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 the chapter is taken from The Hobbit, Chapter XVII, “The Clouds Burst.”

*******

15. What Price Loyalty?

Ithilden called out a soft greeting and, at his father’s bidding, pushed aside the tent flap to find Thranduil and Mithrandir seated near a small camp table, cups of wine in their hands. “Good evening,” he greeted them both and then accepted a cup of wine and seated himself on the cot. “Tinár said you wanted to see me, Adar.”

“I do,” Thranduil said, settling down to the matter at hand. “As you probably heard, the Dwarves’ hobbit made his way into camp tonight.” He glanced at Ithilden, who nodded. It was his business to know if strangers were in the camp. His only question was how the hobbit had gotten within their outer ring of sentries without being seen. He had already spoken about the matter to Todith, who would undoubtedly now be speaking to the guards.

“The hobbit had news for us,” Thranduil continued. “It seems that Thorin managed to get word to Dáin in the Iron Hills, and Dáin is now less than two days march from here with five hundred of his warriors.”

Ithilden stiffened. “That could complicate matters considerably.”

Thranduil nodded. “We cannot allow Dáin and his followers to join forces with Thorin Oakenshield. They are undoubtedly carrying enough supplies that those barricaded in the mountain would be able to hold out for much longer. And that many Dwarves might be able to open one of the other old doors into the caverns so that we would have to encircle the whole mountain to guard it properly.”

“Our forces are not numerous enough to do that,” Ithilden protested.

“I agree,” said Thranduil, “and so does Bard.” He gave a slight smile. Ithilden was not quite sure what his father made of Bard. He knew that Thranduil respected the Man and wanted him as an ally, and that fact did not surprise him, for he thought that in Bard, Thranduil had recognized a character much like his own. What Ithilden was less sure of was the degree to which his father was allowing Bard to decide their course of action.

“What do you and Bard propose to do?” Ithilden asked.

 “We need to get this matter settled before Dáin gets here,” Thranduil said, “and as it happens, the hobbit brought us something that we may be able to use to bargain with.”

Ithilden raised an inquiring eyebrow. He had heard that Bilbo had given something to Bard.

“Mr. Baggins brought us the Arkenstone,” Thranduil said, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied look.

For a moment, Ithilden could not place what Thranduil was talking about, and then, suddenly, he caught his breath. The Arkenstone of Thráin! The great jewel that the Dwarves had found at the root of the mountain. The Heart of the Mountain, they called it. Thorin Oakenshield would bargain for it, if he would bargain for anything. Legend said that it glowed on its own, like a star caught in a crystal.

“Your adar, and Bard, and I will speak to Thorin tomorrow,” Mithrandir put in. “We will see how much he might be willing to give Bard for the return of the stone. And I want to speak to Thorin, who is not making a very splendid figure as King under the Mountain so far. I sent him and his companions on this quest, causing you some trouble in the process, according to Legolas. I will see if I can set things right again tomorrow.”

“Have a party of guards ready to accompany us,” Thranduil instructed. “Send eight or nine of our warriors, and Bard will send an equal number of his.” Ithilden nodded and rose to go. “And,” Thranduil added, “set a watch for the arrival of Dáin. We would not want him to arrive unexpectedly.”

“No, we would not,” agreed Ithilden grimly. “By your leave.” Thranduil waved his permission, and Ithilden ducked back out of the tent, already thinking about whom he would send as guards. He had already decided that he would have a larger party of warriors waiting nearby in case things went badly wrong. He did not trust Thorin, not since he had shot at Sinnarn when he was acting as a messenger.

As if Ithilden’s thoughts had conjured him, Sinnarn stepped out of the shadow of a large rock. He had evidently been waiting for Ithilden. “Adar, may I speak to you? Do you have time?” His voice was tight, making him sound nervous.

Ithilden slowed his step. “Yes,” he said, a little reluctantly. Sinnarn probably wanted to ask him yet again about being reassigned to the Home Guard, and with the approach of Dáin on his mind, he was not sure he was ready to have the conversation.

“Did you know that the hobbit was in camp tonight?”

Ithilden turned to him with an eyebrow raised. This was not what he had expected Sinnarn to talk about. “Yes.”

