Beta: The fabulous Anarithilien.
Apologies for the very long delay but hopefully I'll get a lot done over the next few weeks.
Note and reminder: Thranduil's memories of Smaug are taken from 'Black Arrow' where Thranduil makes a bargain with Smaug to keep peace between the dragon and the Wood. The price is that Thranduil sends a young warrior to renew the peace every ten years. Legolas and Anglach have both been Danedh-Amlung. Legolas went last and Smaug demanded that Thalos be the next. Thranduil has been trying to avoid sending Thalos for seventy years or more.
Chapter 8 : Dragon's Ransom
Bilbo thought at first that he was dreaming of the meadows of the Shire, new cut sweetness and shady woods. But soon he was drifting along a river, trailing his hand in the cool water and there were ferns growing thickly in the clefts in the grey granite rocks, moss climbed over the stones near the shore of the river and Bilbo knew somehow that this was the forest river winding its way through the Wood, pouring into little pools and winding through shady dells.
He awoke slowly and a little confused, but refreshed and feeling more himself that he had for a while, and found that he was not in a light skiff on the river but in a cupboard, a faint smell of leather and suede, and a scent of meadowgrass and hay that he recognised as Legolas, for it was Legolas' wardrobe. Bilbo pushed agaisn tthe cloth, his fingers touching suede and then linen, and shoved at the very back was stiff brocade and satin. But there was velvet too and silk. So not just a warrior of the Wood after all, the son of the King must have occasions for which he was required to be dressed in more than just hunting tunic and breeches, thought Bilbo fondly, for he felt he knew Legolas well, liked him.
Carefully he pushed open the cupboard door a little wider and peered out from between the stiff robes. He took a deep breath and slowly put his foot onto the floor and eased himself around the wardrobe door and into the room.
Torches began to flicker for they lit by magic as soon as the sun began to fade andthe light was a dim green light like sunlight in the forest.. But now in the evening, it cast shadows about the room and the rumpled sheets where the elves had disported themselves earlier, looked sinuous and fluid, as if they might move.
Slowly he opened up his hand and stared at the Ring cradled in his palm.
Light shone on the gold. Such pure gold. So smooth…But his hand clenched over it again. No. He did not want to put it on again. He could not bear to be in That Place again. Suddenly he wanted to be amongst the dwarves, or elves- anything not to be alone with that voice that had spoken in his head, had seemed to reach out long fingers of darkness and grope for him …
He scuttled over to the door and hurled himself through it, slammed it shut behind him and leaned against it breathing hard. He determined to find the King and hand over the Ring. There was something in the Ring. Something dark, too dark for him.
The passageway was dimly lit and forest-like, the same as Legolas' rooms, and Bilbo shrank against the walls hoping that no one was coming. The Ring was clutched tightly in his hand but he did not want to put it on again. No, he thought, I would rather throw myself on the mercy of the King and promise him my share of the treasure if he will let us all go.
And just like that, it all made sense.
He stood away from the wall, even beginning to hope someone did come so he could hand over the Ring and talk to the elves properly. He began to hope it was Anglach who would find him. And suddenly he could understand why the King wanted to know the reason for the dwarves' journey through his kingdom. It was completely reasonable to be angered by their invasion of the elves' feasting, for they had not stood beyond the circle and coughed politely to announce their presence as Bilbo himself would have done. No, they had blundered in shouting and waving their arms around and making merry hell. Bilbo tutted. Dwalin had absolutely no manners at all and the others were not very polite either. It was no wonder the elves had rounded them up and stuck them in prison.
Bilbo nodded to himself and resolved to hand himself over to the first elf he saw. It would be best if it were Thalos or Anglach, he told himself. They would listen and be kindly. He pattered along the green dimly- lit passageway, shaking his head to himself and bemoaning the dwarves' lack of courtesy. They were just the same as when they arrived in Bag End, he thought. Just as rude and insistent.
But you did not put them into a cell…You fed them and then were hoping to send them on their way.
