Not Quite As Expected - Chapter 2
It's Saturday, the day that I once upon a time used to update whatever project I was involved in posting. I thought I'd reclaim that tradition once again and give you all another chapter of this.
Enjoy!
"A single change of clothing, armor and weapons - by you, this was adequate travel provisions?" Thranduil grumbled. Aduial tossed his head and pranced, apparently just as grumpy and difficult to work with as the Elf who owned him.
"Ai! Hold this monster to a sedate walk!" Glóin's grasp on Thranduil's belt tightened. "I would rather arrive in Osgiliath without broken bones or bruises from falling and hitting rocks on the way down, or being bounced around and scrambling my brains."
"The latter will not be difficult, as much is already scrambled inside that hairy excuse for a…"
"You can insult me all you want. But I, at least, could carry about my own belongings. Had you been as frugal, we wouldn't need an extra horse - one that you now are content to just let follow us around." By Mahal! Did the Elf do nothing but complain?
"Saerôl knows her duty. Besides, clothing is not all that was packed, and well you know it. What is more, with only one change of clothing, we would not have been able to bathe often, or be presentable at official functions once we arrive…"
Glóin shook his head. "Look, despite your having to load up that horse behind us, I got you out of your Hall without those fifteen warriors, didn't I?" The Elf continually seemed to forget that, just as he seemed more than willing to trust that the horse with far too many bundles tied to its back would follow along like a tamed pup.
"I am still reconsidering the wisdom of this entire venture," was the retort.
Glóin snorted. "Complain all you want, Elf, but all those fancy clothes and everything else you and your butler wanted to pack are on that other beast behind us, along with enough food to last us a week, even if we don't fish or hunt along the way. And we managed to get both beasts out of the barn without raising suspicions…"
"Barely."
"Blame your magnificent, temperamental, war-mule here for nearly giving us away!"
"Aduial was but greeting me. Had we…"
"Greeting you?" Glóin shook his head and laughed. "Sounding the silver trumpet of battle would have been less noisy. I remember the sounds of those things, you know." He looked around him suspiciously and into the trees as far as he could see. "And you say there are no more spiders?"
"No, I did not say that there were no more spiders," Thranduil's voice sounded condescending. "I said that the spiders would not bother us. Their area is to the north of here…"
"You know where they are, and you let them alone?" Glóin was shocked.
"Of course we know where they are. They are the backbone of much of our economy, however, so we do not, as you say, leave them alone."
"What do you get from spiders?" Did he really want to know this?
"What do you think we get from spiders?" Thranduil tossed back brusquely. "Webs."
Glóin's mouth dropped open. "Why am I not surprised," he quipped snidely, the moment he recovered enough from his shock. "Folk who make their homes in trees and talk to squirrels would naturally have spider webs as the… how did you put it… 'backbone of your economy.' How you manage to pay for that wine you drink…"
The movement of the horse came to a sudden halt, and Glóin's face impacted the back of Thranduil's tunic. "Do you hear me criticizing or making sport of the mining skills of the Dwarves, Master Glóin?" Thranduil had half turned about and looked down at him with disdain.
Glóin glared back up at him unrepentantly, rubbing his sore nose with a hand not needed to hang on for a moment. "Spider webs?" was all he said, his voice still skeptical.
"Obviously you have never studied the manner in which silk is produced."
"Inasmuch Dwarves do not wear silk…"
"Ever?" The golden eyebrows had risen quite high on Thranduil's forehead.
No. Glóin was not going to admit that some of the women living under the Mountain liked the feel of silken undergarments. "Hardly ever," he hedged. "Anyway, what does silk have to do with spiderwebs?"
Thranduil huffed and put Aduial back into motion. "Silk thread is what one gets when one processes spider webs and egg casings a certain way. It then can be woven…"
Glóin quickly reaffixed his hand to the King's belt before he lost his balance. "I see." He actually did, and hated to admit to himself that making a profit off of the discards of one of the ugly creatures the Dark Lord had turned loose in the forest was nothing short of genius. He shuddered. "I'm glad I don't have to be part of the collection party."
"That is why we wait until such things are discarded," Thranduil stated as if to a child. "That way, we do not have to defend ourselves from attack. As a matter of fact, however, of late we have been providing small prey to those spiders we know of, and encouraging them to build webs. Then, in the autumn, when the weather takes care of the adults, we wait."
