To Sow a Barren Land

Disclaimer: Yeah, I don't think this is what Tolkien had in mind when he wrote 'The Hobbit' or anything else. So...yeah. I don't own anything except the OMC.

AN: Oukay, another chapter. Still unsure if this should be a 'happily-ever-after' Thorinduil thing but let's see. With how this fic is going, I really doubt it will be unless a miracle happens. So just a heads' up for you guys...it might be OMC/Thrandy. I'm sorry. :( *slams head*

And I've decided to scratch Thranduil/OFC pairing. You know, less is more? Though it doesn't apply here...not anymore. Uh...right. So, it WILL be too much to handle and without it, I can see the direction of this fic much better. Plus you know, it is gonna be easier to conclude.

Chapter 17

Thranduil waited to see if his father had anything more to say. When the king didn't, he lowered his gaze and concentrated on his breathing. He knew how badly he had wanted a distraction and an effort to remain calm was a trivial one but it would have to do.

His attention was captured at the sound of heels frictioning against the ground. With calculated coldness, he stared as the king turned and slowly began to leave. His eyes followed the way Oropher walked and it hurt him to see the proud king dragging his feet out of the throne room, seeking for solace as he was ambushed with such a major news.

Oropher did not turn back. He did not look over his shoulders and spare a simple gaze to his son. When it was extremely apparent that he didn't wish to, Thranduil inhaled slowly and set his vacant eyes on one of the walls.

The footsteps became dimmer and dimmer until it was nothing but a resonating sound of soft taps against the ground, which in turn, waned gradually. Soon, the entire throne room went silent and in the middle of it stood Thranduil, only adding to the uncomfortable stillness that had taken place all around.

He stood in perfect immobility, his face unreadable and eyes cold. A soft light illuminated the cavern, rendering a pale yellow glow. Thranduil's face was carefully brushed with its gentle colour and even though it was to give the atmosphere a tranquil look, all it managed to do was somehow enhance the sombreness and melancholy that surrounded the elven prince.

Then, Thranduil's face cracked with pure anguish and before he knew it, he was on his knees, keeling over and he let out cry which had been long gathered in his chest.

Drops of tears fell on the ground as they rolled down from his cheeks. His head was hung low and an arm was brought up, roughly brushing against his scalp before it curled into a fist, tugging at the handful of hair before slamming down hard against the ground.

It was over. His dreams were shattered long before and the tiny bit of hope he was clinging to would be taken away from him as well.

There was no possibility that his father would let him keep the child. Especially now that he knew about its paternity. It was impossible! No half-dwarf would survive in such a hostile environment and no one would be expected to care for it. None. Not even Opropher himself.

Anger bubbled inside his heart and Thranduil began rebuking himself.

Why hadn't he told him of its true sire? Why did he have to take a name that had not a drop of blood in his unborn child's veins? What did he possibly hope to achieve? A redemption? A consolation that a part of him would always bear Thorin?

Suddenly, his face began to burn as he realized exactly what he had done. He had completely discarded the identity of his child's real sire.

Rainion's words rung in his mind and Thranduil quickly found that whatever he was accused of that day, it was all true. He indeed toyed with someone. He did turn a blind eye to Rainion's feelings and by acknowledging the child to be Thorin's, he did the most merciless thing imaginable. He relieved himself of the idea that he had used a subject to fulfil his dreams.

He dug his nails against the floor and curled them into a tight fist. His body started trembling and suddenly, in a fit of rage, he punched the ground hard—once, twice—before going limp and clutching his head.

His cried became louder. They were so visceral that not even the walls could contain it within themselves. The sounds bounced off and as they echoed back, they became more anguished and brutal.

Now, he had no one. He had lost Thorin, he had lost his sense of morality, he would lose his child and he would lose one person who was perhaps the closest to him.

Thranduil was startled when he felt a pair of hands wrapping from behind him and around his shoulders. With gentleness, he was pulled up, meeting no resistance. Thranduil let himself be guided towards the other's chest and let the other brush his hair in an attempt to comfort him.

At any other time, the elven prince would've been mindful of his dignity and pride of not being seen so vulnerable. Now, he was tired. He could hardly care for himself to be seen in such a mess.

Before long, Thranduil hesitantly bought his arms up and with just as much deliberation, he slowly placed them against the other's biceps, clinging to him as gentle words were murmured in his ears.

The council was silent. Headed by their king, the council members had a certain look on their faces—awe struck and yet grave of the danger which was looming over them.

"They do not know which clan took this from them." One of them spoke. The dwarf was old and seasoned. He had clearly witnessed many mangled situations and had come out of it with success.

"And as long as we can, let us keep them thinking that it was those from the Blue Mountains who had caused such a calamity. At any rate, it was but a small band of dwarves. They'd never be considered to be the prince's cohorts. The lack of any banner only adds against their odds," he said and kept his eyes fixed on the necklace displayed beside the king's throne in a glass enclosure.

