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Bilbo ran through the wood, away from the spiders and their hissing, heart racing. She arrived back at the nest, and found her dwarves had left. She looked around, and noticed boot tracks, creating a small path through the trees. With a grateful sigh, the little lass scampered off to find her company.
After a few minutes, she heard voices, whispering and muttering. A smile broke out onto her face, and she slipped her ring off of her finger and back into her trouser pocket, just before breaking out into a clearing where the dwarves stood in a cluster. “That's that, the spiders are all...” she trailed off as she stopped to take in the scene before her. To her left, the curled up corpses of three monstrous spiders. To her right, a pile of weapons that she recognized as belonging to her dwarves. And right in front of her, the company stood, surrounded by tall, slender elves, who had their weapons drawn. Bilbo went very still, quite uncertain of what to do! She heard Bofur give a shout of, “Run, Bilbo!” but it proved unnecessary. A pair of hands grasped Bilbo's shoulders, a knife sliding to her throat, and she was walked over to join her friends. The dwarves snarled and grumbled, and Thorin took Bilbo's hand, pulling her to his side in a surprising display of protectiveness. Bilbo slanted her eyes upward to look at the elf, and saw that it was a female, with a head of long, dusky red hair. Her eyes met the hard stare of the elf, who looked almost curious about the new addition. She stepped back, and an even taller elf, male, and with a head of golden hair, took her place. He reached for Bilbo, hands going to her hips, and she made a soft sound of protest as he untied the leather straps of her sword belt, taking her Sting away from her. It looked small in his hands. She frowned.
“May I ask what precisely is going on here?” she demanded, politeness forgotten. She had grown brave in her battle against the spiders, and she did not relish the thought of escaping death, only to be captured. The blonde elf narrowed his cold eyes down at her. “You have been caught trespassing in our land. You will be taken to the court of Thranduil, King of the elves of Mirkwood, where he will pass judgment on you all.” Well! Bilbo was frowning deeply now. But she looked around at her dwarves helplessly. The lot of them were still looking faint, and rather green around the eyes, a combination of exhaustion, hunger, and spider venom making them weak and cooperative. She sighed, and saw no way of avoiding this. Somewhere in her mind, she understood that in captivity, they would at the very least be out of the woods. And it was likely that they would be given food, drink, and rest, three things they sorely needed. So she lowered her head, and allowed herself to be pushed along. After a while they came to the edge of the forest, and stood facing a series of caves and small cliffs, with carvings and precious green stones decorating the walls. It was rather beautiful, though in a much wilder way than the halls of Rivendell. The company was walked across a stone bridge, pulled in through thick, heavy wooden doors, and lead directly to the dungeons. Bilbo had a passing impression of white marble, polished stone, and great, gleaming rooms, but she was too drained to take any real notice. Soon, the entire group was being shoved into a large, gaping cell, dark but for a couple of torches, and the door was locked after them. Shortly after, three large loaves of bread, a block of cheese, and some water were thrust through the bars, and the dwarves tore into it wildly. Bilbo got almost a full third of a loaf, and felt the pain in her belly receding. She drank of the water, and had a nibble of cheese. And then, she curled up right on the floor, too tired to stand. The dwarves followed suit, and they slept that way, in a big, tangled up heap, exhausted.
When the dwarves awoke, the poison had worn off, and they quickly became angry at their situation. Imprisoned by elves! And not just any elves, oh no. Prisoners of Thranduil! Thorin roared angrily, and spat upon the floor, for he hated the King more than any other elf. As he stomped and brooded, Balin explained to Bilbo in a hushed voice the story of how the dwarves had been battling Smaug, facing death, and had reached out to the elves of the wood. Thranduil, who felt he had been robbed of a precious treasure belonging to the elves by right, heard their cries, and did not help them. Thorin considered Thranduil a dishonourable creature, and loathed him.
After a day or so, when the company was feeling well again, that same blonde elf approached their cell, looking decidedly irritated with their presence. “Our King is ready to meet with your leader. You will be given an hour to gather your strength and your wits, and then you shall be brought before him.” With that, he turned and left, sweeping out of view. Bilbo turned with the rest of the dwarves, all eyes settling on Thorin, who stood with his fists tight and his jaw clenched, lips curled in a sneer. “So he feels ready to meet with me, does he?” he said in a dangerously quiet voice. And then he began shouting, banging his fists against the stone walls and cursing wildly in Khuzdul. Balin put a hand on his back, speaking low to him, trying to calm him. Bofur gave a short, biting laugh. “Oh yes, o'course, let's send him up to the King, hissing an' spitting an' swearing. See how well tha' will go over!” Balin looked over at him, then back at Thorin, and shook his head. “No. No, Thorin, it would not be wise for you to go to Thranduil, someone else will have to go in your place,” he said. Thorin growled. “What, I am unsuitable to speak to that- that rukhsul?” he spat. “No, lad! No, not unsuitable. But it would be unwise to send our King to such a dishonourable, untrustworthy brute. It would not do to put you in such danger.” Thorin considered this. He paced, fists clenching and releasing, a dark fury in his eyes. After a while, he stopped, and stared at his team. His eyes took in each member of the company, considering them. Then he nodded.