"You mean those huge spiders that the Dark Lord sent into your woods don't last the winter?" Again Glóin's mouth hung open.
"Those spiders are no more." Thranduil's voice was flat and made the hairs stand up on the back of Glóin's neck. "The ones that we now feed are their smaller, less aggressive cousins. At least, we think they are cousins."
"Leave it to an Elf to wonder about the geneology of the forest fauna," Glóin grumbled with a shake of the head.
"Leave it to a Dwarf to make fun of another race's treasure," Thranduil tossed back. "Perhaps I should see if Aduial wouldn't enjoy a good trot, just to break the monotony of…"
"No, no. I'm certain that maintaining breeding records for arachnids is a perfectly reasonable and very wise pastime for wood Elves. Just as a nice, steady walk is surely quite relaxing to your…" Glóin could feel Thranduil stiffen for another insult to the horse they were riding and decided that perhaps a little concession in that direction wouldn't go amiss either. "…magnificent steed."
"Hmfph! You are hanging on tightly, are you not?"
Glóin felt his heart sink, and he refreshed his hold on the embroidered leather belt. "I am now. WhyEEEEEE!"
Aduial leapt forward into a swift run that made the trees of the woods on either side of the path they'd been following blur. Thoroughly rattled and utterly frustrated with his impotence at the moment, all Glóin could do was hang on for dear life as a landscape that would have taken hours to traverse at a more sane pace flew past in mere moments. He could see very little of it, however, for all of Thranduil's golden hair brushing his face and getting caught in his beard and on his eyebrows. Any thought of yelling out a complaint died the moment he opened his mouth to shout at Thranduil and ended up with more of the golden stuff halfway down his throat, making him cough and sputter.
He was grateful he had his hands so tightly wrapped in the belt when he heard the horses' hooves strike bare, hardened dirt, because they then made a sudden and abrupt left turn that would have tossed him into the bushes otherwise. The Elf, with a wild call of pure glee, merely leaned forward slightly and let the horse speed up even more. Glóin buried his face against Thranduil's back and closed his eyes, certain that he was going to be dead in but a few moments more. He was determined to stick to the Elvenking like a burr until they both had their feet on the ground again, however, whereupon he would make the vicious creature pay.
The torture seemed to go on forever before, finally, Aduial slowed down to a canter, and then a trot and finally back to a sedate walk. Thranduil, laughing heartily, leaned forward and patted the stallion's neck fondly. Glóin, barely daring believe that he had survived, was coming to discover that his fingers were locked and virtually frozen around the belt. "Are you daft?" he demanded after coughing out the last of the dryness from his mouth caused first by terror and only secondly from hair down his throat.
"Not at all, Master Dwarf. Aduial was aching for a good run, and we have now traversed a good league or so that would have taken us hours at the pace we were going." Thranduil chuckled and tapped at Glóin's fingers. "You need not hang on so tightly for now, as it would be better if he walked for a bit before we stop for water and some food."
"Let go, he says," Glóin grumbled into his beard as he felt the horse start forward again at the placid, smooth pace from before. "I'm trying to let go! I have heard of being frozen in terror, and I believe my fingers are still terrified!"
Thranduil threw his head back and laughed long and hard. "That was exhilarating, was it not? I have not had occasion to let him have his head like that in many years." But the Elf was finally doing something helpful and working at prying Glóin's fingers loose. "After a few days, you should be convinced of his skill at not losing his riders." He readjusted the belt as well as the tunic it held in place. "Now we can investigate what Galion managed to pack for us as far as provender is…"
"You did that on purpose!" Glóin bellowed, still having to work his sore fingers by pushing at them with a forearm to break the muscles free. "You're mad!"
When the stallion finally halted again, Thranduil threw his leg over Aduial's neck and slid to the ground effortlessly. "Do not be such a sour soul. And come down from there - a walk will do you as much good as it did Aduial."
Glóin looked down at the ground from his perch with clear reservations. "It is a long way down, Master Elf."
"Oh, for…" Thranduil shook his head and grabbed onto Glóin's arm and gave a tug. He didn't let go, however, so still had hold of him when legs that barely were willing to hold him up made Glóin stagger. "Now, walk about for a while, and get the blood flowing again."
