Succour

[texasdreamer01]

Title and Platform: Succour (AO3) (tumblr)
Rating: Teen
Fandoms: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Characters: Bard the Bowman, Thranduil
Additional Tags: Post-The Hobbit: The Desolation of Smaug, Pre-The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies, Tumblr Prompt, post-disaster, Allusions to Soul Mates, Awe at First Sight, First Meetings
Summary:
"The dragon is dead. Thranduil remembers what follows."

Laketown had always been dismal, not quite reaching the vibrancy that Dale had. It felt… temporary, as if the wood piles driven into the lake bed were an afterthought rather than the effort of many man-hours of labour to make a home out of the survivors.

Thranduil remembered when Laketown was built, and looking upon the ruins once again brought upon these Mannish people by a dragon, he felt something in his heart squeeze as he wondered how many times they would need to rebuild their home because of the follies of their neighbors. He tightened his grip upon the reins of his elk, scarcely feeling it over the thick leather gloves he knew would pad the armor that had been packed with the other supplies.

He hoped there would not be war – least of all for the people who had so tenuously survived the dragon twice-over, but also for the foolish, foolish dwarves who had woken it. That elves and dwarves had once called each other friend and now no longer was a bitter taste on his tongue, something he knew was shared by many of their kin. Whether they yet lived would be in question, but for now he had more pressing duties.

When he and his entourage of courtiers, soldiers, and healers arrived close enough for the Men of Laketown to see them, he breath caught at the combination of desperate misery and foul stench of deceased dragon. It was so like his last experience of dragons, with the only difference being that he sat upon the saddle intent to offer aid rather than being one of the bedraggled injured to receive it. He remembered that it had seemed like a blessing, even as his body burned and attempted to dissipate his spirit despite the studious panic of the healers.

How he had survived, he later ascribed to the ethics of those around him and no small intervention of the Valar. And looking upon the one Man who stepped forward from the crowd, looking rather determined but also so weary that his own shoulders stiffened in empathy, Thranduil wondered if he had been kept to the realm of the living for just this moment.

“Well met,” This leader of Men said, straight-backed and even-voiced. His soul shimmered even to Thranduil’s eyes, marking him as the only person he could be.

He smiled warmly, bowing his head in greeting, listening to the murmurs of the crowd as his heart thumped in his chest, “Well met, Dragonslayer.”

This is the one the Valar kept me for.

---

Bard clenched his hands, not knowing what to do with the grace of an elf. And this one, with the silver band across its forehead and looking composed enough to weather any dragon or other malediction, was surely the peak of elvish grace in a sea of otherworldly creatures. He thought of his children, only recently recovered alive from the chaos, the dead still strewn about the land and water, and the living the followed him as ducks in a row do, and exhaled.

“Dragonslayer I may be,” He acknowledged, tilting his head at what possibly was a compliment, “But such an act does not bind injuries, sate an empty belly, fend off the cold, nor bury the dead.”

Those were his first priorities – had always been his priorities – but now the net had been cast much wider than he was accustomed. He spied a sparkle in this elf’s eyes, and wondered if it meant earned respect the same as he had recently seen it reflected in the eyes of his neighbors.

“Indeed,” The elf intoned, some unnamed emotion that stirred the whisper of a breeze among the other’s kin. Before he could attempt discerning the whims of such people, the other straightened in their seat, “But a reputation it does grant, and one I am willing to heed.”

A pause followed, so slight that the next action seemed nigh instantaneous had he not been paying absolute attention – the elf had smoothly dismounted, and it was like a ripple of a stone thrown into a lake. It took but moments for all the elves to dismount, and it was then that Bard realized this was no mere courier.

“You are King Thranduil,” Bard said, lips feeling numb from shock. A part of him wanted to ask, Was the dragon that important? But he felt the self-chastisement on the heels of such a thought, relegating himself to staring at the man that seemed to have stepped right out of a child’s tale.

His words, which he himself could not categorize into either statement or question, bid a smile onto the king’s lips, “Indeed,” Said Thranduil, “You seem to have me at a disadvantage, Dragonslayer.”

While the Master had everyone well-trained into particular cues and eddies of unsaid sentiment, this one did not carry the sharp edge of lurking cruelty. Merely humor, well-cultivated to draw an audience in. Somewhere behind him, he heard a neighbor shifting on their feet, and it occurred to him that he was the fool obliged to respond.

Nevertheless, he licked his lips to steady his thoughts, attention barely pausing to the intrigued flicker on the elf’s face, “I am Bard,” He said, then gestured out to the ones who followed him, “These are who survived Laketown’s sinking.”

Elves though these people were, but he watched as they all seemed to count the survivors lingering near him. Thus far none had pursued any task other than finding each other and hastily bandaging what injuries they could with the clothes upon their backs. No food survived, and he knew his stomach was but one of dozens that twisted upon nothing.

Horror seemed to pass over them as they came to their own conclusions, and whatever varnish of dignity Bard thought they had seemed to be stripped away. All attention was routed to their king, who himself had a tight frown on his lips, likely calculating what a sorry lot they were.

Still, there was credit to the ephemeral grace of elves, for not a single unkind word was voiced, nor any expression souring in disgust. It spoke well of this Thranduil, who met Bard’s stare with his own. The king nodded at him, and it felt weighted with some emotion he was too exhausted to parse, “Bard of Laketown,” The man murmured, “By your leave, I would set our camp upon your shores. We have plentiful supplies and healers, and I would aid you and yours.”

Ignoring several of the emotions that spouted with such an unexpected display of humility and goodwill, Bard could only let his shoulders drop in abject relief, “I would accept your aid,” He said hoarsely, “Gladly.”

King Thranduil smiled at him, and Bard wondered if the expression was truly a confounding gratitude upon the man’s face.

Notes:

Written for Barduil month's April 1st prompt, "First Meetings".

The noun is derived from Middle English socour,[1] interpreted as the singular form of socours (“help; encouragement; remedy; protection; helper, protector”),[2] which is from Anglo-Norman socurs, sucurs and Old French secors, secours, (modern French secours), from Medieval Latin succursus (participle), from Latin succurrēre (“to run to the help of”), from Latin sub- (“from below”) + Latin currere (“run”).[3]

The verb is derived from Middle English socouren (“to help”),[4] from Anglo-Norman socure (compare modern French secourir), also from Latin succurrēre.

- Etymology for "succour" on Wiktionary

There doesn't seem to be anything recorded in the books about Thranduil being injured from dragon fire, as was alluded to in the Desolation of Smaug, but I imagine it might have happened during the Siege of Barad-dûr as part of the War of the Last Alliance, where only one-third of the Silvan army was led back to the Greenwood. As Sauron was pulling as many tricks as he could during that siege, I imagine any dragons he could call forth were pressed into his service - luckily for the plot, there is one unnamed dragon for use, which was described in Tolkien's poem "The Hoard" as having "red eyes, black wings and teeth like knives" (Tolkien Gateway).

In context, I can definitely see how Thranduil took one look at Smaug and Erebor, went "nope" and turned right around back home. On the other hand, I'm sure he empathized with the plight of Dale and the subsequent destruction of Laketown, because they were essentially bystanders to Smaug's ego. It wouldn't surprise me if he had helped supply aid in the construction of Laketown, only to return a few mortal generations later to see it all torn down.