Thranduil's POV
It wasn't that I wished the dwarves' quest to fail, not truly. In fact, the more I considered it, the more I hoped for its success; after all, this particular mountain was in a very useful strategic position, one I would not relish the orcs gaining if ever they did manage to rid the place of the dragon that inhabited it, which, I knew, was more likely with every passing day. After all, I'd seen the same signs the dwarves had and the same signs the rest of Middle Earth would have; it was time for Erebor to be taken again, though by who I wasn't entirely certain. The dwarves would be a far more palatable option than some, however, and one I would gladly take. I simply did not want Bilbo to be the one first thrown into the lion's den, as it were.
I had seen what dragons could do. I had felt what dragons could do, and still felt it depending on the season. I would not throw Bilbo to such a beast as if he were simply an offering, a necessary sacrifice to fetch a silly, if very pretty, stone for a dwarven lord to prove his rule when none have even contested it. My hands clenched a bit around Bilbo, and his soft, small hand settled gently on my arm.
My thoughts flashed to a different battle so very many years before, to the only other who'd ever held my heart as Bilbo now did. I had seen her die, had held her as she did, and I would not, could not, suffer such again. I had failed in protecting her, failed in giving Legolas the life and the love he deserved, failed in ruling my kingdom, and I would not fail to protect Bilbo no matter what I had to give to do it. So, I held him tighter still, taking a half step from the rough doorway as if I thought one of the dwarves would simply snatch him and throw him within the mountain.
"If you need that stone so badly, Oakenshield, I'll fetch it myself. Don't pretend as if you care for him as well only to throw him to a dragon." His lips parted, the cold blue of his eyes boring into me as if he couldn't believe I'd dared to say such a thing. When I glanced down at Bilbo, I noted that he was looking at me in much the same way. I wondered when a lack of desire to send a loved one to face a dragon become so impossible to understand; I was nearly certain that I hadn't been isolated from the remainder of Middle Earth for quite long enough for that to happen, in any case, so I only raised a brow. "I don't want you to be hurt, Bilbo." An older dwarf settled an easy hand on Oakenshield's shoulder, shaking his head when the other looked ready to speak. There was wisdom in his eyes, at least; perhaps he saw sense.
"Smaug knows the smell of dwarf and of elf, Lord Thranduil. I understand your concerns, but Bilbo is the only one of us here with any hope of entering and leaving undetected. Besides, he is lighter of foot than even your people; you've realized as much, haven't you? Else he'd have not been able to creep undetected through your dungeons for so long." Truthfully, I had suspicions on how that had been done, and though soft footfalls had surely helped, they were most certainly not the true cause of his invisibility.
I had not seen him with my eyes, that evening I caught him, nor had I truly found him by sound alone; though I was blind in one eye and near enough to it in the other, the magic fire that had taken my sight did leave me able to see more clearly through workings of magic. Bilbo had appeared to me as a shadow, then, a darker splotch in already dark halls, a spell of invisibility that only the finest sorcerers I'd met had been able to manage; I knew of but one artifact that could grant a hobbit such a Bilbo with no talent in such arcane arts the ability to do the same. I knew well enough that he planned to use it now, to help him sneak in and out of the dragon's lair, and so too did I know that it would do him as little good against Smaug as with myself. If he so much as rattled a coin whilst he stood at the dragon's side, it would awaken and he would be found.
"It takes more than a light hand to steal treasure from a dragon, Master Dwarf, surely you know that. Bilbo is quick and clever; that I would never refute. However, he is not skilled with a blade, and though no swordsman alone could kill it, skill with a weapon could at least prove diversion enough to escape. Why even fight it alone, truly? The door is open, and it will not close until someone chooses to close it. Call your armies, Oakenshield, and I will call my own." The dwarf king tensed his jaw, glowering darkly at me. Had he been far taller than he was, he'd have stared down his nose at me. As it stood, he stared down his nose at my boot. Still, he did not speak.
"He needs the Arkenstone before armies will come, Thranduil. These dwarves with him are the only ones willing to follow until he holds it in hand; the rest do not believe the dragon can be bested." Perhaps they were intelligent in that, if nothing else. There were few dragons so old and so strong as Smaug; he had earned the fear he garnered with death and fire aplenty, and little but villages turned to ash ever remained in his wake. Not to say he was immortal, of course; he was not, he could die as anything else could. He was far from vulnerable, however; he could easily slay an army before a single blade was drawn. Still, we would have better chances then than like this, throwing Bilbo to him like an appetizer before the evening meal, and I did not disagree that Bilbo was the only one Smaug would be unable to smell, at least immediately.
"Tell them he has it; they will know nothing of the deception until a sword pierces the dragon's heart. Or, for all it truly matters to me, you all can give in here. I simply will not let Bilbo do this." That, I think, was the first moment Bilbo ever looked truly upset with me. I could only try to keep my face firm and hope that he did not know yet how easily I would bend to him despite my own misgivings, despite my fears.
"Please, Thranduil, I know that you see that that won't work. We won't beat Smaug with any sort of assault; if we can't surprise him, we won't succeed. Let me do this; I'm frightened, I'll admit, but I want to, for my friends. I'll come back," he swore, and I could feel the ache in my heart as plainly as if an arrow had pierced it. Thandaer, my guard, took a half step forward, hand out; he, at least, knew what I felt then, had perhaps stood in my position before. From what I recalled, his wife was a warrior as well, after all. I swallowed stiffly and prayed only that I wouldn't be shown such a person that I could love, that I could hold, only to have them taken from me so swiftly. And then, I nodded, loosening my hold of him and stepping away.
