Chapter Text
Bard had been furious when one of his men had informed him that Thranduil had been overheard ordering a recall of his troops intending to leave Dale and Erebor to their fates. The man had barely finished speaking when Bard had all but marched into the elven encampment, and made his way through Thranduil’s guards without pause. Those same guards had taken a step forward when Bard had raised his voice at their king, but a silent gesture from Thranduil made them step back. Bard himself had been surprised by the tone of his voice and that he had dared speak to a king like that, but the initial betrayal and disappointment he had felt had overridden any sense of courtesy.
Thranduil had looked at him in surprise but had let Bard talk himself out before responding, “Do not speak about things you cannot possibly understand. I am quite familiar with the pain of losing your people, Dragonslayer. And I have seen far more death in my time than you could imagine,” Thranduil’s voice was colder and more pained than Bard had heard it before, no arrogance, no flowing words, just the voice of a king who had seen his people march into battle and fall upon the weapons of their enemy by the order of their king.
Bard had turned around and left, afraid that he might say something he would regret.
——
Later that evening, Bard had found himself standing upon the parapet overlooking the fields between Dale and Erebor, scattered pyres already burning in an attempt to rid the land of the dead orcs, goblins, and other creatures that had marched against them. He had heard footsteps approaching and had been surprised when he turned his head to see Thranduil coming to stand next to him. Clearly, the elf had made an effort to make his footfalls heard instead of announcing his presence through speech.
They had stood in silence, still staring into the distance, until Bard finally spoke and turned to look at Thranduil, “Explain it to me.”
“Explain what exactly?” The king had replied eyebrow raised.
“Why you almost left? What you meant by having seen more death than I could imagine?” Bard replied agitation still clear in his voice, “Pick one. Make me understand.”
When Thranduil didn’t look like he was about to start talking Bard let out a breath and forced himself to speak more calmly. “I know you are older than I or the oldest of my people, or any dwarf in Erebor for that matter. And I obviously don’t know how many centuries you’ve seen come and go. I don’t know the histories of the world the way that you, your people, or anyone learned would, but I would like to understand why you almost made that decision.”
Thranduil remained quiet for a moment looking at Bard, before he spoke, “In many ways, you and I are not so different. Long ago, when men and elves last fought united against a great evil, I watched my father die and our armies cut down. And I was made king amid a battle, not unlike you. Following that, I returned home with but a fraction of our armies,” Thranduil’s face was as unexpressive as when he had argued with Thorin just yesterday, but his voice betrayed his emotions as he spoke, “Today I once again saw the blood of too many my people spilt upon a battlefield. It has been millennia, but we have still not recovered fully from the losses dealt us then.”
“Thank you for telling me,” Bard said not knowing what else to say and hiding his surprise at both Thranduil’s openness and the revelation that he was standing in front of someone who had been not only alive but also a king for at least a few thousand years.
When Bard turned to leave, Thranduil reached out and took hold of Bard’s upper arm, “I do not expect you to understand my reasons, but I will not apologise for wanting to protect my people. A sentiment I am certain you have no difficulties understanding.”
Meeting Thranduil’s gaze, Bard simply nodded, before looking down at the hand still clasped around his arm, which made Thranduil let go.
“Goodnight, my lord,” Bard said, promptly turning around and walking away from the Elvenking.
Thinking back, Bard knew that was the first time he was allowed a glimpse of the person, Thranduil, behind the outwardly impersonal King of the Woodland Realm.
——
In the days after the battle, Bard had found time passing quickly. Most of the time he found himself surrounded by people, being pulled from one meeting to the next. He had accompanied Thranduil to the funerals held in Erebor, as they had shown what last respects they could to Thorin and his nephews, who after all was said and done had fallen defending their people. Men, elves and dwarves had banded together to clear the battlefield, and put to rest their fallen, while the orcs and other foul creatures had been disposed of by pure physical determination from men, elves and dwarves, and whatever magic Gandalf still had to spare.
In the weeks that followed, deals had been struck with Dain. And Bard found himself crowned King, a title he had never asked for nor wanted. But the people had chosen, and he had reluctantly accepted. The elves and, more importantly, Thranduil had stayed behind long enough to ensure that Dale would make it through the winter. The elves had been aloof but friendly to the people of Dale, and Bard had been grateful for the fast and unlikely friendship that had sprung up between himself and the mercurial Elvenking. The dwarves had seemed vary of Thranduil, but while Bard knew of the temper of the king of Mirkwood, he had never truly seen it directed towards him.
