Part One: Salireal

Salireal knelt down and examined the earth before her. Her people from the northern kingdom of Arnor had taught her the skill of tracking, and her time with elves had helped her to hone and refine it. From what she could see, there was a company of dwarves, and a set of tracks she did not recognize, that had passed through this direction not two days ahead of her. "Thranduil's people are not going to be pleased," she thought to herself, as she straightened up and adjusted her pack. It was only early autumn, but the chill of winter gripped the forest early, especially this close to the eastern border. Evil was stirring in that direction, however none in Mirkwood had the heart to seek it out. Though Salireal was a guest in the Elf-King's home, King Thranduil's woodland castle was largely underground, and while the light and song of the silvan elves flooded every corridor, Salireal still felt suffocated if she stayed beneath the earth for too long. Despite the fact that the forest of Mirkwood could be treacherous, she still preferred the high, dark canopy of the trees above her to the low, close air of Thranduil's halls.

Next to the tracks of the Dwarf company, Salireal could also see another set of tracks, similar to the other foreign marks walking amongst the dwarves, but this new set seemed as though its owner crawled along on hands and feet, rather than upright. Moving silently off the path, she noticed that the spiders of the east had tracks of their own, following closely the movement of the company. "They grow much too bold, to stalk their prey so near to Thranduil's stronghold," she thought. Salireal was no great warrior, and was untried in battle, but was a skilled hunter and utilized her stealth as her greatest weapon. Of late, she was occupying her time by tracking through the forest and gathering information for the Elf-King. Though the King's own guards and hunters had a much more intimate knowledge of the forest of Mirkwood, they required a number of them to be sent out together, for the sake of protection, whereas Salireal was content to go alone, being much more at ease in her own company. The news that Salireal was bringing back would be truly disturbing to the woodland elves. There was darkness to the east, which had always been known, however lately there was a malevolence creeping through the forest, and though the beasts of Mirkwood were always dangerous, the ones that Salireal had been tracking seemed much more sinister and bent on evil than ever before. Radagast the Brown, the extremely eccentric wizard of the north had even brought back word of a waking evil, unlike any that had been seen since the Last Alliance, that had supposedly taken up residence in the abandoned elvish stronghold of Dol Guldor (though this accusation was quickly dismissed by Thranduil as the ramblings of a half-mad wizard).

Despite the King being unmoved by Radagast's news, it had made Salireal enormously uneasy, and her treks into the forest had become longer and more extensive than before. She did not know what exactly she was searching for. In fact, each time she went out, she ventured farther and farther, and waited at each point longer, as though she were waiting for something, though she did not know why. It was on this, her farthest and longest march that she came across the tracks of the dwarf party. There were twelve, and another that seemed to be injured or asleep, for he was being dragged. And a fourteenth set of tracks that Salireal could not place, which she found both intriguing and frustrating. The last set of tracks did not seem to be with the party, but were undoubtedly following them. Most concerning was that the spiders felt compelled to stalk them this closely to the road. The eleven magic of the Elf-King remained strong, and protected the road through Mirkwood from the evil creeping through the forest, but whoever or whatever was among the party of dwarves was drawing the beasts to the road, and the road lead to Thranduil's house. Salireal knew the elves needed to be warned. Doubling back, Salireal took to the trees, as the elves had shown her, avoiding the hindrance of the underbrush and leaping carefully from branch to branch, trying to regain the distance between her position and that of the dwarves and spiders. The trees grew taller the deeper into the forest she went, and before long Salireal was made to dismount the treetops and run on foot through the wood. She stayed close to the path, wanting the protection of the elven road, when upon crossing the river she noticed the dwarves had ventured off the path and into the woods. "Fools," she mentally chided, "greater beings than dwarves have ventured off the elvish road and paid for their mistake with their lives". The tracks were fresher up here, and seemed only to be a few hours ahead of her now. She followed the trail into the woods, and up to a clearing. She was very close now to Thranduil's keep, and in these clearings some of the King's subjects enjoyed picnics and nighttime feasts with the more pure of the woodland creatures. "Perhaps hunger drove them off the road to seek the elvish gatherings," she thought. There was nothing the forest of Mirkwood could offer for food or drink, unless one knew the precise way to find it, and travelers through the wood died more often of dehydration and starvation than by the hand of some fell beast.

In the clearing she could see where the dwarves became separated. One dwarf became separated, and it seemed as though an eleven host had taken him, and those tracks headed off in the direction of Thranduil's woodland castle. The rest of the dwarves moved to the trees, where their tracks were punctuated by evidence of the spiders. Fearing a lingering beast, and knowing she would not be able to overpower it if it attacked her, Salireal turned and headed back to the home of Thranduil. It was growing much darker now, and as she made her way closer to boarder of Thranduil's home, she sensed rather than heard a presence come up behind her. Ever cautious, she drew her bow and quickly turned to take aim, only to find the familiar face of an elf smirking behind her. "Mankoi gorga amin, mellon? Nae saian lumme. An lema?"

