Most elves found it deplorable to be away from nature. Most elves drew great power and felicity from the sun, stars or moon. Thranduil's Elven kin were no different in this regard, but their living methods were unique to them.

Once, long ago, the elves of The Greenwood would bask and have beautiful festivals drenched in starlight, but as darkness crept into the forest, Thranduil's father moved his people to further seclusion. Now the caves from which Thranduil and his elves live continue to be more and more closed off.

Asta knew well the paranoia that the Elven King held towards any visitor, passer by or intruder. She too knew that the putrid dislike of her stemmed from a deeper dislike of dwarves, and her friends would not be treated as guests here.

Trepidation left her at the edge of the kingdom. Nothing about this was to go well. The dwarves were led here, no question; but were they held here? Could she gleam any distinguishing markings that would tell her she could avoid meeting her warden? What about the Prince?

There were moments when she had loved this place. It was a haven; long ago. Now, it seemed to call to her memory as a wind caught her back, flowing through the trees, dappling the light amongst fallen leaves. Peaceful. Wistful. When she was small she could dance with the sun during the day and the stars by night; but those were different days.

The way she felt about him was convoluted and tense. There were memories that existed in her that carried such joy, but darkness as well. They were tainted like a sunny day come upon a sudden storm. First you praise the day and end up fearing the clouds. It was hard to find fondness in those lost days. The happiness she could recall was in the familial bond of the Prince who had taken it as a personal affront when she left, as if he didn't do enough to make her stay.

Now she stood far enough to not be directly seen, although the sentries probably knew she was there, and still her chest clenched making breathing difficult. She hesitated minutes that felt like hours and seconds all at once. If not for her fear she would march there and free her friends and brothers, and yet she could not compel her feet to do it.

She didn't look well enough to have an audience with an Elven King, or otherwise, so in the name of procrastination she searched out a stream. He hair had been accustomed to brushes, and baths with oils, so now it was a frizzy mess. He face had dirt all over it, and so she ran her fingers into the truly cool water and splashed it onto her face. Rubbing slightly, making it red. As her face dried, she began to take out her braids to replait them, all the while staring into the stream. Looking at her reflection, hair half done, face renewed, 'Who are you?' she thought.

She stared for a while longer, then sighed and finished braiding her hair. Two small braids hung from the crest of her head, trailing to meet a larger one that ran down her back, the rest in a free fall of curls. The small ornament that Ori had given her fell on the right braid, nearly touching her cheek. What was the purpose of this primping? 'Perhaps not for a King, but a Prince…' all of it nonsense she concluded. She needed to get on, after all there were hardly traces to follow and if they had gone on ahead, she needed to find them.

Once she reached the entrance she pulled breath deep through her nose into her lungs and stomach, sedating the fire that grew there. The path seemed excessively long, and the pillars that stood by the gate were gargantuan compared to the guards. They neither rushed nor approached her, but when she finally came to the terminus she could see one youthful and one middle- aged elf. The young elf glared at her with eyes as green as mineral pools by the mountains. She squared her shoulders, straightened her braid and turned to the older elf.

The only indication of age difference was the pale yellow of the youth's hair, in contrast to the white ethereal hair of the aged elf, which refused to look at her.

"I'd speak with Thranduil, Elven King, as is my right as his ward." She spoke with the same confidence she would use with Lord Elrond. "Do you grant me passage?"

The elder elf looked at her for a long time before closing his eyes and saying "Asta, ward of Thranduil, Elven King. It is not our business to impede you."

She nodded, no time to waste she stepped forward, only to be stopped by the voice of the younger elf; not so young in depth.

"A word of caution. The Elven King is not in good temperament."

So they were here. She nodded in understanding and stepped inside.

The great halls of Thranduil were unparalleled in their particular beauty. The halls were lit by similar light holes to Asta's house and blue flamed torches carried the specter that was Asta ever forward to the mail hall.

This Thranduil was no different to the Elven King he met all those years ago, when his house still stood. He was tall, even for an elf, with silver hair to his waist. He stood on a platform before his throne. Even Thorin could admit that his throne was impressive. It moved seamlessly; the base a great old oak tree, the branches reaching and spreading out with leaves of orange, red, and yellow. Still, no leaves lay on the smooth stone ground. Eerie and unnatural to him, fraudulent and pathetic. At the upper reaches of the great seat was a set of antlers bigger than any buck he had imagined, engulfing the room and whoever sat upon the throne.

