Post by Admin on Jan 4, 2021 2:14:12 GMT
Author: LegolasLover2003
Rating: PG
Summary: Set during "The Hobbit" and "The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies", Thranduil's tent in Dale becomes the center of discussions regarding what to do about a mad Dwarf, the blind obsession of an Elvenking, if an army of Orcs are really on the move, and the whereabouts of a son gone missing.
Of course this was how it would be. Why would the Elvenking of Mirkwood have thought such a meeting to proceed any differently? Wizards did seem, as a rule, too eager to spoil any fun and certainly from Thranduil’s point of view, smashing in a few Dwarven heads sounded like an enjoyable afternoon. He had, obviously, had enough of the stubborn stout people and was quite ready to go to war over the gems he had been long promised. After all, it was but a handful of Dwarves… and he had an entire army at his beck and call.
“You must set aside your petty grievances with the Dwarves.” Gandalf was saying, though for the moment being, Thranduil was hardly paying him any mind at all.
The Elvenking glanced up at Bard, a bowman and fisherman of the newly destroyed Lake-Town. He stood next to the makeshift throne that Thranduil had comfortably perched himself upon for the duration of this endeavor. Of course the blond Elf couldn’t help the slight rolling of his eyes as the wizard droned on and on. However, from Thranduil’s perspective, Bard seemed more troubled by Gandalf’s words and alarm than he really should have been.
“War is coming!”
That caught Thranduil’s attention somewhat and he looked back to Gandalf, sitting a tad bit straighter upon his throne, though still reclined, relaxed, and perfectly comfortable and content to remain such.
“The cesspits of Dol Guldur have been emptied. You’re all in mortal danger.” Gandalf continued, the wizard looking directly at both Elf and man as he spoke.
Bard however, seemed to the Elvenking, to buy into Gandalf’s words of death and destruction. “What are you talking about?” the bowman asked curiously.
Sighing inwardly, Thranduil stood from his throne and walked over to a small table which held a carafe and a pair of cups. He began to pour the rich red Dorwinion wine as he spoke. “I can see you know nothing of wizards.” The Elvenking said, a slight smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. The comment was obviously directed to the bowman near at hand. “They are like a winter thunder on a wild wind rolling in from a distance…” Thranduil handed one of the cups to Bard, but took the other for himself. He did not, however, offer Gandalf a drink at all. “…breaking hard in alarm. But sometimes a storm…” his calculating and confident blue gaze fell upon the wizard. “…is just a storm.”
“Not this time.” Gandalf pushed the matter defiantly.
Thranduil couldn’t help looking away as the obstinate nature of Mithrandir shone brilliantly through.
“Armies of Orcs are on the move. These are fighters. They have been bred for war. Our enemy has summoned his full strength.” Gandalf continued, to which the Elvenking suddenly gave him his full attention once more.
In all honesty, Thranduil hardly believed a word of this. Orcs armies… from where? It was as if Gandalf expected the filth to start dropping from the sky come dawn! However… the words concerning the enemy troubled him… and for a brief moment, the Elf decided to truly humor the wizard. After all, it had been but a few days since he held an Orc captive in his very own throne room… an Orc that spoke of ‘The One’.
“Why show his hand now?” Thranduil asked suddenly, setting down the cup of wine that had been in his hands, untouched, even now.
As if in answer to that question, Gandalf became far more animated. Apparently the wizard thought he might be getting his point across… however at the moment, all he was proving to the Elvenking was that his alarm was great… real or imagined as it may be.
“Because we forced him.” Spoke the old man. “We forced him when the company of Thorin Oakenshield set out to reclaim their homeland.”
Before Thranduil could kindly point out that he had forced nothing in this particular instance and that, in fact, this was entirely the fault of the grey bearded wizard, Gandalf was on the move and heading out of the Elvenking’s tent.
“The dwarves were never meant to reach Erebor. Azog the Defiler was sent to kill them. His master seeks control of the mountain.” Gandalf continued, and of course both Thranduil and Bard followed him out of the tent and ascended the small stone steps to the overlook at the edge of Dale.
Laid out before them, was the Lonely Mountain and the Dwarven Gate into Erebor. However, holed up behind the blocking stone of the gate was now a handful of Dwarves… and not a one, apparently, who was interested in parting with the treasure that had been promised.
“Not just for the treasure within but for where it lies, its strategic position. This is the gateway to reclaiming the lands of Angmar in the north.” Turning to Elf and man, Gandalf looked upon them grimly. “If that fell kingdom should rise again Rivendell, Lorien, the Shire, even Gondor itself will fall.”
