(A/N:  Okay, guys, remember at the beginning of Chapter 15, when I said my life was tranquil so I was able to write about violence and angst?  Well, the past two months, my life has been anything but tranquil, and I’m afraid the converse was true of me.  That is why it’s been such a horribly long time since I’ve posted.  This chapter simply would not write itself, and my muse, after taking one look at the direction my life was headed, packed her suitcase and ran off to Cabo with the Brazilian pool boy and a margarita machine.  Can’t blame her, really.

Well, the pool boy’s charms got tedious (he’s so high maintenance) and she ran out of tequila, so my muse came crawling back, not only giving me the ability to write again, but landing me with a whopper of a plot bunny for TGK, the Next Chapter.  My sincerest apologies to you all for the delay, but here it is – Chapter 20, lovingly [and patiently] betaed by the fabulous Nieriel Raina.  Kudos to her and her sympathetic and understanding nature, and my thanks to all of you who have offered me your support in this harrowing time.

-- Le Rouret)

20. The Unlikely Alliance

The stars spread their sparkling banner in the velvety heavens.  The fountain sent its mirroring spray to salute the glittering host, and tiny droplets collected upon the linden leaves and dripped down on the smooth white pavers choked with moss.  Little white flowers bloomed on a lush vine twining round the heavy chairs, sending out a subtly sweet fragrance into the cool moist air.  The courtyard was quiet save for the trilling of a nightingale, high in the rustling branches above them, and the uneven and labored breathing of the Elvenking.  He sat slumped in a chair, propped up with soft pillows, his arms clutched tight round his stomach; his hair was lank and dull and hung over his face like an untidy curtain.  Edlothiel sat by his side, tall and slender and pale, her silvery hair reflecting the starlight, her skin smooth as polished abalone, her face tragic.

“When did the dreams come?” asked Kaimelas.  He sat uncomfortably on a chair; he was unused to being treated with such politesse before royalty, and was more accustomed to standing guard at doorways and walls; however, he told himself that ambassadorial status had one thing at least to commend it; he could ask all the questions he liked now.

“I know not – five weeks ago; six?  Shortly after we dined with Malbeach and Renna the first time, at any rate.”  Edlothiel touched her husband’s shoulder lightly; he stirred, and groaning pressed his arms against his stomach.  “Our gravest error was allowing them in the palace at all.  We both mistrusted them, my husband and I; however we sought to keep the peace hereabouts, and to show favoritism to Dale and Erebor we deemed should only serve to widen the gaps betwixt Elf and Man, and compound a situation already teetering on political disaster.”

“Many of our difficulties started too, after allowing Malbeach’s presence beneath the Lonely Mountain,” growled Thorin.  He and Glóin were settled on low soft chairs, with salvers of sweetmeats and cheese at their elbows, and goblets of fine dark wine to drink, but neither Dwarf seemed very keen to indulge; they both watched the Elvenking with aghast disquiet.  “When the Master of Esgaroth is in proximity, my mind becomes strangely clouded; his words seem wise and I find myself, despite my apprehension, eager to accept them.  I wonder what sorcery it is, that gives him so much power over our minds?”

“It is an evil magic,” said Edlothiel, shaking her head.  “I could feel it the moment he approached me – and it is not Malbeach only; it is Renna too, though her magic is weaker and lower, yet somehow subtler; for in her I feel a deep grief and regret, while from him I feel nothing save avarice and anger.  Their minds are clouded and twisted, tangled and torn, so turned in on themselves they choke their own strength with their convolutions, joined together yet warring against one another also.  They want riches and power and pleasure, and will stop at naught in their pursuit of those things.”  She turned her gaze upon Thranduil again; pity and anger suffused her lovely face.  “And they both wanted something of my husband,” she said; her voice trembled with wrath.  “Renna’s impetus I could comprehend; what woman, mortal or immortal, would not swoon before my lord in his glory?  But Malbeach – “

Thranduil retched then, clapping his hand over his mouth; Kaimelas leapt up and pressed a handkerchief in the king’s hands.  Thorin and Glóin stared at Thranduil in dismay.  “Your majesty,” rumbled Thorin uncomfortably.  “What did Malbeach ask of you?”

“Will you make me say it?” groaned Thranduil, coughing into the handkerchief miserably.  “I had gone to Dale to treat with Girion; the Master and Lady of Esgaroth were his guests at the feast.  Even as Girion and I spoke at table did those two watch me, their eyes calculating, whispering together.  Girion seemed weary, and unable to speak with clarity; I do fear me now those two had got to him already, and he was enchanted by their malice, for he spoke oddly, and seemed to make but little sense.  After the feast I withdrew alone, for I was troubled; an air of oppression surrounded me, and I could not shake it.  And when the moon set and the whole Hall slept, there in the darkness of my chamber afterwards they did both come to me, the husband and the wife together – their wills colluded; I was surrounded by their artifices; I could not fight – “  He retched again, and when he pulled the handkerchief away from his mouth to continue speaking, they saw upon it a dark bloody stain.  “I was overcome – blackness overpowered me; my limbs were water.  I felt hands dragging me, and fought them fiercely, though I could not cry out; when my sight and my mind returned to me I was out of doors in an alley; I had been stripped of everything, and lying in the dust at my feet was the body of a Dwarf, slain as though by mine own hands.”