"I'd give you blood flowing, were my fingers not so stiff that I couldn't hold an axe if I tried," Glóin growled back. "You're right, we will have most likely tried to kill each other at least once by the time we reach Ithilien. Personally, my attempt on you will come after I can finally do more than waddle about like an infant just out of swaddling. ARGH!" he cried, a hand on his backside.
"Walk, Master Glóin. Trust me when I tell you it is the best cure for the stiffness that comes from not spending half enough time in the saddle before such a journey as this." Thranduil stretched his own back, and then leaned forward to stretch the other way before straightening and putting a hand to his own nether regions. "I too suffer from the lack."
Glóin's brows rose. "You?" He snorted in derision. "I thought Elves were in perfect harmony with their horses."
"I may be in harmony with Aduial mind to mind, but my hind quarters are far more in harmony with my throne than a saddle. It is, I fear, an occupational hazard," the Elvenking tossed back and began walking in a slightly stiff-legged gait to the pack horse. "Now, if Galion packed as I requested of him, we both have something that will help with the ache."
"Pillows?"
Thranduil snorted. "Not hardly. There should be both skins of wine and skins of ale somewhere in this mess. I did consider you when making requests of what provisions to bring along."
"Ale?" Glóin perked up, despite himself. "I take it back. Perhaps having a pack horse with all that gear wasn't such a bad idea after all."
Thranduil seemed to ignore him. "If we are wise, we will each take no more than a few good swallows. It would not do to spend the afternoon inebriated." He untied the first pack's flap and threw it up over the pack horse's back. "We should each carry our weapons from here on as well; there is no guarantee that my scouts might have missed a spider's nest or two."
"And only now you think to mention this?" Glóin shook his head. "Up until now, did you think we were going to be able to talk our way out of being made lunch, or that our good looks would count for anything?"
"Considering that the Dark Lord is no more, one might expect them to be more amenable to persuasion from an Elf, if good looks hold any sway," Thranduil offered with a wicked grin. "They might even be interested in joining their smaller kin in a place where they would be fed and cared for and no longer hunted."
Glóin guffawed. "Of course they would."
"You doubt me?"
"Never!" Glóin had his hands in the air in mock horror. "If there's one thing I'm learning, it is never to argue with an Elf who thinks he's right."
Thranduil looked at him through narrowed eyes, and then tossed a full skin in his direction. "I do believe that was an insult."
"Not at all, merely an observation based on ongoing experience." Glóin pulled the cork on the skin and sniffed, then pounded the cork back in and tossed it back. "That's wine!"
"So?"
"Discerning Dwarves do not drink wine unless that is all that's available. And you said there was ale somewhere in that mess."
"True. I would imagine that appreciating wine takes a more discerning palate. Here. Try this one." Another wineskin was tossed in Glóin's direction.
He pulled the cork, sniffed, smiled and took a long swallow. "Much better! On the contrary. It's well-known that wine-drinking kills the ability to taste properly."
"At least it does not stunt the growth."
"No, it merely puts one's head in the clouds and gives one delusions that they can speak at will to animals and plants in the vicinity."
Thranduil paused with the wineskin halfway to his lips. "It is no delusion, Master Dwarf."
"Take your draught and then see what your man packed to eat. I don't know about you, but the walls of my stomach are rubbing together." Glóin took one more swallow of the warm ale that helped soothe the dry, scratchy throat and then corked the skin again. He put his hands to his aching hips and took a few agonized steps before he ground to a halt again. "Gimli must be mad to have agreed to travel in this manner after the Quest was finished, or made of sterner stuff to not have ended up lame!"
"Hold a moment," Thranduil said from behind him, and then Glóin felt an arm wrap around his upper chest, and another hand pressing into his lower back.
"What in the name of…" He began to struggle.
"Hold still!" Thranduil snarled at him. "I can help…"
"By assaulting me?" Glóin tried to jerk away, but the Elf's hold on him was quite secure, and that hand on his lower back was growing warm! "Fire and stone! What are you doing?"
"It is just a little trick I learned from… Hey!"
Glóin finally spun out of the Elvenking's grasp and backed away, only belatedly realizing that his back felt much better. "I must admit, it does feel better; but I'd appreciate some warning next time before you try something like that."
