A King’s Obsession with Jewels

Legolas brought Thorin, Aaron, and Bilbo out of their cells and took them to see his father, the Woodland King, Thranduil.

Before the throne, Thorin stood there expressionlessly.

Aaron and Bilbo kept signaling to him, trying to make him see the situation for what it was, but he ignored them completely.

Thranduil slowly rose to his feet. He had long silver hair and the same handsome features as other Elves, but a trace of coldness lay hidden deep in his eyes.

"Some believe this will be a sacred quest—to slay the dragon and reclaim your homeland.

"But I suspect your true motives are not so noble. Theft of treasure, or some other scheme.

"You found the secret passage and sought to reclaim the jewel that grants you the right to rule—the King’s Jewel, the Arkenstone."

Thorin’s expression shifted slightly, but he quickly composed himself.

"So the Arkenstone is the goods you wanted us to find?" Aaron said thoughtfully. "We weren’t looking for a gem—we were looking for a throne!"

"That’s right. With that jewel and the bloodline of Durin, you may truly be able to unite the Dwarf clans." Thranduil gave a scornful smile. "Its value to you is beyond measure. That, I understand.

"There are jewels in the Lonely Mountain that I desire as well—the White Gem, pure as starlight.

"I will offer you my assistance."

"That’s wonderful." Bilbo said happily. "Release us first, and when the adventure is over, we’ll give you the White Gem."

"Hah!" Thorin shook his head at the worst possible moment. "I will not agree."

"Thorin," Aaron said wearily, "the White Gem means nothing to you. There’s no harm in giving it to the Woodland King, is there?"

"Do you not know the grudge between Dwarves and Wood Elves?"

"We know. We all know.

"But they say a smile can dissolve old grievances and erase ancient enmity…"

Before Aaron could finish, Thorin cut him off. "I’m not that magnanimous."

"Fine." Aaron pursed his lips and forced out a smile. "Then let me put it more realistically.

"We have no other choice. We can only cooperate."

"A clever boy. Thorin Oakenshield, you truly ought to learn from these two," Thranduil said calmly. "In the name of a king, I promise you this: return what belongs to me, and I will release you at once.

"Beyond that, I will give you all the aid you need—weapons, food, and even safe passage all the way to the Lonely Mountain."

At those words, Bilbo’s and Aaron’s hearts began beating eagerly.

This journey had been far too bitter. They had either been hunted or on their way to be hunted. Nothing would be better than having it a little easier.

"That sounds good. Very tempting," Thorin said with a smile. Then his tone shifted, and his expression darkened. "But I do not trust you, Thranduil.

"A great king keeps his promises, even should the end of the world come."

"You," Thorin roared at Thranduil, "have no honor."

Legolas immediately drew Orcrist and held it to Thorin’s throat. "Watch your tone, Dwarf."

"Legolas." Thranduil waved a hand. Legolas glared fiercely at Thorin before sheathing his sword.

"I saw with my own eyes how you betrayed your allies. We starved and wandered homeless, seeking your aid, yet you turned and left.

"You abandoned my people’s suffering and let them be swallowed by destruction." Thorin cursed viciously. "May you die in flames."

"Do not speak to me of Dragon Fire." Thranduil suddenly stepped before Thorin, bent down, and stared directly into his eyes. "I know the power of its destruction."

As soon as he spoke, half of Thranduil’s face became withered and rotten, utterly bloodless.

Gulp! ×3.

"Father, you…" Legolas said in disbelief.

"I once faced the dragon of the North. This was the price." Thranduil’s face returned to normal. "I warned your grandfather what his greed would bring.

"But he refused to listen. He only knew how to cling to his treasure, stubbornly believing that Dwarven rule was unshakable.

"You are exactly like him."

Thranduil waved his hand, and several Elven guards came over to escort them back to their cells.

"If you wish, stay here until you rot!

"To Elves, a hundred years are but an instant.

"I am very patient. I can wait."

"Wait." Aaron slapped away the hand gripping his arm and looked at Thranduil with awkward but polite composure. "His stubbornness is his business. It has nothing to do with us. Humans and Hobbits have no feud with Elves."

"Yes, exactly." Bilbo hurriedly added. "We’ll do our best to persuade Thorin."

"Take them away." Thranduil was becoming impatient. "I’ll wait for Oakenshield to change his mind."

"Wait," Aaron said again. "How about a different deal?

"Release us, and I’ll heal half your face."

"Are you serious?" Legolas was clearly moved. Naturally, he wanted his father to regain his appearance.

Thranduil looked deeply at Aaron. "Why should I believe you?

"The damage caused by Dragon Fire cannot be healed. I have sought help from many people, and none could do anything. You are only a child."

