Chapter 3

The large, oval study room laid bathed in a yellow glow, sun rays danced through the windows to the silver adored walls. He tried to figure out why his desk hadn't been cleaned in a while. Letters he didn't recognise and in-depth documents on different marmalades from Hobbinton, laid spread out in disarray. He knew now who'd been here. Disorder and overall messiness disgusted Thranduil enough at is. However, the overall stupid need to seemingly write down the production history of marmalades, was a spectacular waste of his writing materials. He was almost flabbergasted at it. How can anyone be interested in this?

His eyes moved around the desk and came to rest on a letter he could actually recognise within the mess. An old letter from Elrond, an invitation to Rivendell to attend some sort of "council". He had so graciously declined... He didn't need to be in Rivendell to know what was being plotted there, he had his eyes and ears everywhere. A knock echoed from the wide and tall double doors, engraved in an ancient decor of climbing thorns and blossoming roses. White and red, like snow and blood.

"Sire, i have the documents you asked for," the voice of his secretary could be heard through the wood.

"Enter," he answered monotonically.

The doors opened with a small creek and Thranduil turned to the one he knew had used his study room without permission. His secretary had with him only around three documents and he was surprised at the lack of information on his family's heritage.

"I would advise my lord to be as careful as possible with these papers, they are very old." The younger elf bowed his head in respect holding out the yellow-tinted writings.

"Winton, may I ask why you have been using my study room without permission?" Thranduil asked nonchalantly as he warily took ahold of the time-worn documents.

His secretary turned a bit pale and his green eyes went wide, he looked ridiculous. For being an elf, Winto Ryndirion was rather expressive, his facial expression had quickly become a topic of mirthful discussions around the court. He wouldn't say the nobles were actively poking fun at him behind his back but... well he was indeed the source of numerous inside jokes. Of course Winto himself was still young and remained fairly naive, he reminded the king of Legolas when he was in his fifties. Now as the young elf opened his mouth, he seemed to think very hard of what cards he could play. Of course, he didn't have any.

"You don't need to answer that but know that if you do it again, i will nail you to an anchor and let you sink down into the enchanted river. I've been wondering how deep it is for some time, wouldn't you care to find out?"

He turned around and put the documents on the table, observing his servant's petrified face in the window. Green eyes flickered around like flies.

"Eeeh m-m-my lo-" the youngling stammered in mortification.

"Tell the cleaners to tidy up this place. You are dismissed," he drawled out. Winton left the room with a stiff bow and a muffled "yes sire".

The king ultimately decided to relocate to his private chambers for he couldn't work in this filth. As he later went through the documents in the quietness of his chambers, he couldn't help but wonder why he hadn't taken a look at this before. Carnimírë, Corma -o anwa or "red jewel, the ring of gifts" in Westron. The language of which Sigrid could understand. It was a lesser magic ring, magic rings were quite common in contradistinction to popular beliefs. As long as they were the lesser ones...

According to the legend, Carnimírë had the potential to be quite powerful but as long as it wasn't counted amongst the 20 rings of power, its title as a "lesser magic ring" stood its ground. According to the myths, It was made by the smiths of Aulë, as a price to be won in some sort of tournament or competition. It was said that Aulë's wife Yavanna, blessed the ring with the knowledge of how to grow and preserve earth-based organisms. They told of how Yavanna plucked the rays of the newly created sun and made the ring warm, blessed with heat for a lulling peacefulness and protection.

The Valar Irmo Lórien, blessed the ring as well with the potential of visions and sensory consciousness, the gift of see through guises and illusions. Whilst the lady of sorrow Nienna, Lóriens sister, gifted the ring with the weight of strong emotions. Of tears of grief and distress that would later transform into hard-fought wisdom. A deep understanding of the inner workings of the heart which would give way for a sturdy compassion that would strengthen the spirit.

It is said that Nienna was melancholy in nature and the few times she was actually happy, it tended to come in waves of disaray. Whilst her anger rolled in across the skies in thunderstorms and her sadness came through in rainstorms, drencing the world of Arda as she wept. Anyone would turn neurotic and unstable if they lived in that constant loop with extreme ups and downs. The last of the Valar that blessed the ring was Estë, who gave it the gift of healing wounds and numbing bodily pain. Though all of these stories were mere legends since the only thing the ring had been proven capable of doing were to see through minor illusions and show off vauge images of the future. Rarely had it healed wounds and when it did show those qualities, it had never been able to heal anything that's older than 20 years.

