Elves and Dwarves
Disclaimer: I do not own any characters from Tolkien's legendarium, and I have taken certain liberties with the mythology of the elves and dwarves. Khuzdul in italics taken from the Dwarrow Scholar. Enjoy!
Woodland Realm, Third Age
Thranduil
"My Lord!" Elros bursts into the spacious chamber where the Elvenking was speaking with his head of guard, Tauriel. "The scouts have spotted thirteen dwarves, wandering about the forest! One of them looks like the fallen Durin's Heir, Thorin Oakenshield!"
"Thorin Oakenshield?" Thranduil wonders what the young prince is doing in his forest. He turns to the redheaded elleth beside him. "Tauriel, take as many soldiers as you need. Capture but do not harm the dwarves, unless they try to escape." She nodded and turned away. "Tauriel." She turns back, a question on her fair features. "Take Legolas with you." A fleeting look of confusion and pleasure crosses her face before the elleth dips her head again. Elros leaves with her.
Thranduil thinks about how the dwarves of Erebor fell from grace, forced to wander the plains of Middle Earth until they finally made a home far away from their ancestral home. The mountain, occupied by the terrible dragon Smaug, was mostly quiet. Occasionally, perhaps every decade, some smoke would billow out of the mountain, causing alarm to every elf that saw it. Thankfully, the dragon chose to stay with his hoard.
Perhaps I should have helped them kill the dragon, he muses thoughtfully as he leaves to go to his chambers. He banishes the thought immediately. Even if the elves had been on good terms with Thror, they had numbered far too few to be of any use. No, the only possibility would have been death for all of his people.
The Elvenking looks into his enchanted mirror, hanging innocently by his vanity. It beams his supernatural beauty back, magnifying it by tenfold. He needs to appear irresistible and superior to the dwarves in every way possible, though he feels a twinge of disgust at that. He carefully places his autumnal crown atop his flaxen hair, and when he finally decides that his image is pure perfection, he steps away. Another gift of the mirror is that Thranduil will seem so pure and angelic that the dwarves would not wish to cause him any harm, an extra layer of protection.
"My Lord?" An elf knocks on the door.
"Yes?"
"The dwarves have been taken to the dungeons."
Excellent. "Tell two of the guards to bring them to the throne room."
"Yes, my Lord." The light footsteps fade away.
He walks to the throne room, and drapes himself gracefully on the gnarled tree that has created his throne. Soon, two of his guards march Thorin to the dais at the feet of his throne. Thranduil smirks at the dwarf's disheveled hair and clothing, obvious signs of fighting. His heart speeds up, however, at the strands of spider web caught in those raven locks, though the Elvenking doesn't let it show.
Thorin stands with all the grace his bound hands will allow, and the guards step away. Thranduil unsheathes his sword, and a hint of fear enters the dwarf's cerulean eyes before it turns to awe, then annoyance. Thranduil only smiles and cuts the bindings easily.
"Some may imagine a noble quest is at hand. A quest to reclaim a homeland- and slay a dragon." Thranduil paces around Thorin, watching how he stiffens. "I, myself, suspect a more… prosaic motive. Attempted burglary, or something of that ilk." Thorin looks down, seemingly to avoid seeing the elf in front of him. Thranduil twists, somehow managing to contort his body so that he is level with Thorin. He has the fleeting thought that though he is a dwarf, his features are not altogether unpleasant.
Focusing back on the task, Thranduil slowly steps backwards. "You have found a way in." He enjoys the look of panic that crosses Thorin's face at this. "You seek that which would bestow upon you the right to rule. The King's Jewel. The Arkenstone." The dwarf is glaring at him now. "It is precious to you beyond measure. I understand that." A smirk, and the dwarf is suddenly looking more open to negotiation. "There are gems in the mountain that I too desire. White gems, of pure starlight." He allows the longing to cross his face, and Thorin no longer looks so hostile. "I offer you my help." Thranduil bows his head in respect.
The regal dwarf looks down at his feet and smirks slightly. "I am listening." Oh, how different his voice is from all of the other elves'! Raspy and deep, his is a baritone that resonates throughout the halls. He would no doubt be a lovely singer.
"I will let you go, if you but return what is mine."
Another smirk, wider this time. "A favor for a favor."
"You have my word." The Elvenking decides to butter up the prince some more. "One king… to another."
Thorin turns, looking out over the empty pathways interspersed throughout Thranduil's halls. "I-" Thranduil leans forward in anticipation of his submission, his gratitude even. "-Would not trust Thranduil, the great king, to honor his word, should the end of all days be upon us!"
This should not be happening. The dwarf should have fallen completely under his spell, should have felt nothing but attraction and perhaps even a bit of goodwill towards Thranduil.
"You, who lack all honor!" Thorin stabs his stubby finger into the dwarf's own chest. "I have seen how you treat your friends!" He spits, not pausing at all to take in Thranduil's shocked and slightly panicked expression. "We came to you once. Starving. Homeless! But you turned your back! You turned away from the suffering of my people, and the inferno that destroyed us!" Anguish fills the dwarf's face, then fury. "Imrid amrâd ursul!"
Stung by the fierce insult, Thranduil coils back to lash out at the dwarf runt. He stops himself an inch away from Thorin's face, and the dwarf, strangely enough looks somewhat contrite, before his features harden once more. "Do not talk to me of dragon fire!" Thranduil hisses. "I have faced the Great Serpents of the North!" He can almost feel the enchantment melting away, and wills himself to calm down before the spell fades, revealing the ugly scarred flesh underneath. "I know its wrath and ruin." Wrenching his face away, the Elvenking walks away towards his throne once more. Thorin looks shocked beyond measure, and shifts away. "I warned your grandfather of what his greed would bring." Thranduil lets all of the sadness and anguish he has ever felt about Smaug's arrival in Erebor flow into his voice, and apparently Thorin hears it.
No matter. The dwarf was obviously so filled with hate that he could not feel anything save animosity towards himself. Thranduil waves a hand, signaling the guards. They grab Thorin by the underarms, and Thorin looks up pleadingly at Thranduil, as though he is asking for another chance. "Stay here if you will, and rot. A thousand years is a mere blink in the life of an elf!" He leans in as the guards drag Thorin away. "I'm patient. I can wait." Because he knows the dwarf must have a time limit, else they would never venture into Mirkwood in the first place. It's only a matter of time before he breaks and pleads to come and parley again.
First things first, however. Thranduil must talk with Tauriel about the spider infestation. Strangely enough, all he can think about are those cerulean eyes, filled with anguish, with horror, with fury, with pride.