“When Legolas and I were escorting him back to the ford, he told us something.” Sinnarn hesitated and then, as if drawing on all his determination, said, “It was about the amount of wine I drank the night the Dwarves escaped.”

Ithilden’s mood suddenly hardened. The amount of wine had always been the sore point for him. The fact that Sinnarn had been drunk on duty had been bad enough, but that he would lie about how much wine he had drunk had seemed to Ithilden to be far worse. Much as he wanted to believe his son, he did not see how the claim could be anything other than a lie. Sinnarn had been far too drunk to have had only one cup, even if that was also what Galion said he had had. Alfirin might believe Sinnarn, but Ithilden thought she was being naive and had only just avoided quarreling with her about it.

Sinnarn read his mood with practiced accuracy, and his mouth tightened. “I know you do not believe me when I say I had only one cup, but Bilbo told us that he distracted Galion and me and then refilled the cups. So I did have only one cup, although I grant you that I also drank far more than I should have.”

Ithilden studied his son’s face. He knew that Sinnarn was trying to control his expression, but Ithilden had watched over his son with loving attention from the time he gave his first infant wail of protest at being expelled from the warm nest of his mother’s body, and he saw that Sinnarn waited with tense concern to see how he would respond.

“Sinnarn, I want to believe you. You know that I do, but how did it happen that you did not see Bilbo?”

“I do not know, but Bilbo said he had more to tell, and perhaps he will explain it.” Sinnarn hesitated. “Adar, can you not believe me just because I say it? I swear to you that I am not lying.”

Ithilden met his son’s earnest, pleading gaze, and suddenly, something inside him shifted. Or perhaps the shift was not sudden at all. Ithilden had gained new respect for his son in the last month as he watched him bear his punishment with dignity and courage, and he had seen other warriors observing Sinnarn and quietly showing the same respect. He looked away and then back at Sinnarn again and gave him a crooked smile. “After all that has happened, it turns out that I believe you when it is unlikely to do you much good.”

For a second, Sinnarn’s face froze in disbelief. Then he lunged forward to catch Ithilden in an embrace. “I am telling the truth, Adar. I promise you. Thank you for believing it.”

Ithilden patted his back and then sighed. “I do not suppose that is the only thing you wanted to say to me, was it?”

Sinnarn pulled away with a small, self-conscious laugh. “No. I was hoping you could see your way clear to send me back to the Home Guard. When we leave here, I want to go back to standing guard over those who cannot protect themselves, and you do not really need me as a messenger. You have Tinár, after all.”

They looked at one another, and suddenly they gave identical short bursts of laughter. Ithilden considered Sinnarn’s request and abruptly thought of Dáin and his approaching warriors. The thought that a messenger might be safer than a warrior flitted quickly across his mind, and then he thought of Thorin’s arrow, lodged in Sinnarn’s shield. He sighed. Even a messenger was not safe when the heart of an enemy was bent on war. “You can report to Todith immediately,” he said and tried to take satisfaction from Sinnarn’s obvious gratitude and joy.

***

Bow in hand, Legolas stood ready on the slope of the mountain below the abandoned guard post, watching as the party of Men and Elves ostentatiously laid down their weapons and started along the narrow path toward the Gate, where Thorin was supposed to be waiting for them. His father was in that party, as were Ithilden, Bard, and Gandalf. They intended to show the Arkenstone to Thorin and try to trade it for Bard’s share of the treasure.

Ithilden had apparently anticipated that the Dwarf might lose his temper when he saw that his enemies had the jewel, and thus had ordered Todith to have the Home Guard ready to rush forward and try to provide some cover if Thranduil and the others had to escape in a hurry. Legolas was not sure they would do a whole lot of good, for they would have to move into arrow range before they could shoot and that would take time. Presumably Thorin was ready to listen to another embassy though, for he had not shot at Tinár when he had been sent to ask for the parley earlier, an omission that had made Sinnarn roll his eyes and make caustic comments about lack of fairness. “And of good sense too,” Amdir had added. “I always knew Dwarves were slow-witted.”