In the back of his mind, he concluded that much of this script was made up mumbo jumbo. Still it was his heritage and an ancient artifact. Carnimírë had since then been passed down through the family of the elf who won the tournament. It was a tournament for the first elves in Valinor and thus the elf who had won the ring was of the Vanyar kin. His name was believed to be Langion. So it went on for many, many years before the last living descendant -whose name had been Aldon Rautorion- of that noble elf family gave away the ring to Thranduils father Oropher during the war of wrath. The ring had been lost to them during his father's years, before they founded the kingdom of the woodland realm.

Thranduil had a faint memory of the ring, glittering in the sun on his fathers writing desk. It had most probably been stolen and then during over the years, it had somehow ended up in the ruins of Dale... not too far away from its owners. From the painting of the ring on one of the documents, in accordance to his own memory of it, Thranduil knew that the chance of Sigrid having it in her grasp at the moment was high. High enough for a visit. It rightfully belonged to him and for it be in the hands of a young, foolish little girl, a mortal nonetheless - was an insult.

The thoughts of one magic ring brought his thoughts over to another. He had sent Tauriel and Legolas to investigate the orc threat and due to that, he'd gained new insight. A shadow that grows in the dark, the seething malice. He had time to rebuild his forces but not that much time, he couldn't afford any laziness from his men now... And of course, his ancestral ring would be an advantage to them in the future world war. Legolas had taken off, obviously put off by the fact that his feelings for Tauriel was pretty one sided.

Thranduil had played around with idea of banishing Tauriel for her disobedience. She had become sidetracked with helping the dwarves and the people of Laketown. That had not been her mission, her compassion got in the way of her duties and that was just not tolerated. He had made sure to reprimand her for that. Her punishment had been a lower rank, as a mere foot solider. Banishment was too much of a waste and he knew how humiliated that rank had been for Tauriel. Now more than ever, she worked to prove herself and in a twist of irony maybe became even more loyal than before. There was only one positive thing about Tauriel's little excursion to Laketown, she had saved Sigrid (and her siblings as well but they weren't important).

If Sigrid hadn't survived then maybe the ring wouldn't have been found. What a stroke of luck, well maybe not for her. She seemed quite smitten with the ring, having killed an orc in cold blood for it. It will be fun to see her crestfallen face when he comes to take her new treasure away. According to the guards he had left her with, she always kept the ring close and was mindful of any eyes on her. He hadn't sent them there to only spy on her but to protect her as well... or at least the ring.

...

Three weeks had passed and everyone had busied themselves by rebuilding their life, mourning for the dead and letting the new reality sink in. The days were hectic... as if the people could find some solace by being active, a distraction from the tragedy they've endured. As Dale was undergoing reconstruction, the people of Laketown dwelled in the halls of Erebor, which was also being renovated to its near primary state. They moved into to the less destroyed parts of the mountain. The halls were beautiful despite its past horrors. The walls and floors laid in a gleaming dark green marble and the hallways were always lined and decorated with small lanterns, kissing the mountain-halls in a faint yellow light, gleaming almost as much as its treasures.

With the promised gold, Dale as well as Erebor was being rebuilt in record time and the days were filled with loud sounds of people working. Bain was kept busy by father with training and helping around the construction. Tilda couldn't do much but help her in the kitchens, handing out food to the workers. Sigrid liked to cook, it had always been an interest of hers and the more time she spent in the kitchens with the other women, the more she got to learn. She felt almost content given the circumstances. The -at the start- daily nightmares from the war that had kept her up, had gotten fewer and fewer as her mind worked to distract itself. Now she'd gone up to six days without a dream and the fact of it could be felt in her well-rested limbs.

Now she walked around clean, with her hair braided and stomach full. Erebor was filled with spare clothes, left behind from the tragedy. As of now, a dwarfish robe hung over her frame, reaching only to her knees but otherwise fitting. A brown, corset-like garb, lined with gold and off-the-shoulders white puff sleeves. She felt almost like a princess. And she may even be one soon... there had been plenty of rumours around the halls. That once Dale was finished, the people sought to choose Bard as their king and head of state... Sigrid didn't know what to feel about the ordeal but she was still proud of her father and their family.

