mithril

VIII.

— VIII —

The Elvenking Thranduil is tall and regal, as he always has been in my time of knowing him ( which is, all my life ). His arms are tucked neatly behind his back as he paces before Thorin and I.

"Some may imagine a noble quest is at hand. A quest to reclaim a homeland and slay a dragon. I myself suspect a more prosaic motive. Attempted burglary. Or something of that ilk." He steps in front of Thorin, studying the dwarf's face. "You have found a way in. You seek that which would bestow upon you the right to rule. The King's Jewel. The Arkenstone." Thorin's face shows nothing. The king steps back, looking at us both. The Dwarf's eyes stay glued to the ground. I want to nudge him. I want to tell him to look up. He is presenting a sad figure to this king, arriving as a prisoner covered in filth and spiderwebs. Stripped of his weapons and made a fool by thinking I have betrayed him.

You have, you idiot, I scold myself. You delivered them directly to the doorstep of Thranduil on a silver platter! You know the history between them. Even Gandalf warned you to stay away from the Elves. Seriously, Léra, what were you thinking?

I was thinking I could not take a dozen spiders on alone and I didn't want my friends to die. I was thinking I could not stand idly by while Thorin was sucked dry by those beasts.

"It is precious to you beyond measure," Thranduil continues. "Like something else you have found along the way is to you now." He looks at me, his high eyebrows arching slightly. His smirk is lethal. Taunting. "I understand that. There are many things in this world that I, too, desire. Gems under that mountain. White gems. Pure starlight. I offer you my help."

Thorin's smile tells me he doesn't fall for Thranduil's feigned kindness. Good. He shouldn't.

"I am listening," Thorin answers.

" I will let you go if you return what is mine."

"A favor for a favor." Thorin turns from my side, pacing away.

"You have my word," Thranduil promises. "One king to another." He dips his head, playing the part of a heartfelt and sincere king.

Oh, you slippery-tongue bastard, Thranduil. You are smooth.

It's a good thing Thorin's mind is sharp.

"I would not trust Thranduil," the Dwarf's voice is deep with disgust. It echoes through the halls with booming volume, "the great king, to honor his word should the end of all days be upon us!" The shout ends as he whirls, gesturing angrily at the Elf. Thranduil doesn't flinch, or even shift. "You! Who lacks all honor! I have seen how you treat your friends. We came to you once, starving, homeless, seeking your help."

Thranduil's face is changing. Looking more sad, as if he regrets that time. I watch the king closely, a silent shadow on the platform as Thorin rains verbal blows on him.

"But you turned your back! You turned away from the suffering of my people and the inferno that destroyed us." He curses at the Elf in Khuzdul, the language foreign to me. But Thranduil obviously understands Thorin's words. I step forward as the Elf flies at him, his face hovering close to Thorin.

"Do not speak to me of dragon fire. I know its wrath and ruin." I flinch away from the glamour that falls away from the king's face, revealing deep and gruesome scars I did not know existed on his elegant face. "I have faced the great serpents of the North." Thranduil pulls back suddenly, composing himself easily. The scars disappear, the smooth and blemish-free skin covering the old wounds as if they were never there. I turn away, despising every word I'm hearing from both of them. I let them argue on, knowing their conversation will go nowhere.