27.

As far as Thranduil was concerned, the dwarves could keep their mountain. They were welcome to his wife's jewels. Well, not welcome, but he had the greater treasure still, and that treasure was all that concerned him.

His son drew in breath. He was told that there was damage, severe damage, wrought by a dark and evil poison that struck too close to the heart, to the lungs, and was allowed to fester for far too long. If it had been a Morgul blade, his son might well have become a wraith. The goblin's arrows had not that power, but the poison was a treacherous thing that caused pain and agony and death. If left untreated. Even without the poison, an arrow to the chest was never a small wound. Drinking in the river, and then the lake, did not help. And then there was the new bruising to the throat, a dangerous place for bruising, and the knife wound, shallow but long and the blade had not been clean, across his son's chest.

His son drew in breath, but his breathing was labored and his heart was weak. He was cared for, and his father was there to sing and to call to him and perhaps that would be enough. Perhaps his son would remain. Or perhaps he had already slid too far, and there was only a small matter of time that separated a father's hope from his grief.

For the most part, Thranduil was left alone with his son. Two healers waited, ready for any change, and outside the tent were guards. Occasionally, one would enter to offer a report. Thranduil learned that the dragon was dead, slain by a man named Bard, and apparently the father of the two children who had come to his camp. Laketown burned.

Thranduil remembered burning. He looked at his son, his son who had been so close to being in Laketown when a dragon came to burn it down, and he shivered. Legolas shivered as well though his was not a shudder at what might have been. He shivered as though cold, though his skin burned with fever. He still did not awaken.

Thranduil was told the escort had arrived, but the healers were cautious of moving too soon, and they still waited.

Thranduil was told the dwarf improved, and in his heart he resented the creature for healing when his son still lay at Mandos's door. In his heart, he thanked the dwarves for being there when he was not, and cursed them for being there when he was not. They bandaged and cared for his son. They kidnapped him and dragged him through icy waters and lured orcs to his side. Thranduil was of two minds about the dwarves. If his son lived, he might find he loved dwarves for saving his son. If his son died, he'd hate them to the grave for causing his death.

Thranduil was told many things. He listened, and responded as a king should, but his heart was not with his visitors. He suggested supplies be sent to aid the refugees from Laketown. He suggested that, if the dwarves were so well, perhaps they should be sent on to their kin. He did not care if either suggestion was carried out. The first suggestion was. The second was as well, though not directly.

Thranduil asked Legolas to return to him. Legolas slept fitfully. His eyes were closed.

Then came back some scouts with a message he could not ignore.

"Ready the army," he said. "We go to the mountain and the ruins of Dale. This shall not be allowed to pass."

"Do we all go, my king?" asked the scout. Her eyes were on the prince.

"I will join my people when it is time," Thranduil answered, though it tore at his heart to say it. "Your prince…will await our victory in the stronghold. Once he is well enough to travel."

And if his words proved false, Thranduil would not be there to see his people's disappointment.

28.

"I am well now," Kili insisted.

"Well I'm not," answered Óin. "These old bones don't appreciated being tossed about into walls. So you'll just have to sit here a bit longer. Or are you going to leave me to the mercy of the elves?"

Kili looked at him suspiciously, but didn't go so far as to suggest the older dwarf was lying. Which he was of course. He was hardier than that. And Kili probably knew he was lying, but he couldn't be certain, and so they waited to join the others, preferably at a time when Kili wasn't as white as a wraith.

Fili was happy to wait until his brother was better, though he did suggest that he and Bofur go on ahead to let the others know what had become of them.

Kili said if they went, he was going. Bofur offered to go alone and was informed by both the dwarves and the elves that no one should be going about alone right then. An elf offered to accompany him. The dwarves imagined how Thorin would react if they showed up with an elf, and politely declined.

"Actually," Bofur said, "I still have quite a headache. Perhaps we should sit her a while longer."

"You said you didn't even feel it anymore!" Óin exclaimed. "You said you had a hard head and could take a few lumps!"