Thranduil lifted his head slightly. These words did not sit well upon his heart… and in truth he could not discern if what the wizard spoke was truth or mere fear alone. “These Orc armies you speak of, Mithrandir… where are they?” When Gandalf could not answer such a question, the Elvenking pressed further. “I see no Orc armies. Nothing lies in that vast expanse of desolation. If the enemy were on the move, I would have heard of it by now. No…” Thranduil moved past Gandalf then, his blue gaze piercing as he looked upon Erebor’s gate in the distance. “He would have done better to have remained my guest.” The Elvenking looked back to the wizard then. “It is an ill wind, all the same, that blows no one any good.”
Before the wizard could reply, Thranduil passed him once more and descended the steps, his boots making not a sound upon the stone. He entered his tent, taking up the set aside cup and returning to the comfort of his throne. However, much to his chagrin, the wizard followed…
“Since when has my counsel counted for so little?” Gandalf asked, standing before Thranduil once more with a look of absolute insult upon his face. “What do you think I’m trying to do?”
The Elvenking shrugged his shoulders slightly. “I think you’re trying to save your Dwarvish friends and I admire your loyalty to them.” Thranduil spoke, hoping to placate the ire of the wizard, even if his own ire were coming to a boil within. “But it does not dissuade me from my course.” Standing once more, the Elf moved, his voice lowering in challenge, obviously annoyed at the continuation of such a foolish argument. “You started this, Mithrandir. You will forgive me if I finish it.” Turning to the tent’s entrance, the Elvenking called to Feren, one of his soldiers. “Are the archers in position?”
Hurrying to do his lord’s bidding, Feren nodded. “Yes, my lord.”
“Give the order.” Thranduil continued, knowing that the runner would soon spread his message to his commanders along the walls of Dale. “If anything moves on that mountain kill it.” As Feren departed quickly, the Elvenking found a tiny smirk growing in the corner of his lips. “The Dwarves are out of time.”
“Of all the mule-headed…”
Turning and glancing over his shoulder, Thranduil frowned slightly. “I can still hear you, Mithrandir.” The Elf spoke before walking back to the throne.
“Well good! At least you can hear something!” Gandalf shot back in annoyance. “A wise king would listen to my counsel. If your son were here…”
“If my son were here then he would be standing at my side and his mind would be like my own.” Thranduil shot back, the lithe fingers of his left hand were gripping the armrest of his throne tightly. “Legolas knows his place. He knows that there is no love between Elf and Dwarf.”
“But that son, all the same, would take heed of my warnings!” Gandalf replied quickly, pointing at the Elvenking. “Yet my counsel falls on deaf ears. Ears filled with nothing but the sounds of your own ill heart’s desire!”
Standing swiftly, Thranduil glared down at the wizard. “And what desire, Mithrandir, would that be? All I ask is that the Dwarf return what is mine. He can have the mountain. He can have the gold and the treasure. The heirloom of my people however, is not his to keep. None save myself may lay claim to those gems.” Blue eyes narrowed as the Elvenking’s body seemed to draw itself up even taller. “If you would think to challenge my claim…”
“I am only challenging your stubbornness, King Thranduil.” Spoke the wizard in annoyance. “Are you so blind as to stand here and tell me there is no threat?”
“And yet you show me no proof of it, Mithrandir.” The Elf replied as he moved to sit once more. “If our enemy has truly returned, as you claim, then let them come. Better to do battle here than wait for their ranks to grow in strength and number. I will not fight a war like that again.” Without another word, Thranduil motioned for the wizard to take his leave.
Clutching his staff, Gandalf did just that. “Curse the stubbornness of Elves…” he could be heard grumbling as he departed, apparently hurrying to seek out the bowman and attempt to find someone who would listen.
Thranduil leaned back in his throne and, for the briefest of moments, closed his eyes. Silence reigned within the large tent… for a time… until, eyes still closed, the Elvenking finally spoke. “I know you’re there.”
“Forgive me, hir nin.” Came the voice of Legede, his captain, who stood beside the tent’s opening. At a nod from his lord, the white-haired captain ordered the guards to depart for a time, knowing and understanding that the king needed a moment to speak openly, without outside ears listening in.
Sighing, Thranduil motioned to the table and carafe, indicating that his friend should partake if he so wished to. “Am I not correct in assuming you have come here to convince me to listen to the wizard as well?”
Legede laughed softly as he walked up to the small table, pouring himself a drink. “No, hir nin. I have only come to see who’s counsel you will be taking. The wizard’s… or your own.” When silence was all that returned to him, the white-haired Elf continued. “Feren’s message has spread through the ranks. Nothing shall leave that mountain alive.”
