Title: "Sapphire, Lodestone, Emeralds 1/2"

Status: WIP

Fandom: The Hobbit – An Unexpected Journey

Characters/Pairing: Thranduil, Thorin

Disclaimer: The Hobbit J. R. R. Tolkien and Peter Jackson. No copyright infringement intended.

Rating: T

Genre: character study, friendship, Alternative Universe – Canon Divergence, pre-canon

Warnings: none

Summary: Having to visit Erebor is a duty Thranduil resents for many reasons. Meeting a curious young Dwarf reveals the one he has guarded most, and sets things in motion...

AN: This is meant to be a fill for the hobbit_kinkmeme on Livejournal ( : / / hobbit – kink . livejournal 9471 . html ? thread = 20658943 # t20658943), but I didn't quite stick to the prompt...

Sapphire, Lodestone, Emeralds Part One

The visit to Erebor was a duty that Thranduil came to resent, having to scrape and bow before the King Under the Mountain, paying him homage, as Thrór demanded.

It was an insult, on that day and ever since, even if the invitation arrived written on gilded parchment and was phrased politely enough, hidden within vague promises of new treaties and trade agreements.

Having learned over time that those never bore fruit, the Elvenking grew wary and distrustful of the words of Dwarves, as he had once been after the fall of Doriath, yet he was in no position to outright refuse the charade that was forced upon him.

Thranduil was unwilling to endanger a peace that had lasted for centuries. It was far too precious to squander.

XXX

Thranduil lifted his face towards the sun. The balustrade was warm underneath his hands, fine marble polished by age, the feeling familiar, as was the view over his realm this particular balcony offered him.

No clouds obscured the clear summer sky. Leaves rustled in the mild breeze, the sound almost swallowed by the nearby waterfall, and the sweet scent of flowers in full bloom was heavy in the air, their petals a blaze of colors.

There was magic in this. Thranduil's roots in Greenwood ran deep, binding him to the land, even more so since the passing of the First Age, after dragon fire had touched him. It compensated where his keen senses reached their limits.

A butterfly tumbled closer. The flutter of its wings sent a flicker of shadow over pale skin before it descended on the antlered crown, moving around like a living gem of iridescent blue.

Soft footsteps came up from behind him, their tread sending ripples of sound and vibration through the ground. Thranduil turned towards Legolas, accepting his bow with a nod that did not dislodge the spindly legs clinging to his hair.

"Are the preparations complete?"

"Yes. We are ready to depart at your command." Legolas hesitated, then added, "We will not leave your side, my Lord. There will be no trouble."

"Oh?" Thranduil raised an eyebrow. "Do you think me incapable of fending for myself, hên?"

Amusingly, a faint trace of crimson rose to dust Legolas' cheeks and he ducked his head, clearly mortified at the thought. "Goheno nin. I meant no disrespect."

"Peace, my son. I know you did not." Thranduil gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze before moving away. "Come, it would not do to keep Tauriel and the others waiting."

XXX

They reached Erebor on the second day of an uneventful journey, after having enjoyed the hospitality of Dale.

The Lonely Mountain loomed ahead, its shape and range dominating the landscape, wild and yet tamed by the hands of Aulë's children. The heavy gates stood open for those who sought audience and trade, and the Elvenking's delegation passed through without ceremony.

Leaving behind fortifications manned by guards and statues that bore the likeness of Thrór's forefathers they entered the city beyond, bustling with life and the faint echos of the mines.

To Thranduil, setting foot on the Dwarven realm meant plunging into near darkness, and voluntarily so. Thus each visit served as a reminder of tragedies past and that he was not whole, only appeared as such by the grace of his connection with nature.

It happened now, his ties to the source of his magic growing tenuous, smothered by echoing halls and corridors hewn from granite. His sight faded, became indistinct as colors and light drained away.

A shiver went down Thranduil's spine, but no outsider would ever have spotted a change in his demeanor, for he did not hesitate as he dismounted, nor as he moved to lead his kin down the familiar path to the throne room.

Only then got the routine interrupted, for the guards told him bluntly he was to enter alone or not at all.

XXX

Thorin left the secret passage, closing the slab behind himself with the grinding of stone, not expecting to find anyone in the antechamber - only to come face to face with the Elvenking.

Thorin had never seen an Elf so much as startle, yet Thranduil did, and violently so. His hand reached for a sword he did not carry before it stilled at his side with obvious effort.