“And so Morsul, of course, concluded the Dwarves had set upon him and robbed him,” said Edlothiel angrily.  “The rash fool!  I was at home; I was not there to dispel Morsul’s rumor with cold logic; many imprudent things were said, and my husband was returned to me, bloodied and ensorcelled by dreams and illness.”

“What do you dream, your majesty?” asked Kaimelas.  “For I must tell you this:  Your son dreams also, and is likewise beset by both Malbeach and Renna; he is ill too, and grows ever weaker as the days progress.”

Edlothiel gave a cry of dismay, and Thranduil looked up at Kaimelas, his grey eyes grieved and filled with tears.  “My poor son!” he said hoarsely.  “My poor little Legolas, O my Little One!  Would that those two jackals had taken me and my life together, yet left his body and soul alone!  O why did he come?  Why did I beg to see him?  Why did he not stay in Dol Galenehtar, where he would be safe?”

“Because he loves you, of course,” said Glóin.  “Do you think I am happy to know Gimli is in danger too?  But at least I have this to comfort me, that Malbeach and Renna care nothing for my son’s person; and you have this to comfort you:  Whatever happens to Legolas, wherever he goes and whatever he attempts to realize, will my boy be with him; alone they are fierce enough; in concert they may accomplish many marvelous things.”

“So they may!” said Thranduil, a ghost of a smile upon his pale lips.  “Well, Kaimelas, ambassador of Dol Galenehtar – what a strange happenstance is that!  Whatever possessed my son … ?  Well, anyway, my dreams are of blood and fire, of death and decay.  And I am continually beset, attacked and beleaguered; worried as though with canine teeth, and slavered upon; but cannot fight back; in my dreams I am weak and ineffectual, and cannot even lift my sword to defend myself.  I awake crying for aid, and for a release from the torment.”

“Hm,” said Kaimelas, frowning.  “You do not dream of snakes then?”

“Snakes?” said Thranduil, puzzled.  “Nay; I do not dream of snakes.  Why?  Does my son do so?”

“He does,” said Kaimelas.  “Snakes, and orcs and spiders, and a voice ever in his head demanding subjection.”

“Snakes!” exclaimed Edlothiel.  “What a strange thing of which for him to dream!  He is not even afeared of them; betimes when he was small he would capture them, and then would we discover him secreting them about the palace – “

“In Thilivren’s wardrobe, for example,” said Kaimelas, his dark eyes twinkling; Glóin burst out laughing.

“I will have to remember that!” he said.  “Hiding snakes in ladies’ chambers!  What a scamp that one is, to be sure!  And he is my son’s dearest friend!  Ah, such an appalling influence he is on my boy; I am not certain now that I approve of their friendship.”

There was a stirring at the garden gate; then two figures approached, one tall and dark, the other, short and stout.  It was Baranil and Nír.  “We are ready to go, your majesties,” said Baranil, bowing low to the King and Queen of Eryn Lasgalen, and to Thorin Stonehelm also.  “Four thousands have we at muster; a thousand archers, a thousand pikesmen, and two thousand footmen.  The waggons with the supplies will take up the rearguard with a phalanx of archers and pikesmen to guard them, and in the vanguard shall be your majesties and your bodyguards.”  He flicked an eye over Kaimelas, who still knelt anxiously by Thranduil’s side.  “We are leaving one thousand to guard the Halls under the Queen’s command, O ambassador; I am certain she would be delighted to have your company and your council.”

“There will be none of that, now, Baranil,” said Kaimelas angrily, rising to his feet.  “Do you think I accompanied my lord this far to miss out on all the fun?  King Thorin has graciously loaned to me a full set of armor – good stuff, too; you will be green with envy when you see it – and I fully intend to put it to good use.”

“Do you think that wise?” asked Baranil soberly.  “Your soldiering days are well behind you; I was at Amon Din too, you know.”

Kaimelas flushed.  “You have not seen me since, however,” he said, his voice cold.  “You were my captain once, ‘tis true; but you are no longer, and no longer am I of lowly state, and I shall do as I will do.  And I will accompany these two kings in the vanguard, and I shall don the armor, and I shall fight; and there is naught anyone can do about it!”

“Very well!” said Baranil mildly.  “Shall I begin composing a letter of condolence to your wife now, or wait ‘til I am home?”

Kaimelas suddenly grinned.  “Wait ‘til you get home,” he said.  “Let us not be precipitate.”

“That is well, coming from you, Kaimelas,” said Baranil, smiling.  “Promotion has had a strange effect on you.”

“I have little intention of keeping this grade; I will be suitably modest later.”

“That will not set well with your wife,” said Edlothiel, smiling despite her worry.  “I am certain she will enjoy her elevated status by proxy.  And do not forget, O Kaimelas, that I have not forgiven you for stealing Seimiel away from my son!”

