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Stomping through Erebor, Thorin dispersed anyone thinking about talking to him with a glare that could set stone on fire. He was dressed in his finest -- the solid square crown of his Kingship atop his head, full-length mail gleaming under the firelight, heavy furs wrapped around his wide shoulders, and mithril-tipped boots striking sparks upon the slate floor -- but it only served to make him more imposing and more unapproachable.
He paid no mind to the people scurrying out of his way as he strode unerringly to his Chief Advisor's office. Without pausing, he went right up to the doors and shoved them open with enough force to make them bang against the walls.
And make Balin and Glóin jump out of their skins.
"What-"
"Tell me whose idea it was to hold this Festival?" Thorin demanded, coming right up to the table Balin was sitting at. His gaze swept over it and noted the papers and ledgers, abacus and ink pots that were strewn upon it, but he instantly dismissed it all as unimportant and turned to fix Balin with his iciest glare.
As usual, Balin was unperturbed.
"And why would you like to know that?" he asked calmly.
Slamming his hands down on the table, Thorin leaned down so he could better meet Balin's eyes. "So, I can kill him."
Balin merely arched an eyebrow. In his calmest voice, he said, "I take it the exchange of gifts did not go as planned?"
Growling low in his throat, Thorin spun sharply on his heel so he could begin pacing near the enormous fireplace on the other side of the table.
"Why did I think a statue of Girion was a good idea? Bard has no need for statues."
"Well, you did veto a statue of Bard," Balin noted calmly.
"Though he has more than earned the right to one," Glóin said. "I don't know why Men are so odd about such things. Why, if I'd killed a dragon, I couldn't be prouder to have a statue of myself. What better way to remember the great deed!"
Still pacing, Thorin didn't bother responding to that. He did share a knowing look with Balin though. Bard was not a man who reveled in fame. The last thing he'd want was a constant reminder of the dragon attack. He wouldn't see a great deed. He'd see the night his home was destroyed and many of his people killed.
Thorin couldn't imagine seeing a thirty-foot statue of himself was very appealing either, though the Dwarf wasn't entirely sure he understood that. He had thought making the statue of Girion instead was a brilliant compromise.
Thorin remembered Girion. He was probably the only person alive who did, lest some Elf could claim the privilege. Thorin thought for sure that Bard would accept a monument to his ancestor -- a symbol of both Dale's past and Bard's -- and through this monument, Thorin could obliquely praise Bard's accomplishments and rule.
But why would Bard delight in such a thing? He hadn't known Girion any more than Thorin had known his own namesake. What was Girion to him?
"Did Bard take exception to our gift?" Balin's tone suggested he knew the answer already.
Growling irritably, Thorin said, "No."
No, he hadn't taken exception. He'd only looked at the masterpiece of art with an expression that was halfway between puzzled and incredulous, though he had tried hard enough to master the reaction for diplomacy's sake. He'd done a fairly good job for one so untried in the arts of ruling but Thorin knew him well enough by now that he could see the truth of the Man's reaction. Bard was clearly wondering what he was going to do with such a thing -- ruthlessly practical to his very bones.
"Then," Balin said, "Can I surmise that the Elvenking's gift is what has irritated you so?"
Thorin muttered something foul but he didn't stop in his restless pacing.
"I'm sorry, I didn't hear that." Thorin threw Balin a look that would have curled the beard of a lesser Dwarf.
"Gifts," Thorin ground out, practically spitting out the last letter. "Thranduil has gifted Bard with a full kit of weaponry -- armor, bow and quiver, a sword -- everything."
It wouldn't be so galling if had been anything less dear to Thorin. Thorin's people were renowned for their smithcraft. Thranduil's Silvan and Sindarin Elves could not boast the same. Indeed, the sword they offered the Man was rude by Thorin's high standards.
And yet it was perfect too. Perfect for the recipient, and Thorin knew that Thranduil had not guessed in this regard. Bard was now King of Dale. He was now often seen garbed in fancy threads of state. For this very Festival, he had worn a handsome livery of gold and brown with a purple cloak of state that made him look like one of the ancient Edain straight out of legend.
But he also looked stiff and uncomfortable. No matter how well he filled out the role of King -- how regal and imposing his bearing -- he was a simple guardsman at heart. To a Dwarf, that would seem like an insult to suggest a Man capable of slaying a dragon and leading a failing people back into prosperity had only the heart of a guardsman but Thorin knew that wasn't the right way to look at it, not for a Man.
