The Elven halls of Thranduil are as grand as Thorin remembers them. Great pillars curl up towards high ceilings, carved directly from the living rock. Beneath his feet, the stone whispers, curious at the entry of the dwarves; it has been some time since they last sensed Durin's folk walk across their floors. Warm light filters in through gaps in the cave ceilings, and before them stretches endless, winding corridors, great bridges over deep caverns and elves who watch their every step with cautious looks.
When he first dreamed of the caverns of the Elvenking, he swore he would never step foot in this unseemly place again.
Yet another vow he has broken over the years.
They are led through a tall archway, past great wooden doors and into a room that has played a starring role in all of Thorin's nightmares over the last few years. Ahead of them, sits a golden throne and Thranduil. The Elvenking is adorned in his usual finery, his crown curling cruelly around his head, his robes accented with warm oranges and golden yellows.
It is less warrior King and more oppressive luxury. It makes Thorin sick.
Here is the elf who turned his back on their desperate pleas, the King who let Durin's Folk fall into starvation all because Thrór would not listen.
Guards press in closely behind him, their warmth at his back a distant reminder of the last time he set foot in these halls.
This time is different, he tries to remind himself, this time you have company, you are not a suspected thief. This time he is expecting you.
The doors close with a final sounding thud behind them. Kíli edges closer to Thorin, his gaze flickering across the hall, curiosity shining through his unusually sombre face. Their pace through the wood was slow, no thanks to the sobbing elf who refused to relinquish her hold on Kíli–as if she was terrified she would blink and he would vanish.
When they reached the Elvenking's halls, it was clear she exhausted herself–and she was quickly pulled away by one of the Mirkwood elves and Elladan, who promised Kíli that he would escort her where she needed to go. It took some time before she allowed herself to be led away, but not before she pressed a kiss against Kíli's brow, leaving a bewildered dwarf in her wake.
For the love of Mahal, Thorin did not expect reuniting the pair would be so traumatising.
Thranduil turns a lazy gaze towards his company, and smiles. The expression is eerie, although Thorin is unsure if the Elvenking means it to be so when he speaks, 'Thorin, son of Thrain, I finally welcome you into my halls.'
Thorin bows sharply, gritting his teeth. He is loath to show this fiend any kind of respect, but he can already hear Billa chiding him for his lack of manners and muttering about mutual respect.
'Elvenking,' Thorin murmurs, 'I am honoured to receive such a gracious welcome.'
There, he could do respectful, with maybe just a dash of sarcasm thrown in. Billa would no doubt approve.
His sister-sons and Dwalin follow suit with their own bows, just a few beats behind him. Thranduil seems surprised, his eyes narrowing on their small group, before focusing on Elrohir.
'Elladan, your father mentioned you and your brother may be joining Thorin Oakenshield's company.'
Kíli snorts, quickly disguising the sound as a cough. Elrohir, ever the diplomat, bows graciously to Thranduil, 'The decision was not made final until the last moment. My father thought it…beneficial for Thorin, son of Thrain, to have some Elven company on his journey forward.'
'Your father shows impeccable wisdom as always,' Thranduil's gaze flits across them. He rises from his throne, each movement a lesson in grace and fluidity. The Elvenking moves like water, and it makes Thorin uneasy. Stone cannot fight water, it can only block it.
'Lord Elrond sent word ahead of your plans to reclaim your birthright,' Thranduil's gaze focuses on Thorin. 'Is it still your intention to slay the wyrm?'
Thorin nods, 'It is.'
Thranduil's gaze is probing. He must find whatever it is he's searching for, for he nods and says, 'I am willing to offer my assistance in this endeavour. For a price.'
Thorin grits his teeth, 'We will appreciate any assistance you can offer, Elvenking.'
'Then let us discuss the terms. I am sure your companions are probably in need of rest. Oropher,' the Elvenking turns to one of his guards, 'Please escort our guests to their rooms, and take that one to Tauriel.'
