A/N: this chapter is for Dís, who loves dwarves and encouraged
me to find a way to work them in. I did! Also, one must not get too
upset regarding the pace of these elven horses. I gave them some extra
oomph, considering Shadowfax ran at top speed non-stop from Edoras to
Gondor. My elven horses gallop at Triple Crown velocity, which is round
27 mph.
Celeborn Hortha an Eringalen (Celeborn Races for Greenwood)
It was one hundred and sixty-seven leagues from the serenity of Caras
Galadhon to Ennyn Velig (the Great Gates) of Thranduil's citadel deep
within the cover of the Greenwood's canopy. The distance could be
traversed on horse in three days if rider and mount pressed for every
ounce of speed and endurance the pair could conjure up and stopped for
only short rest breaks. Such was the way of woodland messengers
travelling the harrowing distances between the elven realms. These
brave and hardy couriers usually rode in teams of two, each carrying
identical posts so that should one succumb to the evil of Orcs or wargs
or bandits then the other might yet succeed. The Mirkwood Messengers
were renowned to be the swiftest, cleverest, and most daring elves
living in Middle-earth, and their steeds were bred to match this
temperament. The very air about them was redolent with the romantic
mystique of these dashing, debonair cavaliers.
There was nothing these warriors would not attempt and they prided
themselves on never failing to get through with their cargo. Inu or Anu
(female or male), the Athedrainyn (Border Crossers) revelled in the
excitement of the chase and the thrill of straying so near to the
bounds of survival. Indeed, in spite of the grim nature of their duties
and the high probability of mortality or imprisonment in Dol Guldur,
these elves were some of the most jovial to breathe the air.
Athedrainyn sang and danced, laughed and played, loved and lived with
exuberance unmatched among elf-kind employed in other trades. So much
so that it had passed into common lore among all the free peoples that
to 'ride like Athedrainyn' was both a compliment of one's endurance and
an admonishment against excess.
Thranduil's Athedrainyn boasted the fastest speeds and shortest times
for completing the journey from the postern by the Sentinel to the
steps of Celeborn's talan in Lorien: just under three days. The host
that departed from the Lord's home in Caras Galadhon two days after the
sons of Elrond left for Imladris could not hope to maintain such a pace
nor would they try.
Seldom did the Lord of the Golden Wood venture forth from beneath the
Mellyrn. Since the disastrous victory of the Last Alliance, he had
travelled out of the woods only to attend the births of his
grandchildren in Imladris and to escort his daughter to Mithlond when
life became unbearable for her. Her departure had left him filled with
sorrow yet he could not depart Middle-earth to follow Celebrian over
sea. His heart told him, even had Galadriel's Mirror not, that his
intervention would be required before the time of the elves was done.
And he could not leave Arwen while her doom was undecided.
Arda needed Lothlorien and the hidden refuge could not exist without
its Lord, for while Galadriel wore the Ring of Water the Golden Wood
had been growing long ages before Nenya's creation. The Galadhrim
respected the Lady's foresight and magic, but their Lord was accepted
as one of them, moriquendi, Teleri, born beneath the stars and amid the
trees of Middle-earth. Celeborn the Wise was nothing less than their
King in all but title. Whatever he asked of them, even should it be
impossible to manage, yet would the Galadhrim find means to accomplish
the task.
Celeborn kept his folk close, guarding the remainder of his people from
the ills of Sauron's growing strength, concealing the numbers of
Lothlorien's warriors, encouraging the misconception of the lofty
Galadhrim hiding behind their shielded weald. A steady stream of
cloaked and stealthy
Yet not too stealthy! silvan wayfarers
passed
West to Imladris or the Grey Havens, seen by mortals and Sauron's spies
alike, promoting the notion that the Galadhrim were abandoning
Middle-earth in droves. If these same travellers were more secretive
and went unremarked on their return journeys, that was no less than
should be expected of Celeborn's messengers. Unlike the brash and bold
Athedrainyn of Greenwood, Lorien's scouts and couriers relied on
subterfuge and artifice to complete their perilous missions. It would
not do to apprise Sauron of the might of Lothlorien's army too soon.