"Did I say quite a headache?" Bofur asked. "I meant barely a headache. In fact, I'm quite fine. When are we leaving?"

"See, everyone is fine!" Kili said.

"No one is fine, and everyone is going to sit still like good little invalids and we're all going to drink my lovely medicine and get better!"

"Er…I actually am fine," Fili said.

"We will be happy to escort you to the mountain if you feel ready," said one of the elves.

"Say…master elf," said Kili, and the others waited for him to accept the invitation and were prepared to gainsay him and to sit on him if necessary, when the young dwarf asked something else entirely. "Do you know if Tauriel happens to be in this fine camp you've erected here?"

"The captain of the guards is not here," answered the elf, and all elves seemed cold and aloof when they spoke to the dwarves, even when they were doing something kind, but somehow his tone seemed haughtier and chillier than was normal even for an elf. Kili was not put off by the tone in the slightest.

"Where is she, then?"

"Where she is needed."

"And where is she needed?"

"Not here."

This went on for some time. At least no one was talking about leaving anymore.

29.

Azog was not happy.

Goblins did not exactly cherish their children, not like the free races. If anything, they hated their young because who would want to raise the very person who would replace you? On the other hand, raising a person who was yours to command had some appeal. And there was something to be said for having someone to carry on, someone who could avenge you, who could bear up your name through their deeds.

Azog did not mourn when the lone goblin, unlucky enough to escape the elves alive, came to report that Bolg was dead. He felt something rather more selfish than greif. It was the sort of hateful anger one feels when one's possessions are stolen. Bolg was his, and the elves had taken him and broken him.

And the dwarves were still alive.

The lone goblin survivor was very unlucky indeed.

30.

Gandalf thought he'd have to stop a horrible war when he finally arrived before the mountain. There were human refugees in Dale, refugees who were arming themselves and readying for a fight. There was an army of elves. The dwarves had barricaded themselves in the mountain.

"We must not fight!" he said. "There are worse problems approaching!"

"Do you mean the army of orcs marching on us?" asked Bard. Gandalf wasn't entirely sure who Bard was, except that he had slain the dragon and now seemed to be leading the refugees, presumably because he was the one who slew the dragon.

"…Oh," said Gandalf. "You know about that."

"Our king has sent out scouts to survey the orc threat," one of the elves informed him. "He has ordered us here to ready our armies."

"And where is King Thranduil?" asked Gandalf. It was very unlike the elven king to send his people away from the security of his stronghold, or to raise up his army. He was protective of his people, to almost mad extremes.

"With his son," the elf answered. He left it to the human to explain.

31.

Bilbo was worried. Thorin was ill, or something, some malady of the heart and mind that made him suspicious and grasping and cold. The Thorin that Bilbo had come to know would never have gone back on a promise, especially when the people asking for aid were now homeless because of the dwarves. Bard had sheltered them, sheltered Thorin's ailing kin. Bard slew the dragon and freed their mountain of his menace. And Thorin was ready to repay the man with an arrow to his chest.

The army of elves showing up did not help Thorin's malady in the slightest. It did, however, bring unexpected help.

The four missing dwarves arrived just when all had given them up for lost. Even Thorin seemed pleased to see them. Almost, he seemed to awaken to his old self. But then the dwarves shared their story, and their king did not like their words.

"There's an army approaching," Fili said. "The elven scouts say it will be here soon."

"There's an army already at our doorstep," Thorin answered.

"The elves saved our lives," Kili pointed out.

"Our lives were only in danger because they held us in their dungeons," Thorin answered.

Bilbo didn't know what to do. All he knew for certain was he could not give Thorin the Arkenstone.

"Gandalf has returned," said Fili. "He wants us to all come together for a council of war."

"Let them fight it out. We will stay in our mountain."

Bilbo didn't know what to do. Perhaps it was time to seek wiser counsel.

32.

Legolas did not know where he was or what was happening, but he could hear his father's voice.

He remembered dreaming, and it was a good dream, for his mother was there, but now he was awake.

