Legolas (warbow) wrote in thedoorway, @ 2015-02-06 19:22:00 |
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Entry tags: | !log, legolas (movies), thorin oakenshield (movies) |
Who: Legolas & Thorin.
When: Monday, February 2.
Where: Thorin’s room.
What: Legolas returns Orcrist and they agree upon a truce.
Rating: G. They didn't kill each other! (◔◡◔)
Legolas was nervous. Truthfully, he hadn’t felt this twisted up inside since they road to the Black Gates when, quite unlike himself, a seed of doubt had wound its way around his heart. Still, Thorin was hardly a fallen Númenórean, and there was no death rolling through the air like a morning fog. This was simply a formality, but one that would hinge on a great many encounters to come. If Legolas managed to offend the Dwarf-king now, he likely wouldn’t have another chance to prove himself worthy of his regard any time soon, and that bothered Legolas a great deal. He owed so much to Gimli for opening his eyes even when his presence was lost to their world, and he intended to make good on their promises even here. They had designated to meet in the room assigned to Thorin. Perhaps the Dwarf-king would feel more at ease in a familiar space and they might speak calmly with each other. Though Legolas hadn’t really accounted for the fact that the environment made him feel even more uneasy. The air was metallic in the tower, echoing sounds encased within hollow walls. It felt empty in a way that made it difficult to sense small movement from different sources. Since his arrival, Legolas had taken great pains to venture outside as much as possible. Lingering too long in the tower always made him feel trapped. Still, this was a duty he knew he must face, and he’d prefer Thorin’s comfort over his own. Legolas departed his own room unarmed but for Orcrist, which was loosely strapped to his back. They were only two rooms away from each other, after all. Practically neighbors. It was a formality that he arrived at Thorin’s door with no other weapon or armor, though in truth, they needed little more than the use of their hands if it came to killing each other, if even that. He found that he was hesitating just before knocking, a huff of breath the only indication Legolas was displeased. His own circling thoughts were unimpressive for a seasoned warrior and a prince besides. What would Gimli have done in his place? Braced himself for combat with a cutting word of humor, is what. Legolas needed to learn from that—and quickly, if he intended to cross the chasm his father had wrought between their people. “My Lord Thorin,” he began, giving the door one firm knock. Legolas’ expression was cool and impassive, but he felt far from such serenity. Had Thorin not watched the ‘Hobbit’ movies recently, he might have approached this meeting far differently. The Elvish princeling had done much to save their lives as they’d escaped from the Mirkwood, albeit the princeling had likely been defending his realm more than aiding them. The point stood however. When confronted by Tauriel with the truth of the evil in the world, the princeling had not turned back to hide in his kingdom like his father. And if Kili and Fili were to be believed - and he had no reason to doubt them - the princeling would aid them even more in the battles to come. He had resolved to watch the ‘Lord of the Rings’ movies as well, to see how Gimli could have come to friendship with an elf of the Mirkwood. He was sure Gloin would not have spoken well of Thranduil’s folk nor was it likely any of those who had survived would have as well. However, though the movies had been shown just a few days ago, he had not gone to watch them there. They featured his kin and the kin of his burglar. He would prefer to watch them privately. When the knock came at the door, he drew in a breath and let it out slowly. He had made the promise to treat this elf fairly and not lay the sins of his father on the son’s shoulders. He would keep to that promise and he would keep the friendship of Gimli, son of Gloin in mind as well. Dwarves did not claim the friendship of those of other races lightly. He walked over and opened the door. He inclined his head regally. “Legolas, son of Thranduil, Prince of…” The hesitation was brief, as he reached back to the manners his mother had drummed - sometimes quite literally - into his head in his youth. “... the Greenwood. Enter.” He stepped back and gestured for the elf to enter his apartment. Legolas was more than a little struck by the nature of Thorin’s greeting, but he was careful not to betray that. Instead, he bowed his head, touching one hand to his chest. He knew the Dwarf-king would recognize it was a sign of great respect. “Thorin, son of Thráin, King Under the Mountain. I thank you for this meeting.” He crossed the threshold into the common area of the apartment, already loosening the ties that bound the sword’s sheath. There was no point in delaying the nature of his arrival, and though Legolas would sorely miss the sword that acted as his last defense more than once, he felt assured now was time they parted. As in everything, life moved on. “I come to you now bearing that which was twice taken from you, and once given.” Legolas sank to one knee, holding out the sheath with the blade’s hilt offered to Thorin to accept or deny as he chose. “You know it as Orcrist, mate to Glamdring, ‘the blade that sliced a thousand necks.’ By your hand, it will reunite with its true master." This was the first time Legolas really had a chance to observe Thorin from a distance shorter than across the main entrance hall. It was … strange, in truth, to see him alive and well after so long. He seemed to hold himself just as he had even in the halls of his father, bound and starved as he’d been from long days wandering the woods. Legolas didn’t dare breathe, holding very still in his inspection. He hoped he hadn’t unintentionally offended Thorin already with some unknown custom where returning precious weapons was concerned. That was all he needed at this point—to have cut their meeting short before it had even begun. Still, he would practice patience, and see this to its end. Thorin looked at the blade Legolas was offering him with a strange sense of homecoming. He’d nearly rejected blade at first, purely because it was of elven make. Gandalf’s irritated scolding had made him take a second look at the sword and he’d seen enough to know it was perhaps one of the finest blades he’d ever seen. And when he’d partially drawn it, in that stinking troll cave, it had felt oddly right in his hands. So he’d kept it, tucked away until it could be cleaned, content to rely on Deathless until he could test the new blade. He’d thought for a moment that Elrond would claim it when they were in Rivendell as it was made by his people but he had merely identified it then handed it back, not at all discontent to see the sword in the hands of a dwarf. He hadn’t used the sword until they had been in the festering caves of the goblins and there it had lived up to one of its names - the Goblin Cleaver. What was more, it had felt like an extension of himself. The perfect weight, perfectly balanced, it had been effortless to wield. He had thought he would need no other blade than Deathless but Orcrist had changed his mind. Then it had been lost in the Mirkwood, taken by the elf king and left behind with all the rest of their belongings when they escaped. It had been a source of frustration but it was hardly the first time that Thorin had escaped a situation with little more than the clothes on his back. And he had held fast to two things - that if they could reclaim the mountain they would either have access to weapons equal or better or that they would be able to reclaim that which was taken from them by Thranduil. But here and now, Orcrist was being returned to him freely. He took the sword by its hilt, his other hand coming up to support the sheathed blade. “You have my thanks, Legolas,” he said, his sincerity obvious. He wasn’t sure if the elf would understand the meaning behind the use of his name or the intention behind it. Dwarves honoured titles and rank but he had not required any of his Company to call him by anything other than his name and he was now tacitly extending that familiarity to Legolas. He stepped back and turned slightly to the side so that the elf would know he was making no threat towards him. He then drew the sword and held it at the ready, the weight already so familiar. He gave it a quick twirl and a small smile appeared on his face. He then sheathed the sword again and set it on the nearby table. He would not continue this conversation with a blade in his hand. “I am told you put it to good use in the battle before the mountain, though I know only what my nephews have told me of that time.” He gave Legolas a look of cautious curiosity. “But they tell me that you and Tauriel came to our aid on Ravenhill.” Although elves often used given names to denote when one of their own was younger or of lower rank, Legolas had spent more than enough time at Gimli’s side to know what it meant for dwarves. They traveled a great distance before Gimli spoke his name, and it had been as treasured a gift as it was now. Dwarves held their grace so close to their chest when strangers drew near, but now Legolas saw it was not for coveting that they kept such secrecy. One had only to watch and listen to see what was plain before them. It wasn’t necessarily custom that held Legolas still on bended knee even as the sword was relieved from his hands. He preferred this angle while Thorin inspected his weapon, observing the easy familiarity that he seemed to find in its return. Clearly, there were memories that came with this reunion, and Legolas wasn’t about to disturb him, but he did watch. Only when it was sheathed did the prince return to two legs, feeling some of his nerves return again upon being addressed. It took a conscious effort to stand relaxed, though he hesitated a moment before choosing to respond in kind with the Dwarf-king’s given name. “It is so, Thorin. We did not arrive in time to save Fíli, but Tauriel fought beside Kíli on the ground. I fought from above and saw your last stand against the Orc chieftain. You felled him with Orcrist after I returned the blade to you.” His brow knit, but it was the only change that came over his face. “You and your nephews fought more bravely than I have words to express. I regret I did not intervene sooner.” Legolas knew well enough there was little he could have ultimately done to save Durin’s line from passing that day, but there was still some part of him that felt