“Stealing her!” exclaimed Kaimelas.  “Why, my lord had no notion of courting my girl; besides which, he irritates her.  Of course, so do I; but I like to think she might suffer me better than she would he.  My heart is heavy though; Dúrfinwen was Seimiel’s closest confidant, and ‘twill sadden my wife deeply to know the maid is gone from this world.”

“Poor Dúrfinwen!” murmured Thranduil, shaking his head.  “The poor little Laiquenda!  Like a daughter was she to us, the dear little thing, with her curls and dimples and big brown eyes!”  He retched again, and Edlothiel anxiously patted his shoulder.  “O Lady mine,” he croaked, turning his bleary gaze upon his wife; “deal with me severely if I do not inflict at least a modicum of castigation upon the head of the persons who took her and her companions from us!”

“My dear husband,” said Edlothiel fondly.  “How could I deal harshly with you?  Save where mortal women are concerned of course; I reserve the right to jealousy, should Renna at last catch your eye.”

Thranduil made a face.  “Ill and ensorcelled might I be, but I am not mad,” he said.  “You have naught to fear from me!”  He turned to Thorin.  “I am curious,” he said, wiping his face with shaky fingers.  “You entertained Malbeach and his wife as well, but though you said he clouded your mind, yet you are intact and unchanged.  How did you escape his enchantments?”

“I know not,” rumbled Thorin.  “But beneath his cunning compulsion I yet felt a strong dislike – as though he watched us Dwarves, and more even than disapproving was disgusted by us.  It is only this suspicion wakens enough strength in me to fight that magic of his.  And perchance he did not press upon me as heavily, for I possessed not those traits to attract his attention; I tell you this, though:  The instant I felt the magic upon me, I left his presence, and ordered that our women should be hidden away; there are plenty of good stout Dwarvish men, but our women are on short supply; and if I were to save anyone, it would be they.”

“Ah!”  Thranduil smiled, and reached out a tremulous hand to his wife; Edlothiel took it tenderly.  “And how patronizing we might be to the ones we love best!  I own my Lady Wife is stronger than I, for she withstands enchantment and trial better, and is prettier beside.”

“The Master of Esgaroth might argue that point,” said Edlothiel dryly, but she looked pleased.  “Your majesty, I am loath to take my husband from your presence, for he is clearer in mind now with you here than he has been this past fortnight; however if you are to march on the morrow should my lord get as much rest as is possible.  I bid you all good night and good dreams, your majesty, my lords, gentlemen all; ere the sun rises shall we meet upon the river strand to see the troops’ assembly.”  She rose, and with Kaimelas’ help, the Elvenking rose too; he was bent over in pain however, and went very pale, clutching at the ambassador’s strong arm.  Thorin and Glóin rose as well, and Glóin bowed; they watched as the King and Queen of Eryn Lasgalen crossed painfully slow to the portal, and thence their pale glow faded from sight in the gardens.  Thorin shook his head grimly and said,

“I am uneasy in mind regarding the Elvenking to come with us; he cannot fight in that condition!  What shall we do, Captain Baranil, to protect your lord from further harm?  For though broken in body and spirit will he yet insist upon drawing his sword, and I fear for his life, and for his mind and spirit too, should we come across Malbeach in the flesh.”

“How might one protect a man from himself?” asked Baranil with a wry smile.  “It cannot be done, your majesty; know well I have tried for many centuries to do just that with my lord, and with his royal son also, to which Kaimelas might well attest.  They will do as they will; all one can do is to make sure they are surrounded by those who love them and will do anything for them.”

“Put me by Thranduil’s side then, as I cannot stand my mine own lord’s,” said Kaimelas.  “I may be a king’s man no longer, but in the detraction of my service was my love made none the lesser; besides if aught happens to my lord’s father I shall never hear the end of it!”

“As you wish it,” said Baranil, but he looked troubled.  “I am uneasy for you too, Kassah.”

“Pah!” said Kaimelas dismissively.  “If a man’s arrow in my chest could not kill me, I think I have little else to fear.  Besides, it is a matter of odds, and having taken that arrow my odds are better that no further mischief shall be visited upon me.”

“Remind me never to dice with you then,” growled Thorin, and laughing the party separated.

O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O

If it is difficult to hide seven hundred fifty Dwarves, to hide seven hundred fifty Dwarves in the company of four thousand Elves is tactically impossible.  They sent out scouts to fan round the countryside as they marched east, and both Elf and Dwarf reported men lurking in the folds of the hills, or behind the boles of trees.  Reluctantly did Thorin agree with the Elvenking’s command to have these spies slain, for though the men were of Esgaroth and inured in sly evil, he had hoped to treat and not kill.  “Do not be foolish, your majesty,” Glóin chided him.  “Thranduil has it right, though it seems harsh; Malbeach whether he has enslaved or tricked or persuaded these men is our enemy, and the enemy of all the innocent; war is upon us, and the time for negotiations is past.”  So the scouts slew the spies and hid the bodies, and in good time did the strange army reach the village where the raftmen lived.

