To Sow a Barren Land
Disclaimer: Not. One. Thing.
AN: I know Oropher was in Doriath the time of the disgusting murder and that it wasn't committed by the dwarves of Erebor. But for our little fic's sake, let us pretend a bit more, yeah? :) Like I already haven't mashed up different timelines. XD
Thanks everyone for your support. :)
Chapter 16
Gates were hauled to widen and a cloud of dust soon covered the entrance with a rapid speed. Through it, cluttering of hooves could be heard—so heavy and frantic—that the people of Erebor scurried back to the far edges of the road, covering their eyes and nose, while they let the company pass.
After a few short moments, the sound of hooves began fading away and the cloud of dust slowly started dissipating, so that the people could again see their surroundings.
Those who had witnessed now stood dumbfounded. They curiously looked at the direction where the band of ponies went and wondered with a confused expression what could possibly be the matter for such excitement.
Soon, the gates slammed back loudly and the spectators were jolted back into their attention, frowning as they suddenly felt very uneasy.
Footsteps echoed throughout the grand corridors, running along the stretch of palace walls. Resolution bounced off from their feet as the small group of dwarves marched towards the throne room, their lips pressed tight into a thin line and brows drawn together in extreme fear.
The steps grew heavier and spoke of such urgency that anyone who came in path quickly stood aside, letting them go forth.
As they approached the throne room, a pair of guards bowed and uncrossed their axes, allowing for the company to go through before they were met with the next pair.
Thorin and his men received many curious glances and even some whispered about their ragged state. However they had no time to pay attention to such trivialities. They hastened their pace and marched ahead with only one thing in their focus.
They had to meet the king. They had to report for the situation that went extremely out of hand.
The heavy set of doors flew open at which, Thrór immediately stood up, frowning deeply as the band of dwarves entered. Echoes of footsteps filled the vast hall sounding so ominous and ill-willed that the king had to breathe a few times to retain his composure.
Thorin lead the group, his face pulled to a grave expression and his eyes shining intensely while the others who followed looked unnaturally rigid and stiff.
Thrór began descending from the stairs. As he took a closer look at the others, his frown increased. The dwarves were dishevelled and exhausted. Numerous small cuts and gashes marred their faces and Thorin in particular sported a deep cut to the right of his forehead that certainly didn't come from collision with any thorns or such.
While he was greeted, Thrór quickly swept his eyes over the rest of the men. His heart skipped a beat when he realized that there appeared few in number than that which was originally sent out. It was clear that a battle had taken place and it was not without a doubt that Thorin and the others barely escaped.
Their bodies were covered in armour but a closer look revealed that not many of his men could stand upright. In fact, most were drained of their energy just from the walk to his throne . It wasn't just because lack of training or exhaustion of travel.
Thrór knew his guards better.
No, rather the strained expressions of the dwarves revealed to him more than he needed to know. They were severely injured. If it showed on their faces, then Thrór could only guess how bad they must have had it on their bodies.
Snapping out of his trance, he let his enquiring eyes fall on Thorin. Seeing that he was addressed, the dwarven prince inhaled and said in a solemn voice, "We have it, my lord."
Thrór's eyebrows were raised automatically just as his eyes became gradually bigger. His gaze flickered over to the guard who was approaching him and settled on him with high anticipation.
On Thorin's command, the guard reached into his tunic and took out a heavy piece of cloth, wrapped tightly over some object.
Thrór's eyes wandered over to it and the king waited as the guard gently began unfolding it.
He could feel his heart beginning to thump with curiosity and his brows were raised to the limits on his forehead. Whatever the object was had to be extremely delicate and the more it was unwrapped, more the rhythm in his heart became faster as anxiety and an anticipatory tension filled his mind.
Finally, the guard let the cloth drop and displayed to his king a brilliant necklace, shining valiantly and gallantly like the stars in a constellation. As he held out said object to the king, Thrór's eyes sparkled with such wonder and amusement that only proved how befitting the necklace was.
It was captivating! Beautifully crafted, it showed off dwarven splendour in artistry and the divinity of that which was pure other worldly.
"My king, we have it." Thorin's voice brought Thrór back into the present as he quickly hardened his gaze in focus.
"Well done, I knew you'd be perfect." Thrór congratulated, proudly looking at his line before once again being drawn to the object the other dwarf still held in his hands.
The necklace had a fine mithril base, encrusted with diamonds shinning like a star studded night sky in the dimmest of light. Right in the middle of it sat one of the only three jewels, formed off the unmarred light of the legendary Two Trees.
To the elves, it was known as the Silmaril. To Thrór, it was simply mystic.