responsible. He had been so young then, had seen so little of the world. But standing in Thorin’s presence now, with the new knowledge that he had, would mark a new start. It had to. Thorin felt a pang of pain at the reminder that his sister-sons would not survive the battle that, from his perspective, was still to come. He could accept his own death - oh, he would rage at it but he could still accept it if it meant that his people could return to their home - but his nephews were supposed to survive, to take their places as the rightful princes of Erebor. If he fell, then it should have been Fili ruling the Mountain in his place. “That battle still lies in my future but I thank you for your aid nonetheless.” He inclined his head slightly. “Azog the Defiler swore to end the line of Durin long ago. If I have any regret about his success, it is that Fili and Kili did not survive to take their place in their rightful home. It has long been my dream for them to walk the same halls that I did in my youth.” He looked at Legolas curiously. “I do not say this as accusation or condescension but simply to understand. Why? Why come to our aid? Tauriel, I can understand. I have watched the movies. I have seen what occurred in Laketown while we were in the Mountain. I have seen why she would defy her king. But you…” He shook his head. “Why would the son and prince defy his father and king?” Legolas bowed his head low when Thorin spoke of his nephews, partly out of respect for their fate, but also so he could offer the illusion of privacy. This was still recent news to the Dwarf-king, after all, and the loss of one’s kin was never an easy burden. He felt wrong-footed to be in his presence during such a time, but consoled himself with the knowledge that his offer of peace had been accepted. If Thorin hadn’t wanted him here, he simply wouldn’t be. There was some solace in that. But when he was addressed directly, Legolas glanced at him again, feeling his ears grow warmer with each word. Of course he would blush now, of all times. Legolas resisted the urge to shift his weight onto one foot. It wouldn’t do to look as though he were bracing himself for combat. “A wise question. If you had asked me then, I would have said it was by Tauriel’s will and her safety, for all that she could outstrip me in skill. Now …” He inhaled, releasing the breath slowly. “Now I know I disagreed with his orders. I could not yet live while there were people in need of help, even if it meant I must defy my own father.” There was more in his words, he knew, but he couldn’t bleed dry the emotion behind it. He had defied his father after that when he fled his home and swore an oath to the Fellowship. Soon, he would defy his father a third time, again in the name of the dwarves. If he looked as conflicted as he felt, so be it. Legolas wouldn’t pretend he didn’t love the only person he could call family, but that didn’t mean he had to abide by every choice his king made. “I imagine this must sound strange to you,” he added later, a ghost of a smile at his mouth before it was gone. Thorin could not deny it was a fair answer. He had never been put in a position to have to defy his grandfather and king but he had often thought that, had the dragon not come, he might have had to. Thrór had become increasingly lost in the gold sickness and only the coming of Smaug had shaken him out of it. But Thorin had been grandson, not son. Thráin had always been there for him to take his doubts and concerns and his father had been well aware of what was going on with Thrór, even more so than Thorin had been. “It does,” he said with a faint wry smile of his own. “But I do remember a time when our people lived in peace and alliance with each other.” He walked into the kitchen then and returned with the bottle of wine he’d bought for this meeting and two wine glasses. He’d have preferred ale but he knew elves didn’t much care for it. He’d left it in the kitchen since the bottle would make a fair weapon and there had always been the chance that this meeting could have started poorly. He poured the wine into the two glasses and offered one to Legolas. “I remember a time when your father was an honoured guest in our mountain.” He wasn’t going to stretch the truth and say a welcome one. He’d never gotten that impression from the hustle and bustle that had presaged a visit from the King of the Greenwood. But honoured, yes, as a king and an ally. That he could say was true. “I do not truly know what caused the rift between our people before… the dragon came. I was young, younger than Kili is now, and my father did not wish me to concern myself with it.” Legolas was so surprised by the offer of wine that he almost didn’t accept the glass. In truth, this was his first diplomatic meeting unaccompanied by anyone. Even when Thranduil extended his hand to help Erebor and Dale rebuild after the dragon, Legolas was rarely asked to act in his father’s stead. He’d gone to meet with the wildling Strider for a time, but his return to the Greenwood hadn’t involved many duties that called him to any council, much less one where he had any voice in the proceedings. This was … strange, but not unpleasant. Maybe even a little thrilling. “I’m afraid I have even less answers for you, my L—Thorin,” he caught himself, but only just. “Our