Bard delighted in simple, straightforward things. The sword Thranduil gave him was a beautiful Elven sword but it was bare of much of the design and jewels common in great swords. That was all Bard would want though. The armor given to him was practical and devoid of all but the simplest of elegant patterns -- all the better to get Bard to actually wear it. To make him comfortable.
Thorin was an idiot not to see it.
"And," he continued through clenched teeth, "Thranduil's wife was kind enough to send two beautiful dresses for Sigrid and a handmade doll for Tilda."
The Elvenqueen had not attended, not that anyone expected she would. But her presence in the gifts was obvious. The doll was absolutely perfect for a human child, and no doubt wrapped in Elven magic so that it would last through the rough-and-tumble childhood of at least four generations of Men. And even Thorin could appreciate the fine cloth the Queen had used to weave the dresses for the elder girl. He didn't think much of the style but he knew instantly that Sigrid found them perfect. Unlike her father, she was quite happy to be draped in finery, and the dresses did not stint in that regard.
What was worse, Thranduil had not given these gifts directly to the girls. He had given them to Bard to give to his daughters, so Bard could be the hero, and made nothing of the grand gesture. Though, when Tilda had seen the doll and clutched it tight, she had turned the biggest eyes toward the Elvenking, and Thorin knew that the Elf had made a friend for life.
"Bain received a bow and arrow of his own, as well as a horse," Thorin continued. This at least was less galling. If the Elves would allow the Dwarves a superiority with iron and fire, then Thorin could allow that the realm of woodwork would always belong to the Elves. Certainly their crafting of bows could not be equaled. Even the Noldor surely could learn a thing or two from their Sindarin kin.
The horse was beautiful. Thorin could see that Thranduil had chosen carefully for a surefooted creature of calm temper. A beast not prone to spooking or bolting was just the kind of horse to give a boy on the edge of manhood who needed freedom. The horse's tranquil disposition must surely reassure Bard of his son's safety when Bain was beyond his sight.
Thorin could see that though these gifts favored the children, they were all with Bard in mind. Nothing was dearer to Bard's heart than his children. Thorin could shower Bard with the entirety of Erebor's treasure but it wouldn't earn him an ounce of the goodwill a doll, a dress, and a horse would.
Thorin was such an idiot.
"We've certainly grander things that that!" Glóin said. "The lad would fit well in Dwarven armor, I'd say. Put a proper sword in his hand, and he'll not look twice at that bow, you mark my words. That's what boys want. Why, you should've seen Gimli when I gave him his first real sword. Didn't let go of it for months!"
Glóin's enthusiasm was honest; his reading the truth as he saw it. But, Thorin just felt defeated when he heard it -- it was so far off the mark. Bain the son of Bard the Bowman. Yes, he was just going to flock to the sword. He was going to eschew the weapon that had protected his people -- his father -- and slain a dragon.
That wasn't even touching the fact that if Thorin brought gifts to the children right now -- and certainly he could think of something to rival the Elves' gifts -- it would be compared with Thranduil's offering and found wanting if only in that Thorin had not had the presence of mind to consider the idea without prompting. What better way to express kinship and respect than to see the real heart of Bard?
"Well," Balin said a little gravely. While Glóin was woefully misguided, Balin understood the situation perfectly. "There's nothing to be done for it now. We might rustle up something suitable for the closing rites but that's a week away. There's no use brooding over it right now."
Finally, he set aside whatever work Thorin had been unable to distract him from and rose to his feet. He walked toward Thorin, grabbing his elbow as the King paced near him.
"There's to be merriment this evening, I've no doubt. That's not long away. In the meantime, I'm sure Dale is teeming with trade and fun. I'm sure it would do the Dwarves good to see their King walking about."
So saying, he ushered Thorin towards the door. Thorin knew it was more command than suggestion, and he wasn't surprised to be more or less thrown out of Balin's study. Still irritated, nonetheless he didn't call Balin on it. He was behaving like a whiny brat and he knew it. Worse, he was hiding with Balin so as not to face Bard and Thranduil again and pretend he hadn't realized how superior the Elvenking's gifts to Bard were or that Bard clearly favored them, though he attempted neutrality.
