Not Quite As Expected
Chapter 6: Finding Common Ground
"And why are we heading west this time? Didn't we just spend more than an entire day heading east?"
Thranduil found himself very tempted to rein Aduial back into a jouncing trot again, but they truly had time to make up, and Aduial's easy lope would cover a great deal of distance in a short time and caused much less complaint from the extra rider. "We head west because we head to the Anduin. The fastest way to Ithilien is by ship…"
"Then why did we not head east in the first place?" Glóin demanded.
"Because…" Thranduil sighed and yet again considered slowing Aduial and Saerôn back into a more discomforting gait. Considering that Glóin refused to admit that he'd lost the wager and had no place to complain anymore, the temptation was keen. "The Elven Path does not lead to a place where we could easily board a ship heading south, whereas the Old Forest Road has a full landing, complete with a ferry, should we merely wish to cross the river and continue east."
"We could have headed south directly from your halls, then," Glóin mused, and Thranduil wondered if he was being deliberately obtuse, "and avoided that entire fiasco in Laketown."
"That was no fiasco, Master Dwarf. In the end, it was of great use to Eryn Lasgalen and to the people of Laketown. Certainly you did not mind seeing more of the Enemy's forces routed…"
"Of course not. I just think…"
"How often have you traveled through these lands?"
"Just twice." The weight that was the Dwarf shifted, and the hold on his belt changed as well. "The first time when our party went to retrieve our treasure from the dragon, and the second when we traveled to Rivendell before the War."
Thranduil nodded; it was as he'd thought. "Then allow me to do the thinking for us, as I have traveled widely through these lands in my long lifetime. Trust me, I know the shape of Ennor far better than you."
"We still could have headed south," Glóin insisted.
"Yes, we could have," Thranduil admitted, "and taken twice as long to arrive at the Old Forest Road in the process. Traveling through the wild woods on horseback is a slow business; there are obstacles that could trip or lame the horses, not to mention having to keep a much sharper eye out for wild beasts…"
"I thought you Elves traveled just as fast in the woods as you do on the ground."
"We do, but not on horseback. And personally, I really did not think you would have appreciated climbing trees and then trying to run from the branches of one to the branches of the next without falling."
"A Dwarf does not climb trees," Glóin stated flatly, "nor try to play in the branches like squirrels."
"Perhaps if you did, you would appreciate why it isn't wise to try to travel by horseback through the thick of the forest," Thranduil shot back. "We took the route that would get us where we wanted to go the quickest."
"Despite the extra time wasted waiting for your archers, who couldn't make the trip through the branches in a single day?"
"I told you. They were there in good time, and you lost the wager."
"You cheated."
"I did not. Do we really want to resume the argument? I can slow Aduial down to a trot…"
"No, no… I just…"
"Yes?"
Thranduil heard the Dwarf sigh heavily. "Forget it."
He nodded in satisfaction. "Good. I shall." He waited, but was almost disappointed when Glóin didn't attempt to get the last word in again. That particular little contest between the two of them had given both ample opportunity for sport at the other's expense, and lightened the journey so far quite a bit. Wishing to cheer his companion, for traveling with someone who was depressed was not on Thranduil's list of things to do, he continued, "Dwarves do not climb trees, you say?"
"That's right."
The Elvenking's lips twitched. "If that is so, then Gimli must have found it very difficult to travel in Lothlórien, for I know that the Galadhrim do not spend much time on the ground there as a rule. Not to mention that Celeborn and Galadriel would have greeted that party in their great hall, which is quite a ways off the ground."
"Well…" He could hear the frustration in the Dwarf's voice, and just knew an admission was on it's way. "There were some in the Lonely Mountain who had always said that Gimli was more… adventurous… than was seemly…"
Thranduil threw his head back and laughed. "I knew it!"
"Then again, I suppose he felt obligated after Legolas…"
Thranduil waited, but Glóin didn't continue his sentence. "Legolas what?"
"Oh. Haven't you heard the tale of their time in the Golden Wood?"
"What is it that you believe you know about their time there that I am unaware of?" Thranduil demanded.
"Only that Legolas, an Elf, allowed himself to be blindfolded with the entire group when the wardens insisted that Gimli be so hindered. Doing that meant that they all had to travel on the ground, no doubt – including your son."
