S T A R L I G H T

C H A P T E R 3 2

Thranduil's rage was swift. The war never raged on because the dwarves truly had no chance. The company was taken down where they stood and the elves claimed Erebor quickly. Thranduil walked idly past their bodies without an ounce of regret or empathy. As far as he was concerned they had practically done it to themselves.

The elves counted the dead, reporting back to their King, "thirteen, my King,"

"Thirteen?" He repeated, "all dwarves?"

"Yes sire," was answered to him.

The king turned on his heel, facing the line of guards in gold, "where is the Hobbit?"

Not one of the guards moved, avoiding eye contact with their king as his face morphed into one of deepest annoyance.

The Hobbit was still out there.

"Gandalf! What happened?" Bilbo quizzed, racing  into the old dungeons and immediately spotting the wizard and bowman.

"Bilbo Baggins! Our fateful rescuer.." Gandalf proclaimed, reaching his hand through the bars, summoning his small friend closer. He began explaining, "the elven king is overcome with grief at Simbelmynë's demise."

"But why? He knew her mere weeks,"

"It is not that simple," he spoke gravely, eyeing Bard who stood closely beside him, listening intently, "I should have told you all when we first stumbled across her but I feared the fragility of her mind. Simbelmynë is not who you think she is, nor what she thinks, before losing her memory she was an elven queen; a formidable warrior and leader alongside her husband the elven king,"

"King Thranduil..." Bard trailed off in shock.

"Precisely. Queen Asteraêa reined with her husband almost four thousand years ago until being presumed dead after the Battle of Dagorlad. His unhinged grief now is not only for her recent death but for the centuries of loss and longing that he endured,"

"What shall we do Gandalf?" Bilbo wondered, looking around and spotting the key to the cells on the wall opposing.

"We must free these people, have then escape out of the elves reach. If we make it back to Rivendell the elves there will help us,"

"How do you know that?" Bard quizzed, pushing the cell door open once it was unlocked.

"They have dealt with Thranduils grief before," was all Gandalf replied with, walking out of the cell and reaching for his staff.

The King looked upon the jewelled necklace in his hand, the way it gleamed in his hand reflecting against the walls of Erebor. It was strange to think he had dreamt of seeing it again for so long.. and now that it was here...

It wasn't enough.

It now meant less than nothing.

But it was hers. It always was. The king placed the gems on her still pale neck, latching the back behind her neck before flattening her hair neatly once more. The maids had come to change her from those barely existent flame-torn clothes. They had bathed the body, washed her hair and dressed her in a fine white flowing gown.

The room would have been one of the main quarters for the dwarves kingdom, it was cleaned to pristine condition and the finest silks were bought- just so she'd be comfortable.

"I wished you would be awake when I'd given you these gems. I know you would love them, even if you would deny it," he spoke to her, sitting beside her, taking her hands and drawing circles on her cold palm with his finger. "I'm sure you would not agree with what I am going to do.. but I will do whatever I have to be with you," he explained sorrowfully, the words almost choking him.