It was no good. Thorin knew him now. He'd spent too much time studying the Man to miss something so poorly concealed.
Taking a deep breath, Thorin squared his shoulders and marched back the way he came. Balin was right; he needed to make a showing among his people.
A great assembly of tents had been erected just below Erebor's gate -- right where the armies of Men and Elves had made camp three years ago. Thorin had offered lodging to the host of Elves. Erebor may have been in disrepair but it had not been open to the Elements like Dale had been. While Bard had made great progress, Dale was still more of a work-in-progress than a fully functioning city. There was room for its own people but not the Elves.
Erebor had only needed more cleaning than outright mending, save for the few places the dragon had been. Three years was more than enough time to right the Kingdom. While Thorin and his folk did not relish the idea of housing Elves, there was room for them.
But the Elves had politely declined and instead set up their tents in the open field before Dale. It had become a lively area as Dwarves and Men had taken the opportunity to create a makeshift market of stalls to sell their goods. A rude but sturdy platform had been erected for Bard and the other officials to make announcements but the people of Dale had also taken it over to perform plays.
When Thorin finally made his way down to it, he found an impromptu band of sorts trying their hand at a lively tune while a goodly crowd was dancing in the field before them. They at least were well content with Thorin's gift. Bard might not desire glory and prizes but his people certainly thought him worthy of it.
Sadly, it was only Bard's opinion that mattered to Thorin.
Irritably shaking his head to shake out the idea, Thorin forced himself to focus on his people and on presenting a good image of the King. The whole purpose of this Festival was to bring their three peoples together in the hopes of smoothing over some of the lingering unpleasantness from the Battle of Five Armies and all that had happened before.
As he wandered about the Festival, Thorin noted Dwarves and Men mingling. Elves and Men mingled too, but Elves and Dwarves spoke little lest a Man instigated the exchange. There was no malice in this. Neither party thought it odd so it seemed only Thorin noted the phenomenon. He felt the crown on his head grow a little heavier as he realized how much work there was yet to do for stable lasting peace to be achieved.
Still, the brightly colored stalls and the merry music were enough to dent even Thorin's dour mood. He was not cheerful by any stretch of imagination but he had cooled down enough that he could look at the large statue his Dwarves had erected without once again descending into a glower. When evening approached, he could even look at Bard and Thranduil without feeling that twist of inadequacy in his gut.
Or at least not to acknowledge it.
Fires were being lit as Thorin wandered back to the main square where Thranduil's tent was housed. He nodded across the large bonfire to where Thranduil and Bard were standing. They nodded back before returning their attention to whatever was going on in the meadow across from the main bonfire.
Thorin paid no mind to that as he was provided with the perfect opportunity to study his fellow Kings at his leisure. Bard was still dressed in his finest fair. In the darkening light of twilight with the fire dancing across his shadowed features, he looked even graver than usual. His face was as stone, craggy and grim. A rare smile issued on occasion -- and it always jolted Thorin as singularly peculiar -- but mostly he stood still and straight, creating an uncanny resemblance to the recently erected statue of his ancestor.
Thranduil practically glowed in the fading light. His fair hair seemed to catch the last of the sun's rays and hold on. The firelight licked at his pale skin, highlighting the bare patches of skin peaking out from beneath his formal robes. While his garb was far more elegant and beautiful than either Thorin's or Bard's, it did not diminish Bard in contrast. Indeed, standing beside Thranduil made Bard appear taller and broader than usual. For once, he really did look like a proper King.
Thranduil's expression was remote and stern, though Thorin knew that was not a reflection of the Elvenking's inner state. Thorin was just close enough to see that while Thranduil's expression was cool, his eyes were warm as he listened attentively to whatever Bard was saying. That Bard was even talking so much was more than Thorin could ever hope to get out of the taciturn Man.
He wondered what Thranduil had done to loosen Bard's tongue and how he could learn the trick without actually coming right out and asking.
A heavy thump beside him distracted Thorin from his study, and he turned to find Kíli and Fíli had joined him. Kíli had flung himself down onto a horse block beside Thorin and looked rather miserable.
"What's wrong?" Thorin demanded.
"Oh, don't worry about him," Fíli said cheerfully. "He's only sulking because Tauriel's gone off without him."