Thranduil's blood boiled. "The party was blindfolded, all because of Gimli?"
"No…" Glóin's voice sounded with the kind of patience used with someone slow at understanding. "The party was blindfolded because Aragorn insisted on it. It was his belief that if one must be blindfolded, they all should be, so that no one was singled out for disgrace. Legolas went along with it. I think Gimli came to feel a bit regretful of that, in time."
"My son was blindfolded…" The thought was infuriating. Never had Thranduil been so glad that Galadriel was across the Belegaer and Celeborn in Imladris, and that they would float down the Anduin past Lothlórien, rather than ride up to it. Were they to be on horseback, he'd be tempted to ride into the Golden Wood and demand satisfaction of some sort from those who remained for the insult.
"Your son was blindfolded because my son was blindfolded. Haldír, I think, was the warden who did the most insisting. To hear Gimli tell the tale, it was because of some ancient animosities between your folk and mine; things that only those with nothing but time to nurse old grudges would remember. "
That did it. Thranduil pulled Aduial to a halt and turned halfway around to glare down at the Dwarf behind him. "I know a great many who remember those 'animosities' all too well, Master Glóin. Your people attacked and murdered a King and massacred many of my people out of greed for a single necklace containing the most accursed jewel in all of Arda. That one jewel caused more mayhem and…"
"Leave it to an Elf to drag out ancient history as validation!" Glóin snarled. "Why, Gimli wasn't even born, nor even the Lonely Mountain inhabited, when…"
"That may be ancient history to you and yours, perhaps, but not to me and mine!" Thranduil snapped. "Lothlórien holds – or held – some of those who either dwelt in Menegroth when Elu Thingol was slain and survived the massacre that followed, or those who were alive at the time in other lands and were appalled by what happened. For them, the sack of Menegroth and the murder of one of our most ancient Kings is most certainly not ancient history!"
Sharp brown orbs glared back up at him in an anger that suddenly shifted into deep shock. "You remember? Yourself?" Glóin asked quietly. "You were there?"
"I was not," Thranduil admitted, backing down slightly in light of the calmer tone in which the questions were asked, "but my father was; and he spoke of it with great bitterness and only at need. His memories of that were dark ones that he rarely shared. That was the beginning of the end of Doriath. All of the death that rained down upon that realm – and so upon many others before and after – came because of that accursed gem and its like. Many innocents were killed by your people who should never have been endangered: women, children…"
He could tell that he was making the Dwarf rethink tales that, to a mortal being, were probably now more the stuff of legends and fables than history. "That is not the way the story came to us, or the way it is told in our halls even now. We are taught that a treasure of our people was falsely claimed by your King, and those who rightfully retrieved it from him were then pursued as dogs and slaughtered. When we marched upon the Thousand Caves, it was to right a grievous wrong and reclaim that which was ours by rights; and even then, those who went to avenge the insult done us never returned."
Thranduil's eyes widened, but returned to a scowl. "Be that as it may, however, the Sindar have not forgotten the treachery of your people from that time, betrayal from people we had long called friends and allies. I think, in light of that, the Galadhrim had more than ample cause to exercise caution in allowing one capable of such… brutality… to invade their refuge." Thranduil continued to glare, but it was more the glare of a stern instructor than a vengeful warrior. "Tell me, would the Dwarves have been welcoming were the tables turned and it had been their King murdered – if it had been their home invaded and their wives and children slaughtered? If Legolas had suddenly appeared among them asking them for sanctuary, given that history, would your people have been gracious and forgiving?"
Put that way, there was only one response. "Of course not. But… perhaps that is why our people are taught that Elves are our Enemies," Glóin offered with a thoughtful tone after a longer than normal silence. "The tales that are left behind for those who follow sometimes only barely resemble the truth that came before. While I wager that the full truth of the matter to lie somewhere between the memories of your father and the legends of my people, I would guess that on both sides, guilt can take many forms, some of them defensive."
Thranduil's brows rose. Perhaps there was wisdom in the naugrim that the Elves had conveniently overlooked in their wrath and vengeance in the ennin since Doriath. "That is indeed possible..."
"…With time and distance removing the reason for the belief and only compounding the problem for those many generations removed, who would have no idea of what is half-truth and what is embellishment." Glóin added grimly. "It makes me wonder, though…" he began again, and then shook his head. "Forget it."