Still, the unprecedented charges arising from Mirkwood's ruler could
not be ignored nor could the Lord of the Mellyrn Taur (Forest of
Mallorn Trees) stand by and let such a fissure yawn betwixt the already
estranged elven realms. The Darkness would have too sweet a triumph in
gloating over that. Surely, the Wraiths had sent word to Mordor of the
troubles stirring in the northern wilds. Thranduil's world seemed on
the verge of collapse, an invitation for Sauron to reinforce the
strength of Dol Guldur by taking the mountain stronghold. Thus,
Celeborn deemed the moment had arrived to foster solidarity and in so
doing direct the renegade Maia away from another force in the north
rapidly increasing in stature and experience. For the Lord of the
Golden Wood knew the identity of Isildur's Heir and his soul was
already mourning the bond his grandchild would forge with this Man.
Thranduil has concocted a most appropriately complex distraction.
Celeborn rode forth.
The company from Lothlorien was a sight to behold, glorious and grand,
fearsome and majestic, enveloped in an aura of vibrant power and deadly
purpose. Secrecy and stealth were abandoned and the Galadhrim were
openly revealed as formidable foes of Darkness. The silvan archers were
seated upon magnificent and deadly war-horses, four abreast in ranks of
nine, tall-backed and proud, determination shining from their
far-seeing eyes and resolve apparent in the set of their shoulders and
their serious demeanour. No song fell from the grimly sealed lips nor
did idle conversation break the silence of this troop. Only the
resounding thunder of the stallions' hooves mingled with the jangling
ring of the horses' mithril gaiters, for the steeds were bedecked after
the fashion of Nirmë and Namië (Elladan and Elrohir's horses).
The warriors did not wear traditional grey elven travelling cloaks but
capes of silver satin trimmed in a wide border of crimson, the colours
of the Lord's House, for he was of the line of Thingol and a cousin to
the fallen king. Some believed the red hue was meant as a mark of
remembrance to all the life lost by the hands of Galadriel at
Alqualonde, that her debt was forgiven yet not forgotten, but to this
thought none dared give voice in Celeborn's presence.
Worthy war bows the Galadhrim bore across their shoulders and quivers
full of bolts, fletched in green, yellow, red or brown, were strapped
upon their backs. Their garments were not the soft unobtrusive colour
of twilit mist worn beneath the Mellyrn's leaves but rather a
distinctive combination of black leggings under tunics of pure white
embroidered in silver. Over these, leather jerkins dyed darker than the
depths of a starless night, embossed with the emblem of a Mallorn,
protected vital organs. Their black leather boots were knee length and
sturdy enough for long marches afoot, for the elves were prepared for
any potential outcome. No helms covered the warriors' hair as it
streamed in the wind of their passing, every shade from flaxen to coal
displayed, nor did metal guard their bodies. They were content that
elven senses would alert them of approaching danger long before harm
could reach them, well within the range of their arrows.
Except for beribboned manes and the leg protection, the chargers
permitted only a rope of hithlain round their whithers for toting two
more bundles of arrows, a pack of provisions and a water-skin. This
might seem a meagre kit to supply so dangerous a mission, but the elves
planned to make use of the resources available along the route rather
than encumber the horses with more baggage. Besides, the trip should
take no more than five days, barring trouble, and six if they ran into
Orcs.
Celeborn fully expected to encounter the foul creatures, for it was
impossible to sneak past Dol Guldur, nor had he any intention of
skulking by cringing in fear and dread. If the Galadhrim must leave
their protected lands, then let the enemy cower, quaking and wary,
wondering what warranted this unexpected foray into the wounded world,
for the proud warriors did not present a trifling force.