“Good. The matter is settled then.” Thranduil spoke, opening his eyes and reaching one hand out to grasp his own cup. He brought the wine to his lips and took a long drink. “Or am I mistaken?”
“Your word is law, Thranduil. I only ask that you… consider what Mithrandir has said. If it were anyone else who brought such news I would question them… but not he. Long has he walked this world and long has he been a friend and ally to us. It would be… unfortunate, shall I say, to anger him.”
Sighing, the Elvenking nodded. “I shall take his counsel into consideration then. When we march upon the mountain, I will make certain we have shield bearers upon all our sides.” Thranduil spoke with a wry smirk before draining his cup.
“And what of the prince?”
At these words, that smirk disappeared and the blond Elf motioned for his captain to come close. Legede did just that, though he brought the carafe of Dorwinion along with him and refilled his lord’s cup, knowing that had been the intended outcome.
“I know you love your son, Thranduil. I merely meant…”
The Elvenking nodded, “I know what you meant. Legolas’s fate will be decided when he returns to me. I can not tell you his heart… nor what might have changed it.”
One of Legede’s eyebrows arched. “Are you certain of that? His heart is still young, hir nin.” Setting the carafe back down upon the table, Legede returned once more to his lord’s side
“I know, Legede.” Thranduil whispered then, reaching his free right hand out to grasp his captain’s forearm warmly. “Already he has disobeyed his king and father’s command. I shall wait for him to return. In this matter… it is his decision. I can do no more than that.”
Releasing that hold, the Elvenking soon dismissed his captain. However, almost as soon as Legede left… Gandalf returned. This time the wizard was followed by Bard… but also a rather small fellow. Out of sheer politeness, Thranduil stood to receive his guests once more, and it was at this time that Gandalf, also out of a love of good manners, introduced this newest addition to their meeting.
“Bilbo Baggins, of the Shire.” Spoke the wizard as the Halfling remained near the tent entryway. “He is one of the company of Thorin Oakenshield.”
For a moment, Thranduil stared at the Hobbit, his blue gaze fixed upon the small being while his memory returned to that fateful day when Thorin’s company was shuffled in through his throne room before their fate was doomed, at the time, to his dungeons. However, he could not recall this one… which meant but one thing…
“If I’m not mistaken…” the Elvenking spoke as he returned to his throne. “…this is the Halfling who stole the keys to my dungeons from under the nose of my guards.”
Bilbo, looking positively ashamed of his actions, confirmed the Elf’s suspicions. “Yes… sorry about that.” Seeming to gather his courage, the Hobbit stepped forth and placed a small wrapped parcel upon the small table that had held the wine carafe, the parcel covering up a large map of Erebor and its neighboring lands. “I came to give you this.” He declared, removing the cloth and revealing, for all to see, a most beautiful and irreplaceable gem.
It was as if a globe had been filled with moonlight and hung before them in a net woven of the glint of frosty stars.
“The Heart of the Mountain…” Thranduil whispered, unaware that his words were louder than he meant them to be in his stunned surprise. He stood, walking up to the Arkenstone, his pale fingers reaching down yet daring not to touch such a gem. “The King’s Jewel…”
Bard looked quickly to the Halfling near at hand. “And worth a king’s ransom. How is this yours to give?”
“I took it as my fourteenth share of the treasure.” Bilbo replied, the remark seeming, to Thranduil’s eye, to amuse Gandalf greatly.
“Why would you do this?” the bowman questioned him. “You owe us no loyalty.”
Shaking his head slightly, the Hobbit planted his feet firmly. “I’m not doing it for you.” He said, glancing to everyone present in the tent, one by one. “I know that Dwarves can be obstinate and pigheaded and difficult. They’re suspicious and secretive, with the worst manners you could possibly imagine, but they are also brave and kind… and loyal to a fault.” Bilbo smiled as he said these things. “I’ve grown very fond of them, and I would save them if I can.” Stepping forward once more, the Halfling pointed at the Arkenstone. “Now, Thorin values this stone above all else. In exchange for its return I believe, he will give you what you are owed.” Smiling once more and looking quite pleased with himself, the Hobbit continued. “There will be no need for war.”
Thranduil felt Gandalf’s eyes on him first, and as Bard looked to him in turn, the Elvenking’s blue gaze found the bowman’s dark one. They were all looking to him, gauging what he would do… it was his army out there after all. And for a long moment, Thranduil said nothing. Once more his eyes turned down to the Arkenstone which lay before him. The heirloom of Durin’s folk and the House of Thror. Would Thorin trade one heirloom for another?