He opened his eyes, and that task alone was infuriatingly difficult, but he was stubborn and he would see the world and understand what had come to pass. He knew he was injured, there was no other reason to sleep with his eyes closed and to have weakness enter his limbs and pain pierce his chest. He couldn't remember how it happened though.

He was in a tent, lying on a bed, and his father was there.

"Legolas? My son?"

"Father?"

Speaking was also harder than it should have been, his voice raspy and weak and simply drawing in the air to speak with was a task by itself.

His sight wasn't quite as sharp as it should have been either; sleep still seemed to cloud his eyes and so he wasn't entirely sure he saw what he seemed to see. For it looked as though his father wept, but his father did not weep, never, except once. Once, for his mother. So his father could not be weeping. Except, it seemed, he was.

"Are you well, father?" asked Legolas, though it was a struggle to get the words out. "Did…did someone die?"

"No one has died," said his father, "And all is well. All is wonderful."

33.

The council of war included an elf king and five of his advisors and two of his guards, the dragon slayer Bard who brought no one, one wizard, one hobbit, and two dwarves. The hobbit and the dwarves were rather surprised to see each other, for apparently they had snuck away from the mountain separately.

"Fili! Óin!"

"Bilbo!"

"What are you doing here? Did Thorin send you?"

"Not as such. You?"

"…not as such."

There was an awkward moment, and then Óin had turned to the elven king and asked after his son. He was pleased to hear that the prince was on the mend, though far from cured.

"Good to hear," said Óin . "I spent quite a lot of effort keeping his blood inside him."

The king didn't seem to know what to say to that.

"I take it King Thorin is still intent on barricading himself in with his treasure?" said Bard, returning their discussion to the war. "Is there no reasoning with him? A stronghold like that mountain could be a welcome advantage."

"I did not come here to speak of my king's intended strategy, but to ensure a dwarven presence at this council," said Fili.

"Actually," said Bilbo, "I think I have something that may help."

34.

An army of dwarves approached the mountain. They saw the opposing forces and were prepared for war. They were not prepared for cheering, at least not from the humans looking out from the ruins. Nor for the man to ride up to them.

"You are most welcome," said the man. The dwarf looked him up and down.

"I think Thorin may have neglected a few things in his message," said the dwarf.

35.

Legolas could hear children laughing. Why were there children among his escort?

He pushed aside the thin curtain that shielded his bed from the forest. The bed was a consession for travel that he barely accepted he needed, but they were stopped now and he felt well enough to sit up for a bit and perhaps even to walk around.

And there were children to match the sounds of laughter, little children, and women too. Humans.

"Gurwen," he whispered, "Do you see them too? The children?" With all the concoctions the healers had him on, and with the way he felt even now half asleep, as though he were in a trance, it was not beyond the realm of possibilities that he hallucinated. Or perhaps saw a vision of forest spirits.

"They are the refugees from Laketown," Gurwen whispered back.

"…And my father has allowed them to be brought into our realm?" That didn't sound like his father at all. He was compassionate, yes, and would surely have offered aid, but his father was protective of his realm and Legolas could not imagine him inviting men into their very stronghold.

"It was thought safest for them," was all Gurwen answered.

If only Legolas weren't so tired, he might have been able to puzzle this out. It was odd that his father said he had business to take care of, after being practically glued to his son's side. It was odd that women and children now came with them on the journey, and it was odd that no one had mentioned that they were coming to Legolas before. It was odd that he hadn't seen Tauriel for a while either.

He had so many questions. If only he weren't so tired.

"Legolas!" exclaimed one of the smaller girls, "You're awake! Are you better now?"

"I feel much better, my lady," he said, and wondered if he should know who this child was, for she seemed to know him. The child smiled and giggled at being called 'my lady', and then an older girl came to take her hand and pull her away, whispering that the prince needs rest.

Legolas was tired of rest. He was so tired. He blinked his eyes, and they felt heavy. The sounds of laughter seemed far away.