fathers were of the same mind. I had not the honor of knowing why my father made his decisions, simply that they were made.” No one has that honor, he thought, but did not say it. Some part of Legolas began to suspect this must be the way of rulers who feared for their children, despite the fact that they stood to inherit. If Thorin knew even less of the rift than Legolas did, what was the point? They should have helped in the wake of Smaug’s siege, and not just the elves of the Greenwood were at fault. Something made him pause, though. He watched the Dwarf-king for a moment, measuring his words carefully. “You spoke to my father once before about his version of the story. Why do you ask for mine?” So Legolas knew as little as he did. Thorin couldn’t find it in him to be surprised. He suspected the gold sickness on his grandfather’s part but what reason there was behind Thranduil’s part in the rift seemed destined to remain a mystery. He knew that his father had not considered the alliance broken and neither had he… at least not until after the dragon came. He raised an eyebrow at the princeling’s question and took a sip of the wine. It wasn’t bad, though he was hardly an expert. “Fili and Kili know only the barest details of what happened at Erebor,” he said. “They know the dragon came and the mountain fell, for we had no defences against the wyrm. They know we fled and were exiles until we made a home in the Blue Mountains. My sister would not permit me or anyone else to fill their heads with our… personal opinions.” The last was said very dryly. Dis had boxed his ears more than once when he had started saying things she had no patience for. She had boxed Dwalin’s ears too for the same crime. “She said that if they were to be the future of Erebor, then they should have option to start afresh and recreate fractured alliances.” His expression took on a distinct ‘give me strength’ air though there was a wry twist to his words when he spoke. “A lesson one of my sister-sons seem to have taken to heart.” The prince nursed the (admittedly decent) wine while Thorin spoke, watching him with a thoughtful, if passive expression. So this had merely been another formality to ask after what he knew of the alliance and how it had festered. At least it hadn’t come to drawing blades. More than once, Legolas nearly interrupted to ask after what Gimli had been like then, now that he knew his friend had grown up with Thorin’s nephews, but he remained silent. Best to keep that to himself. “You surprise me, Thorin. I did not expect you to desire peace as eagerly as I.” Legolas hesitated for a moment, weighing the risk in his next words. Or, at least, he made an effort to. It never really mattered whether his conscience told him this wasn’t the best plan—he usually just breezed over that inner voice anyway. “May I ask: was it Tauriel and Kili whom have so swayed your heart?” If that were truly the case, he owed Kili more than just the bow he’d spent the last month crafting him. To be indebted to another dwarf! It was a blessing Thranduil wasn’t here to know half of this, let alone all. And, because sometimes Legolas was as impatient as a child, he added, “You have given your blessing, then.” Thorin raised an eyebrow at that particular interpretation of what he had said. “Do not mistake me, Legolas. Had I lived to reign as King under the Mountain, I would indeed have sought some measure of truce with your father, perhaps even alliance if the terms were equitable.” Though he’d have let Balin handle that. He’d be damned before he sat down in a room with Thranduil. “But peace? Peace requires trust.” And his trust in Thranduil had been shattered after the mountain fell and made worse what had happened to the Company in the Mirkwood. He looked faintly amused at the elf’s sudden enthusiasm. He’d received the impression in the movies that Legolas was young by elven standards, young and inexperienced. It was true some sixty years had passed since those events but sixty years was not considered an overly lengthy period of time by dwarven standards and must be even less so by elven ones. “I have watched the movies,” he admitted. “Two of them at least. I have seen what passed between my nephew and Tauriel. I am no expert in elven emotions but I know dwarven ones.” He took a sip of the wine. “I have given them my blessing. Dwarves love rarely but deeply. No one, not even family or king, has a right to stand against that.” It was enough. Some of the tension in Legolas’ shoulders eased while Thorin spoke of truces and alliances even if they were of a reign that would never come to pass. That the Dwarf-king had even considered meeting with Thranduil on terms other than war meant there was hope for this meeting now. Legolas would take this as a sign of great possibility, at least insofar as he could live up to the task that now lay before him. “Trust I intend to prove worthy of. I never presumed it would come easy, nor should it. That you would meet with me at all is an honor I have not overlooked.” He inclined his head, a bit more restrained now than he had been a moment earlier. This whole Super Important Meeting thing was more difficult to traverse than anticipating his father’s whims. And that had always been impossible. “I thank you.” When Thorin spoke of Kili and Tauriel, however, a