~Thuriniel and Thranduil realize what has happened between them. Later they travel to Dale to find workers and meet an old "friend" of Thranduil's.~

~♕~

"It ain't no trick to get rich quick."

– Happy, Snow White

~♕~

19. Dwarf

The next morning a guard came to tell Thuriniel that Thranduil requested her presence. When she entered his pavilion and saw he was alone, she went over to him with some hesitation; all things considered there ought to be a chaperone present. But she could not reject a summon from the king.

He looked downcast. "My sincere apologies for yesterday," he said remorsefully. "What I did was unforgivable."

Her throat narrowed with guilt. Did he blame himself? "You do not have to apologize. My actions initiated the, uh, incident, and I certainly did nothing to stop it until I was reminded we were not alone."

"Nay, nay. You were only kindly braiding back my hair and I used it as an excuse to– I ought to know better. I am a warrior and a king; I cannot let my emotions get the better of me. My self-control has failed me lately and for that I am sorry."

"You are too hard on yourself. I am guilty too. I offered to braid your hair because I wanted to touch it. Touch you." She hung her head. "I cannot understand what is happening to me."

He sighed. "Me neither. We are elves, we... marry only once."

Breath hitching, Thuriniel caught the unsaid word. Love. Elves love only once, that was how the saying went.

Was he implying...?

Their gazes met and she saw the truth in his eyes. He loved her.

May Eru be merciful, but she loved him too! That was why she couldn't control herself, and why he couldn't either. It should not be possible for a married elf to love another, but obviously it was. Their feelings were real.

"What should we do?" she mumbled. "I suppose I could keep away. Move back to the village..." Her eyes stung with tears just at the thought.

He shook his head. "Don't speak that way. I don't want to lose this friendship. You mean too much to me to give up as a friend." He took a step closer, but not too close. An arm's length away. "We can resist this. We can be strong. I know you can and I will make sure I do too. I was tired after the journey last night, that could be why I slipped. It will not happen again. Please don't leave the capital."

Again her throat constricted. He sounded so earnest and so much in pain, and all she wanted to do was wrap her arms around him and tell him not to worry. But that was one of the things she must not do, of course.

"I will stay. You are right; we can fight this. We should not give our friendship up over such a minor... issue."

"Thank you. That is so true. Just a minor issue."

~♕~

Thranduil dismounted, leaving the elk Padrandon and the others' horses with his stablehand. He had brought roughly the same entourage with him to Dale that had followed him to the bridge ruins the other week.

Dale had improved since Thranduil last was there. That had been only a couple of years after the dragon Smaug destroyed the city and it had been full of cranes and scaffolding as it was being rebuilt.

Thanks to the dwarves it had become a beautiful city of water and stone. Surrounded by the river Running on three sides, it was criss-crossed by channels with quaint little bridges, and there were crystal clear pools and fountains in every court and square. In the fountains stood marble statues of animals, of various Valar, of famous men, and even a few representing important elves of the First Age – though Thranduil noticed those were not portrayed very flatteringly.

"The dwarves have certainly been busy," said Thuriniel, echoing his thoughts. She kneeled to examine the mosaic-like paving on the street, where stones of various kinds had been laid in a neat, colorful pattern.

Today she wore a neat riding dress that enhanced her curves in an enticing way.

Friends, Thranduil reminded himself. Just friends.

"They have," he replied. "And look at all these bridges! If we can make them build us a similar one it will be the gem of the northern Anduin."

Thranduil's new butler had been to Dale in advance to gather information. Now he guided the company to the stonemason's guild bureau, a large, artfully designed building near the central town square. Thirteen huge dwarf statues stood in a row on either side of the tall gate. Something about them was vaguely familiar, but Thranduil couldn't quite pinpoint what. Not counting Legolas' friend, he didn't know any dwarves.

A stocky, muscular clerk with a beard as long as he was tall met them by the door, eyening the elven company with unveiled suspicion. "The guards and weapons stay outside," he informed them after Thranduil had stated their errand.

Thranduil hesitated. Was it safe to enter? But surely he wouldn't be ambushed here in the middle of a populated city, especially not by a mason. Besides, he was a warrior, he could fend for himself even unarmed if need be.

"Perhaps you ought to wait with the guards," he said to Thuriniel. She was not a warrior.

"Nay, I want to come." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "It might make them less hostile if you bring a commoner like me."

His lip twitched. "Commoner?"

"Commoner now. What was in the past, is in the past."

After he had handed over his swords to one of his guards, Thranduil, Thuriniel, the butler and two other servants were led through airy corridors and up several sets of stairs.

