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Fili did not ask to be king. Not like this. Not with his uncle and brother dead. He is young, too young to be king. All eyes are on him. All of the company try to help. Dain tries to help, in his own way. They give him words of reassurance. They pretend to take him seriously and obey the orders he gives. But he knows that they all just indulge him. Soon, someone will come and tell him that it is not working and that there will be a new king. Dain should be king, Fili thinks.
It is at another meeting with both elves and men that something unexpected happens. There is no love lost between elves and dwarves, everyone present knows that. The fact that King Thranduil is there making nice means only one thing after all – he wants his share of the treasure. All dwarves think that. Bard too wants gold, and Fili will respect that, he was promised and to back out now would be disrespectful for the dead humans who fell before the Lonely Mountain. Elves too died. Fili knows this. The only reason that he himself is still breathing is because of elves – Tauriel and Prince Legolas. Fili knows this too. But it still galls to be facing the elven king and be forced to pretend that he didn’t sit in one of his prison cells.
So everyone is surprised when King Thraduil after a long and bitter discussion over who owes what to whom askes to speak with Fili alone. Every dwarf present protests loudly except for Fili who is too socked to say anything. Even elves look uncomfortable with the request but they don’t counter their king. The elves bow out fast, humans follow on their heels but dwarves are still saying no. And suddenly Fili has had enough. He might not be much of a king but he can make this decision for himself. He orders his advisors, former companions, out. To his surprise they actually obey.
So he is alone with the king of Mirkwood, as per requested. There is a moment of silence. Fili hasn’t had much silence since he became king. There hasn’t been an official crowning yet, soon there will be, he knows. Someone is setting that up, somewhere.
“What would you like to discuss, king Thranduil?” Fili has stayed seated in the now empty council room. Thranduil however stands and walks over to the refreshments table and pours himself water. Fili can’t help but show his surprise. He has seen the other king drink only wine, nonstop. The elf smirks at him from the table and lifts the pitcher as if offering to pour some for Fili. Fili shakes his head, too socked for words. As Thranduil returns to the table but he abandons his previous seat, as far from Fili as was possible and instead sits closer, right across from the young dwarf.
“Do not take this the wrong way but it seemed to me you were quite overwhelmed,” Thranduil’s voice was as cool as ever but to Fili it seemed to lack the usual haughtiness. Still, the words meant that Fili was not doing a good job, again. Impotent anger stirred deep within him. He wanted to yell, scream and rage but knew better.
“Forgive me my incompetence then,” Fili forced out with his clenched teeth.
“There is nothing to forgive. You are doing an admirable job so far,” the words were almost friendly and Fili couldn’t help but stare.
“What do you want?” for the elven king had to have a purpose for this conversation even if it was just to mock Fili.
“I find myself in an odd position. On the one hand I should exploit your inexperience and the desperation of your people. On the other hand I find myself with a true wish to help you,” Thranduil was almost lounging in a dwarf crafted stone chair in a way that should have been physically impossible and seemed to Fili slightly painful. Everyone had been telling Fili that Thranduil would be out to get the best bargain at the cost of his people. But it had also been pointed out to Fili that at no point was he to say this out loud to the king. And here the elf was saying it all too willingly himself.
“You are willing to help dwarves?” even saying it out loud seemed ludicrous.
Thranduil gave a quite un-kingly snort and straightened in his seat, “Dwarves in general I care very little about. This is a long held grudge on my behalf; so long in fact that at times I am capable of setting it aside and dealing with the folk of Durin. No. I find that I wish to help you.”
“Me?” Fili couldn’t help but sound incredulous. Why would Thranduil of all the people wish to help him?
Thranduil sat up and met Fili’s eyes straight on, “You are struggling. Not with leadership as such but with being a king. So is Bard, you should know, but his reasons are different than yours and he will come into his own in time. This leaves me in a unique position to offer advice.”
Fili flushed with shame. He couldn’t help it. Even a human, half his age, was doing better. He was so pathetic that the elven king needed to offer pity.
Before he could say anything though, Thranduil was continuing, “King Under the Mountain, in fact if not yet officially crowned. A grand title, a grand kingdom, and proud people to rule over – a position many would crave,” Fili met the other king’s eyes again, “but not you.”
Fili’s heart sank and his face paled. He had been seen through. It wasn’t incompetence that plagued him, it was unwillingness. Thranduil only nodded in a knowing way, as if Fili has just confirmed something.
“Do you know how I became about my crown?” Thranduil inquired in mild manner and Fili could not look away from the ancient face before him. Others always said that you could not tell elves age but to Fili it seemed obvious. Elves like Tauriel and Legolas were young – full of movement and… life. Elves like Thranduil and Elrond were old – there was a stillness about them that was further weighed by the time that had passed. No, he could not guess at years, but there was a difference between young and old elves for sure.
Fili was forced to shake his head, to his shame he had no idea. That hadn’t been part of his lessons, as far as Fili knew Thranduil had been king from the first awakening.
