The vast doors of the great hall swung inward, and Benjamin Carter stepped forward under the watch of his elven escort. His boots touched the smooth stone floor of a chamber both regal and strange—a place that seemed less built than grown. At the far end rose Thranduil's throne dais, an elegant platform shaped as though the root and bough of some colossal tree had been coaxed into form. Behind it, the wall was alive with artistry, a sweeping mural of the forest itself, its painted branches seeming to stir in the golden lantern light.
Upon the throne, carved from a single massive elm, sat Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm. His robes of deep green and sable pooled like shadow at his feet, and his brow bore a circlet of carved antler interwoven with summer leaves. His gaze, cold and clear, fixed upon Ben with the weight of centuries behind it. Two captains stood flanking him, silent and immovable.
The guards halted ten paces from the throne. They bowed, then stepped aside to take their places along the hall. Ben remained where he was, hands folded neatly before him, his eyes raised to meet the Elvenking's.
"You are the one who commands the flying vessel?" Thranduil's voice was cool, measured, echoing faintly against the high vaults.
Ben inclined his head, not quite a bow but a gesture of respect.
"Indeed. Benjamin Carter, at your service."
"I am Thranduil, son of Oropher," came the reply, quiet yet edged with command. "What brings you to my realm?"
Ben did not answer in words. Instead, he reached into his coat and drew forth three letters, sealed and marked with familiar hands. He held them out without ceremony. At Thranduil's wordless gesture, one of the captains stepped forward, took them, and brought them reverently to the throne.
Thranduil broke the first seal—the flowing hand of Lady Galadriel—and began to read. As he did, Ben waved his hand. From nothing, a high-backed chair of polished oak appeared behind him. He sat with casual ease, a book materializing in his hand, and began to leaf through it as though he were in a study and not before a king. A ripple of astonishment moved through the elves. Tauriel, at the back of the chamber, widened her eyes, while Legolas's gaze lingered in cool scrutiny. Thranduil raised one brow but continued reading without comment.
Letter by letter, the king's expression shifted—first Galadriel's gentle words, then Elrond's careful counsel, and finally Saruman's grim missive. By the end his jaw was tight, his pale eyes shadowed. He exhaled, long and slow.
"Leave us."
The command cut through the chamber. His captains hesitated, exchanged a glance.
"Now."
There was no mistaking the edge in his tone. The guards filed out. Tauriel hesitated a heartbeat longer, glancing back at Ben, but Legolas's steady look guided her onward. Soon the hall was empty but for the king and the stranger.
Thranduil lowered the letters.
"Is it true?"
Ben closed his book. The chair vanished as he rose to his feet.
"Which part?"
"The Enemy has returned?"
Ben's face lost its usual good-natured humor.
"Unfortunately, yes. Sauron has returned. Or rather, he never truly left—he was only too weak to show himself. Until now."
Thranduil's knuckles tightened upon the parchment.
"And you claim he seeks to ally with Smaug? How can you be certain?"
Ben's voice hardened, his words quick and sure.
"Because ever since we set out for Erebor, we've been hunted. Not by lone orcs or wandering scouts—by warbands. Packs, dozens strong, armed and relentless. Twice we've been attacked. The only reason your woods are not swarming with them already is because they can't keep up with my ship. This isn't about chasing dwarves. It's about stopping us from completing our quest, from reaching the Mountain at all costs."
Thranduil's gaze narrowed, though some shadow of unease flickered there.
"And why should I help you?" He lifted the letters in one elegant hand. "These urge me to lend my warriors—my army—to your cause. Tell me, why should I consider such a thing, when the dwarves of Erebor have brought us nothing but grief in the past?"
Ben's lips curved into a wry smile.
"If you think dwarves make bad neighbors, you should see the orcs. If Azog and his master seize the Lonely Mountain, the very first realm to burn under orc blades and dragon fire will be yours. Doing nothing isn't safety anymore—it's just waiting to be the first target. It's time to pick a side."
His words hung heavy in the vaulted air. Then he added, with a half-smile:
"But I understand. Everything has a price. Quid pro quo, as they say."
Thranduil's brow creased faintly.
"What does that mean?"
"Something for something. This for that. Tell me what you want in return for your aid."
The Elvenking studied him for a long moment, cool eyes weighing him.
"How certain are you that you and your companions can kill Smaug?"
Ben's smile returned, softer now.
"Fairly certain."
