Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter One

At the age of forty-nine Bilbo Baggins was a well-established spinster, who, by all accounts (well, it depended what spiteful family member you asked) had been one since the day she had been born. But the truth was that she was just different. She was always too much of …something. You see Bilbo Baggins was the only child of one of the daughters of the old Took and her husband (a very respectable gentle Hobbit) by the name of Bungo Baggins. She was too Tookish for the Baggins' and too much of a Baggins for the Tooks and as such she was far too unpredictable for any decent Hobbit to be expected to settle down with her.

The truth was though that although Bilbo (just like any other Hobbit, thank you very much) loved having company and others in her smial with her, she also enjoyed her solitude. She loved to lose herself in her books for days at a time. To pour over her maps by the light of a candle and allow her Tookish side to take her mind leagues from the Shire. But then she also enjoyed allowing her Baggins' side free reign on occasion. Cooking up a storm in her kitchen and acting the lady of the house when called for.

But mostly she enjoyed the long rambling walks she could take, after all she did not have to worry about rushing home to take care of a husband or children. She could be gone for days with just herself, her bag and her stick for company. But – she would tell herself firmly – these walks and expeditions were in no way, shape or form adventures. No. Because Baggins' did not go adventuring. A Took or two was known to have done but she was a Baggins. A strange one yes but she was not quite willing to pass that line into eccentricity entirely.

Not yet anyway.

Things changed on the day that she returned from one such ramble. She had made it as far as Bree and had even spent a night in the Prancing Pony but the Men who were so much taller than her always made her a little nervous so she had come home earlier than she had planned. She had been glad of her decision though as unusually heavy rain in the hills – for the time of year – had caused the river to swell and she had made the last ferry across the Brandywine.

She trekked home, thankful for her fine luck and was on the last leg of her journey when she decided to push on through the day and night to make it to Bag End and not have to spend another night under the stars.

A lightness filled her when the bridge over the swollen Bywater came into view the light of the moon casting a silver glow over the land….

Bilbo eyed the large puddles that had formed round the base of the bridge that lay between her and Hobbiton with a crinkled nose and sigh. There was no way around it. She was going to get her feet very wet if she wanted to get home and even from where she was standing several yards away from the bank she could feel the mud oozing between her toes and the ground squelched every time she moved.

She scanned the sodden bank of the Bywater to see just how far up the water had come and her expression remained the same when she saw that at least three feet had been added to the edge.

What was that?

Bilbo narrowed her eyes and peered at something that looked like sack snagged in the weeds, the usually still pool had a current running through it and she wondered if it had come from further up river. After all if any of the Hobbits had been caught throwing anything into the water the Thain would not have held back in punishing them. You did not pollute the land!

She thought of one of the more barbaric practises that she knew some Men farmers practised when too many young were born to a dog or a cat.

She had dropped her bag and her feet were moving before she was conscious of even making up her mind, squelching and skidding from the path to the edge of the water. She stopped. Like most Hobbits Bilbo could not swim. She gulped and glared at the lapping water as though it was going to rise up and drown her all by itself.

She eyed up the distance between herself and the sack.

She should leave it.

But what if there were kitten or puppies inside of it?

The very thought of their little lungs filling with water decided her and she rushed back to her bag for her abandoned stick and returned to the water.

The stick was quite a bit taller than herself and had a curve at the top. It was thick and hefty for leaning on and would not break easily.

She tried to lean over and reach out with the stick but still came up several inches short.

Bilbo didn't think twice about laying fat on her stomach and dragging herself as close to the water as she could get. Her elbows sank into the mud and her skirt became sodden and weighed down with the dirty water but she ignored the discomfort and focused on her goal.

The change in angle gave her a better view of the sack.

A completely different view.

She gasped.

It was a…person?

It was. She could make out a head and the almost weed like tendrils of hair drifting in the water.

"Oh dear, oh dear," she panicked, dragging herself recklessly closer and stretching out with the stick.

She could make out an arm. They looked slight. Maybe a child. She could manage the weight of a child and there wasn't the time to go to one of the houses across the bridge for help.

She hooked the curve of the stick around the child's arm and tugged. The sudden movement released the body from the confines of the weeds and roots and the sudden weight of the body had Bilbo digging her elbows and toes into the mud trying to stop herself from being dragged in.

The arm began to slip, working free of the stick. Sending out an apology for the pain this was going to bring the child – if it was alive – she moved the stick quickly to the child's arm pit, snagging it and wasting no time in dragging the stick up.

Hand over hand she worked the body closer until it was close enough for her to grip its soaked and slimy shirt with her hands.

She worked her way onto her knees, sobbing with the strain, and braced herself. She pulled the surprisingly heavy body to her. With one last burst of strength she succeeded. Her legs slid, and finally she had the child in her arms sprawled across her but free of the water.

She held the body tightly, sobbing and gasping, shaking like a leaf.

"It's alright," she spoke to the body, patting its back as she tried to control herself and get together enough energy to roll the body from on top of her.

She didn't.

But she did manage to slide herself from under it with some effort and then, standing on trembling legs, she pushed against its right shoulder and with some effort turned the body onto its back. Immediately she lowered her ear to its mouth and then its chest. She sobbed with the relief. The chest had moved.

"You're alive," she sobbed, straightening up and for the first time looking at the face of the-

She gasped.

It wasn't a child.

It was an elf.

The light of the moon showed her the delicately pointed ears clearly showing through the dirty hair plastered to his (yes, definitely male, her mind assured her) head. How could she have thought he was a child? He was at least several feet higher than her if not twice as high.

Mud covered him from head to toes as did chunks of weeds and things she was sure she did not want to identify. She had no doubt that she looked the same. Her skirt was plastered to her legs and she could feel the grit and the mud on her skin every time she moved.

"What am I going to do?"

---

Bilbo sighed wearily and rubbed at her eyes. The mud on her clothes had now dried and was making moving a restricted task. The late morning sun was shining through the round window of the sitting room.

It had been a long night.

Trying to carry the elf back to Bag End alone would have been impossible and she hadn't even attempted it. Instead she had dragged her quilt from her pack and put it over the prone figure and used the pack as a make-do surface to lift the elf's head from the wet ground. She then rushed over the bridge, no longer caring about the puddles she had to splash through and went straight to the house of the nearest person Hobbiton had to a doctor – after all Hobbits were a hardy bunch who didn't need medical aid all that often.

He along with his son had helped her in getting the elf to Bag End where she had to make a passable bed in front of the fire, dragging all the spare bedding and quilts from the linen cupboard and stripping two of the beds in the guest rooms.

She racked her brains in trying to find a suitable alternative but next to commissioning a Man sized bed the mattress of quilts, pillows and linen in front of the fire would have to do for the time being. The doctor had told her that he was more than willing to have the Elf stay at his house but Bilbo knew that there would not be enough room and the doctor was a busy man as he looked after the local animals when he was not called upon to care for the Hobbit population.

The doctor had diagnosed the elf after he had helped her in washing and changing her guest into clean dry clothes. The blush that had come to her cheeks had scorched her to the bone. It had been no surprise to Bilbo that the elf was deep in a fever and he had supplied her with the needed teas and herbs along with the instructions. She was glad to find out that there was nothing but bruising to his arm from when her stick had dug into his skin.

So now she was alone with a very sick stranger.

Well, she would be no good to the poor thing if she herself became sick, she thought practically.

Bilbo dashed to her room and stripped off her clothes and made quick work of scrubbing the mud from her body and hair. Changed into clean smelling, dirt and grit free clothing she felt rejuvenated despite the lack of sleep and was ready to care of her sick elf.

Once she had got him all tidied up and cleaned of the rest of the mud and weeds she found herself staring at him.

She remembered her mother's stories about Rivendell and Lord Elrond and his children. How it was possible for a male elf to be described as beautiful. Bilbo had a good imagination but even she had found it difficult to imagine any kind of male in anything other than terms of handsome. Beautiful was a term kept for women and babies.

But now she could see what her mother had meant.

Long blonde hair, so pale it was almost white in places, fell straight around his face, brushing the tops of his shoulders. It was strange seeing such hair on a man. Hobbit men usually kept their hair short, or, if they were feeling daring had it cropped just below the earlobe.

His skin was flushed with sickness but she had no doubt that when he was healthy it would be a paleness to complement his hair.

His face was slim and finely boned with clear cheek bones.

He was beautiful.

---

It took over a week for the fever to break and hours of delirium – not to mention the countless loads of sweat soaked linen Bilbo had to wash - as the fever oozed out of her guest in salty rivers, tossing and turning on her sitting room floor (which she had made as comfortable as any bed – even if she did say so herself) he would twist the quilts about him as he tossed to and fro.

Thankfully the doctor still came by twice a day and while he was there she had him take care of the patients more…intimate care.

Bilbo had also sent word to the runners that should anyone be seeking an Elf of her guest's description they could contact her. But until any family could be found she felt responsible for this sick soul who had been found so far from where any of his people travel.

She felt weak with a relief that she had not felt since she had first pulled him from the Bywater when his eyes – that thus far had held the hazy, unfocused gaze of sickness on the rare occasions that they were open at all – opened and for the first time focused on her face.

He looked at her in confusion and frowned when she felt his forehead. It was dry and sweat free for the first time in days.

She smiled at his broadly.

"Hello there,"

---

It took some days for Legolas – Bilbo had found out his name during one of his wakeful periods – to work up to staying awake for more than a few minutes at a time. During his fever Bilbo had only managed to get just enough food into him so he was weaker than he could have been but her main concern had been getting water down his throat.

By the fourth day he was sitting up and Bilbo had managed to pile together a bunch of pillows to make a comfortable support for his back.

She sat beside him with her legs folded under her spooning stew into his mouth. He had been on a weak broth since he had woken and she was glad to finally see him managing something a little more substantial.

She smiled at him when she could see the bottom of the bowl and felt like cheering at the accomplishment. She had purposefully picked one of her smaller bowl, true, but it did not take away from the fact that he had just eaten something that was as close to a proper meal as he could manage.

"You will be up and about in no time at all," she told him cheerfully as she shifted her legs from beneath her, allowing the blood to flow properly before she tried to stand.

"My thanks, Miss Baggins," Legolas nodded his head and smiled faintly at her.

"Oh, none of that Miss Baggins rubbish," she chided him as she stood, "My name is Bilbo you have my leave to use it,"

"My thanks, Bilbo,"

---

After a week of her patient-guest being awake and able to sit up he was quickly regaining his strength and she felt as though there had never been a time when he was not in her house.

It had taken a few days to get used to Legolas actually being awake and able to talk to her, she had gotten that used to him making no noise other than his fevered groans and shouts – something about spiders had come up more often than anything else so she had made sure to keep an eye out for the eight legged beasties and throw them outside before Legolas saw them – that the fact that he was suddenly able to string together sentences came as a bit of a surprise

Not that all the discomfort was only on her side.

She knew that it must have been difficult for Legolas too as he got to know her more. In fact she was sure it was more so for him as he was almost helpless in her home, ill and at her mercy.

But eventually they got to know each other well enough to talk freely without the awkward stilted silence punctuating the air every few words.

In fact it was not rare to hear laughter filling the sitting room of Bag End as Biblo told tales of her childhood or dredged up memories of her cousins and what they had gotten up to in their youth.

Legolas did not speak much of his home or his family and Bilbo did not want to appear rude by pressing him or perhaps bring up things better left alone when he was still recovering.

But what she did know she kept stored at the back of her mind ready for any more information the Elf might let slip. She knew that his mother was 'gone' whither this meant that she had died – it was so hard to imagine an Elf dying, they seemed to be eternal, but then she supposed time would demand payment from all eventually – or she had sailed from the Grey Havens she didn't know. Bilbo did not know much of such matters only that both possibilities meant that Legolas would not see her again. She also knew that though his mother was no longer in his life - a fact that made her want to hold him tight and never let go (even if he could be more than a hundred times her own age – his father was.

And that was the extent of her information.

And that was as much information as she would have because she would not ask anymore of him.

---

The loud thumping at the door, at what Bilbo guessed to be several hours before dawn – a very unHobbit time to be calling on anyone (unless of course you had just dragged a half-dead Elf from the Bywater and needed help getting him home – but the chance of that happening twice in one month was laughable to Bilbo) – woke her so suddenly that her heart was beating in her throat.

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

Panicking she leapt from the bed before her mind even had the opportunity to know what she was doing. The blood rushing to her head forced her to stand still for a moment or fall over and it gave her a moment to see that it was still dark outside and that whoever was at her door seemed to be set on banging it down.

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

She felt in the dark with shaking fingers for her candle and once found and after several tries she had it lit in her hand. The light flared in the darkness and she winced.

"Bilbo," the tired voice drifted to her from the sitting room and she quickly threw a dressing gown over her night clothes and dashed to what for all intents and purposes was Legolas' bedroom once the sun had gone down.

"Legolas, are you alright?" she dashed to his side when she saw him struggling with the quilts and trying to rise. He was doing a lot better but despite the fever breaking and the strength he was regaining he was still weak and his temperature was still higher than she would have liked.

"Of course,"

"What are you doing? You stay in that bed," she snapped, trying her best to put the blanket back over him.

He was having none of it though.

"I will come with you," he told her, his tone telling her he would not welcome an argument, "they-" he jerked his head in the direction of the door "do not sound very friendly,"

As if in agreement with his words more thuds and bangs came from door and she was sure one of them sounded like a boot connecting with the wood. If they had left a mark on her door they could jolly well repaint it.

"Stay Legolas," she told him firmly.

He opened his mouth to speak but she stopped him. He was her guest and she liked to think that they had become friends during the time that he was awake and she would not have him endanger his health.

"No, if there is something wrong I will call,"

Bang.

Bang.

She stood before he had the chance to argue and marched to the door mumbling under her breath the whole time.

"Someone had better be dying. Rude! That's what this is. Waking up decent folk at this hour,"

She opened the door the tiniest crack, holding her candle high and before she could even squeal with the shock of it the door was knocked from her hand. She jumped back to stop it colliding with her and then regretted her actions as it gave whoever it was a clean entry.

A tall figure stood in the darkness but they had not yet entered her home.

"Where is he?" the figure demanded

Huh?

Bilbo's poor befuddled mind struggled to keep up and she fought to stop the hand holding the candle from trembling like a leaf.

"Where's my son?"

Son?

"My son, Legolas," snarled the figure.

Legolas? Son? This snapping, growling shadow was Legolas' father?

"I do not know what you wished to gain by kidnapping him,"

Kidnapping?

"Now you just wait one minute," Bilbo had finally found her voice and was determined to set this stranger straight.

How dare he come to her house and…and terrorise her in this way. She was having none of it.

"Father!" Legolas' voice – the sharpest she had ever heard it, sounded from behind her and she turned slightly to see him standing slightly hunched in her hallway, gripping onto the wooden surrounding of the sitting room entry way with one hand and holding a candle with the other.

The stranger brushed past her and glided towards Legolas.

She heard the mumbling of more voices in the darkness of her garden. She tried peering into the gloom but it didn't matter how hard she tried she couldn't make out anything thanks to the heavy cloud cover that had blanketed Hobbiton for most of the day.

Wonderful, there were more of them.

She returned her gaze to Legolas and saw him wrapped in his father's arms, both of them hunched comically so as not to bang their heads on her ceiling.

They drew apart.

"This creature," the father sneered glancing over his shoulder at her, "will be punished,"

"Creature!" she snapped, the sting of the insult making her brave for a moment.