Choices for the trek's itinerary were limited to three: straight across
the Great River and under the eaves of Mirkwood, thence to force a way
past Dol Guldur and reach the dwellings of the woodsmen and Thranduil's
realm beyond. That was less an option than a demand for passage to
Mandos. Or, the Galadhrim might travel north along the eastern borders
of the forest following the River Running and thus to the Forest Road.
Yet those lands were barren and sustenance for the stallions
insufficient. Alternately, the host could traverse the broad valley of
the Anduin past the Gladden Fields and enter the Sinda's lands at the
Forest Gate. The last was the way agreed upon between the Lord, his
Lady, and their Marchwarden, for should trouble seek them allies could
be found among the woodsmen and the beornings.
The battalion numbered thirty-six and among the silvan folk of Lorien
rode seven of the wayward soldiers decommissioned from the Greenwood's
forces. Their citizenship had been revoked and they were to return to
their native lands forthwith or depart for Valinor. Galadriel was not
one to disregard the warning of her liquid oracle and had called these
refugees in from their stations to face her questioning and bear her
scrutiny.
Some fled rather than undergo this interrogation of the soul, fearful
of the reprisals their guilty hearts would earn. These left Lorien and
were met with never again by the Galadhrim. Of the remainder, two fell
at once on their knees and pleaded mercy, revealing all they had
witnessed of the Chastisement and the part they had played. This pair
had truly repented for once removed from the influence of their
Shadowed realm the peace of Lorien had worked a change within
their hearts.
The last few denied fault and one was insolent enough to say it was
expected for one kin-slayer to defend another. To this Galadriel had
remarked that hands once bloodied would not fear to deepen the stain if
cause was given. That elf thus regretted his hasty insult, for alone
among his fellows he was sent away weaponless and must depend upon
their friendship to defend him should need arise, for none of the
Galadhrim would forgive the slur against their Lady. His comrades in
crime were no comfort to him, for little honour was to be found among
these twisted, bitter elves and they would each protect their own hides
before aiding another.
After gleaning the disturbing reality of the Wood Elves practices, the
Lord and Lady's objective in seeking audience with the Sinda King
altered somewhat. Neither was as much concerned over alleviating
Elrond's disgrace as they were determined to aid the cast off heir of
the Woodland Realm. Elrond, after all, was an Elven Lord and had the
entirety of Imladris to back and support him, as well as three adoring
children that would never falter in defending him. Elrohir had put it
succinctly: Legolas was alone.
Now Galadriel did not reveal any of these findings or the resultant
decisions to Elladan and Elrohir. Had the brothers understood the
combined information from her vision and the renegade Wood Elves, they
would not have been denied the opportunity to accompany their
grandfather and assist the outcast prince. To her husband she readily
relayed all that her investigation yielded of Legolas' unfortunate
circumstances, and Celeborn was no less shocked than she to discover
such tortures enacted against an elf by his own people.
"The pestilence of Dol Guldur increases. My kinsman requires our help,
even if he cannot perceive this of his own accord," the Lord remarked
of Thranduil.
"It has been thus since the Last Alliance. I fear you will find the
malady does not originate from the black spire of the Wraiths, my
love." Galadriel countered sadly.
"What have you seen?"
"Nothing that you have not felt."
At these words Celeborn scowled but could not deny their truth. He had
long worried over the increasingly xenophobic mood of the Sinda King
and was fully aware of Thranduil's purported use of dark magic to
govern his country. Like Glorfindel, Celeborn had come to hope that
Ningloriel's departure would result in a new degree of stability for
the woodland leader. The heralded birth of the new heir bespoke some
movement along that encouraging path, yet the news of Legolas' vile
treatment opposed the idea. Still, Celeborn was not one to allow
assumptions and gossip to rule his thoughts, and he held his heart and
mind open. He would let his cousin speak of these things before
judgement was passed.
"What shall you do?" his wife enquired, following the trail of his
thinking.
"The silvan folk are not foolish," Celeborn sighed. "I shall not
intervene should they depose him, nor will I encourage any uprising. In
these times it would be best for Thranduil to remain in command, for
the strength of his warriors and his resolve against the Shadow are
beyond question."