Thranduil huffed and walked slowly - his own stiffness obviously still unrelieved - back to the side of the pack pony. "One would think you do not trust me, Master Dwarf."
"One would be right." Glóin twisted this way and that, amazed that so much of his stiffness had been eased by so little effort. "Who did you say you learned that from again?"
"I did not say, and I think I shall keep my own counsel for the moment." The Elf pulled out a dagger and sliced a thin strip from a slab of dried meat, and then pulled two apples from the bundle. "Here. This should keep us going until evening."
Glóin walked up to him and eyed him warily for a long moment, and then held out his hand for the food. "Thank you. And thank you for your 'help.' It may have been a bit… unexpected… but whatever you did, helped," he admitted with some reluctance. "Is it a skill you can teach to the Dwarves?"
"I have no idea," Thranduil said with a blink, then finished getting his own slice of meat and stepped away from the horses to sink into the lush grass with a grunt and a grimace. "And why would the Dwarves need an Elven healing skill?"
Glóin took the time to find a nearby stump to sit on. "Obviously you've never spent the entire day either working a rock face or forging a weapon." He stuck the strip of meat in his mouth and had to resist the urge to growl while worrying a bite from it.
"Obviously." The wry tone of Thranduil's voice brought him up to look at the Elvenking. Thranduil nodded the moment he saw he had Glóin's attention. "Under normal circumstance, I leave the business of the forge to talented smiths. It is one of the benefits of being royalty, and not a common laborer. However, your point is sound."
"Was that an insult?"
"Not at all; merely an objective observation based upon a great deal of experience."
By the fires of Mahal, this Elf was harder to deal with as time went by! But Glóin refused to be deflected. "So? Will you teach this skill to the Dwarves?"
Golden eyebrows climbed high on the brow. "And by 'the Dwarves' I take it you mean you?"
Glóin waved his ale-skin around him. "I don't see anyone else here, do you?"
"We do not even know if you have any talents in this direction. This skill does not manifest out of thin air, you understand." Thranduil bit into his meat neatly and chewed for a while. "I shall have to consider, as the one who taught me was both an experienced healer and a teacher."
"And you are neither?"
Green eyes narrowed. "That, I believe, was definitely an insult."
"Not at all," Glóin retorted pointedly. "Merely an objective observation, based upon experience."
"Hmmmm."
Enjoy!
"A single change of clothing, armor and weapons - by you, this was adequate travel provisions?" Thranduil grumbled. Aduial tossed his head and pranced, apparently just as grumpy and difficult to work with as the Elf who owned him.
"Ai! Hold this monster to a sedate walk!" Glóin's grasp on Thranduil's belt tightened. "I would rather arrive in Osgiliath without broken bones or bruises from falling and hitting rocks on the way down, or being bounced around and scrambling my brains."
"The latter will not be difficult, as much is already scrambled inside that hairy excuse for a…"
"You can insult me all you want. But I, at least, could carry about my own belongings. Had you been as frugal, we wouldn't need an extra horse - one that you now are content to just let follow us around." By Mahal! Did the Elf do nothing but complain?
"Saerôl knows her duty. Besides, clothing is not all that was packed, and well you know it. What is more, with only one change of clothing, we would not have been able to bathe often, or be presentable at official functions once we arrive…"
Glóin shook his head. "Look, despite your having to load up that horse behind us, I got you out of your Hall without those fifteen warriors, didn't I?" The Elf continually seemed to forget that, just as he seemed more than willing to trust that the horse with far too many bundles tied to its back would follow along like a tamed pup.
"I am still reconsidering the wisdom of this entire venture," was the retort.
Glóin snorted. "Complain all you want, Elf, but all those fancy clothes and everything else you and your butler wanted to pack are on that other beast behind us, along with enough food to last us a week, even if we don't fish or hunt along the way. And we managed to get both beasts out of the barn without raising suspicions…"
"Barely."
"Blame your magnificent, temperamental, war-mule here for nearly giving us away!"
"Aduial was but greeting me. Had we…"
"Greeting you?" Glóin shook his head and laughed. "Sounding the silver trumpet of battle would have been less noisy. I remember the sounds of those things, you know." He looked around him suspiciously and into the trees as far as he could see. "And you say there are no more spiders?"
"No, I did not say that there were no more spiders," Thranduil's voice sounded condescending. "I said that the spiders would not bother us. Their area is to the north of here…"
"You know where they are, and you let them alone?" Glóin was shocked.