Yes. He nodded to himself. But that is because I did not have a prison to put them into, he found himself saying to himself in answer to the strange quiet voice in his head.
You could have called the Night Watch
Well yes I could. But that would have been ridiculous. And the dwarves are quite harmless really.
The Elves do not think so…there is a long emnity between them.
Bilbo paused. The voice in his head was so reasonable, he thought. There was a long hatred between the elves and dwarves… look at how the dwarves behaved in Rivendell and those elves were entirely friendly….
He bowed his head and looked again at the Ring.
What would you say to Thorin?
Yes. Bilbo stopped dead. He realised he had the ring out, cradling it in the palm of his hand and looking down at it carefully.
'What would I say to Thorin?'
There was nothing he could say to Thorin that did not involve betrayal…And by now, Bilbo knew well enough that Thorin's heart was jealous and hot. If he thought Bilbo had given something to the elves that he could have given Thorin it would be betrayal.
It was Thorin who held something in Bilbo that he could not account for. It set his heart running and spoke to something deep in his blood and bones. Something...Tookish. Almost dwarvish...but there was more to it than just adventure. Thorin inspired something in Bilbo that was both awe and fear, and love.
No. He could not give the Ring to Thranduil. Instead he should give it to Thorin. Then Thorin could escape and become King Under the Mountain. Like he wanted.
If only he knew where Thorin was.
By the time he had walked a little way along the passage, Bilbo had thought through all these things. And without even realising it, the Ring slipped onto his finger.
The Ring would protect both Bilbo and Thorin. Thorin as King Under the Mountain would be magnificent, a worthy recipient of the Ring. He nodded to himself. It would help Thorin, keep him safe as it had Bilbo. It had taken him to a Place it thought would keep him safe. But he would know for next time and he was forewarned about the Presence that sensed him when he was there. It did not mean him harm…
The Ring was warm on his finger, fed him, soothed his nerves, settled into a quiet hum.
And here it will stay, he thought, my precious ring…
Further along the passageway was a thick oak door, half open. He had been along this passageway before but this door had always been firmly shut. He crept in and found an unoccupied room. It was a study clearly for there was a table with lots of unrolled maps held open by a variety of implements, a goblet, a small pewter pitcher, a paperweight. There was a small bowl filled with silver clasps beside it.
The map that was unrolled and open showed the forest, the river flowing into a long lake and the Lonely Mountain. An inscription had been added to it: Smaug, it said simply.
Smaug. They had got all this way and not even met the dragon yet, Bilbo thought. He turned to look about the room and saw that a tray had been left near the hearth. Upon it was a plate with a pie that had gone cold, a sliver had been taken out but most was left in the pie dish. A small flagon of wine stood beside it and a half empty glass of red wine.
Bilbo could not help himself for he was suddenly very, very hungry. It had been long hours since he had last eaten and whilst he had grown used to frugal rations out in the Wilds with the dwarves, since he had been in the Elvenking's halls he had eaten well and become quite hobbit-like again. And he had been in that Place...who knew for how long. He shuddered. Before he had really thought about it, he had dug out a big slice of pie and devoured it, swallowing before he had really even chewed it...And then he slowed down, for the taste flooded his mouth; it was Galion's of course. The pie they had been bickering about in the kitchen earlier and now Bilbo realised why Legolas had been so keen that Anglach should have it and not him. Looking down he saw that the filling was a grey paste and the taste in his mouth was watery and whilst not completely inedible, especially for a hungry hobbit, the meat was over-salted and under-cooked. He wrinkled his nose but he was starving and it was food.
Perching on the edge of a tapestried footstool, he picked up the knife again. Carefully he trimmed the edges of the remaining pie so it looked like someone had cut it and not just gobbled it up. And then trimmed a little more and a little more until he realised about half the pie was gone.
He pressed his lips together and thought that perhaps he was doing the occupier of the study a favour for Bilbo might not have eaten it at all if he had not been so hungry.
