Chapter 65: Kingdom of the Silvan Elves

[General POV]

—With the Dwarves—

"Hey, bastard! Where are you taking us?" Glóin grumbled as he was being led to the cells by Legolas. His father was very cautious with the dwarves, so when they entered the kingdom, they were informed that the dwarves must be taken to the cells.

"Keep quiet," Legolas said as he pushed the dwarf who had stopped walking. The movement caused Glóin's necklace to fall off, which Legolas noticed and bent down to pick up.

"Hey! That's mine! Give it back!" Glóin shouted immediately, his desperation was palpable. The necklace was very special to him, and having an elf touch it made him feel extremely upset, especially this pretty elf who just kept bothering him. He had even kicked him in the rear when they were being escorted.

Ignoring Glóin's shouts, Legolas opened the silver locket, grimacing at the portraits inside. "Who's this bearded guy, your brother?" he asked unconsciously.

Infuriated by the elf's audacity, Glóin replied with palpable rage in his voice, "That's my wife! Show some respect!"

The dwarf's words caused a look of disgust to form on Legolas's face. He had seen many dwarves before but had never seen a dwarf woman. Now he understood why, they all looked the same. All the women were hideous and bearded. But, thinking about it, it made sense. What kind of woman would be interested in someone who was rude, filthy, and bearded? Only one with the same characteristics would pair up with those dwarves.

He looked at the other portrait, which was of a younger dwarf, but to his eyes, it was just as ugly. His beard and small eyes gave him a horrid appearance. Pointing at it, he asked again, "What's the deal with this thing? Got an orc in the family?"

Hearing Legolas's words, Glóin swiftly snatched the necklace back, glaring at the elf as he said, "That's not an orc, that's my son Gimli! And unlike you, pretty face, he's a manly man!"

Legolas didn't care about the dwarf's comment. He knew that elves were the most beautiful of creations, so the words of an ugly dwarf about beauty were ignored by him. However, he did raise an eyebrow upon learning that this was the dwarf's son. He wondered if all of them were that hideous when they were young.

Setting the thought aside, he focused on the dwarves being escorted, knowing they might be hiding something that could help them escape from the cells. He ordered, "Search them thoroughly." Then he turned and left under Glóin's angry gaze, who became even more indignant when this elf insulted his family and walked away as if nothing mattered.

—With Thorin—

"Why did you imprison my men? Is this the hospitality you offer? The elves of Rivendell were more courteous," Thorin said with an icy tone. His words conveyed his displeasure and annoyance so clearly that the guards frowned at the dwarf's audacity.

Thranduil, on the other hand, remained calm, unbothered by Thorin's words. He had certainly heard of him and his arrogant attitude.

Unlike in the movies, Thranduil did not know Thorin in person, so he didn't recognize him at first. It was only through Tauriel that he discovered this dwarf was Thorin, son of Thráin. After all, many years had passed, and he barely remembered King Thrór's appearance, so it was logical that he didn't know what Thorin looked like.

With a calm and serene voice, Thranduil settled into his throne, a magnificent work of his artisans. "Forgive me, Thorin, son of Thráin, but I'm very cautious with your kind. Unlike Elrond of Rivendell, I tend to be more careful. I don't want a repeat of what happened in Doriath."

His comment left Thorin puzzled, as he wasn't well-versed in history and was unaware of certain grievances between dwarves and elves. His grandfather had mentioned it a bit, but he hadn't paid much attention.

Noticing Thorin's confused expression, Thranduil realized that this dwarf was unaware of the event that triggered the animosity between the two races. Being the kind king he was, he stood up and, with graceful steps, descended from his throne's platform. "I see from your face that you don't know what I'm referring to. Follow me," he said.

Thorin wanted to refuse to obey the elf, but his curiosity got the better of him. Gandalf had mentioned something about the conflict, so despite his arrogance, which told him he didn't need to follow the order, he decided to go along. He was accompanied by several elven guards walking behind him, watching for any sudden movements.