"Of course we know where they are. They are the backbone of much of our economy, however, so we do not, as you say, leave them alone."
"What do you get from spiders?" Did he really want to know this?
"What do you think we get from spiders?" Thranduil tossed back brusquely. "Webs."
Glóin's mouth dropped open. "Why am I not surprised," he quipped snidely, the moment he recovered enough from his shock. "Folk who make their homes in trees and talk to squirrels would naturally have spider webs as the… how did you put it… 'backbone of your economy.' How you manage to pay for that wine you drink…"
The movement of the horse came to a sudden halt, and Glóin's face impacted the back of Thranduil's tunic. "Do you hear me criticizing or making sport of the mining skills of the Dwarves, Master Glóin?" Thranduil had half turned about and looked down at him with disdain.
Glóin glared back up at him unrepentantly, rubbing his sore nose with a hand not needed to hang on for a moment. "Spider webs?" was all he said, his voice still skeptical.
"Obviously you have never studied the manner in which silk is produced."
"Inasmuch Dwarves do not wear silk…"
"Ever?" The golden eyebrows had risen quite high on Thranduil's forehead.
No. Glóin was not going to admit that some of the women living under the Mountain liked the feel of silken undergarments. "Hardly ever," he hedged. "Anyway, what does silk have to do with spiderwebs?"
Thranduil huffed and put Aduial back into motion. "Silk thread is what one gets when one processes spider webs and egg casings a certain way. It then can be woven…"
Glóin quickly reaffixed his hand to the King's belt before he lost his balance. "I see." He actually did, and hated to admit to himself that making a profit off of the discards of one of the ugly creatures the Dark Lord had turned loose in the forest was nothing short of genius. He shuddered. "I'm glad I don't have to be part of the collection party."
"That is why we wait until such things are discarded," Thranduil stated as if to a child. "That way, we do not have to defend ourselves from attack. As a matter of fact, however, of late we have been providing small prey to those spiders we know of, and encouraging them to build webs. Then, in the autumn, when the weather takes care of the adults, we wait."
"You mean those huge spiders that the Dark Lord sent into your woods don't last the winter?" Again Glóin's mouth hung open.
"Those spiders are no more." Thranduil's voice was flat and made the hairs stand up on the back of Glóin's neck. "The ones that we now feed are their smaller, less aggressive cousins. At least, we think they are cousins."
"Leave it to an Elf to wonder about the geneology of the forest fauna," Glóin grumbled with a shake of the head.
"Leave it to a Dwarf to make fun of another race's treasure," Thranduil tossed back. "Perhaps I should see if Aduial wouldn't enjoy a good trot, just to break the monotony of…"
"No, no. I'm certain that maintaining breeding records for arachnids is a perfectly reasonable and very wise pastime for wood Elves. Just as a nice, steady walk is surely quite relaxing to your…" Glóin could feel Thranduil stiffen for another insult to the horse they were riding and decided that perhaps a little concession in that direction wouldn't go amiss either. "…magnificent steed."
"Hmfph! You are hanging on tightly, are you not?"
Glóin felt his heart sink, and he refreshed his hold on the embroidered leather belt. "I am now. WhyEEEEEE!"
Aduial leapt forward into a swift run that made the trees of the woods on either side of the path they'd been following blur. Thoroughly rattled and utterly frustrated with his impotence at the moment, all Glóin could do was hang on for dear life as a landscape that would have taken hours to traverse at a more sane pace flew past in mere moments. He could see very little of it, however, for all of Thranduil's golden hair brushing his face and getting caught in his beard and on his eyebrows. Any thought of yelling out a complaint died the moment he opened his mouth to shout at Thranduil and ended up with more of the golden stuff halfway down his throat, making him cough and sputter.
He was grateful he had his hands so tightly wrapped in the belt when he heard the horses' hooves strike bare, hardened dirt, because they then made a sudden and abrupt left turn that would have tossed him into the bushes otherwise. The Elf, with a wild call of pure glee, merely leaned forward slightly and let the horse speed up even more. Glóin buried his face against Thranduil's back and closed his eyes, certain that he was going to be dead in but a few moments more. He was determined to stick to the Elvenking like a burr until they both had their feet on the ground again, however, whereupon he would make the vicious creature pay.
