"I've heard of you before," said Legolas as he lowered his bow and stepped forward. "A warrior said to wield strange and powerful magic. The Bane of Orcs - Eric Starfell."
He offered a respectful nod. "Welcome to the Woodland Realm. I am Legolas. I greet you in the name of our kingdom."
Eric inclined his head slightly in return, offering a polite smile.
Lately, the tales of this particular human had grown increasingly common - and increasingly absurd. When Legolas first heard them, he thought them mere drunken exaggerations. After all, how could a man possibly do half of what the rumors claimed?
Then his father, King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm, confirmed the truth of those tales.
And that changed everything.
[Reputation with the Woodland Realm: +500 (Respect)]
Eric had never set foot in the Woodland Realm before, yet his reputation here had already reached "Respect." It wasn't hard to guess why. He'd thoroughly cleared out the Orc camps that had been harassing the valleys near the dark forest's edge. The Elves had watched him work. Since his arrival in the region, the Orcs had all but vanished from the forest borders. Only the giant spiders remained a problem.
By now, most factions in the region regarded Eric with a mix of awe and deep respect. Only the more distant strongholds hadn't caught up with his legend - but the rumors were spreading fast.
Just then, a female Elf approached. She looked Eric up and down, not with suspicion but with interest.
"Tauriel," she introduced herself crisply. "Captain of the Guard. I greet you."
Eric nodded. "Pleasure to meet you both."
Formalities exchanged, Legolas gestured behind him. "We would offer you better hospitality, but first I must deal with… these Dwarves."
He motioned toward the grumbling, armored figures behind Eric.
"They're my companions," Eric explained.
"My apologies, but we have no way of knowing what purpose Dwarves have for approaching our gates. They must be questioned."
With a subtle wave of his hand, elven guards stepped forward to search the dwarves.
"Oi, what's this supposed to be?" a dwarf barked. "You treat us like thieves!"
"This is discrimination!" another snapped.
"We're with Eric!" someone else protested. "Didn't you hear?"
"Hands off my pack, you twig-eared--"
"Our objective is the same," Eric cut in calmly.
The words hung in the air like an enchantment. Suddenly, everything froze.
If the Dwarves' goal was the same as Eric's, then any attempt to detain them could be interpreted as opposing him - which no one in their right mind wanted to do.
Legolas hesitated, turning back toward Eric. He opened his mouth to speak - only to be interrupted by the arrival of a breathless scout.
"The King requests your presence, Eric Starfell," the Elf said, bowing slightly.
Legolas sighed and backed off. "Take them all inside."
The Dwarves exhaled in relief. Bilbo Baggins, who had been invisibly shadowing the group and considering a sneaky escape, decided against it. He made himself visible again and shuffled into the center of the group, pretending nothing had happened.
They were escorted into the Woodland Palace, a majestic series of carved halls nestled into the roots of ancient trees.
Clang!
The great doors shut behind them with an echo of finality.
Though spared a full search or prison cell (for now), the Dwarves were still closely watched, with Elven guards flanking them from all sides. They grumbled their way into the reception hall and plopped down on benches, muttering suspicions and conspiracy theories.
After a time, Bilbo and Thorin were summoned to the royal chamber. Eric, however, had already been there for some time, speaking with the Elvenking himself.
"I've heard the stories," said King Thranduil, descending gracefully from his throne. "Since last year, tales have spread of a lone ranger in the Anduin Valley who stood against an Orc army and helped evacuate villages. They say he traveled with a grey-cloaked wizard."
"I know Gandalf well," he continued. "So my question is: how did you, a single man, manage such a feat?"
He studied Eric for a long moment - Eric could practically feel him scrolling through the man's mental "reputation" screen.
Eric patted the hilt of the sword at his hip. "With this."
Thranduil's eyes gleamed. "May I?"
Eric nodded. The Elvenking drew the blade and admired it, the craftsmanship unmistakably fine.
"A beautifully forged weapon," Thranduil mused. "Does it have a name?"
"Not yet," Eric admitted. "I haven't decided."
"When it does," said Thranduil, returning the sword with a flourish, "I imagine it will be a name that strikes terror into Orc hearts."
He returned to his throne with the fluid grace only Elves could manage. Then, more seriously, he said:
"Now, tell me, Orc-Bane, Savior of the Valley, Master of Strange Magics - why have you come to the Woodland Realm? Seeking refuge from Orc pursuit? Or merely passing through?"
Eric considered how to explain the tangled mess they'd landed in, but before he could open his mouth, Thranduil added:
"Regardless of the reason, you are welcome here. Stay as long as you like. The Woodland Realm offers patience and kindness… to friends."
The last word hung in the air like the snap of a bowstring. He had said nothing of the Dwarves.
Eric chose to be direct. "Those Dwarves are my companions. We're on a mission to reclaim Erebor."
Thranduil raised an eyebrow. "Ah. The Lonely Mountain. A strategically important place indeed - if the Dwarves reclaim it, it could serve as a vital bulwark against the darkness."
"Exactly."
"But I assume you haven't forgotten the slight issue of the dragon living there?"
"I plan to deal with the dragon," Eric said plainly.
Thranduil's gaze sharpened. "You?"
His lips twitched, like he was fighting off a smirk. A single human taking on a dragon? Absurd. Even when he himself had led a full army, he hadn't dared face Smaug head-on.
It wasn't that the dragon was unbeatable - but the cost in Elven lives would have been ruinous.
He opened his mouth, about to offer a gentle, condescending warning, when the guards returned - with Thorin and Bilbo.
Bilbo looked around nervously but relaxed slightly when he saw Eric nearby. Thorin, on the other hand, strode in like he owned the palace, chin raised, eyes narrowed.
Eric felt the tension in the air change the instant Thorin stepped forward.
Thranduil's pleasant expression vanished. The warmth disappeared from his voice. Gone was the amiable king - what remained was cold, polished ice.
Just as he'd said: patience and kindness are reserved for friends.
Diplomacy between Elves and Dwarves is rarely smooth. Thorin didn't even try. The moment Thranduil offered assistance in exchange for the return of Elven relics from Erebor, Thorin's scorn erupted like a volcano.
He mocked. He sneered. He accused Elves of cowardice and betrayal. He yelled. He may have invented a few new insults along the way.
Eric considered gagging him with a cloth napkin.
Thranduil's eye twitched. A faint crackle of magical energy danced across the air. Eric had never seen someone keep smiling and look so furious at the same time.
"I've never met a Dwarf so thoroughly lacking in shame," he muttered.
Then, with a voice colder than the Misty Mountains, Thranduil declared:
"If you wish to remain, then stay. Rot here for all I care. Time means little to Elves."
He snapped his fingers.
"Lock them up."
Despite all the goodwill Eric had built up, Thorin's rudeness successfully torched it in seconds. The Dwarves were disarmed and escorted away under heavy guard.
Bilbo, however, was spared. Thranduil, ever perceptive, saw no malice in the hobbit. He spoke to Bilbo briefly and even allowed him the freedom of the halls, much like Eric.
As for the rest of the company, well… they had time to reflect.
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