Since the death of the Dragon, Esgaroth and Eryn Lasgalen had collaborated upon the maintenance of the shores and docks, and Elf and Man dwelt side by side in relative amity, barring some minor territorial infractions, or levy disputes.  The roads and paths had been rebuilt and the fields cleared, and a market constructed; also they would raise cattle and sheep, and sell the meat and wool and leather.  But the village was empty; Thranduil had removed his Elves when the difficulties with Malbeach arose, and now it appeared the men had gone too.  The houses and docks were empty, and all they could see upon the shores were the shabby hulks of coracles, clunking and rocking mournfully with the flow of the river.

“I take it trade has ceased for now,” growled Thorin.  Thranduil gave a weak smile.

“Understatement appears to be one of your noblest traits,” was all he said; and the army passed by.

They bivouacked three leagues from the delta into the Long Lake.  They built no fires, seeking to hide their numbers, and both kings sent out numerous spies to scout out the land nearby.  To the east they could see a strange orange glow; it did not appear to be fire, for it flickered not, nor was there the smell or sight of smoke; still it was unnerving, for they could not see the town in the darkness past the curve of the lake, but only the light, a queer unnatural color.  They spent a restless night there, and very few slept.

At dawn they all donned their armor and set up file.  Thranduil was in his ancient dark cuirass, and Thorin in the splendid bright mail wrought far in the depths of the Lonely Mountain.  Kaimelas surprised them all in a beautiful breastplate of blue, intaglioed in bronze, with broad shining pauldrons and a flared fauld.  “Is it not marvelous?” he gloated, pinging it with his fingernail.  “I declare I am the best-dressed Elf in this army!”

“You are better dressed than many a Dwarf too,” chuckled Glóin.  “Mind the greaves; they are stiff at first, for the leather points are new.  And be careful of the charnel!  It is large and heavy, and rests on two braces, one on either side of the sternum.  If you must fall, fall backward, or you will look as though your horse kicked you in the chest.”

“He would not do such a thing,” scoffed Kaimelas, shifting his shoulders a little.  “And the cuirass is so light!  Thank you, your majesty King Thorin, for allowing this humble ambassador to spread my vain tail before my old Captain here; already I can see the green glow in Baranil’s eyes!”

“Do not flatter yourself overmuch,” said Baranil, though he eyed the armor appreciatively.  “Yet the poorest knight may be impressive upon the lists in new kit.  Just you walk about in it for a few hours, and we will see how you like it!”

“It would be better if we could fit it to you properly,” said Nír, fussing with the polder-mittens.  “You are too tall … well, I suppose it will do for now; mind you do not go denting it!”

“O yes!  Heaven forfend I actually fight in it,” said Kaimelas dryly.  “How may I guard the royalty hereabouts if I do not put myself betwixt them and the enemy?  I tell you this then, O Nír my friend; if I damage the armor, I shall see to it my lord reimburse you for its repair.”

“That is generous!” said Ibun as Nír laughed.  “Does ambassadorial status give unto you access to your lord’s exchequeur?”

“I hope so!” grinned Kaimelas.  “There are few enough gratuities associated with this new job of mine.  I should not balk at a few pennies here and there, and I am certain my wife will not either.”

Just then a forward scout ran up.  “A large company of men approaches,” he said; “they carry the white flag of parley.  There is a large contingent of armed and armored knights, fierce with tall lances, and with them rides the Master of Esgaroth beneath a red pennant, and wearing full armor!”

“How many are they?” asked Thorin, loosening his sword.

“It is difficult to say,” admitted the scout.  “They are coming up out of a narrow dale which winds back toward Esgaroth through the trees.  I descry two hundred fifty, but a thousand more might be secreted beneath the forest’s limbs.  But Malbeach rides confidently, as though he had the might of many men at his back.”

“Well he may,” said Thranduil unhappily.   “But seeks he to parley he might think himself outnumbered.”

“He may not know we are here at all,” said Kaimelas.  “Listen!  I have an idea.”

“You, Kaimelas?” said Baranil.

“Yes, I,” said Kaimelas.  “None of that, now; I am better dressed than you, so mine opinion means more.  O Stonehelm, you ought to take your Dwarves into the hills to the north, into the high dells and dingles, and secrete yourselves there.  For Bard of Dale will surely have told his father that you went to attack the Elvenking with only seven hundred fifty warriors, and ‘twould be an easy guess on the Men’s parts that you were vanquished, and that the Elvenking sets his sights upon Esgaroth to destroy next, so that the treasure of the Dwarves might be his alone.  In this manner if we are engaged, and Malbeach’s men come up through the curve of the forest beneath the hills, we will sound the trumps, and you might come down upon them ere they strike our left flank.”

Baranil stared at Kaimelas.  “I am amazed,” he said.  “It is a very good idea.”

“And so you ask me and my men to skulk off; is that it?” growled Thorin, his black eyes flashing dangerously.