The torture seemed to go on forever before, finally, Aduial slowed down to a canter, and then a trot and finally back to a sedate walk. Thranduil, laughing heartily, leaned forward and patted the stallion's neck fondly. Glóin, barely daring believe that he had survived, was coming to discover that his fingers were locked and virtually frozen around the belt. "Are you daft?" he demanded after coughing out the last of the dryness from his mouth caused first by terror and only secondly from hair down his throat.
"Not at all, Master Dwarf. Aduial was aching for a good run, and we have now traversed a good league or so that would have taken us hours at the pace we were going." Thranduil chuckled and tapped at Glóin's fingers. "You need not hang on so tightly for now, as it would be better if he walked for a bit before we stop for water and some food."
"Let go, he says," Glóin grumbled into his beard as he felt the horse start forward again at the placid, smooth pace from before. "I'm trying to let go! I have heard of being frozen in terror, and I believe my fingers are still terrified!"
Thranduil threw his head back and laughed long and hard. "That was exhilarating, was it not? I have not had occasion to let him have his head like that in many years." But the Elf was finally doing something helpful and working at prying Glóin's fingers loose. "After a few days, you should be convinced of his skill at not losing his riders." He readjusted the belt as well as the tunic it held in place. "Now we can investigate what Galion managed to pack for us as far as provender is…"
"You did that on purpose!" Glóin bellowed, still having to work his sore fingers by pushing at them with a forearm to break the muscles free. "You're mad!"
When the stallion finally halted again, Thranduil threw his leg over Aduial's neck and slid to the ground effortlessly. "Do not be such a sour soul. And come down from there - a walk will do you as much good as it did Aduial."
Glóin looked down at the ground from his perch with clear reservations. "It is a long way down, Master Elf."
"Oh, for…" Thranduil shook his head and grabbed onto Glóin's arm and gave a tug. He didn't let go, however, so still had hold of him when legs that barely were willing to hold him up made Glóin stagger. "Now, walk about for a while, and get the blood flowing again."
"I'd give you blood flowing, were my fingers not so stiff that I couldn't hold an axe if I tried," Glóin growled back. "You're right, we will have most likely tried to kill each other at least once by the time we reach Ithilien. Personally, my attempt on you will come after I can finally do more than waddle about like an infant just out of swaddling. ARGH!" he cried, a hand on his backside.
"Walk, Master Glóin. Trust me when I tell you it is the best cure for the stiffness that comes from not spending half enough time in the saddle before such a journey as this." Thranduil stretched his own back, and then leaned forward to stretch the other way before straightening and putting a hand to his own nether regions. "I too suffer from the lack."
Glóin's brows rose. "You?" He snorted in derision. "I thought Elves were in perfect harmony with their horses."
"I may be in harmony with Aduial mind to mind, but my hind quarters are far more in harmony with my throne than a saddle. It is, I fear, an occupational hazard," the Elvenking tossed back and began walking in a slightly stiff-legged gait to the pack horse. "Now, if Galion packed as I requested of him, we both have something that will help with the ache."
"Pillows?"
Thranduil snorted. "Not hardly. There should be both skins of wine and skins of ale somewhere in this mess. I did consider you when making requests of what provisions to bring along."
"Ale?" Glóin perked up, despite himself. "I take it back. Perhaps having a pack horse with all that gear wasn't such a bad idea after all."
Thranduil seemed to ignore him. "If we are wise, we will each take no more than a few good swallows. It would not do to spend the afternoon inebriated." He untied the first pack's flap and threw it up over the pack horse's back. "We should each carry our weapons from here on as well; there is no guarantee that my scouts might have missed a spider's nest or two."
"And only now you think to mention this?" Glóin shook his head. "Up until now, did you think we were going to be able to talk our way out of being made lunch, or that our good looks would count for anything?"
"Considering that the Dark Lord is no more, one might expect them to be more amenable to persuasion from an Elf, if good looks hold any sway," Thranduil offered with a wicked grin. "They might even be interested in joining their smaller kin in a place where they would be fed and cared for and no longer hunted."
Glóin guffawed. "Of course they would."
"You doubt me?"
"Never!" Glóin had his hands in the air in mock horror. "If there's one thing I'm learning, it is never to argue with an Elf who thinks he's right."