These last few months, the people of Dale had settled into their new lives and salvaged what they could after a dragon and a war decimated their lives and homes. And during that time, Bard had sent many a grateful thought towards Mirkwood. Without Thranduil’s advice and guidance in those early days, Bard did not think he would have made it through the transition from a common bargeman to a king, as ridiculous as that still sounded to him. The many conversations between himself and Thranduil had, unknown to Bard at the time, prepared him as well as they could for the duties that now befell him. He had seen how Thranduil had treated his people with respect, but the firmness of a ruler, and how he had received respect in return. Bard understood how Thranduil could appear ruthless and cold to some, but he also knew that he first and foremost wished to ensure the safety of his people.
When messengers arrived at Bard’s doorstep carrying messages from distant lands before winter had tightened its grip, he handled it as best he could. Staying on friendly terms with other kingdoms was important, for now, no matter how much some of the messages had infuriated Bard. His people were still vulnerable, even with allies like Erebor and Mirkwood at their backs, and Thranduil had offered up his own advice and told him, “You do not need to be the friend of all, you need only to ensure that you do not become their enemy. Do not forget, Dragonslayer, that although some kings may have ruled longer, you are now their equal. And unlike many rulers in Middle-Earth, your people chose you rather than have your rule thrust upon them.”
At times, Bard had wanted to throw some of those letters right into the fire and send their carriers away without reply, but remembering Thranduil’s words, he had formulated polite responses, even to those who had been brazened enough to suggest that he might want to forge new alliances through marriage of himself or one of his children. Those particular messages had been returned with a politely but sharply phrased explanation that he was far too concerned with building a new life for his people and that his children were free to choose their own paths in life.
——
The winter, naturally, had been long and mostly isolated for the people of Dale. The dwarves had helped rebuild parts of Dale to provide shelter throughout the winter, but when the snow had made travel treacherous and cumbersome, they had understandably retreated into the mountain and begun rebuilding their reclaimed kingdom. The elves had brought supplies and news to Dale every once in a while and occasionally supplies were exchanged between Dale and Erebor. Bard had very little doubt in his mind that this was Dain's attempt to restart trade between Dale and the mountain, while acquiring fresher produce than could be transported from the Iron Hills all the while allowing Dain to ignore Thranduil and avoid any further dealings with the elves for the time being, which made Bard shake his head at the thought.
How two people, as old as Thranduil and Dain respectively, could act so much like children, was still beyond him. And there had been times in the meetings between them after the battle that Bard had felt more like a parent trying to maintain the peace than a third party in the negotiations, so much so that at times he had barely held back a laugh at the levels of pettiness expressed by Dain and Thranduil, before finally attempting to break up the verbal sparing. Dain had been as stubborn and as immovable as the bedrock beneath the halls of Erebor, while Thranduil’s biting remarks had been spoken as sharply and deliberately as he had wielded his weapons in battle.
While contact between the kingdoms had been sparse, Bard had still received the occasional raven from Erebor or one of the dwarves of Thorin’s company would make their way to Dale with news and missives. Although Bard was beginning to suspect that especially Bofur and Ori used it as an excuse to visit Bard and his children. Elven messengers had regularly arrived from the forest carrying letters from Thranduil, with the messengers instructed to stay in Dale to await Bard’s reply.
Any news from Thranduil had been a welcome reprieve for Bard. At first, the letters had stayed formal, but Bard had grown to consider the Elvenking a friend. Which, had you told him that only 6 months ago, when he had been in charge of hauling barrels back and forth between Mirkwood and Laketown, he would have laughed in your face, and told you to lay off the ale. But Thranduil, though mercurial and seemingly unapproachable, had proved an interesting and engaging conversation partner, and Bard had found himself fascinated with the elf, who in many ways seemed a lot like himself, despite being older than Bard could even fathom. He had seen the rise and fall of not just kingdoms, but at least one age of the world, while Bard had seen very little outside of Laketown until Smaug laid waste to the town.