And just what did he mean by punishment? She hadn't done anything.

"No father,"

"Who do you think you are?" the stranger rounded on her and for the first time she got a clear look at him.

Yes, he was definitely Legolas' father.

"Father enough!"

Legolas was grasping at his father's arm trying to pull him away.

"Bilbo helped me,"

This seemed to stop the Elf in his tracks and he blinked several times before he drew back from her.

"How so?"

"Bilbo found me and has cared for me since,"

Bilbo gulped. If his father wanted to hurt her – she was sure she had spied a blade hidden behind the gathered fabric of his cloak – there would be nothing Legolas could do to stop it.

"I owe you an apology, Mistress," the Elf bowed slightly at his waist.

"I am Thranduil, I regret that I have not made the best impression,"

She nodded her head but did not go any nearer to him.

"Baggins, Bilbo Baggins, at your service,"

She felt a draft at her back and turned her head just enough to catch the approach of the other figures moving into the door frame from the garden.

"Your Highness-"

Everything after that became a little mumbled.

She turned her gaze firmly to Legolas who met her eyes with an embarrassed flush.

Obviously he had neglected to tell her something very important.

---

Royalty or not Bilbo was not at all certain of her newest…guest? If you could call someone who had all but burst into your home and threatened you with bodily harm a guest. In fact for the first several days of his presence in her home she never let him out of her sight when they were in the same room.

It was clear to see where Legolas had got his looks from but there was something feline in Thranduil's movements. Something that for those first few days had Bilbo on edge until she was sure he would not sprout a tale, claws and teeth and tear into her if she sneezed wrong.

But, just as Legolas had, his father quickly became a habit and once she had grown less leery of him she found that she enjoyed the other Elf's company. And she noticed the change in Legolas now that he obviously wasn't trying to hide who he was – something that she had given him a sound talking to about.

Having another tall person in her home had been problematic when it came to making up another suitable 'bed' and she had to strip the one remaining guest bed and even take some old curtains outs of storage to produce an adequate mattress.

Both Elves were now set up in her sitting room when it came to sleeping and although Legolas' was still too weak for his bedding to be packed away daily Thranduil's was lifted from it place beside his son and replaced at night.

Bilbo was finding that she enjoyed the company of two Elves even more than the company of just one and at night once supper had been served she would sit in her father's arms chair with Legolas propped up facing her and Thranduil sitting on a large chair she had found in one of the storage rooms, his bedding draped across the hard wood.

The made a very domestic scene on an evening she supposed and she did as little talking as she could manage as she tried to tease tales from Thranduil and get him to tell her about far away places and people.

Hobbits as a rule did not like to think about the 'outside'. Middle Earth was filled with bizarre creatures that – as long as they left the Shire be – Hobbits in general were more than happy to pretend didn't exist.

But not Bilbo. She relished the idea of people, places, sights, sounds and smells she had never seen. And, if she was being perfectly honest with herself, she never would.

Thranduil humoured her with a smile and a regal nod of his head – the very kind she could imagine him giving to a crowded throne room. Did he even have a throne?

Her focus would remain fixed on him as he weaved images of times past and places far away.

It sounded wonderful.

---

Just as Bilbo thought she could live content like this for the rest of her days, just her and the two Elves (and of course the four royal guards who had tagged along who popped in occasionally – thankfully they had come up with their own sleeping arrangement) but like she knew it would have to it came to an end.

Legolas was well enough to travel, in other words he could sit on a horse without toppling off. And she knew it was ridiculous to expect them to continue sleeping on her sitting room floor – even if it was far comfier than a regular mattress in her opinion – and then there was the little fact that Thranduil was a king and had bigger things to worry about than telling stories to a little no-body-Hobbit.

So it was with a heavy heart that Bilbo waved them goodbye and she only just managed to stop the tears from falling when Legolas had held her close in his arm in one of the best hugs she had received since her mother had died.

"I will miss you Bilbo," Legolas murmured into her ear, pressing a kiss to her cheek before pulling away.

"You will come and visit us though?"

The hopeful, childish tone to his voice had her nodding her head although she knew it was a lie. Dreaming and imagining faraway places was one thing but she was nowhere near brave enough to actually go.

"Wonderful, it is only fair that I get to wait on you hand and foot for a little while," Legolas chuckled and she joined in with a giggle.

She did not begrudge a moment spent looking after him during his illness or in his company since.

"Indeed, we will keep a room in constant readiness for your arrival," Thranduil added, smiling broadly at her, "And should you ever be in need, I will always be at your disposal, Lady Hobbit,"

Bilbo was becoming very flustered with all of the attention and flushed when Thranduil bent low over her hand a pressed a soft kiss to the back.

"Elf-friend," he whispered into her skin, glancing up at her, his eye twinkling in the light.

And then they were gone.

Just as quickly as they had come into her life they had left it.

Where she had previously found that she enjoyed her solitude now she found the silence deafening and when she went back to her books and maps - that she had sorely neglected the past few months - she found them lacking. Thranduil had been a fount of knowledge on such things and his voice had sent her into a dreamlike state more than once as she had listened to him and painted the pictures in her mind. Her books could no longer do that for her...

---

It would be a year before adventure would come walking up to her gate in the form of an old man…

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

Thranduil fought to remain calm, his son had been missing for weeks, far too long in his estimation. It was not unknown for Legolas to go off 'wondering' for some time, he enjoyed travelling the greenwood and accompanying the Rangers on their journeys. But this was different. The growing darkness falling across his Kingdom had led to Thranduil issuing specific directions to his people. He did not like doing such a thing – if his people wished to leave the Realm for some time it was none of his affair – but an absence caused by a death needed to be known. If they planned to leave then the scribe trusted with the task needed to be informed. The long life spans of his peoples tended to make them see things far more calmly than many others but the darkness had set even his nerves on edge and so the new census was to set his own mind at ease as well as the minds of those who came running to the guard in a panic when they had not seen a costumer for the past three days when they came to the store every day.

Legolas knew this and had informed him of his planned trip – just a round of the Greenwood, father – but he should have returned weeks ago.

Thranduil rose from his throne and barked at the guard by the door to run for the captain of the guard and his advisors. It was time he put being a father above being a king.

---

It took three days of bickering between his advisors and captain of the guard before he was able to leave his halls accompanied by four guards – too many, he had argued, would attract too much attention.

On the second day the search parties he had sent out returned empty handed. There was no sign of his son, in fact there was no sign of him even being in the Woods.

That made up his mind once and for all and by the time he was setting out with his guards he had one destination in mind.

"We make for Imladris,"

---

His guards were uncomfortable in the Hidden Valley, and Thranduil himself was not happy in this place either. They were so used to being surrounded by the countless trees and throbbing roots (ill as they had become with the growing darkness) that being so open was unsettling to all of them. Of course being surrounded by their brethren who had become known as High Elves was not helping matters. Already he had to have harsh words with his guards. They were guests and it was not their place to cause scenes. The horses needed rest and the stop was necessary. If they wished to take issue with anything then could they please leave it until the last day.

Lord Elrond was hospitable and welcoming – making Thranduil feel slightly guilty for his dark thoughts against the Rivendell elves – and had happily told him that Legolas had passed through some time before, seeking Mithrandir. A weakness had passed through him as soon as Elrond told him this, a weakness born from relief.

Everything in him had baulked at the idea of needing any assistance but he would swallow his pride countless times if it led to him finding his son.

He was ready to set out the very same hour of his arrival in the Hidden Valley but practicality and necessity forced his hand.

His guards were happy to train with the hunting parties, pitting their skills against the High Elves in the training ring helped to settle some of the tension. He had joined in with training a few times and had enjoyed giving himself over to the smooth movements of swinging his sword. Years of ruling the Greenwood had not dulled his skill – the consequence of living in a troubled kingdom – but he quickly found more enjoyment in watching the training than in joining in. The Rivendell elves were terribly clean in their fighting skills while his men were…less so. He couldn't keep the smirk from his face as time after time Elrond's men were left at the sharp end of a blade and flat on their backs. Perhaps their High brethren would learn something from this visit. 

The library was where he spent the majority of his time though, and when he was certain that no one would interrupt him for a while he would seek out any writings that might touch on the sickness that was seeping into his land. The Elvish tomes revealed nothing.

---

They galloped away from Rivendell and after a week spent in the Hidden Valley it couldn't have come sooner.

Two days before this his time in the library had been interrupted by a messenger from Elrond summoning him to his study as he had news for him.

A Ranger had been waiting with Elrond and told him of his son's presence in a place called Hobbiton, the Shire. The Ranger had taken it upon himself to seek out the Elves rather than to wait for a chance meeting. And Thranduil was glad of this. If he had to wait for word to drift to him through countless travellers he didn't want to think how long it would have taken for the word to reach him.

Plans were quickly made and he left Rivendell as soon as it was possible, galloping towards this Shire and a home called Bag End.

The Ranger had not been able to tell him much other than that the Hobbits were a peaceful people who lived an almost idyllic life.

Thranduil thought back over his years of travelling before he had settled in the Greenwood and at no time could he remember encountering a people called 'Hobbits' or a place called the Shire. But then his travelling days had been a long time ago. Both the Ranger and Elrond had referred to the Hobbits as 'Shirelings' and 'Halflings' during the conversation – a family or two was known to Elrond – but this still shed no light on who the Hobbits were.

Elrond had only assured him that Hobbits were not in the habit of kidnapping and holding for ransom Elven princes. He had said this with a glint in his eye and a smile tugging at his lips and Thranduil knew that he was being laughed at for his worry.

It was alright for Elrond, he growled inwardly and clutching the reins tighter, living in a protected valley and knowing for certain where each of his children where.

He would kill this Hobbit if he found that Legolas had been hurt and then he would kill his son for worrying him so, but only after he found why he was looking for that thrice cursed wizard.

---

It took over two weeks of riding for Thranduil and his guards to reach the Shire and it was indeed a peaceful and tranquil place. Rolling hills and grassy fields spread out for miles and the Hobbits – a strange folk indeed with their bare, furry feet – lived in the strangest houses he had ever seen, actually burrowing out homes in the side of hills. Like rabbits, his mind provided. And yet there were doors and windows and little fenced off gardens.

They seemed docile enough, working in their fields and gardens but Thranduil knew that farming tools could as easily rip open a man's skull as they could plough a field.

The Hobbits would look up from their tasks and look at them with suspicion before mumbling to one another, glancing back at them and then going back to work, their pipe or their drink.

It took until nightfall (and asking several passing Hobbits) to find the right 'house' and he didn't even pause to think before he slid from his horse, threw the reins to the first guard to dismount and stalked to the door.

Leaning down to reach the door he slammed his fist against the wood. The bubbling anger and months of worry made his actions more violent that he ever would have considered.

He waited.

Nothing.

He pounded on the door once again, punctuating it with a solid kick from his boot clad foot.

The door finally cracked open.

His temper snapping he pushed it open.

---

Thranduil had no idea what to make of this strange little creature who introduced herself so prettily while obviously trying not to cower from him.

After the diabolical actions that had been his initial introduction to her she had every right to throw him from her home and he flushed at the very thought that he could have harmed her with his actions had his son not stepped forward.

He quickly looked over to Legolas to find him sagging against the wall, his cheeks flushed and shining with sweat.

The flush of illness quickly changed to one of discomfiture when one of the guards tried to get Thranduil's attention from the doorway and the Hobbit's eyes fixed on his son.

"Your Highness?" she squeaked.

---

Thranduil found that what he enjoyed most about his time in the Shire was the pure domesticity of it. During the day Bilbo would potter about her home in what she called her 'working dress' - a grey affair that hugged her waist and fell to below her knees in the way of Hobbit clothing - with a crisp white apron over it. She was so fastidious that he notes with great amusement that more often than not the apron was as white when she took it off as it was when she had put it on. She would be everywhere at once, moving swiftly on her silent feet. Sometimes in the kitchen, but then in the garden and then checking Legolas' temperature and tucking the covers tighter around him if needed or offering his still slightly fevered son a drink of water if he could manage it that day. He had a feeling that Legolas was enjoying being mothered by the fussy little creature.

While his son was relishing in his treatment Thranduil tried to make himself as useful as possible, he was a king but he had not reached his advanced age without picking up more than a few useful skills that could be put to use in a home such as Bag End. So it was with a light heart that he shed his kingly demeanour and became what he had heard the humans call a 'Jack of all trades' for the little Hobbit who had welcomed his son into her home and had forgiven him so readily for his unforgivable behaviour. He had threatened her in her own home, forced his way in and yet she forgave him with a shrug and a trembling smile while going off to make tea.

"You really don't need to," Bilbo had fussed, screwing her once wrinkle free and pristine apron viciously in her hands, twisting the fabric nervously when – once armed with various tools that had been found in one of the many storage rooms of Bag End – he began to measure up one of her windows that was allowing in a slight draft. It was a fine day and perfect for doing such work.

"Mistress Baggins –" she looked at him pointedly, "Bilbo," he amended, "Allow me to be of use. It is the least I can do for the kindness you have shown to us,"

And she had been kind. There was nothing about her actions that made him feel unwelcome and he had a feeling his son would be happy to stay here for the rest of his days. Even his guards were enjoying their stay. Although he made sure that they stayed away during the day – or as far away as any of them would go (apparently the captain of the guard had issued some death threats before they had left) – Bilbo insisted on them all having dinner together whenever the guards loitered at the right time. And they did loiter. Often. 

She had stuttered and blushed so prettily at his remark and he had been unable to prevent the smile from coming to his lips as she fled back to the smial mumbling something about checking on Legolas. He did not mention that she had only just settled his son with a bowl of soup several minutes before. Instead he grinned like a fool and set to work on the window pane.

He had not told the Hobbit that his son was her own age many times over. He didn't think it would matter to Bilbo much anyway.

And then there were the few trips he had made to the market with her. She had told them – he and his guards – that Hobbits were nervous of 'big folk' (anyone who was more than a few inches taller than they were seemed to be classed as one of the 'big folk') and so he wasn't to be offended if he was given a wide berth.

Bilbo had not been happy with him going with her. It wasn't a guest's job to get the shopping, she had told him time and time again, one hand on her hip and the other gripping the handle of the basket as she stood before him in a floral dress - "Not fit to be seen out in," she had told him of her grey dress. But he always insisted on accompanying his little hostess on her weekly excursion and would only smile at her show of anger while dropping her 'outside shawl' over her shoulders. And every week she would shake her head and walk out the door, him close on her heels. Bilbo Baggins – Thranduil thought to himself more than once – looked quite fetching when she was annoyed.

Despite the wariness the Hobbits showed towards him they seemed to view him as something exotic, eyes as wide as one of Bilbo's saucers would be fixed on him as he strolled through the market, the tallest being there – other than his guards who were hovering discreetly behind (as discreetly as they could anyway) - as he followed his hostess from stall to stall.

But it was the nights in Bag End he enjoyed the most, once his guards had reluctantly left for the evening (the traitors would stay for as long as they could before he growled at them to make themselves scarce), and it was just he, Legolas, Bilbo and the fire place in her sitting room.

The fire blazing as the night darkened outside ,all three of them sipping at their mugs of tea as they spoke of anything. But mostly they spoke of the world.