“The hobbit will go in my place.”
Bilbo started at that, backing away very quickly as the dwarves all turned to look at her, arms flapping in a panicked way. “NO! No, I am sorry, but no. No. That would be a very foolish thing to do, I am a horrible choice, you cannot be serious! I- I'm not even a dwarf, I'm a hobbit!” Thorin stepped forward, grabbing her by the shoulders and staring intensely into her eyes. “That is precisely why you are the best choice,” he said in a low voice. “You are a hobbit. The elves are mistrustful of dwarves, they consider us lesser beings. But a hobbit, they have no reason to be wary of. They would be less cautious toward you, they would treat you with respect and listen to you.” He smoothed a hand over her tangled, snarled braid. “You had the presence of mind to stall for time with the trolls. You are diplomatic and best understand the ways of language and reasoning. You must do this for us, Bilbo.” She gaped at him, blinking furiously, trying desperately to think of a way around it, but she knew there was no use. If she did not go, their fate would rest with a stubborn, rude dwarf, and they would surely be left to rot in their cell till the end of days. With a heavy sigh, Bilbo nodded. “Al-right, Thorin Oakenshield, I will represent you,” she said. The dwarves all relaxed and gave a small cheer, and Thorin gave her a rare smile, before gently knocking his forehead against hers. Then Dori spoke up.
“Right, well, if the hobbit is to represent us, she ought to be cleaned up,” he said, and then pulled out a water-skin and a piece of cloth, a look of grim determination on his face. An hour later, the blonde elf returned. “I have come for your leader,” he said curtly. Balin stepped forward. “As we are a company which puts equal shares of responsibility on each member, we have no leader,” he said, lying quickly. “Instead, we have elected a representative to go forth to your King.” And Bilbo was pushed forward. The elf looked down at her, eyes wide and mouth twitching. Bilbo's hair had been braided intricately, and she had been loaned the cleanest articles of clothing that the dwarves had. As such, she wore Kili's soft grey shirt (with the front laces fully tied), Nori's black pants (rolled several times at the cuff til her feet could be seen), Thorin's coat and mantle (which was far too big on her and hid her hands completely from sight), and Ori's fine leather belt (which was secured as tightly as it could be on her, and cinched uncomfortably at her waist). The elf sighed and said nothing, but unlocked the cell, letting Bilbo out. She left with an uneasy look back at her dwarves, but lifted her head high, trying not to panic.
Bilbo was walked through twisting halls and up tall staircases, the elf leading her with a hand on her shoulder. The silence made Bilbo tense, and she peeked up at him. He wore a green tunic, and a silver circlet on his head. “What is your name, Master Elf?” she blurted suddenly. The elf looked down at her, surprised, before the mask of cold indifference settled on his features. “What is yours?” he responded smoothly, his tone unimpressed. She lifted her chin. “I am Bilbo Baggins, of the Shire.” The elf blinked at the pride in her voice, and the corner of his mouth tilted up in amusement. “I am Legolas of Mirkwood,” said he. Bilbo nodded. “It is indeed a great honour to make your acquaintance, Master Legolas,” she said. The pair fell silent then as they climbed up a tall stairway. Bilbo climbed determinedly, though the stairs had not been made for hobbit feet and legs to scale, so she found in an uncomfortable journey. But after a truly ridiculous number of stairs, she was stopped. Bilbo looked around. She was standing on a platform, with symbols carved into the stone. A flight of steps led up to a higher platform, though it was high enough that from her position she could not see what was on it. Legolas stood tall beside her, gazing up onto the dais, an arm up across his chest. He began speaking, beautiful elvish words that Bilbo could not understand. She stood as tall as she could, chest puffed out, staring straight ahead with what she hoped was a cool, stern look in her eyes. Legolas finished, and for a moment it was silent. Then, a smooth, cold voice, deep and lovely, came down from above, and it seemed to slide over Bilbo's skin like silk. Legolas responded, and for a moment the elves just spoke, chatting over Bilbo's head. Then the voice from above said, “Leave us,” in that soft, deep voice, and Legolas looked down at Bilbo, nodded, and was gone.