Salireal recognized the face of the son of Thranduil, Legolas, who longed to roam the forests of Mirkwood as much as she did, though he was not so free to come and go, being restrained by his courtly duties to his father. "Amin hiraetha, Legolas", she replied. "I know I've been gone too long, and would have stayed out longer, but I fear the spiders from the east are venturing close to your father's doors". "Indeed they have", the prince replied, "We would have been surprised by them had a troop of dwarves not attacked our people in the night. We captured one of them and when we sought the rest out we came across the evil of the east. The beasts are dead now, and the dwarves are…. guests to my father." "Guests'?" replied Salireal, "it is unlike your father, or any elf to keep dwarves as guests". "L'quelin naugrim naa ba naugrim" spat the elf. His displeasure for the company of dwarves was evident on his face. "My father is keeping them in our dungeons. There is one among them who my father is certain is the son of Thrain and heir to Erebor. If this is so, then the Dwarf king is surely come to avenge the destruction of his people". Salireal stopped walking at this, genuinely confused, and asked "why should he seek his vengeance among the elves?" Legolas turned to her and said, "When the dragon came to Erebor, and the dwarves' need was most dire, my father refused to aid in their defense. He deemed the battle lost, and would not risk the lives of his people to save the already fallen realm." Salireal thought she imagined a hint of shame in this statement, but any thought of her friend feeling remorse for not risking the lives of elves for the lives of dwarves quickly fled her mind.

They had entered now the great hall of Thranduil, the ceiling so high, it was almost like being outside. The walls were carved into the shape of trees, and light and soft music played upon the high arches of the great room. Tall, beautiful shadows of elves were cast along the sides of the hall, and in the center, towards the back, stood a high wooden throne that seemed to be glowing from within with a soft light. On it sat the Elf-King Thranduil, high and proud, a gentle light shining around his golden head, the centuries of his long life not touching the beauty of his regal face. Legolas turned towards Salireal, his face a younger, equally beautiful version of his father's; "Go and make ready, we are feasting tonight. A new shipment from Lake-Town has arrived."

Salireal was weary from her run back, but could hardly refuse the temptation of food. All she had eaten these last few days were the sparse offerings of the forest. She turned and went up the hall leading to her room. Her room was not very large, but was still quite close to the royal quarters. She and Legolas had become fast friends upon her arrival, and he was quick to move her closer to him. As Salireal prepared her bath and dress to change into, she thought back to the day she was brought to the woodland realm. She had been rescued by rangers from a marauding band of orcs in the far reaches of Arnor. Her family had not been so fortunate. The men of the north, her family included, had the proud lineage of Numenor in their blood, and most of the rangers imagined themselves the lost kin of Elendil. The rangers of the north were equal parts proud and shameful of their past, remembering the glory of the Numenoreans and the Kings of Old, while still holding great shame for the fall of Isildur and the loss of Arnor to the evil of Sauron. They also felt they were directly responsible for the fall of Isildur himself, many of which having ancestors whose duty it would have been to protect the last king from such evil. It was one of these such men, a scraggly and lost looking ranger, who had taken Salireal from the carnage of her home, and brought her south with him. She was barely a child when this had happened, but it had taken many years of wandering before he had found a suitable home for her. This ranger, Strider, he was called, was a great friend of the elves of the south, and he brought Salireal with him to King Thranduil and requested the elves care for her and teach her. Salireal had at first been apprehensive, even fearful of being left among Thranduil's people, but Strider had explained that the elves were wise and would protect her, and comforted her by confiding that he himself was raised by elves, in the house of Lord Elrond in Imladris, to the south. He was on his way there when he had left her in Mirkwood, and promised to return to the home of Thranduil on his way back north. This ranger was one of the Dunedain, as she was, and though they were blessed with long life from their Numenorean blood-lines, Salireal was still a child, by any race's consideration. She was barely 25 years old, and easily the youngest person in the halls of Thranduil's home, in most cases by thousands of years. When she had first arrived, she was held in a tranquil curiosity by the elves. Now, her novelty had worn off, and those who still paid attention to her did so in a fairly demeaning way. Everyone respected her skill as a tracker and her bravery that allowed her to venture deep into the woods alone, but most of the elves seemed to regard her as something of a pet, or a beloved grandchild. The only one who treated her more as an equal was Legolas. Or at the very least, he treated her like a very young sister.

Despite Salireal's decided lack of importance in Thranduil's court, she had become undeniably beautiful of late. Whether it was the regality of her bloodline or perhaps just simply by living among the people of the Elder race, Salireal had become decidedly elf-like in appearance. She finished bathing and draped the dark green gown over her body. She stopped in front of the tall mirror by her bed and regarded the figure reflected. She was not particularly tall, but she had the athleticism demanded of someone who often runs through woods and on top of trees. Her dark hair was long, and touched low on her back, and contrasted with her pale skin.