“Bilbo Baggins.” Thranduil spoke then, looking upon the Hobbit and passing around Bard to stand before the small being. “You are more worthy to wear the armour of elf-princes than many that have looked more comely in it.” To these words the Hobbit seemed slightly taken aback, and at this Thranduil smirked. “But I wonder if Thorin Oakenshield will see it so.” He added, drawing back and turning. Soon the Elvenking was back upon his makeshift throne, his blue gaze piercing and leveled upon the Halfling. “I have more knowledge of Dwarves in general than you have perhaps.” His voice lifted then and words were spoken that held a hint of an order to them. “I advise you to remain with us.”
It then seemed that Bilbo would agree with the Elvenking’s words. After all, Thorin would be angry, this the Hobbit knew in his heart. And yet… the Halfling shook his head. “Nope. Sorry but my place is still with the Company.”
“Thorin is half-mad, Master Baggins.” Bard spoke up then, carefully folding the cloth back over the Arkenstone. “If you return, it could spell your doom.”
Thranduil smirked in amusement as he looked upon the bowman. “A cursed treasure lies beneath his feet and you call him but ‘half-mad’? Say what it truly is, what he truly is.” The Elvenking shook his head. “No… an ill-mind is what the Dwarf holds now, a mind turned from all things that do not gleam and shine in the fires of those dark halls. He is consumed by it.”
“And are you not ‘consumed’ as well?” Gandalf put in. The comment drew a glare from Thranduil and for a moment, Bilbo found himself shrinking back a step. “To Bard I am in agreement. Thorin promised treasure to the men of Lake-Town and he should make good upon his promise. But your claim…”
“My claim has been denied me long-ere your thief walked this earth.” Thranduil pointed out, his countenance impossible to read. “Thror denied me what was mine, what I had rightly paid for. His greed started all of this. His greed summoned the dragon. His greed destroyed his people. I warned him of it, but he did not listen.” The Elvenking leaned back in his throne, lithe fingers tapping lightly upon one of the arm rests. “I will have my heirlooms returned… even if my army must sit upon his doorstep all winter.” Once again Thranduil couldn’t help but smirk. “The Dwarves will grow hungry long before I depart these lands.”
“And you would take advantage of his madness?” Bard questioned, the bowman obviously feeling a slight bit guilty for their scheme.
Thranduil arched an eyebrow at the man. “Thorin Oakenshield is mad and consumed by so-called ‘dragon sickness’. Should I feel ashamed of seeking what is mine when my enemy is thusly weak? Hardly.” The Elvenking waved away Bard’s comment with the flick of one hand.
Gandalf sighed, “Are you at least in agreement with the plan of Master Baggins then, Lord Thranduil?” he asked, clutching his staff a bit tighter than before. “Will you and the people of Lake-Town barter the Arkenstone for what was promised?”
Blue eyes closed and Thranduil nodded his head. “I will honor the Halfling’s gamble.” He spoke before looking back upon Bilbo. “He was brave in bringing this treasure to us… and braver still for returning to face its rightful owner.”
“Then we will ride out at dawn?” Bard asked as he watched Gandalf hurry the Hobbit out of the king’s tent.
The wizard could easily be heard mumbling to poor Bilbo that he wasn’t quite sure which ill was worse; a Dwarf with dragon-sickness or an Elven King’s blind obsession.
Taking those lingering words into account, Thranduil smiled slightly as he answered the bowman, “Of course. Truly, it would be a shame to keep the Dwarf waiting too long.”
THE END
AUTHOR’S NOTES:
- Portion from beginning until Thranduil says; ‘These Orc armies you speak of, Mithrandir… where are they?’ are quotes from “The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies” film.
- Quote from Thranduil saying; ‘He would have done better to have remained my guest. It is an ill wind, all the same, that blows no one any good.’ is from “The Hobbit” novel by J.R.R. Tolkien on page 228 (ISBN: 0-618-00221-9).
- Portion from Gandalf saying; ‘Since when has my counsel counted for so little?’ until Thranduil says; ‘The Dwarves are out of time.’ is from “The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies” film.
- Portion from Thranduil saying; ‘If I’m not mistaken…’ until Bilbo says; ‘There will be no need for war.’ is from “The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies” film.
- Quote from Thranduil saying; ‘“Bilbo Baggins. You are more worthy to wear the armour of elf-princes than many that have looked more comely in it. But I wonder if Thorin Oakenshield will see it so. I have more knowledge of Dwarves in general than you have perhaps. I advise you to remain with us.’ is from “The Hobbit” novel by J.R.R. Tolkien on page 244 (ISBN: 0-618-00221-9).
- Legede is a character of my own creation. Please do not use him without asking permission first.
- Feren is the name given to the Elf which Thranduil speaks to in “The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies” when giving commands to his archers. Or at least that’s the name on the subtitles.
