"Drink up baby, look at the stars,
I'll kiss you again between the bars,
Where I'm seeing you there with your hands in the air,
Waiting to finally be caught."
Elliot Smith, Between the bars
"Master Baggins," Thorin said, breaking the silence that had fallen over the company as they headed towards Thranduil's halls. They all looked to him, having been gazing warily at the banks slipping by as the river dragged them relentlessly onwards. "It will not be long before we arrive and I do not know what kind of welcome we will receive. It might be a good idea for you to don that impressive ring of yours," he suggested, having been thinking on the matter and knowing that having a contingency plan was always a good idea. "Should things go badly, having someone on the outside will no doubt prove useful."
"What ring?" Balin asked, a look of confusion on his face.
"Bilbo is in possession of a ring that makes him invisible," Thorin explained, remembering how fair and alluring the ring had been even before he had been told of its impressive power; Bilbo looked somewhat sheepish as the entire company turned to stare at him in unison, clearly uncomfortable at knowledge of his trinket being bandied about. "As Gandalf said, excellent burglar material," he added, keeping his eyes fixed on the river as he tried to control the avaricious thoughts that had risen in him once again at even the thought of gold.
"Why didn't you speak of this before?" Bofur asked the Hobbit, his eyes wide beneath the brim of his hat.
"Well, it … it's not the kind of thing one flashes around," Bilbo replied hesitantly, avoiding Bofur's gaze; Thorin felt a pang of guilt that he had revealed Bilbo's secret so candidly since the Hobbit seemed ill at ease under the company's scrutiny. And, having been thinking of things being revealed, he suddenly thought that he did not want any hint of their quest to attract Thranduil's notice.
With that in mind, he also passed the Hobbit the key to Erebor, which he had previously kept on a chain around his neck. "Take this also, lest they take it from us if we are searched."
Bilbo nodded understandingly, tucking the key into a jacket pocket. He then pulled out the ring and bounced it in his palm, the gold catching in the sunlight; Thorin forced himself to avert his eyes, whereas the rest of the company watched Bilbo vanish with mutters and expressions of amazement.
However the novelty of the invisible Hobbit sitting in the boat with Ori quickly wore off and their attention was recaptured by the river and their no doubt imminent encounter with the Elves. "Where are they?" he heard Nori mutter after an hour or so, all their gazes fixed on the trees to either side.
"Close, very close," Thorin replied, taking note of the verdant green and strong, clean limbs of the trees around them. Elvish magic, he thought, his lip turning into a disgusted sneer at the thought. "It will not be long now – and whatever you do, do not reach for your weapons."
The words had scarcely left his lips when figures emerged from the trees, almost as if he had conjured them himself. He could make out at least two dozen of them, though some were difficult to spot in their forest green and brown raiment. All of them had arrows trained on the company and Thorin had to remind himself that he had chosen this path willingly.
"Halt," called their leader: he was a tall Elf with long, blond hair and wearing scale armour that covered his chest and shoulders – Thorin groaned internally, being able to trace some family resemblance to Thranduil in this Elf. "Keep your hands on the paddles where we can see them."
Thorin lifted one hand into the air in a gesture of peace, the other in plain sight on his paddle. "We mean no harm," he assured the Elf, trying his best to keep the begrudging tone from his voice.
The Elf lowered his bow and stepped onto the bank in a single, lithe movement, one foot braced casually against a rock as he looked down on the company; the rest of the Elves had not relaxed their grip on their weapons at all. "What is your purpose here, Dwarf?"
Thorin took a deep breath, forcing himself to remember his manners at the Elf's dismissive and disgusted tone. "We were travelling to Lake Town when we were attacked by spiders," he explained. "A member of our company was injured, we have come seeking your assistance," he added reluctantly, nodding pointedly to the bottom of his boat where Elizabeth lay tossing her head in her sleep, still ravaged by the fever.
Something flashed in the Elf's eyes, but he nevertheless beckoned Thorin over with one hand. "Over here," he commanded, gesturing towards a narrow strip of beach close to where he stood. Thorin guided the boat over, running it aground on the small beach. The Elf stepped closer and looked inside the boat, his brows rising high on his smooth forehead at the sight before him. "A human woman?" he questioned in some surprise and Thorin nodded.
He then said something swiftly in Elvish and several of the Elves lowered their bows and approached; Thorin was able to catch that he had ordered some of his companions to see to her and Elizabeth was quickly lifted from the boat and laid out on the bank. They prised open one of her eyes and checked her breathing and her pulse before lifting her shirts to check beneath the bandages. One of them, a female Elf with long red hair, then nodded at their leader, a confirmation that his tale about the spiders had been true.
