Come to Morning Through The Shadows

Foolish Trust

A/N: The updates will be coming somewhat slower than normal lately. I'm in the thick of writing my thesis for my degree so it's taking up most of my time. That being said, I have set aside Sundays for strictly my personal writing, of which this fic is a major player. I hope you appreciate the fact that I'm not giving up quite yet.

"Mist and shadow,

Cloud and shade.

All shall fade. All shall fade"-J.R.R. Tolkien

Chapter 26:

"I am no spy."

"Any yet, your actions speak of one whose allegiance waivers."

Thranduil's voice was hard, commanding, with their piercing, vibrant blue gaze fixated upon the face of the elf who stood, shoulder's slightly stooped, and hair matted and dirty before the elf king.

Said elf king stood proudly, tall, shoulders squared as he moved slowly closer towards his charge, footsteps certain and precise.

Even with this aura of power and purpose, Thorin was not daft enough to misread the pain that flittered across Thranduil's features, however slight they appeared. Thranduil's step faltered ever so slightly, the roll of his shoulders inward signaling the need to curl in on himself to ease the fierce ache he must be feeling in his side with hands balled into fists, nearly hidden by the flowing burgundy robe the creature wore, but still visible enough to Thorin to show just how tightly Thranduil was holding the pain at bad. White knuckles digging into the palms of his hands as he moved forward, ever closer to the elf in front of him who eyed Thranduil warily, hesitantly, pallor lightly coloring at the scrutinizing gaze the elf king bestowed.

But Thorin didn't miss the way that Tauriel and Legolas straightened at Thranduil's movements either. Legolas, like his father, rarely showed emotion on his face, his placid features schooled and honed into a look of nearly disinterested observation. When he DID flinch, it was barely noticeable, unless one were observing very closely as Thorin had done to both father and son.

And flinch Legolas had. The cerulean gaze had widened ever so slightly, a frown tugged at the raspberry lips of the elf prince and Thorin watched the archer's grip tighten on the bow he still held in his hands.

Tauriel too moved ever so slightly, though more obviously than her blonde haired fellow, her fingers twitching and reaching briefly towards Thranduil's person before hastily returning to Tauriel's side as she stiffened and straightened her stance, hazel eyes flicking towards the disheveled elf, an obvious frown marring her delicately framed features.

'So, they noticed as well. Sharp eyed creatures.' Thorin mused, eyes dancing between the different faces in the room, watching the expressions of the people warily as he fingered the bracer on his arm, his hand running over the smooth leather straps and cool metal clasps as he resisted the urge to hoist the elf prisoner by the scruff of his collar and demand information on the enemy.

Fury still simmered carefully beneath the surface, his ire directed towards anyone remotely associated with those who had taken his nephews and hobbit away from him. Those who had threatened his people, his home, and his future.

But, Thorin understood (and had to remind himself a few times) that it wasn't his place to question the elf that stood, nearly cowering,before Thranduil. Nor was it Thranduil's son nor his captain's place to usurp the King of Mirkwood's prowess as ruler and delegator of fates.

Not if they wanted information.

No, they had to be smart, diplomatic.

Manipulative.