✓GLITTER AND GOLD⁰ ━ the hobbit

thirteen.

13. | I WILL NEVER BE SATISFIED

Bard rides towards Erebor, his lone statue a strange sight on the wasteland.

"You know it is futile," Thranduil says, watching Bard. "Thorin will not part with a single penny."

I shake my head, determined that he would be wrong. "To save the other dwarves, he would. He has. He will."

Thranduil smiles slightly, as my own horse steps forward, to stand inline with his own. "I'm glad you came to your senses, and left that ridiculous company."

I gape, shocked. "What do you mean?"

He gives me a look, perhaps searching to see whether I am mocking him, or just stupid. "You don't belong with the dwarves, or the men," he says, seriously. "You belong with the elves."

I shake my head. "I belong with the men, with my mother."

Thranduil almost looks amused as he glances at me, his eyes alight. "The elves are your kin, not the men."

I am confused. What does he mean by that? Are all elves this cryptic? "My mother was a woman. That makes me part man." I stress - surely he knows this already? What is his point?

"Was she?"

I splutter, shocked.  Of course she was, who else would she be? Unless.. "No," I declare, certain. "I remember her clearly, she was my mother!"

Thranduil eyes me, perhaps taking note of all my features. "You're more elf than human, anyone can see it. If there was any human blood in you, it's tiny."

Now he is being ridiculous, trying to turn me against the men. I won't fall for it this time, I know he is only trying to change my loyalty. If it worked with the dwarves, it won't now.

Bard rides forward, looking crestfallen, anxious, furious and confused, all at once, somehow. "He will give us nothing."

I gape, heartbroken. Has Thorin truly succumbed to his madness then? For this is insane. Why is he committing mass suicide for a handful of gems?

"Such a pity," Thranduil sighs, pleased. "Still, you tried."

"I don't understand," Says Bard, mirroring my thoughts. "Why? Why would he risk war?"

I would not call it war, honestly. Fourteen dwarves against an army of elves, they would be killed instantly. Unless Thorin had an army of his own, this could not be called a war. Unless... I wonder. Everyone would know that Thorin had reclaimed the mountain, and that Smaug was dead. Would that be enough for the other dwarves to come here? Even without the Arkenstone?

"We attack at dawn! Are you with us?" Thranduil asks, drawing his sword. I  eye Bard, for it is his decision.

Bard agrees quickly, perhaps knowing that his people will not survive without aid. It does not matter who it comes from, the elves, the dwarves.

And so the people of Laketown begin to prepare for war, sharpening their swords and learning how to fight and to shoot. Part of me wishes to train with them, but I am lucky enough to be included in Thranduil and Bard's own war council.

Thranduil and I both stay in the tent for the majority of our time, drinking the wine. If I am to live through the next few days, I will need much more alcohol. Thranduil seems to agree, so together we drink our problems away, without so much as a word to each other. The other elves are probably laughing at us secretly.

Suddenly Bard strides in, with Gandalf, who looks filthy and damaged, from wherever he's been. I stand to greet him, and almost fall over , slightly drunk. "Gandalf!"