The hidden passage was long and winding, a subterranean labyrinth that felt like a trial of spirit.
Keith, in his Raven form, hopped along the rocky ceiling, trailing far enough behind the Company to remain a shadow. Finally, the path opened, and the fairy-tale splendor of Rivendell spilled into their vision.
Gandalf, a frequent guest of these halls, showed little surprise. But Bilbo Baggins, who had only heard of the "Last Homely House West of the Mountains" in bedtime stories, stood utterly spellbound by the cascading waterfalls and the silver-white architecture that seemed to grow out of the very cliffs.
The thirteen Dwarves, however, possessed a... unique aesthetic. Twelve of them looked on with mild curiosity, but Thorin Oakenshield looked only with resentment.
In Thorin's mind, every Elven spire was an insult to the memory of Erebor. Despite Rivendell being leagues away from the disaster that claimed his home, he wore his hatred like a shroud.
"Gandalf," Thorin barked, stepping toward the Wizard with a heavy, armored stride. "I told you: I will not seek aid from my enemies!"
Gandalf's patience, legendary as it was, was beginning to fray under the weight of Thorin's purposeless pride. "There are no enemies here, Thorin."
"The Elves cannot be trusted!" Thorin spat. "The ruin of my people proved that. They will seek to bar our way—or worse, betray us to the Shadow!"
Gandalf sighed. He knew the Elves had their flaws, but he also knew the reality of the situation. "We need Lord Elrond to read the map. Do you, or do you not, wish to reclaim your throne?"
Thorin's jaw tightened. The reclamation was his life's blood. "If this turns to disaster, the blood is on your hands, Wizard!"
"I shall manage the burden," Gandalf replied dryly. "Once we enter, let me speak. Try to maintain at least a shadow of dignity and grace."
Thorin glared but followed as Gandalf led the group down the winding stairs toward the palace.
As the Company crossed the long bridge toward the court, Keith emerged from the passage. He looked down at the breathtaking valley, then at the tiny dots of the Dwarves below. He was tired of hopping. He spread his wings to glide down, but a shimmering interface stopped him mid-beat.
[Location: Rivendell]
[Assessment: Lord Elrond and Lady Galadriel maintain a Hostility Level of 5/10 toward you (The Sovereign of Fire).]
Quest 1: Reduce Hostility to 2/10. Reward: Silver Mystery Box.
Quest 2: Reduce Hostility to 0/10. Reward: Silver Mystery Box (Upgraded).
Quest 3: Achieve a Negative Hostility Score (Friendship/Alliance). Reward: Silver Mystery Box (Sovereign Edition).
Note: Rewards are mutually exclusive. Must be completed before departing Rivendell.
Keith let out a raspy caw of amusement. Negative hostility? That meant making Elrond and Galadriel think of him as a friend. A dragon and the White Council, sharing tea and biscuits? It seemed an impossible feat for a short visit.
However, he was intrigued. Gandalf was one thing, but Galadriel's sight was far-reaching. She would likely see the Fire-drake beneath the feathers the moment he crossed her threshold.
If I want that Sovereign Box, I have to play my cards openly, Keith thought. I have to reveal who I am. If I do, will they strike? Probably. But I can fly. If they aim for my heart, I'll aim for the clouds. Besides, I have information they desperately need. I can buy their 'neutrality'.
He banked his wings and spiraled down toward the court.
Gandalf's group reached the small plaza. Minutes later, Lord Elrond arrived, leading a contingent of armored riders fresh from the hunt.
At the sight of the Elves—armed, mounted, and radiating martial grace—Thorin immediately panicked. "To arms! Protect yourselves!"
The Dwarves drew their axes in the middle of a peaceful sanctuary, looking as if they intended to take on the entire Elven host.
Perched in a tree overlooking the square, Keith watched with a look of utter disbelief. Thorin is a special kind of stupid, he mused. Elrond has the patience of a saint. If a group of rowdy Dwarves burst into my living room and started waving axes, I'd have roasted them into briquettes before they could finish their first insult.
"Gandalf," Elrond called out, ignoring the Dwarven posturing. He hadn't seen the Wizard in many years and greeted him with genuine warmth.
"Lord Elrond," Gandalf replied, his relief evident.
After a few brief words of greeting, Elrond turned his gaze to Thorin. He looked the Dwarf up and down, his face a mask of calm. "Welcome, Thorin, son of Thráin."
Thorin puffed out his chest, trying to maintain his "Royal" bearing despite the buzz-cut Keith had given him. "I do not believe we have met," he said coldly.
Keith, realizing that watching Thorin's social failures was a waste of time, took flight again. Gandalf, whose ears were tuned to the rustle of the wind, caught the sound of wings. He looked up, watching the Raven disappear into the higher balconies of the palace.
He's inside, Gandalf noted, his brow furrowing. He's so confident in his disguise that he walks into the heart of the Eldar. I must speak to Elrond immediately.
Keith flew into a quiet, shaded grove within the palace grounds. He shifted his form, this time shrinking into a fat, bushy-tailed Squirrel. He had always liked squirrels—nimble, twitchy, and overlooked.
Squeak-squeak—!
He snatched up two fallen pine nuts, stuffing them into his cheeks as he began his "tour" of Rivendell. He moved through the gardens, his little paws pattering over the marble. He had a secondary goal: he wanted to see if he could find Arwen, the Evenstar. The half-elven princess was a legend in her own right.
He didn't have a specific plan for her; he was simply a tourist with a very dangerous secret, enjoying the scenery before the "Great Revelation."