"That's not why I'm sulking," Kíli sulked. "Tauriel said she was curious about how Dale was coming on and I said I'd show her everything that was interesting. She said that sounded great but now she's gone off with Sigrid instead to do the exact same thing."
"Well, to be fair, Sigrid probably knows her own city better than you," Fíli pointed out.
Kíli only scowled at his brother, "But not our involvement in the reconstruction. That's what we talked about. I told her all the help we'd been and she said she would be happy to see what we'd done. Sigrid couldn't show her that."
Fíli snorted, clearly unmoved from his opinion that Kíli was only upset that Tauriel was not favoring him with her complete and unwavering attention. Equally clearly, Kíli found his brother's supposition -- likely more right than not -- intolerable. He jumped to his feet to defend himself.
"That's not all either. The Elves always go off with Men; haven't you noticed that? And the Men always listen to the Elves over us. I could name a dozen such instances!"
"Kíli-" Fíli began. He saw he'd crossed some kind of line with his brother and appeared willing to calm him down but Kíli wasn't through yet.
"What about that little girl Bofur babysits? In all the months he's helped her parents out, not one thing has gone wrong. Little thing adores him. But right now, she's with some strange Elf her parents never met before just because the Elf offered to help. Bofur offered too, but all the months he's faithfully helped out don't seem to be as good as when an Elf calls."
"That's not fair," Fíli said. "Bergdis probably wanted to let Bofur have some time to enjoy the Festival. The Elves won't be staying; what does it hurt to let someone else babysit if the Elf's willing?"
"And what about Bifur's toys or Dori's teahouse? Not a lick of business since the Elves came. Haven't you heard all the kids laughing themselves sick with the games the Elves brought? There's no one but Dwarves at Dori's these days."
"And a Festival going on," Fíli repeated, beginning to sound irritated. "That's what happens during a Festival. People try out new things. They're not about to go to their regular spots. It happens. It'll all be fine and back to normal when the week is out."
"It's not just the Festival," Kíli insisted. "Ori's been trying to chronicle the Battle of Five Armies for months now but he can barely get a Man to commit a word of report to paper. But there's that Elf -- you know the one I'm talking about -- she's doing the same thing and all the Men will talk her ear off without a hint of hesitation."
"That's--"
"Then there's Bain. I offered to teach him the bow months ago but he said he wished to learn from his father. But now look at him!"
All three turned to where Kíli pointed. Across the bonfire the Elves had set up targets and it was Prince Legolas himself who was instructing Bain on the use of his new bow. It was almost insulting. Bard was certainly capable of teaching his son how to use a bow and arrow. He had more than proved his mastery of it.
And yet, as Thorin's gaze turned to the Man, he saw that Legolas teaching Bain was exactly what had caught Bard and Thranduil's attention. Bard seemed anything but offended.
"And what about the contracts? The rebuilding?" Kíli said. "We offered to help rebuild Laketown but they would only have the Elves help."
"That was decided before the War was even over," Fíli interjected but Kíli continued on doggedly.
"Maybe, but Glóin and Balin have written dozens and dozens of contracts only to find that the Men have already contracted with the Elves for the same thing. I don't think there's one contract I've heard of that didn't need to account for the Elven side of the trade first!"
Kíli sounded utterly frustrated.
"And it's not just the Men favoring the Elves. No, the Elves favor them right back. Have you noticed how they will answer questions to Men that they won't to Dwarves. Óin's been so curious about the healing Tauriel did for me but every time he asks about it, she demurs and says it was nothing."
"She's just being shy," Fíli said, though he sounded less sure now.
"Maybe, but not so shy that she won't tell Sigrid. Sigrid asked her about a plant, and Tauriel seemed happy enough to tell her all about its healing properties. But that's not the only example. The Elves have been more than happy to teach Men forestry and woodcraft, and to help refine their arts of papermaking and husbandry. And what about smithing? Not only do Men prefer Elven craft over ours but the Elves actually teach Men their secrets. They will take on apprentices and teach Men the few pieces of Elven smithcraft that we do not possess but you'd never dream of them doing that for a Dwarf."
Fíli started to look ill at ease. Thorin could feel his nephew glancing at him, but his attention had not left Thranduil and Bard in the distance. He could see Thranduil say something to Bard. The Elvenking reached out to gently touch the Man's arm, and he directed him towards his tent. In a moment, they disappeared inside.