Rating: PG
Summary: Set during "The Hobbit" and "The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies", Thranduil's tent in Dale becomes the center of discussions regarding what to do about a mad Dwarf, the blind obsession of an Elvenking, if an army of Orcs are really on the move, and the whereabouts of a son gone missing.
Of course this was how it would be. Why would the Elvenking of Mirkwood have thought such a meeting to proceed any differently? Wizards did seem, as a rule, too eager to spoil any fun and certainly from Thranduil’s point of view, smashing in a few Dwarven heads sounded like an enjoyable afternoon. He had, obviously, had enough of the stubborn stout people and was quite ready to go to war over the gems he had been long promised. After all, it was but a handful of Dwarves… and he had an entire army at his beck and call.
“You must set aside your petty grievances with the Dwarves.” Gandalf was saying, though for the moment being, Thranduil was hardly paying him any mind at all.
The Elvenking glanced up at Bard, a bowman and fisherman of the newly destroyed Lake-Town. He stood next to the makeshift throne that Thranduil had comfortably perched himself upon for the duration of this endeavor. Of course the blond Elf couldn’t help the slight rolling of his eyes as the wizard droned on and on. However, from Thranduil’s perspective, Bard seemed more troubled by Gandalf’s words and alarm than he really should have been.
“War is coming!”
That caught Thranduil’s attention somewhat and he looked back to Gandalf, sitting a tad bit straighter upon his throne, though still reclined, relaxed, and perfectly comfortable and content to remain such.
“The cesspits of Dol Guldur have been emptied. You’re all in mortal danger.” Gandalf continued, the wizard looking directly at both Elf and man as he spoke.
Bard however, seemed to the Elvenking, to buy into Gandalf’s words of death and destruction. “What are you talking about?” the bowman asked curiously.
Sighing inwardly, Thranduil stood from his throne and walked over to a small table which held a carafe and a pair of cups. He began to pour the rich red Dorwinion wine as he spoke. “I can see you know nothing of wizards.” The Elvenking said, a slight smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. The comment was obviously directed to the bowman near at hand. “They are like a winter thunder on a wild wind rolling in from a distance…” Thranduil handed one of the cups to Bard, but took the other for himself. He did not, however, offer Gandalf a drink at all. “…breaking hard in alarm. But sometimes a storm…” his calculating and confident blue gaze fell upon the wizard. “…is just a storm.”
“Not this time.” Gandalf pushed the matter defiantly.
Thranduil couldn’t help looking away as the obstinate nature of Mithrandir shone brilliantly through.
“Armies of Orcs are on the move. These are fighters. They have been bred for war. Our enemy has summoned his full strength.” Gandalf continued, to which the Elvenking suddenly gave him his full attention once more.
In all honesty, Thranduil hardly believed a word of this. Orcs armies… from where? It was as if Gandalf expected the filth to start dropping from the sky come dawn! However… the words concerning the enemy troubled him… and for a brief moment, the Elf decided to truly humor the wizard. After all, it had been but a few days since he held an Orc captive in his very own throne room… an Orc that spoke of ‘The One’.
“Why show his hand now?” Thranduil asked suddenly, setting down the cup of wine that had been in his hands, untouched, even now.
As if in answer to that question, Gandalf became far more animated. Apparently the wizard thought he might be getting his point across… however at the moment, all he was proving to the Elvenking was that his alarm was great… real or imagined as it may be.
“Because we forced him.” Spoke the old man. “We forced him when the company of Thorin Oakenshield set out to reclaim their homeland.”
Before Thranduil could kindly point out that he had forced nothing in this particular instance and that, in fact, this was entirely the fault of the grey bearded wizard, Gandalf was on the move and heading out of the Elvenking’s tent.
“The dwarves were never meant to reach Erebor. Azog the Defiler was sent to kill them. His master seeks control of the mountain.” Gandalf continued, and of course both Thranduil and Bard followed him out of the tent and ascended the small stone steps to the overlook at the edge of Dale.
Laid out before them, was the Lonely Mountain and the Dwarven Gate into Erebor. However, holed up behind the blocking stone of the gate was now a handful of Dwarves… and not a one, apparently, who was interested in parting with the treasure that had been promised.
“Not just for the treasure within but for where it lies, its strategic position. This is the gateway to reclaiming the lands of Angmar in the north.” Turning to Elf and man, Gandalf looked upon them grimly. “If that fell kingdom should rise again Rivendell, Lorien, the Shire, even Gondor itself will fall.”
