A Place to Belong

Chapter 24: Myths and Legends

Braerka glared angrily at the elven King sat smugly upon his finely carved wooden throne. He wore a long robe embroidered with pale silver and gold leafy patterns, much like the garment he had worn the one, and only other, time she had seen him.

Watching him wring his long slender fingers through his long platinum hair awoke an anger in her she had not felt for nearly 180 years. He looked as calm, and as willing to let them all die, as he had been the day he let Erebor fall, that infuriated Braerka to the point where she was digging her nails deep into the palms of her hands to stop herself from bursting out at him; she both welcomed and feared the rigorousness of the long buried anger, she finally understood Thorin's mistrust if their kind.

She pondered what he could have experienced in his long life to have caused him to make that choice, to let thousands of innocents die. Was it to save his own kin? Because there was no hope? Braerka felt it could only be explained by his cowardice and as much as she liked to believe she had gotten over his choice that day, she learned now it was something not so easily forgotten, or forgiven.

She continued to glare as the young blonde elf, Legolas, whispered the happenings in the woods into his father's ear.

Silence gripped them, they were standing in the throne room, the walls made of twisted wood and stretching roots, a dim glow from many torches giving the place a dull and earthy glow.

Braerka stood slouched, unarmed and fatigued beyond her limits, but somehow she found herself still wide awake and ready for anything that came her way, be it more spiders or an army of elves.

Their chains rattled as some tried to break free, but it was useless their irons where tougher than regular metal and wouldn't even slip a millimetre out of place from their wrists.

The guards behind them suddenly stood that little straighter as Legolas briskly stepped down from Thranduil's pedestal and took up his position aside from them, he stood waiting his father's judgement; as did they all.

Thranduil then stood himself and swanned down and across the room like he owned it, which he did; he was the King after all. He assessed them in passing and then turned ascending his pedestal and reclaiming his seat upon his throne. He kicked back his legs over the arm of it and relaxed.

It was obvious to Braerka that this King and Legolas were father and son, had she discovered it in the woods, she would have known just from looking at them side by side; their pale, blonde hair was identical in tone as was their pale and piercing blue eyes but appearance was where the similarities seemed to end. While the King was charismatic and laid back, the prince was rigid and tense, as though hoping to impress or be praised in some way.

Thranduil's eyes wavered on them for several long moments, each second making the mood tenser, before they rolled and he began to speak.

"More spies you say?" he questioned his son, "My, my... Mirkwood is popular today!" he finished turning his head to face the company.

His voice was smooth and quite deep too; he spoke slowly and clearly his voice echoing and filling the hall. He fixed himself and sat, leaning forward with his back still straight; his long fingers resting on his chin.

"I am Thranduil, King of this Woodland Realm, what is your business here?" he asked them, announcing himself for good measure.

They all remained silent, and Braerka knew why. These elves had abandoned them when they had most needed them all those years ago, they were seen as enemies and that wasn't going to change; even if they had needed their help not so long ago.

Braerka decided to share in their silence, not that a change in circumstances would have made her speak otherwise.

"So quiet, but then that's what makes a good spy isn't it?" he said rhetorically chuckling at his own sarcasm.