Not Quite As Expected
Chapter 5: Doing Good Deeds
"Get down! They will see you!"
Glóin glared in response back at Thranduil, who was crouched closer to the back end of the barge behind the pile of crates. "By Mahal's beard, how do you expect me to see anything if I stay behind these…"
The Elf looked no less frustrated. "The idea, if you remember, Master Dwarf, is to not allow those we are hunting to see that there are any but the regular assorted bargemen aboard until the first arrows start flying. Once that happens, we shall know where to aim our own arrows, and the importance of secrecy is ended."
They had argued this point endless the day and evening before, and still the Elvenking insisted his plan was nothing short of simple elegance. What it was, as far as Glóin was concerned, however, was cowardice masking as so-called genius. "And just how do you expect any of these archers you have this thing loaded with to see where those arrows are coming from if they can't poke their heads up once in a while and…"
"It is a good thing that you are not shouting, Master Dwarf," The deep and wry tone of Thranduil's Battle Master, Brongalad, carried from beyond the immediate object of Glóin's ire, who simply nodded in agreement. The dark-haired Elf in shining armor that glinted in the sunlight looked almost condescending. "We would not want them to know where you are, even without the sight of your head over the top of those boxes."
"How soon until we are where your pirates usually attack?" Thranduil called back softly to the bargeman manning the tiller just beyond Brongalad, effectively cutting short any response Glóin would have.
The man grunted and pointed ahead. "There, see that bend in the river where the trees come almost all the way to the waterline? They seem to like hiding around there."
"Make ready!" Brongalad hissed, and Glóin heard the soft sounds of arrows being nocked and readied. "Perhaps, Sire, now you know why it is important that you not ride away from your Hall without…"
"Were this maneuver not so important to both Laketown and the economy of the wood, I can guarantee that you would not be needed here," The Elvenking answered the other Elf with a fierce whisper. "By our assisting in ridding the river-men of an ongoing menace left over from the War, we are gaining a very fine trading concession. And when we get to the Old Forest Road landing, you and your men will remain on board, making certain this shipment makes it to its destination. After that, you may return to the Hall to await my arrival home in about six months, after which time, we can argue about the wisdom of your King being allowed out of the Halls from time to time without a nursemaid."
Glóin's frustrations eased slightly, knowing that Thranduil was dealing with being found out in his escape attempt by the very ones he'd most hoped to avoid until much, much later. Watching the King avoid being scolded like unruly child was far more amusing than he'd thought possible.
And, as expected, Brongalad didn't take the King's attitude well. "Sire…"
The clatter of a small piece of wood onto the deck of the barge cut whatever Brongalad was going to say short, for he scowled, whirled and hissed out to the other warriors that lined the barge, "Eyes! Find those archers!"
"In the bushes near the shore right at the bend, and three in the trees themselves," a soft Elven voice answered. "I make it ten on the ground."
"Shall we?" another asked just as quietly.
"Get down!" Thranduil barked to the river-men from Laketown who had been poling the cumbersome craft and keeping it to deeper waters, his arms moving in an urgent wave. "Get down, you fools! You're under attack!"
Brongalad's voice was grim. "Archers, take good aim. We do not need any wasted arrows."
Twenty archers – fifteen Elven archers and five mortals – suddenly stood up from behind the crates that had been so carefully moved to line the railing before leaving the docks at Laketown, and the song of twenty bowstrings was in unison. The arrows flew swiftly in gentle arcs to strike silently at the heart of the rustling shrubbery. In their wake came cries of pain and crashes of bodies as they fell where they had stood. A few more arrows were returned, but the defending archers were well-protected behind the crates and, once the danger was past, stood to fire another volley.
"Can I at least look now?" Glóin demanded angrily.
"Only if you will not blame me if someone puts an arrow through you," Thranduil snapped at him, straightening and looking down his nose at him.
"Sire! Get down!" Brongalad barked in turn, and the Elvenking subsided with a chagrined scowl down behind the box again.
He glared at Glóin when the Dwarf smirked at him with no small amount of satisfaction. "At least I'm not the only one being coddled," Glóin grumbled far less angrily. "But, by Mahal's forge, how am I expected to be of any help at all trapped behind…"
"Here come the rafts," the bargeman manning the tiller interrupted them.
One of the nearby Mortal archers snickered. "Obviously they didn't see what happened when their friends began shooting at us, did they?" There was a low murmur of assent and a few more snorts and snickers.
"Just waste no arrows," Brongalad insisted firmly. "Make each one count. Wait until they are close enough that they cannot flee back to shore, and we are more assured of a killing shot."
Glóin growled, "I thought I would be able to give my axe a drink." It just wasn't fair! The archers were having all the fun!
"Would it not be better if we could handle this little problem for our edain friends without putting anyone here in any actual danger?" Thranduil hissed at him.
"Better for whom?" Glóin snarled back.
