(Author's Note: Welcome to my Thranduil fic! Honestly, this is my first attempt at a fic that is not Loki related, so bear with me. I want to say in advance that my knowledge of Middle-Earth and Tolkien literature is limited. Besides the backstory I give in this prologue from the Hobbit: DOS, the is pretty much an AU. I just know that Thranduil is beautiful and fabulous and I wanted to write a fanfiction about him. So I really hope you enjoy! Reviews are love! ;))
Thranduil, the Elven King of Mirkwood, sat cross-legged on his throne of antlers, crafted carefully by loyal, talented elves. He watched the servant elf he had summoned for enter and kneel at his throne. Thranduil held his chin up. The servant elf looked up at his king.
"My lord," he said. Thranduil nodded to him.
"Have you sent for the silversmith?" the king asked.
"Yes my lord," the servant replied. "The peasants claim that he is the best in the land. He can make swords out of the gems you seek, as well as with the finest of Mirkwood's silver."
"Bring him to me." The servant hesitated.
"…Unfortunately my lord, he prefers to remain anonymous. No one in the village has ever really seen him. He delivers his work by sending his daughter." Thranduil furrowed his brow at this statement.
"I am not interested in a cowardly elf that will not reveal himself as a silversmith talent."
"I am aware of that, your majesty," said the servant. "But then we were given this." The servant held out a medium-sized dagger on a velvet cushion, and Thranduil stood up from his throne. He gracefully stepped down to the servant, picked up the dagger and turned away from him, studying it. It was of the finest quality, white-clear gems sparkling in the subtle light as the king turned it in his hand. The silver was very carefully crafted, wrapped perfectly around the immaculate gems, and the point sharpened to a very thin angle. It was impressive work. Very impressive.
"What proof do you have that this anonymous silversmith crafted this dagger?" Thranduil asked, turning back to his servant.
"His initials are carved in the handle; D.F."
"I see." Thranduil set the beautifully crafted dagger back onto the velvet cushion and looked down at his servant. The elven king paused for a moment, thinking it over whether he wanted to hire this mysterious talented elf.
"Tell him that I will not ask for his identity if he crafts for me what I want. I will tell you tomorrow what he is to create if he accepts this offer." The servant bowed his head.
"Yes my lord," he said before departing.
Thranduil paced about his throne, his fingers on his chin in concentration. What a strange thing it was, for a silversmith to desire anonymity. He must have a secret, Thranduil thought. But such things were of no importance to him. As long as the work was done; anything else was none of the king's concern. When the servants left, Thranduil was about to sit back on his throne when his son Legolas walked in.
"What do you need more swords for?" he asked with a smirk on his face.
"Do you know why we have dwarves in our dungeons?" Thranduil asked. "Thorin Oakenshield and his men?"
"They trespassed," replied Legolas. Thranduil turned to look at his son.
"It is because they intend to take back their land. Their land which the dragon now inhabits. If they should succeed in their mission, this kingdom will be threatened. I cannot let my people suffer for the greed of dwarves."
"Do you intend to kill them all for that?"
"I intend to prevent them from endangering my kingdom, and I will do so in any possible way. However, if I fail, I will still need the weapons for what is to come."
"You think a mere sword can help you against a dragon?"
"Do not be foolish. I will need them for the creatures that will attack as we evacuate."
"You should have made more allies," said Legolas. Thranduil tilted his head.
"Alliances are of no use to me," he said, turning around. He waved his hand at his son.
"Go; leave now. I wish to be left alone." Legolas did as he was told and Thranduil sat on his throne, thinking of what he would do with the dwarves. He supposed he would keep them there for eternity. He had offered a deal to Thorin Oakenshield, but the dwarf had refused, insulting the Elven King and his honor.
Thranduil did not particularly like dwarves. In fact, he was on the verge of hating them. They were greedy thieves; thinking they could have whatever they wanted whenever they wanted it, even if it meant stealing from others. Thranduil had offered Thorin that he would let them go if they retrieved the glorious white gems that were rightfully his on their journey. Of course, he didn't believe they would make it out alive, but if they did, they owed him a debt. Although, Thranduil would not go after the gems himself. It was not worth getting burned to death by dragon fire. He would know.
In the case that the dwarves would succeed in their mission of unleashing the deadly creature, or if even just for prevention; Thranduil needed swords. The swords he owned were worn; they had seen better days of battle. If there was to be a battle of dragons and other disgusting creatures, Thranduil would need finer weapons. The dwarves could not see it, but what they were doing was altering the fate of all Middle-Earth. Whether they succeeded or failed taking back Erebor, the dragon would awaken. And Thranduil would protect his people at all costs.