Bilbo, he had discovered, was not well travelled and the furthest she had been from her own doorstep had been to the town of Bree and even then her visits had never been long. So, it shouldn't have surprised him he supposed when with eyes shining with curiosity she asked for stories of the world. For tales about places that she had only seen in her books and maps – of which she had an impressive collection. The little Hobbit had a thirst for adventure and when he had told her so she had only laughed and told him Baggins' did not have adventures, that was left to the more wilder cousins on the family tree – the Tooks and the Brandybucks.

He was more than happy to oblige her, telling her stories for hours on end and even Legolas would join in if he spoke of places his son too had visited.

Then came the questions about the Greenwood, now called Mirkwood by the woodsmen – and he was more than aware that it was earning its name daily. Something dark and evil was falling across his kingdom, soaking into the soil and polluting it from the inside out. Something that had not spread further – Rivendell had been a welcome relief from the oppression. He had learned during his time at Bag End that it was the sickness that had caused Legolas to take off in such a reckless manner. Off in search of Gandalf the Grey. Thranduil scoffed inwardly at the very notion. He did not share his son's confidence in the wizard and the idea that one of them could possibly be of assistance was an alien and distasteful concept – bad enough to seek out Elrond's help.

So he weaved tales of what had once been, before the fall of Erebor, before the dragon's shadow had fallen over them. Before the darkness had settled upon the trees. And he watched her eyes glow as he painted images as well as he could with his words. Wishing for her to see them as clearly as if she was standing in his halls.

His mind had taken a different path at that thought. Imagining her in his home, decked out in the soft finery of his people, her hair held back from her face by delicate circlet of silver blossoms, leaving her small pointed ears free to be seen. Her face flushed with happiness and smiling contently at him. Wrapped in his arms -

He had slammed an end to those thoughts. But they had risen without conscious effort from him and he knew he was in trouble.

These were not the purely physical thoughts he had been guilty of having almost from the first evening spent under her roof. Bilbo Baggins, for all her claim at middle-age, was a fine, attractive female after all. Nothing at all like an elf women with a tall willowy figure. No, Bilbo Baggins was all curves and gentle slopes – in the way of Hobbits – with a ready smile and pink glowing cheeks. And he was only a man, so who was to blame him if during the dark of the night his thoughts would wonder as he drifted to sleep and his dreams were filled with soft beds and an even softer Hobbit with curly corn coloured hair. And he did feel ever so guilty about his lustful thoughts about the woman who had taken care of his son and smiled so warmly and trustfully over the breakfast table. These new thoughts had nothing to do with lust even though a few may have featured a bed and the image of waking up to find her in his. They were just …intimate. Bilbo in his home. Cuddling, kissing, laughing together, and smiling at each other…

But there was nothing that he could do about these new thoughts even as they got worse as he got to know Bilbo more and she seemed to burrow under his skin, digging deeper with each passing day until before he knew it she had taken up lodgings in his heart without his permission. She had made herself a little Hobbit Hole just big enough for her in his heart.

Thranduil was a king of a breaking kingdom though and all too soon – even before Legolas was fully recovered – he had to leave Bag End and its mistress behind and return to his responsibilities.

---

(roughly one year later)

Thranduil was brooding. He knew he was. He did not need to have to overhear his guards complaining about his tyrannical moods to know it. And really, 'tyrannical' was going just a little too far in his opinion. If he was truly a tyrant he would have sent half the guard to retrieve a pesky little Shireling months ago. So, as he hadn't, that just went to prove that he was not a tyrant – in his eyes at least.

He was a king, he should be above such things as…as…there wasn't even a term he could think of. Kings just did not brood over women.

An image of a straw haired, blue eyed, smiling Hobbit, curled up in an armchair with the firelight dancing across her face, her eyes twinkling in wonder as he spoke played through his mind, calming his ruffled temper as much as it set his heart racing.

He slammed an end to those thoughts. Well, he tried to anyway. A very valiant effort he thought.

He had a right to be aggravated.

It had been a year since he and Legolas had left the Shire and the big hearted, little Hobbit lady there in. And he – they, he corrected himself –  they had not received one word from the mistress of Bag End in all that time. It was rankling.

He sighed heavily and stood in one fluid movement. He stalked from the throne room, ignoring the semi-curious glances some of his braver guards were throwing him as he strode through the doors and down the hall. The handful who had accompanied him to retrieve Legolas had made quick work of telling their fellows of the strange little being who had offered their prince shelter and he doubted that there was not one elf in his kingdom that didn't know of the Shire and Bilbo Baggins.

He moved swiftly down hallways and through tree root moulded corridors.

He had made it clear to Bilbo that she would be more than welcome had he not? And even if he had not succeeded and for some reason Bilbo had only thought that he was being polite (something that his advisors were constantly telling him he needed to perfect) surely Legolas' words would have made it a certainty. The boy had grown close to Bilbo during his time alone with her (so much so that Thranduil was sure his son was jealous of the time she had spent away from him once he had arrived) and Thranduil was certain his son was missing her more than he was letting on. Indeed with every sunrise Thranduil half expected to learn that his son had once again vanished, this time to go in search of a Hobbit.

He reached his destination and pushed open an ornate oak door, covered in finely carved patterns and scenes depicting the seasons. It fell open noiselessly and he stepped in.

As promised a room had been prepared and was kept constantly ready in the eventuality of a visit from Bilbo.

On his orders the room was aired daily so as not to grow stale.

Everything was light and airy within this room and that was why he had chosen it. After all, for all that she lived in a hill there had been nothing dark about Bag End.

It was not the largest room available nor the most splendid but it was the room that he had decided would suit her the best, and when Legolas agreed with him the matter was settled.

Fine silken sheets covered a heavy wooden framed bed and a glittering canopy of fine lace hung high above it gathering at the head bored and pooling about the sides. Gossamer curtains fluttered in the light freeze coming through the opened window. Everything was of the finest material that could be found and, of course, in a heavy chest at the foot of the bed was some of the rougher fabrics and thicker blankets that were found in abundance in the Shire – to appeal to her Hobbit-i-ness (they had been Legolas' idea and Thranduil would admit it was a fine one and would hopefully make Bilbo more comfortable).

But what was the point of it all if she were not to visit. It would only take a letter – his son was acquainted with more than a few Rangers and woodsmen and a message would reach him fairly quickly through those channels if – and he would send someone to fetch her immediately or meet her part way. But nothing had been heard.

"Father," Legolas calling for him dragged him from his morose thoughts and with one last quick glance about the room he left it, stepping into the hall just as Legolas reached the door.

Judging from his ruffled appearance and web speckled armour it seemed that he had just returned from a patrol.

Thranduil supposed he should be grateful for Bilbo not being in his realm. It had grown more dangerous in the past year and the darkness had deepened upon it... But, he reasoned with himself, they were more than capable of keeping one Hobbit safe and their were dangers everywhere. 

A more permanent solution needed to be found to deal with the spiders. 

"Dwarves father, " his son spoke without even a word of greeting, his expression stern.

Thranduil did not reply immediately, merely quirked an eyebrow. 

Dwarves? Now that was interesting. 

There was only one possible reason for them to be in his domain and he did not think he liked the idea of it.

"Indeed," he spoke calmly, closing the door to the room and heading back to the throne room with Legolas beside him, "so they have decided to make a try for Erebor after all these years,"

The fools. A dragons love of gold knew no bounds and should the Dwarf imbeciles wake the beast it would be the death of them all. It was true that Smaug had not been seen for over fifty years – Thranduil would rather it be over two hundred before anyone went near the cursed mountain – but dragons were known to lay dormant for hundreds of years, sleeping buried beneath their hoard before hunger drove them out.

"Thorin is among them," Legolas spoke harshly, his voice hard.

His son had never been a lover of those who lusted for gold after witnessing through the years how much death want of the precious metal had led to and then watching Thror's descent into Gold Sickness had settled his opinion. The old fool's overflowing treasury bringing Smaug to their very gates.

"So the king seeks to reclaim his mountain,"

"He will claim his grave before he claims the throne," Legolas scoffed, "even if he did succeed the men of Laketown would not just let them be,"

Thranduil nodded his head at this.

Many of the inhabitants were related to the Men of Dale and had been raised on stories of what once had been. They would all feel like they were owed compensation for the dragon's actions. Rightfully so in Thranduil's opinion. 

Thranduil chuckled as his mind wondered down the path of payment.

"I would not let them be,"

He thought of the long years that Thror had reigned in Erebor and the yearly tributes demanded as his sickness grew worse. Thranduil's reasoning at the time had been 'rather pay in tributes than pay in blood' as he had not been willing to risk war because of the actions of the monarch.

"They will set the dragon upon us all," Legolas snarled, "the beast's silence is no assurance of its death,"

Thranduil made no reply as there was nothing that he could say and paused at the doors to the throne room, raising his hand and shaking his head at the guards who moved to push the door open.

"Where are they?"

"I had them taken to the cells. There are thirteen in all – I thought they were too superstitious to tempt fate so – none of them are injured in anyway, just hungry and shaken after a run in with the spiders,"

Thranduil lowered his hand and nodded at the guards, giving them leave to open the doors now that he knew Thorin and his companions weren't on the other side.

"Have them brought to me and food prepared and taken to the cells,"

"I will see to it, father,"

---

The interview went as well as could be expected. Even in chains and covered in webs Thorin managed to hold on to his arrogance.

Thranduil was no fool and he knew the princeling held a grudge against him for refusing to face Smaug when he had descended upon Erebor. Thranduil had not enjoyed turning his back on Erebor in her hour of need but he was not about to risk the lives of his people with such a mission. Not even his forces were a match for the dragon and Smaug would have been picking Elf as well as Dwarf from his teeth if Thranduil had led his people into battle. No, the day would have ended with the fall of more than one kingdom if he had done so. It was just like a thick headed Dwarf to take it personally and conveniently forget about the aid Thranduil had given, having food and medical aid ready for any who needed it.

He learned nothing from the Dwarves except for what he already knew – and he only learned that from them because they could not keep a hold of their tempers.

He sent them back to their cells to choke down the food provided for them.

---

Thranduil sighed heavily, slumped over the table, his elbows on the heavy oak and his head resting in his hands. The council chamber was empty except for Legolas who sat opposite him looking equally dejected.

He had conferred with his advisors and Lords nothing had been decided upon.

"There is nothing for it father," his son smiled tiredly, "they will just have to remain here indefinitely until they see reason,"

Thranduil chuckled at the so simple solution.

"From Thorin's perspective he is seeing reason. It is us who are holding him back from his destiny," he sighed, there was nothing worse than a self-righteous quest.

"It is obvious he believes Smaug to be dead, they are not prepared for him being alive, they-"

A fist banging against the door silenced Legolas.

"Enter," Thranduil bellowed.

A guard entered the chamber, his eyes averted and head bowed.

"Apologies Majesty, my prince, but there is someone to see you," he spoke to the floor.

Thranduil eyes widened at this, what a day it was turning out to be for unexpected guests.

"My, but it doesn't rain it pours," he smiled at his son as they both left the table.

"Who?"

Another Dwarf perhaps?

Or maybe Smaug had decided to leave the mountain willingly?

The guard gulped.

"A…a...Baggins Sire, Mistress Baggins,"

Chapter Text

Chapter 3

Bilbo had played host to no more uninvited or unexpected guests at Bag End since her Elves - that is to say, since Thranduil and Legolas had left. It had taken her longer than she had wished to grow accustomed to the silence in her home…the emptiness. Never before had she realised how lonely her life had become since her mother's death.

It had taken months of walking into her sitting room before she knew not to expect to see Legolas on his 'bed' in front of the fireplace with his father leaning back against her armchair, his eyes fixed on the open pages of one of her many books or keeping watch over his sick child. It was months before she stopped expecting to see two smiles aimed at her as she entered the room and before she stopped cooking too much food at mealtimes. She had missed them desperately. Even the looming guards who had taken some time to warm to her, expecting her to poison their sovereign or something equally monstrous every meal time. Even now, a year later, her heart ached with the emptiness they had left in her life.

But she had continued on, seeing to Bag End and keeping up with her garden, ready to put some old trout's nose out of joint with her tomatoes at the next fare. She had even lifted pen to paper more than once to write to the Elves who had affected her life so much, to see if the invitation for her to visit was still open, only to throw the pen from her and rip up the half-finished letter in disgust.

She was a Hobbit, she told herself (the inner voice sounding remarkably like some of Hobbiton's well known and opinionated gossips) and as such she had no business gallivanting off across creation to visit with Elvish royalty. None at all.

But oh she wanted to so much. She wanted to do so much that was hardly appropriate for a Baggins (she had responsibilities after all) and that even the Tooks would probably wince at.

A year ago she had not thought herself up for the adventure, but now…Well, she was fifty, practically half way through her life and she had done nothing of any consequence…she had never been any further than Bree. Was that what she wanted to be said of her when she was gone?

Here lies Bilbo Baggins, let it never be said that gave into any fool notions like those Took relatives of hers. Her grandfather had done remarkably well, living until he was one hundred and thirty – unheard of in the Shire – but that was no guarantee that she would reach anywhere near that age…

Bilbo pushed her plate away from her with a sigh, she had done the fish and vegetables just how she liked them too but she found she had no appetite, her stomach rolling at the sight. The sudden appearance of Gandalf the Grey at her garden gate had dredged up far too many memories some from long ago and some far more recent and it was making her think far too much than was suitable for the digestion.

It had been years – as far as she knew – since the wandering wizard had been in the Shire – Hobbits were a gossiping lot so she was certain she would have heard if he had been anywhere nearby in the past few years. In fact she was sure the last time he had been was long before her mother's death when she was but a child. She could just remember the colourful explosions lighting up the black night sky above the Party Field. It had been magical. To her young eyes the flashing lights had been magic, she hadn't needed to see one thing turn to another like the stories boasted. The lights, to her wide eyes, had been fairies escaping their prisons, or dragon's fire bottled and corked.

She shook her head at her younger self's fanciful notions.

The wizard's sudden appearance at her gate and the mention of her mother had unsettled her deeply and she had been out of sorts the rest of the day.

An adventure indeed.

If there was one thing she had learned over the last year or so it was that if she stayed in the same place long enough the adventure came to her without her needing to step one foot out of the Shire. After all, she never would have dreamed – even as a child – that she would one day play host to an Elven king and his son and yet she had done just that for several months (and had spent the last year missing them…) She still cringed with embarrassment that she had to make do with having her guests sleeping on her sitting room floor in front of the fire. Her poor mother would have had a thing or two to say about that. Never had a guest in Bag End been left to sleep on the floor when Belladonna had been mistress of the house. But then, Bilbo thought with a satisfactory smile, for all of her adventuring Belladonna Baggins had never played hostess to Elves.

She pushed the plate further away, frowning at the sound of her bell ringing. She wasn't expecting anyone and she had made herself plain to Gandalf that she was doing no adventuring right now. If she was going on an adventure – and she would! Just you see if she didn't! - it was going to be on her own terms, thank you very much, and not because some wizard decided it would be 'good' for her. The cheek of him.

Another knock sounded. Maybe it would be some of her younger cousins, since hearing of her guests there are been a steady stream of them demanding details as very few had actually mustered the nerve to stop by when they had been staying with her. Even if it was highly improper for them to be knocking at her door after dark she would welcome the distraction. Anything to fill the silent void that enveloped Bag End at night.

She hated the silence.

The Company

It had not been her cousins.

Had she actually said she hated the silence?