The sound of bowstrings singing as the targets on the rafts grew closer distracted them both, and finally it seemed Thranduil was too curious to remain hidden behind the crates. As the Elvenking peeked up over the top of the crate, Glóin followed his lead – just in time to see the man poling the raft closest to the barge topple off into the swift water with an arrow in his throat.
"My axe is thirsty," he snapped. "Let just one of them come."
"This is not a battle, Master Dwarf," Thranduil replied with a sigh. "This is a slaughter. I marvel that the Laketown merchants had not thought to provide armed defenders for their goods before now. However…" He beckoned to Brongalad. "Allow the last few to make it to the barge, and take them alive. Let us see exactly who they are and what they are about."
Brongalad didn't seem any happier about the idea than Glóin was, but he pressed his fist over his heart and turned to pass along the new orders to the warriors. Two rafts remained, one each coming at the barge from either shore, with one not having seen the carnage that came before. Brongalad silently divided the warriors and sent the other half to the other side of the barge to await the unsuspecting boarding party.
It was over in mere moments, and then four very surprised and frightened men were kneeling on the wooden deck. Were the situation not so serious, Glóin would have laughed; the men who had become terrors of the Celduin were young, all with the dark skin and almond-shaped eyes of those from far to the East. Their armor was tattered and sloppily repaired, if at all, and their weapons gone. Their gazes darted from Men to Elves and even to him and only got wider and more fearful.
"What shall we do with these?" Brongalad asked with a bloodthirsty gleam in his eye that Glóin found quite understandable. Every remnant of the Enemy obviously reminded the Elf of the predations that had been endured for far too long, a sentiment Glóin shared.
"My axe remains thirsty," he growled, enjoying the look of fear that filled the black eyes of one young kneeling rascal.
"This one at least understands you, Master Dwarf," Thranduil stated, pointing to one who looked the most fearful, "and we can use that advantage. You there." The Elvenking's long finger nearly touched the forehead of the one who seemed most aware. "Speak. How many others await you on the shore?"
The dark eyes only widened and the mouth worked silently.
"I could, if you refuse to cooperate, hand you over to my friend here." Thranduil's nod drew the utterly horrified stare of the young Easterling in Glóin's direction, "And then I suppose we shall have to see if any of your fellows speak…"
"N…no. Only I speak…" The young Easterling swallowed hard as he looked back up at the Elvenking.
"That would be unfortunate," Glóin added, running his forefinger very lightly over the sharpened curve of his axe blade, "for you, that is. I personally have been looking forward to assisting in removing the problems from the river, however." He lifted his gaze to catch Thranduil's, and then looked back down at the selected pirate. "It's your choice, though, lad."
"My short companion is not known for his patience. I suggest that if you wish to…"
"Short! I'll have you know that we Dwarves are compact, not short!"
"Ten more…" the young man blurted.
"Where?" Thranduil demanded.
The finger that pointed shook. "Beyond the trees. There is a cave."
Thranduil turned and beckoned the barge navigator. "How far to the Old Forest Road Crossing?"
"It's just around the next bend by maybe a half hour."
Thranduil summoned both Glóin and Brongalad. "I am thinking that we can bind these four and ask the bargemen to deliver them to Laketown on their return trip. The rest of us can depart at the crossing. Brongalad, you will take your warriors back upriver to this cave and capture as many as you can alive. Also, see if there is any remaining goods from previous ambushes, and then return to Laketown with your captives."
"Sire, but what about…"
"Glóin and I have a journey to continue," the Elvenking declared firmly, resting a hand on Glóin's shoulder. Glóin didn't quite flinch, as he had a suspicion that Thranduil was silently looking for his support here.
"Indeed," he grumbled. "We want to be on our way as soon as possible."
Oh, but Brongalad didn't want to let his King out of his sight! "I could appoint one of my men to a temporary captaincy, and accompany the two of you myself," he suggested with a frown. "It would not do for you to…"
"I have Master Glóin as my companion and comrade in arms, Brongalad," Thranduil told him, shaking his head. "We are two doughty, experienced warriors. Think you we cannot defend ourselves?"
Brongalad's gaze, when it landed on Glóin, felt skeptical and utterly disbelieving, and yet… "No, I know well you can defend yourself, Sire. It is just…"
"Then you may trust in my many years of experience, as well as my companion's… enthusiasm," Thranduil cut his Battle Master's complaint short. "I need to know that this task is dealt with properly, and you are the person I trust most to see my will done, Brongalad."
"I appreciated that, Sire…"
Thranduil turned back to Glóin, obviously putting that discussion at an end. "And now, Master Dwarf, there is the question of a certain wager…"
Glóin began to grin. "Indeed there is. You said that your men were to arrive in Laketown within a day of when our wager was made, and they were late."
"We were what?" Brongalad blurted, visibly trying to keep a stake in what both Thranduil and Glóin discussing now.
"They were not late…" Thranduil began.
