Come to Morning Through The Shadows

Forces, Darkness, and Resignations

"Mist and shadow,

cloud and shade.

All shall fade.

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

"There was no lie in Kili's eyes." Gandalf's words were measured and precise as he peered at the young dwarf's uncle.

Thorin sat, stiffly arching his fingers as he glowered at the low burning embers. His lips pursed into a thin line as he stared, unblinkng, avoiding Gandalf's face.

He knew.

By Mahal he know what was going to happen and it rankled him to realize that no matter what he'd hoped for or how hard he'd worked to protect his kin...

"Thorin, you cannot deny that this is best. We cannot hope to gain the upper hand if we do nothing with this knowledge. Kili gave no information to Sauron but he did gain some knowledge of his own, knowledge that may spare the lives of multitudes of innocent people."

Gandalf was appealing to his moral compass. Thorin wasn't a fool to overlook the wizard's machinations. And while that did make him pause to consider the validity of Gandalf's words, it did nothing to ease the growing anxiety that seeped into his bones and setting on his chest, making it feel tight and hard to breathe.

What could be done, though? How could he convince Gandalf that this was foolishness and that make the wizard see that he would not be parted from his nephew.

Not again.

Not even when the fate of all the free peoples of earth were on the line.

He winced with each breath, silently cursing the powers that be for the unfortunate and infuriating pain that lanced his side and wrapped around his torso, sending waves of fire through his flesh.

The pain tore at him, and each movement was agonizing but Thranduil would not sit idly by and allow these fools to dictate the next moves his people would make.

Not without his say.

Word was coming from Edoras, from the world of men and from Thorin Oakenshield and that blasted wizard Gandalf.

Darkness was falling. The enemy was stretching forth his hand to smite the free people of the land.

*****

There were no safe havens any longer, nowhere to turn for respite, for relief, for refuge.

And the King of the Greenwood knew full well what the rabble in Edoras was asking.

A call to arms.

A call for the renewal of the alliance between elves, men, and dwarves, to fight against the enemy.

He winced again as he drew in a deep breath, trying to quell the raging fury that burned in his chest and the nausea that churned in his stomach.

He knew what was going to happen and try as he might to protect his people, to keep them out of harm's way and to protect them within the confines of his kingdom, he knew, he knew they would not be safe.

It was only a matter of time.

And Gondor and Edoras and the world of men called for aid.

His aid.

"You know, your face looks rather unpleasant scrunched up like that. Almost looks like you've eaten something sour."

Thranduil's face pulled into a scowl and he cast a sidelong glance towards the raggedy dwarf quietly cleaning his nails with a thing pointed dagger. His hair was ruffled, and beard unkempt, but he sat there completely at ease, a cheeky smirk on his face.