Legolas had been overjoyed to see his nephew when he had reported to Todith that morning, with Nithron by his side. “Welcome back,” Todith had said. “I think we will let someone else guard any prisoners though.” They had all laughed, and that had been the end of Sinnarn’s exile. Now he stood nearby, watching with the others, as Bard’s voice floated indistinctly toward them. Legolas saw Mithrandir step forward and open the chest in which he was carrying the Arkenstone, and after a second of silence, Thorin let out an angry roar, followed by some more back and forth between Thorin, Bard, and Mithrandir. Then someone – Bilbo, Legolas realized – was scrambling down a rope being dangled over the face of the wall, and then the whole party was coming back toward them.

Todith waved them forward, and they followed him down the slope toward their camp, where they met Bard and Bilbo, making their way through the tents. Bard stopped and called to Todith. “Captain, will you send one or two of your warriors to see to it that Mr. Baggins is made comfortable in my tent? His ‘friends,’ the Dwarves, have decided that they can dispense with his company. I will come to you presently, Mr. Baggins.”

“Of course,” said Todith, and then, grinning, he turned and beckoned to Legolas and Sinnarn, as Bard went back the way he had come. “Take Mr. Baggins to Bard’s tent and wait with him until Bard comes.”

Legolas and Sinnarn looked at one another and then at a slightly alarmed looking Bilbo. “Yes, Captain,” Sinnarn said cheerily.

“Master Archer! Master Guard!” Bilbo greeted them. “Dear me!”

“Fear not, Mr. Baggins,” Legolas said, gesturing that Bilbo should walk in the direction of Bard’s tent. “We mean you no harm.” When rumor of Bilbo’s gift of the Arkenstone had swept through camp, Legolas had found that he could not help admiring the hobbit’s courage. And besides, when he had had a chance to consider, Legolas had decided that one could not really blame Bilbo or the Dwarves for wanting to escape. If Legolas had been held prisoner by the Dwarves, he would have used almost any means he could find to break free.

“We mean no harm?” Sinnarn sounded a little disappointed.

“No,” Legolas said firmly. “We just want to know how the Dwarves managed to escape.” After a moment, Sinnarn grimaced and nodded.

“I would like to know that,” he agreed.

“But I also want to know what happened with Thorin,” Legolas said. “Is he going to trade with Bard for the Arkenstone?”

Bilbo sighed. “Yes, Thorin is going to give him my share of the treasure at noon tomorrow.”

Legolas stopped dead in his tracks and turned to Bilbo. “Your share! What about you? Are you to get nothing for your trouble?”

“I really do not mind,” Bilbo said. “I do not know how I would have gotten it all home anyway.”

Legolas stared at him, his mind awhirl with thoughts of all those around him who seemed to have their hearts set on owning at least some of whatever was in the mountain. Suddenly, he laughed. “Mithrandir was right about you, Mr. Baggins. There is more to you than one expects.”

They walked the last few yards to Bard’s tent, and Sinnarn held the flap aside for them to pass through. Legolas waved Bilbo to one of the two cots, and he and Sinnarn sat on the other. “Now,” he said, leaning forward with his forearms on his thighs, “last night you said you refilled Sinnarn’s cup with wine and somehow got the Dwarves out. How did you do it all?”

Bilbo made a face. “It’s very simple really. I found, er, that is someone gave me a ring, and when I wear it, I am invisible, except for my shadow of course.” He pulled an innocent-looking gold band out of his pocket, held it out for them to look at, and then returned it to his waistcoat again. “It is a toy of no consequence really, but a very handy one for all that.”

Legolas gaped at the ring and then at Bilbo. How could such a small thing have caused so much trouble? he thought in disgust.

“And how did you get out?” Sinnarn demanded, looking slightly dazed.

“I packed the Dwarves into the empty barrels,” Bilbo said, looking a little sheepish, “and, fool that I am, forgot to plan a way out for me. But I put on my ring and got on one of the barrels and rode it out the watergate, so it all came out right in the end.”

“For you maybe,” Sinnarn mumbled. He was apparently less willing to forgive than Legolas was, for which Legolas could not really blame him. After all, Legolas was not the one who had had to serve as a local messenger for a month.

The tent flap was pulled aside, and when Bard entered, they all rose. Legolas and Sinnarn saluted, and he inclined his head toward them. “Thank you for seeing to my guest.”

