Chapter 2: T.A. 2770 – The World Will Burn
He poured himself a goblet of wine and turned round to step outside to relish the sight the hidden overlook offered him.
In front of him spread one part of the mighty forest, which once was known as Greenwood the Great, that still gave an impression of how glorious the woodlands had been, before orcs and giant spiders began to infest them and before the shadow, that dwelled in Dol Guldur, started to disperse the light his people brought here in days of yore.
A slight summer breeze made leaves of green, orange and gold rustle and a scent of flowers, honey and humid forest soil filled the air accompanied by the song of birds and the hum of bees and other insects.
Thranduil loved the sight, the scent and the sounds, but an indistinct fear filled his heart that all of his efforts might be in vain, that he might fail to keep the poisonous shadow and its foul creatures at bay before he'd be able to figure out what or, an even worse thought, who was behind them.
He took a sip of the heavy Dorwinion while his gaze travelled further east. The haze of a midsummer day made it impossible to spot any details in the distance, but he knew, the reflection of sunlight, which was to make out on the horizon, marked the location of Long Lake and of one of the two remarkable centres of trade the race of men had built close to his kingdom long ago.
Esgaroth, settled in the middle of the lake, entirely built of wood and rested on countless wooden pillars, got populated by eager traders. Its inhabitants were supposed to be descendants of the Edain and therefore had always good relations with the Woodland Realm and its king. They were also on familiar terms with the men of Dale and the dwarves of Erebor, which led to active trading and a high amount of mutual respect.
Dale, the small and independent kingdom of men, was settled northward from Esgaroth and Long Lake. It nestled within a U-shaped bend of River Running and was a well known centre of trade and craftsmanship – benefiting from the great halls of Erebor.
Erebor!
When the Lonely Mountain caught his gaze, Thranduil emptied his goblet within one draft and turned away.
He didn't want to think about the mountain and its inhabitants. Months had passed by since his last visit, but the feeling, that dealing with Thror had become more and more fruitless, never left him. In fact, it was true that he never really trusted the children of Durin. Their obsession with gold and treasure led to treason and betrayal quite often in the days of old and their greed made it difficult to trust them – even for their allies and despite the fact that they were great craftsmen and fearsome fighters. But their alliance lasted way too long by now and it was way too valuable for both kingdoms to put it at stake with levity...
'Why are you sad...?'
The question of the little dwarven princess resounded within his mind and he remembered that he still owed her an answer, but as it seemed she'd have to wait for it even longer as he didn't have in mind to return to the Lonely Mountain in the near future.
He poured himself another goblet of wine and sat down, his gaze still fixed on the horizon, pondering over the question and its answer.
The longer it lasted, the more he asked himself if it was really sadness or if it was rather disappointment which filled his heart when he left Thror and his kin back then.
When he went to Erebor that day, it happened to return something of his own home to his halls, jewels, which had the same meaning to him as the Arkenstone had to Thror.
White gems, pure as starlight. Gems he considered to be the heirloom of his kin. Perfect in every meaning of the word, filigree and of the most beautiful shape a mind could think of. Left to the only hands able to fix some of them after they broke during the long days of fighting and wandering before he led his people back to Greenwood: The hands of the dwarves of Erebor.
Thror's jewellers were known as the most talented and skilled amongst the seven tribes of the dwarves and he had promised that they'd fix the shimmering gems against an acceptable payment.
He had gladly agreed to the dwarven king's offer and less he would have thought of getting betrayed of what was rightfully his.
The payment got accepted, when he returned to Erebor, as got the gifts he brought along with it, but, alas, all he got in return was a glimpse of the chest and the sparkling gems before the lid got closed again and before the jewels got denied to him for one reason: The payment would not do to ransom the small treasure chest and its content.
There was no arguing about it, he was not in his own halls, and there was no bargaining about it, the king under the mountain would not listen to him.
That was what occurred to him the day, when that wee lass dared to tug on his robe and he was sure, the grandchild of Thror would not have understood the goings-on between him and her grandfather.
After all, she was a child of Durin and she'd grow into one of those greedy dwarves as well, obsessed with riches and treasure, as all of her kin did before and as all of her kin would do who would come after her.
Thranduil huffed and had a look at the goblet he slowly spun within his hands.
Well, at least she had been able to cause him a smile, he thought, which was a little something.
He turned his gaze away from the Lonely Mountain and decided that endless pondering over a chest of lost gems wouldn't keep his kingdom safe. There would be another day at a different point of time to make another try to reason about returning them with that stubborn dwarf. Until it was as far as, he'd prefer not to have any dealings with the dwarves of Erebor any more – equal their size, age or gender...
It was later the same day, when he changed his mind within a split second.
First, it was just the upcoming breeze that caught his attention, but all in all it was nothing remarkable on a midsummer day, and so he went on with the paperwork he had to deal with, until he got up to get himself some fruit from out of the bowl which stood on the table whereon also the carafe with the Dorwinion stood.
When he looked up and when he let his gaze travel over to the Lonely Mountain again, he stopped short and frowned.
He narrowed his eyes and it didn't need long until he got that something terrible must have happened.
Dense clouds of smoke hovered over the bearings where Dale was settled and Thranduil knew that, whatever was going on within the city of men, required the help of him and his kin.
He didn't hesitate and he didn't dare to lose time.
That was, why he himself went to summon his master of arms and the leaders of his army: "Ready as many as you can. Within an hour we'll leave! There won't be any delay!"
All effort, all haste and all willpower he had been able to find, had been in vain. When the elves of Greenwood reached the overlook, it was too late:
The city of Dale got burned to the ground and reduced to ashes. All tries to erase the flames turned out to be fruitless and who had been able to escape the flaming inferno was not always the lucky one compared to those who did die.
Thranduil didn't need to hear what the shocked and petrified fugitives told him, he knew what it was that caused this enormous dimension of destruction and he knew what it was that lured it here. Dale had fallen victim to a fire drake and there was nothing he would have been able to do that would have spared its inhabitants from the horror they had to witness today.
It was not the city of men that lured the dragon here, its mind was set on another, a way more promising prey, and no one and nothing would keep it from taking it.
The main gates of king Thror's great halls got burst open and who knew Erebor's strong gates and walls knew what power it must have been that forced them open without further ado.
Thranduil closed his eyes for a while as he knew what did happen.
It was the gold, the immense treasure Thror had piled up over the years which had dragged the dragon's attention towards the kingdom under the mountain.
The dwarven king's lust for gold had grown too fierce, his love for treasures had grown too powerful that he turned blind against the obvious and that he turned deaf against all warnings. That blind and that deaf that now his kin fell under the wrath of a fire dragon.
The dwarves took flight from their halls, terrified, many of them just vested with what they had been able to grab before they had to run for their lives and it was a saddening sight.
The elves of Greenwood waited for his order, but Thranduil just watched, torn between the wish to help and the knowledge that nothing he'd have been able to do would have been enough to bring the dragon down.
This day would not just have seen the senseless deaths of dwarves and men, but of his kin as well and that he was not willing to risk.
It was the greed of the mountain king, which caused this horror and he'd not sacrifice the life of just one elf to defend a treasure vault. Too deep ran his memories of dragon fire and too deep ran his knowledge what it was able to cause...