"What?" Thranduil was genuinely curious now. Getting to know a Dwarf up close and very personally was becoming an adventure in exploring a strange and unusual perspective, and he was coming – very reluctantly – to respect Glóin's integrity and intelligence. For a brief moment, he wondered whether Legolas had developed the same curiosity about this one's son. "What is it you wonder?"
"Why, when we entered your forest and you locked us in your halls, you didn't just kill us outright?" The Dwarf looked up at him, his eyes wary and yet filled with something akin to the same curiosity he himself had entertained.
Thranduil shrugged. "As I said, I myself do not remember Doriath; and for all that my people would not have complained if I had done just that, I knew your party was not personally involved in that massacre long ago. You and your companions were locked away, rather than treated as guests, because you would not tell me what you were doing in my woods and for no other reason, for that was what you were guilty of. To have done more would have been to sink to barbarism myself."
Glóin stared at him for a long moment before finally looking away and around at the dense forest on either side of them. "I suppose we still need to make up time lost waiting for your archers, don't we?" he remarked, peering upwards as if looking for the sun.
"We do indeed. You are comfortable with the pace Aduial was setting?" Thranduil could feel Glóin deliberately pulling back from the dangerous topic and decided not to tweak at him anymore.
"Aye. At least I don't feel as if your horse is trying to dislodge every organ in my body at each step, and you are traveling at a pace more suited to you. It is a good compromise."
"Then we should continue on our way." A gentle nudge of the heel to Aduial's side, combined with a whispered word soon had them back in the easy lope that Thranduil knew his four-legged friends could maintain for hours. The silence between himself and the Dwarf grew, but it wasn't necessarily an uncomfortable one this time. Enough had been said to give both reason to appreciate the opportunity to meditate without disruption.
And surely there would be another opportunity to verbally spar with Glóin later on. After all, time did flow faster when his mind was occupied with trying to stay one step – or thought – ahead of the Dwarf, which wasn't always as easy as he'd once thought.
oOoOo
Glóin set aside his bowl once he had made certain none of the stew was left and gazed at the Elf lolling against a fallen tree across the evening's fire from him. Discussion between them had been sparse since their near-war on horseback earlier in the day, although he was fairly certain that the Elvenking wasn't angry per se. Still, with the darkness closing in, the rabbit stew mostly consumed, and the thought of another day without some sort of conversation to make the time fly faster sitting heavy in his mind, he couldn't take a chance on this stalemate continuing.
"Might I ask you a question, King Thranduil?"
Thranduil's eyes met his over the low, dancing flames, and then he nodded.
"Did Dwarves help you carve out your halls?"
The Elf shook his head. "Nay. We did the work all by ourselves, although I will admit that some of the people involved had trained under the Dwarves who helped Finrod Felagund carve out Nargothrond. Their experience was invaluable to us, when the time came."
"And yet Gimli tells me that Legolas is most uncomfortable when obliged to go underground. Did he not grow up in those same halls?"
Thranduil stirred himself and rose to peer into the metal pot that had held their stew as it cooked. "There is a little left, do you wish some?" When Glóin shook his head, the Elvenking helped himself to the remainder and settled back down against his log. "My son grew up in my halls, yes; but he was always more his mother's son than mine, and followed the ways of the Laegrim more than of the Sindar."
"And that means what, exactly?" Glóin scowled, trying to follow Thranduil's reasoning.
"Do you know the history of the Elves?" was the question that came next. "You were aware that our forefathers awakened next to Cuiviénen and were summoned across the Belegaer by the Belain?"
"No," Glóin admitted. "I can't say that I've heard the tale. But what does that have to do with…"
"If you will indulge me, you will see the relevance," Thranduil said with his spoon before his face. He took his bite then waved the spoon vaguely in the air until he swallowed. "Some of our people did not agree that following the Belain to the Undying Lands was a good idea, and they turned aside. Those were the Evyrrim – known as Those Who Refused. My wife, Laeriel, was of a branch of that people known as the Laegrim – the Green Elves."