"But there is the matter of the Ring."
"Do you think it is there?" He knew she did not, nor did he. This was
Saruman and Elrond's folly and sprang from their disregard of the Wood
Elves and the view that Thranduil was incapable of fending off the
power of Sauron for so long unaided.
"And Legolas?" Galadriel did not bother to answer her husband,
shrugging to admit her agreement instead, and focused on the
disinherited elf.
"Of this I cannot say, for to bring him here bodes ill for him, so your
Mirror warns. We do not know what place he holds within these charges
against Elrond or whether he is even aware of them. Legolas could be
lost already, or far from aid within the wilds of the southern woods,
or worse, prisoner in Dol Guldur.
"And if none of that is true and I find him within the stronghold,
still I cannot impose my laws upon these people of the Greenwood. They
are free and this is the way they have chosen. Shall I force them to
give up customs that have been in place since the First Age? Shall
Lorien extend her borders across the Anduin?"
"Nay." Galadriel shook her head and smiled. "I see what your heart
desires and I pray you will succeed. If you do not, what then shall you
do, my love?" She asked her husband again, for she was not about to let
him pretend he had answered the question she had posed. Her cool blue
eyes twinkled as they sought his serious stormy grey ones and were
rewarded to watch them clear.
Celeborn's soft laughter flowed between them and he reached for her
hand, carrying it to his lips and then against his cheek where he held
it, smiling back.
"I will not fail. Surely you can sense my determination, Beloved! Go
and check your precious Mirror if you doubt my resolve. I will have
nothing less than Thranduil's acknowledgement of his first-born child."
He chided with a shake of his head.
"Of course I would never doubt you! You are more stubborn than
Elwë and Dior put together. Still, if Thranduil proves both harder
of head and heart, then mayhap the archer would take refuge in
Mithlond."
Celeborn snorted at her jibe and squeezed her fingers before letting
them loose, his smile more serious and his eyes darkening with turmoil
again.
"Yet, who is to say the young one is not most obstinate of all? He is
half-Sinda and the half that is not sprang from the most intractable
silvan inu I have ever met. I fear he will not willingly leave his
Greenwood, not to seek safety for his person at any rate."
"Have you been dipping in my fountain?"
A hearty laugh followed this cheeky query and Celeborn swept his
beloved into his arms. "I need not the waters of your Mirror to imagine
the combination of Oropher's temperament and Ningloriel's rebellious
determination! Indeed, Legolas must be strong to endure what has
befallen him. I would salvage that elf; he is a worthy cousin
regardless of the condemnation of the Judgement."
"Hmm. I am pleased to hear you say so, and must thank the trees for
keeping you updated on their protector's status, even if you did not
share it with me."
"Ai! I cannot help it if the Noldor lack the gift of speech with the
forest. Besides, I had not need to reveal what you already knew."
"Nay. The Mirror does not show me what Legolas' future holds, and I
fear your trees have only reported their worry and love, their
insistence of the Wood Elf's innocence."
"It is true. The fact that they whisper of him always, however, is not
insignificant," Celeborn's words were tinged in sorrow and frustration,
for indeed the noble trees surrounding him had often begged assistance
for the Greenwood's champion, and he had been bound to refuse.
"You have suffered," Galadriel was genuinely surprised. Her husband had
hidden this well or she had been pre-occupied with Sauron's Ring
Both
and his concerns had slipped past her notice. "Unable to help a
kinsman, one whom you felt both in need and wronged by his own. Gohenna
nin."
"Sîdh, there is nothing you could have done that would not entail
posing an objection to their sovereign laws. In Thranduil's mind, that
would be equivalent to an act of aggression. Even he does not interfere
with their belief system."
"Oh, but he manipulates it when it suits him," she growled. "How does
he count that right and this enslavement?" She held up Nenya and the
flash within the stone matched the spark deep in the Lady's cerulean
gaze.