Bilbo pushed herself against the wall as one of the Dwarves that had decided to invite themselves along with that meddlesome wizard (her father was right about him all of those times she had heard him mumble about the wizard being the cause of her mother's absence from the Shire when Belladonna was younger) walked past balancing a pile of dishes in his hands. Others in the group where playing instruments – and was that one of them using her best tea-pot to whistle? – while others threw the dishes towards the kitchen, all the while singing one of the most ridiculous songs she had ever heard.

The things that Bilbo Baggins hates, indeed.

Good gracious. My mother's best pots.

Bilbo couldn't even bring herself to close her eyes and hide from the view of her mother's china and pottery – over a hundred years old! – flying through the air in such a careless fashion. Any minute now she was going to hear a smash and when she did the Dwarves would wish they had chosen to invade an Orc den instead of Bag End. She would make them regret not listening to her if one little chip appeared on any of her mother's dishes. She would blister their ears she would give them such a telling.

She should have slammed the door in – what was the big one's name again? Datin? Dwatin? Dwalin! That was it. She should have slammed the door in Dwalin's face and bolted it as fast as she could. Anything to stop the great bear from basically letting himself into her home and sitting down at her place and eating her dinner. And then, as if that wasn't bad enough, actually asking for more!

But one Dwarf she might have been able to handle, she would have shooed him out of her smial with the business end of a frying pan if need be, but then another one had arrived, a jolly looking, white bearded Dwarf who was Dwalin's brother (and had they actually head-butted each other as a sign of affection?), followed by two young ones whose mischievous twinkling eyes rivalled any of the wide eyed gazes of her many little cousins. They had just swanned in as bold as brass and started to help Dwalin with moving around her furniture. Bilbo had been so surprised by their actions she could hardly talk around her aggravated stuttering as she just stood holding the weapons – weapons! – the youngsters had dumped into her arms without so much as a by-your-leave.

"No more!" she had squealed at the door when another ring sounded.

Enough was enough and this was ridiculous.

"There are enough Dwarves ruining my carpets and clogging up my home, thank you very much,"

She let the weapons drop to the floor by the door with a clatter, not caring if blades scraped together or handles got tangled – the interlopers could deal with that themselves once she had them all thrown out.

She opened the door still continuing her little rant about the inappropriate joke that was obviously being aimed at her and more than half a dozen Dwarves fell into her home to land in a heap on the carpet at her feet. Gandalf ducked down behind them and smiled at her.

Bilbo had found that she had needed to bite her cheek so as not to give her mother's old friend a piece of her mind as the Dwarves straightened themselves up, introduced themselves and proceeded to join the others in rearranging the furniture and also in raiding her pantry, her heart dropped into her stomach as she heard cries of wonder and appreciation at her stores.

And now they had striped her pantry down to the shelves with barely a thing left and they were throwing her dishes around like a bunch of hooligans and singing about smashing them.

Why wasn't anyone listening to her?

This was her home.

Bilbo stamped her foot hard enough to jar her leg.

They had no right.

The singing finally stopped and she pushed her way through the laughing Dwarves to get to her dishes.

"If any of these have bee-" she trailed off mid word at the sight that met her eyes. Gandalf was smiling at her mischievously while puffing on his pipe and there in front of him in several neat piles were her mother's dishes, all in one piece and washed. The laughter grew louder with her reaction until the sound of a fist striking her front door sounded once again and silence fell among the company.

If she had known that was all it would take to get the invaders to be quiet she would have snuck out and knocked at her own door a long time ago.

"He's here," Gandalf supplied unhelpfully in what Bilbo would forever think of as his 'wizard voice'.

The over dramatic old fool, she thought uncharitably as she stalked to her front door.

The Leader

That…That…That absolute beast! Bilbo stewed and seethed as she packed her bag with a little more vigour than was strictly needed for accomplishing the task but it was making her feel better about her anger and indignation.

She could not remember ever being made to feel so angry about something in her entire life. Bilbo liked to think that she was as reasonable and level headed as anyone but this…

She had naïvely thought that the dozen or so Dwarves that had invaded her home and pantry were the worst thing that could happen to her in one night (plus the wizard, heavens forbid she ever forget about Gandalf the Grey).

She was wrong.

Their leader was the worst thing that could happen to her. The worst thing that had happened to her. She had wanted to shove the rules of hospitality her parents had drilled into her right out of the door along with him after she had given that…that…ugh, she was so angry.

She had answered the very last (so far) summons to her front door to find a dark haired and slightly greying Dwarf standing on her step and he had completely ignored her in favour of speaking to Gandalf and complaining about getting lost. She was at the top of a hill, in the hill, how could he get lost? And when he did finally acknowledge her - after a very pointed throat clearing on her part – he called her a grocer and because the oaf couldn't even tell that she was a woman he had begun the acquaintance by calling her Mr!

A linen shirt was crammed viciously into her pack.

Bilbo knew she was not the most feminine of Hobbits but she had never before been mistaken for a man. She was wearing a skirt for the love of all that was good. That oaf. He showed up at her door, sauntered into her house and he couldn't even be civil. No wonder the rest of the company were no better than a rabble, if he was the one leading them then they didn't stand a chance.

Well she would show them.

She had listened carefully to Gandalf's explanation as to just why there were thirteen Dwarves sitting at her dining room table (muddying her floor with their monstrous boots) and just what this adventure of his entailed. She may have got a little faint while reading the contract that had been thrust upon her at the part about dragons, incineration and 'think 'furnace' with wings' supplied by the smiling Dwarf with the hat, but who wouldn't get a little wobbly at the idea?

After all, she may be part Took but that did not mean she was suicidal, thank you very much. Her knee jerk reaction after a strong cup of tea had been a resounding and indisputable no. No, she was not going on an adventure that would lead to her being burnt to a crisp or eaten by a dragon, thank you, but no. And when all was said and done Gandalf was not really helping his case any. He only succeeded in getting her hackles up the more he tried to get her to agree by comparing her drab little existence to the conquests of her ancestors. She really had no idea what he had been trying to accomplish by mentioning her mother and she didn't care what he said, golf was not invented by a Took – knocking the goblin kings head down a rabbit hole, indeed.

So Bilbo had gone to her room, not feeling guilty in the slightest over her decision. It was their rotten kingdom and they had no right to ask her to go along and risk her life after they had done nothing but eat her food, insult her, laugh at her and frighten her with stories of dragons since setting foot in her smial – all without invitation.

No, they could all go and get eaten by a dragon on their own. This Hobbit was not going to be added to the menu. If they were still here in the morning, and if she had calmed down some, she would make them some breakfast (she had no idea what of) and send then on their way and then she would finally write to Thranduil.

She would have her own adventure. One that did not include senile wizards, rude Dwarves and dragons. She would do something for once.

She pushed a shawl into the pack.

She would set out for Bree in the afternoon and try to find a Ranger, they would know who to pass her letter onto to get it into Thranduil's hands. She would try the Prancing Pony, the landlord would know if there were any Rangers in the area and she would stay the night, maybe two if she felt like going to the market and then she would come home.

There, her bag was packed, everything but –

She opened her room door to go the bathroom and pack some soap before she forgot.

She heard something that stopped her dead in her tracks, her fingers still gripping her door handle. The low and mournful singing drifted to her from her sitting room, the depth shaking her bones until she was forced back into her room to slump onto her mattress, the door sitting ajar allowing the song entrance into her sanctuary.

It was a tragic song, made all the more so by the fact that it was the history of the Dwarves standing in the other room. It told of fire and destruction, death and despair, past hurts never forgotten and betrayals never forgiven.

For the first time her dratted conscience twinged at the idea of the plan for them to get back their home failing because of her. It was a vague plan it was true but there were miles of travel between the Shire and the Lonely Mountain so surly by the time they got to the Dwarf kingdom all the kinks would be ironed out and a more solid plan thought out.

She released the bed post she hadn't realised she was hugging and shut her door properly before placing her pack on the floor and laying on top of her quilt, curling up with her head on the pillow. Thinking.

Alright, so the Dwarves didn't measure up to her ideas of what a guest should be. They were a rough lot who had obviously not had much experience with knives, forks and napkins. She couldn't really hold that against them she supposed. They had frightened her with their straight forward talk of being eaten or burnt to death, that was true. But wasn't it better to know all of the facts before she went with them? She could hardly rely on Gandalf to give her a straight forward answer. The wizard was biased and obviously wanted her along no matter what.

Their leader, Thorin Oakenshield was still an arrogant oaf in her opinion but maybe he had to be that way, he had a lot of responsibility resting on his shoulders after all and he had come straight to Bag End after being told that his kin wouldn't lend any aid with this quest. It didn't excuse his treatment of her but it did explain his rather grouchy disposition. Could she say no to helping them just because he was in a bad mood?

It was their home.

While she mulled over that she got to thinking of the maps she had poured over during her time alone. The Greenwood was very near to the Lonely Mountain. Basically on the doorstep in fact.

Now, Thranduil on the morning he left had told her to write and he would send an escort to meet her before entering the Wood or before that even, but surely she wouldn't need an escort if she was to travel with the Dwarves. Thranduil and Legolas had told her many tales of their woodland realm of the magic that sang from deep within the trees but they had also eluded to a darkness that had infested their home and she knew she would be a fool to attempt the journey alone when she did not know exactly what lay ahead. But if she went with the Dwarves... Yes, she could go with them and then once the business with the dragon was over she could finally visit her Elves without putting anyone out. She refused to think that she might not live through the dragon part.

Bilbo slipped from her bed and began to repack before being fully aware of making the decision. She would help the Dwarves - rude though they may be – get back their home. At the very least it would stop them from invading some other poor soul's house and emptying their pantry and she would finally get to see Thranduil and Legolas after all these long months. All the old gossips in the village could go hang for all she cared. She was going on an adventure with thirteen Dwarves and one wizard.

She folded a thick vest up and put it into her pack along with a tinder box. Her mind now made up she was more than ready to get things started.

"A grocer," she scoffed, "I'll show them,"

In Which Bilbo's Opinion of the Leader Does Not Change

Thorin Oakenshield it turned out, had not been just having a bad day when he made an appearance at her door. No. Master Oakenshield was always as foul tempered and sour faced as he appeared to be that night in Bag End. He was arrogant and insulting. He strode about camp at night all brooding and deep in thought and then did the same thing during the day, only instead of striding about he was riding a pony. He would bark orders and scowl at anyone who looked like they were about to get too happy.

Thorin Oakenshield was a grouch.

A king without a throne indeed, it was his manners he should be worried about. Bilbo wagered that he would be at war within a year of reclaiming his mountain if he didn't learn to be a little more polite.

Well, he may be a king but he wasn't Bilbo's king and in any little way she could she made sure he knew it.

She had been willing to forgive his harshness and insults when they had first met but when he continued to act that way she decided she wasn't going to let him get away with it without some kind of retaliation. She was Bilbo Baggins of Bag End, she had survived the Fell Winter and been mistress of her home and various properties for over ten years and she was not going to be bullied by the likes of this Dwarf and had to check her temper several time daily as he took every opportunity he could to remind her and the rest of the company that she did not belong with them.

"Keep up Halfling,"

"You will not have any comforts in the wild, mistress,"

She may have bounced along on the back of Myrtle like a sack of potatoes for the first week or so but she had never been on a pony before and in her mind the achievement had been in staying on the animal. But he had been sure to comment on her lack of ability in that field too and the snide comments had continued from the minute she had left Bag End.

Ooo. He was so aggravating.

She knew she couldn't retaliate outright, no matter how much she wanted to slap him up the side of the head. She was one Hobbit and they were thirteen Dwarves after all and she didn't want to see first-hand how the company would react if she were to assault their leader.

So at meal times when she assisted Bombur she made sure she never gave Thorin his food first. Petty, she knew, but it made her feel better. She made sure to laugh obnoxiously loud with Gandalf and pointedly ignored the sharp gazes thrown their way by Thorin and on the few occasions even his grumbling couldn't smother the spirits of the company and a night would be spent singing around the fire she made sure to sing some of the songs Thranduil and Legolas had taught her as he seemed to have such a problem with Elves. Funnily enough the songs were very popular with the rest of the company who seemed to appreciate a good song no matter where it came from.

There was the one memorable occasion when her temper had frayed completely and biting her tongue no longer worked. It had been pouring for a whole week, she was tired, sore and cold and a comment that she couldn't even remember any more had slid effortlessly from Thorin's mouth in her direction. She had snapped, rounding on him angrily and reminding him that he had been the one to seek her out. She had not been the one to show up at a strangers door. She had not been the one to invite herself into a strangers house, muddy their floor, break the plumbing, strip the pantry bare and scratch their furniture with their monstrous armour. So he could kindly keep his opinions to himself, thank you kindly. The company had gone quiet and one of Thorin's eye's had twitched but he had made no reply and she had stalked away to make her bed for the night.

And then had came that awful incident with the trolls after days of never ending rain (the smell of wet pony was not something Bilbo was keen on experience again) and Thorin had been more than happy to use that as yet another excuse to snarl and grumble at her. Really, it was hardly her fault that Fili and Kili and decided to push her towards the smelly trolls, they might as well have served her up with an apple in her mouth. And she had saved them hadn't she? In a round about way. She had kept the trolls occupied and confused long enough for Gandalf to make an appearance – she still hadn't forgiven him for going off like that and just leaving her – and no one had been cooked, eaten or sat on and turned into Dwarf jelly! She would have thought that counted for something. But no.

The Adventure

Blasted emotions, she should have gone straight to bed that night in Bag End after leaving Gandalf in front of her fire. She should have gone to her room, shut the door very firmly (she couldn't have had it drifting open in the night) and gone straight to sleep. If she had done that she would have woken in the morning, hopefully to an empty smial, composed her letter to Thranduil and Legolas, found a Ranger in Bree and then she would have waiting patiently for a reply that would have either brushed her off or renewed the invitation. Nothing could have been simpler.

But that hadn't happened.

Instead she had still been wide awake and packing when the Dwarves had started to sing (dratted soap!) and her own emotions had blackmailed her into agreeing to accompany the Dwarves.

Oh, what a situation she had got herself into, running from Orcs and wargs, stone giants, falling into a Goblin infested mountain, nearly being eaten by trolls and then nearly being gummed to death (surely there was no way that terrible grey creature could have used its nine teeth on her) and then if all that wasn't enough she was now perched in a tree while wargs circled below just out of reach of the flames surrounding the tree. Just wonderful, it looked like she was going to be eaten by a warg instead of a dragon if they managed to get close enough– what a shame, it was hardly as noble an end, but dead was dead no matter how it arrived, she thought philosophically. Of course she would rather it didn't arrive at all but as she was quite literally staring into the jaws of several deaths there was no way around it.

She could feel the heat of the flames caused by Gandalf's flaming pine cones on her face and she had to close her eyes against the burning.

At least I have seen Rivendell, she thought wistfully.

And then the tree began to tilt and all thought fled Bilbo's mind as she struggled to keep a grip on the branch as the tree finally came to rest, hanging off the cliff.

Oh heavens. Oh heavens.

With great difficulty, terror fuelling her strength she heaved herself onto the trunk of the tree, the bark scraping her legs and hands as she pulled herself up. She straddled the trunk as best as she could, a death grip on a branch as she fought for breath. Carefully she stood until she was hugging the branch as tightly as any mother held their new-born child.

She finally had a chance to get her bearings. The snarling of the beasts filled her ears over the crackling of the flames. The shouts of the Dwarves rang above it all though and she looked around, the ash stinging her eyes.