Thranduil’s letters once as direct and to the point as the elf himself had slowly softened in tone and Bard looked forward to the arrival of every one of them. They had provided a bright moment in the gloominess of winter, and in his responses to Thranduil, he had felt no need to spin his words and make polite correspondence.
——
Just this morning, a new letter had arrived carrying Thranduil’s seal. The elf who had brought it had been unfamiliar to Bard, but polite and respectful when he had handed over the letter. Bard had pointed the elf in the direction of a hot meal and a warm hearth, while he wrote out a reply to Thranduil.
The letter was longer than usual, he noticed when he broke the seal, and Bard smiled seeing the informal greeting that Thranduil had finally deigned to use.
Bard,
I am pleased to hear that your family have made it through the winter unscathed and that the people of Dale are still in good spirits.
The winter has seemed longer to me this year than it has in decades. A sense of grief still lingers among my people. The loss brought on by war and the awakening of a dragon seems a heavy burden still, and I believe the turning of the seasons will help lift the spirits of my people. I, for one, am glad that I can once again feel life returning to my forest, despite the darkness that clings to it still.
As I am sending this letter, I am certain that you too have received a letter carrying Dain's request that a meeting be held in Erebor in two weeks, when the frost should have lifted fully. Although, I dare say it felt more like a summons than a request.
At this Bard chuckled, he had indeed received a letter from Dain this very morning. Dain had requested a meeting between the three kingdoms, which had been on Bard's mind as well. The smile on his face did not fade, as he continued reading, chuckling here and there at Thranduil’s pointed comments.
I will allow that a meeting is prudent, now that winter is finally drawing to an end. I do not however appreciate being all but summoned by the whims of a dwarf. However, be that as it may, I informed Dain this morning that I will arrive in Dale in ten days, and he may plan his meeting for the next. I will agree to meet in that damnable mountain, for now. However, I will not deign myself to stay in those once dragon-infested halls and rely on the hospitality of Dain. As such, I hope I do not presume too much in considering myself welcome within the walls of Dale on such short notice.
Further, I would encourage you to think of what you might wish to gain from the meeting with Dain, and what Dale might be able to offer the dwarves in return. The Greenwood will assist in the efforts of your people to rebuild, but I am not too proud to admit that not many elves or men have skills of stonework that rival that of the dwarves. Dain will most likely offer help, if nothing else his pride will not allow him to let me be the only one offering the help of builders. But if I know anything in dealing with dwarves you will get more help and greater craftsmanship if you offer them something in exchange for their skills.
I hope to see you in good health ten days from now.
Thranduil
——
Bard leaned back in his chair. Ten days and Thranduil would ride through the city gates again, and this time it wouldn’t be in the wake of disaster with another bound soon to follow. In ten days, he would once again get to see the elf that he had grown to think of as a friend, and Bard was suddenly unsure why that made his heart race in his chest.
Drawing in a breath, Bard let his eyes skim through the letter once more, his fingers subconsciously tracing over Thranduil’s signature. The letter was remarkably informal for him, and Bard felt a smile tugging at his lips once again at Thranduil greeting him simply by his first name. Bard’s knowledge of polite and diplomatic correspondence was lacking at best, and most of it he had learned from the limited time he had spent with Thranduil or by emulating the language of those writing to him. But even he recognised the breach in formalities. It was more like how a friend would address another, rather than a king addressing the ruler of an allied kingdom.
He allowed himself a moment to gather his thoughts before finally putting pen to paper and writing out a response.
Thranduil,
My people, too, are happy that winter is turning to spring, and every day they grow more eager to begin rebuilding. Much of the rubble has already been cleared, and small repairs have begun here and there. And just the other day the first group set out from Dale to nearby lands to trade and bring back supplies we sorely need. Everyone is doing what they can to prepare for the planting of crops as soon as possible, and every day I see more boats built and made ready for fishing and trade. And I only hope that I can live up to the trust they have placed in me.
This morning I found myself looking out from the western parapets, the smoke of Erebor rising in the North and the fog of the early morning hanging heavy over the treetops of your realm, and I was reminded of how much has changed since my last spring. My people have lost much and yet I see them endure and grow every day. We are a hardy people, but without the help of Greenwood, I fear Dale would now be empty once again and many more of my people perished.
