Aeonian [Legolas]

33

Viridis marched with Gandalf the next morning. Bilbo was nowhere to be seen, but the Elf knew he had most likely returned to Thorin's side, a noble act that could get him killed if the stone didn't serve its purpose.

"I can see it in your eyes Viridis. To what does worry proceed you?" Gandalf said, voice frail like worn down logs. He seemed tired already though they had only been walking for a few minutes. It seemed to him that keeping up the pace was a brutal act and only served in tearing down his resolve. 

"You," Viridis said, narrowing his eyes as he looked at the sun that now bore down on them with a resolute fixation as if though by trying hard enough, it would cast a barrier of light between the Elves and Dwarves and beg them to see reason. 

"Your version of the truth is a distant one," Gandalf said though it lacked any berating. He sighed, steps slowing as he turned to face Viridis. The army of Elves split around them as they passed like they were nothing more than a pesky fly, they diverted course and were straight back into their lines the moment they crossed. "We are... subjected to fall, Viridis. That is the plain truth. It is the law of nature and all the gods condemn it." He said. "But that doesn't mean that we are bound to it. The world is but a mystery to us all and who are we if we do not explore it and push its boundaries?"

Viridis frowned. "By marching upon our neighbor's doorstep with weapons of mislead intentions?"

Gandalf shook his head with a fond smile. He raised a hand and squeezed Viridis' arm. "By challenging the foundation of our identities. That is all this is. Nothing more." He let his hand drop and they started walking again without the weight of keeping up with everyone else.

It was true that Gandalf was the closest thing to a mentor that he had. He was the one person he could always count on through his time as he navigated a world outside of Rivendell and the kingdom beyond Mirkwood. Kind were his words and never without meaning, Viridis found himself dissecting past conversations on many nights, hoping to find some version of truth to help his decisions going forward. The Wizard's take on war was honest and true. But they were just words. And though they could be proscribed, physical action often acted faster, reprimanding words and creating new meanings entirely. Because what were words if not distorted versions of the actions of man?

All around him, in a single heartbeat, bows were drawn and arrows were latched. The Elves all stood poised, ready to fire, not a one out of place. Viridis looked up toward the overhang of Erebor to Thorin who held his own bow drawn, one man against hundreds and not once wavering. 

Thranduil held up a hand and the army of Elves resumed standing position, no longer threatening the company of death by arrows. 

"We have come to tell you payment of your debt has been offered... and accepted," Thranduil said, tone even as he gazed up at Thorin from his perch on his Megaloceros elk.

"What payment?" Thranduil demanded as Viridis began moving through the crowd of perfectly proportioned soldiers. "I gave you nothing. You have nothing."

Thranduil looked to Bard and a look of almost unreluctance flashed across his face for but a moment before he was digging into his pocket and pulling free the stone. He held it up to the sky and Viridis could see as he advanced closer, how it seemed to outshine the light around it like it was made for nothing less. "We have this."

At this, Thorin did lower his bow. "They have the Arkenstone." Kili muttered and then, "Thieves!" He said louder. "How came you by the heirloom of our house? That stone belongs to the King!"

"And the king may have it... with our goodwill." He said, tucking the stone back into his pocket. "But first he must honor his word."

There it was. The bargain. Viridis watched Thorin's face closely as he made it to the front lines, off to the side of the Elves alone but still behind the presence of kings.