Disclaimer:

I do not own the characters and storylines of 'The Hobbit' or 'The Lord of the Rings'. Both belong to the brilliant mind of J.R.R. Tolkien, who brought us

the breathtaking novels, and to the not less brilliant ideas of Peter Jackson who gave us six amazing movies.

I own my OCs (Dis' mother, Dis' husband, inhabitants of the different settlements of men, elves and dwarves) and the storylines I invented myself.


Summary:

Dis, the little princess of the house of Durin, grows up within the great halls of Erebor, sheltered and loved by her family. She does not know about suffering and losses until the day Smaug comes and drives her kin into exile.

Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm, has to witness how his kingdom gets driven into isolation after a mysterious Necromancer settles within the old fortress of Dol Guldur and after the Old Forest Road gets abandoned. Therefore the alliance with Erebor and the trade with Esgaroth and Dale are of great importance to him and his kin.

When Dis meets Thranduil, during one of his visits with her grandfather, Thror, she senses that things didn't go well and she tries to get an answer why. Less do they know that it will take decades until he will be able to tell her the truth.


Prologue: T.A. 2769 - A Chance Meeting

„Why are you sad?"

At first he didn't react to the childlike voice that addressed him. Later he wasn't sure if he even noticed it at that point of time. There was so much on his mind within this moment, that a silent whisper like this was hardly able to tear him out of his thoughts. And what was this little sound compared to the obvious: the beginning of an end.

The end of an alliance which may not have been built on friendship, but which always had been kept alive due to mutual respect and due to the need to be prepared if the evil should ever return. And he was convinced they would need this alliance.

Not now, perhaps not in a hundred years, but one day and he had always been willing to keep to his word – although the memories he carried with him, the memories of the horrors of war, would never leave him.

He felt that the days became darker, but he'd not mingle into the business of others as long as he would be strong enough to defend the borders of his realm – and if the only reason was to honour what so many lost their lives for. It was the realm his father once built and he'd allow no one to cross its borders without giving them his allowance, but he also knew that he'd not have the strength to withstand the powers of darkness if the shadow he suspected to hide in the vast lands of Mordor should ever rise again.

Mordor!

Even to think of it still shook him to the core and so he turned his once blooming kingdom into a fortress and built new halls below ground when he heard of a shady sorcerer who founded a stronghold which was soon known as Dol Guldur and when he found that orcs and giant spiders started to populate the woods, weaving their webs and poisoning the lands.

He watched with unease that both, men and dwarves, abandoned the old forest road and that the Hobbits who once settled close to his realm, near the eastern border of the forest, left for never to return. His kingdom got more and more isolated and so it happened that soon only his kin still knew about the narrow path they had raised to replace the old forest road and that neither visitors nor travellers dared to set a step into the woods anymore.

It was at this point of time that the people of Middle Earth started to name the once proud forest Mirkwood instead of Greenwood and that rumour spread about an ancient evil that dwelled within the ruins of Dol Guldur.

He knew about the rumour and he knew what rumour was able to cause, but he did not mind. Another hundred years and it would turn into a story told at the fireplaces of lonely travellers, told under a starlit sky during long nights spent in the open.

Nonetheless, he was aware that the friendly ties he cultivated with the nearby kingdoms of Erebor and Dale as well as with the city of Esgaroth would become even more important than they had ever been before.

Erebor!

He had witnessed how the Dwarves turned the Lonely Mountain into a flourishing kingdom.

He had witnessed how greed had driven them away to search for gold and riches in the Grey Mountains, although they knew what their greed had woken up in the deep depths of the ancient kingdom of Khazad-dum.

And he had witnessed when they returned to the Lonely Mountain – after the death of their king when a cold dragon attacked and devastated their halls in the Grey Mountains.

They were from Durin's folk, descendants of Durin, the Deathless, and they were as proud as they were assiduous and stubborn, but first and foremost they were great miners and artists, great craftsmen and traders. The goods they forged and crafted were of high workmanship and they were not only valued by the people of Dale and Esgaroth, but also by the Elves of the Woodland Realm.

Their king, Thror, was a just leader and visitors of all realms, equal if Dwarf or Elf, Man or Hobbit, were always and at any time welcome within his halls. No one who ever came to meet him would have doubted that he and his kin would hold the kingdom under the mountain as his line was strong and ensured by his son and his grandsons and as he commanded an army of well trained soldiers, but as often when strength and birthright seemed to be unshakable and deep-seated, a shadow would dim the light.