Celeborn merely raised his brows askance and she relented. It was an
argument he simply refused to enjoin with her, as there was no
resolution possible. He was not Thranduil nor could he control the
Sinda King. The fact that some part of her wished to do so, Celeborn
would not countenance discussing. Thus the topic dropped and the couple
spent no more time worrying on the journey ahead, relishing the hours
remaining between them against the separation the dawn would bring.
At minuial the entourage threaded single file among the towering trees
to the ford of the Nimrodel, the pace no more than a lazy jog, and the
first encampment found them on the opposite bank of the Great River
under the oblique glare of the Wraith's citadel. The break was for the
benefit of the horses, for the next leg would demand a hard gallop for
many hours to get them to the Gladden Fields.
No rest did the warriors take that night, for the site of so bold a
company of armed elves was certain to entice Mordor's servants from
their pinnacle of dread. The assault came two hours after sundown and
the Galadhrim fired arrow after arrow into the advancing glamhoth until
the grey glimmer of Arien's advent tinged the air. The vile demons were
forced to retreat under the shaded canopy of their dark woods.
It came as no surprise to Celeborn when Haldir reported the desertion
of the unrepentant renegades sometime during the evening.
They mounted and set a gruelling pace. By annûn (sunset) on the
second day, while Elladan and Elrohir stood by the study door waiting
for their father to unlock his heart, the Galadhrim made camp at the
crux of the reed-choked River Gladden with its wide, shallow wetlands
and the sluggish Anduin.
The elves took the offensive and made the first strike of the
anticipated fight, entering under the eaves of the woods to aid the
small colony of humans dwelling there. A fourth of his troops Haldir
left to safeguard a merchant's caravan set up for trade with the
beornings and the woodsmen. The remainder joined forces with the able
Men, who were discovered to be inexplicably competent archers and sword
fighters, though their gear was coarse and their blades no doubt
gleaned from fallen foes in battles past. The combined assault
scattered the Orcs and the Galadhrim heard for the first time the
agonised screams of the victims of Legolas' traps.
Not a single casualty resulted among the impromptu allies thanks to the
silvan archers.
The woodsmen shook the solemn elves' hands warmly in gratitude and
astonished Celeborn by demanding to include two of their citizens,
veterans of Erebor that immigrated from Laketown thereafter, within the
First-born's delegation. They wished to speak out at their atheling's
trial and help to lift the ban. The good people assumed this to be the
reason for such a formidable platoon of foreign elves to enter the
Greenwood, a thing never seen in any of their lifetimes. The hearing
was news to the noble Lord and he agreed readily once the identity of
their prince was made clear. Celeborn was more eager than before to
hasten his journey's completion.
Yet a greater shock awaited the elven Lord's return to his encampment,
for there his warriors had fought a fierce battle that had included two
of the Wraiths. That was not so unexpected, but the merchant's
participation in the skirmish, along with his entire entourage, was.
These were dwarves from the Iron Mountains and not since Erebor had
they fought alongside the First-born.
For the Galadhrim the experience was even further removed in
remembrance, the battles for Eregion being the last time the silvan
folk of the Golden Wood had shared the same side as the Naugrim. The
memory of the demon loosed from Moria was nearer and if their
appreciation of these unexpected allies was a bit grudging, that was an
instinctive response. Logically, the elves understood that the Balrog's
release had been unintentional, yet their hearts still grieved for
loved ones lost to the aftermath of dwarven greed. But they kept silent
on this, following the example of their Lord, and if the elves were
distant and cool towards their new comrades, the mortals could not deem
it other than the natural manner of the eldar.
The dwarves were eager to relate the encounter with Sauron's minions
and everyone who had not been there gathered close to listen.
"The Lesser Evils," intoned one of the woodsmen with a grim nod that
his fellow mimicked as the merchants shared their tale. But the elves
were perplexed.
"What is that?" Haldir looked from one Man to the other, finally
resting his sight on Celeborn, who shrugged.
"Bloody Wraiths!" bellowed the merchant, shaking his mattock at the
sky. He murmured something in his own tongue, which made his cohorts
laugh, and spat.
