Chapter 4: T.A. 2770 – Where there is Life, there is Hope
There was still a thin trail of smoke to spot, where now the ruins of Dale lay; caused by a small number of fires, which weren't willing to die. They still enlightened the sky, spreading a slowly ebbing glow on the horizon after the sun went down and after the night fell.
A few miles further north everything seemed to be calm; calm and dark and of a deadly silence. The flames, the Lonely Mountain had been wrapped in, did finally die when even the last tree got consumed by their wrath and the once glorious kingdom of Erebor lay in ruins.
Just one day had been enough to drive the inhabitants of the two proud kingdoms of dwarves and men into exile and there was not much help, his kin would be able to offer.
Thranduil knew, his halls were neither made, nor meant to house all the fugitives, who would ask for his help during the upcoming weeks, if not months, therefore he had agreed to send healers out to support the men of Dale. He had offered the same to the children of Durin, but not all of them wanted to accept the help that came in the shape of a healer instead of a warrior.
The Lord of Greenwood turned his gaze away from this sight which was only able to sadden him tonight, knowing that the attack of that dragon meant much more in the long run than the loss of lives and culture and the loss of beauty and knowledge. First and foremost, it meant the loss of strength within the everlasting fight against the darkness and the shadows of Mordor and he was aware that the news of the loss of Dale and Erebor would spread all around Middle Earth quickly.
He also knew that, if he was right, if Sauron was still around, the Dark Lord would find out soon that the forces of elves, dwarves and men got enervated and that the old alliances got finally broken. It didn't matter any more if due to distrust or due to the attack of the dragon – the forces close to the northern border of Mordor lay shattered and in pieces.
Thranduil's heart was heavy and for the first time since ages he felt the gift, the blessing of immortality and the burden of its meaning, weigh on him like never before.
It was not that he lost his will to live or that he felt the longing to set sail for the Undying Lands to follow the call of the white shores and the green fields of Valinor, it was rather that it got more and more grievous to outlive all those who were born mortal.
Their span of life was short anyway and to watch how easy it was to hurt or break them, seemed to him at times to be a waste of everything: time, life, knowledge.
What was a century measured by an age?
They were gone within a blink of an eye, vulnerable, and small...
But nonetheless they were willing to risk everything, their frail lives included, to fight for what they defined as to be just and right and they lived their lives as if it would be forever, denying that they were just candles which would burn down quickly:
Enlightened by a spark in the beginning, burning bright for a while and slowly going out when their vigour got consumed.
Thranduil sighed, but got his attention caught by hasty steps which drew nearer quickly. He got up in anticipation of the late visitor and frowned as he beheld the entrance to his study. The captain of the guard entered the room and approached him, obviously in a hurry.
"My lord", he stopped within a suitable distance and hinted a nod: "News from Dale."
"Whatever it is – let me know!"
"There is not much left, my lord. We met many survivors, who told us what happened when the dragon attacked. They had no time to think about anything but taking flight. Most of them suffer from burns or other wounds and almost all of them from hunger. We do what's in our strength, but I fear it won't be enough to save them all."
"To save them all will be beyond all means. That is a bitter truth, but none you'll be able to prevent. Where will the survivors go to?"
"Most of them will try to rebuild their lives in Esgaroth, but a few want to return to Dale."
"Yes", Thranduil nodded: "that was to be expected. And it will be useless to make a try to talk them out of it." He closed his eyes for a moment, then asked: "Did you receive word from Girion?"
The captain of the guard lowered his gaze. He stepped inwardly from one foot to the other before he straightened and replied: "I'm sorry, my lord, but Lord Girion fell defending the city. We got told that he tried to fight the dragon shooting black arrows at the beast, but none of them hit its mark."
"Nîn velui a lalaith veren nalú en-agovaded vín, Girion, mellon nin!*" Thranduil whispered.
"But his family is save, my lord! They are on their way to Esgaroth."
"That might become essential one day, but for now it is of less importance." He looked at the captain of the guard, hesitating before he asked: "What about the dwarves? What about Thror and his kin?"
"The dwarves seem to be at odds with each other; about where to go to and about what to do. The biggest part of Thror's kin will seek shelter with his brother, Gror in the Iron Hills, but a not even small amount will stay with their king and the royal family. As far as we know, he's alive and so are his son and grandsons. It is just..."
"What is it? Speak!"
"My lord, as it seems, there is rumour amongst them that you betrayed the old alliance by not having interfered..."
Thranduil just listened. There was nothing to add and only time would tell, if he did the right thing by leading his army back to Greenwood or not. For now, there would be no reasoning with Thror; neither with him, nor with his son.
He beheld the captain of the guard and asked: "Any other news from Dale or Erebor?"
"Not for the moment. We'll inform you as soon as there will be more for you to know."
The captain of the guard hinted a bow and turned on his heels to leave his king, but when he was halfway out of the door, he stopped and said in a low voice: "Although, my lord, there might be one more thing you possibly should know."
The king cocked his head and looked at him expectantly and so he went on: "What are we supposed to do with the two young dwarves we found close to our gates? They are wounded and exhausted and it stands to be feared that they won't endure the journey to the Iron Hills."
"Where are they now?"
"We took them to the healers."