The leader's mouth narrowed into a thin line and he gestured for the rest of the company to approach the beach. "Out of the boats, all of you," he said imperiously and then turned to Thorin, purposefully drawing himself up to his full height in an attempt to intimidate him. "You claim to be seeking our assistance: as a mark of good faith you will surrender all your weapons," he said – it was posed as a statement, but Thorin recognised an order when he heard one.
He was aware of several members of the company now standing behind him, having already gotten out of the boats while the rest pulled theirs up onto the bank. None of them showed any inclination to hand over their weapons – in fact several of them had their hands resting uneasily on their sword hilts despite his previous order not to reach for weapons. "Do as he says," he commanded them, starting to unstrap his own sword.
The company begrudgingly obliged and Thorin handed his sword to the leader himself. The Elf examined Orcrist with interest, unsheathing it and running his gaze curiously over the blade. "This is an ancient Elvish blade, forged by my kin," he said softly, testing the balance. He then turned to Thorin, a suspicious frown on his face. "Where did you get this?" he demanded to know, an unspoken assumption of theft clear in his voice.
Thorin considered lying and saying that it was given to him, but decided against it. "Found it in a troll-hoard on the Great East Road," he said plainly, tilting his chin up to look at the Elf. "We killed the trolls and claimed the spoils."
The Elf hesitated, returning his eyes to the blade. "How mercenary of you," he said disapprovingly, no doubt looking for a reason to permanently take his weapon.
"Lord Elrond of Rivendell gave me his blessing to use this blade," Thorin said pointedly, not liking the covetous glimmer in the Elf's eyes – it was not exactly a lie, Elrond had only bade that the blade serve him well, but he was not about to reveal this caveat to the Elf before him.
Their leader visibly hesitated and then nodded at the Dwarf king, lowering the sword to hold it loosely at his side. "Then I shall see that it is returned to you," he promised, showing the first hint of respect that Thorin had seen. He then glanced over to where Elizabeth was still being examined by the Elves. "Where did your company encounter the spiders?" the Elf asked, all business.
"Just over a day's journey north of here," he replied, surrendering the last of his knives from his boot and sleeve to another Elf.
"Yet still too close to the Woodland Realm for comfort, and the river has always been safe in the past," the red-haired, female Elf said, standing and coming to join them. She gave their leader a pointed look, her eyes pinched with worry. "We cleared that nest not two moons ago, yet still they have returned … They are growing bolder, Legolas."
"The woman?" Legolas asked, ignoring her comment about the spiders.
"She is in a bad way, the Dwarves did not do a good job of treating her injuries," she said, sending an accusing glance in his direction – Thorin forced himself to remain silent at this insult; there had been little they could do to help her with their limited supplies, but they had done the best they could.
Legolas gave the one of the Elves still standing beside Elizabeth an order in Elvish: from what he could remember of their tongue from his youth Thorin was able to make out that he was being told to ride on ahead to the halls and take her to the healers, whereas the rest of the garrison would follow with the Dwarves. The Elf in question picked Elizabeth up as if she weighed little more than a feather and bore her over to a horse that was waiting among the trees. Thorin was silent, forced to watch uneasily as the Elf rode out of sight with Elizabeth unconscious in his arms.
Fili and Kili were the last to approach the bank and, subsequently, they were also the last to surrender their weapons. They were just pulling their boat up and out of the water when Kili saw Lizzy being picked up and borne away by an Elf. "Stop, where are you taking her?" he asked worriedly without thinking, taking two steps forward.
He was stopped in his tracks by the flat of a blade being pressed to his chest by a tall female Elf with extremely long, coppery hair, the knife in her hand acting as a silent and pointed order not to go any further. "Tauriel," the leader of the Elves said sternly to her, nodding pointedly to the weapons that Kili had yet to hand over.
The Elf nodded in response, sheathed her knife, and turned to face him.
"Tauriel?" Kili repeated, looking up at her with a mildly stunned expression – he knew that name, Lizzy had said that name before. It had been when he had first voiced his opinion about a romantic connection between her and Thorin, long before they had arrived at Rivendell. Annoyed, she had snapped in retort that she had said nothing about him and a person called Tauriel, though he had known no one of that name.
"Yes?" the Elf said questioningly, a slim, elegant hand outstretched expectantly for his weapons.
"It's … a lovely name," he said stupidly, wondering why Lizzy had mentioned her in connection to him, especially in a conversation about romance.
She blinked at him, her eyes a clear hazel, and then her features hardened suspiciously. "Your weapons, now," she ordered in a tone that brooked no refusal.