She exited her room and made down the corridor. As she strode towards the feasting hall, she overheard two guards discussing the dwarves held below. Salireal slowed her pace to listen, and overheard snippets of conversation. From what she could pick up, the one Thranduil suspected to be Thorin was being kept in the deepest cell of the dungeon, and his companions were dispersed throughout the rest of the lower levels. Salireal could smell the food from the feast, and could already hear the songs being sung, full of tales of glory from Beren and Luthien to Gil-Galad. She had heard such songs hundreds of times, and despite enjoying the company of Legolas, she was not a particularly social person, and rarely found herself partaking in conversation with the elves. They spoke often of art and music, and the greatness of their people; a topic that Salireal found she had very little to contribute to, since she herself had little knowledge of her own lineage. Salireal was already bored of the feast, and she had not even arrived in the hall. Slowing her pace again, she waited for those around her to pass by. When the last figure disappeared into the hall, Salireal back-tracked through the winding inner-corridors. She moved deeper and deeper through the keep, towards the dungeon's entrance, and saw only a solitary guard stood by. It was one of the younger guards, clearly being chosen to be left out from the festivities to stand watch for his lack of superiority. "Lady Salireal," he called, "should you not be up enjoying the feast?" he asked, somewhat resentfully. "Yes, probably," Salireal ventured, "but I'm curious about the… guests. I would not mind covering your post for a little while." She could see the guard weighing the consequences in his mind. Reluctantly, the guard relented, and left with vows to return quickly. Salireal wasted no time. She was curious about all of the other dwarves as well, but the one that held her highest curiosity was kept deepest in the dungeons, and was no small distance down. Moving quickly and quietly, only the swish of her silk gown betraying her movement, she stole deep into the tunnels. Reaching the bottom, she slowed and began peering into the cells. She reached the last cell, the smallest and most dank, and her eyes almost did not see the dwarf hunched in the dark corner. In fact, at first glance, Salireal thought he was a large stone resting against the roughly hewn wall. She had never seen a dwarf before, and had only heard tales of their deeds and their mountain dwelling, and their love of jewels and treasures. Salireal stood silent and peered intently at the hunched form. She could hear his breath rattling in his chest, and seemed to be in pain simply by breathing. She could see the dwarf's arms hung above his head, chained at the wrist. Salireal grabbed the torch from the opposite wall, and drew the light closer to the bars of the cell. The dancing flames cast shadows upon the dwarf's body, and threw into sharp relief the blood staining his travel worn clothes and the deep cuts and scrapes along his face and arms. "Why did they feel the need to chain him with his body broken and behind a locked cell?" she thought. She reminded herself that the King was wise, and if he felt that the dwarf warranted this much security, then surely he must be a danger. The light from the torch caused the dwarf to stir. He groaned in pain and shifted his weight as his eyes adjusted to the new light. Salireal drew back from the bars of the door and replaced the torch to its hold, throwing the dwarf back into darkness. The dwarf continued groaning, until Salireal realized that he was trying to speak. She drew closer to the door again, leaving the light behind her, and heard him croak, "water".

"They haven't given him water?" she thought, as she turned and searched in the dark for a bucket or pail. There was a full one just slightly up the hall, and she carried back down to the last cell. She reached for the handle to the cell, and hesitated, weary. Thranduil did not just lock anyone up for no reason, and surely the elves did not attack this dwarf unprovoked. To have gained such injuries, he must have inflicted some of his own onto the elvish guard. "Water," the dwarf croaked again. Salireal reasoned that he was still injured, and chained, and though she lacked strength, she was quick and could easily extract herself from the situation if need be. She unlatched the cell door, and crossed the tiny room to where the dwarf stood chained. She dipped the ladle into the bucket and held it to the dwarf's cracked lips. He drank the water noisily and thirstily, and she had to refill the ladle many times before the dwarf had finally had his fill. Placing the bucket down, Salireal examined the dwarf's face. She had never before seen a dwarf, and from the way Legolas had described them, she had expected to see the ugliest creature in existence. But this dwarf was not ugly. In fact, he could almost be fair, if cuts and blood and dirt did not mark his face. Curiosity filled her, and reaching forward, she touched his weather-worn face and instantly felt the blazing heat of his fever. Her education in elvish healing overpowered her fearful apprehension, and she bent down and began searching the dwarf's body for the source of the infection. Her nimble hands moved down to his leg where she saw the deep wound of a knife, swollen and festering in the dank of this cell. Salireal withdrew from the cell, taking the water bucket with her, and ventured back up the tunnel to retrieve some medicine and supplies from the upper levels. "Surely, despite his supposed dangerousness, Thranduil did not wish the dwarf dead?" Salireal reasoned as she gathered supplies. "Perhaps they simply did not know how dire his wound was?"

Taking her arsenal of medicinal supplies, Salireal made her way back down to the dwarf's cell.