Thranduil only nodded thoughtfully. Then, in a completely unexpected move, the King of Mirkwood picked the crown from his own head. It was of grey-white wood with little buds of evergreen, it reminded Fili of trees under snow and he supposed that that was exactly the effect the crown was going for. Fili had previously wondered about the crown. It seemed subtly different every time he saw it and as a crafter of such things Fili couldn’t help but wonder.
“I will spare you the long history of my family. This is hardly the point at the moment, I will just mention that you are lucky not to be dealing with my father. He would have had no mercy for dwarves,” the smile on the elf’s face was sardonic. Thranduil lowered his eyes to the crown he was now holding with both hands. He had lost none of his regal bearing by removing the spiked half-circle but to Fili he seemed now a little more approachable.
“You know of the Last Alliance, no doubt,” without needing an answer he continued, “Seven years we fought the Evil. Elves, men, and dwarves. Durin the Fourth led your folk. I remember him. He had a sense of humour much like your kinsman Dain Ironfoot. I quite liked him, despite everything. He once told Gil-Galad to fuck off, to quote him precisely.”
As Thranduil trailed off for a moment with a fond smile while Fili stared at him in wonder. Durin IV was a legend; a legend of almost mythical proportions to young dwarves. And here was someone who had known him. Had talked with him and fought alongside him. It dawned slowly on Fili what being as old as Thranduil really meant. All the wars he must have seen and fought in. Fili had only fought in this – the Battle of Five Armies but it had lasted all together only a day. He could not imagine seven years of such fighting.
“I rode to that war as a prince. I came back as a king,” Fili was struck by how sad and weary the elf suddenly seemed and he was running his long fingers absently over his crown, “We lost two thirds of our army in that war. What I led back was nothing more than tattered remains. So many dead, so many orphans and widowers made. The victory was too bitter. My father fell when we were not even half way into the siege. I was right there next to him. He took a spear through the chest and chocked on his own blood.”
Fili was stunned. He had not seen Thorin or Kili fall. They had been separated. He couldn’t imagine what it was like to see your father die like that. Thranduil was speaking as if Fili was not there, never lifting his eyes form the crown in his hand.
“I had to take the crown off his head. I just couldn’t leave it. We were in midst of a losing battle. Heavy losses, heavies of all were in that battle. There was no time to carry his body anywhere. There was nowhere to go, we were surrounded. The king was dead. My men were failing. I took the crown off his helmet, it was covered with blood, elven blood and black orc blood. I set it on my own head. Someone called out a rally, “To the King!” and we managed to break through and retreat. Thus I was crowned king.”
Fili was speechless. What could he say to this? To read off the pages of a history book of the losses in the Last Alliance was one thing. To hear of it from someone who was there and suffered the same losses was quite different.
Thranduil lifted the crown in his hands bringing Fili’s attention back to it. “It is not the same crown. The one my father wore was of mithril and could be fitted on a battle helmet. I wore it all through the war and when I got back I put it in a box and have never looked upon it again. This, the one I wear, is living tree. It changes with the forest.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Fili’s voice was sombre and respectful, he hoped.
Thranduil lifted his eyes back to Fili and quirked his lips as if to smile, “I tell you this because I know exactly what you feel at this moment. You wish your uncle was alive to be the king, as I wished my father had lived. You feel like every decision you make is poor and judged by everyone around you. You are not wrong. Young kings make mistakes. Everyone is looking and weighing your actions. None of this can be helped. There is only one thing you can do, Fili, son of Dis, King Under the Mountain and that is to do the best you can. I was forged into a king on the battlefields under Mordor this will forever reflect in the way I rule. Hopefully you have a more peaceful time to learn statecraft.”
Thranduil reset the crown on his head without messing up a single hair and then emptied his goblet of water. “I understand your reluctance to be king. It came to you too soon and too violently. But you are strong and proud and this gives me hope that you will grow to be a good king. Those who seek to rule are often horrible at it.”
Fili was reminded of Thorin and the way his eyes burned when he searched for the Archenstone. His uncle had overcome the dragon-sickness at the last moment but still…
Fili lifted his head to meet that of the elven king, “This changes nothing. I will still fight over the terms of our agreement.”
Thranduil smiled victoriously, “I expect nothing less and look forward to our battling over this table. But with you, king Fili, not your advisers.”
Then the elf rouse and moved to take his leave.
“Why did your father hate the dwarves, if you don’t mind me asking?” Fili stopped Thranduil before he could leave. Thranduil stopped, his back to Fili.
“When Doriath fell he lost his wife and daughter to dwarven axes. I was too young to fight then…” Thranduil’s words were quiet but Fili sucked in air as if he was struck.
How was Thranduil even willing to talk with any dwarves civilly if such was his first experience with their folk?
Thranduil half turned to look at Fili, “It was a long time ago. The elven memory is great but even we know when to move on.”
With that the tall elf was gone leaving Fili alone with his thoughts.
He was going to fight for them but he was going to give Thranduil his white gems and probably a little extra. It would pay to make friends rather than enemies of his neighbours.