Lowering his gaze to the ground, Kili wordlessly unstrapped his sword and handed it over, along with his bow and quiver of arrows – he considered making a quip about having another weapon down his trousers in an attempt to lighten the mood, but thought better of it. Beside him Fili was handing over the numerous knives he carried about his person, though he knew his brother well enough to know that he would have no doubt kept some hidden. Kili was just removing a dagger from his boot when he noticed the female Elf examining his bow with a bright-eyed look of curiosity.
"It's made of yew," he told her as she ran a hand lightly over the wood, holding the last of his daggers out hilt first for her to take
She lifted her gaze from the weapon to look down at him. "Surely yew is not springy enough for a bow," she said knowledgeably, gracefully pulling her arm back to test the draw.
"Not usually, but this is a Dwarvern re-curve bow. See the stave here?" Kili asked, pointing with his knife as she held his bow in a perfect draw stance. "It's reinforced with boiled strips of horn from large goats that live in the Blue Mountains. It takes some strength to pull, but allows for a longer range - longer even than some Elvish bows I've seen," he added confidently, glancing at the larger re-curve bow she had on her back and knowing that his own weapon would probably be able to reach the same range, despite being two-thirds of the size. "It combines the best of distance and hard impact," he finished, the hand with the dagger in it still outstretched for her to take.
"You are very knowledgeable, Dwarf," she said, lowering the bow and finally taking the dagger from him.
"Kili," he said simply.
She looked questioningly down at him. "My name is Kili, son of Vili," he explained, and then followed his words with a cocky smile. "And I should be knowledgeable, I made it myself," he said, a note of pride in his voice.
She arched a single eyebrow at him, her lips quirking into the barest hint of a smile. "Impressive," she said melodiously, actually sounding like she meant it. She then glanced at the others, who had all surrendered their weapons and were making ready to depart. "Come," she added, leading him over to the rest of the company. Fili gave him a bemused look after his conversation with the Elf, but Kili avoided his brothers questioning gaze.
They left half of the garrison of Elves behind with their boats, which had been emptied of baggage, and were led through the trees. They walked for a long time, mostly in tense and awkward silence. They were following a narrow, though well cared for path; the trees around them were now far more wholesome, no longer pressing in on them in a tangle of roots and branches. On the other side of the river the landscape was becoming rockier, the banks solid cliff faces that the river rushed passed.
Kili was walking behind Tauriel, his eyes fixed on the ends of her vivid red hair – it hung long and straight until it reached her thighs, where it finished in a little curl. His eyes moved gradually upwards, taking note of the weapons at her sides that she was clearly well versed in using, all the way up to the tips of her sharply pointed ears. He smiled softly to himself: he had no idea why Lizzy had mentioned this Elf-maid to him, yet he had the notion that he wanted to get to know her better.
He increased his pace until he was walking beside her; she looked down at him.
"Where have you taken Lizzy?" he asked, worried for the well-being of his dear friend.
"I assure you, your woman is quite safe," Tauriel said, returning her gaze to face forward as they walked – they were now approaching a bridge that crossed to a large door carved into the rock face, flanked by two Elven guards.
Kili smiled. "My sister," he told her.
She gave him a look of confusion as they stepped onto the bridge. "But she is a human," she said, clearly perplexed.
"Well, my unofficially adopted sister – officially adopted by the Ur Brothers though," he clarified, nodding to where they were walking ahead of him. "She may be human, but she is a member of the Dwarf clans."
"Interesting ... I had always heard that Dwarves were a reticent and secluded race," the Elf said musingly as they approached and passed through the large doors, the light dimming once they were inside. She then glanced down at him once more, her features partially in shadow. "She has been taken to the healers. The rest of your company, however, is going before the king."
Behind them the doors to the Woodland Realm swung slowly and firmly closed.
Thorin was on edge: he did not know where Elizabeth had been taken, he had no weapons to hand and the doors of these halls were inexorably closing behind them. He felt tense and cagey as the Elves led them deeper into the forest-caves. Even being underground was little comfort, it was nothing like Dwarvern halls, with their straight and angular corridors and walls carved smooth enough that they could be polished to a shine. Here some of the rock had been left raw and unfashioned, with waterfalls spilling down even within the halls. It created a strange and alien mixture of the natural and the unnatural; in places the stone was wrought into shapes of trees and carved motifs of entwined branches spanned the rock walls.
They crossed many narrow bridges, but eventually came to a meandering and winding set of stairs leading to a tall pinnacle of rock where a throne had been fashioned out of stone and carved wood, flanked by the antlers of a great elk.
King Thranduil was sprawled within the throne high above them, watching their approach with sharp and narrowed eyes. He was dressed in robes of fine silver, a crown of leaves and red berries on his head. Though it had been over a century since Thorin had last seen the Elf-king, he appeared utterly untouched by time.