"It was just past midday when we finished our talk with Bellas and made our wager," Glóin reminded the Elvenking with glee. "And yet Brongalad and your archers didn't arrive until mid-afternoon yesterday."
"Considering the distance they had to travel…"
"A wager is a wager," Glóin reminded him pointedly. "You specified one full day from the moment we were speaking. And but an hour or so shy of suppertime is definitely not an hour or so after midday."
"But you must admit that Aduial did exactly as I asked of him," Thranduil insisted, his eyes narrowing, "and that he brought exactly the men I was requesting."
"Anyone can read a note," Glóin offered, shrugging to show what he thought of that particular argument. "And yes, I'll admit that your war-mule knows the way home. But…"
"He is more than merely a 'war-mule', Dwarf!"
"You're avoiding the issue, Elf!"
"And you are interpreting the terms far too specifically!"
"Dare I ask what the wager was?" Brongalad asked before Glóin had a chance to put up another argument.
Dwarf and Elvenking turned on the warrior and two voices, equally irate, responded with a unified "No!" They both frowned, and then with a mutual nod moved toward the stern of the barge to continue their discussion.
oOoOo
"I'm certain that these fellows will give us no trouble, yer Worship," the bargeman who manned the rudder – and seemed to be in charge of the others – said nonchalantly, gesturing at the hithlain-trussed quartet of Easterlings at the front of the barge. "We'll take them back to Bellas for you, no problem."
"Good," Thranduil nodded in satisfaction.
"Sire…" Brongalad was now frantic. The company of archers awaited his word to begin their march on the camp of the Easterlings, and Thranduil stood poised to escape his watchful protection once more.
"No, Brongalad," the Elvenking put up a long forefinger and shook it. "Your task is to finish mopping up the rest of those scoundrels and taking them back to Laketown."
"But…"
"Forget it," Glóin chimed in from his perch on Thranduil's stallion, startling both Elves. "This journey is meant for only two, and two doughty warriors Thranduil and I be. Your King will be perfectly safe."
"Pardon me if I doubt your efficacy as a warrior," Brongalad sniffed at the very idea of leaving the protection of his sovereign in the hands of a Dwarf and then glared at Thranduil. "This is madness!"
Thranduil shrugged with maddening disregard. "Master Glóin is correct: this journey is for the two of us alone. In the meanwhile, I am trusting you to make certain that this little band of ne'er-do-wells is the only one sheltering so close to our eaves and clear them out so that they molest no one else. When you are finished with that, you will return to the Greenwood and guard the fences of our wood against any other undesirables while I am away." His eyes narrowed. "Do I make myself clear?"
"As crystal," Brongalad pronounced reluctantly. Thranduil waited, an eyebrow cocked to demonstrate the waning of his patience until Brongalad finally gave him what he knew his King wanted: a fist clenched a little too tightly to his heart in salute and a bow of obedience. Forcing his voice to a lighter tone, he asked, "And you will be returning to us when, Sire?"
He had to admit that Thranduil looked quite spry as he leapt onto his warhorse in front of that infernal Dwarf. "Ithilien and Rohan are some weeks away, so expect me no sooner than when the leaves begin to fall."
Brongalad's eyes widened in surprise and consternation, but the King had already wheeled his stallion about and started down the road at a trot.
"Do you mind?" he heard the Dwarf demand in a tone of voice that at any other time would have had him drawing his sword and hauling the blasted naugren off to one of the small storerooms beneath the Hall and near the damp cargo docks on the river.
"Not at all," Thranduil replied in a regal tone that brought a begrudging smile to Brongalad's face, and then continued smugly, "now remember, I won our wager, so you can no longer complain…"
"You won the wager?" The Dwarf's voice had shifted register, either in dismay or disbelief. "Might I remind you that your men didn't arrive until nearly sunset?"
"So?"
The heavily-laden pack horse shook her head and chuffed before turning to follow the stallion, as if she were aware of the two riders' dispute and tired of it already. Oddly, Brongalad understood her feelings entirely – and began to feel sorry for any brigand that might run across those two when both had their tempers up.
"The wager was for Aduial to have brought back the reinforcements within a day's time. A day, starting at midday. So slow this mule down to a tolerable walk and…"
"Nonsense," Thranduil snapped, and Brongalad winced at the sharpness of the retort. "The fact is that I sent Aduial off on Orithil, and my archers arrived on Orgelaidh. That, my hairy friend, is one day."
"You had no intention of keeping to the terms of the wager, did you, you pointed-eared reprobate?"
"You know what they say about sticks and stones, Master Glóin. Admit it: you lost the wager, fair and square."
"I most certainly did not!"
The voices were fading, but Brongalad chuckled and shook his head. There were times when he couldn't quite understand his King, and this was certainly one of those. If Thranduil was content to argue with the naugren as if that one were a member of his own house, then perhaps it was best if he did stick to rounding up errant Easterlings and then standing watch over Eryn Lasgalen in the King's absence.
It was probably safer that way.