I do not like to say this too often, but you are right. I received a letter from Dain this morning shortly before your messenger arrived. And I am glad to have received word from you before Dain’s raven returns to pester me for a reply. I agree that a meeting is due, and I will attend on any day the kings of Greenwood and Erebor can agree on.
You and any of your people will always be welcome in Dale, as you well know. Although the town is not much more rebuilt than when you left, and I fear we cannot offer you much in terms of lodging, nonetheless you are welcome in our city for as long as you wish.
I look forward to welcoming you back to Dale in a time of peace.
Bard
——
On the morning of Thranduil’s arrival a short 10 days later, Bard had made what preparations he could. A messenger arrived three days after he had sent his reply to Thranduil. This time the letter had been short and had only confirmed the day of Thranduil’s arrival along with only a small group of his people. Bard had also been assured that he did not need to concern himself with lodging, Thranduil and his group would ensure their own. This Bard had taken to mean that Thranduil had intended to set up their tents like last time, and as such a space had been cleared for them close to the house that had been rebuilt enough to serve as a home for Bard and his family during the winter.
A strange sense of joy and nervousness had made itself known to Bard now that he knew when he could once again expect to see the Elvenking in person. It was an odd feeling, one which he remained unsure of how to name. Nonetheless, he looked forward to the arrival of the elves, and so did the rest of his people, if the bustle in town was anything to go by. Bard’s children too had seemed eager for the elves to return, Tilda had even gone so far as to insist that this time they must be allowed to meet Thranduil more than in passing. The other two, of course, had been quick to agree.
The sun was high in the sky, but the wind was still cold as it swept in from the lake, and Bard pulled his coat closer around his body, as a voice from the top of the wall called out to him.
“My lord! I see them. They are approaching the causeway.”
Bard looked up and waved in acknowledgement, “Thank you, Godfrey.”
His children were still inside, but they too must have heard Godfrey calling out, because when Bard opened the door to call for them, Sigrid was already helping Tilda into her coat, and Bain was jumping on one foot trying to pull on a boot.
“I see that you heard, then,” Bard said and couldn’t hold back a chuckle.
“Bain, sit down before you fall down,” he said pointing toward a chair before saying “Let me, darlin’” as he took Tilda’s coat from Sigrid leaving her free to put on her outerwear.
Bard had only the vaguest of ideas of what was deemed an appropriate way to welcome another king to his lands, but as he was choosing his way of leading his people, he had decided that he was free to welcome any guest in his city as he saw fit, which included his children at his side.
——
Thranduil and his company rode through the city gates, which were amazingly still standing as they had held through the battle. The silver circlet upon Thranduil’s head gleamed in the sunlight, only rivalled by the way the light caught in his hair. He was dressed for travel, rather than battle as he had been the last time Bard had welcomed him within the city walls, in a dark cloak with silver stitched borders and clothing in muted colours, though no less opulent than usual.
Bard spoke and offered a polite nod as Thranduil dismounted, “My lord Thranduil, I welcome you to Dale.”
Thranduil returned the nod, a hand on his chest that Bard belatedly remembered as the elvish greeting, “Thank you, King Bard, I’m pleased to see your family and your people in good health.”
“Thank you,” Bard replied, momentarily startled to hear that title spoken by Thranduil, as he gestured towards his children, “Last time did not lend itself to proper introductions, but these are my children, Sigrid, Bain, and Tilda.”
Bard pointed to each child in turn, as both girls curtsied and Bain gave a small bow, just like Hilda had insisted they learn only a few days before, as Sigrid took a small step forward and spoke, “Welcome to Dale, King Thranduil, myself and my siblings thank you for all you have done for us and our people.”
Thranduil bowed his head in turn, “Thank you, Lady Sigrid. I am pleased to be back and to finally make the acquaintance of yourself and your siblings. Your father speaks of you all with pride,” he smiled slightly at the look of surprise on Bard’s face, which made Tilda giggle.
Clearing his throat Bard spoke again gesturing to his left, “And this is Hilda, my counsellor, and Percy, captain of the city watch, such as we have one, without whom I could not do the job my people trust me to do.”
Thranduil greeted them both in turn, and Bard smiled at the surprised and proud looks of his two friends who truly had been invaluable in the survival of their people.