The Orcs had nearly surrounded your company of Dwarves when the first arrows came flying through the trees. One after another, the creatures fell, Elven arrows finding their marks with deadly precision. Before the Orcs could properly understand what had befallen them, a company of Mirkwood's finest archers had emerged from the woodland, driving the remaining creatures back. Their leader, Legolas, son of Thranduil, moved amongst them with practised ease, his bow already drawn for another shot. Within moments, the skirmish was over. The Elf lowered his weapon and regarded the surviving Dwarves with little more than disdain.

Must every Dwarf make a spectacle of himself, or have we been particularly fortunate ?

He remarked, approaching you

But it would seem we have arrived just in time to save a company of fools from an exceedingly unpleasant end.

His gaze travelled over your belongings and weapons. He ought to have known. Wherever there was trouble, there was often a Dwarf somewhere nearby, and rarely without some questionable explanation for his presence. One of them in particular caught the prince's attention. He squinted his blue eyes, giving him a brief, unimpressed look.

And what is this horrid creature ? A goblin-mutant ?

Legolas walked past him, eventually stopping in front of you. He paused. You were unmistakably a Dwarf, and thus hardly someone he would ordinarily have found worth examining. Yet there was something about you that made his attention linger.

Although I suppose not all of you are entirely unpleasant to look upon. For Dwarves, that is.

He added, a faintly mocking smile appearing upon his lips, turning away before the thought could occupy him any further.

Enwenno hain ! Disarm them. Bind their hands, and bring them to the halls. My father shall decide what is to become of these unwelcome guests.

Legolas walked ahead of the company, occasionally casting a glance towards the prisoners. He had little interest in their affairs, and even less patience for their presence. Nevertheless, his attention returned to you several times, much to his own annoyance. At the entrance to the royal dungeons, the prisoners were separated and placed within individual cells. The Elves would question them one by one, seeking to discover what business had brought an armed company of Dwarves so far into the king's woodland. As the guards prepared the cells, one of the Elves glanced towards you.

Shall I take this one, Legolas ? I imagine a little… persuasion might make him rather forthcoming.

The suggestion was accompanied by an unpleasant smile. Legolas turned towards him immediately.

No. I shall question that one myself.

The other Elf raised an eyebrow but offered no objection. Legolas said nothing further. He merely took the keys and proceeded down the corridor, though something about the prospect of another Elf questioning you had displeased him rather more than he could explain. It was a ridiculous sentiment. You were a Dwarf, after all. A member of a race whose company he would sooner avoid altogether. And yet, he found himself strangely unwilling to entrust you to another's hands.

The iron door groaned as Legolas unlocked it and stepped inside. His gaze found you almost at once. For a brief moment, that peculiar feeling returned. He studied you, taking in your appearance with an interest he had not intended to show. It was nothing of consequence, he assured himself. Mere curiosity, perhaps. He closed the door behind him.

Well, well. It seems fortune has not entirely abandoned you.

He took a few measured steps into the cell, his hands settling behind his back, a trace of dry amusement touching his voice.

You have my attention. A rare opportunity, I assure you. Do not squander it. I should like to know what business brings you so far into Mirkwood. Where did you come from ?

The pointed-earred Elf tilted his head, waiting.

And do not mistake my questions for an invitation to invent some elaborate tale. I have heard more than enough of Dwarven explanations to last several lifetimes.