Thranduil lifted his head slightly. These words did not sit well upon his heart… and in truth he could not discern if what the wizard spoke was truth or mere fear alone. “These Orc armies you speak of, Mithrandir… where are they?” When Gandalf could not answer such a question, the Elvenking pressed further. “I see no Orc armies. Nothing lies in that vast expanse of desolation. If the enemy were on the move, I would have heard of it by now. No…” Thranduil moved past Gandalf then, his blue gaze piercing as he looked upon Erebor’s gate in the distance. “He would have done better to have remained my guest.” The Elvenking looked back to the wizard then. “It is an ill wind, all the same, that blows no one any good.”
Before the wizard could reply, Thranduil passed him once more and descended the steps, his boots making not a sound upon the stone. He entered his tent, taking up the set aside cup and returning to the comfort of his throne. However, much to his chagrin, the wizard followed…
“Since when has my counsel counted for so little?” Gandalf asked, standing before Thranduil once more with a look of absolute insult upon his face. “What do you think I’m trying to do?”
The Elvenking shrugged his shoulders slightly. “I think you’re trying to save your Dwarvish friends and I admire your loyalty to them.” Thranduil spoke, hoping to placate the ire of the wizard, even if his own ire were coming to a boil within. “But it does not dissuade me from my course.” Standing once more, the Elf moved, his voice lowering in challenge, obviously annoyed at the continuation of such a foolish argument. “You started this, Mithrandir. You will forgive me if I finish it.” Turning to the tent’s entrance, the Elvenking called to Feren, one of his soldiers. “Are the archers in position?”
Hurrying to do his lord’s bidding, Feren nodded. “Yes, my lord.”
“Give the order.” Thranduil continued, knowing that the runner would soon spread his message to his commanders along the walls of Dale. “If anything moves on that mountain kill it.” As Feren departed quickly, the Elvenking found a tiny smirk growing in the corner of his lips. “The Dwarves are out of time.”
“Of all the mule-headed…”
Turning and glancing over his shoulder, Thranduil frowned slightly. “I can still hear you, Mithrandir.” The Elf spoke before walking back to the throne.
“Well good! At least you can hear something!” Gandalf shot back in annoyance. “A wise king would listen to my counsel. If your son were here…”
“If my son were here then he would be standing at my side and his mind would be like my own.” Thranduil shot back, the lithe fingers of his left hand were gripping the armrest of his throne tightly. “Legolas knows his place. He knows that there is no love between Elf and Dwarf.”
“But that son, all the same, would take heed of my warnings!” Gandalf replied quickly, pointing at the Elvenking. “Yet my counsel falls on deaf ears. Ears filled with nothing but the sounds of your own ill heart’s desire!”
Standing swiftly, Thranduil glared down at the wizard. “And what desire, Mithrandir, would that be? All I ask is that the Dwarf return what is mine. He can have the mountain. He can have the gold and the treasure. The heirloom of my people however, is not his to keep. None save myself may lay claim to those gems.” Blue eyes narrowed as the Elvenking’s body seemed to draw itself up even taller. “If you would think to challenge my claim…”
“I am only challenging your stubbornness, King Thranduil.” Spoke the wizard in annoyance. “Are you so blind as to stand here and tell me there is no threat?”
“And yet you show me no proof of it, Mithrandir.” The Elf replied as he moved to sit once more. “If our enemy has truly returned, as you claim, then let them come. Better to do battle here than wait for their ranks to grow in strength and number. I will not fight a war like that again.” Without another word, Thranduil motioned for the wizard to take his leave.
Clutching his staff, Gandalf did just that. “Curse the stubbornness of Elves…” he could be heard grumbling as he departed, apparently hurrying to seek out the bowman and attempt to find someone who would listen.
Thranduil leaned back in his throne and, for the briefest of moments, closed his eyes. Silence reigned within the large tent… for a time… until, eyes still closed, the Elvenking finally spoke. “I know you’re there.”
“Forgive me, hir nin.” Came the voice of Legede, his captain, who stood beside the tent’s opening. At a nod from his lord, the white-haired captain ordered the guards to depart for a time, knowing and understanding that the king needed a moment to speak openly, without outside ears listening in.
Sighing, Thranduil motioned to the table and carafe, indicating that his friend should partake if he so wished to. “Am I not correct in assuming you have come here to convince me to listen to the wizard as well?”
Legede laughed softly as he walked up to the small table, pouring himself a drink. “No, hir nin. I have only come to see who’s counsel you will be taking. The wizard’s… or your own.” When silence was all that returned to him, the white-haired Elf continued. “Feren’s message has spread through the ranks. Nothing shall leave that mountain alive.”
“Good. The matter is settled then.” Thranduil spoke, opening his eyes and reaching one hand out to grasp his own cup. He brought the wine to his lips and took a long drink. “Or am I mistaken?”