The company gathered awkwardly in the space below the steps of the throne, with Thorin stood at the front.
There was a long silence.
"Welcome Thorin, son of Thrain," Thranduil said eventually, his voice deep and musical.
Thorin inclined his head a touch, knowing that he must show respect even as his heart flared with a familiar, old anger at the sight of the Elf-king – he could not help but remember the last time he had seen him, high on the safety of a ridge as Erebor burned beneath him. "Hail Thranduil, lord of the Woodland Realm," he said tightly in return.
Thranduil sat up straighter so that he was no longer sprawling lazily over his throne. His eyes flicked downwards, taking in their dirty and travel-worn clothing before lingering on each individual member of the company. "Tell me … what brings a king and his … rag-tag group of companions to my doorstep?" he asked disdainfully, returning his penetrating gaze to Thorin.
Thorin took a deep breath, knowing he must be cautious here. "We are travelling from Ered Mithrin to visit our kin in the Iron Hills. With the Men-i-Naugrim supposedly overrun with orcs and goblins, we decided to sail down the forest-river to Lake Town," he said plainly, sticking to a partial truth.
"It appears that you took a wrong turning along the way," Thranduil pointed out mildly, a hint of a sly and amused smile playing around his mouth.
There was a pause as Thorin regained control of the anger that was brewing within him – Thranduil no doubt knew precisely why they were here, yet he was going to make him say it out loud nevertheless. "We did not intend to encroach upon your kingdom at all, necessity drove us here," he said slowly. He then raised his chin high and forced his next words past his pride. "We need your help."
"So I've heard," Thranduil said knowingly, his satisfied smile widening at his words. He rose elegantly from his throne and laced his hands behind his back, looking down at them from the high platform his throne rested upon. "A human woman who travels with your company was injured in a skirmish with the spiders and now lies with my healers."
Thorin simply nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
"And why, Thorin, son of Thrain ..." Thranduil started to say slowly as he ponderously descended the stairs, keeping his eyes fixed upon him. " … are you taking a young human woman to meet your kin in the Iron Hills?"
There was a pregnant pause.
Thorin considered and discarded several possible explanations – that she had been orphaned and adopted into the Dwarf clans, that she had joined their company for protection while travelling to Lake Town – and eventually gave what was quite possibly the least plausible reason for her presence among them.
"She is my wife," he lied, staring Thranduil in the eye.
The Elf-king smiled. "A Dwarf of the house of Durin taking a human wife ... I doubt the truth of that," he said, reaching the bottom of the stairs. He came forward until he stood right in front of Thorin, who was forced to crane his head to look up at him. "Who is she really?" he asked softly.
Though it was the least plausible reason for her presence, it was also the one which provided the greatest protection for Elizabeth. Thranduil was not cruel by nature, yet he and any other Elves in his domain would hesitate to allow harm to come to her if they believed her to be his wife – the problem with this was that they had no concrete evidence of their supposed union; no wedding braids or jewellery that could act as proof.
Thorin spoke slowly, reluctantly. "We have not yet spoken our vows but I have every intention of making her my queen." Those words tasted less of lies in his mouth.
Thranduil's smile was like the edge of a knife. He lent down slightly to look into his face. "Queen of what?" he asked quietly, watching Thorin's reaction as furious realisation of what he was saying rose within him. The Elf-king then straightened once more. He took a slow step back and looked down his nose at him. "To have a queen you must first have a kingdom … something which you are sorely lacking, I believe," he reminded him in a pointedly amused fashion.
Blind rage rushed through him and he stepped forward – Balin stopped him from speaking with a hand on his arm.
Thranduil's smile was smug, watching Thorin's anger with bright-eyed interest: he had been trying to get a rise out of him, Thorin realised furiously, clenching his fists at his sides at his taunts. The Elf-king chuckled melodiously, as if the whole thing was a fine joke, and then spread his arms wide. "My home is open to you. The hospitality of the Elves is yours to enjoy until your woman has healed enough for you to move on," he said with congeniality that rang false, then his expression turned stern. "After that, you will leave these lands and not return," he added firmly.
"You have my thanks," Thorin said tightly, still trying to reign his anger under control once more.
"And you will join me at my table for dinner this evening; it has been a very long time since we have spoken, Thorin, son of Thrain. We will no doubt have much to discuss," he said deeply, his eyes burning like embers beneath his stern brows. "I wish to hear all about your future bride," he added with a smile, and somehow he had managed to make that sound like a threat.