Gandalf was stretched out, holding out his staff, Dori and Ori hanging from the end. Dori was crying for the wizards help, while Ori hung onto his brother's legs with all of his strength kicking futilely at the empty air below him.

The others…some were still dangling from branches below her while some were looking at something, not seeming to care about their own positions.

She followed their gazes, her own grip never faltering on the branch as she shifted slightly.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Thorin was racing towards the huge white Orc, sword raised high and a battle cry on his lips, only to be swatted aside like a fly before he could even land a blow.

The inconsiderate moron.

Now, although Bilbo strongly disliked the Company's leader she had supposed he had some redeeming qualities, the others were far too loyal for there to be nothing there and it was obvious that his nephews worshipped him but she had yet to see anything that made her like him. And now, while the lives of his men were in the most danger they had been in so far, he was running off to play warrior. And not doing it very well either. She was pretty sure the point of the game was not to be hit by your opponent.

Bilbo quickly glanced around. The members of the Company, who were not too busy hanging from branches, were crying out as Thorin was grabbed in a set of massive jaws and shaken like a ragdoll before being thrown away with just as much ease. Even from this distance and over all of the noise Bilbo was certain she had heard something break. Thorin remained unmoving among the broken branches.

Bilbo pulled her sword from her belt with shaking hand, adjusting the grip. It felt alien in her hand. Her personal feelings aside no one else was able to do anything about anything at the moment except for her.

How vexing.

She gulped, glancing down at the glowing blade and then allowing her gaze to travel the length of the tree trunk, smouldering and spitting flames at the root.

It would be just like dancing along a log like she had done so many times as a child.

Her gaze darted back to Thorin as the cries of the Dwarves took on a more desperate tone.

An Orc was moving towards Thorin's prone body, drawing it's blade with a menacing air.

Bilbo stopped thinking and acted. She flew along the trunk and over the embers, holding out the sword in front of her and ramming it into the Orc who was standing poised over Thorin ready to bring his blade down and through Thorin's neck.

A strange haze filled Bilbo's mind and covered her vision as she brought her sword down again and again into the Orc. The last thing she could remember thinking before the Eagles set them down was that Thorin had better watch his p's and q's from now on or the next Orc that came along was more than welcome to him.

 

Chapter Text

Chapter 4

Bilbo missed Rivendell. Other than the obvious fact that it held a connection to her mother, things had made so much more sense there. She knew where she belonged in the mismatched group that was the Company of Thorin Oakenshield.

She was a Hobbit. She was a woman. Therefor, she was 'other' and an outsider. Oh, they had done their best to make her feel included – mostly – but it was a poor effort all the same where most of them were concerned. 

Yes, at Rivendell everything had fitted nicely, she wasn't happy about it (feeling like the odd one out for weeks on end was never a nice sensation) but it was the way things were and she had grown used to it and took her joy in aggravating Thorin (true, that didn't do much to endear her to the group) in any small way she could. Besides, the distance between her and the others had allowed her the freedom to explore the 'last homely house east of the sea' without being hounded by a Dwarven protection detail everywhere she went. Bilbo had learned that she was more of an afterthought where the Dwarves were concerned during their stay in Rivendell – when she was anything at all that is.

Well, she had made the most of it and had made quick work of finding the kitchen – terribly real for such a magical place (Elves it seemed used ovens and pantries just like anyone else) – and making friends with the cooks. The Dwarves certainly hadn't started getting meat at meal times because of their charms.

And now so much had happened since their departure from the hidden valley that her head spun just thinking of it.

They had only just survived an encounter with stone giants – her stomach still flipped at the memory of the leap from the giant back to the mountain – apparently she had missed quit a dramatic escape from Goblin Town during her own time with the strange shrivelled creature by the underground lake.

And then she had gone and saved Thorin from death by Orc and everything got turned on its head.

Thorin had started to treat her as something other than a constant annoyance and like a person. It was disconcerting.

They had made it to the home of Gandalf's friend Beorn. Bilbo shouldn't have been surprised that Gandalf had never actually met the man before and Beorn was more a friend of a friend than anything else. Really, the wizard just seemed to go through life imposing himself on people. The Dwarves had taken to watching her like hawks, never allowing her to stray far from their sights. The skin changer – Orcs, stone giants, Goblins, giant eagles, skin changers, what else could she possibly encounter – found them terribly amusing and she found that she liked the large man despite the unfortunate pet name he had given her. Little Bunny indeed.

Their sudden solicitous attitude was making her jumpy but thankfully she had managed to dodge their attentions several times since their arrival at Beorn's home. Long may it continue...but she doubted it would.

In the Greenwood

Botheration.

Bilbo berated herself savagely in her mind. Why had she kept the ring on? If she had taken it off as soon as she re-joined the company – or even before – the Elves would have known of her presence, but now if she was to take it off she would suddenly appear quite literally by magic in a spot where it would be physically impossible for her to have made it to without being seen. And she daren't do that as more than one of the archers seemed to be a little too keen to shoot at something, and she wouldn't be surprised if that something would be her if she was to take of the ring and shout 'Excuse me, you forgot one,". And as she had no idea where they were going she couldn't even dash ahead and 'meet them'.

So, the ring would stay on for the time being.

Bilbo kept close to the company…well, as close as she could manage without being discovered and shot out of habit. She did not have enough trust in the ring she had found to press her luck by walking in the centre of the group so she struggled on several meters behind them where several lookouts where keeping an eye on the looming woodland at their back.

The Dwarves were being marched along by the Elves and despite the fact that she did feel a little bit of annoyance at their situation she also couldn't help but smile when she spied Legolas, fully healed and obviously in charge. She was not close enough to hear what he was saying the few times sharp words were exchanged between him and Thorin, but, she was certain that Thorin was saying something to antagonise him. Really, Thorin needed to start taking diplomatic lessons from Balin or his short temper would lead to more trouble than his trusty advisor could talk him out of.

Oh.

The sound of crashing water drifted to her through the trees and several minutes later her jaw dropped and her step faltered.

Bilbo hadn't thought her plan through past following the mismatched group but when her eyes fell upon the massive gates sitting across a bridge she had no idea what to do.

She dashed to the side of the trail and out of habit ducked behind a tree, she watched the Dwarves vanish through the gate along with Legolas and the other Elves. The gates swung shut, leaving not even a sentry on her side.

All she could hear was the crashing of the falls and the water running violently under the bridge and only just over the beating of her own heart and rapid breathing. Despite the time and distance between her and those monsters she felt as though her skin crawled with thousands of little skittering legs.

The gates and pillars looked as though they had grown from the forest, as though they were meant to be there, as if they had always been there. And maybe they had been for as long as living memory could recall. She wondered if the Dwarves had a hand in building the gate. They were master craftsmen after all if the boasting and stories of the company were to be believed. She scanned the tall gates and could see no handle. Despite this she could not imagine the Elves locking themselves out like her illustrious companions had out of their own mountain.

Well Bilbo, you made it this far.

She drew the ring from her finger and slid it into her pocket, trying to ignore the sense of wrongness to rightness that made her head swim. She felt so tired now.

No.

She shook her head to clear it and pressed on, she walked as quickly as she could from the shelter of her tree, across the bridge and to the door.

There was nothing to ring or knock so she settled on banging at the heavy barrier with her fist. Her skin stung with the impact.

Bilbo drew in a breath, ready to shout to gain the attention she wanted when she froze as a sharp blade crossed her vision and was planted below her chin.

She froze, fist in mid-flight for another thump at the door. Her mouth went dry and her breath caught in her throat. She felt like she was going to choke. She needed to cough but she daren't move. Bilbo could just catch the faintest hint of movement from the corner of her vision. Something…someone might be there but the cold steel of the blade was most definitely there. She stayed still.

"It would seem we have found a stray," a voice spoke from behind her.

A stray?

"A runt I would say," yes, there was another to the side of her.

Who were they calling a runt?

"I did not know a Dwarf could be-"

That was it. She was tired, she was hurting, she was covered in the unmentionable portions of giant spiders that her biggest frying pan wouldn't even manage to squash and now she had a blade at her throat and she was being talked about like she wasn't even present.

Well, Bilbo Baggins had had quite enough funny business for one day, thank you very much.

In her best mistress-of-Bag-End voice she informed them cooly.

"I am not a dwarf. My name is Bilbo Baggins and I am here by invitation,"

Before she could blink she had been released from the tight grip on her arm – funny that, she hadn't even realised that she was being held until she was free – and the no doubt Elvish blade (that thanks to Gandalf she knew was just as sharp against her skin now as it would have been the day it was forged) was removed from her person.

She took a second to get control of herself. A horrible coldness had filled her stomach and the sudden lack of an imminent throat cutting was doing very little to thaw it.

Deep breaths. In and out Bilbo.

"I…" she gulped and lowered her still clenched hand from where it had been hovering in the air, "am Bilbo Baggins. I am a Hobbit from the Shire,"

There was nothing Dwarfish about her but she thought the fact was worth repeating. It was true, she conceded, that she probably looked just as much of a fright as they had done but really, the feet were a bit of a give-away.

Apologies were being muttered at her and before she could lift her head to see how they did it the massive doors swung open.

---

The walk from the massive gates seemed to last an age and even longer as her bones complained with every-step she took. She was certain she had blisters upon her blisters too. She ached all over and only wanted to curl into a ball in some quiet corner somewhere and be left alone. A hundred years or so would do it, and then she would be ready to face the world again.

But she couldn't do that right now. Not yet. Not now that she had finally reached her goal.

Ignoring the pain she was in and the stony, yet curious gazes of the guards escorting her, this place was magical.

Legolas had told her all about his home as he recovered but nothing that the young Elf had told her could have prepared her for the sheer size of everything. The high walls and staircases made her feel tiny but strangely protected. Everything around her seemed to be alive. She wanted to stop and reach out to a wall and feel the pulse beat beneath her fingers – she was sure she would be able to count the woods heart beats.

The trees of the Wood outside had made her feel small – frighteningly so – as they loomed dark and menacing above her, making even the sturdiest of her Dwarf companions appear cowered. The thick branches had cut out the light, robbing her lungs of air, making her feel stifled and heavy headed. Bilbo had never wanted to leave the tree top when she had climbed high into the leaves and saw the blue sky above her for the first time in days. The atmosphere on the ground and seemed even more oppressive and heavy on her bones, the weight of the trees pressing down on her, threatening to flatten her.

But this place was nothing like that.

Light seemed to be coming from everything around her and she could breath. She took several deep, lung cleansing breaths to prove it.

She was finally here, and what a journey it had been.

---

Bilbo was feeling so nervous she could feel her heartbeat in her finger nails but she continued to move forward. She missed the weight of her letter opener on her hip and had been shocked by how strong her reaction had been to one of the guards insisting they carry it. Shredding his eyes had been the least violent of her inclinations. This change in herself frightened her – the panic of being separated from her weapon, but she had just been using it to stab at spiders larger than her smiel – but she pushed it down. She still had the ring after all. Besides, she was sure that Thranduil would never hurt her, neither would Legolas and she was being escorted to one or both of them right now so she continued to tell herself that she was fine without the sword. She had got along quite alright without it for the first fifty years of her life so she could manage well enough for the immediate future.

She was lead through what seemed like miles of halls carved out from the very tree roots…or where they moulded around the roots. It was magical. Rivendell had seemed otherworldly but this place….this place was unbelievable.

Then they began to climb. She was so busy concentrating on where her feet where going that she didn't see what was ahead until she realised the legs just in front of her had stopped.

She paused and looked up.

He was there. How could she have forgotten how striking Thranduil was? It shouldnt have been possible and yet it had happened, her memories – only a year or so old – had tarnished and mottled like an old mirror.

But not now.

Thranduil rose from the throne –the giant antlers looked like they had grown from the ground – with the grace and fluidity of a cat. He was wearing what she could only guess was his official robes, nothing at all like the soft leather and cotton he had worn to the Shire. The silver fabric shimmered in the light and moved without so much as a rustle. These robes were more like the billowing finery Lord Elrond had worn when she had last seen him in Rivendell. She resisted the urge to fidget, being made painfully aware of the state of her own dress.

How embarrassing.

She was sure she could feel every speck of dirt on her body and not to mention that it had been weeks since her feet had been properly brushed. In all fairness and practicality though there had been bigger things to worry about and even the Dwarves who were most fastidious about their braids and beards had let their care for both slip.

Bilbo gulped. After so many weeks in the presence of only the Dwarves she had forgotten how tall others were in comparison to her own short frame.

He came towards her, pausing a foot or two away from her before he dropped to his knees just as gracefully as he had rose from his throne.

She bit back a gasp. He was a king, surely he shouldn't be doing that. Should he? His eyes remained fixed on her, unwavering. His perfect, pale face, expressionless.

"It would seem, my dear Miss Baggins, that you have quite a tale to tell," his ever calm voice swept over her.

How could she have forgotten his voice too?

Was that a twinkle she saw in his eyes.

She took in a trembling breath.

"Indeed I do," she dropped into a deep curtsey, keeping her eyes on him just as his never wavered from her, "your majesty,"

---

---

 

With Thranduil

Thranduil had seen many things in his long life, some things so evil they scarred the soul just with the knowledge of their existence, some things so pure that they eclipse all else.

But this Hobbit, covered in dirt and with spider webs clinging to her hair had to be the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. Bilbo Baggins in this moment rivalled any sunrise or sunset he had ever seen.

She was standing before him tired and pale and he could look nowhere else. When she curtsied and gave him that dimpled smile he couldn't hold back anymore and reaching for her hand he bent and kissed the back.

"Welcome to the Woodland Realm Bilbo Baggins, I think you are in need of some rest," he smiled, he couldn't help it, she had that effect on him it would seem.

"A bath would be lovely," she told him, wrinkling her nose and glancing down at her dishevelled, web covered clothing with distaste.

"Then you shall have it,"

He was curious as to her sudden arrival and he knew it was no coincidence that he had thirteen Dwarves in the cells the same time that the Shireling appeared.

He beckoned for one of the standing guards to approach and sent him on his way to find one of the women to attend to Bilbo.

When he looked back to the Hobbit she was standing looking at her feet and playing with the hem of her tattered jacket.

"I shall escort you to your chambers, my lady,"

---

"It is no coincidence," he told his son once he had left Bilbo in the care of one of the women at her chamber door, she was a capable healer and would see to anything that his Hobbit needed.

He took a sip from his glass of wine.

"No it isn't. I am sure she was travelling with them. They kept glancing about in search of something – or someone – all the way to the cells," Legolas told him.

"But why…?" he mused.

"Was she well father?" his son asked, apparently growing weary of the present line of discussion.

"Weary from her travels," he muttered, his mind immediately going to the weapon one of the guards had presented him with on his return.

He pushed it across the table to his son who lifted it with frown.

"What do you make of that?"

He watched as Legolas pulled the fine weapon free from the scabbard, his son's eyes widened at the weapon and he titled it in the light, taking it in at all angles.

"Acquired from the same place as Oakenshield's sword no doubt," he scoffed, "Who did it come from?"

"Bilbo," Thranduil informed his son matter of factly.

His sons eyes widened once again as he returned the blade to its scabbard and placed it back on the table.

"Bilbo? She wouldn't even know what to do with it?"

Thranduil chuckled.

"You did not see the condition she was in upon her arrival. Covered from the top of her curly head to the tips of her bare toes in webs," another sip of wine, "And I am certain there were parts of spiders within the debris,"

His son gaped.