For a while, there was silence. Then there was a soft sound of movement from above, the sound of light footsteps and trailing fabric. Thranduil descended from his throne, and came into Bilbo's view, gazing at her. Bilbo felt her heart stop for a moment. Before her was the most beautiful creature she had yet laid eyes on. He was tall, much taller than she, her head was only a little higher than his hips. His face was a pale oval, almost glowing in the darkness, with white-gold hair, straight and shining, down to his waist. There was a crown on his head of wood and red berries. His brow was straight and dark, and his eyes were the colour of the sky after a heavy storm. Those eyes were now regarding her, his soft lips pressed into a line. Bilbo realized how she must look, swimming in heavy fabrics, hair in a ridiculous collection of thick rope-like braids, and face pink from climbing all those stairs. Her tongue swept across her lips nervously, and she cleared her throat. Then she swept down into a low bow, the way she had seen the dwarves that first night on her doorstep, a fist pressed to her bosom.
“My lord Thranduil, King of the elves of Mirkwood, it is a great honour to be allowed in your presence,” she said to the floor, staring at her toes. She straightened slowly, and stared at his chest, unable to look into those gleaming eyes. “I would like to take this opportunity to apologize on behalf of the company for our intrusion. We became lost on our travels, and stumbled upon your most magnificent forest.” The elf King said nothing, but began walking around Bilbo in a circle with slow, deliberate steps, examining her.
“Legolas informs me that you come from the Shire, the home of hobbits, a race not well known for travel, and yet here you are, worlds away. You are not a dwarf, and yet you wear their clothing, and you follow them. I know that you are in the company of Thorin Oakenshield, the once-prince of the lost city of Erebor. And yet, instead of coming to face me himself, he sends a mascot,” he said, after a while. Bilbo felt her cheeks burn at being called a mascot, a mascot of all things, but she kept her eyes on the floor and said nothing. Suddenly, he was in front of her, bending at the waist until his face was directly in front of hers. He hooked a finger under her chin, lifting her face so that her eyes met his. Bilbo's breath caught in her throat as she gazed upon him, his blue-grey eyes peering down into her very heart. His eyes travelled over her face, the wide, hazel eyes, the soft skin, the pink cheeks and the plump little red mouth. His brow furrowed. “Why are you here, hobbit?” he asked softly. Bilbo swallowed.
“Most fair and kind King Thranduil, my company is journeying to the East, to the Iron Hills. There, Thorin intends to meet with his kin, Dain. I chose to join the trip because I longed for adventure, the sort which cannot be found in my homeland. I stand before you know, for the dwarves are still feeling weakened by the spider venom, but the spiders never stung me, for I stung them first,” she said, very quickly and in a very small voice. Her pulse was beating quickly in her throat, and she was sure Thranduil could see it. He still stared at her, eyes inquisitive, and unblinking. “I do not believe your tale, hobbit,” he said. “Perhaps it is true that you wanted adventure, and it may well be that the dwarves are still fragile. But I do believe you are lying. It is well known in this land, the greed in the heart of dwarves. I hear whispers on the wind, and they tell me of the rumours surrounding the Lonely Mountain. That the dragon has not been seen for many a year, and that the treasure may sit, unguarded. I am more inclined to think that you are on an ill-fated mission to reclaim Erebor.” He fell silent, and tilted his head, watching the way the hobbit went a touch pale, and the way her bosom rose and fell with quick breaths. He reached out and ran his fingertips against the curve of her cheek, and noted with surprise the way she leaned into the touch.
Thranduil stood and turned his back on Bilbo. “Your dwarves want to take back their home, and the great treasure that belongs to them. I understand that wish. I, too, feel... Desire.” He turned back to look down at her, and she was blushing, blinking rapidly. “There are stones in the mountain that once belonged to my people. Precious gems, made of purest starlight. I will offer your company my help, if you will return what is mine once the mountain has been taken back.” Bilbo furrowed her brow a little, and gave a helpless little shrug.