"I still don't see…"
"It was from the Belain along the way that the Golodhrim and the Minyar learned to craft dwellings of stone, just as your people learned from Ôl the craft of smithing and delving Arda for its treasures. The Sindar were a people who followed the Belain to the edge of the sea, and yet remained while their King, Elu, was lost to them, and yet they too had learned from the Belain along the way. They, in the days before Doriath, allied themselves with your people and learned to live below the ground, while the Laegrim remained in the woods. The Laegrim, as a rule, find the caves and tunnels of the naugrim and the Sindar, and the stone structures of the Golodhrim odious at worst and barely tolerable at best." The Elf scrapped the spoon against the side of the bowl, intent on finishing the very last bit of stew. "Do you understand now?"
Glóin was indeed beginning to understand, and wasn't entirely certain he was glad about it. "So… Legolas preferred to be in the woods, in the trees…"
"Exactly. And the moment he gained his majority, became a warrior and earned the right to set up his own household, he only returned to my halls for short times between postings," Thranduil nodded. "He made his own home in a talan in a settlement not far from my gates, so that one of us could visit the other easily enough. That arrangement lasted until the Darkness from Dol Guldur pushed on us so hard that all were forced to take shelter in the halls." The Elf's face grew grim. "Even Legolas."
"And now that the Enemy is gone, have these… these… La… Lae…"
"Laegrim."
"Yes, them." Glóin was grateful for the help. "Have they returned to the forest?"
Thranduil nodded. "They have indeed, Master Dwarf. Look about you. It is due to their diligence and stewardship that my woods have recovered as quickly as they have."
"That includes Legolas, then, it seems."
The Elf shrugged. "I have yet to see what kind of home he has created for himself in Ithilien, but I doubt me that it is a cave. At best, it will be of stone and wood, much like Imladris, although I would not be surprised to find him in another talan."
"Imladris?"
"It is known as Rivendell in the Common Tongue. the place where Elrond Half-Elven once dwelled."
Glóin nodded, remembering the strange place that was half wood, half stone, and completely alien where he and his son had gone to attend a council of the Free Peoples. He reached out and pulled the two more pieces of deadwood that had been gathered and positioned them in the circle of stones so that they would keep the fire burning for at least another hour.
On the other side of the flames, Thranduil pushed himself to his feet and gathered bowls and stewpot. "You hunted and cooked while I tended the horses. I shall clean."
"Imagine that," Glóin quipped without thinking about it, handing up his bowl to a waiting hand, "a King who knows how to do dishes."
"You might be surprised at all the things a King is expected to know how to do," was the retort, but the way the Elf's lips quirked in a smile barely restrained took the sting from the words.
Glóin stared at him for a moment, and then came to a decision. He rose to his feet and walked over to stand directly in front of the Elf, making him pause on the way to the nearby stream. "There may be thousands of years' worth of bad blood between your people and mine, but I would like to think that some of us can be wise enough to lay it aside when reason exists to do so. Who was right and who was wrong all those many years ago has nothing to do with who we are and what we're about now, as individuals and as peoples. And that being the case, perhaps there can be a truce between the two of us from now on. What say you?" He stuck out his hand and waited.
The Elvenking stared down at him for a very long and silent moment, and then bent to put his burden of dirty dishes on the ground. He straightened and gave Glóin a warrior's clasp. "If one is wise, one does not argue with wisdom when one hears it from another. Very well. A truce it is." He released himself from the clasp only to raise a warning forefinger. "We will not share this with anyone else, however. Agreed? After all, we both have to return to and live with our own kind when this journey is done."
"Too true. What is more, we both know the grief our sons have been through because they will not set aside their friendship for the comfort of others," Glóin nodded. "Neither of us need bear that burden. Besides, it would be mutually humiliating for us and would make the both of them far too smug to think that they had tricked us into learning how to get along as they have."
Thranduil chuckled. "Letting that out would simply never do, I agree." His eyes glittered merrily. "We shall have our truce, then, Master Dwarf – at least, in private."
Glóin's hand tightened in answer. Perhaps this Elvenking wasn't such a bad sort after all. "In private, aye. In public, however…"
"I think we are well-enough matched that we can give a showing of mutual belligerence whenever necessary, do you not agree?" Elven eyes glinted merrily in the firelight.
This time, it was Glóin's turn to chuckle. "Absolutely. And may the best Dwarf win those exchanges."
"Now wait just a moment…"