Things started to change when one day a jewel got found deep within the mountain; a white jewel, pure and shimmering within the light of the miner's lantern and of the size of a grown man's fist.

Thror took it for a sign: a sign for his right to rule and he made sure that it would become an heirloom of his kin!

He named it the King's Jewel, the Heart of the Mountain, the Arkenstone!

And the king under the mountain started to change, slowly, barely noticeable, but constantly:

Distrust started to darken his mind and greed started to poison his heart and neither his heirs nor his allies knew about a cure.

He let out a sigh. Maybe he'd have...


"Why are you sad?"

The silent and childlike voice addressed him again and a small hand tugged at his coat.

He stopped short, frowned and had a puzzled look at the wee one, who stood behind him while staring at him curiously out of wide eyes. He waved his escort to go ahead and a forced smile appeared upon his lips when he beheld the bold little dwarfling.

"Why should I be sad", he asked in return.

"Cause you are", the wee child replied: "Why?"

"What makes you think I am?"

"When you came here, you smiled, now you don't..."

Torn between the wish to leave the great halls of the Dwarven king without further delay and the knowledge that this dwarfling was not the reason for this wish, he cocked his eyebrows and blinked. If he was right, this child was a girl. She was tiny compared to him, but as it seemed she was not afraid. Out of a sudden resolve he went down on one knee to have a closer look and, yes, this dwarfling was a girl. Her grey eyes appeared to be a bit too big within the small face, but her wide smile compensated this and made them shine like the jewels the workers found within the countless mines. Her tuft of black hair looked uncombed although it was skilfully braided and her dress of best fabric, nightblue velvet and bright blue brocade, had obviously seen better days once. The little cheeks were stained with ash as were her fingers and her feet stuck within the same heavy boots like he knew them from grown dwarves – just fitting her feet.

There she stood and watched him as he watched her, and as there was no one around except her and him, he remarked: "You shouldn't be here. All alone."

She crossed her hands behind her back and shrugged: "I ran away."

"What of?"

"The nursemaid."

"Will you tell me why?"

"Cause I wanted to see you!"

"Me?"

"Yes! They said you'd come here...and...and I was so excited...but they did not allow me to stay. That's why I ran away." She nodded to confirm her statement.

"But you know you will cause your nursemaid trouble, do you?"

The wee lass pouted: "It's not fair!" Then she huffed: "My brothers are allowed to go everywhere. Even to see you! But I did too!" The smile returned: "From a hideout! No one knows."

"I do now!"

She locked eyes with his and placed a finger in front of her lips, shaking her head: "Shhh! You will not tell them, right?"

"No", he shook his head: "I won't. I promise!"

The little dwarfling looked at his hair and the way it waved over his back when he shook his head, then she reached out to grab a strand and marveled at it: "Where are your braids?"

"I have none..."

"Oh...", she giggled and had a look at his face: "No beard either. My grandfather has a big one. It's all white and he puts gems in it..."

"Won't you tell me who your grandfather is?"

"You know him! When you went to see him you were smiling, now you're sad. Why? Why did my grandfather make you sad?"

He looked at her again and all at once he understood. This curious little dwarrowdam was the third child of Thrain, the king's son. The two sons, Thorin, the eldest, and Frerin, the second, he knew. He had seen them several times when he had paid the king under the mountain his visits, but he had never heard about the third child. Now he knew why. Female dwarves were rare and so they took care of them very well, which meant that this little princess was worth more than all the jewels they'd ever find within the mines.

He inhaled a breath and tried not to look too stern when he gave her an answer: "That is a story too long to tell it to you here, in a corridor. And it is not the time to tell it to you now."

"Why not?"

"Cause", a dark and melodious voice mingled in: "you'll not keep the king from his duties any longer!"

A noble lady hastened over to them, dressed in regal attire, her face stern and worried.

The wee lass winced, when she recognized her mother. She let go the strand of his hair, she had still kept within her hand and looked at him while she bit her lower lip: "Will you come back?"

"Yes", he said: "and an Elf always keeps to his word."

Her eyes brightened and she smiled at him, when she reached out again and when her tiny hand touched his cheek: "I like you!"

"Dis!" Her mother picked her up and looked at him apologetically: "Forgive her, my lord, she shouldn't even be here."

"No need for excuses", he replied: "Nothing happened. Neither to her, nor to me, but if you allow", he got up: "I'll take my leave!"

He nodded at the noble lady, turned round and was about to go, when he had a last look back. The little princess, Dis, was waving him goodbye, while she was eagerly talking to her mother.

And Thranduil smiled...