"Who can ever imagine such a graceful thing could come out of the hands of dwarves? Who cannot but be amazed at dwarven sense of beauty? " He said ponderously, taking in the delicate works adorning the glistening piece of craft. As the necklace flickered in the light, the glint in Thrór's eyes danced as well, brimming with pride and awe at the sheer elegance of it.
Suddenly, his eyes became sharper and he looked at his grandson with a rage which accumulated deep within him as the very thought of a shameful prejudice rung in his mind.
"It was crafted by our toil and sweat." His tone lost all forms of amusement and rendered a dark shade of possessiveness. "The elves had no right to claim it their own."
In spite of having pride in his eyes, Thorin said nothing but merely gave a tight nod in response. In all his years, Thrór had come to know his grandson well that he immediately understood that there was something which was bothering Thorin.
He tilted his head and asked as his eyes narrowed in confusion, "Are you not in agreement?"
"Forgive me, my king. I am pleased but I am unable to render my emotions." Thorin replied in a stern manner which did not suit the emotion he was talking about.
"What ails you?" Thrór asked, once again his eyes falling over the cuts and scrapes on others' faces. The way they were rigid, Thrór could no longer ignore the little voice in his mind that spoke of what might have likely happened. Still, hoping against hope, he suppressed it and waited for Thorin to recount.
The dwarf prince became tenser upon being asked and seemed to hesitate a bit. At that, Thrór narrowed his eyes as his breath hitched in his throat.
The more he waited, the louder did the little voce speak— bringing forth all the concerns and bad scenarios which Thrór shoved in the darkest depths of his mind. As time passed, his beliefs dwindled as the possibility of those dark things seemed very likely.
After what seemed like ages, Thorin finally spoke up. His eyes were dark and his tone was grim. "The mission didn't go as planned."
Thrór's heart raced as he felt ice flowing through his veins. His brows were furrowed and his eyes were reflecting the growing dread he began feeling inside of him.
He parted his mouth and silently urged the other to go on and Thorin did exactly that while he grew more and more sombre.
"We were greeted with diplomacy in mind. However, two of the guards acted rash and snatched the necklace away from their king, deep into the night."
A shudder ran past Thrór's spine as he looked at the other with utter disbelief. Terror was flooding in his heart and all of a sudden, he felt extremely numb as the implications of Thorin's narrative began to shape form in his mind.
He let out a shaky breath and asked, his voice refusing to come out as strong, "And King Thingol?"
At that, Thorin clenched his jaws tightly and the gaze he set upon his grandfather was anything but reassuring.
"He was killed."
Thorin's voice was grave. As he spoke, dourness covered his eyes, making Thrór all the more despicable. "And two of our men have died at the hands of elves." He paused a little, allowing for his grandfather to take in what Thorin had witnessed before he continued, "A war has been started. And it shall go on for centuries to come."
Oropher fled outside into the courtyard as soon as he had heard of the arrival of his son and his cohorts. Ignoring the marauding look over the guards' faces, he hastened towards the company eyes transfixed on his son and heir.
Upon seeing him, Thranduil dismounted his ride and approached the other with a stricken look on his face.
Before the younger elf could say anything, Oropher sighed out of pure relief, thanking the Valar countless times over for the safety of his subjects and most importantly, his son.
"Adar," Thranduil started in a frantic voice but Oropher cut him off as he declared with a stunned tone, "They killed king Thingol."
He paused and mimicked the ashen pallor of his son as Thranduil's brows shot up in unexpectation and his eyes grew wide as the weight of the elf king's words hit him hard.
"What?" came the breathless response as Oropher's words finally sunk in his mind.
At that, the king nodded and explained as gravely as he felt, "The dwarves killed him and stole his necklace."
Green eyes flashed suddenly with an anger which Oropher managed to hold it in for so long. He sneered as the very thought of those greedy creatures filled his mind and all the prejudice he held against them for so long began to surface.
"Those insolent, obnoxious filths!" he sneered, startling the others when the silence and shock was suddenly overcome with such a sharp tone. "They killed him for that which is rightfully ours. They killed him for a piece of jewellery! They used our good will and went against our kin. Those bastards!"
He looked up and sharply met the prince's gaze as he went on, "Thranduil! Have a flank ready. Should they ever cross us, we shall have an answer!"
He was shocked however when Thranduil's hesitance came into view. Sneering harsher, Oropher prodded the other, uncertain of what could cause Thranduil such second thoughts. Then, he let out a gasp as a revolting thought crossed his mind.
"You are still going to defend him?" He asked, eyes narrowing in spite. "His kin cast you aside and you are still going to side with them?"
