Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

Nothing Gold Can Stay	By : TAFKAB Category: +Third Age > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 5311 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own The Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit, The Silmarillion, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 8
- 9
- 10
Legolas entered his father’s throne room silently, choosing a small corridor where he might remain unobserved for a moment while he took stock of the scene.

An old man stood before his father, cloaked in grey, leaning on a gnarled staff with a jewel in its top. Mithrandir had returned from his journey west much faster than Legolas would have expected. Thorin owed his life to the wizard's healing, but he had rejected Mithrandir's advice, both before and after the battle, so Legolas would not have been surprised if the wizard had waited until there was a new King under the Mountain before returning to Erebor. The ithron was none too welcome in the Woodland Realm, either, thanks to his meddlesome ways and his insistence on consorting with dwarves. Legolas hesitated, but the old man’s keen eyes had already marked him, and his father would soon find him as well.

He stepped forth into the light and obeyed Thranduil’s languid beckon. Ascending the stair to the throne, he stood in symbolic solidarity with his father, who had left the wizard to stand upon a platform below.

“The affairs of my kingdom are none of your concern,” Thranduil intoned, his voice at its most dismissive. “I have provided aid to your precious dwarves, and that should content you.”

“At what price?” Mithrandir was furious, as angry as Legolas had ever seen a wizard. “The enslavement of a free dwarf?”

“Its service is one of indenture, not of slavery. It has been treated well enough.”

“You might clothe the dwarf in silks and house him in a gilded bower, then feed him the finest morsels a great king ever saw set upon his table, and it would still be wrong! You have no use for a dwarvish servant. This is a pettiness far beneath you, a fool’s vengeance!” Gandalf thumped his staff upon the floor, a glow beginning to wax inside the white gem.

“My son. Fetch the dwarf, so it may reassure the wizard in his concern.” Thranduil remained calm, but Legolas knew to move swiftly.

He flew through the corridors, jostling aside those he met, moving with such urgency Nardan’s eyes flew wide.

“Open the door. My father requires the dwarf.”

“Why such haste, my lord?”

Legolas snatched the key. “Mithrandir has come. He is angered by my father’s bargain.”

“Elbereth who lit the stars,” Nardan whispered. “Would Thranduil be stubborn enough to argue with a Maia?”

“He is.” Legolas hastened into the cell, where the dwarf set down his cup. He had nearly finished the wine, and sat his chair unsteadily. Legolas had no time to spare for exasperation.

“I had not meant to return and disturb you so soon, but the wizard Mithrandir has come to assure himself of your well-being. Come, so we may show him you are not treated ill.”

It took an age for the dwarf, ungainly with drunkenness and short of leg, to make the climb. Legolas followed, all but fluttering around the dwarf in his anxiety for haste. The climb did much to sober Gimli, though, and by the time Legolas trotted him in, he was much recovered.

“Tharkûn!” Gimli stepped forward. “Or should I say Gandalf? Your face is a welcome sight, wizard.”

The wizard looked at Gimli with astonishment, his bushy brows climbing so far they vanished under his hat. “I never thought to see a dwarf clad so,” he rumbled, clearing his throat with displeasure.

Gimli looked down at his elvish finery, wry. “Nor I. But it covers me, for all it is too thin. The prince says I am to have a good cloak, and he has given me blankets enough for an army.”

“And wine enough also, I see,” Gandalf tilted his head, studying Gimli’s flushed face.

“Truthfully I say, I have not been treated too much amiss.” Gimli shot a look askance at Legolas. “My pride is injured, and I may not come and go at will, but I have my beard.”

“That, at least, is good.” Gandalf approached, eyeing the dwarf up and down. “I have heard many rumors about your situation; they spurred me to return when I might have remained in the west. Are you here willingly?”

Gimli hesitated. “I was not forced to come. I chose to offer myself in fulfillment of the king’s bargain.”

“But for the term of your indenture, your will is not your own.” The wizard scowled.

Gimli shrugged. “That is so, but I have not been refused anything I asked aside from my armor and clothing.”

“He asked to write to his family.” Legolas dipped his hand into his pocket, aware of Thranduil’s watchful gaze overlooking them all. “I have his letter here.” He unfolded the parchment so the wizard could see. “I meant to leave it with a messenger in Esgaroth when I could, but it will be long before I travel that way. Perhaps you would care to carry it, if you mean to journey to the mountain.”

Gandalf scanned the parchment, sharp eyes flickering across the words for a long moment, suspicious, before they softened. The wizard could read Khuzdul, then. Gimli must have said nothing more ill than he promised, for Gandalf took the letter without comment and secreted it away.

“I will deliver it to Glóin myself.” He turned his gaze to Thranduil again, brows drawing down in a scowl. “I cannot countenance this course. You are as bad as Thorin in your determination to flirt with war and destruction for the sake of old grudges and the desire for gems. If you must keep your pride, let the dwarves ransom their kinsman back with the worth of the food in mithril or gold.”

“I will not. This choice is mine to make.” Thranduil’s voice was frosty, and he flicked his fingers at Legolas, directing him to withdraw with the dwarf. Legolas did, hesitating just out of sight, not wanting to miss the conversation. Gimli stood still at his side, silent and listening, though Legolas thought he could understand little of the Sindarin Thranduil used with Mithrandir.

“Care well for the dwarf, if you will not release him. See that he comes to no harm.” Mithrandir’s voice might have cut steel, and he did not return to Sindarin. “Or you will answer to sterner powers than the dwarves of Erebor, Thranduil of Greenwood.”