He never took notice of the protective way with which Thrór kept on guarding his treasure. Nor did he bother to see Thrór's grandson, keeping an alert eye on the necklace and the occupants of the room.

A bluish haze adorned the hall and in that light, the necklace shone in a dreamlike manner. As the light fell upon the legendary Silmaril, the stone reflected it back along with its own mythical light, making the necklace all the more mystic.

"But Thingol wasn't well acquainted with those lesser dwarves."

At the voice of his king, the old dwarf looked up attentively, a bit disappointed from having to tear his eyes away from such beauty.

Thrór seemed to notice his captivation. He frowned and as he spoke, he never took his eyes off the councillor, "And we, on the other hand, had good relations with the one Thingol trusted the most. If anything, suspicion falls on us first."

"But is it not true that the prince didn't set foot in their city?" The old one enquired, at which, Thrór seemed to pause. He watched intently as the king thought deeply.

"And is it not true that it was you who broke off ties with the Mirkwood prince? Surely you wouldn't be holding any grudge against the elves. Not when you have a very fine lady chosen for the prince."

His vision darted over to Thorin's for a moment and seeing the look of discontent on his face, the old dwarf quickly shifted his gaze and settled them back on his king.

"Had you been after the Silmaril, you wouldn't shun away the most valuable leverage, Your Majesty. And you'd have no need to set foot on their lands." He paused, letting his words sink in the whole room.

By then, each and every person was leaning forward. Their eyes were radiating with interest and consideration. Even Thorin seemed to loan some attention and as for the king, his brows only furrowed deeper.

When he managed to catch everyone's attention, the dwarf went on, this time in a more surety and absoluteness in his tone, "Blue Mountain, on the other hand, has always held disdain towards elves. They were always strained with their approach. The elves know of it. They can surely relate to it."

After a few moments, Thrór's eyes flickered and shone with a glint. In response, the old one's eyes too began filling with mirth and his lips slowly stretched into a smile as a non-verbal agreement was made.

"We shall wait for a while. We will not rejoice. The Blue Mountain will have heard word and surely, they will not be hiding the pride of their race," Thrór said, rounding off the plan and making it more concrete. "When pieces fall into places, Thorin shall wed."

As nods and hums of agreement reverberated throughout the grand hall, no one seemed to notice the prince who stood behind. Even if they did, his pained expression effectively went ignored.

Oropher groaned at the knock which was placed on his door. With a massive headache threatening to split open his skull, he really couldn't afford any more dilemmas.

He chose to ignore whoever it was on the outside and poured himself another glass of Dorwinion. He closed his eyes and began massaging his temples. In hopes of trying to come to terms with everything that had been going on, he didn't mind if he got utterly drunk that night.

He sighed in frustration when the door was knocked yet again. Setting down his glass on the small table, he sat down on the chair next to it. As soon as he was going to close his eyes, the person knocked again.

"By the Valar," Oropher hissed in annoyance and sighed out exasperatedly. Taking a swig of his wine, he waited for a second before giving the command, "Enter."

The door cracked open and Oropher kept his irritated gaze fixed at the entrance. A head peeked inside with fright and hesitance before the elf completely let himself in. As he did, Oropher's eyes extended at the unexpected visit and he sat up, clearly intrigued.

The elf bowed humbly and waited for the other's permission. Oropher tilted his head and raised a brow, silently asking the purpose. The Silvan took the cue aptly and began in a quiet voice, "Forgive me, Your Majesty. I had not intended to disturb you."

Oropher raised his hand and stopped the other. He narrowed his eyes and let his impatience seep into his tone, "Come to the point."

The elf looked shaken momentarily before he quickly gathered himself and went on, "I have come to know of the heinous act and I am, needless to say, disgusted by it."

"That is hardly the reason for you to come in my chambers so late at night," Oropher interrupted yet again, taking a sip of his wine. He had no time or mood to indulge in useless conversations.

The other seemed intimidated by the king's intense stare. Though, it didn't take him long to gather his bearing.

"No, Sire. But I know of something else that I feel is crucial for you to hear."

The elf's tone suddenly became extremely serious and his face was pulled into a steely determination, the same that gleamed from his eyes.

"What is it that you wish to say?" Oropher asked, slowly rising from his seat. As he approached the other, he could feel a tight tension gathering in his chest and the way the Silvan elf intensely gazed at him only attested to the seriousness of his intention.

Without wasting any further time, the other replied, "The prince must be kept away from prying eyes."

Oropher's eyes narrowed even further.

"He's with child my lord and wants none to know of this," His jaws were clenched and the closer Oropher came, the brighter his eyes flared.

The elf king stopped and regarded the other with cold eyes. He wondered just how much the other had heard of the exchange between him and his son—if he had heard any at all.

The younger elf remained unwavered and even though he was intimidated by his king, his determination outweighed the intimidation and he looked straight into Oropher's eyes in the same manner he had done all those days ago.