“Well, did you not ask this of me, when Bard and his men approached?” argued Kaimelas.  “And it is not the same as skulking.  You get to attack downhill, which is strategically superior, and will get your share of the fighting, I am sure.  Moreover you will have the fun of being part of a big surprise for Malbeach when you charge.”

“I do not like surprises,” grumbled Thorin.  “So if anyone must be surprised, I own I would rather it were Malbeach.  Well, Thranduil, what do you think?  It will be as though you brandish a sword, but hide a sharp stiletto in your boot.”

Thranduil sighed and shook his head.  His face was pale and there were dark circles beneath his eyes; he looked terribly weary, and the weight of his armor dragged him down.  “Very well,” he said tiredly.  “I suppose it is a sound enough idea.  But I do not want to face Malbeach without you near me; his magic will overcome me, and it is only in your presence I have clarity of mind.  How might I parley with him in my current state?  He shall confound me; already I can feel the tendrils of his darkness creeping toward me, sliding along the grass, seeking me, feeling me.  He knows I am here … he descries my presence, and beckons to me.”  He shuddered and closed his eyes.  “I should rather die than submit to him,” he said, his voice trembling.

“You need not approach him at all,” said Kaimelas anxiously.  “Look!  I am an ambassador – not a very good one, I will gladly admit; but still, I am an ambassador.  Baranil and I will go in your stead, your majesty; we will follow the briefest of protocols for a parley, and after we have spoken with him we will return to tell you what he has done.”

“But what if he ensorcels you too?” asked Nír, his brow furrowed.  “If his magic is strong enough for the Elvenking to feel it all the way out here, then it is mighty strong indeed, and might overtake you and Baranil both.  Might we risk that?”

“We could simply ignore the parley,” suggested Dwalin.  “After all, we know he is a slippery fellow, and that he is up to no good thing.  What might he say to us that we need listen to?  All I wish to hear out of his foul mouth is a death-gurgle.  Send an archer and have done with it.”

“O I do like Dwarves,” said Kaimelas to Baranil; “they are so blood-thirsty!”

“Come!” said Baranil calmly.  “To be sure he is a rake and a liar and an evil man; but the institution of parley is sacrosanct, and to disregard it will speak poorly of our own honor and intent.  Kaimelas, you and I will go with select members of his majesty’s guard, and meet Malbeach in the dale.  We shall speak but briefly, giving nothing away; if at any time either of us feels the press of his magic upon us we shall signal each other so.”  He raised his left hand and made a gesture.  “When that occurs shall the other take command; I doubt me his power is great enough to ensorcel us both together.”

“Fair enough,” said Kaimelas doubtfully.  “But what shall we say?”

“Let him do the talking,” smiled Baranil.  “He is a Man; he cannot help himself; he will brag, or simper, or flatter, or threaten.  All we need do is to listen, to reply but briefly that we have naught to say to him, and return after the parley to the troops.  In this fashion will King Thorin and his warriors have had sufficient time to have gained the upper ridge and secreted themselves there, and when the trumpets sound to attack will they come down upon Malbeach like many mighty hammers.”  He turned to the two kings.  “Well, your majesties? What say you?”

“I think it is a good plan,” said Kaimelas helpfully.  “Agree with him, do; for the faster you agree with Baranil shall the battle be joined the faster, and the faster we shall rescue my silly prince, and the faster shall peace be gained, and the faster shall I return to my home and my wife.  I cannot wait to tell her that her eminence has been increased!  She will, I am certain, go straight way to the tucking-mill for a new gown.  I hope it will be a red one.”

Thranduil looked tiredly at Kaimelas, but he smiled, his eyes fond.  “Poor Kaimelas, caught in the selfsame trap in which I found myself enmeshed many centuries hence!” he said.  “And poor Seimiel, who must endure your prattle of eminence and red gowns.”  He sighed and turned his clouded grey eyes to the sky, where the sun shone down brightly, smiling upon them through the hurrying wispy clouds.  “I concede to this,” he said, drooping.  “I am ashamed of my weakness, but would fain deny it.  So long as I might lift the sword to Malbeach’s front line might I redeem myself; I do fear me though without Stonehelm beside me I shall falter.”

“You shall falter not nor fall,” growled Stonehelm, reaching up to grasp Thranduil’s arm.  “You are the Elvenking, and have ruled in might and adamancy longer than this humble Dwarf has been round.  And I shall not be far, your majesty; we shall meet upon the battle field, and the crows shall feast upon our enemies as surely as you and I shall feast together upon the high dais of Erebor, raising jeweled goblets in a triumphant toast to our might and victory.”  He turned to Glóin and Dwalin.  “Tell our men to break away to the north,” he rumbled.  “We will cut up through that break there, and circle round the top of the ridge so that we might look down upon both Malbeach and our Elven allies.  Let no horn nor trump sound until the battle is engaged, and then let us blow mightily!”

