Stars of Varda - An Elven Love Story (Thranduil)

20. A Dwarven Story

My father is sitting in his favorite chair, moving his hands enthusiastically as he speaks about trade with Dale. The tall lord opposite him looks up as I enter, and stands.

"I apologize for my tardiness. I lost sense of time."

"You do that often." Thranduil gives a flicker of a smile. He motions to the armchair beside his. "Sit. Earlier we were discussing your favorite topic. Sadly, you were not here to defend it..."

I sit down, relaxing with the warming presence of my closest friends. I take the goblet of wine Ada offers, and turn to Thranduil beside me. His azure robes match his eyes. I cannot remember when last I saw him wear so bright a shade.

"Dwarves," I say flatly. "And it is not my favorite topic, but yours."

He smirks. Ada chuckles. I cross my legs, making myself comfortable.

"What was it this time? King Dáin's incompetence in ruling Erebor, or the Men of Dale's incompetence for being on good terms with him?"

"Actually, your Dwarf king's supposed wisdom may have proven true," says Thranduil. "News has been sent from Dale that a messenger from Mordor presented at the gates of the Lonely Mountain offering them an alliance with Sauron. Dáin sent the messenger on his way."

The room seems to grow dimmer, though the candles are shining still. My mouth goes dry. "These are dark days indeed. Sauron must be readying his forces..."

"He has been for a while," says Ada gravely. "It is only a matter of time now. It is imperative he does not find the One Ring."

"Surely it has not been allowed to stay in the hands of the Halfling." I suppress a shiver, wrapping my arms around myself. "Mithrandir must have it. Tis why he was in such a hurry to reach the Shire..."

"We do not know for certain," Thranduil says. "But Dáin is preparing for war."

I lean to the edge of my seat. "Then we must as well. We should call for aid."

"Our army is highly trained and experienced."

"The strength of our army is not in question," I say carefully. "Only its number. We do not have enough soldiers to fight an onslaught from all of Dol Guldur..."

"Nor do we have enough soldiers to spare if our ally requires help in return. Are you willing for our people to die defending another land?"

"Are you willing for all our people to die defending our own? We are vulnerable in this forest."

His eyes become shadowed. "You know nothing of war, Rîneth."

I look at Ada, expecting him to defend my reasoning, but he softly shakes his head. Swallowing frustration, I stand and walk to the bookshelf to put some distance between us.

While it is true I know little of wars and battles and death, even an elfling would know that remaining isolated, without help from friends, is foolish. Where is Thranduil's usual foresight? What hope do we have on our own? Even Ferdir has recommended we seek aid from Lothlórien.

Suddenly I am reminded of his father, Oropher, who wished to remain independent and stubbornly refused to wait for Gil-Galad's command. He charged his small army into the hands of death. Will his son follow the same path? Will pride destroy a kingdom?

I pretend to be distracted with scanning one of my father's heavy tomes. Ada begins discussing trade again, as though nothing is amiss. I dare to glance over my shoulder. My gaze collides with Thranduil's.

"What book have you found?" he asks.

I surreptitiously look at the cover. "Weaponry of the First Age."

"It sounds like something you would enjoy."

I close the book with a snap, and hastily place it back on the shelf. "Though not my favorite subject, the illustrations are fascinating, particularly the ones of the various Noldorian bows."

"I am sure."

His dark mood has vanished, as though it never existed at all. His mouth bends in a wry smile. Though still frustrated, warmth envelopes my heart, and I reluctantly return to my chair.

Trying to understand Thranduil is like trying to understand the Dwarven language of Khuzdul.

"You are welcome to borrow it, iell nín," says Ada, amused.

Thranduil picks up my goblet, and his fingers brush lightly against mine as he returns it to my hand. "I doubt merely reading about weaponry will help her to use it, Gailon."

"Your confidence in me is astounding, my lord."

The discussion stays on less serious topics, of past memories and amusing stories, any talk of the coming war left for another time. It still dwells heavily in our minds, sedating the mood at first, but as the wine works through our bodies the war starts to feel like something far away.

"I now have a story to tell..." I say. "A Dwarven story."

"Let us pour more wine first," Thranduil says. "I have not had enough as yet."

I giggle, his response just what I had hoped for. "By the time you return, perhaps I will have come up with one. In truth, I do not know any."

"You tease me with this subject often. I should have known."

"Perhaps you enjoy being teased?"

"Perhaps I hope for the best in you but are continually disappointed."

My mock wounded expression makes him chuckle. I feel a tingle in my chest at its sound, and blame it on the wine.

Ada leans forward. "I know a Dwarven story neither of you has heard."

"Eru spare us."

"You may recall I was friends with a Dwarf from Erebor before the dragon came..."

"I must pour more wine for our dearest King before you continue, Ada. He will need it." I stand up, and press my lips tightly together to stifle another laugh.

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