Thranduil kept silent for a while until he nodded and replied: "You did well to take them here. I'll look after them myself."
Later that night, in the early hours before sunrise, Thranduil went to the halls of the healers. The elleth, who kept watch with the sick and the wounded greeted him and led him over to the two dwarves the guard had taken here earlier that day.
"They are both asleep now, my lord, but I wonder, how the child was able to survive: On the road for days, without enough food and carrying those burn marks. Her will to live must be strong and so must be her brother. It seems that he carried her all the way from Erebor to your halls."
"I would just like to know what brought them here and why they are not with their kin."
"You'll surely get an answer as soon as one of them wakes up, my lord."
Thranduil wanted to give her a reply, but before he was able to do so, he had a look at the young dwarf who lay in bed in front of him.
He was Frerin, the second born of Thrain, the king's son.
For a moment he felt tempted to wake up the prince of Durin's house, but then he decided to let him sleep and to have a look at the other bed instead.
There, covered with a light blanket, lay Thrain's little daughter, the small face ashen and her tiny figure almost lost amongst the cushions.
Out of a sudden resolve he decided to stay until the wee lass would wake up.
He longed for to learn about the reason, why she and her brother sought shelter with him and his kin and he'd wait for one of them to tell him, even if it would need the rest of the night and the whole upcoming day.
"Have you come to tell me the story?"
Thranduil blinked when her silent voice tore him out of his slight doze. The little dwarfling sat in bed and watched him. Her cheeks were still pale and she still appeared to be weak, but her eyes sparkled and she obviously didn't feel the pain within this moment the burn marks must have caused her.
Dis smiled at him while she crawled over the sheets and blankets to get closer towards him, then she reached a hand out to tuck a strand of his hair back behind his ear. The smile got broader and she said with a contented nod: "Now I can see you." She sat back and asked: "How long have you been here?"
"Oh, it's been quite a while", Thranduil replied, tried to remain stern.
"You must have been tired", she said: "you even slept with half closed eyes. My amad always says that you can do that only when you're really tired."
He had no idea why, but she caused him an inward smile. That was why he responded all serious: "Your amad was right. It only works when you are really tired or", he looked straight into her eyes: "when you are an elf."
She clapped hands and beamed: "Another story you'll tell me?"
"Perhaps one day."
"Then Frerin will have to admit that I did not tell him fairy tales. You know, he didn't want to believe me that you promised me to come back to Erebor to tell me a story."
Thranduil nodded: "Well, as it seems, you have been eager to outrun me and to pay me a visit in my halls..."
The little princess raised her gaze and within a split second her smile, her light-heartedness and her strength subsided, when she said: "My amad sent us here; to wait for her. She said, you'd know what to do with...this." She pointed at the dressed burn marks: "But there was a loud noise and a crack and then I couldn't see her any more. She won't come, right? She won't come back..." Her voice died away and she got tossed by sobbing.
All her desperation and her hidden pain got mirrored upon her face and her narrow shoulders seemed to be far too small to carry the burden of the horror she had to witness.
Thranduil thought of his father and how the pain of losing him during the battle of the last alliance still preyed on his mind and heart when he stayed awake spending countless nights lost in thoughts and brooding over the fate of his kin and realm – and he decided that it was the only thing he'd be able to do and that it would be the right thing:
He reached out to pick the wee lass up and he smiled when she snuggled up against his cheek, her face buried within his hair.
"Anor valthen, togo laugas lín nestad enin gûr hen**", he said in a low voice, holding the crying dwarfling close.
"You cannot stay here!" Thranduil handed a goblet of wine over to Frerin and poured himself one as well. "It is not ill-will I bear against you, son of Thrain, you just have to return to your kin and king."
"That is understood", the young dwarf replied: "and it is what I want and wish for my sister and me."
"Where will you go, now, as your halls lay in ruins? Many of your people will move to the Iron Hills. You should follow their example and unite your forces."
"You saw what this fire drake was able to cause. Do you really think, my granduncle would risk the lives of his kin to make a try to drive that beast out of the mountain? He wouldn't!"
Frerin stared at the goblet in his hand. He sighed and had a draft of the wine before he added: "It's not for the first time that he and my grandfather witnessed the wrath of a dragon, so, there won't come help from the Iron Hills."
Thranduil didn't give him a reply. He knew enough about the wrath of dragons that it would last for a lifetime. The marks the dragon-fire had left upon him burned deep under his skin – still – and he would never forget about its impact...
When he heard the young dwarf speak for the next time, Frerin smiled: "My sister seems very fond of you."
"I never heard that a dwarf was ever fond of an elf. She'll get over it."
"The burns..." Frerin hesitated, ignoring the Elven king's last remark: "Will they heal?"
"I will do, what's in my powers, son of Thrain, but I won't say either yes or no. The scars will always remain where they are, but there are ways to hide them from the eyes of the world."
"Then we'll owe you..."
Thranduil looked at him and lowered his gaze.
He sighed, obviously moved by something different, but all he said was: "You don't. At least not more than you already do. This, I will do for your sister. It is no favour I'll do for your kin..."
*Sweet waters and light laughter until next we meet, Girion, my friend.
**Golden Sun, may your warmth bring healing to this heart.