"Our Miss Baggins, continues to surprise us it seems,"

---

Thranduil spent most of the time concentrating on the Hobbit sitting opposite him at the table and not his plate. She had washed and had been given some clothes to wear while her own were washed and repaired. The gown she wore was obviously for a child but he had never seen her in something so fine, it was nothing like the rough wool and cotton of the Shire's clothing. The gown flowed about her as she moved, emphasising her gracefulness.

Legolas had exchanged a greeting with her that was far more exuberant than his own had been.

He had watched with a flair of jealousy as his son had lifted her in the air and spun her about, hugging her tightly to his chest.

The Hobbit had protested but Thranduil had seen the glow to her eyes and the smile on her lips and she had giggled as his son returned her gently to the ground.

---

"Why must you be so stubborn on this matter?" Thranduil demanded to know, fighting to keep his voice calm and level but unable to hide the steel behind his words.

The enchanting little creature seated across from his remained obstinately silent.

"Bilbo?" his tone was sharper now, very nearly slicing his lips as he spoke but he needed to make her understand what she was doing, what she was risking by facing a dragon, a very real dragon.

"I gave my word, Thranduil," she spoke low but with just as much steel baking her words, demonstrating her resolve.

The loveable little fool.

"I gave my word to the Company and to Gandalf. I will not let them down now. Not when we are so close to the end,"

Gandalf?

It always boiled down to the wizard – the old fool – no matter what way he looked at it. Thranduil would rather have never seen Bilbo again if it only meant that she was safe in her Bag End, instead of being on some suicide mission to the Lonely Mountain.

He had listened to her tale with his blood simmering. From the moment she had been approached by the wizard until she had come to knock on his gate (and he would be having words with the guards who had thought to manhandle her in such a way) he could feel his anger rising to boiling point.

What right had Gandalf had to just show up at her home and all but demand her assistance the way he had? As though it was his due. And then to just leave his little project at the borders of his realm when he would have known there was a darkness in the Greenwood.

As far as he was concerned she owed the wizard and Thorin Oakenshield nothing.

He wondered who to have words with first. The wizard or the mountain-less king? As Mithrindire had judged it wise to vanish he looked forward to his interview with Thorin. The blood-cursed Dwarf could drag himself and his people into the dragon fire if he so wished but this little Hobbit would not meet such a fate.

The Hobbit in question seemed to wilt before his eyes, the determination leaking from her gaze.

He did not like this sudden transformation. "Thranduil…"she sounded tired and he leaned in closer to her, "are you…" she stopped as if to think, "are you truly concerned about me?"

Any retort he might have made died on his lips as he struggled to comprehend her question.

She was most sincere in her query.

Unable to answer immediately, he brought up his hands and swept her own from the table, sandwiching them between his own.

So slight, so breakable, and yet the idiots currently occupying his dungeons wanted her to face Smaug.

"Of course," he told her softly.

"It is the only reason you do not wish me to continue?" her eyes met his, warm and confused.

"Of c-"

He stopped.

Ah. It all made sense now. She had been travelling for months with the Dwarves, it was only logical that she had heard of the fall of Erebor.

He squeezed her hands – hoping to convey that he was not angry – before he withdrew and stood. He paced.

"I see you know something of my history with Thorin and his ancestors?" he smiled slightly and she looked away from him, blushing to the tips of her deliciously pointed ears.

"And no doubt Thorin had a captive audience as he spoke of the villainous Elves who turned from him in his hour of need, hmm?"

He was not angry with her. How could he be? She was curious, she had not even been born yet when the events had taken place and the Dwarves had fled the dragon.

She glanced up at him as the silence lengthened.

"It was brought up before we entered the wood," she mumbled.

"Indeed,"

"And then when we entered there was a lot of talk of the last journey some of them had taken through the realm,"

There was an uncomfortable silence. Something that Thranduil had never experienced in Bilbo's company since the early days of his time in her home. He found he cared for it less now that he had done a year ago.

"My dear, there are many years bad blood between us, some earned and some not. Thorin's grandfather was not a wise ruler," he had been once, but the gold sickness had taken any wisdom from him along with his love for anything but the precious metal.

"Many suffered while he ruled over Erebor but if I could I would have fought to save the mountain," he would have and he may have seen that the gold-mad ruler met with an unfortunate end while he did so and seen his son or grandson put on the throne. But that had not happened.

"I would not risk my own people in a battle against the dragon," he looked at her to see if she thought any less of him for his decision but he could not read her expression, she sat there, a neutral expression upon her face, "Do you blame me for my choice?" Thranduil hated that he felt the need to know the answer, felt the need for her to understand.

"No. No I don't," she finally answered and relief flooded him.

"I perhaps did not act in a way to be proud of but where we could we offered aid to the travellers who passed through the wood. We could not force them to accept our assistance and Dwarves are a stubborn people,"

She chuckled dryly at this.

"Yes, they are,"

Silence fell once more but not quite as oppressive as the ones preceding it.

"Are they safe?" the soft question didn't really surprise him.

"Yes, none are injured and all are being fed," even if the ungrateful beings didn't deserve it he would not withhold food from them.

She let out a relieved gust of air and shot him a blinding smile.

"Thank you,"

---

Thranduil savoured the time he had to spend with Bilbo. Unlike the time he had been in the Shire he was not removed from his responsibilities. He spent all the time he could with her, as did Legolas between scouting and hunts, but he quickly learned from the guards that she was making herself known in the kitchens and through her time in the kitchens she was meeting others.

His Hobbit was winning more of his subjects over with each passing day without even trying.

But always at the back of his mind was the Dwarves in the cells.

They were being relatively well behaved in their cells and were being fed regularly. Token insults were thrown about during meal times as well as a few attempts to overpower the guards but as - by his orders - only one cell door was opened at a time the offending Dwarf did not get very far in the attempt and would be thrown back into the cell quickly enough – and if they had the misfortune of sending their meal over the floor in the attempt they learned quickly no more food would be forthcoming until the next meal.

They had been overheard speaking of a fourteenth member and all seemed very concerned over this missing burglar. Thranduil decided that having that to worry over would do them all good.

Bilbo asked after their welfare every day and had asked if she could see them. He had refused her, feeling like a brute the whole time but he wanted to keep her to himself – and by 'himself' he meant everyone but the Dwarves – for the time being. He knew that if her presence was known she would never be away from the cells.

He would have to think…

---

"They shall be released,"

Thranduil had been thinking on the matter for some weeks now and had made his decision. He was not happy with it but he would rather be involved in the scheme than have the Dwarves trampling off on their own and possibly dragging Bilbo (who's mind he still hadn't swayed) into trouble that he was not aware of. Releasing them might also bridge the void between their races. A slim chance with Oakenshield being involved he would admit but it was there.

He fought to keep the neutral expression on his face and quirked an eyebrow as the frown Bilbo had been wearing since he had told her he wanted to discuss something vanished in a moment and was replaced with a beaming smile. She jerked forward in her chair and his heart leapt in his chest at the thought of her embracing him. But she regained her composure and his heart sank to his boots as she sat back in her chair with a blush. Her hands went to her lap and she clasped them together.

"Thank you, Thranduil," her smiled had softened but was no less thrilling to his ancient heart.

"Yes, well, I find myself going against my better judgement where you are concerned my dear and no doubt you would have them splashing down the rapids in escape if I denied you much longer" he smiled to soften his words, but the Hobbit took no offence and only giggled.

A cheeky smile quirked her lips, her eyes twinkling at him. She looked radiant sitting there in her Elven clothes with her hair curling about her face in a most unElven way. The weeks of rest had served her well but unfortunately had only strengthening her resolve to continue on the quest with the Dwarves. He had hoped she would want to stay with them for longer but he knew the quest and her travelling companions were never far from her mind as he was constantly reminded every day when she asked after them.

The Hobbit was her own woman and while her forthrightness and stubbornness was mouth wateringly tempting most times, in this one matter it was a nuisance. A nuisance that was causing him no end of worry.

"I can be very convincing when I want to be," she teased.

He laughed at this, the deep chuckle surprising him – it had been a long year since his time in the Shire and he had very little to laugh about but since her arrival a smile had not been too long from his lips when it would be replaced again.

"There are some…" he paused, "complications however,"

"I don't understand," the frown was back.

"Scouting parties have reported sighting Orcs passing the boundaries. A route to Laketown will have to be planned with care," he explained, worrying about the stricken look that passed over her face.

"We brought them here. Oh Thranduil I am so sorry. They must have followed us somehow…I-"

The Hobbit was building herself into a guilt fuelled panic so he leaned forward and impulsively grabbed her small hands in his own.

"Bilbo," he spoke firmly and her fear filled eyes met his own, "t is not unheard of for the scouts to encounter Orcs," of course they normally knew better than to risk entering the Wood and it was rare to see so many of them but she did not need to know that "and the spiders will be feasting on Orc flesh for a day or two, yes?" he added feeling a surge of mischief that he had not experienced for millennia.

A faint smile came to her lips in answer to his own grin – comatose Orcs being gnawed on by the spiders was not an entirely unpleasant vision after all.

"Those left though will still be a challenge, but we shall think on the matter," he squeezed her hand and for once gave into temptation. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"All will be well,"

---

When the plan came to him it was like a bolt of lightning across a clear sky.

Preparations were being made for the celebration. His people did not have much to celebrate and they deserved the diversion offered. Non-perishable food had been in the process of being stored for weeks and the barrels of wine were building up in the cellars ready to be floated down the river once they were emptied.

Down. The. River.

… no doubt you would have them splashing down the rapids in escape if I denied you much longer…

And that was when Thranduil, sitting on his throne, allowed himself a perverse thrill as a wicked smile curved his lips.

How wonderful life is.

Chapter Text

Chapter 5

With Bilbo

Bilbo had tried to think of a word other than 'magical' that would encompass the beauty and agelessness of the Woodland Realm since her arrival – after all, upon her return home (if she ever did return) she was determined to write of her adventures (My Journey by Bilbo Baggins had a lovely ring to it, she thought). But she failed and continued to return to 'magical' in her mind. 'Mystical' seemed too dark a word to describe the glowing halls and hanging walkway, while 'enchanted' was too childish a term. There was no happy in-between. So magical it remained.

During the several weeks she had been in the home of Thranduil, Legolas had taken it upon himself to show her the sights hidden among the mazes of paths and tree roots and he was a stream of knowledge when it came to answering her questions. She found that she could never learn to much about this place.

Whenever she ventured out from her rooms, escorted or alone, the heady smell of wood and leaves hung about her and the bathing pools – supplied by natural hot springs – would let off the most wonderful aromas in the rising steam. Smells of plants and perfumes than even Bilbo's Hobbit nose could not always identify.

Despite the wonders of the place and her joy of once again being in the company of her elves she could not forget her Dwarves, and worried over them constantly. Thranduil assured her that they were all well and were being well treated but her requests to see them were regularly refused and finally good manners forced her to stop asking all together and just accept Thranduil word that thy were all healthy and cared for – even if it was against their will.

When she was given time to think the matter over Bilbo reasoned with herself that perhaps it was better that they did not know she was on friendly terms with Thranduil and Legolas. Thorin had made no secret of his dislike of them after all and she did not want that level of anger levelled in her direction. She had been used to the open dislike and sometimes disdain that he had shown her during the journey but she was not prepared for that amount of hate.

The days past with the same timeless ease that they had done in Rivendell and as they did she found it easier to merge the two Thranduil in her mind. There was the Thranduil of the Shire, the one of had slept on her sitting room floor out of lack of anywhere else, who had dressed like his son in tunic, leggings and boots and had walked through the market with her. Then there was the Thranduil of the here and now, who had responsibilities pressing upon him and wore a crown as a constant reminder of this. She would be lying if she said that this Thranduil did not frighten her a little but he treated her as he always had done, with respect, courtesy and warmth and slowly she convinced herself that he was the same man.

She remained steadfast in the matter of the quest despite his and Legolas' (she was beginning to regret telling the younger some of her adventures during the journey) best efforts to persuade her to abandon her chosen course. In the safety offered by his home Bilbo would not deny, even to herself, that it was tempting. The thought of facing a dragon was terrifying. But she was a Baggins and she would keep her word. Besides, she had grown to care for the company and couldn't abandon them now when they were so close to their goal.

There was only one thing that could stop them now.

Thranduil himself.

Bilbo found upon locating the kitchens that she could quite happily live in the Woodland Realm for the rest of her life.

When she had first laid eyes upon the rooms that were to be hers she had instantly loved them, they were beautiful like all of the rooms she had seen during her tours with Legolas but with the flowing drapes and butter-smooth silks they were definitely feminine.

There was a large window in one of the walls – glassless as some in Rivendell had been – and it looked down onto a courtyard garden filled from wall to wall with flowers and herbs. Paths separated the edible plants from the decorative, the decorative from the healing and so on. It was by following one of the Elves who had come to fill a basket with various herbs while she had been down appreciating the heavy scents of the flowers that she had found the kitchen.

There were pantries upon pantries, herbs hung from racks above their heads drying, pumps funnelled water from a well, dishes lay stacked on tables, cutlery shined. It was all so normal. She found that several passageways lead to gardens similar to the one that lay below her bedroom window. These more practical than decorative, with vegetables, herbs and more fruit growing in abundance. During her time alone while Legolas scouted she gained permission to weed – after all she did not want to start digging about in someone else's garden that was the height of bad manner.

The Elves who worked in the kitchens were initially leery of her presence but as she found opportunities to make herself useful she found she could drift from garden to kitchen with ease and be welcomed in both. In fact the cooks seemed thrilled to learn new dishes, so she showed them, not without the slightest tinge of surprise, how to make some of the more stodgier Shire dishes. But then when she thought back to it there had been nothing that she had served at Bag End that Thranduil or Legolas (when he was well enough) had refused…

Bilbo was laughing as she told Legolas some of the humorous disasters that had been caused by Fili and Kili during the journey. The young Elf had been called in some days before from his scouting and was constantly full of energy, his body like a coiled spring. Occasionally it sprung in the most bizarre of fashions.

At the moment she was sitting on the side of one of the pools, the smooth stone cooling her legs through the layers of her borrowed finery, while Legolas had almost immediately scaled the massive statue of a stag that sat in the centre of the fountain and perched among its huge antlers without once getting his feet wet.

"My mind is with you Bilbo," he had reassured her from his vantage point when she had told him they could talk later, "It is my body that demands actions, please go on with your story,"

At Bag End she had never seen this side of Legolas, the side that always had to be doing something, as he had still not been at full strength upon leaving. She wondered if he would become more staid with age – like his father or Lord Elrond – or remain as he was now?

She leaned back slightly to see him upon his perch and continued with her story, hardly able to stop her own giggles from joining his chuckles as she told him about what the two young idiots had got up to – more often than not dragging poor Ori into their escapades.

Her tales quickly broadened to the rest of the company and of their behaviour at Rivendell and nearly jumped out of her skin when Thranduil's voice sounded behind her.

Bilbo could feel the blush rise up her face and quickly stood and straightened herself out. What was she thinking, sitting and giggling like a child.

The embarrassment didn't affect her appetite however when he told them that it was time for lunch and she accepted the hand he held out to her.

It was not until his hand closed about her own that her heart skipped a beat and her face flushed for a whole new reason.

---

With Thranduil

Thranduil smiled indulgently as he watched his son and the Hobbit from the shadows, the sound of their laughter and voices had filled his ears for some minutes as he had approached them, deciding to reward himself for a plan well thought by seeking out his Hobbit.