"Fairly," Thranduil echoed. "That does not inspire much confidence. Yet at least you do not boast it will be easy." His gaze grew distant, as though flames flickered in memory. "I know well the devastation dragonfire brings. I have worn its scars." A flicker of pain crossed his face before he mastered it. "I will not endanger my people by sending them against the beast. But—" his voice firmed—"if you defeat Smaug, I will march with my army to the Mountain and help defend it against the orcs. I will not ask payment for this. Yet I do expect something of mine to be returned."
Ben's brows rose. "And what would that be?"
"Before Erebor's fall, I commissioned from Thrór's folk a shipment of the White Gems of Lasgalen, and certain jewels wrought of them. Payment was made in full. But the dragon came before delivery could be made. My due has been denied to me ever since. I will aid you only if Thorin Oakenshield agrees to return what is mine. If he refuses…" His voice turned like glass over steel. "…then I will not lift a finger. Even if Erebor falls, and I must defend my woods against orc filth until the end of days."
Ben drew a long breath, then nodded.
"Very well. I'll speak to Thorin and do what I can to see this ends well for everyone."
Thranduil inclined his head. "And how long do you intend to remain in my realm?"
"We wait for Gandalf's return from Dol Guldur before we move on to Erebor," Ben answered. "A few days, perhaps a fortnight."
"Then I shall have rooms prepared for you and your companions."
"That won't be necessary." Ben's smile tilted wry again. "Our ship's quarters are more than adequate. Besides, I doubt the dwarves would care for the hospitality. Pride, you understand."
"Very well," Thranduil said coolly. He rose and called, his voice ringing against the pillars. Guards entered, followed by Legolas and Tauriel.
"Escort our guest back to his ship," Thranduil ordered. "He and his companions will remain in the forest for some days. See that they are not disturbed."
Ben inclined his head once more. "Much obliged." He turned and walked from the great hall, his boots echoing softly as the guards and elves fell in behind him.
On the winding walkways outside, Tauriel's voice broke the silence, light yet curious.
"So, what did you and the King speak of?"
Legolas gave her a mild, reproachful look, but Ben only chuckled.
"Well if you must know, my earlier offer for dinner still stands. I'd be happy to tell you about my day—and myself—if you'll tell me a little bit about yourselves. And about this beautiful home of yours."
Tauriel's lips curved before her companion could speak.
"Then we accept," she said.
Ben's grin flashed.
"Excellent. I'll be expecting you both on my ship tonight—and I hope you bring your appetites."
Legolas, composed as ever, said, "While I appreciate your enthusiasm, you may find that elves do not often enjoy the food of Men."
Ben only grinned wider.
"Then you've clearly never been hosted by a man like me."
---
The dwarves, Bilbo and Ben were gathered in the lounge of the Spirit of Dawn, the air heavy with the low murmur of voices. The ship's enchanted interior seemed to defy all logic—arched beams stretched high overhead, polished metal and wood gleaming in soft illumination, while wide tables held food and drink laid out for the company. Even so, the atmosphere was tense, the air brittle as old parchment.
Ben stood at the head of the table, the dwarves arrayed before him, their faces shadowed with suspicion and pride. Thorin sat rigid, his hand curled tight around the arm of his chair, eyes narrowed in expectation.
"Well?" he demanded, his tone sharp. "What did the Elvenking say?"
Ben exhaled slowly, setting his palms on the table. "Thranduil has agreed to lend aid against Azog and his orcs—on one condition." His gaze swept the company. "He wants the White Gems of Lasgalen. The ones buried in Smaug's hoard."
A ripple of discontent surged among the dwarves, muttering echoing off the walls. Thorin's face hardened like iron. He rose to his feet, his coat sweeping behind him, and his voice thundered.
"Absolutely not! I will not bargain with that honourless coward. Not one stone, not one jewel will he pry from the halls of my forebears. He abandoned us when we needed him most. I'll not see Erebor's treasure sullied by his greedy hands."
Ben didn't flinch. He met Thorin's fury with quiet steadiness, his words cutting through the clamor like the edge of a blade.
"Those gems are not just treasure to him. The jewels they're set in, were crafted for Thranduil's wife. She never lived to receive them—she was slain by orcs before they reached her. They are all that remain of her. He considers them a cherished heirloom. A momento of the love he lost."
The room fell still. Even the most fiery of the dwarves looked uncertain, their anger dulled by the weight of that truth.
Ben's gaze swept over them, resting finally on Thorin.
"Right now, the dragon keeps him from them. But once Smaug is gone? Thranduil will march on Erebor if he must. He'll lay siege to reclaim what he believes is rightfully his."
Balin, who had been silent until then, leaned forward, his white beard twitching with thought. His voice, though quiet, carried the weight of wisdom.
