Loyalty, Honor, and a Willing Heart

Chapter 21 - In Dungeons Deep

Actually, Thorin had been away since their first attempt to get help from whoever had fires on. Obviously, they were Wood-elves, whose king was Thranduil, Thorin’s disaffection. As soon as he stepped on the elven circle, he fell down to sleep and they grabbed, bound and carried him away.

Once inside the stone palace and throne halls, the elven spell was taken off from him and he woke up to one of his worst nightmares: to be faced to Thranduil and not having an axe handy to solve old quarries.

Albeit Thranduil and his people were elves, which meant one of the free peoples of Middle-Earth, the peoples who never accepted Morgoth’s or Sauron’s domination, they were of the elven people who never knew Valinor, the Blessed Realm; they were more dangerous and less wise, as Thranduil’s decision when Erebor was first attacked showed clearly. If Thorin’s stating that ‘you can never trust an elf’ had to be meant to one person specifically, it was right when meant to Thranduil.

Not that he was evil to his own people; he just was greedy for wealth, with a weakness for white stones and silver. The lands he used to claim as his realm, and that thousands years history agreed to it, were wealthy in special woods and woodland herbs, but once they were in silver and gold; yet, centuries of mining depleted it. If he was to keep his way of life, he would have to increase his hoard, and his own land didn’t offer the means to reach the level he wanted. So, for long years already, Thranduil was thinking about Erebor’s treasure, that none of its heirs was to be heard about, but that there was a dragon he was completely scared off of even thinking about doing something against it.

Now, having Thorin as prisoner in his halls was an opportunity to make a bargain and grant himself some of the treasure, without having to deal personally with the dragon.

“Thorin Oakenshield. It has been a long time.”

“Not long enough.” Was the only answer.

“Now, why did you and your folk attack my people at their merrymaking?”

“We did not attack them, we came to beg, because we were starving.”

To have him conceding that he and his people were begging to an elf was something Thorin’s grandfather would be doublebacksomersaulting in his grave if he knew it.

“Where are they now?”

“Most probably, starving in the forest.”

“What were you doing in the forest?”

“Looking for food and water, because we were starving.”

“Why did you come into the forest at all?”

And to this the dwarf shut his mouth and said nothing more.

“So be it.”

Thranduil turned to a slender elf woman, dark haired and dressed up with a little more discreteness as the other guards.

“Tauriel, take our guest to appropriate rooms until he feels willing to talk. We have no hurry.”

And so Thorin was taken by the elf woman and some more guards to a very deep cave dungeon, with a strong wooden door, striped off of his hauberk, vambraces and any kind of stuff that not his simplest garments and boots (fortunately his grandfather’s map and key where well hidden in his underwear). His weapons had been taken away right when they got him there in the forest. But they gave him food and plenty of water, which at the moment was vital.

After he ate and drunk and thanked Mahal for it, he begun to wonder where his Company was and what they were doing. He thought about his nephews, that valiant brats; his wise counselor and mighty warlord, Balin and Dwalin; untrained but good willing Ori, his clever brother Nori and their oldest brother, patient and perfectionist Dori; orderly Óin, creative Glóin; distraught but utterly reliable warfarer Bifur, his cousins, all embracing Bombur and all settling Bofur; always surprising Bilbo; and the unthinkable female triplet, Iris, Ellen and his Lily flower.