Sinnarn moved as if to leave, but Legolas lingered. This was the first chance he had had to tell Bard how much he admired the Man’s courage and skill with a bow, and he might not get another. “It was our pleasure. We are honored to be of service to the archer who stood his ground when a creature of darkness swept overhead. You loosed an arrow that saved your people, and that is a deed worth doing.”

Bard’s grim face softened into a small smile. “Thank you, son of Thranduil. I welcome your words because they come from the son of a worthy ruler, but even more because they come from one of the archers of the Woodland Realm, whose skill is justly praised throughout Middle-earth.”

Legolas put his hand over his heart, bowed, and followed Sinnarn from the tent, feeling how fortunate he was to have met and actually spoken to one of those of whom the minstrels would certainly one day sing.

***

The next morning, Legolas was consulting with Todith about the duty roster when Sinnarn and Amdir came running into camp, their faces vivid with excitement. “Captain,” Sinnarn gasped breathlessly, “an army of Dwarves is moving around the eastern spur of the mountain.”

Todith drew a single sharp breath and then began issuing orders. “Amdir, go and tell Bard. Sinnarn, you tell Ithilden. Legolas, come with me. Let us see what we are likely to be faced with.” Amdir and Sinnarn hurried away, while Legolas hastily followed Todith up the slope of the spur of the mountain that lay behind them, the one pointing south. They stood on the heights and gazed across the river toward the east-pointing spur. The day was dark and gloomy, and a bitter wind blew from the west, sending strands of Legolas’s hair into his eyes, but there was no doubt what he and Todith were seeing. Hundreds of heavily armed and armored Dwarves were sweeping around the eastern spur and coming rapidly up the valley that led to the Gate.

A trumpet sounded an alarm in the camp, and Bard, Bilbo, Thranduil, Ithilden, Mithrandir, and most of the captains of both armies came hastening up to stand near them. Curious as ever, Sinnarn followed his father and grandfather. Eilian came to stand next to Legolas and eye the Dwarves appraisingly. “Those are experienced warriors,” he judged unhappily.

“How did they get here so quickly?” Bard demanded. He looked at Bilbo accusingly. “You said they were two days’ march away.”

“That is what Thorin said,” Bilbo responded in dismay.

“He must have gotten a message to Dáin telling him to hurry,” said Thranduil.

“How could he send it with us besieging him?” Bard asked angrily.

Thranduil shrugged. “The same way he sent the one summoning help in the first place. He sent birds perhaps.” They all turned to glance at the ravens circling over the abandoned guard post that lay above them.

The Dwarves had now halted their progress between the river and the mountain’s eastern spur, and what looked like a delegation of them was coming toward the Elves’ and Men’s camp. They forded the river and then laid down their weapons and held up their hands as a token they wanted to parley. “Come, Mister Baggins,” said Bard. “We will see what the friends of your friend Thorin have to say.”

Ithilden let out a soft breath, and Legolas glanced at his tense face. He guessed that Ithilden was unhappy that no Elves were to be included in the meeting. But standing just beyond him, Thranduil was coolly observing the Dwarves. “We outnumber them considerably,” he observed in a calm tone that Legolas found comforting.

They watched as Bard and Bilbo spoke to the Dwarves, and even from where they stood, it was obvious that the Dwarves were unhappy with whatever Bard said to them. They turned and started back across the river, while Bard and Bilbo returned to those waiting on the heights.

“You,” Bard beckoned to Sinnarn, who stepped toward him, looking a little startled at being so abruptly summoned. “Go at once to the Gate, and see if Thorin has sent out the share of the treasure he promised me. Hurry!”

Eilian glanced sharply at the Man. “He is eager enough for his share,” he murmured in Legolas’s ear.

Legolas frowned at him. “If Bard’s share is there, then we can go and leave Dáin a free path.”

Eilian raised an eyebrow. “And if it is not?” Legolas pressed his lips together and made no answer.

Sinnarn had hesitated, looking at Ithilden for permission to follow Bard’s order. After a moment, Ithilden nodded reluctantly. “Nithron goes too,” he said.

“Too right,” Legolas could hear Sinnarn’s keeper muttering.

Ithilden put his hand out to touch his son’s arm. “Be careful,” he murmured in a low tone that Legolas was just close enough to hear.