Lizzy's senses came back to her slowly, one by one. Thoughts sluggishly came first - she wasn't sure of where she was, it was utterly dark around her and she had a momentary flash of panic. However her fear eased as she blearily realised that there was someone was holding her hand, a comforting anchor in that darkness that surrounded her. Sound came next: there were familiar voices all around her, which further calmed her down. Words trickled through the blackness, distorted as if they were travelling though water.
"... should stay with her ... said she would wake soon."
"Don't … we'll stay ..."
Fili, that's Fili's voice, she thought hazily, realising belatedly that the reason it was dark was because her eyes were still closed.
She heard a sigh and felt someone squeeze her hand, then the pressure was gone. There was the brief snick of a door closing, then a long silence. She felt the bed she was lying on dip as someone sat down beside her, which jarred her slightly, and she became aware of the pain in her body for the first time. She did a quick mental catalogue of the injuries she could feel: her stomach was queasy and it felt like she had been punched in the ribs; her head was fuzzy; every muscle in her body felt cramped and achy and she didn't think she would be able to move properly for some time. As it was, she didn't even want to open her eyes yet.
"Do you think she can hear us?" Kili asked at an obstreperous volume right next to her head.
Lizzy kept her eyes closed. "When you speak that loudly you could probably wake the dead," she croaked in response, her voice coming out painfully raspy.
"Lizzy!" she heard several people exclaim excitedly and the bed dipped once again, jogging her uncomfortably. She cracked open her eyes with difficulty and blinked as she saw Fili, Kili, Bofur, Bombur, Bifur and Ori all gathered around, with Fili and Kili sitting on the bed on either side of her, all of them looking at her intently.
"Hi," she wheezed softly in response to their worried looks, giving them a weak smile.
Unheeding of her injuries, the Dwarves grabbed her arms to pull her roughly up into a sitting position – and her nauseous stomach instantly objected to the sudden movement. "No, don't -" she spluttered in protest, but it was too late.
She retched involuntarily and instinctively lent clear over Fili's lap to throw up onto the floor beside him. She was vaguely aware of her hair being pulled back and out of the way as she coughed and spat onto the stone, throwing up nothing but foul tasting bile.
Once she had finished she was eased gently back to sit against some pillows that had been swiftly piled up behind her.
"Sorry, probably shouldn't have pulled you up like that," Bofur said cheerfully, utterly unrepentant and holding a bowl in front of her with a bright smile lest she start hurling again. "Bombur threw up too when he woke up."
She collapsed back against the pillows: her throat felt even worse after having vomited and her stomach was cramping fiercely. She was weak and shaky; her limbs were heavy and her head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton wool. The last thing she remembered was being attacked by the spiders in the forest ... she must have been stung, she realised belatedly.
Though that did not explain where they were. For the first time she took note of the room she was in, blinking at her unfamiliar surroundings: it was dominated with rich, darkly lacquered wood and one wall seemed to open up onto the forest itself, though the trees were green, healthy and strong looking – there was no way they were still in Mirkwood, she thought.
Fili simply threw a towel over the puddle of vomit on the floor. "We'll leave that for the Elves to clear up," he said, eyeing it with mild disgust.
"Elves?" she rasped in confusion, turning her head to return her gaze to the Dwarves – even this small movement made her stomach lurch threateningly once again.
Her question was ignored. "How do you feel, lass?" Bombur asked in concern.
She took a deep breath as bile rose threateningly again. "Like I've been hit by a truck," she said with a painful groan as her stomach churned, bending over the offered bowl just in case the urge to vomit overcame her again.
There was a brief, befuddled silence.
Lizzy sighed and raised her head. "Like I've been sat on by a dragon," she reiterated tiredly and they all nodded understandingly. She then looked around the room once more. Both the wood and stone that made up the walls was carved into intricate patterns of branches that reminded her a little of some of the décor she had seen in Rivendell. "Where are we?" she rasped in confusion, already both suspecting and dreading the answer.
"The halls of the Woodland Realm," Fili said, pulling a face and disabusing her of her previous notion that they couldn't still be in the forest.
"Oh and by the way, if anyone asks, you and Thorin are betrothed," Kili added, sending a shit-eating grin in his brothers direction.
"What? What?" Lizzy demanded, trying to sit up once more – this proved to be a mistake, she buried her head in the bowl Bofur had given her and retched once more. Kili simply pat her awkwardly on the shoulder, probably feeling guilty since his words were what had prompted this new bout of vomiting, while Fili rubbed her back soothingly. "Just … go back to the beginning, how were we captured?" she asked miserably to the bowl before her once she had finished, hating the horrible taste that was lingering in the back of her throat as well as the foul smell now rising from the bowl. She was thankful that her hair had been pulled back earlier and wasn't hanging into the bile.
"We weren't captured," Ori said seriously.