"And what about that?" Kíli said, once again flinging his arm out. This time he pointed at the platform where a group of Elves and Men had congregated. A band of Elven minstrels were playing but the Men in the crowd were cheerfully egging them into playing some rowdy tunes. Thorin realized this was probably the first time either Fíli or Kíli had ever heard an Elven drinking song. Likely they hadn't even realized Elves had those kind of songs.
But they were singing them now without any hesitation and were clearly enjoying themselves as much as the Men. The Elves sung a verse in Elvish but were good enough to make a quick rendition of the same verse in Westron, and the surprise of the humorous lyrics sent cheers of laughter throughout the whole square. And, the obvious entertainment of the Men listening only seemed to amuse the Elves further.
The Dwarves listened in too. They laughed with the Men and shouted their own encouragement for another song. But Thorin could see they were all on the edges of the crowd, and it was the Men the Elves focused on.
He felt his heart grow heavy, the shadow of something ancient and hard beginning to take hold in his chest.
"Men can get Elves to sing that. Do you think we could do the same? All the Elves favor Men. Yes, Tauriel's gone off with Sigrid but that's not what's bothering me. Think of all the friends we've made in Dale, but don't think for a second that they wouldn't drop us in an instant if an Elf showed interest. And the Elves barely notice us. And you know why? It's because they haven't forgiven us for Smaug and the Arkenstone. We're three years on but they still don't forgive and they never will. They'll never forgive us for our role in Laketown's destruction or the loss of life in the War. They'll . . ."
Kíli trailed off, clearly not sure where he was going and too upset to think it through. He'd obviously not meant to unearth all of this and it was as much a surprise to him as it was to Fíli. Now both looked uneasily about them. On the surface, all three races were enjoying themselves together. But they had to note how the Elves and Men mingled so naturally together and how the Dwarves settled on the edges of the crowd.
Thorin could feel their gazes turn to him, seeking some comfort, but Thorin's own gaze remained fixed on the closed tent flap. There were no shadows in the tent; he had no idea what was going on inside. But he knew whatever it was, no one would disturb the two Kings within.
Sighing, Thorin finally turned to look at his nephews. They seemed so absurdly young to him suddenly and he felt that tug on his heart pull a little harder.
"It's not a question of forgiveness," he said softly, all his earlier bluster blown away. He contemplated his nephews for a minute, while they clearly bit their tongues to keep themselves from asking for more. They could see his mood was not the kind to poke, fey as it likely seemed to them.
Sighing again, Thorin reached out to squeeze their shoulders. "Come, there is something I would show you."
He took them to the accursed statue of Girion that stood well away from the crowds. It had been placed behind a great fountain. Thorin sat on the fountain's ledge, gazing up at the impassive face of Girion above him.
"I met Girion when I was young. He would come often to take council with my grandfather. He was not the most personable of Men, but compared to Bard, he was downright jovial. I remember him as pleasant and kind. He would bring me treats from Dale on occasion, though I don't think he was particularly memorable to me."
Thorin paused, thinking back to those times. He could picture Girion as a big, stout Man. There was much of Girion in Bard. Girion had been all-business when he was in Erebor, and borderline ruthless when it came to contract negotiations. He had had a good heart though, just like Bard. He too was practical and efficient. Thorin remembered him as a very good, very beloved leader.
"Upon a time, an envoy of Elves from Mirkwood came to speak to Thrór. Thranduil was not among them, of course, though I did not realize that at first. It was the first time I'd ever seen Elves."
Thorin thought about the fact that Thranduil was here now. Thorin had sent an invitation to Mirkwood to join the Festival. Thranduil had agreed to send some Elves but had declined to come himself. When Bard had heard, however, he'd sent his own missive requesting the King's presence. His missive had been accepted. Thorin had been shocked. Thranduil had never visited Erebor before. As far as Thorin knew, Thranduil never left Mirkwood if he could help it and always sent emissaries in his stead.
No one expected his presence, and yet here he was. Thorin wondered if Kíli would have included this on his list of grievances if he'd known of it.
