TWO KINGS

"Where are we?"

Thorin Oakenshield, King under the Mountain, pushed himself to his feet, swiping at leaf debris and ice particles that had attached themselves to his dark braids. He seemed little more than a shadow in the dim light beneath the trees, only the gleam of his silver rings and the angry glitter in his eyes giving him substance.

"I cannot say."

"Cannot say, or will not say?"

Thorin sent a glare of pure venom at the pale glow of the tall and elegant figure at his side. The Elvenking raised an eyebrow by a minuscule amount, just enough to make Thorin feel like an uneducated fool, which was no doubt his intent.

"If I knew where the Lonely Mountain lay, I would hardly be standing here with you, dwarf."

"You're an arrogant bastard," said Thorin without preamble.

"And you are a fool," said Thranduil haughtily. "But it appears we are stuck with each other for the time being."

"I'll soon remedy that; I have no desire to spend a moment longer with you than is necessary."

Thorin looked about them, the sharp movement of his head and the snake-like shift of dark hair upon his shoulders an expression of his rage. After a few moments he set off in a resolute manner; the Elvenking followed him on silent feet.

"Is this your doing, elf?"

"It appears that your brains are as small as your stature. I was carried here in the same manner as yourself."

"Aye, and the accursed eagle was probably doing your bidding."

"The eagle may well have been enchanted, but not by me. I was somewhat busy at the time."

The Elvenking's eyes were far too penetrating, thought Thorin, regretting that his irritation had caused him to look back over his shoulder. "You had no business being there," he blurted, his fists clenching involuntarily at the memory. "Killing Azog was MY destiny."

"You did kill him." Thranduil pointed out calmly.

"I did not need the assistance of a traitorous elf!"

"Then be assured I shall not offer it again." The elf accompanied the words with a disdainful incline of his head, and swept regally past Thorin.

"Where do you think you're going."

Thranduil did not bother to turn around, his words sailing behind him as he strode away. "This is woodland and I am an elf. I will lead the way. You may stay or follow as you please."

Dark brows lowered, fingers twitching on the hilt of his sword, the Dwarf King followed him reluctantly. After all if he didn't keep Thranduil in sight, the flighty creature was likely to disappear amongst the trees.

They walked in silence for some time, until Thorin's ire got the better of him. "You're leading us on a wild goose chase. You don't know where we are any more than I do!"

"When we reach the third hill, the Lonely Mountain will be in sight."

Even the swirl of the elf's cloak was irritating. Thorin glowered at the long back in front of him. "You said you didn't know where we were."

"And now I do."

"How is that? If I find this is more elvish trickery..."

Thranduil stopped and regarded him with pity. "You really must learn to control that temper. The Lonely Mountain lies in that direction. The trees sing of it."

Thorin knew he gaped and cursed himself for it. Then he was hurrying after the Elven King again, wishing the pain in his pierced foot was not so fierce, and that he had the longer stride and could take the lead, for he could not bring himself to trust the treacherous being. Not even those moments on the ice could make him to do that.

There was no further conversation until, after the passage of what seemed like half a day but was probably nearer to a couple of hours, they emerged from the trees to see the Lonely Mountain, blue in the distance. It seemed to Thorin that Thranduil's shoulders sagged a little in disappointment, but the elf's face was as impassive as ever.

"Damn that eagle." Thorin dragged a hand despairingly across his scalp. "I need to be with my people."

"As do I." The elf's face was pale against the dark backdrop of winter bare branches. After a brief pause, he added carefully, "I am sorry for your loss."

The courtesy was a surprise; there was no reason for the elf to regret the loss of one of Thorin's kin, and it took the dwarf a moment to respond, trying as he was to swallow the sudden lump in his throat. "Fili was a fine dwarf." It was necessary to squint against the burn of tears, for he would not cry before this elf, and would not be outdone in courtesies either. "When Azog was dead, you left to find your son?"

The Elvenking's voice was empty of emotion. "I found him."

"And?"

"He lives. I am fortunate."

"Then he must be fearful for your safety."

"He is not aware of my absence," said Thranduil in a bleak voice. "He left before the Eagle arrived." His gaze remained on the dwarf, a look of pity in his eyes that had nothing to do with the absence of a son.

"What is it? You have something more to say, then speak!" The harsh attempt to disguise the fear that caused Thorin's heart to falter fooled neither of them.

"I regret I must give you ill news."

The Dwarf King found himself frozen on the spot, unable to look away.

"After I found Legolas, I came across another of your kin. I fear it was too late to do anything to help him."

Kin. No. It could not be. Thorin stared at the elf, hating him more than ever. "Kili." No answer was necessary. He hunched into himself, holding the anguish tight in his chest. "I should have been there."

"Do not carry those words with you. Grief is a heavy enough burden, Thorin Oakenshield."

"What know you of burdens or grief? Hiding in your trees and your great Halls. You have as much heart as a piece of ice!"