She risked looking up, confused once again.
"We thought you were dying, Lizzy," Fili explained, his hand still moving gently over her back. "We had to come."
"You … Thorin bought the company here … willingly?" she said, stupefied, still trying to figure out what they were saying.
"Aye," Kili confirmed, watching her reaction carefully.
She blinked and looked around the room, half expecting to see the Dwarf king hanging about in the shadows. "Is he …" she started to ask, but trailed off weakly and looked down when she saw no hint of him – it rather upset her that Thorin hadn't been with the others waiting for her to wake, she thought that they had gotten close in the past few days. Stupid girl, she reminded herself bitterly, remembering that her affection for him wasn't exactly reciprocated.
Fili seemed to guess what she was trying to ask. "He was here not long ago, he's dining with the king at the moment," he said consolingly, giving her a small smile.
This was not reassuring, despite the little flare of happiness she had at the idea of Thorin waiting with the others in her room. Lizzy groaned at the mental image of Thorin and Thranduil sitting down to eat together and bent over the bowl once more as sudden worry gnawed at her already upset stomach. "Oh god, this is not going to end well," she muttered pathetically.
Thorin's tension was evident in every step of his heavy boots as he stalked his way to the kings dining chamber, having been given directions by a passing Elf. He had spent most of the afternoon in the healers' rooms by Elizabeth's side, seeking her out the moment Thranduil had dismissed them. He sat for long hours simply holding her hand as she slept - something which the others had pretended not to see and didn't comment on once they joined him, though he had noticed Kili sending Fili an oddly triumphant look. With the assistance of Elvish medicine her fever had already broken, her breathing had become less laboured and she slept easily, no longer tossing and turning.
He had been loath to leave her side yet knew that he must join Thranduil for dinner – or what was no doubt just an excuse to level more veiled insults and jibes his way. The Elves had said that Elizabeth would wake soon, but Fili had told him not to worry, promising that they would stay with her.
Thorin entered a dining chamber containing a large, polished table that was completely empty save for a single wineglass, with no other silverware or cutlery laid out. Thranduil stood with his back to him, behind his ornately carved chair at the other end of the table, now wearing a different robe of deep red. He appeared to be looking down at something in his hands.
"I open my home to you, I offer to share my bread and my wine ... and in return it appears that I have received nothing but lies," the Elven-king said deeply, not turning around at his entrance.
Thorin remained silent, suddenly wishing that he had a weapon on his person.
"You said that you were journeying to the Iron Hills, but I find that I do not believe the truth of that, especially with this found among your baggage," Thranduil said, turning to reveal that he held the map of Erebor in his hands – even as fury that their belongings had been searched rushed through him, Thorin was acutely relieved that he had possessed the foresight to give the key to Bilbo.
"You had no right -" Thorin started to say angrily, taking two steps forward.
"I had every right to search you when you crossed my borders," the Elf-king interrupted coolly, raising his chin and staring him down. "And I will not even begin to ponder the meaning of the strange items that were discovered in your woman's bag, that is something I will discuss with her when she wakes," he added softly; Thorin felt a flash of trepidation, knowing that it would probably be a very bad thing if Elizabeth's other-worldly heritage should come out, and possibly catastrophic if Thranduil discovered her foreknowledge. With that in mind, he wisely held his tongue once more.
"But this map …" Thranduil continued, walking slowly around the table towards him, his eyes lowered to scrutinise the parchment. "With such evidence some might assume that a noble quest is at hand, a quest to kill a dragon and reclaim your kingdom … But no, with a company," he sneered the word and raised his penetrating gaze, "so ragged and small as yours I believe I must search for a more … prosaic explanation." He held the map out to Thorin, positively towering over him. His voice was a quiet whisper as he added, "Attempted burglary, perhaps?"
Thorin took the map and still he did not speak, his jaw clenched tightly.
Thranduil turned and started to walk back around the long table, one hand trailing over the polished wood. "You no doubt seek that which would bestow upon you the right to rule, to unite the Dwarf armies against the dragon … the Arkenstone," he finished, reaching his chair, turning and lightly resting a hand on its winged back.
"I do not seek to reclaim that which is not already mine by right," Thorin snapped, unable to hold his tongue any longer.
"But it is not yours," Thranduil retorted, his hand tightening on the back of the chair in sudden anger as the two of them glared at each other over the table. "Not a single piece of that treasure belongs to you any more, not when it rests beneath the feet of a fire breathing dragon," he said bluntly. He then raised his chin, relaxing his white-knuckled grip on the chair as he stared at him. "But you … you have found a way in to that mountain, you believe it can be done," he said softly and then smiled disconcertingly.
