~At the bridge inauguration unexpected people arrive and put Thuriniel's secret in danger. Meanwhile, Lasriel has a long-desired delivery.~

~♕~

"There's one in every family, sire.
Two in mine, actually. And they always
manage to ruin special occasions."

– Zazu, The Lion King

~♕~

23. Bridge

It was a lovely bridge. It looked a lot like the old one, but like Glóin had said: bigger, better and more beautiful. Thuriniel had not been at the site since before his people began to build it and the difference was stunning. The sad ruins were gone and replaced with this masterpiece of smooth stone and iron, with a silvery ribbon tied across it.

Temporary tables had been set out in the open space by the river for the feast later, and a mouth-watering aroma of roast meat spread through the air. Among the tables, elves and dwarves had formed two distinctive groups, talking in subdued voices and eyeing each other with badly veiled suspicion.

Thuriniel passed through them and joined Thranduil and Glóin beneath a podium where Thranduil would soon hold a speech.

"I am thoroughly impressed; it is an amazing bridge," she complimented, trying to keep her eyes off Thranduil who looked particularly gorgeous in a sparkling robe that matched his exquisite winter crown.

"Of course it is." Glóin grinned proudly. "After all, I built it."

"You are ever so modest, Master Glóin," said Thranduil.

"Ah, but I learned from the best," he retorted in a deadpan tone. "You are an excellent teacher in humbleness and unpretentiousness, o king."

Thuriniel smiled at their banter. It had been heartwarming to see a cautious friendship form between them while the bridge was under construction, rare as it was considering their races and their history, and Glóin had even visited the palace once. Apart from herself, Thranduil didn't have many friends – if any – and could thoroughly use a new one, even if it was a dwarf.

The inauguration was due. Thranduil stepped onto the podium and the mumble of voices died down.

Thuriniel took the opportunity to look at him openly, scrutinizing his face without anyone finding it odd. He was so handsome it hurt but she continued anyway, drinking in the sight like an addict would with a bottle of wine.

It was a good metaphor. The sad truth was that she had become addicted to Thranduil. All she wanted was to be near him at all times.

She sighed, wishing like she did every day that things were different.

He began to speak, his deep voice carrying far. "We are gathered here today to celebrate not only the completion of the stunning piece of craftsmanship behind me, but also the coming together of our two peoples. We have a history where grievances and quarrels have succeeded one another, but it is my sincere hope this bridge may be the onset of a new, beautiful friendship. Therefore it would be a great pleasure to me if our guests here today," he indicated the dwarves, "would like to join my personal table at tonight's feast."

"Will you let us go afterwards or imprison us?" The question came from a partly bald, grumpy-looking dwarf.

Glóin gave him an annoyed glare. "Stop it. I have explained–"

"Nay, nay, let him speak," said Thranduil. "Master Dwalin, your concern is understandable and I assure you you shall find the hospitality at my table far greater as an invited guest of honor than as a trespasser. And hence my invitation just now. I believe... an apology from my part has been long overdue."

"It certainly has." Despite his words, Dwalin gave him a look of grudging respect. "Then I accept the invitation."

His companions nodded and muttered similar affirmatives.

That settled, Thranduil drew his sword, and Glóin his ax. They cut the ribbon simultaneously and solemnly crossed the bridge side by side.

A cheer ensued and people hesitantly started to follow, dwarf and elf alike, with only the tiniest bit of jostling between the races. Everyone agreed that it truly was a charming bridge.

Then the feast began. Two sets of musicians took turns to play lively dwarven and elven tunes while the rest helped themselves from a bountiful side table.

At the Elvenking's table, the dwarves were a bit surly and quiet at first, but as the ale flowed freely soon their chatter grew loud and cheerful.

Thranduil's uncommonly polite conversation was helpful as well. "There are several of your company I do not see, apart from those who perished in the Battle of the Five Armies," he said. "I hope they are well."

Glóin's face fell. "Balin, Ori and my brother Oín perished when they tried to reclaim our old kingdom of Khazad-dûm. Or Moria, as you elves call it."

"Moria!" Thranduil exclaimed. "My son went through there on the quest for the Ring."

"As did mine," said Glóin wryly. "Them being in the same Fellowship, and all."

Thranduil ignored the snark. "I am sorry for your loss."

"At least my brother, Bombur, is absent for a less demure reason," said another dwarf.

"Aye," agreed a fellow seated beside him. "On account of him being too fat."

"Poor old Bombur." Glóin shook his head. "He's employing six young lads to help him move from the sofa to the table, where he continues to increase his girth thanks to three private chefs."

"That doesn't sound healthy," Thuriniel cut in.

"He never cared about healthy." The dwarf chuckled. "And he'll soon be two hundred so it seems to work for him."