The Elves bid their Dwarven brethren a quiet farewell, and watched the underbrush shift and flicker as the warriors passed north above them; then Baranil commanded the king’s guard to surround Thranduil, and told the standard –bearer to come forward and ride behind Kaimelas.  “You will be ambassador to Eryn Lasgalen now,” he said; “you ride no longer beneath green oak-branches, but the encircled full moon of your erstwhile lord.”

Kaimelas looked up at the green and silver pennant snapping bravely from the pole.  “It is the first time I have ridden directly beneath it,” he said, unsure.  “Baranil, I am a humble scout and a valet; what if I speak amiss?  It were simple enough to speak with the Dwarves on behalf of my lord, for they are blunt and unsubtle and I like them well enough.  But Malbeach is a vile creature and full to the brim of craft and evil.  I do not trust myself to be terribly diplomatic.”

“I do not expect you to be, Kaimelas,” smiled Baranil.  “Simply be yourself, and guard against his machinations.”

The trumpet sounded then, and the Elven army surged forward through the woods.  Soon they could hear the march of feet, of hooves and the speech of men; then a trumpet sounded as though from far away, and all the Elves began to sample the air, smelling sulphur and smoke.   Baranil, Kaimelas, and the king’s guard went forward then upon the road, and round the bend they saw at last Malbeach and his retainers.

The Master of Esgaroth sat tall and proud upon his great black destrier.  His armor was bright and red, and gleamed with gold and bronze, and he rode beneath a splendid banner of red and yellow.  His hair lay upon his pauldrons, gleaming dark and speckled with silver streaks, and his handsome face smiled serenely upon them.  A great sword girded with rubies and other fine gems was bound to his waist, and all round him were his warriors, likewise clad in beautiful armor and riding tall horses.  An esquire walked before them bearing the white flag of parley, and Malbeach stopped, raising his hand to them.

Kaimelas shuddered.  He had only seen Malbeach from a distance, and had not been in such close proximity to him before; now that he was before the man did he feel deep within himself the stirrings of sick fear.  A cold wave rolled over him, and his vision clouded; he felt pressed upon from above, and his bile rose.  Frantically he gestured to Baranil, hoping his friend would see him struggle; it was as though through surging water he heard the captain say:

“Malbeach of Esgaroth; for what reason have you gathered your armies against us?”

“I might say the same of you, Elf of Mirkwood.”  The voice was low and smooth and calm, and sounded very reassuring.  “Why do you march upon us?  What quarrel has the Elvenking with poor Esgaroth?  For I perceive you come upon us with many soldiers, and we in our blameless apprehension do come to you to treat peace.”

Baranil said nothing, and shaking his head firmly, Kaimelas sought to regain his clarity.  He struggled to focus and saw Baranil staring blank-eyed and bewildered at Malbeach then; Malbeach was smiling, his black eyes hooded and contemplative, studying the captain’s face and form.  Feeling ill, Kaimelas grasped his courage and composure in both hands and said:  “Many things are you, Malbeach, but blameless is not one of them!”  But his words sounded hollow of threat, and indeed did Malbeach turn to him and laugh softly; the wool seemed to descend upon Kaimelas again, and speechlessly did he gape at the Master.

“What fine armor, O Elf!” Malbeach murmured.  He let his gaze drift over Kaimelas’ face and body, a small cold smile gracing his lips.  “Dwarven, if I am not mistaken?  Was this just booty, or a gift?”

Kaimelas could not speak; his tongue was frozen, and his eyes were full of clouds and his ears of thunder.  A weight like a boulder sat on his chest and he was finding it difficult to breathe.  Then he heard Baranil say weakly:

“It is … none of your concern.  This – parley – is over.”

“But it has hardly begun!” laughed Malbeach.  “And what will you now, O lovely Elves?  Will you and your people attack my poor Esgaroth?  Will you slay us all, our women and children and old men and maidens, simply to satisfy your king’s lust for gold?”  His tongue seemed to linger on the word lust then, and Kaimelas nearly vomited; his stomach twisted upon itself and a tight pinching feeling gripped him between his eyes.  Why was Baranil not speaking?  What were the rest of their party doing?  Malbeach spoke again, his voice like a hot knife sliding through warm butter.  “For I perceive you are fresh from conquest, and seek to enlarge your power and your treasuries.  O how kind and fair is the Elvenking, that he release his might against poor humble Esgaroth!”