"Even though they were not the high Sindar of Thranduil's court, they were lovely. Tall, bright, beautiful -- I thought the stars had fallen from the sky to grace us with their presence. They were all stiff like diamonds, standing erect and poised the way Elves do. They spoke with such restraint, and left nothing of their feelings on their faces. Nothing my grandfather or any Dwarf did seemed to dent their icy masks. Truly, they were the best of negotiators."
Closing his eyes, Thorin tried to recapture that moment when he'd first seen the Elves. Clad in the silver of their station, they had indeed looked like starlight -- remote and perfect. There had only been a handful of them but they lit up every room they were in. They took the breath away, drawing attention without doing anything.
It was funny though, looking back at this moment now. They were beautiful and stately but no more so than any Elves. Now that Thorin had seen Thranduil and Elrond and Glorfindel, he knew what true Elven beauty was. He knew real Elven power. These were pale shadows next to the great lords, and yet Thorin still thought them beautiful. They seemed perfectly etched in his mind, as if their radiance had burned the image there for all time.
"Young that I was, I thought that was all Elves were. Starlight and ice. But then Girion came. I do not remember what the matter was that brought him and the Elves together in Erebor but that's not important. What's important is that I saw when Girion met the Elves. I saw their meeting."
It was a little fuzzy at first but as he thought about those graceful silver Elves standing below him and right in Girion's way, Thorin could picture the moment Girion recognized that there were Elves present.
"Girion smiled when he saw them. He had looked tired and grave a moment before but that seemed to lift when he saw the Elves. And it was a warm smile too. I hadn't seen that from him before. He had polite smiles for court and something a little more genuine for me as a child but nothing like the warmth of that smile. But what was shocking to me was that he marched up to the Elves and clapped one of them on the back."
Now, Thorin thought it had been as much of a surprise to the Elf as it had been to him. But the Elf recovered quickly. There was no offense at the familiarity. Thorin didn't think Girion knew these particular Elves, but they were quick to be friendly.
"The Elf smiled at Girion. It was the first smile I'd seen from any of them too. It was the first emotion I'd seen from them from the entire time they'd been in Erebor."
It was beautiful. To see starlight and ice smile -- how did you describe that?
"I hadn't even known Elves capable of smiling."
There was something about them that seemed too distant and remote for something so mundane. Thorin knew better now. He knew Elves smiled often. Many were warm and approachable, even to Dwarves. But there was still something fey and startling about their smiles. Some Elves just seemed too ethereal, too ancient, too wise, too other to wear a smile that seemed to truly fit them. A smile was an invitation, an intimacy. Some Elves wore walls as thick as mountains around them, burdened with too much hurt and too much knowledge to risk themselves so openly.
Those Elves from long ago had been that kind of Elf. Unapproachable, distant, defensive. But one friendly smile from a Man they did not know was enough to breech that wall, if only for a moment.
"They talked for a minute or two, and I watched as the stars amongst us grew brighter and warmer. Then Girion threw a companionable arm around one of the Elves, who had actually laughed. But the Elf allowed it and they all walked off."
That laugh had stayed with him. After so long hearing the carefully cultivated tones of negotiations and diplomacy, to hear the sparkling quality of a startled laugh -- the kind that is not forced or faked -- had been like the music of the Ainur sung in Middle-earth.
It was beautiful.
"I don't imagine you can understand this. You've not had this experience with Elves. But it made an impact on me. There was something about it -- something that stuck with me. I couldn't understand it. What a simple moment, a Man meeting Elves and then walking off. What was there to draw my attention? But it did. There was something there, and I felt so very . . ."
How to describe the feeling he'd had. The feeling he still had. This weight that grew upon his heart. There was an added twist to his stomach of late -- a twist that had everything to do with Thranduil and Bard -- but the weight on his heart was as old as himself. Sometimes he fancied it was even older than that.
For the first time, he looked back at his nephews. They were watching him with rapt attention, and he thought they could feel it. He wondered if this was right to say. If they were ignorant, wasn't it kinder to leave them that way?
But he knew they were not really ignorant, not deep down. No Dwarf could be. It was written inside them, a truth born with their first breath that would remain until the foundations of the earth were unmade.
Taking a deep breath, Thorin said, "My father noticed my preoccupation. I did not have the words to explain the strange feeling I felt when I saw the Elves and Man. But I explained to him how odd I had found it that a Man could get a smile from the icy Elves with but a moment's effort -- how stern Girion let down his defenses in their presence. I wanted to know why it was never so with the Dwarves -- why we could not get the same reaction."