“Most wise and beautiful Thranduil, I truly wish I could give you that which you desire. But I am only a hobbit, and this is a quest of the dwarves. I cannot, in good faith, offer a treasure which is not and has never been mine,” she said, and she buried her hands in Thorin's fur mantle, trying to hide the way they shook. The elf raised a brow at her, considering. “Very well. The dwarves send me a mascot with a sweet face and flowery words. If this is the way they wish to negotiate, so be it,” he said. As he spoke, he walked toward her slowly, and rested his fingertips on her shoulder. “Follow me, hobbit.” He lead her to the edge of the platform, where a long, thin path wound up higher into the court. He walked behind her, steering her with one hand through twisting corridors and down long hallways. After a span of time, he turned her into a great, open room, a room of white marble. The main feature of the room was a large pool, right in the centre. It was wide, but didn't seem particularly deep, and a light steam rose up from it. There were stone benches lining the walls, and an elf maiden sat on one, combing through her long, wet hair. She was completely naked. Bilbo's eyes widened, and then she looked away. Thranduil spoke out in an even, commanding voice, the language of the elves echoing around the room. There was the sound of movement, and Bilbo looked up a little in time to see a pair of long, slender legs stride past her. The hobbit blushed, and looked straight ahead, focusing on the wall, where figures were carved. She felt Thranduil release her shoulder, and she looked around at him, her lips parting in surprise as she saw what he was doing.
The elf King was removing his crown, placing it on a long shelf that stretched along the entire wall. Then he removed his long, silvery cloak, folding it in half and laying it on a bench. He turned, now wearing only a long, white tunic, a pair of soft grey trousers, and long silver boots which went up to his knees. The elf maiden had returned, now wearing a white cloak. She approached her King, eyes lowered, holding a beautiful jug in one hand, and a piece of silky, silver cloth in the other. The King received them, spoke a word in Elvish, and she turned, quickly slipping out of the room. Thranduil placed the items on the bench, and then sat, pulling his boots from his feet. He stood again, and pulled his tunic over his head, folding it and putting it down. Bilbo watched, eyes wide, as he slid his trousers over his hips, down his legs, and then removed them entirely, folding them and adding to his pile. He turned to face Bilbo, and she felt her face go red as she stared straight up at the ceiling. She had never, never in her life, seen a naked man before. And now the most beautiful elf in the world was starkers before her, and walking toward her. She focused her wide eyes on his forehead as he came to her and guided her over to the bench. He lifted her easily, setting her on the smooth marble, and then he sank to his knees in front of her. He lifted the mantle from her shoulders, and she stared at his smooth, white shoulder. He removed Ori's belt and Thorin's coat, folding them away. Bilbo bit her lip, blinking, standing completely still. Thranduil reached forward with long, slender fingers, and brushed them lightly against her collarbone, making her tremble. He untied the laces of Kili's shirt, and then lifted her arms and tugged it up and off of her body. Bilbo was bright red now, her body feeling far too warm, and fought the urge to cover her bared bosoms. Somehow, she knew it would have been the wrong thing to try to hide herself from the elf. He reached out, and those fingers lightly traced the outlines of her breasts, sliding down gently, following the curve of her sides. Bilbo made a small noise in her throat, and swallowed, finding it difficult to breathe. Thranduil's hands stopped at her hips, and for a moment they rested there, a gentle weight against her skin. Then he hooked his thumbs into her trousers, and pulled them down, lifting first one foot and then the other, removing her of the garment. He then folded them and put them away.
Bilbo stood on the bench, her soft, round body bare as a newborn babe. Thranduil was still for a moment, staring at her with warm, curious eyes. He ghosted his fingertips over one pebbled, rosy nipple, then down over the wide curve of her hip, before slipping over the lower half of her belly. Bilbo let out a soft noise, her eyes shut, and rocked forward a little into Thranduil's hand. He slowly spun her around, so her back was to him, and his eyes traced the smooth lines of her back, curving out into her plump little bottom. But his hands went to her hair, and they gently ran along the braids, finding ribbons and sliding them away, looking for places where braids intersected and pulling them apart. His fingers slid from the top of her head down to the base of her neck, nails scraping a little against her scalp and making her gasp as he freed her long, curling, honey coloured hair. He lifted her then, up to his chest, and she instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck, staring up at him. He did not look at her, but took her in one arm and the jug in another, and walked to the edge of the pool.