“Your word is law, Thranduil. I only ask that you… consider what Mithrandir has said. If it were anyone else who brought such news I would question them… but not he. Long has he walked this world and long has he been a friend and ally to us. It would be… unfortunate, shall I say, to anger him.”
Sighing, the Elvenking nodded. “I shall take his counsel into consideration then. When we march upon the mountain, I will make certain we have shield bearers upon all our sides.” Thranduil spoke with a wry smirk before draining his cup.
“And what of the prince?”
At these words, that smirk disappeared and the blond Elf motioned for his captain to come close. Legede did just that, though he brought the carafe of Dorwinion along with him and refilled his lord’s cup, knowing that had been the intended outcome.
“I know you love your son, Thranduil. I merely meant…”
The Elvenking nodded, “I know what you meant. Legolas’s fate will be decided when he returns to me. I can not tell you his heart… nor what might have changed it.”
One of Legede’s eyebrows arched. “Are you certain of that? His heart is still young, hir nin.” Setting the carafe back down upon the table, Legede returned once more to his lord’s side
“I know, Legede.” Thranduil whispered then, reaching his free right hand out to grasp his captain’s forearm warmly. “Already he has disobeyed his king and father’s command. I shall wait for him to return. In this matter… it is his decision. I can do no more than that.”
Releasing that hold, the Elvenking soon dismissed his captain. However, almost as soon as Legede left… Gandalf returned. This time the wizard was followed by Bard… but also a rather small fellow. Out of sheer politeness, Thranduil stood to receive his guests once more, and it was at this time that Gandalf, also out of a love of good manners, introduced this newest addition to their meeting.
“Bilbo Baggins, of the Shire.” Spoke the wizard as the Halfling remained near the tent entryway. “He is one of the company of Thorin Oakenshield.”
For a moment, Thranduil stared at the Hobbit, his blue gaze fixed upon the small being while his memory returned to that fateful day when Thorin’s company was shuffled in through his throne room before their fate was doomed, at the time, to his dungeons. However, he could not recall this one… which meant but one thing…
“If I’m not mistaken…” the Elvenking spoke as he returned to his throne. “…this is the Halfling who stole the keys to my dungeons from under the nose of my guards.”
Bilbo, looking positively ashamed of his actions, confirmed the Elf’s suspicions. “Yes… sorry about that.” Seeming to gather his courage, the Hobbit stepped forth and placed a small wrapped parcel upon the small table that had held the wine carafe, the parcel covering up a large map of Erebor and its neighboring lands. “I came to give you this.” He declared, removing the cloth and revealing, for all to see, a most beautiful and irreplaceable gem.
It was as if a globe had been filled with moonlight and hung before them in a net woven of the glint of frosty stars.
“The Heart of the Mountain…” Thranduil whispered, unaware that his words were louder than he meant them to be in his stunned surprise. He stood, walking up to the Arkenstone, his pale fingers reaching down yet daring not to touch such a gem. “The King’s Jewel…”
Bard looked quickly to the Halfling near at hand. “And worth a king’s ransom. How is this yours to give?”
“I took it as my fourteenth share of the treasure.” Bilbo replied, the remark seeming, to Thranduil’s eye, to amuse Gandalf greatly.
“Why would you do this?” the bowman questioned him. “You owe us no loyalty.”
Shaking his head slightly, the Hobbit planted his feet firmly. “I’m not doing it for you.” He said, glancing to everyone present in the tent, one by one. “I know that Dwarves can be obstinate and pigheaded and difficult. They’re suspicious and secretive, with the worst manners you could possibly imagine, but they are also brave and kind… and loyal to a fault.” Bilbo smiled as he said these things. “I’ve grown very fond of them, and I would save them if I can.” Stepping forward once more, the Halfling pointed at the Arkenstone. “Now, Thorin values this stone above all else. In exchange for its return I believe, he will give you what you are owed.” Smiling once more and looking quite pleased with himself, the Hobbit continued. “There will be no need for war.”
Thranduil felt Gandalf’s eyes on him first, and as Bard looked to him in turn, the Elvenking’s blue gaze found the bowman’s dark one. They were all looking to him, gauging what he would do… it was his army out there after all. And for a long moment, Thranduil said nothing. Once more his eyes turned down to the Arkenstone which lay before him. The heirloom of Durin’s folk and the House of Thror. Would Thorin trade one heirloom for another?
