Then after some time,
The Elves under Thranduil arrived at Dale.
They moved in formation across the ruined city, stepping over broken stone and abandoned structures without slowing. Armor and weapons remained ready, not raised, but not relaxed either.
Thranduil rode at the front, his gaze moving across Dale before settling on the Lonely Mountain. The silence coming from it confirmed what the signs had already told him.
He raised his hand, signaling the army to hold position.
The Elven ranks stopped at once, forming across the ruins of Dale as orders passed quietly. Within moments, a command tent was set, and Thranduil took his place inside.
Thranduil sat within the command area tent, his attention already on what lay ahead rather than the march behind.
Tauriel and Legolas entered.
"Hm," Thranduil said, his gaze resting on Tauriel. "I am not angered that you chose to ignore my command and pursue the Orcs. At least now, you have seen the outcome of such choices."
Tauriel remained silent.
Even now, she did not agree. To her, allowing evil to pass through their lands without action was wrong, and that had not changed.
Legolas stepped forward.
"Father, there is something you should know," he said. "It concerns the man responsible for Smaug's disappearance."
Thranduil's attention shifted.
"A man defeated Smaug?" he asked, the doubt clear. "Since when do men possess such strength?"
Legolas held his ground.
"He appears as a man," he said, "but what he did… it was not human. I saw the aftermath near Lake-town. That was no human battle. He fought the dragon barehanded."
Tauriel added, her voice steady, "He did not slay the dragon. He subdued it. Even now, it is with him."
Thranduil's expression remained calm, but his eyes sharpened slightly.
"Then he is no man," he said.
Legolas nodded.
"He wears the form of one," he replied. "But whatever he is… it is something else."
"A being capable of bending a dragon to his will, and that too Smaug, who is both strong and prideful," he said quietly. "And now present at Erebor."
"He disappeared by morning from Lake-town," Legolas added.
"So," Thranduil said, his voice measured, "what is this man's name? Or does he even have one?"
"His name is Luke," Tauriel answered. "He was in the Woodland Realm as well. He entered without being seen… and left the same way."
"When did this happen?"
"When the Orcs came," Tauriel replied.
A brief silence followed.
"So," Thranduil said, "what do you make of him? Is he an ally… or an enemy?"
Neither of them answered immediately.
He had not come to the Lonely Mountain for gold.
Among the hoard of Erebor lay the White Gems of Lasgalen—jewels shaped by the Dwarves, but commissioned by Thranduil himself. They were meant for someone.
For his wife.
She never received them.
She died in battle at Gundabad before the gems were ever returned. After that, they were no longer just a gift. They became the only thing left that still connected him to her, and that was enough to make him hold onto them.
When he went to Erebor to claim them, Thrór refused.
To Thranduil, it was simple. The gems were commissioned by him, meant for his wife, and never delivered. Keeping them was greed.
The Dwarves saw it differently. To them, it was a matter of payment and craft, something unsettled, not theft.
That refusal did not stay a single moment. It settled into resentment, and that resentment stayed between Elves and Dwarves long after.
"Since that man disappeared, there is no need to dwell on him," Thranduil said, his voice calm but decisive as he rose from his seat within the tent. "Prepare the army. We march on the Lonely Mountain."
Before anyone could move, a familiar presence entered.
Gandalf stepped into the tent without ceremony, staff in hand, his expression heavier than usual. Dust and strain marked him, but his eyes were sharp, carrying urgency that did not belong to ordinary matters.
Thranduil's gaze shifted to him, unreadable.
"Wizard," he said, his tone cool, almost dismissive. "If you have come to plead for the Dwarves, you waste your time. I know where your loyalties lie. That does not mean I will listen."
Gandalf did not react to the edge in his voice. He stepped forward, planting his staff lightly against the ground, drawing their attention without force.
"I did not come for the Dwarves," he said. "Not this time."
That alone was enough to slow the moment.
"There is a greater matter," Gandalf continued, his voice steady. "Something moving beyond this mountain, beyond your quarrel with stone and gold. A darkness is rising again in the East. Armies are gathering, not of Men or Elves—but of Orcs. Not scattered bands, but war-hosts. Organized. Driven."
Legolas' expression tightened slightly at that, while Tauriel's eyes sharpened with recognition of what that meant.
Gandalf looked between them, then back at Thranduil.
"This is not the time to turn blade against each other. If you march on Erebor now, you will not be facing Dwarves alone. You will be caught in something far worse."
Silence followed, but it was not empty.
Thranduil did not answer immediately. His gaze drifted, thoughtful but distant, weighing something deeper than Gandalf's warning alone.
When he finally spoke, his voice remained composed.
"You speak of shadows and war," he said. "But I see only what stands before me. A mountain filled with treasure long denied… and a debt yet unpaid."
"I will not be turned aside so easily, Mithrandir."
Gandalf held his gaze, knowing the words had landed, even if they had not yet changed the outcome.
"The world is changing," he said quietly. "Whether you choose to see it or not."
*****
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