Chapter 33 Mirkwood

A banquet was held in honor of the arrival of Lord Elrond and Lady Nienor of Imladris. The hall they gathered in appeared to have been meticulously carved into the earth and fashioned from the splendid, massive roots of the surrounding forest trees. Sunlight streamed through the dense roots, casting its glow across the numerous levels of the palace, even reaching the deepest recesses of its caves. However, to dispel any lingering shadows that might persist depending on the time of day, luminous fixtures of varying sizes, both grand and delicate, adorned every corner, resembling enchanting chandeliers. In the subterranean realm of King Thranduil, the distinction between day and night remained perpetually elusive.

A large table carved from wood was set in the center of a room with a marbled floor. Seated at the head of the table, Thranduil occupied a regal throne crafted from polished and woven roots, its backrest exquisitely adorned with seasonal flowers. His posture was one of serene majesty, with his arms resting calmly on the armrests.

To his right, Nienor and Elrond occupied smaller, yet elegantly adorned seats, distinct from the grandeur of the king's throne. Joining them were numerous guests, including captains, commanders, and royal advisers. Thranduil subtly gestured with his right hand, accompanied by a gracious smile, signaling that the banquet could now begin. Exquisite plates and bowls were presented on the table in a captivating procession, carried by servants in an enchanting display. Meanwhile, a gentle and ethereal melody accompanied the dining experience.

'Where is this melody coming from?' inquired Nienor, scanning the room. 'I see no instruments or musicians.'

Thranduil poured a small amount of wine into a golden cup, maintaining a deliberate pace. 'Look up, my lady,' he said, raising his glass toward the ceiling.

Nienor followed his gaze, discovering a small orchestra on a crescent-shaped platform above them, playing a mesmerizing tune. 'I've never seen something so exquisitely enchanting' murmured Nienor in a breath. She lowered her gaze, meeting Elrond's eyes, and they shared a fleeting smile.

'Indeed,' whispered the king, sipping his wine. "But, forgive such curiosity, but where do you come from?' asked Thranduil.

Elrond took a deep breath, striving to remain composed. Thranduil's question was pointed, his gaze fixed on Nienor, who remained unperturbed.

'Your Grace, I'm afraid my forgotten and lost origins tell you nothing at all. I have had the fortune of finding myself where the stars have led me, the same place where they rest when the sun rises at dawn.' Nienor smiled gracefully, took her glass, and delicately brought it to her lips, taking a few sips. 'Have you traveled beyond the Northern Mountains?' Nienor asked with a lively voice.

'You speak of the region of Forochel?' Thranduil raised an inquisitive eyebrow, visibly interested, leaning towards Nienor.

'Often attributed to the Lossoth, but you may not be aware that there are small tribes of elves like me hidden here and there.'

'Something singular indeed,' Thranduil's tone was skeptical. He casually slid back into his seat.

'Allow me to express it this way: we are to the North what wood elves represent in the South, Your Grace.'

Silence fell between them, during which Elrond felt the muscles of his neck tense under his tunic. Thranduil's cynical laughter echoed merrily throughout the palace, accompanied by Nienor's crystalline laughter.

'But we have learned to tame the cold,' she added, 'perhaps one day you will see the icy deserts, frozen lakes, and misty mountains.'

'Perhaps, indeed. Elrond,' said Thranduil, sitting up straight, his gaze piercing. 'You form a most peculiar pair, but beauty can sometimes be found in singularity. Please, eat and drink, all of this is for you.'

They left the table long after, and King Thranduil personally escorted them back to their apartment.

'This is a very intriguing tale you present, my lady.' The King stopped in front of a large double door and turned to them. The guards present opened the door, and Thranduil invited the couple to enter. Then, he entered as well. 'Many would readily accept it,' he added once the door was closed, 'but personally, I don't believe a word of it.'

Elrond and Nienor had both frozen, unsure if they had grasped the meaning of his words. Thranduil stood calmly before them, his two hands joined on his velvet tunic. He scrutinized Nienor, his gaze piercing to the core.

'Something tells me you are not a stranger to all that is happening in the South of Middle-earth,' murmured Thranduil. 'You come to my home, dine at my table, to deceive me?'

'Forgive our impoliteness, Your Grace,' Nienor promptly responded. 'You will soon understand why it was necessary for us to conceal the truth.' She exchanged a brief glance with Elrond as if seeking his approval. 'I am Nienor, and I come from the South. I was Darken's wife; he had sent me to retrieve Elrond's ring and bring it back to him, but things turned out differently.'

Thranduil exchanged a glance with Elrond.

'It's a long story,' Elrond warned.

'I have time,' declared the Elven King, sitting on a couch.

Nienor began by revealing Darken's motivations and plan, then she recounted her journey to Imladris and the stakes that eventually led her to change sides.

'Surprising…" Thranduil finally stood up from the couch and began pacing the room. 'This is unlike you, Lord Elrond. But I prefer this story to the one from Forochel. Tell me, Nienor, what assures us that you are no longer loyal to this Darken?'

'Nothing,' Nienor admitted. 'Nothing assures you of it; that's why you must believe me.'

He smiled ironically, then turned to Elrond. 'Despite everything?'

'Despite everything,' said Elrond.

'Love…' the King whispered. A wine carafe was placed on a golden tray on a round table in the center of the room. Thranduil poured himself a glass of wine, raised the carafe to his guests, who declined. 'You come to ask for my help, is that it?'

'The Realms of Men, in the South of Middle-earth, are a symbol of freedom and future, Your Grace,' said Nienor. 'The fall of the South will mean the fall of all the free peoples that remain. Hobbiton is almost ravaged, we struggle to defend the still-free regions of the West. Gondor has fallen, but the men of Rohan are valiant and continue to fight. Lothlórien is also defending itself.' She paused; Thranduil listened while sipping his cup. 'Darken exploits your passivity. But once he advances, he will not hesitate to come and drag you out of your caves. If that day comes, it will mean we have lost, and you will be alone.'

A long silence followed, during which Nienor did not release Thranduil's gaze.

'We have fought before,' murmured Thranduil.

'And we have won those battles,' Elrond replied.

'Everything hung by a thread, Elrond. Things may not turn out as well this time.'

'Then what do you have to lose?' Nienor asked.

Thranduil remained silent for a moment. Finally, he slowly raised his eyes from his cup and met the penetrating gaze of Elrond, then that of Nienor.

'And what do you expect from me exactly?'

'Esgaroth is taken, you are not unaware of it,' Nienor began. 'It seems to me,' she said while maintaining the penetrating gaze of the King of Mirkwood, 'that you had dealings with them, did you not?' The question was purely rhetorical, but the King nodded nonetheless. 'This trade now benefits Darken. The dwarves of Erebor struggle to resist Darken's assaults on the mountain. Help them and free Esgaroth.'

An ironic smile crossed the King's lips. 'Coming to the aid of the dwarves, once again...' He finished his cup and stood up from his seat. 'I promise nothing for now. But come tomorrow morning; we will discuss the terms of a possible alliance. I'll let you rest.' He crossed the room and stopped in front of Nienor, scrutinizing her from top to bottom, he bowed courteously, 'good night.'

Thranduil left the room. Nienor sighed and sat on a chair.

'Patience, Nienor. Thranduil is convinced; tomorrow morning, he will tell us his price, and we will return.'