here's the second one... a bit of a filler, I'll admit, but the next one will have action, I promise! ^^
All rights go to JRR Tolkien and Peter Jackson. Except for my OC's. They're mine.
King Thranduil gestured for the Rangers to come closer, and they did. As Fheon passed by Thorin, she gave him a sideways glance and a very subtle warning look. Elijah did the same to her, and then Thranduil was speaking to them.
"I assume you do not understand the language of this realm?" he asked, with a smooth tone but with an underlying threat—just like his son.
Elijah shook his head slightly, not meeting the elf's eyes as he said, "We don't, King Thranduil."
Thranduil nodded once, and then gracefully stood up off his throne. He walked down the steps and to Thorin, looked down at him for a moment, and then strode past him to stand by the steps leading up to their platform.
He stayed there, gazing across the cavern as he spoke: "Some may imagine that a noble quest is at hand—a quest to reclaim a homeland and slay a dragon." He then turned and looked at Thorin, who stood there, so much smaller than the elf and with his back to him. "I myself suspect a more prosaic motive. Attempted burglary or something of that ilk." Even then, as Thranduil bent down to intimidate him, Thorin kept a clear face and held his chin high.
"You have found a way in," said Thranduil. "You seek that which would bestow upon you the right to rule—the King's Jewel, the Arkenstone." Thorin's cool exterior faltered, then, as if he was actually surprised the Elven king had found out so soon. Fheon kept her hard eyes on him and hoped he would, at least for a second, look at her and discern the warning in her gaze. All the while, Thranduil continued, this time with a cruel smile. "It is precious to you beyond measure. I understand that. There are gems in the mountain that I too desire—white gems of pure starlight. I offer you my help." The elf bowed his head slightly, almost humbly, and Fheon's eyes stayed on Thorin, ever more cautioning.
A small smile graced the Dwarf King's features, accompanied by a glint in his eye, but she was yet to discern whether he showed the truth or if it was a ploy. He said, "I am listening."
"I will let you go," said Thranduil, "If you but return what is mine."
This time, Thorin was returned his pride, and he turned around, striding to where the elf had been standing but a few seconds ago. "A favor for a favor," he muttered.
"You have my word… one king to another."
Neither Fheon nor Elijah could see the two's king's faces, and because neither of the kings could see them either (unless they had eyes at the back of their heads, which Thorin did not), she glanced at her brother and allowed a hint of anxiety to slip into her usually blank expression. He merely pursed his lips in response.
"I would not trust Thranduil," Thorin suddenly spat, "the great king, to honor his word should the end of all days be upon us! You, who lack all honor!" The dwarf turned to face the elf, pounding his fist on his chest. "I have seen how you treat your friends. We came to you once—starving, homeless, seeking your help—but you turned your back! You turned away from the suffering of my people and the inferno that destroyed us." He shouted something in Khuzdul, and then suddenly Thranduil was directly in front of him, so close to his face that Thorin could either have been surprised, disgusted, intimidated, or all three. Fheon was all three.
In her alarm, she took a single step forward, somewhat subconsciously as well. Elijah was there to pull her back.
"Do not talk to me of dragon fire," Thranduil hissed. "I know its wrath and ruin. I have faced the great serpents of the North." As he said this, he sounded as if he was in great pain."You think you are the only one who has seen such destruction, smelt the death that was caused by flame. But you have not felt the burn, the tongues of the fire lapping at your skin, like a dying man in an isolated desert. Yet there is one such other in this room that has felt such." He took a quick step back, and then Fheon was able to see the doubt that had appeared on Thorin's face. Just then, Thranduil turned and threw her a very pointed look, making her skin crawl.
When he finally turned around again, Thorin's gaze was still on her.
"I warned your grandfather of what his greed would summon, but he would not listen," said Thranduil, walking back up the steps to his throne. "You are just like him." He waved his hand and two Elven guards stepped off their pedestals and grabbed Thorin's arms. The dwarf struggled in vain, ultimately tearing his eyes off of Fheon. "Stay here if you will, and rot. A hundred years is a mere blink in the life of an elf. I am patient. I can wait."
The guards practically dragged Thorin out of the hall, presumably to where they took the rest of the Company. Fheon understood that Thranduil was not going to kill them—at least, not yet. He was likely to have kept the dwarves somewhere, like a dungeon. There was still hope for their escape. But not in that moment, when Fheon and Elijah were standing below Thranduil's throne, with bowed heads as they could feel his decisive eyes looking them up and down.