Perching on a tapestried footstool at the foot of a comfortably upholstered armchair pulled up near a crackling fire, he looked about the study with more interest now. There was a fire blazing merrily in the grate and it felt so homely sitting there and feeling, for the first time since they left Beorn's house, actually full. Two armchairs were drawn up near the fire, comfortably deep. Many maps were piled up on an oak desk, some rolled and some unrolled and the one pinned open. The desk was beautifully carved as was all the elegant and sparse furniture. A wide carved oak chair stood near the desk but pushed to one side suggesting that the occupant preferred to stand poring over his maps, and to one side was another narrower desk with a row of glass ink bottles, all different colours and anachronistically, an old jam jar stuffed with pens, some broken and some new. There were a lot of papers on the desk and another chair pushed out as if the person had suddenly stood up, impatient with something he had read.
Stretching his legs out towards the fire, Bilbo settled on the footstool, feeling the Ring hum comfortably on his finger. He leaned his head back against the arm of the deep and comfortable chair and in no time at all, was asleep.
So he did not notice the door open.
Nor did he hear the slightly heavier tread or the deep sigh of the newcomer, and he did not awaken when the maps were shifted and a goblet filled with wine.
In fact, Bilbo slept quite soundly until his dreams shifted around the sound of maps being moved around and the clink of glass, the pour of wine. By the time he had blinked awake it was too late to move and someone stood with his back to Bilbo, between him and fire and looking down into the flames.
The elf wore a rich crimson tunic embroidered with oak and ash leaves in fine gold thread. His boots were soft suede and beautifully tooled. His hair was heavy and deep gold. He leaned one hand against the mantle of the hearth and firelight glinted on the deep ruby ring on his finger.
It was the elf that Anglach had distracted earlier, when Legolas had disappeared into his own chambers with Miriel and Lossar.
Thranduil.
The King drank steadily and then put down the glass goblet and sighed.
'I cannot do it.' The words a whisper, a murmur from the heart and Bilbo squeezed his eyes shut for if he were discovered, he thought, his fate would be far worse than the dwarves.
He wondered what the Elvenking himself could not do.
And then, images flickered into his head…a high chamber of stone, its walls washed with a reddish-gold glow….
….The huge red-gold Dragon lay coiled upon a high bed of gold and gems. His tail stretched long, far down into the shadowed halls and out of sight. It twitched slightly somewhere in the shadows and there was the sound of shifting coins, metal, treasure beyond dreams. Smaug breathed. Thin wisps of smoke blew out of his nostrils for his fires were low and sleepy. But he knew the smell of Elf, the touch of Elf...the taste of Elf flesh. He had come from the North, but no mere Worm of the Northern wastes, this. No, this was Smaug Uruloki, a fire -drake.
And Smaug cracked open an eye of molten fire, gold and flame, hunger. 'Well...Thranduil Oropherion. It's about time.'
Bilbo stared, his eyes were caught on the flickering red-gold of the fire and the shifting coals that glowed like hot metal, like armoured scales.
He caught movement and slowly, stunned into a stupor, he watched the elf staring into the flames even as he did, and then he was thrown back into memories that were not his:
One great claw slowly stretched, flexed and stayed spread, the great talons gleamed like scimitars amongst the shifting piles of gold coins. A necklace was caught between Smaug's talons, a lovely delicate string of mithril and emeralds. He barely noticed it for the power and elegance of the Dragon's claw.
'And now, my lord, you rule Erebor.'
'Indeed. And I have gold enough to furnish you with the army you need...' Smaug's eye flashed over him. 'Or I could blaze over your Wood...'
In his mind, Bilbo saw the flames, leaping impossibly high over the trees, engulfing the forest in flame. Deer running hard, for their lives and the slower creatures incinerated, burned. The backdrop of flames devouring their talans, their houses and cottages and his folk fleeing with nothing, trailing as refugees from the Dragon's wrath…He could not risk this. Not with the Necromancer in the South on one side and the Dragon on the East side. He dared not risk it.
