Chapter 6: T.A. 2770 – Do not say, I did not warn you
"Mas lediach, hîr nin? Will you not return to your halls together with us?"
The captain of the guard looked at Thranduil and his gaze was filled with a slight hint of concern, when the Lord of Greenwood made no attempt to follow his escort back to his halls.
Since they had left the dwarves, the king had been close-lipped and lost in thoughts. No one dared to ask why and no one dared to talk as long as he did not. They all just wondered, why this meeting had obviously impressed him that deeply.
First when he told his escort to halt and when he got off his horse, silent murmur started.
Thranduil rid himself of his armour and quickly changed into a common woodland elf, while his escort watched him, both, staggered and confused. He wrapped a light cape round his shoulders and put his weapons back to the saddle – sword, bow and arrows.
As soon as this change was complete, no one, who did not know him, would have been able to tell him apart from the rest of his kin and no one, who did not know him, would have been able to recognize the elvenking within him.
When he noticed the wondering expressions mirrored upon the guards' faces, he finally explained: "I will not accompany you and there will be no discussing it. You'll return to my halls. No one will learn about my absence. No one will follow me. Should one of you disobey, I'll not hesitate to send you to the dungeons by my own hand."
"But, my lord, what about the spiders and the orcs, who dwell in the forest? They grow bolder and some even got spotted close to the pathway, several times."
"Keep them at bay, should they dare to close in on our halls. Keep the gates closed! Double the guards! No one enters the kingdom as long as I'm absent and no one leaves it!"
"Be iest lin, hîr nin", the captain of the guard slightly bowed: "It will happen as you order!"
Thranduil just nodded.
His escort quickly merged with the dense brushwood of the forest and while the first light of the upcoming morn mingled with the mist rising from the nearby river, he hid his hair and face underneath the wide hood of his cape.
He mounted his horse and a sigh escaped his lips. What he wanted to explore did neither need an armoured escort, nor would it cause him any harm.
At least, none, that would be visible...
A slight move of his heels drove his horse on and he turned upriver.
He would ride northward – towards Dale and Erebor...
Dwarves had not been spotted near the Lonely Mountain since the days when Thorin I. had decided to abandon the ancient kingdom of Erebor to lead his kin northwards to the Grey Mountains, the Ered Mithrin.
Driven by greed for precious metals and by lust for gems of all kinds, he established new strongholds in the north and reunited the dwarves of his kin with those, who had lived within the Grey Mountains since the days of Durin the Deathless and with those who had dwelled there, since they had taken flight from Khazad-dum.
The dwarves of Durin's folk succeeded swiftly in building up their new halls, and while, soon after, profitable mines emerged riches of never known value, the Lonely Mountain sank into oblivion for almost four-hundred years, only sung about in long ballads during long winter nights.
It was then, when no one spent a thought on Erebor any more, that dragons from the Withered Heath began to afflict the dwarves of Ered Mithrin, lured by the hoards they had piled up within their treasure chambers.
The news spread rapidly throughout all Middle Earth, that a cold dragon had killed the dwarven king and one of his sons and that the dwarves, led by their new king Thror and his youngest brother Gror, would return to their homes under the Lonely Mountain and under the Iron Hills.
Northmen from all around Rhovanion followed the dwarves and while Thror and his kin restored the kingdom under the mountain back to its former glory, the men of the north turned the small settlement close to River Running into the beautiful and flourishing city of Dale.
He had spent many days apart from his duties and his kingdom to watch the construction of the main gates of Erebor and of the two enormous statues, which would guard them.
Hidden from the curious eyes of dwarves and men, he had witnessed how trade started to blossom between them and how mutual respect and friendship started to grow – and he decided, that he should lead his own kingdom out of its isolation.
He had offered his friendship and his will to restore the old alliances between elves, dwarves and men to both, the King under the Mountain and the Lord of Dale, knowing that such an agreement would serve all of them well, and they had gladly accepted this offer.
It was at that time, when he first met Thror, the rightful heir of Durin's house, a young dwarf lord, who was eager to turn Erebor into the most beautiful and most powerful of the seven kingdoms, since Khazad-dum fell under the wrath of the Balrog.
And Erebor was beautiful!
The great halls had been a sight to behold, especially when the gaze fell from the balustrade high above the town down upon its breathtaking architecture with its columns and its arcs, with its niches and its ledges and with its ceiling, which seemed to hover above everything.
Small figures hurried to and fro the long alleys and corridors, and who was unversed in what dwarven hands were able to create, would never have believed what his eyes presented him with:
Polished dark marble covered the alleys and corridors, which spread endlessly all around the city.
Jewels and molten gold got worked into the also polished columns and the keenly swung arcs, after uncountable skilful and talented hands of thousands of eager dwarves had apparently built them out of nothing.
Lanterns and lustres made of artfully smoothed and cut crystal bathed the whole place in warm and colourful light, reflected by the jewels and the gold which adorned even the smallest niche and the tiniest spot of this miraculous place, causing the illusion of infinity and eternalness...
Eternalness! There was no such thing...not for those, whose lives were fragile...
Thranduil reined his horse in, when he reached the overlook, and for the second time within only a few days his gaze fell down upon the ruins of Dale and the desolation the attack of the fire drake had left behind.