"Go, then, before I lose the will to let you." Pain, mixed with some of the fear he'd admitted to, flashed quick and vibrant across his face for a moment, before he set it with determination. Oakenshield, along with most of the other dwarves, looked away. My elves only watched him with something like awe as he strode into the mountain, almost like a king himself, and I couldn't help but think how well he would do ruling at my side, how much better my kingdom could become with him in it, how much happier life at the palace would be. I could've collapsed where I stood, my body felt so week, so helpless. The hidden scars across my face stung and burned fiercely, as if I were only just receiving them. I could not stand to even look at the doorway, instead moving to settle on a stone near the center of my cluster of guards. "Keep your bows ready; if you see the dragon fly free, do not hesitate to shoot." They listened with the same grim determination as ever, and Thandaer came to stand by me.
"I will not ask if you are well, my lord, but I do ask if there is anything you'd have me do." I could see easily that he hoped I'd ask him to follow Bilbo into the mountain, to protect him, and though I half-wished to do it, I knew I could not. Any others in the mountain would only increase his chance of being discovered, and if there was any hope that he could return unharmed, I would clutch it until it was gone.
"No. You've the truest shot of anyone here, Thandaer; you're best served keeping your eyes to air." I glanced at the dwarves. They all seemed unwilling to come nearer and sit amongst us; I assumed it had something to do with the guilt in their eyes, the fact that they knew as well as I that every chance said they'd just sent one they called friend and brother to his death. Perhaps I might have commented on that, once upon a time, made it a point to mention their greed, but I had no desire to fight them then, to spark an argument so many of them would be so willing to let me win. I'd only wanted to keep my people, my son, my loved ones safe, to keep them separate; I'd had enough of war and fighting and death. All of Middle Earth had had enough, from what I could see, yet still it persisted and no matter how I'd tried to stay out of it, it had come to my doorstep with bells on. I laughed, low, under my breath, so quietly that not even my guards heard.
One of the dwarves, the younger of Oakenshield's heirs, came over to me slowly, distrust darkening his already dark eyes even further, his thick hand curled tight around the bow we'd given him. I feared for a moment he would break it in his grip; it was, after all, a child's bow, made to bend more easily as they learned the art of shooting them. It held strong, however; perhaps his grip wasn't as tight as it appeared, or perhaps he simply didn't have the same strength as his brothers in arms did. After all, it was rare for a dwarf to use a bow; surely there'd been a reason for the choice. He dropped beside me like the stone I sat upon, frowning deeply, lines he was too young to have earned creasing his face.
"Do you really care about Bilbo, elf?" he asked me, brash with youth, and I could only laugh again, the desperation of it seeming to strike him as firmly as a blade would.
"Yes. I feel as if I'm dying to think of him down there alone when I can do nothing to help him." He was yet too young to hide what he felt; his shock was a mask I barely even had to glance at him to see. "What, you thought I was lying about what he was to me as well? Your uncle has that much say over what you see? Don't be foolish; what reason could I possibly have to lie over this, to say that Bilbo is my One when he is not?" The dwarf squirmed, looking a bit nervous to sit so near to me, especially when I was so obviously out of sorts, but still he pressed on. That he cared for Bilbo as well was obvious, though I imagined he saw the hobbit more as another brother than anything.
"Bilbo is… pretty," he said, slowly, as if I hadn't noticed. "Uncle has… known others like Bilbo, people who are pretty, mostly human girls who felt badly for some of the things he suffered in their cities. We didn't always understand what he meant when he told us about them, until we met a bunch of drunken men not far from the Shire in some place called Bree who were harassing a hobbit girl. Bilbo was the one who stopped them; he's a Baggins, which is apparently very important there, so they listened to him and left. Some of them gave him the same look they'd given her on their way out, though. Of course we worry that someone will do more than look, that they might even appeal to his emotions to get what they want."
Understanding flooded me suddenly; I'd assumed they'd disliked me and distrusted my intentions only because of the feud between my people and theirs, but this… in a way, it proved to me how much Bilbo meant to them, that I and other elves weren't the only one for whom they'd act this way. I nodded slowly.
"You believed I wanted only his body, and that I told him I loved him only so that he'd give it willingly." He nodded, very careful, and I sighed. "That is not true. I've noticed that he's 'pretty,' as you put it, but I know many who are. I could find a willing bedmate with ease, Prince Kili; I simply do not want a bedmate only. My first wife died in battle many years ago, fighting orcs; I have been alone beyond my son ever since that moment. That I found Bilbo, that I had the same calling in my heart for him as for her, is a strange fluke of fate, but one I would never ignore or take for granted. I would cherish him for as long as I breathed; as of now, I fear only that I won't have the opportunity." He stared at me for a moment, dark eyes wide and open, until at last he nodded.
"I believe you. Not that I like you, or that I won't still tell Bilbo he can do better, but I do believe you. I'll let Fili know; he was going to slip a snake in your bedroll tonight. Not poisonous, I promise, but it does have a vicious bite nonetheless," he said, grinning a little before he stood, bowed, and made his way back to the dwarves, his brother specifically. I turned my attention back to the doorway, breath too thick in my lungs, and waited, desperately hoping as moment after moment passed that Bilbo would step again into the light and my waiting arms.