Introduction

I swung my sword quickly over my head and just managed to spear the giant spider that was attacking me. I turned around, and quickly drawing my bow, shot another that was terrorizing poor Bombur. They seemed to be endless, crawling everywhere and attacking everything. Tired, lost, and confused, we had been stranded in Mirkwood for days, and now I was certain this would be the most likely end to our less-than-heroic story.

The dwarves were fighting as fearlessly as possible, and who knows where Bilbo managed to disappear off to. Frustrated with our bad luck, and worried for the sake of my friends, I launched a more furious attack on the ever-increasing number of spiders. I heard a slight rustle in the leaves nearby, and sensed another presence. Halting immediately, I crept into the shadows and waited. A force of Woodland Elves burst from the forest, slaughtering the remaining spiders and taking the dwarves captive. I shifted uneasily, wondering if I should rush out to defend them or stay put. The decision was made for me.

"Who goes there?" Called an elven girl with red hair. They must have seen me when I made my retreat. She hadn't seemed to realize exactly where I was, though.

"Whoever you are, I advise you come out now before we find you." Another Wood Elf stated firmly. He had long, blonde hair, and piercing grey eyes. Bowing my head, I emerged.

He gave me a long, drawn-out look before shouting an order to his kin. They continued their march back, and eventually there were only 2 elves left.

"What is a Rivendell elf doing in Mirkwood, may I ask?" The blonde-haired elf asked, putting away his bow.

"And must I be required to give away such personal information?" I responded, shifting uneasily.

"You are in our kingdom," the elf reminded me, "and it would be in your best interest to respond carefully."

"I am here travelling."

"And do you have a specific destination?"

"LakeTown."

"And your reason?"

"Must I have a specific reason for travelling to see new lands?"

"Well said. Follow me." He turned and walked off along a faint path, a small foot trail barely noticeable, worn into the roots of the dark trees.

"What were you doing so close to the dwarves?" He asked me, glancing over his shoulder.

"They were having trouble with the spiders, I felt one more hand would be a blessing."

"As much as one hand may bring. I'm Legolas." He smiled.

"Linwë."

He did not respond, and we travelled the rest of the way in silence. He would constantly look back to make sure I was still following. We finally reached the great gates of the WoodElfKingdom, and I gazed in awe at the sight that followed.

The hallways were suspended in midair, carved from the roots of a tree thousands of years old. They twisted this way and that and disappeared to other sections of the grand, cavernous kingdom.

I felt oddly at home in such a vast place, Though this feeling of hospitality was not to last. As we approached the throne of the Wood Elven King himself, I grew skittish and unnerved. When I finally stood before him, he turned around.

"What is your name?" He asked, seeming to look down upon me in disdain.

"Linwë Telemnar. Len suilon." I greeted him humbly, trying to gain something more than the cold, hard stare that he was giving me.

"And what is your business in the realm of the Wood Elves? Why are you not home in Rivendell? And what was your business with the dwarves?"

"Your majesty, I am a simple traveler, on my way to LakeTown in search of new sights. I left Rivendell almost a year ago, wishing to explore the lands of Middle Earth myself rather than read only about them within a book. And I was giving the dwarves a hand with the spiders, for they seemed in dire trouble and danger. Is it wrong for people to show kindness to one another?"

"I would not use your tone if I were you," he responded, "you do realize who you are speaking to, do you not?"

"You are Thranduil, King of the Wood Elves and the Mirkwood which you call home."

"Correct." He peered down at me once more, eyes flitting from my face down to the sword at my side and then to the bow across my back. "What...are those?"

"What do you mean, your majesty?" I asked as politely as possible, trying to make up for whatever mistake I must have made earlier.

"Your weapons. They are not unknown among the elves. What are their names?"

"My sword, this is Galathil. And my bow is Alatariel."

As soon as I spoke the name of my bow, his eyes widened and he leaned back in his throne in surprise. "It can't be..." he whispered to himself, "the bow that pierced the dragon's eye..."

"Pardon, your majesty?"

"Throw her in the prisons!" He suddenly shouted, whirling around to face me. Legolas was also taken aback, pleading with the King to spare me, to give me a chance, being elven-kin. But it did not matter. His mind was made up, and I was thrown into the dungeons, as far from the light as possible.

The door slammed in front of my face as I stared solemnly at my feet. The guards gave me a sympathetic look, and walked off. I continued to stand there, wondering what I had done.

Suddenly an elf appeared in front of me, startling me.

"Shh," Legolas whispered, "it's alright, it's just me." I recognized him, and calmed down, but only slightly.

"What happened? Why am I here? What did I do?" I asked, eyes widened with fear. I didn't want to stay trapped down here for the rest of my life.

"Relax. I think I know what happened..." He paused, and I looked at him expectantly.

"What's the matter?" I asked, seeing the forlorn look on his face.

"It's just...I think you reminded him of my mother."

I gave him a confused look. "What does that have to do with him?"

"You haven't figured it out yet? I'm his son. My mother was his wife."

"Oh..." Oops. I should have guessed that. I was too worried to make the connection though.

"You carry Alatariel with you, do you not?"

"Yes. Your father said something about it being 'the bow that pierced the dragon's eye'? What does that mean?"

"Alatariel was the bow my mother used to wield. It had been passed down for centuries, through the Silvan elves, from the hands of Lenwë himself. My mother died in battle against a dragon, but not before she managed to shoot the dragon in the eye. It eventually died, but not before it had exacted its revenge. This was where the bow earned its true, and permanent, name. Never has a finer bow been possessed by any such elf. How it made its way to your hands is unknown, but all Woodland elves know of its name. You are lucky to have the privilege of wielding it."

"Alatariel was given to me by Galadriel, when I passed through Rivendell on my way here. She told me it would protect me from any dangers."

"And she was not wrong. That bow has a habit of finding a mark. It will not fail you."

I remained silent. It was comforting to know why I was down here, but that didn't help me with my issue of escaping. Nor did it free the dwarves.

"He said you looked like her."

"What?"

"He said you looked like her. My mother. He said you have her bright orange hair, and her stunning green eyes."

"Well, be sure to give him my thanks."

He laughed. "You even speak like her."

I sighed and sat down. "So he's keeping me locked away because I'm similar to his wife?"

"He's keeping you locked up because you're exactly like my mother." He looked over his shoulder to check for guards. "Back when my mother was around, the days were peaceful. Then came the dragon. It attacked Dale, a village outside the gates of the old DwarvenKingdom, Erebor. My father's forces went to assist them, but my mother ran ahead while he was assembling the troops. He arrived swiftly, but too late. The dragon had killed her, and proceeded to assault the mountain.

"My father, crippled by her loss, couldn't bear to risk the lives of any more of his people, and withdrew. She had managed to hit the dragon's eye, but it was not enough to kill it immediately. It died a while later. But that didn't revive my mother. From then on, my father has been hateful towards the dwarves for their greed, which drew the dragon to the mountain in the first place. He's wary and distrustful of any traveler, dwarven or not."

I remained silent for a long time, taking in the story and contemplating. "Do you perhaps know the name of this dragon?"

"Smaug."

"Smaug's not dead."