But for how long can you withstand the dark on your own? How long before the Dragon tires of your Peace?
Suddenly the King turned and looked around the room as if he had been startled. His eyes were slate-green and heavy with grief and the burden of power. He lingered upon Bilbo and Bilbo froze, but there was no flicker of recognition in the elf's eyes, no sense that he had seen Bilbo. Just alertness. Like a warrior poised for battle.
But Bilbo knew the Ring had scuttled back, crouched down and knew it had been too strong; it needed to be subtle. Its awareness suddenly frightened him; he was a mere bystander.
...but those cowardly Noldor, the Ring's insidious whisper wound about the king, they hide in their Valley, in their Golden Wood, protected by their Rings of Power. And you have none.
'I need no ring.' Thranduil spoke as if the thought was occurring to him of his own volition. His voice was rich and deep, and he spoke as if to himself. He stared into space. 'I have my sons. My people.'
The Elvenking drank steadily and then put down the glass goblet and sighed.
'I cannot do it.' The words were a whisper, a murmur from the heart and Bilbo squeezed his eyes closed, for if he were discovered, he thought, his fate would be worse than the dwarves.
He wondered what the Elvenking himself could not do.
The King had moved away and stood now over the maps, his eyes fixed on the Mountain.
How soon before the Dragon tires of your Peace?
The sneaky voice suggested once again and Bilbo shuddered. He wanted to take off the Ring then, felt it like clammy hands upon him, like Smeagol. But if he did, he would be discovered.
And then he felt again how Thranduil' thoughts lingered on the Mountain:
He felt the scorch of Smaug's gaze settle briefly upon the arrow and then away. 'I find myself curious about your kingdom. So you will send me tribute every ten years. Not one of your hoary old warriors. A young one. They are more tender. You have three sons.' Smaug laughed, a deep rumble that reverberated through the air, through Thranduil's own bones and chest. 'You will send someone to me as mark of faith. Every ten years.'
'I will come myself,' he said quickly. Too quickly, he thought and indeed, the Dragon's gaze raked over him. Thranduil's mind leapt suddenly back to the Wood. To send his children, any children into this lair, this dead world to the Dragon, was too much.
Smaug shifted and the sound of thousands, millions of gold coins pouring, sliding, clinking, but to Thranduil they sounded like chains. The Dragon's huge, reptilian head flashed close and away, lifted above him and Thranduil thought he would be blasted.
'Ten years,' Smaug's voice followed him, echoed down the empty halls, reached up into the silent tiers and drifted through the dark arches, 'And you will send me your son.'
Bilbo almost staggered back then; so that was it! Thranduil had struck a bargain with Smaug. He was to send his sons to the Dragon to renew the bargain every ten years. He wondered how long ago this had been done and who the King would send next. Did Smaug eat them?
There was a soft tap on the door.
Thranduil swung his head around and stared for a moment. Then he closed his eyes and said, 'Come.'
When the door opened, Bilbo saw that Thalos was standing there, his tall frame obscured the light from the hall. His easy smile had gone from his handsome face and he looked anxious, miserable.
Bilbo gasped for he knew now why the King had summoned Thalos. His son. He could see the intent as clearly as if it were written upon paper. He was going to send him to Smaug. Bilbo clamped a hand over his mouth to stop the cry that almost burst from him.
'My lord,' Thalos stopped a little distance from his father and bowed his head. 'I am sorry for my error. The dwarves…'
Thranduil tutted and took two strides to where Thalos stood and threw an arm around him. '..should never have been where they were. I know.' He steered Thalos towards the fire and Bilbo had to move quickly or he would have been trodden upon. He crouched silently in the corner. Thranduil pushed Thalos down into one of the chairs and then poured wine into a goblet, pressed it into his hand. 'You have paid for that. And Galadhon.'