Kaimelas through blinking hard and pinching himself managed to clear his sight; he watched as Malbeach rode closer beneath the white flag, feeling like a bird held in thrall by a snake.  He could not move; he could not speak; he could barely breathe through the nausea that gripped him, and there was a high, terrible whine in the middle of his head.  Closer and closer did the Master of Esgaroth come; and with each step closed between them did the horrible pressing compulsion increase, until Kaimelas was paralyzed with it.  “And what of our friends the Dwarves?” asked Malbeach; his voice was of silk and oil, smooth and shining; it covered Kaimelas in thick cloying waves.  “What of the great and powerful and rich Thorin Stonehelm?  What did the Elvenking do to him, who dared march upon Mirkwood on evil deed intent?  Did the beautiful and glorious Thranduil take him down like the insect deserved?  Like grubbing dung-beetles are the Dwarves; how grateful am I for the splendid King Thranduil for his deeds, for vanquishing the creeping denizens of Erebor.  And what now, O Elves?  Do you seek to share the bounty with us, or deny us our own?  For you well know how we have complained of the Dwarves’ thievery; what is in Thorin’s storehouses is as much ours as it is your king’s.”  Now Malbeach’s voice was very close; Kaimelas could not see anything except swirling cloud before his eyes, and his nostrils were full of the scent of decay.  But ever did the Man’s voice caress him, sliding across his skin like the stroke of cold satin.  “And where is Thranduil?” he whispered, and within Kaimelas’ breast was the desire to tell him.  “Where is Thranduil the golden, Thranduil the fair, Thranduil the resolute?  For I tell you truly, did our last meeting go awry, and I am … desolate in his absence.”  The voice lowered to a purr.  “Bring him to me,” said Malbeach, and Kaimelas’ hands began to shake.  “Bring before me the splendid Elvenking, and he and I … will join together … for the benefit of both our kingdoms.”

“Liar!” cried Baranil then, and like a flash of lightning across his vision did Kaimelas’ mind clear.  Malbeach was right before them, his face flushed and eager and his dead eyes alight with hunger; the king’s guard was half-surrounded by Malbeach’s men, seeming insensible and dull; but when Baranil spoke they shook their heads, and blinked, and looked around in alarm.  “Back; back!” shouted Baranil, drawing his sword; behind him twenty Elves drew their bows.  “Back, you serpent, you knave, you wicked villain!  Cloud our minds and vision no more; remove your vile magic to use against your own folk!  To me, O Firstborn!  To me, children of Doriath!  Back, back!  Back, Kaimelas!”

Arrows twanged, and several of Malbeach’s knights fell; the Master of Esgaroth’s face changed then, became angry, and great waves of hot blackness seemed to emanate from him.  Baranil faltered, overcome; Kaimelas drew his sword and urged his frightened horse to Baranil’s side.  “Get out; get out!” he shouted.  “Back to the troops!  Let us bandy words with this lying snake no longer.  Back, back!”

The Elves turned and fled back down the road into the woods.  Baranil clung to his horse’s mane; he was very white, and vomit trailed from his lips.  “What devilry is this?” he gasped to Kaimelas.  “Thranduil’s warning fell on our deaf ears!”

“As did my lord’s,” said Kaimelas; he tasted blood, and wiped at his mouth as his horse thundered along.  When he glanced down at his hand he saw he was covered in it.  “Well, we are in for it now, Captain!”

Trumpets and horns blew all round them, from the Elvish troops in front of them, alarmed at the sudden retreat, and from Malbeach’s army hid in the forest.  There were many trumpets sounding, and when Baranil and Kaimelas gained the rest of the host, Thranduil and Methlon were calling to their lieutenants to arrange the lines.  “Archers, footmen!” Methlon was calling, his pale head shining.  “To ranks, to ranks!  King’s men, to the king, to the king!”

All the Elves cried out in a great voice then, a terrible and wonderful sound; and all the heaviness fell from Kaimelas’ head.  He laughed and swung his sword in the air.  “To Esgaroth!” he cried gaily.  “Down with the Master!  To our king, to our king!  Thranduil Oropherion!”

“Oropherion!” cried all the Elves together, and turning as one, Baranil, Thranduil, and Kaimelas led the charge.

They met the men of Esgaroth as they plunged downhill through the trees.  Arrows twanged and thunked all round them, and there were shouts and the sound of metal clashing against metal.  Kaimelas felt the press of Malbeach’s malice upon him but shook it off and called, “Down with the Master!”

“Down with the Master!” replied many other Elves around them, and they charged into the fray.

Malbeach’s men were fierce and driven by their lord’s magic, and fought the Wood-Elves with viciousness and rage; the Elves outnumbered them though, and because they were more at ease in the forest did press the Men overmuch.  After only an hour of battle did the horn for retreat sound, and the Elves all cried with gladness to see the Men run away.  “After them, after them!” shouted Thranduil, rising up on his horse.  His thin face was sallow and pale, but the light of battle was in his eyes and his arm was strong again, for Malbeach was nowhere to be seen, and the Elvenking’s strength had returned somewhat in the Master’s absence.  “Hear the horns of our Dwarven brethren; we will put them to rout!”

But as he mustered his soldiers to follow did a scout approach then, white-faced and terrified.  “Your majesty, your majesty!” he cried, falling to his knees.  “The Dwarves do not sound their trumpets to come to your aid, but to request aid of you.  Girion comes from the north, and pinches us in the vise between Dale and Esgaroth.  We are outnumbered!”

“Damn!” said Kaimelas irritably.  “I knew it was too easy.”

“Well, if we remain in the woods we should be at an advantage,” said Baranil.  “But we ought to send help to Stonehelm; we sent him out there alone, and I would fain see the King Under the Mountain slain for our own obfuscation.”

