[Amanaduial the archer]

Flori was on his feet in a second, his hand on one of the small throwing axes in his belt. "Stand and speak in the open, elf. Hidden words and darker threats do not come well towards a group who mean you no harm."

"I'm not too bloody sure about that now-" Balin muttered, bristling. Flori restrained the urge to turn around and glare at him. There was silence from the undergrowth though, the great dead silence of the living trees that seemed to hem the dwarves in, forcing them in oppresively. "Stand and speak, people of Thranduil! Our company means no harm to those who will deal civily!"

Again there came that mocking, silvery laugh and the whisper of voices that seemed to ripple from every shadow, sending an involuntary shiver through the group of dwarves and the hairs on Flori's neck began to rise. But although these elves knew the forest better than their own palms, they had forgotten one important thing about dwarves: when you spend so much time in the dark, certain things begin to happen to your night and shadow vision. Flori spotted a movement at the edge of his vision, just behind Balin, and didn't hesitate before he leapt for it - there was no room for subtelty when their honour was being infringed upon and they were being intimidated by a bunch of no-good, cowardly miscreants, the dregs of the forest who thought they ruled it just because they had flamin' pointy ears....

"Stay still, y' pointy eared little devil-" Flori growled as he pulled the scruff of the elf's collar down to his level, forcing to to it's knees while it was surprised and holding the blade of the throwing axe to it's bared throat.

"No, dwarf, you hold still." The mocking tone of the voice was gone now and a cold hard texture had replaced it. "Let our companion go or your friends shall regret it, especially Balin son of Fundin and the other who has passed here before-"

"Harm one hair on my brother's head and all the immortal blood in the world won't save you," replied Flori darkly, now truly incensed, but a small part of his brain was battling for reason. He took a deep breath and added quietly, "Come out from where you hide, tell us your names, and I will let your companion go."

An exchange of whispers flew across the air above the dwarves, before there was a subtle feel of change in the air and a second later, a tall, handsome elf stepped from the shadows in front of Flori, his dark eyes fixed upon Flori and an arrow notched easily in his bow. Something about his proud stance (proud even for an elf), fine clothes and the air of casual assurance told Flori that he was not addressing any mere elf. The elf's answer confirmed this. "I will not be questioned in my own forest, dwarf," the prince's quiet reply came.

Flori smiled very slightly and let the other elf's collar go, allowing him to scramble from his knees to stand on one side of the princely elf. He nodded his head civily although he did not return the small axe to his belt. "Your majesty," he said softly. The elf looked slightly surprised and his hand relaxed slightly on the bowstring, before he was all suspicion again. "Are you spies to know about us, dwarf?"

"My name is Flori Bronzeshield, Prince, and I am nothing of the sort. We are merely passing through," Flori replied civilly. His dislike for the elf was still quite intense but it had lessened slightly - for one thing, the elf was not looking down on him even though his gaze would ordinarily have been fixed several feet above Flori's head. He was looking at Flori like an equal. Good that we have that straight then...

"You asked no permission to pass through from my father, Flori Bronzeshield. Tell me, where is it that you and your companions go that you will infringe so easily upon the boundaries of the elven kingdom, especially after your kin's last attempt to trespass on Elvish soil?" came the level reply.

Flori hesitated, glancing discreetly at his brother to catch his eye in askance of what to reply. Last time they had been taught another valuable lesson - that the elves were after all that they could get even, or especially, when they had no right to it: when the dragon Smaug was killed, the elves had asked for 'their share of the treasure', the treasure which was in no way theirs and which they had done nothing for. What was to say that they would not do the same again once Moria was reclaimed and the mines started up within it. What shall we tell him?