Daughter of Starlight

Chapter Thirty Three: Gandalf the Gray

This ones in Bard's POV, guys. I hope you like it!

The disheartened Lakeman rode back to Dale, his gaze immediately going go the elf lord upon his elk steed.

"He will give us nothing," he said, his disappointment clear in his tone as he spoke to the king.

"Such a pity," Thranduil said, not attempting to hide his smugness in the least as a smirk crawled onto his face. "Still, you tried."

"I do not understand. Why?" Bard asked as he looked back to the mountain in confusion. "Why would he risk war?"

In the distance they watched the entrance of the mountain be completely demolished by the overturned head of a sculpted starving icon, rocks raining down and turning the bridge across the ribbon of water into rubble. The action only reinforced the King Under the Mountain's decision.

"It is fruitless to reason with them. They understand only one thing." Bard returned his attention to the elven King at the sound of a blade exiting it's sheath. Thranduil studied the blade with an icy admiration before turning the elk to ride back to Dale. "We attack at Dawn. Are you with us?"

It was a question that went unanswered. Bard knew that Thranduil could have cared less whether the Lakemen stood with his army or not. All he was interested in was his own thirst for revenge. And no matter how much Bard disagreed with what Thranduil intended to do, he needed him to meet his own ends, to secure the wellbeing of his people. He reminded himself of this as he dismounted his horse near the great hall in the center of the city. That was when he heard Alfrid shouting at someone.

"You! Pointy hat!"

Bard headed in the direction of Alfrid's voice, seeing him descending the steps of the great hall towards a tall elderly man clad completely in gray clutching a wooden staff.

"We don't want tramps, beggars, or vagabonds around her. We got enough trouble without the likes of you," he said to the gray man, who looked upon the much shorter Alfrid in disdain. "Off you go. On your horse."

"Who's in charge here?" the gray man demanded in a surprisingly loud and imposing voice. It was obvious that he was no mere wandering elder.

"Who's asking?" Bard questioned as he approached the two. The gray man studied him closely, as if he was deeming him worthy of what he had to say.

"I'm Gandalf the Gray," the man said, jogging Bard's memory of the Wandering Wizard. "I must speak with you and Thranduil. There are much more important things to worry yourselves with than treasure."

Bard immediately took the wizard to Thranduil. He hadn't expected the reaction Gandalf received from the elven king. Instead of sharing the wizard's sense of urgency, he seemed to find what Gandalf had to say trivial.

"You must put aside your petty grievances with the dwarves. War is coming. The cesspits of Dol Guldur have been emptied," Gandalf reported in a grim yet urgent tone. While he was speaking, Thranduil gave Bard a look that said he had heard it all before, and he wasn't eager to hear it again.

"You're all in mortal danger," Gandalf said a bit louder, angry that Thranduil wasn't listening.

"What are you taking about?" Bard asked, actually interested in hearing what Gandalf had to say. Thranduil, however, was not.

"I can see you know nothing of wizards," Thranduil said as he stood from where he sat. He poured glasses of wine for himself and Bard while he continued to speak in a patronizing tone. "They are like winter thunder on a wild wind rolling in from a distance, breaking hard in alarm. But sometimes a storm is just a storm."

"Not this time," Gandalf insisted. "Armies of orcs are on the move. These are fighters that have been bred for war. Our enemy has summoned his full strength."

"Why show his hand now?" Thranduil questioned the wizard. He obviously thought that Gandalf wasn't worth his time, but the wizard wasn't willing to give up.

"Because we forced him," he said. "We forced him when the company of Thorin Oakenshield set out to reclaim their homeland." He exited the tent, and Bard and Thranduil followed him to a spot on a stone terrace that had a clear view of Erebor's gates. "The dwarves were never meant to reach Erebor. Azog the Defiler was sent to kill them. His master seeks control of the mountain. Not just for the treasure within, but where it lies, its strategic position. This is the gateway to reclaiming the lands of Angmar in the north. If that foul kingdom should rise again . . . Rivendell, Lórien, the Shire, even Gondor itself will fall."

"These Orc armies you speak of, Mithrandir," Thranduil said carefully, the slightest hint of a smirk on his face. "Where are they?"

Up until that point, Gandalf had had an answer for everything Thranduil countered him with. But to that particular question, Gandalf had nothing to say.