The elf dropped his chin, his eyes cast down. "It has been said," he murmured.

As suddenly as it came, Thorin's anger was gone, leaving only overwhelming grief. The dwarf turned away, bitter tears spilling down his cheeks and his foot sliding in the blood-slick interior of his boot as he stormed resolutely in the direction of the Mountain.

After a few minutes, Thranduil followed slowly, staying far enough behind that he could not hear the choke of the dwarf's breathing or intrude upon his privacy. The elf's heart was full of its own grief, with the dark despair of the loss of so many immortal lives cut through with the jagged lightning strike of "I cannot stay." Never before had words uttered by Legolas hurt so deeply.

Unseen throughout most of the day, the sun was setting behind a bank of grey cloud by the time Thorin stopped. The Mountain was much closer now; a few hours more walking would bring them to the remains of Lake Town.

Exhausted by the outward expression of his grief, the dwarf was light-headed with detachment and it took him a while to realise that Thranduil was still some distance behind, moving slowly through the twilight, almost invisible but for his pale hair. The sound of a mithril covered boot catching on bare rock and the scuff of a cloak on frozen grass announced that the Elvenking must be weary too, for it was unlike him to make any sound, graceful in movement as he was.

Thorin waited impatiently, glad that the red rims around his eyes would be invisible in the half-light. When Thranduil drew close, he jabbed a thumb in the direction of the Mountain. "Lake Town is not far from here."

The Elvenking nodded. "You will be back before midnight. The way is easier from here."

"You do not accompany me then?" The jut of Thorin's jaw became challenging. "Does it shame you to arrive in the company of a dwarf?"

The response sounded almost apologetic, not a natural emotion for the ruler of Mirkwood. "I fear I must rest awhile."

A likely story, thought Thorin, scorn in his snort. "Are elves that fragile then, that they cannot withstand a battle and a short walk in the space of one day?" He turned derisive eyes on his companion and saw that the elf was indeed even paler than normal in the fading light, ghostly even. The hue lent an innocence to his features and gave a luminosity to his eyes that was unsettling. It seemed the day had taken its toll on both of them. At that thought, Thorin shook himself mentally, determined to dislike the creature and annoyed at the feeling of unease that stole over him when Thranduil put out a hand to steady himself against a lightning-shattered tree.

"Does something ail you, elf?"

"It is no concern of yours."

"Perhaps not, but let it not be said that Thorin Oakenshield abandoned a comrade in arms."

"A comrade in arms? I never thought to hear a dwarf and an elf described as such." A flicker of amusement crossed the face of the Elvenking.

"Nor I. For all that, today you fought at my side." Thorin gritted his teeth, not wishing to speak the facts as he saw them. "I believe I may have died, were you not there."

Thranduil was clearly not expecting such an admission. "You do not owe me any debt," he said in his customary cold tone. "We fought a common enemy."

"My honour says otherwise," replied the dwarf gravely, his keen eyes not leaving the elf, who swayed before him like a tall tree in a wind. "Sit down elf, before you fall over."

Thranduil's expression suggested he would like to say something unforgivable, but sensing the imminent betrayal of his body, he eased himself toward the nearest tree and settled into the curve of a lower bough. The simple act made Thorin realise how drained he was himself, and he lowered himself into a smooth cup in a boulder, taking comfort from the heartbeat of the stone, no doubt as Thranduil did from the living energy of the tree.

"I will take first watch." The dwarf could not bring himself to trust the other, and in truth the elf's need for rest appeared greater than his own.

"It is not necessary. The trees inform me there are no orcs on the slopes."

Thorin swallowed his disbelief, deciding it was not worth an argument. The soft slur in Thranduil's voice suggested he was not at present a reliable authority on the matter and besides, Thorin intended to do no more than doze on his rocky seat.

The best intentions can get lost in exhaustion, and to Thorin's surprise the moon was high by the time he re-opened his eyes. He rose abruptly, cursing his own weakness and rubbing at his numb backside. Stone may be of comfort as a seat, but it was far from comfortable.

He swung his dark head suspiciously in the direction of his companion's resting place, half expecting him to have vanished, but the shadowed form of the Elvenking had not moved, although he seemed to be more enclosed by small branches than before, almost as though the tree was cradling the lithe form in its boughs. Thorin snorted derisively, tempted to simply leave, but honour dictated he should at least make the elf aware of his departure, thus enabling him to continue the journey or keep his own guard as he pleased.

With that in mind, he approached the recumbent figure, finding that it was surprisingly difficult as protruding roots snagged at his boots and small twigs jabbed him painfully about the face. Fending off a claw-like branch, he reached out and shook the elf by his arm, surprised at the time it took for the being to stir, alert and resilient as elves customarily were. Indeed, Thranduil struggled slowly back to awareness as though he attempted to escape the clutches of cloying mud, the effort evident in the catch of his breath, something in the quality of the sound making Thorin's guts lurch in sympathy, although why he would care for the other's suffering was beyond him. Perhaps the elf had sustained an injury of some sort, although he had given no sign of it.