Kíli starts, the long pale hand pointing directly at him. Thranduil smiles, it is not kind, 'I believe she will be waiting for him.'
The elf nods and bows, before he gestures for the group to follow him out. Kíli and Fíli spare Thorin a quick look, and he nods. The dwarves fall into step behind the guard, until only Elrohir remains.
'I shall accompany your nephews, Thorin, son of Thrain.' He bows, before moving to follow the group out of the room.
Behind them, the great doors close with a final thud, leaving Thorin alone with the Thranduil. He turns back to the elf, who simply gestures with a sweeping arm to a small table off to one side. Thorin lumbers forward, eager to get this meeting over with.
The Elvenking waits until the dwarf is seated before he reaches the tea set resting on the table between them.
'I find your manner curious, son of Thrain.'
Thorin grunts in response, accepting the freshly poured tea from the elf. A gentle scent wafts towards him, and he finds the tension in his body easing at the familiar smell. 'I do not follow.'
Thranduil takes a sip from his own cup before he speaks, 'I did not expect you to accept the offer of a parley.'
'As I told Lord Elrond, only a fool would refuse an invitation from an Elven Lord,' Thorin replies coolly. 'Especially when there is so much at stake.'
'And you are no fool, Thorin, son of Thrain?' One dark eyebrow lifts imperiously.
'No, I am not.'
'Hm,' the elf places his cup on the table, a challenging look in his eye. 'I have only one request in return for my assistance in reclaiming the Lonely Mountain.'
'The white gems of Lasgalen.'
'You are aware of the gems?' Thranduil seems mildly surprised.
'What do you offer me in exchange for the safe return of them to your halls?'
'Supplies, safe passage through Mirkwood, warriors,' Thranduil pauses and then says, 'My son.'
Thorin chokes, the tea catching in his throat. Surely he does not mean…? The dwarf turns a shocked gaze to the Elvenking, unable to suppress his shock, 'Y–your son?'
'The Prince of Mirkwood, Legolas,' Thranduil continues, 'I believe he will be a valuable asset in your quest.'
Oh, thank Mahal. He meant to aid in reclaiming Erebor. Thorin grumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tries to regain his full breathing faculties. These elven lords and their sons–
'Is this some kind of joke?'
'It is no joke, son of Thrain,' Thranduil seems affronted by the accusation.
'Why?' Thorin asks, 'You cannot trust me, not fully, not with everything that lies between our peoples.'
Thranduil says nothing, seeming to consider Thorin's words. He takes a sip of his tea, before returning the cup to the dainty saucer on the table.
'I have been plagued by dreams of late. Dreams of dragonfire and loss and darkness.' Thorin stiffens, his gaze lifting to meet the Elvenking's. Thranduil continues, 'My son wishes to see beyond the borders beyond this realm, and this need has only increased over the last few years. I must admit these dreams forced me to see the necessity in this, in learning to let him go–I imagine I am not the only one to have had such dreams. Am I?'
The question settles between them, pointed and calculating. Thorin tries not to fidget, his gaze glued to the tea set.
'You did not seem surprised about my mention of Tauriel, nor of her attachment to you sister-son,' Thranduil explains.
Thorin finally nods, 'I have also suffered these visions.'
'I assumed this was the case when word reached me of your stay with Lord Elrond,' the Elvenking nods. 'There is only so much influence your soon-to-be Hobbit Queen can have over you, even as Lord Elrond's friend.'
There's a tightening in Thorin's chest and his fist clenches under the table. He does not like this king speaking so casually of his ghivashel.
'Am I correct in assuming she is the reason you managed to outwit my guards and escape the cells?' Thorin does not respond to the question, but Thranduil continues, his voice sharp and mocking, 'I know I am correct, only a mind like hers could have come up with such a scheme, and I certainly would not have expected it to come from one of your stone-brained kin, dull as they are. I have heard great things about your Billa Baggins, son of Thrain, I wonder what Valar blessed you with such a gift–'
A knife pulls free from Thorin's belt in a flash, his free hand moving to embed it into the wooden table, just inches from the Elvenking's hand. The nearby guards move a step closer, hands fluttering to their weapons. Thorin ignores them. He lifts a furious gaze to Thranduil, feels the rage bubbling within him as he speaks, 'Keep her name out of your mouth. You will not speak of her. Not to me.'