Masonry was apparently a profitable business; everywhere he looked, Thranduil saw signs of wealth. Their footfalls were softened by thick Haradrim carpets, and golden chandeliers and sconces lined the ceiling and walls. Between the sconces hung oil paintings in gilded frames, most of them with portraits of regal-looking dwarves with majestic beards.

The ability to grow a beard was the only thing he envied dwarves.

When they were let into the guildmaster's office at last, Thranduil immediately recognized the elderly dwarf behind the smooth mahogany desk. His beard was whiter, matching his well cut coat of expensive fabric and his priceless diamond necklace, but it was still the same fellow he had met all those years ago. Back then he had been dressed in worn clothes, still sticky with spider web.

"You!" growled Thranduil and Glóin at the same time.

So it was he who was the leader of the stonemasons; no wonder the statues outside had looked familiar! Thranduil had once had all the thirteen dwarves they represented imprisoned below his palace.

Glóin had been part of a dwarf company on a quest to defeat the dragon Smaug and reclaim the mountain where it had made its lair – a former dwarven realm. On the way there, the dwarves unlawfully passed through the Elvenking's forest and were caught by giant spiders, but when Thranduil brought the company to him they refused to say what their errand was. He had naturally thought they were there to steal from him, greedy as he knew their kind to be, and thus locked them up until they would confess.

Instead, as a result of Galion's fondness of wine, they had escaped. Galion had persuaded the captain of the prison guards to drink with him until they both fell asleep and the dwarves used that opportunity to flee.

The company had continued to the mountain and with the help of the men of Dale miraculously managed to kill Smaug and reclaim their former home. The survivors rebuilt the underground city and now lived there in great prosperity with all the riches the dragon left behind, refusing to return even the parts of the treasure it had stolen from the elves. From Thranduil, for example.

But being one of those dwarves wasn't Glóin's only crime. He was also father to Gimli, the dwarf who Thranduil blamed for much of his son's recent strange behavior.

Of all the dwarves in Middle-earth, why must he be the one whose help Thranduil needed?

~♕~

Thuriniel immediately noticed the drop in temperature; Thranduil and the dwarf mason stared at one another as if they had seen an orc. They must have met before, but not in good circumstances.

The guildmaster made a mock bow. "What brings you to my humble abode, o king?"

Thranduil's face became stern but he replied politely. "Hardly a humble one, Master Glóin. I have seldom seen a more grandiose house."

Thuriniel's ears pricked up as she recognized the name. Glóin. It explained a lot.

"You flatter me," replied Glóin.

Apparently deciding that was enough small talk, Thranduil got to the point. "I have come here to hire a workforce."

"I see. And you expect my people to volunteer? After everything you and your kind have done to us."

"My kind?" Thranduil stared at him incredulously. "I have never wronged a dwarf. You must mean what your kind did to us."

"Ha! I seem to recall a certain time when you caught a company of innocent wanderers and put them in cells without a trial – o king." He made the honorific sound like an insult.

At that, Thranduil's self-control vanished. "You were not innocent; you were trespassers! Why should I trust people of your ilk? I will never forget how you attacked my city unprovoked!"

"What are you talking about? We didn't attack you."

"Not you as in your company, I meant dwarves in general. Was it not your folk who plundered Doriath, my homeland? Who killed the king and Captain Mablung – who was my friend, I might add! – and then stole our Silmaril necklace and looted our city? After that, I shouldn't think it too strange if I was suspicious when your company entered my realm unannounced and refused to tell me what you were up to."

As he spoke, Thranduil had begun to walk through the room. Thuriniel had never seen him show a temper like that, but experiencing it now didn't surprise her. He had always struck her as an ellon with strong emotions, though he normally kept them under strict control.

"Oh... You meant that attack." Glóin's rough features softened marginally.

"Aye, that."

"Well, it was a long time ago."

"Elves have long memories."

"Then you need to learn to let go of past grudges."

"Says you, who refuses to work for me because of – a grudge!"

"It's not just that. I prefer not to have anything to do with elves if I can help it. You're always acting so superior and stuck-up, looking down on simpler folks like us."

"Well you can hardly expect us to look up to you, now can you?" Thranduil sneered.

The dwarf's face flushed hotly and he bounced up from behind his desk. "Resorting to short people jokes? How pitiful. But I suppose I shouldn't expect civility from the father of the elf who stole my son from me. After all, the pebble doesn't drop far from the rock."

Thranduil took a step closer, looming over him. "Your son stole my son, and I dare say the leaf does not end up far from the branch either!"

Seeing them like that, Thuriniel got a sudden urge to laugh. For all their differences, it seemed to her they had quite a lot in common. Both were fathers whose sons had chosen unsuitable friends, both were wealthy and with impeccable taste in clothing, both were proud.