Haldir bristled, suspecting the remark was probably something along the
lines of 'ignorant tree rats', but held his peace when Celeborn firmly
placed a hand upon his shoulder, a huge forced smile adorning his
features. The Marchwarden imitated the fixed expression and returned
attention to the conversation.
"Aye, that is how our Tawarwaith calls them," added the other forest
dweller.
"Shadow-slaves, can't come out one without the other and only run about
at the Chief's orders. Tirno almost had that one's Ring off, by Varda!"
the first chortled delightedly.
"That sounds like a tale worthy of telling," Celeborn grinned as many
of his comrades voiced agreement, for they had found the dwarven
fighters worthy and it just felt right, all of them being free folk, to
be standing together against the Shadow's advance.
But Haldir was not enamoured of the notion of actually sharing their
camp and their food with these representatives of Durin's race,
regardless of their valorous participation in the fighting. He scowled.
"First, I would hear from whence you folk of Aulë originate. Are
you kin to the Naugrim of Moria?" he demanded.
A tension immediately filled the air and in the silence surrounding it
the consistent chirping of frogs in the meers behind them became
pronounced. Subtly, the elves separated themselves from the five
dwarves and the two humans edged away from the confrontation.
The representatives of Aulë's children drew closer together,
sharing serious expressions. They conversed quietly among themselves in
their secret speech for a moment and then the eldest stepped forward.
"I am Brôr daughter of Grôr, at your service," she stated
formally and bowed low. "My grandfather was Frôr, third cousin to
Ders who was wife to Kref, a resident of Khazadum. These two are my
younger brothers, Treg and Tuhm." As she spoke their names each one
bounced forward and bowed with an 'at your service'. Treg was the one
with the mattock. "Here is Brêh my son and his wife Masz.
"We hail from the place known to you as the Blue Mountains and have for
long years dwelled amid Dain's folk in the Iron Mountains. Never have
any of us lived in Moria, nor did any of my kin delve the deeps
therein. Yet, if you have grievance against Durin's Race for the
tragedy of that time, know that our losses were greater than the
immortals'."
On hearing this Haldir was angry, for nothing could be more severe than
the deaths of the First-born at the unleashing of the Balrog, among
whom his parents were numbered. Before he could speak, Celeborn
intervened.
"Shall we compare the destruction of one realm against another,
counting up hurts and deaths while the true culprit sits back and
delights in our foolishness?" he demanded quietly. His eyes met each of
the dwarves in turn and they could not hold so stern a gaze, though it
was neither accusing nor threatening. "Nay, we stand here in this place
where once evil stole away victory from the free folk just as we had
claimed it, and at terrible price." The Men averted their eyes now, for
it was of Isildur the immortal spoke. "Let us not repeat the error, for
we have once more bested the Darkness this night, small though the
numbers defeated were. We shall not fight one another nor argue over
wrongs this same evil has foisted upon us by treachery and lies."
And Haldir lowered his angry visage, for it was true the elves had
inadvertently aided Sauron also, even if those were not silvan people
but Noldor. Everyone was loath to speak after the Lord's words, and the
Marchwarden realised they were waiting for his response. He grimaced,
for he had brought this on himself, lifted his head and sighed, sharing
with Celeborn a rueful expression of mirthless self-mockery. He was
suddenly quite glad his brothers were not present to witness his
humiliation. The Lorien warrior drew a deep breath.
"Lord Celeborn is justly called wise. I am pleased to offer gratitude
for the assistance of the axes of Durin's folk this night," he managed
to say the words smoothly and made a dignified half-bow as well.
It was enough. The dwarves nodded acceptance and the Men exhaled
mightily, a heartfelt 'Thank Elbereth!' whispered into the air brought
a sprinkle of chuckles from both elves and dwarves. The unusual
assembly settled down around the campfire for the remaining hours of
night. The merchants shared a cask of ale and the First-born quickly
secured a buck to roast and soon the humble meal was underway. The
Galadhrim heard the whole story of the Day of the Heaving Ground and
how Tirno had faced down the Master of Dol Guldur, wounded and with but
a single arrow to shoot.