Thranduil's mouth closes, his sharp clear eyes flickering across Thorin's face. Finally, after a few tense seconds, he inclines his head, 'Forgive me.'
The Elvenking leans back, steepling his hands under his chin. Thorin pulls his dagger free from the wood with a swift yank, vanishing it within the folds of his clothes. The guards ease as the two leaders fall into a deep silence.
'There are other instances, of course,' Thranduil continues slowly. 'I awoke one morning, my son could not look me in the eye and my captain of the guard could not tear her gaze from the north, from the mountain. Dwarves start settling in The Shire, a wizard travels through the Misty Mountains with a Hobbit, Elrond allows his sons beyond Rivendell, and finally, you. Conversing with Elrond as if you are old friends. I am no fool, son of Thrain, nor will I be taken for one.'
Thranduil leans forward, those long pale hands still steeped under his chin, 'So tell me, Thorin, son of Thrain, King Under the Mountain, why do you seek to reclaim Erebor?'
The question echoes around them, ringing in Thorin's ears. Why is he seeking to reclaim Erebor? To save his people, of course, but the memories of that other life still nip at his mind; the look on his sister-sons faces as he left them behind at that dock, those he let down as they stomped their way across Middle Earth, those who fell on that cursed battlefield all because of his own greed–No. This quest is about more than reclaiming his birthright, it's about proving to himself that he is worthy of it. That this time, things can be–will be–different.
A Middle Earth at peace where his Billa could thrive.
–For a moment, he can see it. Bilbo amongst wildflowers, the sun beating down golden on him as he smiles–
'Because I have someone worth fighting for,' Thorin says gruffly.
Thranduil says nothing, just watches the King Under the Mountain with those ageless eyes, until finally he speaks, 'You must know that it did not end with your death.'
Thorin's heart trembles. He knows, of course, he knows. The anguish that lingers in Billa's eyes, the weariness, that did not come solely from his death, it could not have.
'I would not have expected it to,' Thorin replies. 'But if we do it right, if this time our quest succeeds, then surely it will make the battles ahead more easily won.'
Thranduil exhales, his composure cracking slightly, just enough for Thorin to see the true elf who lay beneath the polished exterior, 'You must know that my son is the most important thing to me.'
'I do,' Thorin nods. 'Which is why I planned to return the gems to you regardless of your offer.'
The Elvenking's eyes snap to Thorin, 'You did?'
'They were never ours to keep,' Thorin responds solemnly. 'I will allow your son to join us should he wish to and I will happily take your supplies, you can keep your warriors. In exchange, I will only promise you one thing.'
Thranduil raises an eyebrow and gestures for him to continue.
'I will return your son to you, whole and hale.'
The Elvenking considers Thorin's words, and their gazes meet across the table. The anguish in there, the loss and grief swimming in those ancient eyes, strikes Thorin like a physical blow. Here is an elf who has suffered through unimaginable pain.
Except, that pain is imaginable to Thorin, for he has suffered the same. They are an elf and a dwarf, a rift of distrust and hatred standing firm between them, but for one moment, that shared grief is a bridge across that rift. Two weary souls meet each other in the eye, and know they will both do whatever is within their power to keep their loved ones safe and happy.
Even if it means sometimes letting them go.
'You have yourself a deal, son of Thrain,' the elf raises his tea cup. Thorin smirks and raises his own, gently tapping the side of Thranduil's own cup.
'You know, I believe that this time around, it might not be so bad working with you.'
'I could almost believe the same.'
The two sip from their cups, falling into an almost companionable silence. They may never fully trust each other, but for now, there remains an understanding. Thorin's chest warms with pride, Billa would be so proud of him.