mithril

VIII.

But when Thranduil's attention turns to me, I'm forced to turn back.

"One good thing has come from your intrusion into my Realm. You have brought me the child of Elrond. I shame your involvement in this quest, Pîn Draug. Your Lord wishes to see you returned to Imladris. What would you have me do?"

I try to look at Thorin. The Dwarf's eyes stay steadily locked away from mine. Stubborn, and angry. I don't blame him. I only wish it didn't hurt so much.

"I do not know how you wish me to answer," I murmur. Desperate, I switch to Elvish, pleading with the king. "The Dwarves are reckless. Let Thorin and his kin free and I will see you get your gems. Mithrandir and I will set his path."

"Foolish girl," he scolds, still in Westron. I grit my teeth, biting my tongue so hard I taste blood. The Elf's nostrils flare to the sudden coppery tang that floods my own senses.

Like father, like son, apparently.

Thranduil crosses to me, gently lifting my chin so he can study my face. I try not to look into his icy stare, but it's hard. His eyes skate over my braids. Over the redness on my cheeks. The curve of my face as I try to get Thorin to look back at me.

"You arrive in my halls with Dwarven braids in your hair and a burning in your heart for him?" He croons in Elvish. He takes my face in his hand harshly and turns it to the Dwarf. Thorin's jaw is square and tight, a thousand emotions on his face as he watches the Elf handle me so. "I am disappointed, Little Wolf. In all of Middle Earth, you choose him? What you feel is not real, Léra. Stay in my halls. Enjoy the feasts of my people before I return you to the House of Elrond. I welcome you with open arms, as I have many times over. But him," he gestures at Thorin, twisting his hand into the air. Guards step forward. I cry out, but the king holds me to him with an arm crossing in front of my torso. I scramble at his touch, but Thranduil's grip is iron. In a bellowing voice, he speaks to Thorin in Westron as the guards drag the Dwarf away. "Stay here if you will and rot. A hundred years is a mere blink in the life of an elf. I'm patient. I can wait. And I can ensure you will never lay eyes on every treasure you have ever held dear. Every. One." He looks down at me, dark eyebrows drawn together.

I'm so angry hot tears are sliding down my cheeks. I curse him out thoroughly in his own tongue, not caring what the consequences for my harsh tongue will be. I sag back against his chest, unable to fight his grip any longer. He releases me when Thorin is gone, gesturing as he steps away. Legolas appears, his hands much gentler than his father's as he grabs my arm and leads me away from the throne. He tries to calm me with softly spoken words, but I hear none of it.

"You can't break them out. You can't run. He knows that, and he knows that you do too," Legolas speaks to me as I sink against the wall in the large chamber bedroom he has brought me to. He sits neatly in front of me, his legs crossing. He slides Angolain and my Elven blade between us.

"So what do I do?" I ask him, rubbing my face harshly.

"I don't know. I want to tell you to give up hope for the Dwarves, but I don't think you would take kindly to that."

"No, I wouldn't," I laugh coldly. "But I would expect it of you. You have never been fond of Dwarves."

"Nor trespassers."

"I have been a trespasser on more than one occasion," I remind him. "And I was never treated so cruelly. Besides, this was an exception. I could hardly allow a pack of thirteen Dwarves to bumble aimlessly through Mirkwood on their own, could I?"

"The spiders would've had meals for days. We wouldn't have had to worry about them."

"Spiders," I murmur, remembering the beasts again. "Why were there spiders so deep into the Realm? I haven't heard of such a thing for many years."