Book 2: Hanging On [Thorin Oakenshield]

Chapter 8

It was a little more difficult to marvel at the Elven Kingdom trying to maneuver through the winding halls. And with two tall Elves on either side of the Half-breed it turned into quite the effort to keep up with their long strides. Finally the room opened, stretching for yards in either direction. What caught her attention was the throne before her and the king perched on the dais. He sat leaned back in the chair, legs crossed in a relaxed manner, facial expression stoic by nature upon first meetings. And his eyes followed the blacksmith's every move until the prisoner stood on the platform just below him. Even Legolas stared from the corner of his eyes for a brief moment then dismissed the guards.

They were surprised when Poppy spoke first, "You must forgive me, for I am not properly dressed to be in your presence."

True. She looked horrendous with what was left of the spider blood that permanently stained the fabric. And webbing tangled in her devilish hair. Truly unfitting for the grand hall and an audience with a king.

"Hmm, at least you have manners," Thranduil mused. "Unlike the company you keep."

A smile twitched at the corner of her lips. "Yes, they can be rather rude from time to time. Though I'm sure an apology cannot make up for what Thorin said?"

"No."

"I thought as much."

The Elf watched her for a moment realizing she did not appear to be intimidated by him in any way. Even his own subjects knew to fear him to some extent for his wrath when insulted or if those lower than him spoke out of turn. Yet this simple, small creature showed nothing of the sort. And this sparked his curiosity.

"I can offer you whatever you want," the king stated. Time to see if he could sway this woman with a different bargain. In any negotiation there was always a price when receiving information. "A warm bed, a bath, and luxury you've only dreamed of. All you have to do is answer a few of my questions."

She offered him a kind smile. "As tempting as the offer is, I have been without comfort for quite some time so I do not miss it. Nor am I accustomed to such luxuries as Elves from the Woodland Realm and do not desire it or know what I am missing, so forgive me, but I must decline."

Neither spoke as Poppy waited for the king to voice what troubled him, seeing as how his brows furrowed at her answer. "You are not a Dwarf," he stated.

"No, I am not."

"Then how is it that you came to travel with them?"

"They were passing through when we met."

This prisoner was very clever when answering. In order to not give away too much information. "And what is it that you are exactly?"

"A Half-breed." The father and son shared a quick look before Thranduil studied her more closely. "I am of Hobbit and Man blood."

"What is your name?" Thranduil asked.

"Poppy Baggins. From the Shire."

She traveled far from home to follow after a company merely passing through. "And what would someone like yourself benefit from selfish Dwarves?"

"I'm a blacksmith."

This young woman was full of surprises. "That is a job for men."

"I don't tend to follow the same path that has already been laid before me as a woman."

"So it appears..."

The hall fell silent once more as the Elf thought to himself. How to manipulate this Half-breed before him to bend to his will? How to gather what he desired most? There were so many ways to go about this but he needed to tread carefully to not break her trust in him. However little it may be.