Thorin glanced once more at Girion's statue.
"It had seemed like a simple thing, but Father's reaction had been very serious indeed. He took my hand and led me to our family chapel."
Thorin remembered being very nervous. His father had been grave and sad, much as Thorin imagined he was himself right now to his nephews. Thorin had thought his observation of the Elves and Man had been a small matter, but when Thráin had led them to the family chapel -- a place Thorin had had ingrained into him since he was a babe as sacred and important -- he began to wonder if he'd screwed up.
But he'd known he hadn't. He'd known, as his nephews knew. Thráin would tell him and it would then be on his heart forevermore. Thorin had felt unease because there was no going back. There was no unlearning it. He couldn't put it back into a box in the depths of his heart where it had resided all along.
"Father led me before the statue of Mahal. He told me the history of the statue. He told me how there had been a grander statue in Khazad-dûm, and our statue was as close of a likeness as our ancestors could manage in the chaos after Khazad-dûm fell. He told me that I must be mindful of Mahal and to always do right by him. He was our Creator. He was good and mighty, and we were honored that he was the Father of our race. And then he said . . ."
Trailing off, Thorin felt like he was reaching the point of no return. He could stop here, spare his nephews from ever naming the truth inside them. Was it not enough that recollecting these events had reminded himself?
"What did grandfather say?" Kíli asked in a hushed tone. Thorin smiled sadly, seeing that the decision was taken out of his hands.
"He said while Mahal is great and good, he is small compared to Ilúvatar and I mustn't ever forget that. Ilúvatar created Mahal. He created everything. It was true that he had called the Ainur to sing the world into existence -- that it was their effort that brought the world forth. It was true that Mahal physically wrought the stone and iron into being. But all of it was Ilúvatar's will first. Do you understand that?"
Thorin finally turned to his nephews, just as Thráin had turned to him. "Do you really understand? We do not speak of Ilúvatar. Yes, we are told how He rebuked our Father for our creation. We are told that our Father would have destroyed us to please Him. We are told that Ilúvatar intervened and spared us. We are told that it was He who gave us Life. But do we think on that? Do we not swear all our oaths by Mahal? Do we not give him all the credit of our existence? It was by his hands that we were made, but it is by Ilúvatar that we Live."
Thráin had been very insistent on this, and Thorin had realized what Fíli and Kíli must be realizing now. They really didn't talk much about Ilúvatar. Their creation story was always about Mahal. Ilúvatar had His part to play, but once it was known, Dwarves did not speak of it again.
"Do you know why we do not speak of this? Do you know why we shun our true Creator?"
It was an uncomfortable topic. It felt borderline blasphemous. But it was the truth. Mahal had formed the substance of Dwarves but until Ilúvatar intervened, Dwarves were little more than puppets.
Taking a deep breath, Thorin tried to will away the unease of this topic. "Ilúvatar acts through others. That is His way. He made the Ainur to see his creation brought about, but the Ainur can do nothing but His will. Even Morgoth the Cursed does only what Ilúvatar designed -- that is what the Elves would teach, and they would know. But Ilúvatar has Created. He does not leave everything to others. He made the Ainur, who created all the world. But He also created Men and Elves. They are His. No one else can claim them. They are like the Ainur in that regard. But unlike the Ainur, Eru claims Elves and Men as His children. They are special; even the Ainur say so. They are the Children of Ilúvatar -- His chosen Children."
This conversation had turned more serious than either Fíli or Kíli were prepared for; Thorin could see it. It had been the same with him. He had asked about friendly smiles and earned a lecture on the nature of Elves and Men.
"We are not Children of Ilúvatar," Thorin continued, voice low and serious. "Not true Children of Ilúvatar. We are taught that He accepted us as His Children too, but no matter how true that may be in His heart, it doesn't change that fact that we were not made by His hands directly. We are made of the stone and iron of the world. We were made by another of His creatures. We can only ever be pale shadows. That is why we avoid thinking too deeply about our true Creator for that is a hard thing to bear."
It was indeed. Thorin could see it in his nephews' eyes. He could see the way they became downcast. Ilúvatar may love them as dearly as he loved His own Children -- Thorin thought that entirely likely -- but second class was second class, and that would never sit well.