Thalos looked down and sipped at the wine. Bilbo felt a scream almost working its way up from his belly; you cannot send Thalos to the dragon! he wanted to cry.
He found a pair of long green eyes staring at him.
And suddenly Thalos was on his feet and striding towards Bilbo.
Bilbo shut his eyes and thought of nothing, the wall behind him. The chairs.
'What is it?'
'I thought…I felt…' Thalos faltered. He shook his head but remained standing only a hands breadth from Bilbo. His green eyes were sharp and focused on the space that Bilbo occupied and he leaned forwards slightly as if listening. Both elves were frozen now, still as statues.
Bilbo held his breath- it was like when Legolas had sensed him but Bilbo did not want to go back to That Place and so he closed his eyes and thought of the green light that washed through the caverns, like they were under water or in a woodland….
At last he heard Thalos give a small sigh and then he said, 'It is nothing. It is gone.' He let his shoulders drop and turned back to his father. 'Just a sense of…something. Like you get in the South sometimes,' he finished uncertainly
Thranduil regarded his middle son thoughtfully. He sank into the chair opposite Thalos and steepled his elegant fingers which glittered with rings, a ruby glowed deeply.
He did not look, but Bilbo knew he was listening, sensing and the hobbit remained absolutely still, silent; he did not want to be plunged into that dreadful place outside the world where the Ring had taken him before. But he did not want to be discovered either, in the King's private rooms - like an assassin or spy of the Necromancer, that insistent voice whispered. Sneaking around, listening, watching.
Bilbo pressed his hands over the Ring as if he could silence its insidious whisper. He felt pins and needles in his fingers and toes but dared not moved in case the elves became aware of him once more and that, even more than wanting to warn Thalos, made him sit silent and still.
Thalos reached for a poker and prodded at the fire. With a hiss and sputter, sparks flew up and small flames burst from the glowing wood. He shook his head slightly as if he were trying to rid himself of some thought, and then he sat back again, watching his father.
'It is ten years since the Danedh-Amlung,' Thranduil said slowly. Danedh-Amlung, Bilbo thought in horror; Dragon's Ransom. He put his hands over his mouth.
Thalos had become very still at the mention of the Danedh-Amlung, he watched the fire which cast a red glow on his face.
Thranduil's eyes lifted to regard his son and a moment of terrible fear seemed flicker over him. His hand flexed as if he wanted to reach out, to pull Thalos to him as if he could protect him as he had a child. Bilbo could not blame him.
'I have a request of you.' Thranduil's voice was heavy. Thalos turned his face towards his father and waited.
Thranduil took a breath and then he spoke: 'We are sworn to secrecy,' said the King sombrely. 'And if I speak more, you are sworn likewise. This is a sacrifice we make for the Wood, for our folk.'
Bilbo stared, almost holding his breath. Sacrifice? No! He was almost on his feet when there was a soft implosion and he saw...
Gandalf.
'I have something that I need you to keep for me...In whatever way you think best.' The Wizard drew a pouch from somewhere inside his robes and handed it to Thranduil. 'Do not ask me how I came by it. That is another story and which I may tell you sometime. But for now at least, it is in your care. You will know what it is.'
Bilbo saw the King's face lit up as he opened the pouch; ten thousand sparks of bright radiance shot with glints of the rainbows. He almost gasped aloud.
'You know why we are called Danedh-Amlung?'
Thranduil's voice brought Bilbo back to himself with a jolt. He was here. In Mirkwood. In the King's study while he was about to ask his son to be the sacrifice to the dragon!
Unaware, Thalos was smiling slightly. 'They say that you went into Smaug's lair and took something. They say you ransomed it back in exchange for an oath that he would not come to the Wood. And I think part of that is true.'
Thranduil inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment.