He was expecting a retort from the usually sharp Thranduil but when the younger elf simply frowned and momentarily set his glance aside, Oropher was all the more confused.
"Well? What is it?" He asked, his tone bordering impatience at which Thranduil flinched. The motion didn't go unnoticed and Oropher's snarl grew as he couldn't understand what reason Thranduil could have for the way he was acting!
When the other didn't respond, Oropher commanded him to follow inside where they could have some privacy. Once they safely reached Oropher's study, the king voiced another concern that now gained high priority.
"You must wed. You must have an heir."
Thranduil jerked his head up at the other's command and his eyes shaded an unspeakable matter of restraint.
"Adar—"
He began but was not given a chance to speak as Oropher once again took over.
"There is no telling if there shall be a war. When there shall be a war. No telling if we will be involved and certainly there is no telling if you and I should return! You must have an heir Thranduil."
"Adar, please listen to me!" Thranduil begged but the king didn't seem to pay any attention.
"I have a perfect lady sorted out for you. She has every qualities desired in a princess of the Woodland Realm. She'll suit you well."
"No Adar—"
"And I have every confidence in your ability to raise a well suited king." Once again Thranduil's pleas went unheard.
He was beginning to say something more. "If the Valar is willing, then you—"
"Adar, listen to what I have to say!"
However, he was sharply interrupted to a halt and as he lifted his eyes, he became all the more startled when Thranduil's serious expression came into view.
"What is it?" He asked, taken aback slightly at how Thranduil had regained his spark within seconds.
"I can't marry yet!" He said with a determination at which, Oropher became angrier.
"Why?" he asked sharply, narrowing his eyes at his son who didn't even waver by a bit.
Instead, Thranduil's eyes shone with an intensity and as he spoke, Oropher's gaze were drawn to his stomach upon which Thranduil placed a delicate hand.
"I promise Adar, I will do as you command. I understand it if for the best of our people. But I can't comply to it immediately. You must allow me a year."
Oropher's attention remained on the spot that Thranduil seemed to cradle. All of a sudden, his blood seemed to freeze in his veins as his mind became busy with reconnecting Thranduil's request with his action.
His eyes broadened at which he concluded.
He looked at his son with a horrified face, desperately hoping to be proven wrong. However, Thranduil graced him no favours. He simply confirmed what Oropher prayed not to happen.
"I am with child." The prince spoke with such overwhelming coldness that it broke the very essence of Oropher's spirit. It was as if Thranduil had premeditated this conversation they were having at the moment. It was as if Thranduil knew what Oropher would ask of him.
He stared miserably at his son, resisting a sudden urge to scream and cry out loud.
"W-what?" His voice refused to leave his throat and his mind was spinning so uncontrollably that the king feared he'd lose his consciousness at any moment.
"Who is the sire?" He finally asked after a long while, his heart wrenching when he saw Thranduil bit his lips in hesitance.
"Thranduil, who is the sire?" He asked again, this time more forcibly.
After what it seemed like eternity, Thranduil finally replied, adorning all the solemnity he possessed in his being. "Thorin."
At that, Oropher squeezed his eyes shut, breathing in deeply, trying to keep himself from lashing out in pure rage and deceit he felt was committed upon him. He didn't have the sense to ask when Thranduil had conjoined with the dwarf and when they met. Even if he did, Thranduil was left alone in the field. He'd surely be given a believable story and Thranduil was ingenious and extremely brilliant.
Taking a few more deep breaths, he once more dared to look at the other. Thranduil was still stoic and still calm wherein Oropher's insides were as turbulent as the deadliest of storms.
"You can't keep the child." The king finally declared, choosing to ignore the shattered face of his son which swiftly was concealed beneath his cold mask after one or two seconds of being shown.
"I understand." Thranduil complied, "No one shall know about this. You have my word Adar. After one year..."
He trailed off and as much as he tried hiding the quiver in his voice, Thranduil could never hope for his father to be so oblivious. The king stifled a sigh of his own and turned his back towards the younger elf.
He couldn't allow himself to witness what his son was going through. Whatever remained of Thranduil's heart crumbling to pieces and as much as Oropher wanted, he could not do anything to fix it.
"After one year, you shall wed the lady." The king finished for his son, closing his eyes as a heavy toll took his entire being. Never before had he felt so exhausted; so drained.
"As you wish."
And as Thranduil's strained voice accepted the unfair decision, he was crushed by an agony that only a father could experience while he was forced to take away the last happiness away from his own child.
But he was helpless! It had to be done.
And Eru forgive me.
AN: Sooooo...what do you think? Please let me know where I can improve!