"Thorin… lad. He speaks true. Gems are gems, aye—but an army at our side against Azog and his ilk? That is worth far more. A handful of gems, for the salvation of our kin—it's a fair trade."
The Company shifted uneasily, some nodding, others grimacing, but none meeting Thorin's eyes.
The dwarven prince was silent a long while. His jaw clenched, his eyes smoldering with pride and pain. Finally, with a growl low in his throat, he spat the words like they burned his tongue.
"Very well. The gems will be theirs—but only after the battle is done. Let the elves bleed beside us. Let them prove their worth with steel and sacrifice. When the day is won—when the orcs are dead and Azog is ash beneath our feet, then… and only then… will Thranduil have his damned stones."
Murmurs of agreement rose through the hall. Some with relief, some with grim resolve. Ben eased back, letting the tension soften, though inwardly he knew what he had just brokered was a fragile truce waiting to be tested.
---
Night had fallen over the Woodland Realm. The Spirit of Dawn sat quietly on the forest clearing before the stone bridge that spanned toward the great gates. Only a handful of elven guards lingered near, their watchful eyes catching the silver gleam of the ship's enchanted glowstones.
On the top deck, the dwarves gathered around a long table, the sound of tankards clinking and low voices rumbling into the cool night air. From the forest path, two figures approached—Legolas and Tauriel, their steps light upon the gangway that led up to the vessel.
At the top stood Ben, his hands resting casually on the rail, a welcoming smile tugging at his lips.
"Evening," he called down warmly. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd changed your minds."
Legolas inclined his head with quiet composure. "We do not turn from an invitation once given."
"And I was curious," Tauriel added with a small smile.
Ben stepped aside with a sweep of his arm. "Then come in, honored guests."
The elves ascended the gangway. As they crossed the threshold into the ship, they faltered in surprise. The hallway stretching before them was vast—lit by soft glowstones, its length and breadth utterly impossible when compared to the vessel's size outside. The space seemed to breathe, wide and airy, as if the walls themselves had bent to some unseen will.
"How is this possible?" Tauriel whispered, her hand brushing the smooth paneling as if to test its reality.
Legolas narrowed his eyes, taking in every detail. "It is… greater within than without."
Ben chuckled. "Exactly. What you see is the result of spatial folding into higher-dimensional space. From outside, the ship appears as it always does. Inside, however—" he spread his arms "—the rooms are unfolded into volumes that exist just beyond ordinary perception. A trick of dimensions."
The elves exchanged a glance, their expressions betraying equal measures of wonder and suspicion.
"Come," Ben said, leading them through the hall. "There's more to see."
He opened a door and ushered them inside. His cabin spread out before them, a spacious chamber of warm wood and polished metal. Glowstones glimmered across the ceiling, paintings adorned the walls, and the living and dining areas flowed seamlessly together. Bilbo sat comfortably on a sofa, a book in his lap.
"Ah, Bilbo," Ben said cheerfully, "allow me to introduce Legolas and Tauriel. Friends, this is Bilbo Baggins of the Shire."
The hobbit stood with a polite bow. "A pleasure, I'm sure."
"The others won't be joining us, I'm afraid," Ben added with a wry smile. "Dwarves are not overly fond of vegetarian dishes. Their loss, of course."
They settled onto two adjacent sofas. The elves sank tentatively into the cushions, then blinked in surprise at their impossible softness. Tauriel pressed her hand lightly into the fabric, curiosity bright in her eyes.
"You've enchanted even your furniture," she murmured.
"Comfort is an art form," Ben replied with a grin.
Drinks soon followed. Ben poured a golden mead into a slender cup and set it before Legolas. "Starlight Mead," he said, "infused with wild herbs."
For Tauriel, he placed a glass filled with deep violet liquid that shimmered in the glow. "Nightshade Elixir—blackberry, lavender liqueur, and a touch of sparkling water."
Bilbo received a crystal glass of chilled Silverdew wine. "Subtle notes of pear and elderflower," Ben explained. For himself, he raised a goblet of Moonlit Cider, bubbles rising to the surface.
They toasted, and the first sip loosened the air. Tauriel was the one who spoke first, curiosity alight in her tone.
"How did the two of you meet?" she asked, glancing between Bilbo and Ben.
Bilbo chuckled, his eyes crinkling. "Strangest day of my life. There I was, smoking peacefully in my garden, when—pardon the language—a blasted door appeared out of thin air. Out tumbled this fellow here, right onto my tulips."
Ben spread his hands helplessly, laughter in his eyes. "Not my most graceful entrance."
Legolas tilted his head. "A door? From where?"
