The Earth's Creation- A Thranduil fan fiction

The King

She crawled through the never ending passageways of the fortress, trying and failing many times to stand. The roaring sounds kept getting louder and louder. Then, she heard rapid footsteps and soon two men could be seen in the hallway. One was tall and very pale, with pointy ears and glimmering armor. The other struggled to keep up with his long legged companion, and as they passed, she felt a strange jolt run through her body. She was drawn to the shorter man's clenched right fist in such a way she could not have, in her very short life, imagined possible. What did this person have and why were they headed to the strange fiery chamber from which she had just come?

-

Present day

King Thranduil sat atop his grand throne with his crown atop his silvery head. He was dressed finely in a robe of glittering silver silk, with priceless jewels adorning his fingers and a golden goblet in his hand. He was the picture of both grace and boredom.

When he first took the throne after the battle of dol guldur, he was busy from dawn to dusk. It continued that way for a few years, every day a new problem for him to solve, diplomats or nobles for him to meet, armies to rebuild, families to help.

But now, a mere ten years after his coronation, he was bored. His kingdom had, for the most part, recovered from the war of the one ring. His people were well off with plentiful food, work readily available, his borders secure, his territories vast, and his days long and dull. Of course he was relieved his kingdom was not at war or in famine, but Thranduil missed being needed and he missed solving the problems of his people. Even a small problem to solve would give him some mild joy. 

Was it so wrong for a king to desire to feel useful? Every thing in the palace and in his life ran smoothly without him. The menial business of running a kingdom was taken care of by his nobles and advisers. The sum of Thranduil's role was to sign already written bills, sit on his throne, stare at the doors to the throne room, and drink wine.

Just as Thranduil was about to request a top off for his drink, the enormous doors opened and in marched one of his border patrol regiments, and behind them a strange woman. The guards stopped a few feet from the stairs which lead to his throne and kneeled.

"Your majesty,  pardon our interruption, but we found this woman in the forest," Virion, the southern guard captain, said.

"Many travelers pass through my forest," Thranduil said, resting his chin on the back of his hand.

"Yes your majesty I know, but she is, well she, she," Virion stumbled to find the correct words.

"Virion, you are the captain of the southern guard. I am sure you can describe to me why this vagabond is of some interest to me."

"Perhaps, your majesty, I could simply show you instead," Naur said, stepping forward to stand next to a flustered Virion.

"You dare speak without me addressing you first?" Thranduil asked, raising a dark eyebrow. "How very bold you are, vagabond. But very well, show why you should hold interest to me."

Naur smiled, then held  her arms out in front of her. A small flame appeared in both of her palms. Thranduil was mildly impressed.

"A party trick? You believe I would find that interesting?"

"I have not finished my trick your majesty."

Naur smiled, and the fires grew. She rapidly spun until she was just a blur of fire, then stopped. A great stream of fire spiraled around her. She snapped her right arm out, and the fire followed, snapping in the fashion of a whip. She cracked the whip three times, and in each place the whip touched the ground, a small fire appeared. These three smaller fires grew until they morphed into flickering people. One held a flute, one a small drum and the third a lute, all made of fire.

Virion drew his sword and stood between the king and the fiery figures, but Thranduil waved him away. He was fascinated. Never before had he seen this kind of magic, never had he even heard of this. She generated fire, manipulated it, and it seemed even brought it to life.

"Go on vagabond, continue with your trick," Thranduil said, leaning forward.

The fire gleamed in his icy eyes.

"My king, is this wise? What if this witch means you harm?" Virion asked.

"Then I will kill her."

"That will not be necessary, I mean no harm. I shall show you," Naur said.

Naur removed her cloak, revealing a strange outfit. She wore a yellow top which left her stomach and arms bare. Her sirt was dark red and left the front of her legs entirely bare but was long in the back. The fire figures began playing music, and Naur began dancing. The music was far from the lulling tunes of the elvish court. This music was fast and aggressive. The pitches rose and fell at a terrifying rate, creating a wildfire of sound which echoed through the hall. But more enchanting still, was Naur. She spun and jumped and moved her body in a way the elves had never seen. Her hips moved to one beat, while her torso moved to another, and her arms to yet another. When she turned, the skirt of her outfit spun out, mimicking a flickering flame.

The performance was the pure musical and rhythmic embodiment of fire.

It ended abruptly, the last note echoing around the room as the fire figures vanished. The elves were stunned. It was Thranduil who found his composure first.

"What are you?" he asked, staring at the creature in front of him.

She smiled, her eyes still holding the fire of her performance.

"I am simply a performer your majesty."