The Dragon's Throne (The Hobbit Fanfiction)

An Old Friend

Legolas pulls the string of his bow back to his cheek.

The rest passes in a blur.

The arrow from his bow flying towards Kili, Fili catching him as he falls to the floor, Gandalf screaming Legolas' name, my fist connecting with his jaw.

But, I suppose, to go any farther, I must start from the beginning.

***

Lindir and I walk beside each other, riding boots clicking loudly against the marble floors of the Great Hall.

"I suppose he did not want to aggravate your wound," He thoughtfully answers my question as to why Lord Elrond did not take me on his hunt, despite my readiness to leave. "You have not fully healed yet. Just give it time."

I look down at my left side- to where the Orc arrow struck when guard duty turned into a unprovoked ambush- then back to his face. "I suppose." I reply quietly.

A commotion from outside steals our attention.

We both make our way through the main doors, feet pounding in unison, and down the stone steps. A man cloaked in grey robes and matching pointed hat catches my focus as a flicker of familiarity lights up in my chest. Gandalf the Grey. Not a man, a wizard. A friend.

I almost smile, but then I notice the band of Dwarves scattered around him at the bottom of the stairs.

Lindir and I share a confused- and wary- look. I notice him drop his hand in casual reach of a hunting dagger strapped to his belt.

"Ah, Lindir, mellonamin. Where is Lord Elrond-" Gandalf seems to be in a rush, but he stops himself mid-sentence the moment he notices me beside Lindir. "Could it be? Leriel?"

"Good to see you old friend," I smile warmly, my hand on my heart in greeting. "I believe last we met we were too joined with Dwarves, as we seem to be now." I sweep my gaze past Gandalf and settle on the dozen or so Dwarves behind him, shifting from foot to foot, agitated.

The blare of Rivendell's Elvish horn snaps my attention. Lord Elrond has returned.

He leads his council of hunters on horseback as they ride through the gates. They circle the Dwarves and come to a stop when Lord Elrond nears Gandalf.

"Mithrandir," Lord Elrond climbs from his horse and embraces Gandalf. "Creoso, mellonamin. I suppose you're the reason behind the Orc pack we found wondering in our land?"

"Ah, well yes, I suppose we were." Gandalf's warm, low voice is still the same, even after so many years.

"An lema?"

Gandalf simply nods, tired.

"Then you all must stay for food and wine!"

The Dwarves huddle together discussing his offer. An auburn headed one turns after a minute and nods in agreement. "Lead on."

Lord Elrond guides everyone to the banquet table overlooking the waterfall.

Before turning to face the Dwarves entering the room, Lord Elrond speaks. "So Thorin Oakenshield, what business brings you to Rivendell?"

***

I stand beside Lindir in the Great Room, the Dwarves snacking on the leftovers from dinner.

I can not keep my mind from wondering why the great Thorin Oakenshield is journeying past here from the Blue Mountains.

"I can not believe how they still eat." Lindir exclaims quietly in my ear.

I laugh gently in reply.

I had noticed a Hobbit among the group during the meal. A strange thing, a Hobbit travelling in the company of Dwarves. I cannot imagine it was by choice, Dwarves are known for their world-class unpleasantness.

As I stand watching, I notice I do not see him now. He must have gone with Lord Elrond, Thorin, Gandalf and the other Dwarf to the Sky Hall. The details of their venture are no doubt being discussed, but why with Lord Elrond?

Frenith, Lord Elrond's messenger, appears in the doorway.

"Lindir, Lord Elrond has requested your presence immediately in the Sky Hall." He states objectively.

Lindir brushes his fingers lightly against mine before he moves out the door purposefully, without hesitation.

I shift my eyes back to the Dwarves who seem unfazed by the interruption, all but one.

A surprisingly tall and aggressive-looking Dwarf- Dwalin?- leans forward from his seated position, in the back corner of the room, as Lindir leaves, suspicion glazing his eyes. I notice his hand resting on a small dagger. The guards must have missed the concealed weapon.

A commotion from a few others closer to me pulls my eyes from the suspicious one. One Dwarf with a wool lined hat is surrounded by snickering others. He offers a sausage to the largest Dwarf who is perched on an unstable chest at the edge of the room. The large Dwarf does not refuse and the extra weight causes the chest to cave.

The Dwarves erupt into laughter, either doubling over or smacking their knee.

I laugh gently and turn away.

A Dwarf I had not noticed before looks at me. I watch him from the corner of my eye. His blonde mustache is braided, which makes me smirk. I lock my eyes on to his. His gaze does not waver. There is something in his eyes... My smirk fades and I shift my eyes away first, embarrassed. He turns his eyes away only when a darker haired Dwarf next to him speaks close to his ear.

Dwarves are rude, unsympathetic and hateful creatures, yet this one's stare makes me wonder...