As it turned out, Treg and Tuhm had been at Erebor and knew the humans
well, and likewise demanded to join in the party once the destination
and purpose were known. That Celeborn found incomprehensible.
"I am not certain if that is wise," he stated. "Why would you wish to
participate in this hearing? The Wood Elves have not been friendly to
your people for many centuries."
"You were not at Erebor. The Wood Elves as a lot maybe are not much use
to us. However, this particular warrior showed skill and acted
honourably," said Treg evasively.
"You mean he gives you the chance to embarrass Thranduil in his own
court!" laughed one of the woodsmen, shaking his head.
"Aye, you will back anyone who opposes the Wood Elves' King," agreed
the other but he did not find humour in the thought. He was already
caught between the Wraiths and the Wood Elves and had no desire to add
dwarves to the mix.
"It is a dangerous game, baiting Thranduil," cautioned Celeborn. "I
will not bring any with me that might jeopardise my goal. Your revenge
upon the Sinda Lord will needs be done without my protection."
"What is your goal, noble Lord?" queried Tuhm. "Mine is not to seek
revenge, for though Thorin was King under the Mountain I know also that
much the dragon stole once belonged to Thranduil. I did not go to
Erebor to dispute over gold and would have agreed willingly to terms
with the Men and elves."
"Truly? Forgive me if I seem sceptical of your goodwill, Master Tuhm,"
intoned Celeborn dryly. "Yet I will share my hope with you nonetheless.
The warrior we are discussing is Thranduil's son and I intend to
reunite them. It does not serve our people for Greenwood to fall to
Darkness, and Legolas' disgrace has divided the woodland folk."
"Other stories abound concerning the elf's sire," commented Treg
indelicately and Haldir shot him a deadly glare.
"Of which we care not," Brôr hastened to add.
"The point being he is a worthy warrior and should be honoured as
such," Tuhm continued and gave his brother a warning scowl.
Tales of the Woodland King's former dealings among dwarves were legend,
and not a few had made nice fortunes trading with the Sinda Lord in
centuries past. It was the profit to be had that sparked Tuhm's
interest. As a merchant of jewels and metalworking, he must use the
woodsmen as his distributors, selling to them what the Wood Elves
needed. The humans then re-sold the goods and kept the profits. The
dwarf to reopen commerce with Thranduil directly would become wealthy
indeed.
"And it would not benefit Durin's folk for Mirkwood to become even
darker than it is," he concluded.
"Aye, the Wood Elves keep Sauron's attention from turning to the Iron
Mountains," sneered Haldir.
"And from Lorien," countered Treg.
"Far! Enough!" Celeborn's voice rose just enough to command silence. He
reflected on this unusual request of the Naugrim, yet could not find
good cause to allow them to take part in his enterprise. The dwarf was
not lying but he was not revealing his true purpose completely. The
woodsmen's case was different, for Mirkwood was their home and they
openly claimed Legolas as their prince. Celeborn shook his head and
frowned.
"Nay, I cannot sanction your entry to the Woodland Realm for I am not
the Lord of those lands. Should you come under the eaves you will be at
Thranduil's mercy. Only upon the Forest Road may the Naugrim pass
through the Greenwood; this you know.
"No messenger have you sent nor heralds nor emissaries from your King
to beg audience with the Elven Ruler. Your presence would add
instability to an already volatile situation. I will not take you into
my company." He rose from his place by the fire and pulled Haldir along
with him, and the dwarves understood the subject was closed.
The merchants were not angry, for it had been but a chance encounter
and there was nothing at stake or honour sullied by the refusal. The
Lord of Lorien's reasons were logical and the dwarves accepted the
denial with minimal grumbling, settling down to sleep as the last hour
of Ithil's tour commenced. The elves had departed before they woke.
Tbc.
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