She kept walking with her mind in the skies. The ring still sat on her finger but she'd taken to only sometimes wear it. At times she put it in her corset or in one of her pockets. When she wore it on her finger (like now for instance) she was mindful of always wearing gloves over it. Leather gloves that made a squeaking noise as her fingers clutched the edges of the netted basket she currently had in charge of. The secrecy of the ring felt almost natural, however it left her feeling a bit paranoid that any of the greedy dwarves would accidentally see it.

Something else bothered her as well... the treasure, the gold of Erebor. It was their hope yes but... somehow it felt wrong. She had only been in the great coin chamber once but it was more than enough. The large masses of gold reached far and wide, big like gleaming sand dunes in a desert, like a golden, shimmering ocean. A darkness had been there, curling around the coins and gems like the great dragon had once done. It was as if the treasure was alive with something, a beast that still hid away underneath the piles of gold, like an underwater monster. Such an unnerving presence made it hard to breathe and she felt as if the gold coins had eyes, all watching her, every one of them ripe with some corruption. The ring pulsed rapidly just by her thoughts of it. Nevertheless, she had kept her distance after that, not too keen on visiting the chamber again.

"What brings a fair maiden over to these parts?"

Sigrid couldn't help but sigh as she turned to the dwarf. She looked down at Kili, the "prince" of Erebor. He had been pleasant enough at the start but she was starting to tire at his president flirting. Wasn't he 77 years old? No matter what, age didn't seem to stop him but her father did as he didn't say much in his presence. She didn't know how to tell him off without sounding rude... he and his brother must still grieve over the death of Thorin...

"Laundry..." she finally said with a thin smile. She kept on walking with the dwarf by her side.

"I don't think you should do laundry," Kili said as he nonchalantly played with a silver coin in his hands.

She looked at with perplexed expression, a little affronted for some reason... He noticed her look.

"I just meant that you will probably be a rather noble person after Dale is rebuilt so you would have servants," he reassured her with a boyish smile.

"Nothing is certain yet..." she replied, picking up a basket as they came out to the afternoon sun, the dry laundry barely moving in the breeze.

"Did you know you have a nickname by the way?" Kili changed the subject as he walked amongst the sheets.

"What? No, why?" Sigrid furrowed her brows as a rather puzzled expression toned her young face.

She sure hoped it wasn't something ugly. Kili smiled wide, his white teeth peaking out, it was like he was hiding something.

"Sigrid of Esgaroth, not very flashy but still, you got a title."

He seemed more exited about the prospect than her. She managed a fond smile. Together they plucked down the laundry and folded it. Her respect for the dwarf increased as he helped her without complaints. He seemed almost enthusiastic but she couldn't help but be suspicious of his reasons. Either he wanted to court her or he just wanted to get her in his bed. Sure Kili was one of the more handsome dwarves but that didn't change the fact that he was too short for her taste. Funnily enough, he was considered ugly according to dwarfish standards.

"Why are you wearing gloves by the way, it's not that cold outside," he remarked with a raised brow as they filled the basket with clothing.

"Um... I just thought they were pretty actually, besides this place hasn't been cleaned in a while and i don't want any dust on me," she lied, smiling a bit bashfully.

He let it go after that and Sigrid was thankful that he didn't ask anything more. They talked for a while, handing out clean clothes to those who needed it. Kili's flirting became more and more subtle and they could actually speak like friends. About their part in the tragedy, their thoughts on the future and even their cultural differences. Needless to say, she got to learn much more about dwarfs and their ways. It was quite charming actually.

They stayed together for another half an hour, Kili telling her of their adventures from Rivendell to the smelly goblin tunnels and she was immersed in his storytelling. As they parted ways he insisted on kissing her hand even through her glove. She couldn't help but blush at that and once more she was left with despairing over the fact that she didn't know how her hints had gone completely over his head... Then again, it's not his fault that she wasn't good at giving hints. Either way, it could just be harmless flirting... nothing to worry too much about.

Living in Erebor gave many advantages, for example: the showers. A roomy space, clad in glazed tile, shining in sapphire. They had a limited use of hot water though so she couldn't waste any time. The ladies bathroom stood empty, which was a relief and she started to undress. However she stopped herself before stepping under the shower head. The ring was still on her finger, shining in a beautiful red. She smiled at the luminous thing. She couldn't shower with it on, it could rust after all. She stepped over to the sinks, planning to put it under her clothes. Suddenly the door slammed open and something small sprinted in. Sigrid went still before draping a towel around her nude form. It was Tilda and her newfound friend Elsa playing tag again and they giggled when they saw her.