In the brief silence that ensued they must have realized that too, for when Glóin replied there was suppressed mirth in his voice. "Well, that's today's kids for you. No respect for the old ways."

Thranduil's tense shoulders dropped an inch. "Quite. In my day, such unnatural friendships were unheard of."

"Same, same! Papa Gróin would have had my brother's and my hides if we ever went near an elf." He indicated a semicircle of low chairs. "Please, have a seat."

The elves sat down a bit awkwardly, especially Thranduil whose long legs made his knees nearly reach his chin when he folded them. But despite the uncomfortable position he managed to look elegant.

"So." Glóin steepled his fingers in a businesslike manner. "What does the Elvenking need a dwarven workforce for?"

"I wish to rebuild the bridge over the Old Ford."

A gleam of interest appeared in his deep-set eyes. "The original was dwarven made."

"I know. That is why I want dwarves to build the new one as well. To do it justice."

"Then you were right to come to me. My people make the best bridges."

"You do, indeed. I saw the ones here in Dale and was thoroughly impressed with the craftsmanship."

Flattery apparently was the way forward. Smiling through his forked beard, Glóin asked a series of questions about size, material and design, and when Thranduil produced his sketch the dwarf regarded it with unfeigned enthusiasm.

"We can make it in the style of the old one, but with today's technique. It will be bigger, better, and more beautiful."

"I have full confidence in you," Thranduil said generously. "But no runes," he added.

"No? Our custom inscriptions are very popular."

"That will not be necessary."

"Suit yourself, then. No runes it is. Now, that brings us to the matter of payment..."

During the long haggle that followed, Thuriniel stopped listening and went over to the window to admire its elegant arched shape and leaded glass frames. Through it, she saw a stunning view of the river and many green copper rooftops, and further away the dark expanse of the forest. Somewhere in there was the rafters' village where she had lived for so long.

They had passed it on the way to Dale. Her cabin had felt empty and unlived in, and the garden was miserably overgrown. She had realized she didn't miss the place at all; the capital was her home now. How odd that she would feel that way after so little time! But she was fairly certain her good friend the king had a lot to do with that...

Looking at him now, clearly struggling to be polite to the dwarf though she could see he was secretly fuming over the – admittedly astronomical – cost of building the bridge, she felt a flood of warmth in her chest. Knowing now how much she loved him, she was glad they had managed to find a solution. To continue as friends.

It was true that she longed for more, and so did he, but they could handle it. There had been no more incidents since they talked.

At the desk, Thranduil and Glóin seemed to finally have reached an understanding and now shook hands, dwarf fashion.

"It's a pleasure to do business with you, o king." Glóin smirked.

"The pleasure is all mine," said Thranduil surly, but Thuriniel could tell he was not too upset. That meant he must have managed to get the price down to an acceptable level.

Glóin summoned a servant with glasses and a crystal decanter of some extremely potent dwarven alcohol to seal the deal. Thuriniel politely swallowed a small amount before putting it down. She still didn't dare drink in the presence of Thranduil, just in case. She needed a clear head to control herself.

"So." Glóin took a deep drought. "That settled... Have you heard any news from the south?"

"None, unfortunately." Thranduil sipped his drink.

"Me neither. And I worry all the time. I don't trust the young hotheaded dwarves my son brought to rebuild the Gondor cities; they have all these modern ideas and not half as much experience as they would need to pull them off."

"For my part, I don't quite trust that human king and prince to properly manage a forest. But most of all I want to know whether my son has an heir on the way yet."

The last part caught the dwarf's interest and to Thuriniel's surprise Thranduil told the whole story of his son's sea-longing after the war and how he thought a baby might comfort him, and therefore suggested a marriage to the elleth Legolas had been betrothed to since childhood. Thranduil only omitted the part about the family secret and the real reason why Legolas must not sail to the Undying Lands prematurely.

When he had finished, Glóin was on his second glass. "You have made me curious. Now I want to meet this poor, sad elf-laddie of yours, especially since my Gimli seems so fond of him." Emptying his glass in a large gulp he slapped Thranduil's shoulder in a friendly fashion. "I say, let's travel there one of these days, when the bridge is finished. We ought to check on our wayward sons."

Thranduil surprised Thuriniel again with his reply. "Why not? A change of air would do me good." He stole a glance at Thuriniel. "And the bride's mother is welcome to follow too, of course."

Her heart made a small flip. A journey... almost alone with Thranduil. Risky – but an offer she couldn't resist.

A/N:

What do you think? Will they be one big, happy family in Ithilien? :)