the bed as he continued to gently flex his hand. "I cannot leave him like this, but neither can I do aught to win his favor.  You still know him better than I, so what would you suggest?"

"Well . . ." Gimli twiddled his beard, thinking. "Mother has often said the best way into his heart is through his stomach. I do not suppose you can cook, Legolas?" he asked wryly.

"Yes, I can," the Elf assured him, though in the same twisted voice. "But I am not especially inclined to attempt that route unless as a last resort. But Káli seems to have won his regard somehow. Was she endowed with any particular attributes I may safely emulate?" His tone made it clear that the request came with extremely narrow confines.

"She had a sizable dowry," Gimli suggested.

An expression passed Legolas’ face remarkably like that of a horse with its ears laid back. "I might have guessed that," he said. "All comes back to revolve around the contents of a vault, does it not? It is not a price I would shrink from if he would only accept it, but I remember he has stated in no uncertain terms his opinion of our ‘ill-gotten hoard’."

"He has been known to speak without thought," Gimli said. "I would like to be there to see him refuse a worthy wereguild if it be properly offered. It is a standing debt of honor that he holds against you, perhaps irrationally. And it seems he intends to deny you any other means of repaying him. The commission your father extended to us was a fine attempt, but I imagine he wants no business with Thranduil until that debt of years past is acknowledged and settled at the expense of your house."

"Father would not stoop to buy the begrudged friendship of Glóin," Legolas said, the cautious shadow returned to his eyes that always appeared when he considered the affairs of his house.

"Probably not," Gimli conceded. "But would you?"

Legolas passed the rest of that day in a reasonable measure of solitude. He had spent several long hours on yet another terrace to watch the rain slowly cease, Gimli’s proposal very much on his mind. With his eyes turned south to Lasgalen, he had taken counsel with himself again and again, considering matters as they stood. The same arguments dominated his thoughts now that he had returned to the sunless depths of his room, donning his militant robes of green and crimson in preparation for yet another Dwarvish encounter over dinner. That particular setting always seemed to ruin his appetite despite the overabundance – or perhaps because of it – and he knew he would probably be hungry enough to eat himself sick when he returned to Dale. There was something unsettling in watching a Dwarf opposite him somehow consume three times what even his father could manage. And Thranduil was not known for picking at his food.

His knife had been still on his diamond dress belt where he had left it before.  He twirled the familiar weight of the blade first in one hand, then in the other, ignoring the lingering discomfort from his injury while gauging his ability to function despite it. He would not appear crippled before a crowd of Dwarves.

Gimli’s question continued to nettle him. He knew any such open admission of Glóin’s obsessive grievance would indeed displease his father. Furthermore, he knew that if it was left to Thranduil the supposed debt would stand unaddressed until Glóin should breathe his last and thus remove a stubborn obstacle. Thranduil knew he could afford to wait, and no mortal had ever outlasted him in a duel of wills. This, Legolas knew, was his own problem.

Scatha was beginning to perk up, but was still a bit languid. He was freed of all restraint, for Legolas no longer cared what was construed of his mercy, and had sent Gimli back to the king with the jeweled collars that had hindered his now constant companion. 

Whatever he chose to do, he would have to do quickly. He did intend to be gone tomorrow regardless of what happened tonight. It was not that he feared for his safety, but the incident in the forge had brutally proven just what a liability his presence had become. It seemed only by grace that no one but Scatha had sustained any grave injury in the madness. And now that Thorin was cracking the whip, those already set against him would resent him all the more. Peace may be restored, but in the meantime the chasm was only widened, perhaps eventually to a point when it would be unbridgeable.

He still had no love at all for that asinine fool Náin, but had grudgingly begun to pity him with the same reluctant sentiment that he had extended to the creature Gollum. The corporal punishment dealt him was justified – indeed it was freely employed among his own people for grave offenses. Thranduil disliked to put even the worst apples of the bushel to an untimely death, as seldom as it was ever considered or needed, for he had seen too much kinslaying in his time, and life had been precious in Mirkwood. So, if a good flogging would accomplish his purposes just as well, dealing brief wounds but a lasting memory, he was willing to employ it in place of a more unforgiving measures. Náin’s particular offense of open detraction of a lord – even of a prince – would likely not have earned him quite so severe a chastisement at even Thranduil’s hand, but Dwarves were sturdy people and Thorin knew his own business best. At heart, Legolas would not wish dark imprisonment upon anyone. The sooner he took his leave, the sooner Náin would be freed.