Thranduil walked gracefully through the halls of his private quarters, each step like a feather falling, slow and filled with elegance. His crown, adorned with autumn and spring flowers, swayed with every movement, and his platinum blond hair enhanced his regal bearing. Few knew this, as he rarely left his kingdom, but he was one of the most beautiful elves currently in Middle-earth.

Behind him followed Thorin, his face stoic as he wondered where he was being led. However, he soon found his answer, for after a few minutes of walking, they arrived at a corridor filled with paintings depicting the history of the Silvan Elves.

"I have captured the history of my people in these paintings," Thranduil said as he turned his back to Thorin and gazed at a particular painting. In it, an elf with silver hair was being stabbed by dwarves.

This image caused a visible change in Thorin's usually stoic expression; his eyes widened in surprise, and his posture became tense. For some reason, that painting sent chills down his spine, and he was even more surprised by Thranduil's next words.

"We had our differences with the dwarves, but we generally coexisted peacefully during the First Age. We forged kingdoms and weapons together, but everything changed when, in the year 503 of the First Age, King Thingol of Doriath was murdered by the greed of the dwarves. They killed members of my race," he said, and every time he recalled that event, a burning anger ignited within him. Clenching his teeth, he continued, "Not only that, but they had the audacity to loot the kingdom, contributing to its downfall."

With that said, he turned around and looked Thorin in the eyes, whose face was full of shock. He didn't know this history, and normally it wouldn't have mattered to him, but this was about his people, his kin. He didn't doubt the elf's story, as elves were known for never lying.

An uncomfortable silence filled the air. The guards dispersed throughout the corridor shared the same shocked expression.

They were young by elven standards; only the veterans who had accompanied Thranduil and his father through the First and Second Ages knew this knowledge. After all, not many of them survived the War of the Last Alliance, so they had captured their history in these paintings to ensure the younger generation would not forget what had happened.

"I was there alongside my father. I watched my friends die, all because of their stupid greed." At some point, his fists had clenched, only to relax them again. He calmed his fury, knowing that this dwarf had nothing to do with what happened back then. "I hope you understand why I am so cautious. My people have suffered enough, and I don't want any incident to put them in danger." He spoke like the great king he was.

In the movie, he was portrayed as arrogant, warlike, and very foolish when he didn't allow Tauriel and the others to eliminate the spiders near his kingdom.

"But I might make an exception if you tell me why you've crossed through this cursed forest." In contrast, this Thranduil was cautious, wise from the years and wars he had lived through, and deeply loved his people.

It was a great pain when his father Oropher died in the War of the Last Alliance, along with all the elves who perished in it. Only a third of his army returned. In that dark and gloomy time, his only ray of hope was his wife Thalwen and his son Legolas.

He believed that peace would prevail for a time, but everything fell apart when Sauron took over the place they once inhabited during his father's reign, Amon Lanc, now better known as Dol Guldur.

Yes, that fortress belonged to the Silvan Elves. However, Oropher, fearful of Sauron and angered by the intrusion of the dwarves of Moria and the elves of Lothlórien, moved north three times, and by the end of the Second Age, they lived at the old entrance to Mirkwood.

As the dark shadows spread, they retreated even further north until Thranduil decided to carve a fortress and high underground halls, modeled after what King Thingol had done in Doriath.

Despite his shock, Thorin quickly composed himself after Thranduil's words. If he spoke about his goal, his men would be freed.

However, his arrogance prevented him from revealing his purpose. The story Thranduil had told him surprised him, but that alone wouldn't make him trust the elf or disclose the reason for his journey, so he remained silent.

Seeing that Thorin would not speak, King Thranduil sighed and looked at his guards. "Take him to the cells." Then he looked Thorin in the eyes. "I hope being there will make you reconsider and talk, Thorin Oakenshield." With a wave of his hand, he turned and walked toward the garden, where his wife and adopted daughter were.

After all, he knew that the son of Tindómiel was here, and he wanted to meet him. Perhaps he would reveal the reason for the dwarves' journey.

***

Filthy, filthy orcs! webnovel wouldn't let me log in to my account yesterday, so I hope they weren't too hungry, although I don't mind if they eat each other.

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