He said, "Why do you, two Rangers of the North, leave your posts and offer help to the Heir of Durin? What business do you have with the dwarves of the Lonely Mountain?"
"We only accepted because we knew the payment would be large," softly said Elijah. "Larger than just their gratefulness and respect."
"Surely Rangers do not need such large sums of gold."
For a moment, Elijah was quiet. Fheon dared not glance at him in fear of the Elven king start to suspect their lies, and she hoped that her brother was thinking and had not been stumped. "'Need' and 'want' are two very different things, my King," he finally said, and she allowed herself a silent, inward sigh.
It had been the best reply at such circumstances, it seemed. Thranduil did not push the subject, but stroked his jaw as he continued to look down at them. "Very well," he said. "But now, the dwarves will be staying in the dungeons for as long as they live. There will be no escape for them, and the dragon will remain in the mountain, along with the treasure there. You have no 'payment' now, so what shall you do?"
"Return to Eriador, I suppose," said Elijah. "Resume our places there as guardians of the Shire."
Thranduil thought for a moment. "I will let you leave," he concluded. "I have no grudges against the Men of the North—given, of course, that you do nothing to instigate my anger within the next ten hours."
Fheon's lips tilted down in a slight frown, and Elijah said, "Ten hours…?"
"There is to be a festivity tonight—the Feast of Starlight," the king explained nonchalantly. "I expect the both of you to be there—in return for my generosity, considering your circumstance."
"It would be our pleasure, King Thranduil," said Elijah, bowing his head. Fheon quickly followed suit. "Unfortunately, we do not have the proper clothes for such a grand event—"
"I will have the servants fetch something of your caliber." Thranduil, seeming to be in a rush, waved his hand. "Now go. The festivities will begin in a few short hours. Tomorrow morning, I will arrange for your leave."
Elijah and Fheon bowed again. "Many thanks, my King," said the brother, before both of them turned around and exited the hall. However, Fheon felt the king's eyes bore into the back of her head, sending an uncomfortable tingle down her spine. Determinedly, she started thinking of ways on how they were going to escape.
They did not even know where the dwarves were being held.
Fheon noticed that there were not many she-elves in the particular palace they were in. And so it came to pass that a male elf was the one who, surprisingly, led her and her brother back out of the stone doors and onto the stone path leading into the forest. But instead of choosing the route to Mirkwood, the elf walked them to the direction of the Elven kingdom itself.
Essentially, it held most of the features of Rivendell, except that, instead of the houses being carved onto the living rock, they had been forged onto the tops of the trees, with steps and wooden pathways built to keep strong the diversity of the kingdom. The elves here, Fheon noticed, were garbed in less majestic fashion compared to the elves in Rivendell. She remembered Beorn stating that the Wood-Elves were much different from their kin, who lived under the protection of Lord Elrond. Now she could see why. From the way the beings here walked and spoke, the difference was obvious—but they were no less graceful.
The elf-guide led the Rangers up into one of the treehouses, where Elijah was separated from Fheon via another elf—this time, a woman. "He will have separate quarters from you," said Fheon's guide, as she watched her brother be led into a treehouse. Nodding, she followed the elf into a different treehouse, where he quickly set a bath for her. Thankfully, he did not stay for long, unlike the elven maid in Rivendell. He merely stated that he would have her clothes brought to the room shortly, and then left.
Unlike her previous one-night residence in Rivendell, Fheon did not stop to admire the edifice, despite how beautiful it may have been.
With a pleasing spicy scent lingering in her senses, she stripped, gingerly removing her shoulder brace, and undid her braid, combing through her sweaty tresses with her fingers. Using one of the towels the elf had laid out for her, she soaked it into the water and scrubbed herself clean, not even bothering to use the soap. She did not want to have the smell of elves on her, for she knew that Thorin would not be too happy about it. Using the spray, she rinsed her hair, rubbing her fingernails across her scalp as she did so to eliminate the grime and blood that might have gotten there during their long journey. She cleaned the spider gore off her face and then dried herself with a second towel. When she exited from the lavatory, as expected, a dress had been laid out for her on the bed.
It had two layers on it, which was sure to offer her at least some kind of warmth against the biting cold night air. The under layer was dark fuchsia—almost burgundy—that was sewn to reach her elbow just before it flared out loosely. The over-gown was a lighter shade of pink than the under layer, antiqued with plantlike designs woven into the cloth. There was a lace and trim overlay at the collar and elbows, but Fheon was unnerved to find the collar stretching across her chest and weaving back down just over her shoulder and onto the top of her back. It was sure to reveal the injury on her shoulder, which was yet to heal over time.