Burned trees stretched against the clear blue sky like some oversized claws of a terrible beast and meadows and fields got turned to ash and spread in front of him like a shroud.
Nothing moved, nothing breathed, no bird sang and no sign of life was to spot – not even for the keen eyes of the elvenking.
How did those who wanted to return to the ruins think to survive?
Where there was nothing left for them, but barren lands, where there lived a dragon close to them now and where there seemed all hope to be lost...
Thranduil shielded his eyes against the sun when he looked over to the gates of Erebor. An enormous void gaped where the dragon had forced the gates open and it looked like a deadly wound or a horrible scar.
His hand sank and he closed his eyes for a while, when sadness and grief grasped for him.
He asked himself if there were still survivors left, who strayed through the corridors and the empty halls, searching for a way out.
If yes, how long would they be able to hold out, till the dragon would get them, till they would run out of supplies and till they would die from hunger and thirst?
And what about those who got trapped?
Thinking about everything the two young dwarves had told him, it was not to foreclose that their mother had endured a fate like this, together with those of her kin, she wanted to save. How long could they keep up until they would realize that they would suffocate?
The Lord of Greenwood lowered his head.
He thought of his last visit within King Thror's mighty halls, of his wish to get spared from the greed and the stubbornness of dwarves and of the hint of guilt he felt, now, as the mountain king's realm lay reduced to ashes.
"Be at peace, sons and daughters of Durin", he whispered: "Sleep now, in the arms of your father and be welcomed within the halls of your ancestors."
"Gamut manan ai-menu! Welcome, elf, amongst the dwarves of Durin's folk! Have a seat, have a zûl, have a meal! It's not good bargaining if the stomach is empty and the throat is dry!"
Thror, son of Dain I. King under the Mountain, had prepared a heartfelt welcome for his guests from the nearby Woodland Realm and he had accepted without hesitating, even though the greeting had been rather jovial instead of formally.
This dwarf, able to fill a room with his presence, was hardly of age when first they met, but he was all eager to prove to his kin and to his visitors, that there was no doubt about him being the rightful heir to the kingdom under the mountain and that he was a true son of Durin.
"These halls still need some improvement, but what do you expect after almost four-hundred years of abandonment?"
The negotiations had taken the whole day, but not, as he had feared, because Thror would not have been willing to agree to an alliance, but because of all the music and song and food he had prepared for his guests. The young dwarven king had turned the meeting into a feast and even he, Thranduil, had to admit, that the Nogothrim knew how to celebrate.
Fragments of songs and ballads came to his mind, as did the distant echo of laughter and music...
But they were not meant to be sung or hummed today...
Not today...
Perhaps never again...
They were buried deep inside him and he'd not allow them to get to the surface of his troubled mind.
Because it would mean, that he cared, because it would mean that he forgot.
"Your lust for gold will be your downfall. Don't you remember what drove you out of your halls in the Grey Mountains? This is no treasure chamber, this is a hoard already!"
"Tell me, my elvish friend, why you are always concerned?"
"Will you take the risk to lure a dragon here? You cannot be that blind, Thror, son of Durin's folk! It is no secret that your kind has a fierce love for gold, but yours seems to grow too fierce!"
"This is just a treasure chamber. Nothing evil will ever spread from it."
"I wish for you to be right, but the past already proved you to be wrong. Come to your senses, my friend. Lure the evil here and not even your allies will be able to help you!"
"You're a naysayer, Thranduil Elvenking! What evil it ever may be, we'll overcome it. You'll see..."
"Do not say, I did not warn you!"
It was the Arkenstone each visitor came to see first as soon as they entered the great hall, Thror had turned his throne room into.
The white jewel shimmered bright within its socket high above the king's head, as if a cold fire would burn deep inside, as if it would pulse, as if it were alive.
The heart of the mountain – maybe there was a reason, why Thror had given this name to it.
But as cold as the jewel's light had been the welcome, the King under the Mountain had prepared this time.
All of his heirs had been present, his son as well as his two grandsons, all dressed in regal attire, all watching him and his escort approaching the throne.
He beheld the king when he bid him his greetings, and he knew, Thror had changed.
It was within this moment, that his gaze had caught Thorin's and he had been able to read what was going on behind his brow. The young prince knew as well, that his grandfather was not the same any more.
There was a feverish shimmer within Thror's eyes when he presented his gifts to him and there was a strange tremble within his voice when he replied: "Well, Thranduil Elvenking, we're grateful for your generous gifts, but what leads the Lord of Mirkwood here?"
"I brought to you the payment in exchange for the gems I left for your jewellers to restore."
Thror nodded and waved his younger grandson to step forward.
He had known what the chest contained, Frerin presented to him. He had known it, the moment he had seen it. And when the young dwarf opened the lid, it had been his hand, which started trembling.
The King under the Mountain had kept to his word, his jewellers had worked wonders, but when he reached out to receive the chest, Thror denied it to him...
No word, no explanation...except one: the payment hadn't been enough...
The next thing he remembered was a childlike voice addressing him and a small hand tugging at his robe.
'Why are you sad...'
Thranduil blinked the tears away.
He blamed the sun for them, but that, he knew, was not the truth...