“I will go,” said Kaimelas.  “I am supposed to be the ambassador to the Dwarves, after all.  Methlon!  Get me at least five hundreds!  We must climb the hill there, and seek out our Dwarvish friends.”

Methlon was not Baranil’s first lieutenant for naught; ere the sun touched the tip of the western hills did Kaimelas rally his five hundreds, and lead them up the steep slope to the north.  They could hear a great tumult, and shouts and horns. Kaimelas’ Elves crept noiselessly up the rocky hill and through the brakes, but Kaimelas’ armor continually snagged upon the branches and vines, impeding his progress.  At last Kaimelas rose to his feet with a curse.   “Damn this armor!” he muttered, tearing his left manifer from round a tangled bit of ivy.  “Too heavy, and too bright; I am no knight; I am not even an ambassador.  What am I thinking?”  Telling his men to halt, he tore off the cuirass and fauld, and let the vambraces and manifers fall to the ground.  “I will fetch them later,” he told Methlon; “I cannot creep in this stuff; I am like a tortoise.”

“Watch how you go then, my friend,” said Methlon worriedly.  “You have naught upon you but an arming doublet and breeches.”

“I will be well,” said Kaimelas.  “I have already taken an arrow; what else might befall me?”

Methlon shook his golden head.  “As always, you gamble too freely, Kassah” he said with a smile, but they went on anyway.

They reached a high dingle, shaped like a bowl beneath the top of the hill, and peering over the edge of it the Elves saw the Dwarves at bay.  Girion’s men beneath the standard of Dale shouted incoherently down at them from the high ridge; there were a thousand at least, and the Dwarves were shouting back and shaking their fists.  “Trapped!” grunted Kaimelas.  “Well, into the fray, then, Methlon; when you have got the men arranged we will rush in and up, and put ourselves betwixt the Dwarves and the Men.  If Glóin dies will my lord be sure to remove my head, and it would be very inconvenient trying to get round like that.”

So when Methlon got Kaimelas’ five hundred lined up at the ridge he did bid the trumpeter to sound; the Dwarves turned then, expecting Malbeach’s men, but upon descrying the Elves a great glad shout went up.  “The valambassador comes to our aid!” cried Dwalin from where he stood by Stonehelm’s side.  “Hail the valambassador of Dol Galenehtar!”

The men of Dale found this unpropitious at best, and there was a great deal of shouting and noise from the top of the upper ridge; then to Kaimelas’ dismay the men began to roll boulders down upon the Dwarves.  “Ware, ware!” he cried, dashing forward.  “Away from the rocks, O children of Durin!  You will be crushed!”

The Dwarves scattered before the onslaught.  Great round boulders tumbled down the slope, bouncing and clattering; one caught another rock and sailed over the front line, landing in the midst of a party of Dwarves with a sickening crash.  Kaimelas heard someone cry, “Ibun, Ibun!” and with a cold feeling in the pit of his stomach Kaimelas rushed over.

The boulder had crushed two Dwarves, and they lay dead beneath it, their limbs splayed and their heads bloodied; Ibun was pinned beneath it by his legs, and cried aloud in agony.  Nír stood beside him, weeping.  “Ibun, Ibun!” he cried again, and pushed ineffectually against the boulder.  “Help me; someone help me!”

“I am here, Nír, Ibun,” panted Kaimelas, and together with Nír he threw his weight upon the boulder.  It would not move, and Ibun screamed.

“My legs, my legs!”  He writhed, his face filled with pain.  “O Mahal, get it off, get it off!”

“We need more muscle,” said Kaimelas, looking round the confusion wildly; some of the men of Dale were descending, and he saw Bard son of Girion among them, though he was expostulating, his voice hid in the din; it did not appear to Kaimelas as though he wanted to be there, but no one was paying him any mind.  All round him rocks flew and Elves darted to and fro, trying to protect their Dwarvish allies.  Then Kaimelas descried a little cluster of Dwarves standing with Methlon and sundry other Elvish warriors, looking fierce and dangerous, and his heart lifted; surely with all that strength they might be able to roll the rock off of Ibun’s legs.   “Wait; there are some over there – “

“Look out!” someone called, and Kaimelas turned just in time to see a goodly sized rock coming straight at him.  He hardly had time to cry out when it struck him full in the chest and threw him to the ground.  His eyes filled with stars and he was sure his heart had stopped.  Then he felt the pain, excruciating, crushing; he tried to inhale, and discovered he couldn’t.  He could not even breathe in enough to smell the blood, or the grass, or the dirt; the stars occluding his vision faded and he saw Nír’s  face, streaked with sweat and grime.  “Breathe, Kaimelas!” he called, though it sounded very far away.  “Breathe – breathe – “

Kaimelas’ lungs seemed to explode outward and he coughed; blood spewed from his mouth.  The pressure in his chest released, and with relief he looked down upon Seimiel’s face, tranquil in affection, and felt her arms round his neck, and her lips against his.   “Breathe, Kaimelas!” came Nír’s voice, but it faded, and then the pain faded, and then the light; and everything went blessedly quiet and dark.