Ben leaned back, his smile turning thoughtful. "I'm not from Arda. My world is… much like yours, but different. Children born with magic are sent to schools, hidden away, to learn how to harness their gifts. I study at one such place, called Hogwarts."
He lifted his hand, and above his palm rose an illusion—an immense stone castle with sweeping towers, its windows glowing with light. The elves' eyes widened at the vision.
"Our school also has seers, who can sometimes glimpse into other worlds," Ben continued. "And we have a powerful artifact, a doorway that allows travel between those worlds. Now and then, a few of us are chosen to step through—to aid where we are needed. That's how I came here."
Before the elves could speak further, Ben clapped his hands lightly. "But let's not spoil dinner with too much talk. A man's stomach should not be filled with words alone."
He guided them to the dining table—mahogany, polished, set with silver and crystal. The spread before them was unlike anything the Woodland Elves had ever seen: vegetarian lasagna steaming with herbs, golden veggie burgers, eggplant parmesan, sesame soba noodles, roasted cauliflower tacos, and bowls of vegan meatballs.
"Please," Ben said, gesturing grandly, "eat freely and enjoy."
Legolas studied the dishes, his brow faintly furrowed. But when he tasted the lasagna, his eyes lifted in mild surprise. "This is unlike any food of Men I have known. It is as if the dishes were made for us."
"That was the idea," Ben replied with a grin. "Before coming here, I spoke with some friends who are exceptional cooks. I asked them to prepare meals I thought dwarves, elves, hobbits, and men might all enjoy. Lord Elrond and Lady Galadriel praised them highly when I visited Rivendell—so I thought you might appreciate them as well."
Tauriel's lips curved into a smile. "You honor us with such thought, Benjamin."
They ate and talked—about the Greenwood, the Shire, and the faraway Hogwarts. Bilbo listened happily, adding small comments here and there, though more often his attention lingered on his wine.
Dessert followed: berry tarts, dark chocolate bark, and sugared fruits. Tauriel sampled the tart with delight, while Legolas tasted the chocolate, then offered her a piece with quiet courtesy.
Ben watched them with a sly smile. "So," he said casually, "how long have the two of you been together?"
Both elves froze. Tauriel's eyes darted away, while Legolas answered stiffly, "We are not together." A flicker of disappointment colored his voice.
Ben raised his hands in mock surrender. "Forgive me. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. It's only that your chemistry is undeniable—you move together so easily, with respect and trust."
Tauriel, flustered, quickly turned the question. "Why did your school send you here?"
Ben smirked faintly at her tactic, then leaned forward. "Because they foresaw Thorin's company would need help against Smaug. But after arriving, I realized there's more at play."
Legolas's gaze sharpened. "Which is?"
Ben's tone grew somber. "Thorin's company is being hunted by Azog—who serves his master, Sauron."
The elves' eyes widened.
"That cannot be," Tauriel whispered. "Sauron was destroyed long ago."
"Defeated, yes," Ben said gravely. "Destroyed? No. As long as the One Ring endures, so does he. For centuries he lingered, gathering power at Dol Guldur under the name of the Necromancer."
His words weighed heavily on them.
"The Greenwood is sick because of him," Ben continued. "And now he seeks Erebor. Not just for its gold, not even for Smaug—but for its position. From the Mountain he can march north, reclaim Angmar, and launch war. Even now, Gandalf, Radagast, Saruman, Lord Elrond, and Lady Galadriel march to Dol Guldur to confront him. But even if they succeed, Sauron has already forged his army. Orcs, trolls, wargs. Azog leads them toward Erebor."
Legolas's jaw tightened. Tauriel's eyes darkened in worry.
"Thankfully, the situation is not hopeless. Thorin believes his cousin Dáin will come to defend Erebor alongwith the dwarves of the Iron Hills. And King Thranduil has agreed to bring his army as well," Ben finished.
The elves exchanged glances, relief flickering across their faces. They rose from the table with slow grace.
"You have given us much to think upon," Legolas said gravely. "And our thanks for your hospitality. Few men could offer such gifts."
Tauriel added softly, "We would help if we can."
Ben's eyes brightened. "As it happens, there is something. We fear the spiders of Mirkwood may march north and join the orcs. While we wait for Gandalf's return, we plan to hunt down their nests and burn them out. Locals who know the forest would be… invaluable."
Legolas considered, then nodded once. "I will speak with my father. But yes—I would join such a hunt."
Tauriel smiled faintly. "And I would see a wizard in action."
Ben laughed. "Then prepare yourselves for quite the show."
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I'm going for LegolasXTauriel ship. It's high time our favourite elf gets a girlfriend 😉😊😆