He considered now how he would deal with the matter of Glóin. He had riches enough elsewhere to afford to be extravagant in this attempt, but he wondered what he would be free to give that Glóin would not refuse outright. He had been known to speak before thought, as Gimli had said. Again his errant thoughts reminded him of his father’s supposed opinion of the matter, but the next moment he renounced all such cautions. He was not his father, and in this he would act for himself.

He knew not yet what he would do, but by the Valar, he would do it.

All too soon he was seated again beside Thorin at the king’s table, surrounded by less than hospitable company. He kept his palm faced down at much as he could. Gimli’s family was positioned directly across from him now, and so he endured Glóin’s obvious displeasure as well as he could. The conversation left much to be desired, for apparently the Dwarves were still uncertain as to his particular frame of mind, wondering if he intended to hold the transgressions of that day against them. Certainly he was in a position to do so.

"I offer the profoundest apologies of my house," Thorin said at last, over the final course. "Today will remain a black memory in the histories of the Mountain."

"I appreciate your concern, my lord," Legolas answered carefully, turning his glass by the stem. The others did not seem overly accustomed to such, and he wondered if the more refined glasses were employed for his sake. "I will forgive the incident, but it made clear to me the liability my presence has become to the peace of your realm. Lest another needless conflagration claim still more casualties, I shall take my leave of you with the dawn."

Thorin glared daggers at the sullen lords around them, but did not contest his choice. "As you wish, my lord. I would that you would stay, but if my own people cannot observe the simple trusts of hospitality, they are not worthy of your solicitude."

"It was heedless of me to provoke them before their time," Legolas said. The servants had begun clearing the discarded plates, relieving the table of much of the disorderly clutter. "As for the Lord Glóin, I particularly regret that I was unable to restore peace between us, remembering the welcome companionship of his son."

"You could have done no more than you have, my lord," Káli insisted firmly, heedless of her husband. "You have been more than gracious, and I for one shall remember it."

"Quiet, wife," Glóin growled into his beard, unable to bear her browbeating any longer.

"Quiet, yourself, you old gremlin!" she snarled back. "You never bothered to speak before this. Why should you now?"

"My lady," Legolas protested. He was of the same mind, but that was no way for a wife to address her husband in mixed company. "Please."

"Legolas, if you will not fight your own battles, I will!" Káli berated him, obviously quite fed up with this impasse. She was on her feet now, beating a strong fist on the hard wood of the table. "Glóin, you are a stubborn fool! All of you! What is to be gained by snubbing worthy fellows like these?"

"Down, woman!" Glóin bellowed, standing as well. "Do you dare goad me further?!"

"Goad you?" she sneered, rising to the occasion. "I’ll loose a tooth or two from that saucy mouth of yours!"

"Glóin! Káli!"

This was the last straw. Legolas rose imposingly to his feet and released the hidden clasp at his shoulder, letting the Sereguren fall in a brilliant cascade onto the table with a loud crash none could ignore. "Will this settle our debt in your eyes?" he snapped, incensed by the utterly childish tantrum he had witnessed.

Silence descended on the assembly. It was enough for a king’s ransom, and could not be lightly refused. It mattered little to Legolas in view of what the loss could gain for him, but he knew a storm would await him in Lasgalen when he related the event. Glóin wished for an open acknowledgment of the past? Well, here it was, and good riddance.

The old Dwarf was a long time in regarding the ultimatum. He plainly did not want to accept it, but the gleam of mithril had enamored him, and Legolas knew that by the old law an offer of ransom must be accepted. The others sat with baited breath as the tense moments passed slowly by. Káli looked as though she were ready to beat her husband’s nose into his face if he dared refuse this time.

"Very well, Master Elf," Glóin said at last, but reluctantly and with no emotion whatsoever as though his hand were forced. "You have not my pardon, nor my love. But with this will I consider the matter at an end."

"So be it," Legolas returned in the same frigid tone as everyone began to breathe again. "And for the first, I may say we have come to a complete agreement."