Sinnarn grinned, his eyes gleaming with excitement, for while he was acting as a messenger of sorts, it was obvious that this time, his mission was both dangerous and important. “You worry too much, Adar,” he murmured back, and, followed closely by Nithron, he bounded away down the slope toward the path that climbed up the edge of the falls.

“What happened with Dáin’s envoys?” Thranduil asked, his eyes still assessing the Dwarven forces. Ithilden was watching Sinnarn’s dwindling form, his brows drawn together in an anxious frown.

“They asked who we were and what we doing here, blocking their path to visit their kin in the mountain,” Bard said. “And they demanded that we get out of their way.” He gave a grim smile. “I refused.”

They waited for Sinnarn and Nithron to return, all the while watching the Dwarves conferring with the envoys who had spoken to Bard. In too short a time, Sinnarn and his minder came flying back, Sinnarn’s face much more sober. “So far as I could see, Thorin has sent out nothing,” he reported, his voice tight. “We did not get very close to the Gate. They shot at us as soon as we got to the top of the falls.”

Behind Legolas, Beliond spat a word that made all the Elves within hearing turn around and look at him, although the Men seemed to take it in stride.

“Dáin is on the move,” Eilian said suddenly, and they all turned again to look with dismay at where Dáin’s warriors were advancing along the eastern bank of the river.

“Fools!” Bard cried with satisfaction. “To come thus beneath the Mountain’s arm! They do not understand war above ground, whatever they may know of battle in the mines. There are many of our archers and spearmen now hidden in the rocks upon their right flank. Dwarf-mail may be good, but they will be hard put to it. Let us set on them now from both sides, before they are fully rested!”

Legolas jerked around to stare at him in appalled disbelief. Were Elves, Men, and Dwarves really going to slaughter one another for treasure? He admired Bard, but was he willing to kill so that the Man could have his share of the dragon’s hoard? From the corner of his eye, he saw his father turn from contemplating Dáin’s forces and sweep a cool gaze over Bard.

“Long will I tarry, ere I begin this war for gold,” Thranduil said, in an imperious tone that made every Elf around him come to attention. “The Dwarves cannot pass us, unless we will, or do anything that we cannot mark. Let us hope still for something that will bring reconciliation. Our advantage in numbers will be enough, if in the end it must come to unhappy blows.”

Legolas sagged slightly in relief and then found himself smiling at his father. There were times when being the son of Thranduil was the greatest source of pride in his life. And at the moment, he had no doubt that Thranduil was in command.

“The choice is not solely ours,” Eilian cut in suddenly and pointed to the valley. Legolas swung around to look and, to his horror, saw Dwarves swarming forward, bows in hand. Even as he watched, arrows soared across the river toward the camp. His heart leaping into this throat, he was suddenly in motion, running down the hill and pulling his own bow off his back.

Seemingly from nowhere, a clap of thunder sounded, making Dwarves, Men, and Elves all hesitate for a confused second, as the sky grew even darker. “What is that?” Sinnarn cried, and Legolas turned to look north where he was pointing toward the mountain’s peak, where an even darker cloud seemed to be moving toward them, although the wind could not possibly be driving it from that direction. Is it birds? Legolas wondered in confusion. If it was, there were so many of them that they blocked the light entirely.

“Halt!” shouted Mithrandir’s voice, and Legolas turned to find that he had climbed to the top of a boulder and now stood between them and the Dwarves with his arms raised. He lifted his staff, and Legolas flinched away as it blazed like a flash of lightning. “Dread has come upon you all! Alas! It has come more swiftly than I guessed. The Orcs are upon you! Bolg of the North is coming, O Dáin, whose father you slew in Moria. Behold! The bats are above his army like a sea of locusts. They ride upon wolves and Wargs are in their train.”

Both armies had halted where they stood, bows drooping toward the ground and heads turned to the sky with mouths agape. Evidently everyone else was as bewildered as Legolas felt.

Mithrandir raised his arms again and beckoned. “Come! There is yet time for council. Let Dáin son of Náin come swiftly to us!”

And then the world was in motion again. “Hold your positions!” Ithilden shouted and then ran after Thranduil and Bard, who were striding toward Mithrandir, just as three heavily armed Dwarves began wading through the river to approach from the other side. In the face of a common enemy, a new alliance was being forged.