"Rest, my prince," someone said, perhaps Gurwen, perhaps one of the healers who seemed intent on making him sleep for the next yeni or so. Annoyingly, he did find himself lying back again. He blinked, and somehow forgot to open his eyes again and he was asleep.

36.

Orcs and other monstrosities flooded out from the ground. A second army moved to flank.

They weren't expecting the opposing forces. By the time the eagles arrived, the battle was practically over. It's amazing what a difference a little forewarning can make.

37.

Thorin cursed his kin for joining a war council with the enemy, even though they told him it was just to keep in the know, and that they would not act in the war without his command. He cursed the hobbit who stole his great treasure. He cursed everyone, and himself most of all. He was falling, and the world was coming apart around him, but he was king.

Thorin fought the dragon in his heart, and he won.

The dwarves rallied and joined their kin on the battlefield. It was well that Fili had joined the war council and knew their strategies, so they were easily able to step in where most needed.

Thorin fought Azog and he lost.

Azog lost too. His ambush failed entirely. Fili and Kili did not fall. The line of Durin remained.

Thorin had enough time to make peace with Bilbo and his kin, and he died as a king, with honor and dignity and undisgraced.

38.

Many elves died. Thranduil looked upon his fallen people with a deep sadness. The number of their dead was not great, not so great as it would have been had they been taken unawares, but one immortal life was one too many, and there were many more than one.

Their king grieved for them, but he did not succumb to grief, for his heart beat on in the forest. Legolas, he was told, had made it home and steadily improved.

39.

When Legolas finally learned what his father had been up to, he felt something rather complicated. There was annoyance at the secrets and also something akin to fear, except it was fear for something he already knew hadn't come to pass, for his father had not fallen in the battle. And joy because his father would soon return. And sorrow for the fallen. An sorrow for the pain he knew his father endured with every life lost.

He remembered better now what had led to his own downfall. He remembered the arrow and the river, and then vague dreams, wherein monsters attacked him, and tried to drown him and struck him while children screamed, and stabbed him, and he couldn't fight back, and then he was somewhere else, with his mother, and then he awoke and she was still dead.

Tauriel was the one who finally told him everything, indignant herself because her own guards had avoided sharing the details with her until she was well enough to know.

"I remember your dwarf, I think," Legolas told her, when she was done ranting about the war they'd both missed out on. She wanted to know more about his journey. She sounded strange when she asked after him. Almost as though she felt guilty for something, though Legolas could not imagine why she should feel that way. She hadn't even been there when he was shot, and it was not her fault she had been overcome herself by spiders. He supposed he meant to distract her with his remark, and it did seem to, for her entire face lit up, before falling almost as quickly as worry set in.

"Was he badly injured?"

"I don't remember much," Legolas answered. "There was a rather large orc intent on skewering me. I think your dwarf tried to stop him. And someone mentioned the dwarves being in the camp later. No one said any of them died."

"Then there were others to look after him," she said. Then, after a moment, "And he's not my dwarf."

She still made herself part of the party of elves intent upon going to their king and relaying to him news of his son and the stronghold.

It was a relief for her to see Kili was well. It was also a relief that she had only good news for her king. Legolas was well.

40.

Thranduil stood upon a balcony and looked up. Legolas was standing in a tree, looking out over the river.

Tauriel was away. She told Thranduil she did not feel worthy of being the captain of his guards. He made her an ambassador instead and sent her to play diplomacy with the dwarves. He did not think her thing with the young prince was wise, but Tauriel was young herself. She would learn. It was his son he worried about now. Worried about always and forever.

Legolas was still frail. His lungs were weaker than they had been, his strength depleted. He no longer slept with his eyes closed, though. The healers were hopeful that he'd recover fully. They cautioned, though, that there might always be a slight weakness. That his lungs may never fully recover. That he might not grow quite as strong as he once was.

He was alive. He lived, and he would continue to live. He was well enough.

His father stood and watched his son who looked outwards. One day, perhaps, he'd climb out of Thranduil's sight, would climb beyond his father's grasp, but today was not that day. Today, the son only looked down at the river, and the father had his back.