Frowning, she enfolded her chest with her chest wrapping and carefully returned the shoulder brace onto her body, anxious to know whether the dress would reveal it or not. Even if it did, she had no plans on leaving it off for the slipped on her worn-out tunic and pants—in case they had to make a hasty escape—and finally wore the dress.
She had never worn a dress in her life, not even during her childhood, and it was given that the first time for everything was always uncomfortable. The lace at the collar scratched at her collarbones, irritating her bruise. It was to her slight relief that the shoulder brace was subtle enough not to be noticeable beneath the dress; a hem of a strap could be seen peeking out on her back, but not enough for it to catch much attention. But as she had expected, the bruising on her shoulder stuck out like a bear among a herd of cattle. She moved the hem of her collar, tugging it so that it shielded her injury from view. It was sure to fall away eventually, though. Sighing inwardly, she began the arduous process of braiding her hair without the full support of her left shoulder.
To her astonishment, in the middle of her third repeat, there was a knock on her door, and then a beautiful she-elf came in, smiling graciously as she asked Fheon to adjust herself on the bed so she could help her. Fheon, in no position to argue, did as she said and sat sideways on the foot-corner of the bed. The elf stood behind her, straightening her hair using an actual comb, and then started weaving her fingers through Fheon's hair. For a moment, Fheon was reminded of her mother's gentle touch whenever she was the one who brushed her hair. She quickly shook the memory away, coming back to the present. As the elf fixed her hair, she continued thinking of ways on how to free the Company from whatever dungeon they were being held in.
Minutes afterwards, the she-elf finished with Fheon's hair and placed a hand-mirror in front of her face. Fheon saw that the hair above her forehead had been braided skillfully and that it travelled downward, at which point, the elf tilted her head slightly so that Fheon was able to see the low, messy bun she had created, with the braid still in play. For a moment, she allowed herself to admire the elf's handiwork before thanking her and dismissing her gently.
When the elf was gone, Fheon folded her cloak and over-shirt, and then looked down at them sadly. If she and her brother were indeed going to free the dwarves tonight, then there was no way she was going to get her cloak back—unless she returned to this particular room in the woods, which was highly improbable.
With pursed lips, she laced her boots onto her feet, ignoring the sandals the male-elf had left there for her. Luckily, her dress travelled down far enough so that no one would be able to see her feet.
She pulled the drapes back slightly and saw that the sun was setting. But there were still a few minutes left before the party began, surely, and so she hurriedly walked to Elijah's room and placed three firm knocks on the door.
When Elijah first opened the door, Fheon had barely recognized him, with his clear face and cropped, shaggy hair properly styled. He had been given a white under-shirt that travelled all the way down to below his knees, where it hung loosely above grey breeches and his usual black boots. He had a sleeveless, burgundy gambeson that showed off the under-shirt that flared at his arms, but had been designed to retreat back into buttons at the wrist. He wore his forest-green Ranger cloak with ease, because it actually suited the outfit given to him, and Fheon regarded it and his high collar with subtle envy.
Upon seeing her, the man's face lit up immediately. "Sister!" he exclaimed. "You look stunning! Who's the lucky groom?"
"Not you, thankfully," she grumbled, striding past him and into his room, where she closed the door for him. "Have you a plan yet? To free the others?"
He chuckled lightly. "Since when have our plans ever done anything to change the course of everything that's happened?"
She thought about it for a moment, said, "Never," and then sat herself on the foot of his bed. "But it would offer me at least some kind of relief to know that we have one—never mind if we end up not using it."
"The Company does go first, after all," he said. "Alright, fine. We stay at the party for a while, socialize, erase their suspicions of us. And then you'll excuse yourself to go to the little ladies' room, I keep the attention of Thranduil, and you look for where the dwarves are being kept."
"There's sure to be a key… We don't even know who could be holding them. It could be Thranduil himself, or his son—"
"Or not." He patted her back, making sure he did not jar her left shoulder. "We have to stay positive, yeah?"
"Easy for you to say. You get breeches and layers of shirts, while I get a dress I could easily trip over."
He smiled. "At least you look beautiful. You could become a distraction for the elves that are sure to be guarding the dungeons."
She scoffed. "I had no idea elves would become interested in a human."
Disapprovingly clicking his tongue at her, he said, "What did I just say?"
To which she allowed a roll of her eyes and an inward sigh, replying, "Stay positive."
STAY POSITIVE ELLESMER YOU CAN GET PAST THIS JUST STAY POSITIVE-
but you know what'll make me reeeally happy?
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