new light came into his eyes. “‘Rarely but deeply’ you say. What does that mean? I know so little—” He flushed, just a bit, biting the rest of his questions back. Legolas hadn’t expected to hear any insight into dwarf customs of that nature. Did they never disapprove of a match? Were they bound to one love? “Forgive me. I ask too much. It is good of you to give your permission despite all that has come to pass. I am glad for them.” Legolas drank some of the wine to hide his discomfort, realizing he might have given too much away. Kili had advised him to be patient when learning more about their people, and that was fine, except he didn’t know which questions were permissible and which ones weren’t. He couldn’t very well ask Gimli about any of this. That … would lead to a conversation he wasn’t entirely ready to have. Thorin relaxed a bit at Legolas’ response. This was not going to be a situation like with Gandalf, who seemed to expect him to set aside his entirely valid dislike for no other reason than because Gandalf insisted upon it. Not that he thought he would have willingly gone to Rivendell without the wizard tricking them but if Gandalf had at least explained up front that he was well aware that they might be stopped and he didn’t intend to let that happen, Thorin might have been at least inclined to think about it. Perhaps even go in himself with Dwalin and Balin while the others waited for them in a safer place. “You provided ample incentive for this meeting,” he said with a touch of wry amusement as he nodded towards the sword lying on the table. He bristled a little at Legolas’ sudden rush of intrusive questions but when the elf flushed and looked uncomfortable, he decided to revise his assessment of Legolas’ relative age to something closer to that of his nephews. Possibly even younger. Certainly the outburst and subsequent apology was very like that of a curious youngster realising he had asked questions he should not have of someone he did not know well. “They did not need my permission. I am Kili’s uncle, not his father,” he said with a raised eyebrow. While technically as Kili’s king, he could have denied him the right to continue his association with Tauriel, knowing what he did of their feelings for each other would have made that an act of striking cruelty. He might acknowledge that he could be stubborn and even unreasonable at times but he had yet to descend into unnecessary cruelty and nor would he if he had any say in it. “Nor did they really need my blessing though they wished to have it and I have given it.” “I would never keep your own sword from you!” Legolas began, his voice full of sincerity, before he noted Thorin’s amusement and seemed to settle again. “Ah. You jest.” For all he could read Gimli’s emotions like the changing winds, it was quite another thing to be able to read Thorin. Dwarves were as varied and unique as elves, and he knew that truth now more than he ever did. It was humbling to think a mere sixty years before, he would have scoffed at such a notion. This meeting had given him much to reflect on later. He watched the play of emotion on Thorin’s face, feeling more than a little guilty for having overstepped so far. Gold sickness aside, the Dwarf-king that stood before Legolas now was reasonable and patient. That he could have thought, even in jest, that Thorin might react with rage made him feel sick to his stomach. It seemed that even now, he was in danger of falling into old prejudices. He would need to work harder. “It is no small gift that you bestow, Thorin. Aragorn was made to wait many years before he had proven himself worthy of Lord Elrond’s daughter, the Lady Arwen. For us, such things are …” Legolas glanced down at his wine, contemplative. “A more complicated matter.” But he seemed to shake himself slightly, as if brushing painful thoughts off. He smiled this time instead. “You have my thanks as well as my vow to honor this truce between us. The task is now mine to see done.” Thorin’s look of amusement intensified for a moment and his lips quirked in a small smile. “Yes, even I do that on occasion.” More than the odd occasion when he was with friends, though it had been rare on the quest as well, despite the good company. But the quest had been important. His last chance at reclaiming the mountain and he had felt more urgency than good cheer along the way. But here, in this world, it seemed it was different. He had met and spoken with an elf - the son of Thranduil, no less - and had reached some measure of accord. His distrust still remained and perhaps it always would to some extent - there were some things it was almost impossible to forgive and forget - but he was willing to give Legolas the chance he seemed to want so very much. Because if this meeting had highlighted one thing, it was that Legolas was not his father. “Tauriel saved Kili’s life and fought with us,” Thorin said. “She needs prove nothing more to me.” He had long judged people not by the words that came out of their mouths but by their actions. Hence his absolute trust for his Company, for they had been the ones to stand by him when other had merely mouthed platitudes and empty promises. He considered Legolas’ words for a moment then inclined his head regally.. He raised his glass in salute. “Then may you see it done well.” |