Thranduil walked into the water, til it was up to his knees. Then he lowered, sitting in the shallow water, and sitting Bilbo in his lap. The hot water rose up over Bilbo's hips, and she hissed a little, before relaxing into the heat. It felt like she'd been blushing ever since she'd left the dwarves, and she felt a bit woozy and strange. The elf King slid her back on his lap so that her back was flush against his front, and she bit her lip hard to keep from making any noise. He tilted her head back, looking down into her eyes, and tilted the jug over her hairline. A slick, cool liquid dripped down over her head and onto her back, running over her hair and her breasts. He coated her completely, and then set the jug down. Then his fingers were in her hair, massaging her head until the oil bubbled and her eyes drifted shut against the pleasure. Those long, wicked fingers slid down over her neck and shoulders, working into the knots and the tension until her body went limp. He ran his fingers down over her front, kneading into her breasts. Bilbo gave a little gasp as he did so, and her nipples hardened quite suddenly under his fingertips. But he did not linger there, just moved on to her ribs, tickling her a little, and then over her hips. When his hands slid over her thighs, she made a noise of protest, but it was unnecessary. His hands ran over her legs and her knees, reaching down and rubbing in between her toes. Bilbo giggled a little at that, she had always had ticklish feet. She felt a hitch in Thranduil's breath that felt a bit like a short laugh, and she resisted the urge to turn to see if he was smiling. His hands slid back to her hips, and he rubbed them over and over, with greater and greater pressure until she was breathing quite hard, and then he lifted her, setting her standing beside him. He took the now-empty jug, and filled it with water, pouring it over her head. He refilled it, and then poured it over her again. He repeated this many times, all the while staring at her with bright, intense eyes, until the bubbles were gone from her. Then, taking Bilbo quite by surprise, he suddenly called out, his voice echoing in the room. The elf woman reappeared with a long piece of cloth in hand. Bilbo stammered, embarrassed all over again by her state of undress, but the woman plucked her out of the pool, and began drying her quite thoroughly. When Bilbo's little body was clean and dry, the elf began wrapping her in the silvery fabric she'd brought in with the jug, tying it around her neck and her hips. As she did this, Thranduil, who had dressed as Bilbo was being towelled off, bent down and began whispering instructions in the hobbit's ear.
Not long after, Bilbo was being lead once more by the elf King, back to the platform they had started out on. He called out in Elvish, and then bent again to bring himself to Bilbo's level. “Go forth, little hobbit, and deliver my message. Be sure you get it right, or I shall be very cross.” She nodded, staring at him with wide, worried eyes. Quite suddenly, he slid his hand around the back of her head, and lowered his lips onto hers. He pressed his kiss quite hard onto her startled little mouth, the soft flesh of his lips making her knees buckle under her. As her brain caught up with the rest of her and she pressed her lips back, he straightened, ending the kiss as abruptly as he'd started it. He spoke quietly in Elvish to someone just behind her, and she head Legolas's voice respond. Then Thranduil looked down at her one last time, turned, and ascended the steps back up to his throne. Bilbo felt a hand grab her shoulder, and she turned to face Legolas, who had his lips pursed in clear amusement.
* * * * * * * *
Back down in the dungeon, the dwarves were getting restless. Their burglar had been gone for hours. Thorin was pacing, throwing dark looks toward the cell door, and the others were sitting or standing uncomfortably, only doing a slightly better job at hiding their worry than their leader.
At last, they heard soft voices, and light footfalls, and the dwarves leapt up, running to the door of the cell. Thorin stood at the back, away from the others, eyes squeezed shut, certain that they had hurt his hobbit, that he had betrayed his burglar by sending her off in his furs. There was a quiet sound as the cell door swung open, and the dwarves went far too still. Thorin heard Bofur whisper a vicious little oath. He couldn't stand it, he shouted out, “Bilbo, what has happened to Bilbo? Bilbo!” The dwarves nearest him turned to look at him with wide startled eyes. And then the crowd parted. Thorin stared at his burglar, eyes wide, jaw tensing immediately.
Bilbo stood there, surrounded by her dwarves. She wore a long, elegant, elven dress that looked to be made of liquid silver. It slid over her full curves, cinched lightly under the bust by a light green ribbon. Her long hair was loose, tumbling down her back like a river of honey. It had been brushed, and was held back by a fine silver comb. A wooden circlet with delicate brown leaves was on her head. She was all but glowing in the darkness, her skin clean, her cheeks pink and blushing. The little lass didn't seem able to look directly at Thorin, she just stood there, wringing her hands nervously. After a moment, she cleared her throat. “The, erhm. That is to say, that- uhm- Yes, well. Right.” She took a deep breath, tilted her eyes to the ceiling, and began almost shouting, words leaving her very quickly. “The fair elf King Thranduil is thankful for the fine gift you have loaned him, and wishes now to return her, with the message that he enjoyed the use he found in her, but would appreciate it if in future Thorin, son of Thrain, would go forth in his own name, rather than lurking like a coward in the darkness.” She said this all in one breath. Thorin stared at her for a moment, face twisted in disbelief. Then he stepped forward and grabbed her by the shoulders, staring at the blush on her cheeks, the brightness in her eyes, and the little red bruise on her full lips. She gave him a helpless little smile and shrugged. “I did my best,” she said after a moment.
The scandalized roar of the dwarves was so loud, that it burst up from the prisons, and reached the sensitive ears of Thranduil on his throne. He sat back, a smile in his eyes, fingers dancing over his lips, enjoying the tingling that the hobbit had left there.