Chapter Text
It was quite an amusing sight: a group of dwarves, a wizard, a hobbit, and an elven maiden making their way through a dark cave. By now, they all looked more like filthy dwarves, so it hardly mattered that not everyone actually was one.
Even the elf no longer looked elven. Her long, brown hair was tangled, and with the amount of leaves caught in it, she could easily have passed for a tree.
The group had been traveling for several weeks now, but their goals were not the same. The dwarves, the hobbit, and the wizard were on a different mission than the elf, who had joined them reluctantly. Gandalf had promised her father, Lord Elrond, that he would deliver her to King Thranduil in Mirkwood—without so much as a scratch, of course.
After finally leaving the cave behind, they emerged into a clearing in the middle of a great forest. "Someone is here," Gandalf whispered, not moving an inch. Maybe it was just a deer lingering in the clearing. Unlikely, but hope dies last, doesn’t it?
The King of the Dwarves, Thorin Oakenshield, shot the elf a dark look and put a hand on his sword. "Did the elf betray us?!" he growled suspiciously, eyeing her sharply. The elf rolled her eyes, drew her wooden bow, and nocked an arrow. The bow had been a gift from her father. Though he was never thrilled about his daughter preferring battle over behaving like a proper lady, he had always supported her. It was a gift for her coming of age. Fine engravings adorned the wood, and her name was carved into it: "Ilma."
Ilma aimed into the forest and sighed in annoyance. "When exactly was I supposed to do that? I've been with you the entire time, dwarf." Her tone made it clear she had little love for dwarves. But to spare her father any trouble, she had decided to travel with them. The dwarves, especially Thorin Oakenshield, were no more fond of her. Thorin had had enough bad experiences with elves.
"No idea. You elves are all the same," he muttered bitterly, just to have the last word. He knew full well she hadn’t done anything.
With her dark brown eyes, Ilma stared into the forest, squinting in hopes of seeing more. But there was only impenetrable darkness. "Gandalf, who is out there?" she asked, breaking the tense silence. Everyone glanced around nervously, hoping the wizard would say it was nothing. But Gandalf cleared his throat quietly and whispered, "Elves."
At that moment, an arrow flew through the air and struck Ilma’s nocked arrow, rendering it useless. Everyone froze, but it was too late to draw their weapons. They were already surrounded. The elves were led by a young man with long, blond hair.
"Dwarves?! What are you doing here? This is not your realm," he said sharply. Though he addressed the dwarves, his bow was aimed at the small hobbit, who likely wondered why he had ever agreed to this adventure. The hostility was palpable.
Ilma, on the other hand, smiled slightly. "Elves? Now that's good news." She looked the elf before them over with interest. Kili, one of the dwarves, lowered his head in disappointment. He had fallen in love with Ilma, and now she was turning her attention to someone else? He felt wounded that a man with even longer hair had captured her interest.
The situation worsened when the elf turned to Ilma and asked kindly, "What is your name?" His voice was gentle, yet at the same moment, he signaled his soldiers, and they seized the dwarves. Kili desperately tried to catch Ilma's eye, but she was too occupied with the blond elf.
Gandalf, convinced Ilma would be safe among the elves, followed the soldiers taking the dwarves away. He knew where they were and who Ilma was speaking with. It was the lesser evil.
Ilma looked around, immediately feeling at home among her own kind, and turned to the elf in front of her. "My name is Ilma. What's yours?" she asked curiously. He smiled warmly. "That is a very beautiful name. It is a pleasure to meet you, Ilma. My name is Legolas."
He studied her again and added, "I would like to invite you to the palace. It seems you are passing through. Perhaps you’d enjoy a short rest—and maybe a bath."
He gestured invitingly toward the path the dwarves and Gandalf had taken. Ilma hesitated briefly, then smiled. "It's a pleasure to meet you too, Legolas. Alright. Thank you for the offer." She knew she couldn't continue without Gandalf, and so, she had little choice but to accept.
After several forks in the path, the way grew brighter. Sunbeams pierced through the canopy, and as they rounded the next bend, a huge palace appeared before them.
Ilma stopped, staring in awe, though a feeling of unease crept over her. In front of the closed gates, she heard Gandalf shouting angrily. "I beg you! This is madness! They have done nothing to you or your realm!" She knew who he was shouting at. It was about the dwarves, and the local king clearly was not pleased with their presence.
Even Legolas froze, but he signaled the guards. The heavy gates, adorned with elaborate elven carvings, opened silently. Ilma followed him cautiously inside, impressed by the beauty of the place. The gates shut behind them with a dull thud. But she had no time to admire her surroundings; Legolas led her across a wooden walkway resembling a massive root.
Halfway across, Legolas stopped and looked down. Ilma followed his gaze and saw the dwarves locked away in damp, dark cells. Legolas swallowed hard. He had hoped to find a friend in Ilma, but now he saw that hope fading, since his father had imprisoned her companions.
