The Last of the Guardians Part 2 - A Hobbit Fan Fiction

Chapter 9 - The Fair King

***Hello m'lovelies! I'm sorry my last updates were a little irregular but the good news is we are back on track now that my mock exams are over. Thanks for all your comments so far - I really enjoy reading them :) So anyway, I hope you like this next chapter!***

"Thranduil," Thorin growled.

The Elf King let out a low chuckle. "Thorin Oakenshield. After all these years it is strange to look upon your face." He nodded to one of the other elves. "Take his friends and lock them away. But leave the birds," he commanded, flicking his gaze over the two Guardians. Sîor's face darkened - he did not take kindly to the title of bird.

Once again, the dwarves were herded like sheep along the thick branch. Down and down they went, until the air grew warm and close around them and they knew they had gone below ground. The elves locked them in separate cells to keep them from talking and plotting together. They were small, with strong doors that not even Dwalin could pull apart, though he tried his best.

When Fili reluctantly entered his own cell, a rough tug on the neck of his cloak pulled him back, and he half-hoped it was some mad rescue attempt. But no, it was the elf who had cornered him in the forest and taken all his beautiful throwing knives. The elf was holding out his hand to Fili, and tapping his foot impatiently.

With a groan, Fili reached inside his cloak for his very last dagger. He'd been so close to getting away with it. But when his fingers  delved inside the soiled material, they brushed over not one, but two hilts. The first was very familiar to him, and with a finger he traced the runes etched into the blade. The other was slightly warm to the touch, though not from being close to his body, and had a hilt as smooth as water. He'd certainly never made a dagger like that.

Then it struck him. Fili had completely forgotten to return Nema's dagger to her. It was the same one she had thrown at Beorn. A faint smile tried to play on his lips as he remembered, but then he recalled the reason for her attack, and the smile vanished.

Fili's hand fastened around the hilt of his own dagger and drew it out. Part of him wanted to spring forward and strike the elf, but he knew it would do no good. He reluctantly handed over the dagger he'd made for his mother, and entered the dark cell. The door swung shut behind him, and he heard the lock slide into place.

As soon as the elf's footsteps faded away, Fili sank down against the wall and withdrew Nema's blade. He could not say why he had given up his mother's knife and not the Guardian's. In fact, he had meant to do quite the opposite. But something had changed his mind.

The dwarf turned the dagger over in his hands, admiring the way it caught what little light was in the cell, and the intricate feathers etched into the metal. A plan was beginning to form in his mind.

Up at the Elf King's throne, things were not gong well. 

"As I have already told you," Thorin growled, "we were merely passing through Mirkwood to visit family in the Iron Hills. If there was a way past the forest without going through your territory we would have gone that way. But no such path exists."

"You are lying," Thranduil said calmly. "I will ask again. Why are you heading east? Are you going to Erebor?"

"No. We are visiting family in the Iron-"

"Stop lying to me!" Thranduil roared. He was on his feet now, and walking quickly down the steps towards Thorin. "Is it your intention to enter the Lonely Mountain and slay the dragon that sleeps there?"

"No."

Thranduil leaned forwards until his eyes were on a level with Thorin's. He glared into the dwarf's blue irises for a moment, then tilted his head to look at the Guardians. They stared back at him, unblinking. "Ah," the elf whispered fixing his eyes once more on Thorin, "but which one is yours?" 

Straightening, Thranduil turned on his heal and approached the two Guardians. He gave Sîor a fleeting glance before flicking his eyes to meet Nema's. She met his eyes with what she hoped was a neutral expression on her face. 

"You," the elf smiled slyly.

Nema blinked. Was it that obvious? Had she not tried her best to hide it?

"If you think she will be able to protect you, Thorin Oakenshield," Thranduil said, turning his back on Nema, "you are wrong. A Guardian will keep you out of trouble but they can't make you immortal."

"How do you know of the Guardians?" Thorin spat.

"You think a great king such as myself would not know about the little winged elves?" Smirked the elf. "I have one of my own." When Thorin glanced around the cavern in search of a third Guardian the elf laughed again. "Oh you will not see him here. He is taking care of something for me."

"You speak as though a Guardian is something to be collected and displayed as a trophy."

"Are they not?"

"No," growled the dwarf. "They are to be respected, not enslaved." 

Thranduil shook his head. "If you truly believe that you are not using this girl to her full potential." He sniffed and gave two of his guards a sharp nod. "But I tire of this conversation. I wish to know the reason why you are trying to cross my kingdom and if you will not tell me...I shall have to take the truth by force."

The guards holding Thorin forced the dwarf to his knees. One of them grabbed his left arm and stretched it out, resting the point of a dagger against his skin. The dwarf let out a low laugh. "You think harming me will make me tell you?"

"Of course not," Thranduil nodded his head at Nema. "It will make her tell me though."

As he spoke, the guard with the dagger pressed it harder against Thorin's arm. The blade bit into his skin, drawing blood. Both dwarf and elf looked to Nema, but she did not even blink. Thranduil raised an eyebrow and nodded for the guard to continue. The elf traced a red line down Thorin's arm. The dwarf grimaced, but refused to cry out and give Thranduil the idea that he had been hurt.

The elf king looked expectantly at Nema. Her left hand had curled into a tight fist, and she was staring dead ahead, her jaw clenched.

"Good," Thranduil smiled darkly. "Do it again."

The guard grabbed Thorin's other arm and cut into it, going deeper. This time, a slight gasp escaped Nema. Sweat was beading on her brow, but her mouth stayed shut. She would not be the one to betray Thorin. But it was so hard...

"Enough!" Thranduil roared. He was tired of this game. "His throat, if you will."

Thorin's head was dragged back by the hair and his neck was bared. The blade was at his throat in an instant.

"No!" Nema shrieked. "We are going to kill Smaug and reclaim Erebor!" She blurted out, then clapped a hand to her mouth as though doing so would pull the words back in. But the damage was done. "I am so sorry Thorin...I...I couldn't."

The dagger left Thorin's skin and he was allowed to stand. He rubbed at his neck and avoided Nema's eyes. 

"So," Thranduil laughed coldly, "I was right. This quest of yours - the quest to reclaim a homeland and slay a dragon - you know it is futile? I know what it is you seek. The Arkenstone. You believe it will give you the right to rule under the mountain."

Thorin said nothing, and so Thranduil continued. "I offer you my help, Thorin Oakenshield."

The dwarf's eyes widened. "And why would you want to help us?" He glared at the elf. "You are not exactly known for giving aid to dwarves."

"There is something I desire that lies within the mountain. A most beautiful jewel, as large as a jewel can be, and as white as the moon. I will let you go, and you will bring me that jewel."

"You want the Arkenstone for yourself. Why should I give it to you? Why should I help you? You left my people to die, homeless and afraid. Why should I help one such as yourself?"

The elf king turned his back on Thorin and walked up the steps to his throne. "I see you are not likely to give me what I want. I cannot help you, Oakenshield. But perhaps a hundred years in my dungeons will help you discover what the correct path is. A hundred years is nothing to an elf, and believe me, I am very patient. I can wait."