"Elves and Men are Children of Ilúvatar," Thorin repeated. "They are His. There's something to that, something we cannot understand. It has created a wall between us. Elves and Men are sister-people. That is different than being siblings though. Were I to adopt a Man's babe and raise it along with you two, you would take the child as a brother without any hesitation. Even growing more swiftly than you, that child would be your brother as surely as you are brothers to each other. But it is different for the kinship of Elves and Men. Their connection is more than blood, more than shared experience, more than shared loves. There is something in the core of them that draws them to each other. By design, their relationship is grievous and yet Elves do not avoid Men. They do not stop themselves from loving them. And Men draw strength and wisdom from Elves. They are connected."
Sighing, Thorin stood up. "That is why this isn't about forgiveness. The Men of Dale have food, shelter, and gold. The dragon is gone. There are some who will always hate us for the loss of a brother or father or son upon the battlefield but Men and Elves as a whole have left such thoughts behind them. Men look forward -- that is their way. And Elves endure. But they are stronger together. They are happier together. Do not take Tauriel's time with Men as a snub to you. That isn't the right way to look at it. Tauriel is an Elf and Elves love Men. Men love Elves."
"And us?" Fíli asked. He sounded quiet and sad, and Thorin knew that Fíli already knew the answer.
"We watch from the outside."
It was never purposeful. Thorin knew that. Considering that Elves and Men had had no say in their Father's adoption of the race of Mahal, on the whole they had accepted Dwarves far more readily than seemed expected. Dwarves were included in their councils. Dwarves were praised for their arts. Dwarves were considered friends and accounted among the Free Peoples of the world.
But no matter how inclusive Men or Elves tried to be, they could never create the same bond that they shared with each other. That was a hard reality to accept. The loneliness, the isolation, the separateness -- it would be a weight on any Dwarf's heart.
"You mustn't hold this against either Men or Elves. A Man or an Elf may be the best friend you could hope to have. They may include you completely in all facets of their lives. But as a whole, you cannot be surprised if Men turn towards Elves or Elves turn towards Men. It is not their fault that that is their nature. But nor is it our burden. You must make peace with this reality, and when you do, you will find that your dealings with either race will not be so frustrating. It is just how things are."
"And you've made peace with this?" Fíli asked skeptically.
Thorin only smiled sadly. He reached out to again squeeze his nephews' shoulders. "Come, there is still a night of drinking and dancing to come. You should enjoy yourselves."
The atmosphere between them was heavy as he led them back to the main square. Kíli and Fíli were unnaturally quiet but Thorin hoped that the entertainments of the Festival would soon raise their spirits.
Tauriel, Sigrid, and Tilda approached them as soon as they arrived back. The Elf's smile was warm and kind, and Thorin wasn't surprised that Kíli immediately forgave her whatever imagined slight he'd perceived. Fíli was good enough to listen as Tilda and Sigrid enthused about something or other, and was soon thoroughly distracted himself.
Thorin did not stick around to hear what it was all about. He moved back to his initial spot in the shadows where he could see Thranduil's tent. Thranduil and Bard were standing before it again, though no longer looking out over the meadow. It was too dark for archery now, and clearly Legolas and Bain had gone to join the festivities. With nothing to hold their attention elsewhere, the two Kings were engrossed in their own conversation.
But what was most striking was that Bard was no longer wearing the official state garb he'd had on when Thorin had left. Gone was the heavy cloak that had made him look so kingly. Instead, he was wearing his ratty old jacket. His pants and boots were the same but he'd clearly borrowed a fine shirt from Thranduil. He'd run a hand through his hair, messing it up and freeing it from constraint.
He looked a world more comfortable and it showed in his bearing. He didn't stand so stiffly anymore. As Thorin watched, he even saw Bard smile. What was more, Thranduil answered with his own smile.
Once again, Thranduil saw what Bard truly needed and provided it. The great Elvenking did not seem bothered in the least that the trappings of formality and Kingship should be done away with. Bard's comfort was of more concern.
Standing on the edge of the crowded square, Thorin couldn't take his eyes off the other two Kings as they laughed and chatted like old friends. Not for the first time, Thorin felt the vast distance from them and wondered if he would ever find the bridge to cross it.
THE END