Thranduil Imagines

Old Flames Burn Brighter

The dwarves were a stubborn folk; this much I had known for many millennia, however, their resolve never failed to surprise me.

It was not easy to gain their trust. In the beginning, I was denied of many faculties which made for survival due to the shape of my ears. The dwarves hated me, it was as plain as day. Many times, they sought to remove me from their lands.

After many attempts to gain their trust, I was at last successful in doing so on a particularly dreadful stormy night, one on which I was yet again denied simple shelter and food. I was particularly frail and dispirited, yet again resolving myself to simply cower in a dark corner floored by muck and protected by naught but the shredded cloak on my shoulders and the dagger strapped to my side.

Screams rang out through the desolate night, the sounds of deep and grotesque laughter interrupting the laments of agony and fear. It was startlingly familiar to me in my exhausted, malnourished mind. The laughter sounded once more, followed by more shrill screams and suddenly, I understood.

Even in my weakened state, I brandished my dagger, my feet quickly and quietly leading me to the merciless onslaught. I launched myself at the largest attacker first, catching him by surprise as I swiftly stuck my dagger into the side of his thick, grey neck. The troll, clearly perturbed but not severely injured, reached his large, knobby hand backward as if to grab me. It was too late. I had jumped onto his head, dagger in hand, and gouged his eye out. The troll sunk to his knees with a large thud, and I scampered off quickly. His slow but large counterparts had finally discovered what had happened, and were now  making their ugly way to me.

There was a gruff shout. A glint in the vague moonlight caught my eye. Swiftly, I caught the sword, and immediately took to fending off the trolls.

With two and soon, five against three trolls, quick work was made of the unsightly creatures. I dropped the bloody sword to the muddy ground. Four male dwarves surrounded me: two with only slight disdain, one with high suspicion, and one with reverence.

From then on, I had lived peacefully with the dwarves, eventually befriending all of them over the course of the many years I had spent with the proud but protective creatures. This was why it was no surprise that upon the realisation Thorin Oakenshield would be taking a small group of dwarves to reclaim their homeland, I offered to join. The dwarves, while sceptical at first, were convinced when Balin gave a short discourse describing my aid when the trolls struck the village many years prior.

Through all that had occurred, the dwarves still were haughty and high-minded as ever, but I now knew them well enough to pay them no mind...

"You may want to return to camp. Bilbo's found something of yours, and the whole company means to get to the bottom of it, drawing all sorts of conclusions that only you can answer to."

My brows rose slightly as the white-haired dwarf smiled anxiously.

I had heard his footsteps approaching and had already redressed myself after bathing in a small spring just outside of camp. The coverage of the thick trees was just enough hide me from the many males that patrolled our makeshift lodgings.

"What, dear Balin, of mine have they begun 'drawing conclusions' about?"

Balin shook his head as if to say "it would be better if you saw for yourself." I sighed heavily. Knowing the males in this company, they could have found anything from the extra cloths in my satchel to my journal.

My journal.

"Just see for yourself, lass."

I thanked the white-bearded dwarf quickly, swiftly returning to our camp.