Daughter of Starlight

Chapter Thirty: An Army of Elves

Finally! Another chapter with Thranduil! This chapter kind of transitions between his and Bard's points of view. Sorry for how short (and sucky) it is. It's just kind of a filler to hold you up before the real action begins ;)

Thranduil's grim gaze took in each of the freezing survivors of the dragon attack as he rode his elk steed through the ruins of Dale. Winter had settled swiftly and quietly upon the city, and a layer of snow had dusted the crumbling structures overnight, chilled the homeless lakemen to the bone. As the early rays of pale sunshine cast their light upon the city, the shivering men, women, and children awoke from whatever troubled sleep they'd managed to get. Their tired eyes stared up at him as they passed, still haunted by the horrors of the attack they had lived through. 

Eventually the elven king joined a battalion of his soldiers who had gathered in the city's center, his eyes flicking to the man who called his name.

"My Lord Thranduil!" A tall man with shoulder length black hair, a hide coat, and woolen wrapped boots came forward from the group of elven soldiers. "I did not look to see you here." His tired face was brightening with a look of relief. 

"I heard you needed aid," was Thranduil's simple response, and he turned his gaze to the carts of food being brought to a stop in front of the Great Hall. Green glass bottles of mineral water, tied bundles of Mirkwood greens, and sacks of bread were being given to the starving people already clustered around the carts. 

"You have saved us," he said, looking up at the elven king with the same look of relief and gratitude that his people wore. "I do not know how to thank you."

Thranduil was indifferent to Bard's thanks. "Your gratitude is misplaced," he said. "I came to reclaim something of mine." And with that the elk trotted away and he shouted an order that sent the army advancing through the city towards the mountain.

Bard was now utterly confused. What could possibly be in the mountain that called for an army to retrieve it? The bowman's thoughts went to the she-elf he had met not more than a few days ago, the daughter of the king who had come to the aid of him and the survivors from Lake-town. He found himself thinking back to what he had overheard her telling the dwarf who had been poisoned, about her own quest within the one she shared with the company. He had heard her speak the name of the starlit jewels of legend, the White Gems of Lasgalen. 

That was when he realized what the army was for, why the king of the Woodland Realm was here. He hadn't come with the intent of helping him and the lakemen. He had come with an army to fight and kill for nothing more than a bit of treasure. 

"Wait!" he shouted repeatedly, running after Thranduil and following him to where he paused to oversee the advance of his soldiers. "You would go to war over a handful of gems?" 

The king looked ahead and not at Bard, his mind only focused on the war he planned to fight. 

"The heirlooms of my kin are not lightly forsaken," Thranduil said.

"Heirlooms of your kin?" Bard's tone expressed his disbelief. "And what of your living kin inside the mountain? Is she of such little importance to you?"

Thranduil's icy gaze darted to the lakeman and narrowed. "You speak of matters you know nothing of," he said coldly. "My interests lie in reclaiming those gems, not in her whereabouts." 

Bard took notice of how Thranduil dismissed the well being of his daughter so easily, and now he fully realized the level of dissociation between him and his daughter. If he hadn't cared enough to know where she was for sixty years, why would he know now? 

"Your Majesty," Bard said as carefully as he approached the king. "We are allies in this. My people also have a claim upon the riches in that mountain. Let me speak with Thorin."

"You would try to reason with the dwarf?" Thranduil's words conveyed his surprise at how much faith Bard had in the dwarf king. 

"To avoid war?" Bard said. "Yes." His words were determined, yet they showed his desperation. He did not believe bloodshed would be necessary to appease the king. Surely Thorin would hear his plea and give them what he had promised. 

Thranduil looked upon the man and, in drawing upon the stories he had heard, assumed this was the Dragon Slayer, Bard of Lake-town. 

"For a man who showed such bravery in slaying the dragon that laid waste to Esgaroth, you know nothing of dwarves," he said to the man. "Peaceful words will do little to deter Oakenshield from the path of war."

"This will not come to war," Bard insisted, but Thranduil was done listening to Bard. His only response was a knowing look towards the Lakeman accompanied by grim silence, and he directed his steed away from the Lakeman, leaving a shaken Bard to his own devices as he called for his horse. Although he had known that holding Thorin to his promise would present complications eventually, he hadn't prepared himself for the vengeance-seeking elven king. 

And yet, Bard thought to himself, surely an army wasn't needed to ensure the safe return of the White Gems of Lasgalen. Maybe there was something else worth fighting for in that mountain.