Acknowledgements: Contains quotes from both the book and movie versions. The Elvish is from the movies, grey-company (.org) and arwen-undomiel (.org).

Rated T because tis better to be extra careful than slightly underrated.


Greetings, most benevolent reader!

This is Book 2 in The Redeemed One series, with my added characters, the main one being Gilrael. If you haven't already, I would suggest you take a look at Book 1, The Elven Huntress, so you will understand things clearly. :)

The energy that drives me on to write are reviews, especially constructive feedback. My goal is to, one day, write with no mistakes or confusing passages, and you will help me on that path with well-meant criticism. Please don't hesitate! Everything is welcomed and appreciated.

Enjoy!

Elluviel


Fire covered the mountain. Dwarves ran away from the wrath of Smaug the dragon, wailing and screaming. The prince, Thorin son of Thor, led the way, urging his people to leave.

"Run for your lives! Go!"

Glancing up as his legs burned from exhaustion, he caught sight of the Woodland King, astride his elk in front of an army of elves. Thorin's heart leapt, and he waved his arms wildly.

"Help us! Help!" Several dwarves around him took up the cry, but the elven king turned his head. However, an elf next to him stopped the king from leaving, and conversed. Thorin's heart pounded. Would they abandon the dwarves in their time of need?


"You did not just go all this way only to leave without helping."

Thranduil took a deep breath, but said nothing.

"What were you thinking when you summoned the army? To go for a little excursion?"

"I cannot help them, Gilrael. I came to see if it was possible to defeat that dragon and at least give them back their mountain, but I see it would be folly." She stared at him in disbelief as he firmly declared, "I will not attack that dragon and risk the lives of my people. Our people."

"I do not suggest you attack the dragon. I suggest you give the dwarves some provisions, and by suggest, I mean urge, and by urge, I mean do it!"

Thranduil glared at her. "They will not accept mere provisions. What they want from us is to kill the dragon so they can regain their wealth and power. And I have no intention to offer goods only to have them reject us."

He snorted. "Can you imagine? A dwarf, accepting help from an elf?"

Gilrael glared at him. "Perhaps it is so difficult to imagine because you have made it that way."

The king narrowed his eyes. "Do not forget that their king refused to return to me the jewels of Lasgalen. My jewels. His greed was his downfall."

Gilrael threw up her hands as even her horse snorted. "Thranduil! Do you hear yourself? Are those jewels worth so much to you that you would give up your values?"

"Gilrael!" the king snapped. "If I let those gems go, the dignity of the elves will be mocked. They are the heirlooms of our people, and I will not let some dwarf sit on it!"

"No dwarf is sitting on it now."

"Gilrael! Why do you have to be so, so… difficult? Argumentative? And for dwarves! I thought you have an intense hatred for dwarves, more than most elves."

Gilrael leveled her gaze. "Still, I must do the right thing. Does not your conscience speak to you? If they die, will you be guiltless?"

Thranduil moved his elk forward. "Dwarves are stubborn. They will survive. Now, if I were the dragon, I would have done it differently. Keep the dwarves captive, as workers to mine the gold."

Gilrael watched him leave with disbelief. "Thranduil!"

"You will be quiet now, young lady! Do you know what I would do if I were your father? Hmm?"

Gilrael sniffed. "Yes! He'd be less selfish!"

The king leaned to tell an elf something, and continued on. The elf turned around, and Gilrael saw he was Firlowen. The messenger.

"Thranduil told me to take your part of the army and give the dwarves provisions and weapons."

Gilrael smiled. "Finally!"

Firlowen nodded. "I heard your, um, argument, and I agree with you. Fortunately, the king is not that thick-headed, and he changed his mind quickly. Though somewhat…oddly."

Gilrael sighed. "I hope the dwarves do accept our help. They won't take the weapons, but maybe they'll take food and blankets. What do you think?"

Firlowen shrugged. "There's only one way to find out. I'd better go back to the palace and speak with Legolas. He's probably torn half the palace apart."

Gilrael smiled. "That upset he couldn't come, hmm? Maybe he'll be calmer if he finds out we did no fighting."

Firlowen nodded as he turned his horse. "Maybe."


Thorin moved through the swarming mix of dwarves and elves amidst cries of thanksgiving and good cheer. He had to thank the one who had given the orders to help them, and he had a good idea of who it was, though he was very bewildered why she would do such a thing.

There, at the edge of the crowd, stood a lone figure, cloaked and hooded, quietly observing the scene. The king's lieutenant.

Thorin approached her, and cleared his throat. "I do not know how to thank you for your kindness. You have given my people some hope."

The elf didn't respond, exactly. As she gazed at the surrounding mountains, she murmured, "A once mighty people brought low, the dwarves of Erebor will wander the wilderness, robbed of their homeland."

The lieutenant glanced down at him. "Where will you go, Thorin son of Thrain?"

The prince grunted. "I will take work where I can find it. In villages of men."

He felt very disturbed having such a conversation with an elf, but she didn't look uncomfortable.

"Gondor? They have quite a selection of blacksmith shops there."

The conversation was getting even more ridiculous, but Thorin couldn't afford to be rude.

"Perhaps. But it is a far distance from here."

Now the elf peered at him with piercing dark eyes. "I would strongly advise against going west, to Bree and such."

Thorin frowned. "Why?"

The lieutenant laid a hand on the hilt of her sword. "The Misty Mountains are not getting safer as the days go on. I sense a dark threat spreading ever faster…"

Thorin held in a sigh. There she went, talking about senses and feelings. Why were elves so…lofty? Why couldn't they depend on solid facts and physical observances?

"Thank you for the concern." Apparently, he was unconvincing.

The elf glanced at him. "If you do end up going west anyway, please take this letter and show it to anyone who gives you trouble."

She held it out, and Thorin took it slowly. Inside was a neatly written passage in a language he could not read, a language that was definitely not any form of elvish.

"Black Speech?"

The elf shrugged. "No orc would dare cross your path if you have that."

Thorin frowned. "Why are you helping me? Why have you helped my people? This was not the king's doing."

The lieutenant sighed wearily. "No, it was not quite the king."

She looked at him carefully. "Thorin, I know what it feels like to be forced out of your home, from everything you have been familiar with. I know what dragon fire feels like. And though I hate dwarves, I do not hate them enough to allow them to suffer when I can warn them."

The elf squared him off, and firmly declared, "All that is gold does not glitter. Not all who wander are lost. Seek not materiel wealth, but friendships and alliances that will last. Beware, Thorin son of Thrain, of gold. It will be your downfall. I hope I never see you again."

She suddenly mounted her horse and yelled an order to her troops as Thorin stared in confusion.

Oh, here's a word of advice, some life-saving help, and don't forget that I hate you and never want to see you again!

He was afraid he would never understand elves.