Thranduil looked at him through narrowed eyes, and then tossed a full skin in his direction. "I do believe that was an insult."
"Not at all, merely an observation based on ongoing experience." Glóin pulled the cork on the skin and sniffed, then pounded the cork back in and tossed it back. "That's wine!"
"So?"
"Discerning Dwarves do not drink wine unless that is all that's available. And you said there was ale somewhere in that mess."
"True. I would imagine that appreciating wine takes a more discerning palate. Here. Try this one." Another wineskin was tossed in Glóin's direction.
He pulled the cork, sniffed, smiled and took a long swallow. "Much better! On the contrary. It's well-known that wine-drinking kills the ability to taste properly."
"At least it does not stunt the growth."
"No, it merely puts one's head in the clouds and gives one delusions that they can speak at will to animals and plants in the vicinity."
Thranduil paused with the wineskin halfway to his lips. "It is no delusion, Master Dwarf."
"Take your draught and then see what your man packed to eat. I don't know about you, but the walls of my stomach are rubbing together." Glóin took one more swallow of the warm ale that helped soothe the dry, scratchy throat and then corked the skin again. He put his hands to his aching hips and took a few agonized steps before he ground to a halt again. "Gimli must be mad to have agreed to travel in this manner after the Quest was finished, or made of sterner stuff to not have ended up lame!"
"Hold a moment," Thranduil said from behind him, and then Glóin felt an arm wrap around his upper chest, and another hand pressing into his lower back.
"What in the name of…" He began to struggle.
"Hold still!" Thranduil snarled at him. "I can help…"
"By assaulting me?" Glóin tried to jerk away, but the Elf's hold on him was quite secure, and that hand on his lower back was growing warm! "Fire and stone! What are you doing?"
"It is just a little trick I learned from… Hey!"
Glóin finally spun out of the Elvenking's grasp and backed away, only belatedly realizing that his back felt much better. "I must admit, it does feel better; but I'd appreciate some warning next time before you try something like that."
Thranduil huffed and walked slowly - his own stiffness obviously still unrelieved - back to the side of the pack pony. "One would think you do not trust me, Master Dwarf."
"One would be right." Glóin twisted this way and that, amazed that so much of his stiffness had been eased by so little effort. "Who did you say you learned that from again?"
"I did not say, and I think I shall keep my own counsel for the moment." The Elf pulled out a dagger and sliced a thin strip from a slab of dried meat, and then pulled two apples from the bundle. "Here. This should keep us going until evening."
Glóin walked up to him and eyed him warily for a long moment, and then held out his hand for the food. "Thank you. And thank you for your 'help.' It may have been a bit… unexpected… but whatever you did, helped," he admitted with some reluctance. "Is it a skill you can teach to the Dwarves?"
"I have no idea," Thranduil said with a blink, then finished getting his own slice of meat and stepped away from the horses to sink into the lush grass with a grunt and a grimace. "And why would the Dwarves need an Elven healing skill?"
Glóin took the time to find a nearby stump to sit on. "Obviously you've never spent the entire day either working a rock face or forging a weapon." He stuck the strip of meat in his mouth and had to resist the urge to growl while worrying a bite from it.
"Obviously." The wry tone of Thranduil's voice brought him up to look at the Elvenking. Thranduil nodded the moment he saw he had Glóin's attention. "Under normal circumstance, I leave the business of the forge to talented smiths. It is one of the benefits of being royalty, and not a common laborer. However, your point is sound."
"Was that an insult?"
"Not at all; merely an objective observation based upon a great deal of experience."
By the fires of Mahal, this Elf was harder to deal with as time went by! But Glóin refused to be deflected. "So? Will you teach this skill to the Dwarves?"
Golden eyebrows climbed high on the brow. "And by 'the Dwarves' I take it you mean you?"
Glóin waved his ale-skin around him. "I don't see anyone else here, do you?"
"We do not even know if you have any talents in this direction. This skill does not manifest out of thin air, you understand." Thranduil bit into his meat neatly and chewed for a while. "I shall have to consider, as the one who taught me was both an experienced healer and a teacher."
"And you are neither?"
Green eyes narrowed. "That, I believe, was definitely an insult."
"Not at all," Glóin retorted pointedly. "Merely an objective observation, based upon experience."
"Hmmmm."