“Will they then travel across the sea to discipline me? Will they unleash their wrath through you, sole and uncontestable arbiter in Middle Earth of the will of Manwë Súlimo, or so you would have us believe?” Scorn dripped from Thranduil’s words. “You are not a Vala. You are a counselor only, one who is long and far away from his master. You know as well as I: what I do is no grounds for such threat. Indeed, many elves have indentured their own kin through the long ages in redress for wrongs done. Take your warnings and go, if you have no more useful words to say.”

Legolas drew a long, slow breath and held it, awaiting the wizard’s response.

“I will stay this night and satisfy myself the dwarf is well-lodged. Then I will carry word to his father.” Mithrandir’s tone matched Thranduil’s for chill. “Have a care, Thranduil son of Oropher, lest pride and desire for petty vengeance consume you, as the dragon sickness has consumed Thorin Oakenshield.”

Legolas heard the tap of the wizard’s staff approaching, and nudged Gimli to set forth. The wizard joined them before they had gone far, his face like a thundercloud.

“You, Legolas Greenleaf. What think you of this course?” He asked abruptly.

Legolas glanced at the dwarf, who was listening so hard his ears might be in danger of falling off.

“The dwarf was given into my charge. I will see no harm comes to him.” He would say no more against his father.

Mithrandir stared at Legolas for a long moment in the way of the wizards, as if he were reading Legolas’s thought just as easily as he had read the dwarf’s letter. His brow furrowed.

“There is more at stake here than I can see.” He tapped a gnarled finger upon his lips. “Gimli, son of Glóin, would you sit and share a pipe with me? With your master’s leave, of course.”

“I have no complaint with that,” Legolas answered easily, answering for Gimli. “Let me show you to a room. I will call for wine and food.”

Soon they were seated on a lush couch arranged before a comfortable fire, the wizard having refused food and accepted wine. He spent a few moments lighting his pipe before offering Gimli a puff. The dwarf took the pipe eagerly. Soon he and the wizard were happily occupied blowing smoke rings while Legolas sipped his wine and pondered the day’s events.

The dwarf refused further strong drink, apparently wanting to keep his wits sharp for the evening, but he seemed to enjoy the pipe exceedingly. Legolas added that to his list of items to remember-- along with coffee, if it might be found in Laketown.

Mithrandir’s eyes flickered to him, as if perceiving his thought, and the old man’s face wrinkled in a broad smile. Legolas remained wary, knowing the wizard’s habit of putting more into a chance word or glance than it might seem.

After a cordial time together, the dwarf grew weary, his head nodding, and the wizard accompanied him and Legolas to his cell. The wizard assured himself nothing was amiss before allowing the dwarf to be taken inside. He gave Nardan a sharp look as he emerged.

“Care well for the dwarf,” he cautioned. “Legolas, walk with me.”

Of course the interview was not over. Legolas firmed his jaw and fell in at Mithrandir’s side.

“What do you think of your dwarvish charge?”

“I would be glad not to bear the responsibility for him.” Legolas did not try to dissemble. “He is a dwarf, and he is crude and dirty. His manners with food are sickening. He is hot-tempered and rude, his ways uncouth. I believe he will run at the first opportunity, and I will be forced to pursue him, lest he be lost in the wood and devoured by spiders.”

“I do not think he will run, especially if he is not ill-treated, and he seems not to be. That is a credit to you. He is here by choice, though that choice should not have been forced upon him. His honor is strong. He will fulfill his pledge.” The wizard shook his head, sober. “I ask you to be kind to him, Thranduilion, though your father would not have it so.”

“Why?” Legolas ran his hand over the carved newel of the stair as they passed.

“Your two peoples cling to hate and mistrust for centuries over old wrongs when these memories should be let pass. If so, there might be friendship and trade between you. Both races would benefit. But neither side will forget.” Mithrandir sighed.

“Yet the elves were not at fault in those wrongs.”

“Nor were they entirely blameless.” Mithrandir set his hand upon the latch of his door. “As I have said to your father many times before, the free peoples of Middle Earth have far too terrible a common enemy to make war among themselves.” He rubbed his chin in thought, but his eyes were sharp and grave. “The White Council has driven the Necromancer from Dol Guldur, yet his servants linger in the mountains and the wood. You know as well as any: the spiders do not dwindle, no matter how many are slain, and orcs swarm so thickly the mountains between here and Rivendell have become all but impassable.” He shook his head. “The Necromancer gave way too easily. It is a feint and a cover for greater evil. Though Saruman scoffs at my fears, I believe Sauron is gathering his power for a new onslaught.” For a moment he looked weary, very much the old man he seemed.

“When he rises anew, you should be glad to have an ally at your side rather than an enemy at your back. The dwarves of Erebor will face the brunt of the onslaught in the north, I fear. Would you have your shield shatter, or would you rather it hold firm? In his pride and wrath, your father would have no shield at all.” He laid his hand upon Legolas’s shoulder. “Be good to the dwarf even if you cannot bring yourself to befriend him, Legolas, for my sake and the sake of all who follow the light.”

“I will be as kind as I may.” Legolas answered readily. “I do not make a habit of cruelty, not even to orcs. But I do not think I could ever befriend such a disgusting creature.” He grimaced.

“Do as you will, then. None can command friendship to take root where friendship will not grow. But for all his bluster and his difference from you, the dwarf is not a bad sort, and you should not judge him yet. His letter spoke justly. See to it you are just, also.” Mithrandir went in and shut the door behind him.

NOTES:

Ithron: Istari, wizard

A comment response thread for this story can be found at http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/index.php/topic/62310-review-replies-for-nothing-gold-can-stay-by-tafkab/ !
- 8
- 9
- 10
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Nothing Gold Can Stay