Since the Orcs had begun roaming through the Greenwood in search of Thorin and his jolly band – trampling about worse than any Dwarf – he had called in all but the bare minimum of scouting parties, which had included his son. He could not have all of the Orcs trailed, they had scattered, individuals breaking away during the panic of the first Spider attack. There was only one group who had remained together, a group too large for Thranduil's peace of mind and so the scouts trailed them at a distance… the sense of smell Orcs possessed was far too keen for such crude beings and any trackers too near would be scented out and he had no desire to risk an all-out assault at this time or to lose any of his people to an Orc blade.

Watchers were scattered at strategic locations throughout the realm to pick off the single Orcs that had eluded the spiders so far and the large group had chosen to stick to the river, discovering that the spiders rarely ventured into the daylight at the banks of the fast flowing water. The Orcs watched the gates from their vantage points and the scouts watched them. They were at a standstill.

A giggle and deeper chuckle drew him from his thoughts and back to the sight before him.

His son and Bilbo were sitting at one of the fountains, Bilbo was trailing her fingers to and fro along the surface of the water as she sat, her legs crossed beneath her, on the stone rim, while his son – full of energy from lack of scouting (his son, while an adequate tracker, lacked the patience for doing so long term) – was perched upon the very top of the stone stag in the centre of the pool. He sat in one of the dips offered by the antlers, his foot resting on the creature's snout, looking to all the world as though he was sitting on the finest of chairs he was so relaxed.

Thranduil shook his head at his son's actions, remembering more than one fall from strange heights as his son had perfected his 'hobby'. Legolas had bumped his head at the bottom of more than one tree in the Greenwood over the years.

"I thought poor Lord Elrond was going to faint," Bilbo was giggling, "at the sight of them all stripped to their skin and using one of the fountains as a bath," she must be speaking of the Dwarves.

He didn't know how he felt about her seeing them 'stripped to their skin'. The uncouth, vulgar creatures. He was not surprised by their actions, they no doubt took great joy in trying to embarrass the Elves of Imladris with their actions. Despite his dislike for the High Elves and their ways, Elrond was a good host, he prided himself on it in fact and Thranduil felt a simmering anger towards Thorin and his companions on Elrond's behalf at their blatant abuse of his good character.

"He was terribly kind and understanding though," her giggles faded and he could see a soft smile replacing her grin, "he said I could stay if I liked,"

Did he indeed?

The charity he had felt towards Elrond dampened somewhat at this new information.

He did not appreciate the Half Elven trying to steal his Hobbit, although he supposed he should be grateful for him offering her sanctuary if she needed it.

Legolas too seemed to be stuck between gratitude and irritation at the near Hobbit theft but Bilbo continued with her tale and soon had his son laughing at some antic or other of the younger Dwarves during the journey.

Unable to keep the smile from his face he stepped forward.

"So this is where I find you," he smiled at Bilbo who flushed and straightened from her place on the fountain. His son meanwhile just grinned from his place upon the stag. Thranduil said nothing, merely rolling his eyes at his son's uncharacteristically immature behaviour. It seemed Bilbo Baggins had a way of bringing out the child in his son.

"It is time for the noon meal," he told the Hobbit whose eyes brightened at the mention of food. It seemed that the Dwarves had not troubled themselves to ensure that she received the meals she required during their journey and it pleased him to see her complexion become rosy once more as the paleness fled thanks to regular food.

Without a second thought he held out his hand and with a smile she took it.

They went to lunch, Legolas trailing behind them.

Thranduil took a few days to put the pieces of his plan together. After all, the desired result was for the Dwarves to come out at the end of it alive and relatively in one piece, which meant ensuring that the barrels were well and truly watertight, and would not fill with water with a Dwarf inside. Should anything untoward happen to the Dwarves it would not be because their barrels sunk to the bottom of the river. He didn't worry too much about the violence of the ride down the rapids, after all, the barrels made it down the river in one piece to be collected by the Bargeman and Dwarves were far tougher than wood.

He continued to reward himself by spending as much time as he could with Bilbo, which often meant extra time with his son also as Legolas had attached himself to her. Thranduil was sure it was retribution on his son's part for keeping him within the walls.

Three days after he had found them talking by the fountain everything was in place and it was time to let his Hobbit know.

When Thranduil voiced his plan to Bilbo she very nearly chocked on her wine and he sat patiently as she got herself under control. Finally she spoke, her eyes watering and her cheeks flushed from the coughing and he handed her a goblet of water to clear her throat.

"The river?" she gasped in disbelief, taking the goblet with a small smile of thanks and taking a sip.

He picked up his own glass once again and took a slow sip of his wine – a sort of self-toast if you will – and nodded his head as he lowered the glass to the table and played with the stem between his fingers.

"By. Barrel." One of Bilbo's eyebrows had rose in disbelief and he nodded again, resisting the urge to smile. The mental image of the Dwarves in the barrels was just too marvellous to not smile over.

In all honesty Thranduil hadn't known what sort of reaction to expect from Bilbo. Shock maybe? But a giggle that turned into a tear inducing laugh was not something he would have imagined.

"You-" she gasped for breath, wiping tears of mirth from her face, her eyes shining with amusement "you are wicked," she chortled as she pulled her handkerchief from her sleeve and continued to mop at her damp face. Thranduil felt a surge of pride at his achievement – he had known having some of the fine squares made and placed in her room would be a good idea, during all the weeks he had spent in the Shire she had never been far from a handkerchief.

"It will keep them safe I suppose…though I doubt very much that they will go willingly," she was thinking aloud now, a delightfully adorable crease between her eyes as she tucked the handkerchief back into the long sleeve of her gown, "And I am not sure how I would handle being in a- How will we get them in the barrels?"

He held up a hand to halt her rapid words. She was not going to be anywhere near the river, he knew about Hobbits and their lack of swimming ability and he was not willing to risk her in such a way.

"Thirteen loud – and it must me said my dear – reeking Dwarves are one thing. But you my dear are a completely different story. If you continue to insist upon seeing this foolish mission to its end, my guards will have no trouble whisking one little Hobbit past danger and seeing her safely escorted to Esgaroth – Laketown," he corrected quickly when she tilted her head in confusion at the unfamiliar name.

It did not sit well with him, this idea of leaving Bilbo alone and unprotected in the town of Men but despite his feelings on the matter he could not leave to escort her himself. There were Orcs to deal with once the Dwarves were gone from his lands and the spiders were growing in number.

"As for the illustrious Thorin and his companions, it shall be explained to them in no uncertain terms that they travel by barrel or they swim. Either way, they go into the river," he spoke harshly and he meant every word. The natural suspicion that laid between them would probably cause the Dwarves to imagine the whole plan was some elaborate plot to kill them – tempting, but untrue at this particular moment.

"I suppose it is the only way," she sighed, still smiling softy.

Thranduil took another sip of his wine, a smile playing along his lips as he watched the pleasantly flushed, bright eyes Bilbo. It seemed his Hobbit was also in possession of a wicked streak.

Now to inform Legolas.

Thranduil sat and waited, preparing himself for his son's reaction to his words. What he had told Thorin during their brief meeting was true, to ones who lived so long, a hundred years was but a blink of an eye and yet several seconds could be like the passing of a millennia under the right circumstances. The last year for example, he had felt every minute off it drag by, grating on his skin. And now the seconds lagged as his son just stood there.

His son looked at him with an expression that told him he couldn't quite comprehend what he had heard - something new for Legolas who was often steps ahead of everyone else and used to it. And then understanding dawned and his eyes widened before narrowing. The eruption followed swiftly on the heels of enlightenment and Thranduil readied himself to ride out the coming storm. He had thought it wise to begin small, and had not yet told his son the full plan, merely that the Dwarves would be released and Bilbo would be sent with them...well, to a certain extent.

His son began to pace, his body vibrating with energy, eyes flashing, his hands clenching about the air, obviously wanting to be gripping something. Perhaps he should have had Legolas' weapons removed before informing him of the circumstances, in his current frame of mind Thranduil wouldn't be surprised if he stormed down to the cells and began freeing Dwarves of their heads – his son was deadly with those knives and had a temper quick to flair when there was reason enough behind its fuelling.

"Father, have you lost your mind?"

Thranduil met his son's fiery gaze, unflinchingly. He deserved the anger after all for not being able to convince one little Hobbit woman to stay where it was safe and to abandon a quest that was doomed from the beginning. And maybe he was mad for bowing to her request to release the Dwarves, and even more insane for concocting a plan that would send her to danger...

"We-You-We cannot let her go. It is a miracle that she made it this far with only those imbeciles for protection," Thranduil bit down on his own tongue, just stopping himself from informing his son that his good friend Mithrindir was the one who was responsible for Bilbo showing up on their door step in the condition she had, and that it was the very same wizard who had abandoned the group at the borders of their realm – something that he would be having harsh words with the wizard about should their paths ever cross.

His son's pacing brought him finally to stand in front of him.

"What use will they be against Smaug? What will thirteen Dwarves accomplish that a whole Dwarf Kingdom with a highly trained guard could not? And what about once they see the gold?" Thranduil kept his expression neutral and allowed his son to continue voicing his concerns, each of them ones that haunted Thranduil's thoughts. "Dwarves are greedy and selfish beasts," his son spat with more venom than Thranduil had ever seen a spider produce, "and the madness runs through Thorin's veins. Will they oppose him when the gold turns his brain and corrupts his thinking?" his son was pale with anger.

Thranduil's neutral expression began to crack. Indeed that was his worse fear voiced in a simple question.

He had seen what the love of gold did to those of the line of Durin. How it would turn a once strong and noble king to a ruthless tyrant who only cared for acquiring more and more of the precious metal, craving the very thing that ruined him, caring for nothing and no one or the consequences of his actions in attaining it. The madness that had consumed Thorin's grandfather had been years in the making but what would happen to Thorin who had been dreaming of his lost home for so long, whose actions were fuelled by nothing but the desire to reclaim his lost heritage? Would he be strong enough to withstand the siren call of the treasure or would he fall to the same madness? Each of the Dwarves in the company would hear the seductive song of the gold and he knew there was a risk that each of them would fall to a degree… And what of Bilbo should this happen? She was a Hobbit.

He remembered sitting in her small sitting room before the crackling fire…it seemed like a lifetime ago now. He and Legolas were stretched out on the piles of bedding and cushions upon the floor, while the Hobbit was curled up in what he had learned was her father's chair. She was in her night clothes, wrapped up in her patchwork nightgown with her feet tucked underneath her. Her hair, loosed from the severe knot she kept it in during the day was tied loosely at the nape of her neck loose tendrils curling against her cheeks and over her ears. In short she looked beautiful.

She had been peppering them with questions of their race all night and soaking up the information they provided like a sponge. Her curiosity was boundless and her questions ceaseless. While he enjoyed answering her questions and seeing her eyes light up in amazement with each new fact he divulged, he wanted to know more about her and if he could not learn that then he would settle for Hobbits in general.

"What of Hobbits?" he had asked her during a rare lull in her questions.

She had looked surprised.

"Hobbits?" she looked as though he had asked her the dullest question imaginable. Well, he begged to differ.

"Yes, Hobbits. What do you find joy in?"

She had laughed at this, a little giggle that had turned into a chuckle.

"We are a simple lot, all we ask for is comfort. A nice place to live, good food, good drink, an even better supply of pipe weed (for those who care for it of course) and good company,"

He had smiled at her answer but not because he had found it amusing in the way she had thought.

"No my lady, not simple at all,"

Nowhere in her explanation of Hobbits had the accumulation of gold been mentioned and during his time in her home she always seemed happiest at meal times or when they were talking and he knew she had not been lying.

Money was valued of course. One needed it to live. But it was only valued in as far as it went to bring comfort and ease someone's living conditions. Apart from the market – which did involve coin – there seemed to be a bartering system between the Hobbits of Hobbiton. Needlework was exchanged for seeds. Seeds were exchanged for woollen goods. And so it went on. Gold was not gather and hoarded to be fawned over and hidden by the owner.

She would never be able to understand the madness that could consume her travelling companions and that worried him. She would be in danger if she did not tread lightly should they fall… And even if the others held onto their sanity what would they do should Thorin be the only one to succumb. Would they follow the orders of another crazed monarch? Thranduil had seen the results of that course of action once before and would kill the Dwarf himself should that be the case and he would not feel the guilt of the blood upon his hands.

"Father, you cannot permit this!" his son was breathing heavily and he realised that while he had been lost in his thoughts Legolas had been venting still.

He sighed, feeling every one of his days as if they were a weight about his shoulders.

"We cannot stop her, she has made up her mind and is determined to fulfil her contract and see the adventure through to the end – whatever that might be," his son went to speak again and he held up his hand to stop him, "What would you have us do?" he stood and did some pacing of his own, keeping his voice calm, "Perhaps have her placed in one of the cells?"

"Of course not,"

"Lock her in her room?" he asked reasonably.

"Father-"

"Or maybe drug her and have her sleep until the Dwarves fail or succeed," an eyebrow went up.

"No,"

"Then what? She will not be swayed from her path and as we cannot force her to remain here what other possibilities are there?"

"Father-"

His upraised hand silenced his son once more.

"She had grown fond of the Dwarves," he wished it were not so but he was not blind to the obvious affection she felt for them all, "She cares for them and she will not abandon them now. All we can do is watch over her as much as we can and keep her safe," this suggestion pleased his son in as much as it caused some of the tension to drain from his body.

"The Dwarves leave the moment there is an opening," the same smile that came to his lips every time he thought of the great Thorin Oakenshield bobbing down the river in a barrel appeared there now, "They will travel by river,"

"River?"

"Mmm, in the barrels. The bargeman will no doubt assist them to Laketown," the wetter the better, Thranduil mused wickedly, the vision of thirteen noisy dwarves soaked to the skin making his smile broaden. His smile then dimmed as he remembered the extra care he had insured thirteen of the barrels had received. The Dwarves would be dry and safe within the sealed barrels.

Shame.

"They cannot be sent until the Orcs leave the edge of the water, we cannot risk them viewing the barrels as sport or with suspicion,"

"And what of Bilbo?" his son's anxiety over the little Hobbit was clear, "You know Hobbit's cannot swim? You would risk her on the rapids?"

"No. She will be escorted through the woods and to Laketown, she can meet them there,"

Thranduil knew just as well as his son that as a rule Hobbit's could not swim and he would not place her life in such jeopardy. The Dwarves on the other hand could fend for themselves. If the fools drowned they had no one to blame but themselves. The barrels had been checked and no water would gain access.

"She is almost as silent as you when she chooses to be," he informed his son, " and will slip through the woods easily enough – more easier than thirteen Dwarves staggering about like a drunk troll. With the orcs becoming more bold the Dwarves would be heard miles away," his disgust in the lack of stealth shown by the Dwarves was evident in his voice and Legolas chuckled at his words.

"I believe the orcs are regretting their choice to enter the Wood," his son had a glint to his eyes but it faded quickly enough, "there are still too many remaining for my piece of-"

"My lord," a Tauriel burst in upon them, panting from her exertion, her sword drawn and speckled with blood.

"The Orcs are attacking the gate,"

All decisions were now out of his hands, here was an opportunity that may never present itself again.

While the Orcs were busy at the gate the barrels could be released and the Dwarves would no longer be his to worry about.

