Denied Love - A Thranduil Fanfic

The Old Man in the Gray Robes

The sun shone brightly through my little square window. Peeling my eyes open, I noticed that I forgot to close the drapes yesterday. Sitting up in my small wooden bed, I stretched and stared out the window. The sun was on the horizon. It cast red and orange light onto the hilly land in front of it; the small trees' shadows lay behind them with a lighter gray color. A lone horse could be seen grazing.

I looked around my room. The only thing that was illuminated by the light from my window was my white, feather pillow. My bed stood against the wall next to the window, across from my slightly too small door; next to my bed stood my one-drawer nightstand where I kept my most precious possessions. I had very little, but I could get by. I draped my blue covers down over the end of the bed and stood up. I pushed my long, black hair out of my face and slowly started to put it in a French braid.

My small dresser that stood across the room had three drawers filled with clothes that my mother had made me before when I was living elsewhere. I searched through my drawers skipped over the dresses and pulled out black pants made of a thin cloth, a white tunic of the same fabric, and a brown wooly robe that draped down to my knees which I had made myself. The two sides of fabric crossed just at my waist. Off the top of my dresser, I picked up my leather belt that my father gave me for my 64th birthday. Even after two years of wear, the belt looked almost as good as new. I slipped the belt through the loops in my robe and secured it with my silver leaf buckle that I bought myself with my money from street performing. My father works wherever he can while I dance on the streets while my friend plays the lute for money. It took me about a month's worth of saving, but I finally made enough money to buy the bright, silver buckle from the silversmith down the street.

Opening my slightly too small door, I slightly ducked and stepped out into the main room of our house. It was barely bigger than my room. To the left of the room, right in front of my doorway was the kitchen. There was a row of cabinets near the ceiling made of oak, and in the corner under the cabinets there was an iron stove that was given to my father - by a friend I think. Next to the stove was a small sink that only sometimes ran warm water and some counter space. Right in front of the stove area sat a round, wooden table and two stools that I made for my father for his past birthday. I made it out of an oak tree that fell close to the house during a storm.

To the right side of my room was a small sitting area which was right next to the front door. It contained a large rocking chair and a smaller rocking chair. When I was younger my father sat me in the smaller rocking chair and told me stories of Erebor and my mother. Some were sad, some were happy, and some were very bitter sweet. However, after most stories, I would always be crying a little bit.

My father's room was to the right of mine when you are facing towards the kitchen. I was never really allowed to go in there. Lately, when he accidentally leaves the door cracked open, I would see him sitting in a wooden chair bent over his desk, staring intently at his papers. I never could get close enough to see what the papers were because, when he noticed I was there, he would roll them up and help me finish cleaning the dinner dishes.

My father was always secretive with everything. Even the way he looked was a bit mysterious. He was tall, for a dwarf, but not nearly as tall as any human I've ever seen. His long, black hair that reached just below his shoulders was starting to gray slightly; two little braids were made from his sideburns. He also had a thick, black beard, for most dwarves do (except my cousin Kili who cannot seem to grow a beard all that well). My father also wore big black boots, a light, navy blue cotton button-up with the sleeves rolled, and sometimes he wore his cloak--made of thick blue cloth and was lined with a thick animal fur. His face held a shadow to it--a shadow of time.

I was brought out of my thoughts as I was heating myself some toast when I heard a loud knock on the door. I was ignoring it as I was not allowed to open the door while my father was traveling. This was, of course, for a great reason. 12 months ago, when he traveled to Bree, I almost got stabbed with a dagger. I opened the door for a beggar. As I turned to get him a few slices of bread, he chucked a dagger toward me which made a hole in the wall. I don't understand why he did that. I'm technically not even the Princess Under the Mountain anymore, as we don't have a mountain anymore.

Another knock came which sounded much more urgent than the last. Curiosity getting the best of me, I went to the front door and peeked through the peep hole. I saw old, tattered, gray robes aside a brown staff. It definitely was not Aunt Dis because she was not that tall, she always wore dresses fashioned out of clean cloth, and I did not expect her for another three hours. Carefully, I opened the front door.

"Thria-Claire, daughter of Thorin Oakenshield," the man addressed me. He was wearing a gray, pointy hat that matched his tattered robes, and he had a long, gray beard that hung almost to his waist. Almost everything about him seemed gray even his eyes which stared intently at me. "I am Gandalf the Gray. I have come to take you on an adventure. Your father sent me to gather you and a few of the other dwarves of Erebor to come with me to a small place called the Shire. Hurry and pack your things."

Not thinking twice, I nodded, closed the door, and ran to my room. I folded the covers over the top of my bed and placed my brown, leather backpack on the bed. I packed a few changes of clothes, my black, green cloak - in case of rain -, my older blue blanket and white pillow, and some food that I got from the pantry. From underneath my bed, I pulled out a larger wooden box. I opened it and pulled out my blue, cloth coat that was lined with fur--almost identical to my father's. The only difference is that my coat had pockets lined with fur and my initials on the right pocket. I also reached into my nightstand and got out my leather pouch filled with special tobacco, my hand carved pipe, and my gold chain that my father gave to me one day when he came home late from work.

I had never worn the necklace; he told me to only wear it when I need strength. Since I had no idea what this adventure could be, I clasped it around my neck.

Closing my bag and walking out into the main room, I slid on my leather boots. I wrote a simple note to Aunt Dis saying I would be gone for a few weeks and left it on the table. Along with it I wrote a note to my friend, Nair, saying that he would just have to play for a while without me, but I would be back as soon as I could; I told Dis to deliver it to him.

My bag on my shoulder, I walked out of the house, picked up my lute case, and stepped out into the morning light. Gandalf was standing there with my friends Oin, Gloin, Ori, Dori, Nori, Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur. They were all seated on ponies; next to Bofur, there were two extra ponies - one beige with bleached hair and one white with gray hair. I assumed one of which was meant for me. Greeting them all with a hug, I hopped on the pony, the white one, and we rode away from my home in the great Blue Mountains and toward the rolling hills of the wild lands and toward the rising sun.