Thranduil pulled out his chair in a single, lithe movement, elegantly taking a seat and arranging his robes around him. He picked up his wine glass and swirled the liquid, his gaze still fixed on him. "Despite your lies and concealment, I am still willing to offer you my help," he said, his eyes hooded and intent.
Thorin suppressed a small, resigned smile, knowing the Elf was about to offer him a deal that he would no doubt have to refuse. "I am listening," he replied, curious as to what he would have to say.
"I have opened my home to you and my healers tell me that your woman is well on her way to recovery, though my hospitality and aid does not come without a price," he said smoothly, still holding his wine glass. "There are gems in that mountain that even I desire," he added, giving him conspiratorial half smile, as if they were allies with something in common. "I think you know of what I speak, Thorin … A necklace of white gems that gleams like pure starlight, a necklace which is mine by right," he added, an ugly expression flashing briefly over his smooth face. "When you have reclaimed your kingdom you will return it to me … as a token of your gratitude for my assistance."
Thorin turned his back so that the anger in his bearing would not be obvious – never, never, would he give this Elf a single coin of the hoard within Erebor, let alone one of its finest jewels. He knew the trinket Thranduil spoke of: the Elves had commissioned the Dwarves to craft some of their jewels with Dwarven mithril, yet had then refused to give the agreed payment, thus the Dwarves had kept the necklace. Though the rift between Elves and Dwarves hailed back to the First Age, this was the cause of the tension between the Dwarves of Erebor and the Woodland Realm. "A favour for a favour," he surmised, keeping his wrath on a tight reign.
"Indeed," he agreed, taking a sip of his wine. "I could overlook your lapse in manners in lying about your true purpose here and we could assist each other." He could hear the smile in Thranduil's voice. "One king to another in a mutually beneficial arrangement."
Thorin had heard enough, his anger started to bubble over. "You think ..." he began with deadly softness. " … to take a share of the treasure of my people, claiming that it is your right?" he snarled, then turned to glare at the king. "You turned your back on us when we were homeless and starving, you watched us burn."
Thranduil took another sip of wine, unheeding of his words.
"I would not give a single glass bead or penny piece of that treasure to you, you who lack all honour!" he finished as a shout, holding his fist over his heart.
"Enough, you have made your feelings quite plain," Thranduil said, sounding almost bored as he placed his glass on the table before him and elegantly folded his hands. "Now allow me to make something plain to you in turn ... This is not your kingdom, Thorin, son of Thrain, and you have no power here," he said, his voice full of quiet menace. "No one leave these halls without my permission. You can agree to my terms or you can be imprisoned here, it matters little to me," he finished lazily.
Thorin hesitated: Durin's day was fast approaching and they might not reach the mountain in time, yet he refused to unbend his pride on this matter. Besides, they were imprisoned in the story Elizabeth knew and that meant that she knew of a way to escape, though she had yet to share it with him; they also had Bilbo, who had proved his usefulness in sticky situations time and time again. He could take this calculated risk without sacrificing his pride.
Thranduil noticed his hesitation. "Should you accept my offer I will return your weapons and let you go, you have my word."
"I would not trust you to keep your word even if the end of all days were upon us," Thorin retorted caustically, sealing their fate.
"Very well," the Elf-king said, making a vague hand gesture that summoned a pair of guards. "You can rot in the dungeons for centuries until you change your mind, for all I care," he said as the guards seized his arms with unnecessary force since he was not struggling. "But think on this, Thorin son of Thrain," he added, lowering his voice to a quiet whisper. " A hundred years is but the blink of an eye in the life of an elf, but for your human bride … it is beyond a lifetime."
Tauriel stood in silence, watching as the Dwarf-king was led away by the guards. Despite his words of anger and betrayal he offered no resistance, even when the guards pulled him along far more roughly than was needed; instead his mien was noble and proud, silent even in this humiliation. She could not help but dwell on her preconceived notions of Dwarves, that they were greedy, rude and obsessed with treasure: these notions were now changing. Certainly their king had been undeniably rude in his conversation with Thranduil, but it was arguably deserved rudeness after he had humbled himself before someone he considered to be an enemy. Really it was pride that this secluded race was guilty of, not greed.
"Why do you linger over there?" Thranduil asked, picking up his wine glass and taking a sip, watching with satisfaction as the doors closed behind Thorin.
Tauriel stepped closer, standing beside her king. "This is wrong," she said quietly, knowing that she might well provoke his anger but determined to voice her opinion nevertheless. "They came to us for aid, they should not be imprisoned."
"I will not accept disrespect in my own halls, Tauriel," he said firmly in response, a hint of a warning in his tone.
