"Have you heard? The dwarves are back."
"The dwarves are back!" Tathor dropped his giant book on human diseases (his favorite reading material, inherited from Felrion). "Legolas! The dwarves are back!"
"I heard her," the prince chuckled.
"Tell me everything!" Tathor demanded of Silana.
. . . . . .
"The dwarves are back," Thranduil stated glumly to Taensirion.
"Indeed." Taensirion frowned to himself, though not specifically because of the dwarves' return to Erebor. He frowned because things had not gone so well last time. Oh, on the surface everything had been fine, many trade deals and a few collaborative projects had been arranged, but Thranduil had become terrible at negotiating with people he disliked. Taensirion could remember when Thranduil had been the sane one and Oropher the problem, but the ability to hold his tongue, which had come from Thranduil's mother, seemed to have melted away.
"Come now, surely something can be made of this," remarked Alagon, pacing as he often did. For all his hotheadedness, the fierce advisor was not one to pass up an opportunity.
Thranduil grimaced.
. . . . . .
"The dwarves are back."
Tauriel looked up. Galion, the king's butler—who she knew fairly well because he was Taensirion's best friend—was holding out a cup of steaming tea for her. What he was doing at the indoor sparring grounds with a tray of those, she wasn't even going to guess. (She herself was sharpening her knives).
"Thranduil's not happy," the butler remarked, shuffling his shoes. "Tathor's thrilled, though. He and Silana want to study their culture."
"Oh," Tauriel said weakly. Did dwarves have a culture, anything noteworthy about them? Legolas seemed to think not. (But if they did, wouldn't they be interesting to study? They were very different from elves.)
Galion perked up as an idea occurred to him. "I'm sure they'd love if you came along."
Could she? Should she?
…But she had so many responsibilities already. Alagon had hinted about putting her on the king's guard. Her! At not even three hundred! If that worked out, she couldn't possibly take leave so soon after getting promoted… and to such a position…
"I'm afraid I can't."
The butler bowed his head. "I understand."
. . . . . .
"Forget the accursed necklace."
Everyone in the room blinked at Alagon, who had interrupted a long span of pacing and fuming.
"Eithryn was not even alive when you commissioned it, Thran—my lord. Sir. She would not have wanted it."
Taensirion and Galion's jaws dropped. They had been trying to calm their irrational king and friend for the last hour, to no avail.
Not that Alagon's straightforward and noticeably out-of-character method was succeeding, either. Thranduil stepped up to him, towering over the intimidating but average-height Silvan, and punched him in the face.
Alagon froze, every muscle rigid, eyes blazing. But he did not fight back, nor did he back down.
"Do not EVER say her name to me."
"She would have hit you, for changing the deal. You have gone mad, Thranduil! If no one else will say it, then I will! You are speaking of starting a war over a… a handful of gems!"
Galion hiccupped.
Thranduil's blade hissed ominously as it slid from its sheath. Alagon did not even flinch, but Taensirion lunged forward and wrestled the sword from his king. Alagon caught it as it clattered to the floor, and flung it across the room.
Thranduil slumped, his rage spent, and Taensirion coughed to clear his throat. "Guards!" he called hoarsely, and two alarmed elves burst inside immediately. "Please escort the king to his rooms."
When no protest came from the king, whose face had gone gray, the dumbstruck elves timidly took his arms and led him from the room. It might not have been their first time. Though this had been the worst in a long while…
Alagon stood there, panting, until he caught his breath. "Butler, would you cease that noise?" he scolded, the remark directed at Galion's continued hiccups. "And—Taensirion, pull yourself together! Valar, I am surrounded by incompetents." He marched out, shutting the door behind him.
Taensirion coughed again and brushed a tear from his cheek. What had happened to Oropher's son? Could Alagon be right, that he had lost his mind?
Galion was still staring after Alagon. "Of all the elves who might be possessed by Sky's ghost," he breathed, "I never thought it'd be him."
. . . . . .
Fire and smoke. Dale in a panic. Cries for help.
"Go, Thranduil," Taensirion advised. "Help them. I will come, if you wish."
Alagon's eyes flared with excitement. "We must act! If we do not bring it down now, we may be next!"
Other voices were more desperate, like Silana's. "They are people, my lord!" she protested, Tathor wringing his hands by her side. "We cannot let them die!"
"Can't we do something?" even Galion begged.
"Ada… should we not help?"
At the last plea, Thranduil stood.
. . . . . .
Fire and smoke. A burning pain. Elves writhing, screaming, agonized, unending lives burning out. A king dying, shriveling as his bones melted, a strong man keening from a suffering far beyond words until his heart mercifully ceased to beat.
Thranduil's mind flashed through every memory of that day as, below, dwarves fled for their lives. One stopped and looked to them, mouth open, his cry for help muffled by the distance and the chaos below.
A dragon.
A dragon.
A dragon.
Thousands of immortal lives snuffed like a candle's flame. Thousands of families left to grieve. All for the sake of short-lived creatures, not even molded by Eru himself, but by one of His servants.
Thranduil turned his head.
Hmm. Yes. That was dark.
I'm really not sure what to do with the necklace thing besides this. My timeline is based off the assumptions that A) Legolas is almost 3,000 at the time of LotR, as stated in whichever official movie guide book, and that B) his mother died when he was quite young. I think the Hobbit moviemakers weren't going with one or both of those. Oh well. Thran isn't doing too well right now, anyway...