It made the greedy proposition Thranduil presented him with now, far more ironic. Gems of pure starlight. Thorin hardly remembered the treasures in his grandfather's grand hall. All he needed was the Arkenstone; and perhaps an new sword, as the elves had taken his. He smiled, confidence spilling from him now.

"I am listening."

Thranduil collected his hands in front of him, long hair barely shifting in the movement.

"I will let you go, if you but return what is mine."

His voice was silky and deep, but to Thorin it was slippery and slick. "A favour for a favour." Thorin allowed.

Thranduil smirked as he began to sit in his throne, under the impression he had won and spoke with stupendous conviction, "You have my word. One King to another."

The grin fell from Thorin's face and what started in his very toes, rose slowly to his knees, snapping them straight; up to his stomach where the flame was fed and fanned. It rose and rose until his face was surely red. All that rage, anguish and hate.

His voice was calm at first, trying to keep his composure, "I would not trust, Thranduil, the Great King," he spat, "to only his word. Till the end of days be upon us."

Thranduil did not mask his displeasure well.

"You; lack all honour! 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 then broke into Elvish "Die a death of flames!"

With a rage the match of Thorin's, Thranduil threw himself from his throne, launching himself directly at Thorin. "Do not speak to me of dragon fire! I know its wrath and ruin. I have faced the serpents of the North."

To Thorin's revulsion Thranduil's face on his left side melted away. It took all Thorin had to not recoil from the sinewy skin stretched across a pocked and burned cheek. Thranduil slowly backed away but despite the intense air and the pain in his voice, he was able to separate himself from the moment, and look beyond Thorin. In an instant the anger disappeared into an expression that Thorin could not categorize; neither sad, happy, nor excited. Thranduil moved slowly, every bit of his body acting as if his bones were glass.

She had heard it all. The starlight gems, the attempted alliance. She was so ashamed, not of him but for him. So ashamed that he thought Thorin could give him what his solitude had taken from him and his people. The connection to starlight was fading, not due in part to the evil that crawled through the forest that he was meant to protect. She felt such sadness in this meeting, because she knew that no one could give him what he was seeking.

"Why did you keep this from me?" she faltered, "about the dragons?"

Thranduil straightened himself, as if he remembered who he was. He pursed his lips and yet his eyes betrayed him, "It wasn't something to burden you with. It was not a conquest, and not a proud moment."

"I imagine begging a Dwarf King for lost gems is another." Her gaze hadn't shifted and she stood firm as the trees she now served.

Thranduil stood unable to move or react. Meanwhile Thorin's grimace widened. She had come.

She stepped up to the small landing, and stood next to Thorin but not looking at him she said, "I don't know if I can get us out of this."

He closed his eyes, "Blame your brother, he lost the path."

"You'll have to be more specific, I do have three, after all." With this she looked at him with playfulness and hope in her eyes.

Thranduil was beginning to understand, and the more he understood, the more the flame in his own stomach seemed to blaze. "You have not returned to me." He said lowly, calmly but through gritted teeth and eyes looking up over a furrowed brow. Although he was not a wizard like Gandalf, the air seemed to stiffen and the light dim.

She took another step forward and lowered herself into a deep bow, her long braid slipping from it's hold. "Not this time, my Lord." She slowly raised her eyes and they met his, hoping he could translate the tumultuous tempest inside her.

His nose wrinkled as he almost spat, "You suffer to spend your time in the company of this Dwarf?"

"I am bound to him, contractually and otherwise. I have been travelling with his company and with them I have know companionship of which I had bled dry in the employ of Lord Elrond."

All sentiment was gone in him now, such a betrayal as this, "Then you may suffer along side them. Stay here if you will, and rot." He spoke to Thorin now, "A hundred years is a mere blink in the life of an elf." He strode to his throne, defiantly, confidently, cruelly. "I am patient." He sat and placed his hands on the rests to the side, "I can wait."

Asta closed her eyes and felt the firm hand of a guard at her shoulder and wrist. She looked at Thranduil once more with eyes of pity and sorrow before she turned to be led away.