"Of course, my lord," she said, suppressing a sigh as she recognised that she had overstepped her position and that he would not bend on this. She would not argue further; she was of lowly Silvan birth and had worked extremely hard to for many years to gain her position as a captain of the guard. She knew Thranduil could take all of that away from her with a single word, thus it was not worth provoking his displeasure further. She had already irked him once already that day: when she had come to report that the Dwarves baggage had been searched he had commented that he had ordered that spiders nest destroyed, yet had then refused to listen to her explanations that they were spawning in Dol Guldur, or her entreaties that they kill them at their source.
He would not stir one foot beyond their borders; the fortunes of the outside world could rise and fall, yet he would see them safely ensconced away, fighting daily for their small island of freedom while the shadows grew at the door.
"See the other Dwarves down to the dungeons as well," Thranduil further ordered, a clear dismissal as he leant back in his chair, still watching the closed doors from above his wine glass.
"Yes, my lord," she answered and swept from the room, feeling powerless in face of what she perceived to be an injustice.
She paused to give orders to several guards, telling them to join her in retrieving the Dwarves from the rooms they had been quartered in, and was told in turn that some of them were in the healers' rooms. She left them to with instructions to locate the others and take them down to the dungeons, meanwhile she made her way towards the healers' chamber alone.
Inside she found several Dwarves, nearly half of the company, and was surprised to see that their human companion was awake. She looked very sick and wan, clutching a bowl that seemed to be the source of the unpleasant smell that lingered in the room to her chest with trembling hands. She would no doubt feel unwell for a while yet with the amount of venom that had racked her body. It had attacked many of her organs even as she fought to get it out of her system, wasting her muscles in the process; it would probably be several days before she regained her full strength.
What surprised her, however, was the casual and familiar nature of the group around her bedside. Two of the Dwarves were sitting on the bed with her, with the others standing closely around, reminding her that this woman was apparently part of their clans and family. That was a further belief that had been turned on its head: she had heard that Dwarves were a reticent and guarded race, yet they had opened their halls to a human. Moreover, a pledge apparently even existed between her and their king, a marriage that would place a human queen on the throne of Erebor.
"Tauriel," the black haired Dwarf she had spoken to about bows earlier said in a surprised voice, standing respectfully at her entrance.
She looked around the room, taking note of their superior numbers and lack of weapons. "You must come with me," she said calmly, not wishing to alert them that anything was amiss.
The Dwarves did not question her, though they did look to the woman. "Will you be alright?" the blond one with the braided moustache asked her, the brother of the one she had spoken to, she believed.
"Yeah, I think I'm just going to go back to sleep, I feel like crap," she rasped, her throat clearly paining her to speak.
They said their goodbyes and followed Tauriel from the room, still unaware of what was going on. She led them deeper into the caves, down numerous curving stairs.
"Where are we going?" the black haired one, Kili, asked eventually, just as they reached the dungeons.
Tauriel hesitated and then told the truth. "The king has discovered the true purpose of your journey and is extremely angry," she said with assertion that she didn't quite feel as they turned a corner, bringing them face to face with the guards who had bought the rest of their company to the cells. Several barred doors were still standing open, awaiting the Dwarves that she had escorted.
The Dwarves positively glared at her when they realised what was going on, several of them loudly voicing their anger as the guards pushed them into cells. Only the two brothers remained silent, and, since they were not struggling and cursing, were the only two to enter the cells under their own power.
They portrayed two different types of silence, Tauriel thought to herself as she watched them. The blond one stalked into his cell with anger visible in every inch of his body, whereas the other gave her a long, thoughtful look of contemplation before nodding at her and walking silently into his cell with quiet dignity.
"I am sorry," she said softly to him as she closed and locked the door of his cell herself.
She turned to walk away, gracefully ascending the stairs that led away from the cells. She glanced briefly back over her shoulder as she reached the top – Kili had his large hands wrapped around the bars of his cell, watching her leave with dark eyes.
Hope you guys liked the chapter, I'm trying to develop the Kili / Tauriel thing in a different way than the movie did. Also, Lizzy and Thorin will actually speak again in the next chapter, pinky promise.
Thanks for all your amazing reviews and support, you guys rock! :D One teeny tiny reminder though, I am currently working 2 jobs while travelling the world, so updates will usually be about 1-2 weeks apart no matter how much you ask when I am updating :p
You can follow any updates, sneak peeks and Richard Armitage spam on my tumblr ~kindle-the-stars, and if you have anything you want to ask me I recommend you PM me, I am more likely to reply there than on reviews :)
General question for this update – what do you hope to accomplish / do in 2014?
Also, thanks to Anonymouse1776 for proofing again for me!
Love to you all :)