'I have heard you say often enough, usually to Legolas!' Thalos laughed softly, 'that only a fool would disturb a dragon's hoard and so I have guessed that you had something with which to bargain.' Thalos' green eyes were shrewd and he was fixed upon his father's face, watching it for tell tale signs. The slightest smile curled Thranduil's mouth and Thalos put his head on one side slightly and smiled back. 'It had to be more than a simple treaty or the peace that you could offer. Smaug cares a little, I think, that we might rise against him; a little. But not much. So you must have had something he wanted very much...And there is only one thing I think could be enough, although all had assumed it had remained when the dwarves fled. But I for one, having seen how Thrain thought of that jewel, never doubted he had taken it with him when they fled. I think he would have risked his own life and that of all his people for that one jewel; the Arkenstone.'
Thranduil did not so much as blink; his gaze was steady, his eyes heavy-lidded and his fingers still steepled. He had barely moved since his son had started speaking.
There was a long pause and then Thalos said, 'What I do not know is how you came by it.'
It was only then that Thranduil moved. He shrugged. 'It was given me by one who had the right.'
They both smiled then at some private jest that Bilbo did not understand and he could not see how the King could smile at such a dreadful time.
At that moment, Thranduil's smooth mask broke and he leaned forwards and clasped Thalos' hand with immense tenderness, and Bilbo almost turned away for he knew he was intruding on an utterly private moment between father and son, and that Thranduil was sacrificing his own son for his people.
'Do not doubt yourself, my heart. You are my captain in the Bite. You hold it against the shadow, second only to Laersul but equal in my love. None doubt your fame, your courage. Your worthiness.'
He relinquished Thalos' hand and leaned back in his chair.
'And now I ask you, my second captain of the Woodland Realm, who has acquitted himself with great honour and won renown for his valorous deeds and his courage, if you would undertake yet another deed for the Wood, one that will take you into great danger. Is perilious.'
'One that you have already faced without knowing its outcome?' Thalos gave a wry smile. 'And both my brothers.'
Bilbo stared; both Thalos' brothers? He knew now that Legolas was one of his brothers, and he was very much alive. So how could he have been to the dragon? Unless Smaug did not eat them?
'Ah, do not reproach me,' Thranduil was saying, his face stricken. 'You are not a father yet and you have not seen the dragon. You have not heard him...Smaug demanded that I send a warrior every ten years to renew the pledge. Laersul was the first. And Legolas last.' Thranduil looked at his middle son and his slate-green eyes were dark with fear. 'He has asked for you. As I knew he always would.'
Thalos started and looked up. 'Asked for me?'
Bilbo almost sagged with relief. Renew the pledge! He was not going to be eaten...unless of course Smaug felt hungry. Suddenly the enormity of it hit Bilbo anew; it was one thing renewing a pledge to another hobbit town, or the Steward of Gondor in the far South. It was an entirely different thing, Bilbo realised, to be saying it to a dragon- which might just change its mind and eat you anyway.
Thranduil, it seemed, shared Bilbo's concern. He was suddenly on his feet, agitated and pacing. ' Legolas, as I said, was the last. You must have guessed this. You could hardly ignore the yárë-carmé the way he flaunts himself,' Thranduil said irritably but it was not harsh but concerned. So that was what the slide of iridescent colour and swirls of abstract patterning on Legolas' skin was; yárë-carmé: ancient art. He had got it after he been to Smaug.
'Legolas brought back a message; Smaug has asked...demanded, that I send you.'
Suddenly, Bilbo felt overwhelmed; here in the Wood all was danger and threat. They fought the Shadow, the Necromancer and Orcs and Wargs and spiders, creatures of the shadow, and died to protect their folk, and there was a dragon on the doorstep, as they would say in Hobbiton. Whilst faraway in the Shire, folk had no idea of the Wild, of the strangeness and fear that beset other peoples of the world. He wanted to reach out and comfort Thranduil for Bilbo had watched Thalos and knew him well; knew he had the absolute faith and loyalty of his men, was brave and daring and quick-witted and wise in the way that his younger brother really was not. If anyone was going to Smaug, Bilbo thought privately, he would far sooner have sent Thalos than Legolas.