"Tilda how many times do i have to tell you not to play in the bathrooms!" she scowled at her, tying the towel in place.

"Sorry, we didn't know you were in here..." she looked at the ground but later her face shone up.

"Will you play with us later?" Her little eyes searched hers and Sigrid was about to respond when she noticed her sister seemed to look elsewhere.

Tilda was staring at the ring she still had on her finger.

"What's that?" Tilda's friend asked innocently, staring at the thing as well.

"Oh it's nothing, just a trinket i found!" Sigrid said as she quickly attempted to take it off. I didn't work though... She must have looked funny, tugging at her ring like mad.

"What in the..." she breathed out as the ring became heated as she practically clawed at it.

Tilda asked her something but she couldn't hear it. Suddenly the ring became so heated it was beginning to hurt and Sigrid watch in horror as her skin turned red, like small flames laid dancing right under her translucent skin. It became harder to breathe and she had never felt so empty inside. Like she had a big cavern in her chest, that became filled up with molten lava. Pain came over her like an unforgiving tsunami. Now she fell to her knees and screamed, her eyes became bloodshot, her throat felt like a stinging, raw wound. It was like she was on fire.

She couldn't see much as everything melted into one blurry picture, her tears burned her cheeks just as much as everything else. Sigrid panicked and she could make out the unclear outline of Tilda as her small form ran to her, reaching out and touching her arm. Sigrid could only tremble and shake as she slid down the floor, she couldn't stop screaming. Her sister joined her screams and she could hardly process it. It hurts, everything hurts, her limbs roasted and burned. Her skin must have melted away at this point and she couldn't form words anymore. She laid twitching, snarling in pain. And Tilda... Tilda!

Elsa stared in stunned silence before running up to her crying friend and dragging her away from Sigrid. Tilda's hand had been burnt badly. It was ugly, red and dripping with blood. The young girls screamed in terror and ran away from there, leaving her behind. Sigrid didn't process anything of it, much too focused on her torment.

...

Erebor as well as Dale was in full construction and the Laketown people had taken temporary refuge in the mountain. Thranduil had arrived in a rather small group as if to travel faster. He was only there to pick up something that belonged to him after all. He didn't have to come by himself though, he could've sent someone else. But he wanted to see the ring with his own eyes, just making sure that it was what he thought it was before taking it away. He stood now on the stone rampart with Bard the bowman. They were quietly conversing, the dragonslayer went over the building plans, explaining the details like Thranduil actually cared. He wondered when he would get air to actually tell him the real reason he'd actually ventured to this accursed place. Bard never struck him as a talker but he was apparently proven wrong, sadly enough.

A shrieking noice suddenly reached their ears, bouncing of the walls like an echo. His hand twitched automatically as if to find his sword, an old reflex. His men stiffened up as they watched two small children run down the halls in tears. There truly was nothing more excruciatingly annoying than crying children. Bard sprung into action, running down the stairs and picking up one of the shrieking creatures. Their ear-splitting noises reminded Thranduil of the goblins of the misty mountains.

"Tilda!" the bowman yelled looking at her in horror.

Thranduil came down the steps behind him, noticing that it must be his youngest daughter. She was injured and the smell of burnt flesh hung in the air. It looked like she'd stuck her hand into flames. Bard was running with her to the medics but another shriek could be heard. A noise that he could vaguely recognise. As did Bard but not near as vaguely. He had trouble leaving his youngest daughter in the hands of the medics but in the end he had to run towards the sound. It had to be Sigrid and so Thranduil followed the distraught father, his interest peaked. On the floor of the bathroom, laid the eldest daughter in pain. Her limbs jerked and yanked in unnatural angles, her hoarse howl filled up the room.

Magic was there too, it hung in the air, radiating from her form in waves. The ring on her finger almost blinded him, blood red, like the runes on her skin. She almost looked to be was on fire, red marks danced like flames across her features. Thranduil had never seen anything like it, it was the ring. The ring was causing all this, it lit her up like a firework but she never seemed to catch fire. Bard tried to intervene, running to his tormented child, only to yell and jerk back as he was badly burnt from touching her tearstained face. This intrigued him, the ring wasn't supposed to act this way. So why was it? He decided to do what he could, not really from the kindness of his heart though. He had to figure this out, it seems there was more to the ring than originally thought.