“Bilbo Baggins.” Thranduil spoke then, looking upon the Hobbit and passing around Bard to stand before the small being. “You are more worthy to wear the armour of elf-princes than many that have looked more comely in it.” To these words the Hobbit seemed slightly taken aback, and at this Thranduil smirked. “But I wonder if Thorin Oakenshield will see it so.” He added, drawing back and turning. Soon the Elvenking was back upon his makeshift throne, his blue gaze piercing and leveled upon the Halfling. “I have more knowledge of Dwarves in general than you have perhaps.” His voice lifted then and words were spoken that held a hint of an order to them. “I advise you to remain with us.”
It then seemed that Bilbo would agree with the Elvenking’s words. After all, Thorin would be angry, this the Hobbit knew in his heart. And yet… the Halfling shook his head. “Nope. Sorry but my place is still with the Company.”
“Thorin is half-mad, Master Baggins.” Bard spoke up then, carefully folding the cloth back over the Arkenstone. “If you return, it could spell your doom.”
Thranduil smirked in amusement as he looked upon the bowman. “A cursed treasure lies beneath his feet and you call him but ‘half-mad’? Say what it truly is, what he truly is.” The Elvenking shook his head. “No… an ill-mind is what the Dwarf holds now, a mind turned from all things that do not gleam and shine in the fires of those dark halls. He is consumed by it.”
“And are you not ‘consumed’ as well?” Gandalf put in. The comment drew a glare from Thranduil and for a moment, Bilbo found himself shrinking back a step. “To Bard I am in agreement. Thorin promised treasure to the men of Lake-Town and he should make good upon his promise. But your claim…”
“My claim has been denied me long-ere your thief walked this earth.” Thranduil pointed out, his countenance impossible to read. “Thror denied me what was mine, what I had rightly paid for. His greed started all of this. His greed summoned the dragon. His greed destroyed his people. I warned him of it, but he did not listen.” The Elvenking leaned back in his throne, lithe fingers tapping lightly upon one of the arm rests. “I will have my heirlooms returned… even if my army must sit upon his doorstep all winter.” Once again Thranduil couldn’t help but smirk. “The Dwarves will grow hungry long before I depart these lands.”
“And you would take advantage of his madness?” Bard questioned, the bowman obviously feeling a slight bit guilty for their scheme.
Thranduil arched an eyebrow at the man. “Thorin Oakenshield is mad and consumed by so-called ‘dragon sickness’. Should I feel ashamed of seeking what is mine when my enemy is thusly weak? Hardly.” The Elvenking waved away Bard’s comment with the flick of one hand.
Gandalf sighed, “Are you at least in agreement with the plan of Master Baggins then, Lord Thranduil?” he asked, clutching his staff a bit tighter than before. “Will you and the people of Lake-Town barter the Arkenstone for what was promised?”
Blue eyes closed and Thranduil nodded his head. “I will honor the Halfling’s gamble.” He spoke before looking back upon Bilbo. “He was brave in bringing this treasure to us… and braver still for returning to face its rightful owner.”
“Then we will ride out at dawn?” Bard asked as he watched Gandalf hurry the Hobbit out of the king’s tent.
The wizard could easily be heard mumbling to poor Bilbo that he wasn’t quite sure which ill was worse; a Dwarf with dragon-sickness or an Elven King’s blind obsession.
Taking those lingering words into account, Thranduil smiled slightly as he answered the bowman, “Of course. Truly, it would be a shame to keep the Dwarf waiting too long.”
THE END
AUTHOR’S NOTES:
- Portion from beginning until Thranduil says; ‘These Orc armies you speak of, Mithrandir… where are they?’ are quotes from “The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies” film.
- Quote from Thranduil saying; ‘He would have done better to have remained my guest. It is an ill wind, all the same, that blows no one any good.’ is from “The Hobbit” novel by J.R.R. Tolkien on page 228 (ISBN: 0-618-00221-9).
- Portion from Gandalf saying; ‘Since when has my counsel counted for so little?’ until Thranduil says; ‘The Dwarves are out of time.’ is from “The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies” film.
- Portion from Thranduil saying; ‘If I’m not mistaken…’ until Bilbo says; ‘There will be no need for war.’ is from “The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies” film.
- Quote from Thranduil saying; ‘“Bilbo Baggins. You are more worthy to wear the armour of elf-princes than many that have looked more comely in it. But I wonder if Thorin Oakenshield will see it so. I have more knowledge of Dwarves in general than you have perhaps. I advise you to remain with us.’ is from “The Hobbit” novel by J.R.R. Tolkien on page 244 (ISBN: 0-618-00221-9).
- Legede is a character of my own creation. Please do not use him without asking permission first.
- Feren is the name given to the Elf which Thranduil speaks to in “The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies” when giving commands to his archers. Or at least that’s the name on the subtitles.