'I know you were hurt that I have not asked for you before,' Thranduil acknowledged. He stood now, staring into the fire as if seeing a dragon in the glowing embers and his shoulders were stiff. Thalos looked away. 'It is not because I doubt you. But you are the most vulnerable to Smaug. He is...magnificent. Rare. The last of the Urulóki.'
He turned then and faced his son. 'Thalos. Please understand I was only trying to protect you.' Thranduil held up his hand to stifle the protest. 'Listen to me, child. It is not the same for the others. It is not the same,' he repeated and now he crouched down before Thalos and looked up into his lovely, hurt face that tried to smooth out the pain but could not. 'Listen. You will be beguiled.' He held his son's gaze, willing him to see. 'Now look...No.' He caught Thalos' chin and pulled his face towards his own and leaned in slightly. 'Look.'
Both elves fell silent then and Bilbo frowned and realised that Thranduil was conveying something... he focused, and growing used the Ring's power now, he was able to see what Thranduil revealed to Thalos.
One great claw slowly stretched, flexed and stayed spread, the great talons gleaming like scimitars amongst the shifting piles of gold coins. A necklace was caught between Smaug's talons, a delicate string of mithril and emeralds. Thranduil though, barely noticed it for the power and elegance of the dragon's claw. It had the colour and richness of pearls, and in that alone he found the power of the Song; rare in its power and resonance and suddenly his heart lurched.
'You are the last,' Thranduil said slowly. 'Your magnificence beyond anything I have ever seen.' He found himself wishing he had seen dragons roaring over the plains of Beleriand, fire scorching the earth and their great wings whumping down on the wind. He did not think he could have stood his ground, like the warriors of the First Age; he thought he would have run.
Smaug half-closed his eyes. 'We ruled the earth.' His voice was a whisper, low, rich. Full of yearning and loss. 'Morgoth was nothing without us.'
Smaug tilted his head and a slow warmth came from him that seemed to bathe Thranduil in light and he felt an unbearable loneliness, a hunger that could not be sated, and something utterly alien. Cold fire. Deep darkness. A far song. He listened...
Wind under great bat-like wings, soaring high, higher than any cloud, higher than the Moon, above the world, seeking the Great Flame beyond the Circles of the World...and falling back, falling back into darkness...
'...like a moth fluttering around a candle flame...'
The two elves' voices fell into the quietness of the room and they remained staring at one another while a log in the fire shifted and broke apart; sparks flew up, small flames burst. Bilbo stirred slightly, mesmerised as the elves.
Slowly Bilbo blinked. The loneliness had caught him as well as Thalos. To be the last. With no more of your kind. Ever. No companionship. Nothing. It was a bleak desperation.
Thranduil breathed slowly, with Thalos, gazing at him evenly.
'Now you see,' he said softly. 'You of all my children understand the most. You will see and fall in love with the dragon, with the very idea of it. You, my heart, will stay.' Thranduil drew back and lifted a strand of hair from Thalos' face. 'We almost lost Legolas. He was enraptured by the Song. Anglach and Laersul had to go into the mountain to find him, lost in the tunnels of Erebor and he remembers that not at all. He wandered for days in there. When they brought him out he was lost and dreaming and only when he was healed by the Listener did he come back to us. But I fear for you, Thalos, even more. I fear that you will not wander in the deep places of the Mountain but that you will stay with Smaug. You will want to listen to his song, his voice, to listen to the tales and words, to the ancient heart. You will be lost.' It was not the King who spoke, but a father who told his fears. 'You are the most of all like your mother and I cannot bear to lose you too.'
Thalos listened, his head slightly to one side and his long, dark hair slide over his shoulder and gleamed in the firelight.
He is already ensnared, thought Bilbo, seeing the faraway look in Thalos' green eyes. He is already lost. And the hobbits kindly heart mourned both the valiant captain of the Wood and the King, who was already bereft.
0o0o
Next chapter: Thorin Oakenshield.