"But not an ordinary child. Legolas should have told you about me."

"So what?

"The spells Wizards know may not be as numerous as those of Elves, and it is not as though I have never sought out Wizards."

"One Wizard is not the same as another. Just because they couldn’t do it doesn’t mean I can’t." Aaron gave him a meaningful look. "Just tell me—do you accept this deal or not?"

Thranduil pondered for a moment. "If it is as you say, releasing you would not be impossible…"

Aaron had just breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the word but, and the corner of his mouth twitched.

"But what?" Aaron asked uneasily.

"But I can only release you and this Hobbit." Thranduil sneered as he touched his face. "If this had been in the past, I would have eagerly accepted your terms.

"But so much time has passed that I have grown used to this face. My appearance means far less to me than an Elven treasure."

Aaron gave an awkward smile. "I understand. Let me think about it."

The Elven guards escorted the three of them back into their cells. However, they were much more courteous to Aaron and Bilbo, since the two might become the king’s benefactors. There was no shame in showing them some respect.

The cell door closed again, and it was as if nothing had changed.

"Did he make you an offer?" Balin asked anxiously.

"He did," Thorin said. "I told him to wait until I spat on his grave."

"Oh, give it a rest." Aaron said speechlessly. "Elves live much longer than you. Even if towering trees—or even an entire forest—grow over your grave, he won’t have a single extra wrinkle.

"Seriously, don’t you understand that circumstances are stronger than people? Can’t you put aside that damned pride of yours once in a while?"

"Exactly." Bilbo agreed deeply. "Thorin, we’re prisoners now."

"And you are not?" Thorin sneered. "Humans and Hobbits have another way out of this cage, don’t they?"

Bilbo froze, then turned to Aaron. "Can you really heal his face?"

Aaron let out a heavy sigh and slowly nodded.

He had two extraordinarily potent magical potions in his possession. Either the Moon Drop or the Resurrection Potion could heal Thranduil’s face.

But using the latter would be a shameful waste. If even part of that potion was used up, it could only serve as a healing potion afterward.

It would be better to use the Moon Drop to remove the lingering effects left by Dragon Fire, then supplement it with other magical potions for a long-term treatment.

"I advise you not to do it," Thorin said. "Or rather, you should be prepared for him to break his promise."

"I know what I’m doing, because Thranduil isn’t my intended trading partner." Aaron yawned and leaned idly against the wall. "If I’m not mistaken, someone will come looking for me soon."

"Legolas?" Bilbo suddenly realized something. "If it’s him, it might work."

At that, Thorin fell silent.

He did not trust Thranduil in the slightest, but he had a little faith in his son—though not much.

"Even so, he may not release all of us."

"We’ll find Gandalf," Bilbo promised. "If he negotiates with the Woodland King, perhaps he’ll release you."

"You’re overthinking it." Aaron curled his lip. "Thranduil might show Gandalf some respect, but as long as this stubborn Dwarf refuses to hand over the White Gem, he’ll never get out."

Bilbo glanced at Thorin through the cell door, then sighed deeply. "Is there no other way to make him release Thorin?"

"Of course there is."

"What?" Bilbo’s mouth fell open in astonishment. Just as he was about to say something, Aaron made a silencing gesture, and he immediately shut his mouth.

Legolas slowly descended the stairs and stopped in front of Aaron.

"You can truly heal my father’s face?"

"I can, but how much I heal it depends on your sincerity." Aaron looked toward the other cells, making his meaning perfectly clear.

It was somewhat improper to exploit someone’s filial devotion, but given the circumstances, he had no choice.

"No." Legolas gently shook his head. "I know what you are thinking, but you should understand my difficulties as well.

"Our king deeply desires the White Gem. I cannot release the Dwarves on my own authority."

Aaron rolled his eyes. He had expected that answer, but he was still disappointed.

"Fine! Then return my Wand."

"That is impossible as well." Legolas smiled lightly and took out two Wands from behind his back, one black and one white. "Do you think I would be foolish enough to give you the means to escape?"

"Um… if possible, could you return my sword?" Bilbo interjected.

"Do you think he would return a weapon to a prisoner?" Aaron said with a bitter smile. "Impossible."

"That, I can do." Legolas directly tossed Sting into the cell.

"Thank you." Bilbo drew the short sword, and his heart finally eased with relief.

This was his first and only weapon. It had been with him for a long time and held extraordinary meaning.

Aaron was dumbfounded. What was this supposed to mean? Was he slapping him in the face?

Perhaps sensing the resentment in Aaron’s gaze, Legolas explained, "He is very weak. It does not matter if he has a sword."

Bilbo: …

Though it was true, could he not say it to his face? It was far too damaging to his self-esteem.