Thorin was hard pressed not to grin, delighted by this display of weakness, for he found the Elvenking to be the most insufferable amongst his kin. His arrogance was grating, and grandfather's disdain of Thranduil seemed well-deserved.

"My Lord," Thorin said, amusement plain in his voice, "forgive me, I had no intention to - "

The Elvenking straightened to his full imposing height, incidentally moving out of the shadows and into the torches' light, and Thorin forgot all about his half-hearted apology.

He choked on a breath as he caught sight of the Elvenking's face. It was a ruin, a hideous one, white bone visible through taut strands of tendon and muscle, raw and red as if still bleeding. The scar, if it could be called thus, covered the left side of his face in its entirety and stretched further, over the bridge of his nose to frame a milky eye.

"Forgive me, Prince Thorin." Thranduil's voice had the quality of silk. "It was not my intention to startle you."

Not rising to the mockery, deafened to it by the realization that the Elf before him was blind, Thorin whispered, "What happened to you?"

There was a moment of silence. Thorin felt as if measured by that unseeing eye, or perhaps the Elven magic Durin's Folk spoke of in whispered tales and with deep-rooted suspicion. Whether it was one or the other, he stood firm under its scrutiny, refusing to feel ashamed for being curious.

Thranduil's smile was halved and thin-lipped, his thoughts impossible to read. "Dragon fire. I fought against Glaurung's spawn in the North."

"You fought against dragons and lived to tell the tale?"

The Elvenking seemed to cringe at the unabashed awe in Thorin's voice, and perhaps it served to remind him of how young the Dwarven prince before him truly was. Thrain's heir had not yet seen the reality of war, was untested in battle, head still filled with songs of adventure, valor and the notion that the forces of good never faltered.

"Let this be a lesson, akhûnith," the Elvenking said. "These marks are a reminder that some foes can only be bested when one is ready to pay the ultimate price."

"And yet you won."

It came out like a challenge. Thorin was confused that Thranduil took no pride in such a great deed, and he fumbled and failed to find words of solace for a pain he felt keenly in the other, like he would have sensed the fault line at the core of a precious gem.

At least his intention he seemed to have managed to convey, because Thranduil smiled, the expression transforming his face, making it shine with the light of the First Born.

"Indeed I did, Prince Thorin. What greater treasure could there be to fight for than the lives of my kin?"

"None."

"None," Thranduil echoed, with a tilt of his crowned head and the same, fierce conviction.

Once more there was silence between them, but now it felt almost companionable, as Thorin found himself re-evaluating what he knew of the Elvenking, his past visits and behavior. His lack of knowledge gained a sudden, disconcerting edge.

"I never...", he started to say, hand rising to indicate his own face and eyes. His fingers brushed his braids as he gesticulated awkwardly, "...noticed before."

Thranduil looked amused. "And how could you have?"

"Why reveal it now?" Thorin felt himself flush, quite irritated that he had become prone to do so out of the blue. "And to me?"

"Not by choice." Thranduil shrugged, a somehow delicate and graceful movement. "My magic is weak here in the realm of your people, diminished by the stone as it is strengthened by the forest. You surprised me, Prince Thorin, and thus the illusion failed. There is nothing more to it."

As if to prove his words, a veil of green-flecked light gathered around the Elvenking and the air in the chamber filled with a sweet, earthen scent. Thorin watched, caught between fascination and faint disgust, as the damage appeared to heal, as if it were a wound like any other that faded to nothing given time.

Left behind was the countenance Thorin was familiar with, smooth pale skin and eyes like sapphires. They were sharp and focused, heavy for the ages they had witnessed.

Noises could suddenly be heard from the other side of the door, destroying the illusion that the two of them dwelt in a world of their own. The audience would soon begin and Thorin was expected to attend.

"I need to go," he said in a rush, manners and protocol falling to the wayside.

"If I may ask a favor?"

Thorin stopped, hand already on the stone slab and planning which way to take to make it in time without rousing suspicions. Father would be furious, yet for once, Thorin found he did not care.

He turned back, having no need to ask what the Elf spoke of, and all too willing to grant it, because such confidence given must be honored.

"I will keep your secret, Thranduil Elvenking. You have my word."

Thorin bowed in Dwarven fashion, showing his empty hands as a sign of trust, and left in a hurry.

Later, he found that the scent of Greenwood still clung to his hair and fur-trimmed coat, and when Balin asked him what there was to smile about, he had no answer to give.

Thorin pretended to return to his studies, using the opportunity to hide away scrolls taken from the library. None of them were written in Khuzdul.

The End

R&R