...

Pain was everywhere, in her, around her. Holding her and squeezing her in its grasp. The hole in her laid filled to brim with something hot and flaming, pushing against her ribcage. It was moving around inside of her, like great snake, like it had a life of its own. She was afraid that it would burn through her, as if she had acid in lungs... that would explain her inability to breathe. She could not get any sort of air and yet she never seemed to lose consciousness, she could not die. She just screamed and screamed, her shrill voice was never ending. Death was a blessing, it was something merciful that against all odds, against her best wishes, didn't seem to be her fate. She could only cry when her father touched her, she cried from the horror-stricken eyes upon her. There was no peace, no escape. Maybe this was meant to be her fate, to be stuck in a loop of eternal agony. What if it never stopped? When had it even begun? How long had she been in this state? She didn't even know... time had lost its meaning.

The only thing that mattered was the pain. The pain will surely kill her, she would die soon, she had to. Something touched her hand, taking ahold of it. She tried in vain to rip her hand away but it had an iron grip on her wrist, she was too weak at this point. Wasn't she hurting whoever was persistent with touching her? Sigrid slowly forced her eyes opened, she didn't even know she had closed them. A blinding light engulfed her vision. Impossibly bright, pure and white, was she dead already? This shine was all she could see, the rays kissed her smouldering skin, cooling her down, taking the pain away as it caressed and cradled her little body. The burning mass in her chest leaked out of her, like rising smoke, it escaped out through her nose and mouth. She could finally breathe again.

This light... Sigrid had laid her eyes on it before and as it dulled down to reveal a face, she was reminded of its familiarity. Her hand vigorously clutched his own as she was afraid that he would let her go. He still had the scar but he was more beautiful than ever, it was a bit eerie. His skin were like tiny stars and his hair looked like spun silver. His eyes stood out like blue pearls, it was captivating but frightening at the same time. Everyone else looked much like themselves, only a little blurry but Thranduil was like a gem, a lucid moon. He had this uncanny beauty, the kind that she would feel most comfortable with if it was kept at a distance, like it was the sun. It would burn her if it came too close, but she needed its shine to stay alive.

His hand was the anchor to reality and slowly but surely, Sigrid's body became numb. She felt exhausted, like she could sink into the ground, like spilt milk. She hadn't realised that he was talking. She hadn't taken much note to the words, drowning her ears in a pleasant sound.

"Entulessë ana i arta -o murmë. Entulessë ana i imbë -o dîn. Lom- imlë imi i málos -o sérë. Fainu- imlë ana Heri Estë -ye núta undu mina i núra nénar -o fúmë." "Return to the fortress of slumber. Return to the vale of silence. Hide yourself in the forest of rest. Release yourself to Lady Estë and sink down into the deep waters of sleep."

She couldn't understand his words but they were like music to her ears, it sounded like a song. Sweet like honey. She went still, like she'd caught frostbite and now she could only stare at his face, her pupils dilated to the point of where her eyes looked black. She couldn't help but be drawn to him, like she was on a hook. Almost naturally, she sat up without even knowing why or even how she was able to. Shakily and slowly, she found strength to hug him. To reach up and cast her arms around his neck. She breathed out a sigh of relief. After that, she utterly lost the feeling in her muscles but even still, her arms stayed glued around him. Everything went black as her body was forcibly shutting down.

...

Enchantments weren't his strongest suit but he was still formidable in the sport, not that it was a normal thing to occupy oneself with nowadays, even for those of his kin. Her arms, latched around his neck felt paper thin, as if they were barely there at all. She gave away a gasp by his ear and he could feel her soft chest moving rapidly as she slipped into unconsciousness. It was now that he became all the more aware of her state of undress. She only had a towel wrapped loosely around her but that was something he tried not to think too much about. He held her as to not let her fall and directed his eyes to the her father. Bard was standing there, wide eyed and pale faced, like he'd seen a something unnatural.

"Take her," he ordered.

The flabbergasted father immediately took her into his arms. He felt strangely cold after her body left his arms, like a chill ran through him. Unnerved, Thranduil stared at the scintillating, red ring, determined not to look at the girl's face.

Translations:

"Return to the fortress of slumber. Return to the vale of silence. Hide yourself in the forest of rest. Release yourself to Lady Estë and sink down into the deep waters of sleep."