"And do tell how you came to know?" Oropher asked, frowning deeply as he measured the other up.

"I was with him throughout our travel, Your majesty. I came to know of his state then," The young Silvan replied and his eyes were neither too focused, nor too weak. "And I found him in the halls a few moments after our return. There, he told me of his intentions."

When it was obvious that he was not being lied too, Oropher's gaze softened and he stepped back allowing for some space between him and the other.

"I am aware of his pregnancy." He finally mentioned after a long stretch of pause at which the other perked up. Taking the last sip from his glass, Oropher turned his back and headed over to the table where he set the glass down.

He missed the shocked look on the younger one's face where fear was slowly beginning to creep in. Before it was too much for the other to bear, Oropher spoke again in a sullen tone that reflected just how broken he himself was, "Knowing what I know, I can't allow the child to stay here. It would be staining our reputation."

He looked over his shoulder and sharply considered the Silvan, "But surely you know that."

He didn't miss the temporary angst that lined the other's face which only made Oropher all the more confused of such a reaction.

His eyes grew and suddenly, he faced the other with sharpness, causing him to flinch and direct his gaze at the ground with ample amount of guilt.

"So you do know," Oropher's voice lost all the steel edge it usually possessed and the king looked bewildered. Then, a second later, Oropher's expressions melted into that of awareness and his voice once again gained its normal finesse. "It seems Thranduil told you more than he could ever tell me."

He saw in an unfazed manner as the other hesitantly brought his eyes up and gaze at the king.

"And you are close tohim. Quite close."A light blush was colouring the other's cheeks and the elf suddenly found it very hard to hold the king's vision which only confirmed what Oropher had been suspecting.

"He trusts you." He raised his brow, green eyes looking up and down, sizing the other up and deciding if he was indeed true about his feelings or if it was just a facade.

"But you love him," All of a sudden, his brows were pulled to a frown and his expression tightened immediately as green eyes flared with the light of rationality.

The blush on the other's cheeks deepened even further and he brought his gaze down, keeping them fixed on the floor just as Oropher's focus kept pinned on him.

"But I won't accept it," He said coldly, narrowing his gaze when the other jerked his head up and stared wide-eyed at the elven king.

However, the startle soon went away from the younger one's eyes and they were spread with a sense of understanding and acceptance as he knew his place well.

Oropher's heart suddenly felt sympathy for the one standing in front of him. He had seen lost love; he had seen unrequited love and knew how anguishing it was. He softened his stance and sighed.

This young elf reminded so much of his son. They were so alike. Had it not been for his heritage, this would be a perfect match for Thranduil.

But Oropher was bound.

They needed an heir. A bride was chosen. And he wouldn't accept a common blooded elf—no matter how impressive he was.

"But you can help," He said gently, almost smiling at the gratitude coming off from the other. "You will look after him and will keep prying eyes away. When the child is due, I'll need you to make arrangements so that it is given to someone else. All of this must be done as quietly as possible."

The other bowed in thankfulness. It was clear he was extremely happy to help.

"Please seek a family where the child would be accepted and will be allowed to live," he added at which, the younger elf frowned in utter confusion.

Did it mean that he was not aware of the sire? Did Thranduil keep that part of the information to himself?

Oropher quickly shook off his thoughts and stared ahead.

"He needs all the support he can get or else he will fade. I shall not allow him to fade." It was more of a prayer and a reminder than a comment to the other. "He trusts you...and I do too. Please do not break my trust, Rainion."

The addressed pressed his lips, his eyes flickering a little as if something had dawned on him before they mellowed out and set in a more neutral manner.

"I shall not disappoint you, my king." Rainion bowed, sounding sad all of a sudden which the elf king attributed to his closeness with Thranduil.

He sighed and dismissed the other.

He only prayed for Thranduil to pull through. He didn't want to lose his son.

Closing the door, Rainion leant against it. His eyes were smeared with betrayal and hurt as he glared at the wall ahead. His heart throbbed and refused to believe what his mind grasped while Oropher conversed.

The king didn't know. Why else would he pray for the baby to survive? Surely, no elf would murder a child just because it wasn't their own! Unless...

You lied.

Unless it's sire's race was intolerable.

A cold chill ran down his spine and his heart was filled with a void as Rainion's eyes widened with the shocking revelation. He let out a gasp and within moments, his face was distorted as the full effect of treachery and lies crashed against him.

How could you? How could you throw away all of me like that?

He clenched his aching chest and forced himself to contain a scream that threatened to come out from his throat.

Suddenly, he bolted towards his chambers and ignored the confused looks of those whom he passed by. When he reached his room, he locked it and clutched his head in his palms.

Rainion cried. And he would not stop till the morning when he would realize that he'd never be loved back in return.

AN: Thranduil seems to come off as this terrible person but really, he isn't thinking straight. Aaaand with that, this is end of Book I. Will be posting the next part soon! Do let me know what you think. I welcome any suggestions.