"Talking of food," said Thranduil. "I say, let us bring in the dessert!"

This time, the dwarves' cheer was even louder than during the inauguration.

~♕~

Thranduil had expected it to be awkward to share a meal with a bunch of dwarves – several of whom had seen the inside of his prison cells – but to his surprise the evening proceeded most amiably. It was enough to make him consider inviting them again sometime.

He noticed Thuriniel and Dwalin were talking animatedly beside him. The latter had quite lost his grumpy outlook, and if Thranduil didn't know better he would say he appeared a little besotted.

But if so, who could blame him? Thuriniel was positively glowing, exceptionally beautiful even for an elf, and in addition handsomely dressed in something sleek and silky that miraculously managed to enhance her comeliness even further.

He would never get tired of the sight and only regretted he was not allowed to look as much as he wanted.

A movement at the edge of his vision managed to draw his gaze away from her. A white swan ship was advancing up the river at a slow, majestic pace.

Thuriniel had seen it too and all color drained from her face. "Thranduil!" she choked. "It's... them! What shall I do?"

He pressed her arm soothingly. "Keep in the background and you will be just fine. I shall go meet them."

As Thranduil strode down to the new bridge, many of the other elves followed him, waving expectantly at the newcomers. "Welcome!" "Over here is a good landing!" "How good to see you after so long!"

An elegant gangplank was lowered and Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel stepped down it, followed by an entourage of other Lórien elves.

"Suilad! I am sorry to interrupt your festivities," she said. "We heard rumors a new bridge was under construction and were curious."

"We are celebrating its completion tonight," Thranduil replied, bowing politely. "You come just in time to join us for dessert."

"Thank you," said Celeborn. "It would be our– but look! Over there, meleth." He nudged Galadriel. "That looks almost like Nim."

She looked and became quite as pale as Thuriniel had before. "Oh, haha, it does, but it could not be her of course because she sailed west a long time ago!"

"Nay, nay, it is her."

Galadriel tried to hold him back but Celeborn was already on his way, eyes set at the edge of the clearing where Thuriniel tried to hide behind Dwalin. An impossible endeavor considering the dwarf's scant height.

"You were supposed to keep her hidden," hissed Galadriel, giving Thranduil a furious look before she scurried after her husband. "Cel. Cel! Let us try the new bridge before we talk to old friends."

But it was too late. With a heavy weight in his stomach Thranduil could only watch as Celeborn bowed to a Thuriniel who looked absolutely terrified, greeting her with a "why, Nim, mae govannen! You look well! How did you manage to return from Aman? And how is your dear husband?".

~♕~

The next time Galion returned from the market Lasriel expectantly went over to his house. When he opened to her knock, she asked a bit breathlessly: "Did you find the books?"

"I did." A slow blush crept up his cheeks as he fetched them. "I could not find any about elvish fertility but this one is about human anatomy and has a part about reproduction as well... I dare say it does not work too differently with us." He gave her a leather bound book with an image of a man that appeared to have been cut in halves, exposing all his internal organs. "I also found this about pig breeding." He put a smaller volume on top of the other.

"And... the other book?"

Galion's face became a deep scarlet. Lasriel had never met an elf who colored as easily as he did.

"Ah, that one." He slipped out the volume from a shelf. "It had quite interesting pictures. Very educational. I hope you didn't mind that I copied some parts?" He indicated a notebook on the table.

"Of course not." Lasriel peered at him, a bit surprised. "But you, uh, are unwed?"

"Oh, aye, but who knows what may happen in the future? Should I ever marry, I need to know these things. I would want my wife to be happy and enjoy herself when we are together."

Despite his embarrassment he sounded earnest and Lasriel felt a pang of jealousy. Why didn't her husband think that way? He only seemed to worry about her physical safety and that she looked proper. He never asked whether she was happy or satisfied.

"Well, thanks a lot for these books," she said, biting down her envy. "Hopefully it will help bring an elfling into the world."

"I am sure it will." Galion took her hand and pressed it. "I know you; when you want something you make it happen. I believe in you."

Lasriel swallowed, feeling a bit like crying. "Thank you; your support means a lot."

"Don't mention it. Would you like to play chess before you go? I have time for one game before Nellas comes."

"Nellas? I didn't know you knew her."

He smiled. "Oh, I do. We play from time to time, whenever she is in the vicinity."

Suddenly suspicious, Lasriel peered at him while he put out the pieces on the board. That tiny blush when he mentioned Nellas' name... Hm. Interesting. Perhaps he would have use for what he learned from the book sooner than she had thought...

A/N:

Sorry this chapter was a week late. I worked too hard in the garden last weekend and ruined my back so I couldn't sit at the computer. Feeling better now, thankfully!

Translation: Meleth = love; suilad = greetings; mae govannen = well met.