Any further ponderings in that direction were cut short when the Elvenking's eyelids lifted and he glowered at the source of his awakening.

"Unhand me, dwarf!"

Fairly spluttering with indignation, Thorin withdrew, sending a venomous glare at a forked branch that scraped against his ribs.

"Why do you linger?" There was a puzzled tone in the elf's voice, as though he had not expected to find Thorin still there. "Are you unsure of the way?"

Thorin scowled. "I am a dwarf, you pointed-eared fool. I can find my way in dark tunnels miles below the surface. Besides…" he swept a hand to the side. "There are fires enough burning in Lake Town to act as beacons."

"Indeed," said Thranduil absently. He seemed to be concentrating more on a careful and graceful rise from his bough than on the conversation. At length he stood beside the tree, remarkably unmarked by pointed twig and giving off the faintest of glows in the shadows.

"I will take my leave," snapped Thorin. "But I will not leave you slumbering and unaware. I did not know elves slept like children."

Surprisingly, the Elvenking did not rise to the bait and Thorin found himself disappointed at the lack of a barbed reply. After a moment he gave a sharp nod and settled his sword more comfortably at his hip.

"If I'm unfortunate enough to pass any elves, I will tell them you are here."

"If you pass any elves," said Thranduil faintly, "It is not likely that you will see them." There was a glisten to his forehead in the moonlight that may have been his natural otherworldly glow, but to Thorin's eyes it seemed more the texture of perspiration, not something he expected to see on such a cold night, even on a creature with formidable resistance to extremes of temperature. It nagged at him, for the elf seemed incapacitated in some way and it rankled against the Dwarf King's sense of pride to leave someone in need of aid.

Thorin paused, his will and his honour pulling him in different directions as his memory recalled the moment when Azog's blade seemed sure to pierce his chest; there had been a ring of steel as the blade was swept away by another and the swirl of a black cloak and long legs leaping over him. It had given him enough time to right his blade, drive it up into the chest of his opponent. There was no doubt in his mind that he would have killed the beast without the timely assistance. There was considerable doubt that he would have survived himself. His irritation at the perceived debt translated itself into a hefty slap against his sword hilt.

"It would be better if we arrived together."

"How so?"

"I would not want your kin to think I murdered you to settle an old debt." In truth it would be an easy thing to do at this moment, although entirely without honour. "We will travel back to Lake Town as two Kings. A show of alliance for our people."

"It seems I have underestimated your diplomacy." Thranduil gave him a sharp glance, but any intended sting was lost as his mouth twisted involuntarily as he stepped forwards.

"If we run into any orcs," said Thorin bluntly. "I would know what ails you. I do not want to find myself skewered because an elf cannot raise his sword."

Defiance and embarrassment fought briefly on the elf's features, both giving way to resignation. "A minor injury," he said in a dismissive tone. "Although it has bled more than it should. No matter; it will heal quickly."

The thought of it caused the elf's body to curl slightly in upon itself, as though speaking of it aloud made the wound more real. His right side, Thorin realised, stepping forward quickly and twitching the cloak away…a cloak heavy and wet with something that gleamed black on his fingers in the moonlight. He ignored the elf's hiss of discomfort and anger and swatted his arm away, reaching in to feel his torso. His fingers encountered the necessary gap in armour that enabled a sword to be swung freely, and beneath that torn flesh and, horrifyingly, bone. And then the tall figure seemed to fold in upon itself, without a sound, but with an expression of such hurt that Thorin instinctively caught him as he fell and bore him to the ground as gently as possible.

Cursing, the Dwarf King spat out a mouthful of fine, blond hair that seemed to have attached itself to the coarser fibres of his beard.

"Elf!" he barked, tapping the Elvenking's face none too gently with his fingers. "Elf!" Then on getting no response, "Thranduil?" The name was strange on his tongue. "Thranduil?"

It seemed to get through, for the elf stirred, opening his eyes to find Thorin staring at him intently from a distance of a few inches. He jerked back with a look of shocked embarrassment.

"You fainted." There was no point sugar-coating it.

"I am a warrior king," said Thranduil weakly. "I do not faint."

"No," agreed Thorin in a dark tone. "Kings cannot faint. For all that, we seem to be upon the floor."

It had been far too long a day. Battles and dragon sickness and the Arkenstone. The slaying of an enemy he had been destined to face and the loss of his dearly beloved kin. Kingdoms won and kingdoms almost lost again. Only to end with a flight in the talons of an enchanted eagle and the unwanted company of his elven enemy, who was currently oblivious to the fact that he was lying on Thorin's lap. Sometimes the fates were cruel in totally unexpected ways.

Love to know what you think so far?