Kili spotted Ilma above on the walkway and cried out in despair, but the distance swallowed his words. Ilma now understood the gravity of the situation. She cleared her throat uncomfortably and looked at Legolas with a piercing stare. "What is going on here?" she asked sharply. But he remained silent and continued on. Suspicious, she followed him, hand on her bow. She knew she had no chance against the soldiers, but perhaps she could buy some time—and maybe the dwarves could fight back.
Soon they reached the heart of the realm, where a stately elf sat on a throne intricately woven from branches. All paths led to this throne room, as though the elf upon it were the beating heart of the place—the center that held it all together. His gaze was icy and dismissive. Of course, he had long since noticed Legolas and Ilma, but he showed not the slightest interest. All that mattered to him was the dwarves' imprisonment and the white gems of pure starlight.
His eyes rested boredly on a wine goblet in his hand, and yet his expression showed nothing but cold. This Elvenking was what one should fear: a ruthless, nearly soulless elf, devoid of compassion.
But the indifference was mutual. Ilma had barely spared the king a glance. To her, he was just an arbitrary ruler to be avoided whenever possible.
Her gaze turned to Gandalf. "Gandalf? What is happening here?" she asked quietly but firmly. Gandalf first gave Legolas a pleading look. "Legolas Greenleaf, please, try to reason with your father," he said wearily. Then he turned to Ilma and sighed. "The king has imprisoned the dwarves and has no intention of letting them go."
Ilma stared at the king in disbelief. This was exactly what she had feared. This bitter ruler acted like a sulky child holding a grudge over the smallest slight—just because the dwarves had accidentally entered his realm.
Legolas gave Gandalf an apologetic glance and merely shook his head. He knew how dangerous it was to challenge his father when it came to dwarves. Reluctantly, he stepped back and watched.
Ilma cast him a quick, thoughtful look before sighing in frustration. Then she turned her determined gaze to the Elvenking. For a moment, her breath caught as she truly saw him: the long, blond hair, the crown of leaves and twigs, the upright, noble posture. He looked like the ideal king—majestic and proud. But his coldness shattered any such image.
Before she could find her words, she had to swallow hard. But the injustice would not silence her. Ignoring protocol, she spoke loudly and clearly: "Why won’t you release the dwarves? They’ve done nothing to you!"
No sooner had she spoken than the king slowly lifted his head and fixed her with a cold stare. He lowered the goblet in his hand and stared at her for a long moment before turning his eyes away with a mix of contempt and indifference, as if her presence wasn’t even worth acknowledging.
"Who wants to know?!" the Elvenking finally spoke, his voice deep and dismissive. It sounded like a cold wind sweeping through empty halls.
Ilma held his gaze, undaunted and defiant. Next to her, she heard Gandalf mutter softly, "Oh dear, this won’t end well." He had traveled with her long enough to know she wouldn’t back down easily. Legolas also recognized the determined look on her face and shot her a warning glance—a look that urged caution. He sensed this confrontation would end poorly.
But Ilma only stood taller. With a straight back and chin held high, she met the Elvenking’s eyes, her gaze narrowed in anger. "I want to know," she said firmly, her voice echoing defiantly through the hall. "What have the dwarves done that you lock them up like criminals?"
A visible shock crossed Legolas’ face. He had heard too many stories about his father to not know that these words would mean trouble. "Um... maybe you shouldn’t be so direct..." he whispered, trying to dissuade her. But he knew it was already too late. His eyes wandered nervously to his father, who still sat motionless on the throne. A deep, ominous silence settled over the room, as if even the air itself had frozen.
"Who wants to know?" the Elvenking asked again, his voice still cold and dismissive, like a winter wind. His arrogance was palpable and only provoked Ilma further. She felt a stubborn resistance rising within her. This was how she had been raised—with pride and determination.
Slowly, she turned to Legolas, letting out a huff of impatience, almost rude. "I don’t care who he is, Legolas. Answering a question is always possible."
The long silence that followed unsettled her deep down, but she didn’t let it show. Instead, she folded her arms, stood tall, and appeared completely composed—though a storm was raging inside her. Her posture was a subtle but clear provocation that no one in the hall could overlook.
"I want to know," she repeated calmly. Her voice was soft, yet carried unmistakable strength. The king didn’t return her gaze; he merely acknowledged her with a shadow of indifference.
In the tension of the moment, no one noticed Gandalf quietly slipping out of the hall. The old wizard was already on his way to help the dwarves in their dark cells and find a way to free them.
Legolas looked at Ilma with sorrow. He knew he could no longer help her. Her fate was sealed, the words had been spoken. The king, still refusing to even glance at Ilma, spoke with boredom: "Take her away, Legolas."
His tone was cool, as if he were talking about nothing more than an annoying sound that needed to be silenced. Legolas looked at Ilma, his eyes full of regret.