"Tauriel," he addressed the captain of the guard who stiffened and straightened, "have the dwarves brought to the cellars and ensure they are well guarded," there could be no more delays and it would not do to have to hunt through the halls afters escaped Dwarves "the Orcs are to be kept occupied but lives are not to be risked, am I understood," lives would be lost this day, it was inevitable but there would be no more than necessary if it could be helped.

"Very good my lord," she left to carry out his instructions and he turned to his son.

"It seems things are destined to progress quicker than we thought,"

He could see his son was itching to leave his presence, he sighed. His son was young, it would be some years yet until he grew tired of war.

"Very well, join the guards, once you have ensured that Bilbo is safe"

With a nod of his head Legolas left him.

It was now time to convince the Dwarves to climb into the barrels.

---

 

Chapter Text

Chapter 6

With Thranduil

Thranduil stood before the ragged group of Dwarves, and from the crownless king to the youngest of the company they glared at him with loathing and distrust. He could see little reason for their present animosity other than pure stubbornness and force of habit and it did amuse him, this Dwarven pig-headedness. For all that they had been in their cells for the past several weeks they had all been well fed and permitted water to wash – although from the looks of it all but a few had failed to avail themselves of this offering, obviously deciding to show their dislike of the situation by inflicting their stench on everyone. He had also been told by the Master of the Keys that each of them had exercised daily within their cells in one way or other.

With Thorin as the ringleader they obstinately refused to climb into the barrels and – to their view – put themselves even more at the mercy of the wicked Elves holding them prisoner.

Perhaps he should have withheld food from them. In a weakened, malnourished state they may have been more open to getting into the barrels.

There was no time for this ridiculous display of bravado and Thranduil fumed at the stubbornness of the mountain-less King. He was sorely tempted to kick them all into the river without the aid or protection of a barrel. It would be a wonderful chance to see if they were truly forged from rock. Would they sink immediately or bob for a little while before disappearing beneath the surface, he wondered.

"It is against my better judgement that I release you at all," he spoke calmly, now was not the time to allow Thorin to see him troubled, his guards were reaching for their weapons, hands tightening about hilts as the Dwarves began to shift restlessly, eyes roaming for routes of escape.

Idiots.

They wouldn't get far in any attempt at running. Even if by some amazing stroke of fate they did over-power the guards and escape the cellars there were more guards at every door, and the halls were swarming with archers as they went to their posts to defend the gate. And then there was Legolas, he had no doubt that his son – his aim sharpened by anger towards the Dwarves – would make them regret such a rash decision with an arrow to the leg or heart, depending entirely on his son's charity. Yes, he had no doubt that if they did run he would have thirteen very dead Dwarves on his hands.

The company would not escape of their own volition. It was the barrels or back into the cells and Thorin could remain locked from his precious dragon infested mountain for the rest of his miserably short existence.

Thranduil bit back a sigh and continued. He was doing this for Bilbo, he had to remember that.

"But, you have a champion who you do not deserve on your side and it is to them that I bow in this matter,"

Thorin, his eyes still fixed upon Thranduil's mumbled from the corner of his mouth to the white haired Dwarf at his side. Thranduil was certain he caught 'Gandalf' being mumbled between them as they spoke softly.

Very well, he had no issue with allowing these imbeciles to believe that Mithrandire was the one influencing his decision on the matter of their freedom, as long as it got them in the cursed barrels and onto the river before the Orcs got tired of the gate. They needed to be caught in the current and well on their way to the rapids before that could be risked.

Thorin stepped forward, his gaze fixed on him with a murderous intensity and Thranduil had no doubt that if he could the Dwarf royal would be planting a dagger into his chest this very minute. It seemed his guards were having very much the same thoughts regarding the Dwarf as the soft rattle of shifting weaponry hummed in his ears. Thorin's eyes never wavered from him.

"How do I know this is not some plot?"

How predictable.

"That you do not plan to drown us as soon as you have us on the river?"

Thranduil could not stop the amused smile from stretching his lips.

"You don't,"

---

Thranduil strode back through the halls to the room he knew his Hobbit was residing in.

It had taken some time but Thorin had finally set a better example to his men and had been the first to climb – unassisted – into the empty wine barrel, the others had done so too and had been sent splashing into the river one at a time in their sealed 'boats'. He had ordered their weapons to be placed in separate barrels and they too were sent splashing into the river after them. The Master of the Keys, freed of his charges was sent to gather the escorts Thranduil had already chosen to accompany Bilbo to Esgaroth.

The fight at the gate was still going strong and Thranduil hoped that should the barrels be spotted from the banks the Orcs would think them empty. They only had to make it to the shallows and the bargeman would direct them further…if they had the coin to pay him with of course. He had no doubt the gold loving creatures had some hidden about their persons.

He entered the corridor leading to Bilbo's chambers and set two of the guards following him at the entrance to the passage way and the remaining two at her door as he knocked and her soft voice told him to enter.

His heart throbbed painfully in his chest at the sight of her perched on her bed once again dressed in her travelling clothes from the Shire. She looked so small in the large room and every instinct in him cried out for him to keep her in the safety of his halls and never let her leave. But she had made up her mind and as much as he wished it otherwise he had no claim upon her, no right to stop her or hold her here.

She was staring at the small sword laying across her lap, stroking a finger along the runes and patterns carved into the blade, an eerie blue glow was coming from it showing that the Orc presence was still going strong at the gate.

She glanced up at him and smiled wanly, her face pale.

"Legolas returned it to me before running off to 'play'," she told him and he chuckled at her wording as he stepped further into the room.

He had no doubt his son had left her with all the glee of a child at the chance to separate Orc heads from their bodies.

"You will be pleased to know that your Dwarves are safely on their way down the river,"

"Thank you," she sighed gratefully, casting her gaze back down towards her 'sting' before setting it on the bed beside her.

She looked so lost sitting there.

"We have enjoyed having you here with us," he told her softly, dropping to one knee before her and looking her in the eyes as he took her hands in his.

A soft blush came to her pale cheeks, giving her some much needed colour even if it was only for a short time.

"I have enjoyed my time here also," she spoke softly, as though she was afraid to hear her own words, "You have both been wonderful to me and to the company," her grip tightened on his, "It's funny, now that the time had come to continue on…I…I don't want to go,"

Now was the time, Thranduil's heart and mind cried for joy, right now at this moment he could talk her into staying, into remaining here where it was safe, where there was no dragon lurking in the shadows, where there were no gold mad Dwarves to put her in danger… But he wouldn't.

The doubt was natural and he knew his little Hobbit well enough to know that she would never forgive herself if she abandoned the company now and the guilt would eat her away inside if she felt they had failed because of her absence.

"But I will," her voice had strengthened and her face was set firmly with determination.

He smiled. The doubt was gone and there before him was the Bilbo he knew.

"I have chosen eight of my best men to accompany you to Laketown, they will see you safely to the home of Bard he shall no doubt be the one Thorin shall be dealing with,"

Bard was a good man and honourable, unlike the master of the town who had never thought of anyone's interests but his own. Despite that honour that ran through the Man's blood Thranduil still hoped he got some monitory gain from the Dwarves when they began popping from the barrels.

Bilbo nodded her head while mouthing the name 'Bard', with one last squeeze of her hands he forced himself to release her and stood.

She followed his example and slipped from the bed to stand before him, the very figure of steadfastness and determination.

"I am ready," she smiled up at him and he could not help but smile back at her.

"Very well, my dear,"

He led her from the room.

There were many lesser known and hidden entrances to his halls and it was to one of these that he led her and left her in the care of his hand chosen guards. They would take her the hidden ways through the realm and keep her safe from the spiders.

He took her small, cold hand in his and leaning down lifted it to his lips.

"Be safe, my Lady," he spoke into her skin and lowering her hand to her side he straightened.

"You also, Your Majesty," she smiled softly, a mischievous twinkle coming to her eyes as she dropped into a curtsey before him.

---

With Bilbo

The journey through the rest of Mirkwood was not as terrifying as it had been several weeks before when she had been accompanied by hallucinating Dwarves who would swear blind that they weren't the only Dwarves around. She remembered Bofur swearing blind that the tobacco pouch he had found on the ground had not been his but another Bofur's entirely.

The Elves gave her a sense of security that had been lacking with the company. The Elves were of this place, they lived and breathed the Wood – sick as it was – and she trusted them to get her through the darkness of the spider infested, web covered trees safely.

And they did.

They snuck her through the shadows and past spider nests with an ease born of experience and in no time at all the trees were thinning out and the sun was finally finding entrance through the branches and the thick foliage beneath her bare feet gave way to patches of stone. Then in what seemed to be a blink of an eye Bilbo found she was looking out at water and lots of it.

Pools of stagnant liquid, tarry and rancid, were gathered in the hollows of rotting tree roots and the smell had her crinkling her nose. It didn't smell as bad as dead spider, she mused, but it wasn't something she was happy smelling either.

The ground beneath her feet was slippery with decomposing leaves and moss.

She did her level best to avoid stepping in the mushy puddles and found a log – crumbling but dry – to stand on as the Elves were uncovering small boats from the undergrowth and dragging them to the lake. At least, she thought that was what they were doing. Taking her eyes away from the reeking patches she watched as an Elf climbed one of the trees some way from the bank and helped another who was already in the branches to free the boat from rope that held it to the trunk.

She watched, fascinated, as what looked to be part of the tree was removed and lowered to the waiting hands of the Elves below and carried to the water.

Amazing.

This was repeated again until there were three small boats, long and sleek, bobbing in the water, like bright stars on the darkness of the lake. As each boat was lowered into the water a guard would hop into it and sit down in one fluid motion, digging a paddle into the mossy bank to hold it in place.

She was helped into the boat – she trusted water even less than she trusted those rotten ponies – by one of her silent companions. It wobbled under her feet and she quickly sat down, mirroring the sitting position of the rower.

She held on tightly to the sides and only began to relax and release her hold when she saw how much confidence the Elves had in the seemingly flimsy boats.

Another Elf jumped in behind her and her hands shot to the sides once again as the boat rocked gently with the new addition. The remaining six Elves leapt into the two remains boat. Two in each taking up paddles while one sat with a bow and arrow at the ready.

They pushed off and Bilbo breathed deeply, praying for all she was worth that they didn't sink.

"We will reach the town by nightfall, my lady," a voice told her from behind.

She nodded her head quickly to acknowledge that she had heard him not wanting to risk any unnecessary movement.

She hoped the Dwarves had made it down the river in one piece.

---

Bilbo could not help but admire the way her Elven escorts cut through the water in the sleek boats with an effortless ease, their paddles not making the slightest noise as they entered the water, left the water, entered the water, left the water… It was almost soothing to watch really… It was a deceptively gentle rhythm though it propelled them smoothly along the surface and towards their destination at a speed that wasn't to be sniffed at.

She supposed it was bound to appear graceful to her eyes. If she had a couple of hundred years to practice rowing, she had no doubt that she could get to be just as good. As it was, Bilbo was most glad of her escorts obvious skill as it worked wondered to ease her natural Hobbit aversion to water and although her hands still rested on the edge of the boat on either side of her, she was no longer gripping onto the wood with a white-knuckled grip. Yes, if it wasn't for the constant fear of suddenly (and inexplicably) capsizing and sinking to the bottom of the lake, weighed down with lungs full of water (she hated her imagination sometimes, it chose the most inopportune times to conjure horrible things) it would be a most enjoyable trip.

The problem with the mostly silent journey was that she had too much time to think.

She was ashamed of herself for the almost scene she had created when Thranduil had come into her room. In that one moment she did not want to leave and she would have given anything to stay where she was, to spend her days weeding in the gardens, helping in the kitchens, talking to Legolas and Thranduil.

She had been happy. As happy as she had been during their stay in Bag End…

---

After some time of gliding across the water – a fog had descended upon the lake and with the sun now hidden from view Bilbo had no way of gauging the exact time although she was sure night had fallen some hours ago – one of her silent companions turned to her and pointed forward, pass the heads of the other Elves in the lead boat.

"Esgaroth, my lady," he told her before returning his attention to navigating.

Bilbo's heart skipped a beat at the announcement and she peered into the fog towards where the finger had pointed. At first, much to her disappointment, she could not see anything, only the wall of fog that gave her the impression of being trapped inside a storm cloud…perhaps the water beneath her was just biding its time to drop onto another world far below…

Bilbo shook herself from her musing.

Now is not the time for fanciful rubbish, Biblo Baggins, she reprimanded herself.

The mass that was the strange floating town appeared so slowly and yet so quickly in the way things do in a fog.

Bilbo had seen many strange and wonderful things since she had left Bag End – things of myth and of the darkest tales imaginable – but out of all of them this had to be the most mind boggling of them all.

There, in the middle of a lake, with no land to be seen around or under it, were buildings, a whole towns worth of buildings just sitting on the lake. She could make out the smoke drifting from some of the chimneys and the high tower of what she assumed was some official building from the way it cast everything else in its shadow.

If she closed one eye and squinted, from the distance they were at the town appeared to be more like a child's toy than anything else. Something knocked together and just set afloat but as they drew nearer she could clearly see that this was no carpenter's creation to amuse children.

As they passed into the town along a street of water instead of stone, men, women and children stopped in their business to watch them float by. Bilbo was surprised that they seemed more intrigued by her than the Elves she was travelling with and wondered how often Thranduil did business with the town to make it so that seeing an Elf was obviously not something to pass comment on.

She could not stop the slight shiver that danced along her spine as the buildings closed in about her.

Dread settled like a rock in her stomach as with each forward rocking of the boat she drew nearer to the company of Dwarves that she had not seen in weeks. She hoped they had made it down the river alight and had made their way here safely and yet she feared the coming reunion and the unavoidable questions it was bound to bring. But she did have her explanation all planned out – she hoped.

It was a simple enough tale.

She had been lost and separated from the group when she had freed them from the spiders and after some time the Elves had found her and escorted her to Lake-town. After all, she was no Dwarf and there was no animosity between her people and the Elves, so why wouldn't they assist her in her hour of need?

Lost for weeks? Well, yes, and besides, she was a Hobbit, not a tramping Dwarf in those horrible boots of theirs, and she could stay hidden and out of trouble well enough thank you very much.

How had she survived? That had been a sticky point for Bilbo, after all, the foliage of the Woods was poisonous and even her stout Hobbit constitution couldn't change that and it was plain to see that she had been eating…

It had been Thranduil who had supplied the information needed for that. Dwarves believed that Elves held nightly revels, at which they ate, drank, danced and sang in copious amounts and basically made merry until the dawn – Thranduil had informed her that while this was true on special occasions, it most certainly did not occur every evening – so why could she not have stumbled across such a revel and made free with the food she had found there?

It did not sit well with Bilbo that she would be lying to the company this way but she had no wish to face Thorin's anger if he found out the truth. She could just imagine the shade he would turn if he found out that she had been treated as a guest while he and the others were in the cells. But in all fairness they had probably eaten the exact same food at meal times as she had so he had nothing to complain about on that side of things as far as she was concerned.

---

Her Elven guards tied up the boats and leaving two to stand guard over them the remaining six escorted her through the town. Bilbo felt ridiculous, walking through the torch lit streets flanked by six Elven guards, armed to the teeth and ready to plant something sharp into someone at a moment's notice.

It was late but the streets were busy with people. Happy people.

"Have we arrived on a festival day?" she asked one of her companions, feeling quite happy herself to have firm wood beneath her feet.

"No my lady,"

Not a very talkative group these guards of hers.

---

Bilbo stared at the Dwarves in a mixture of disgust and amazement. They were all well and truly stewed.

Her Elven escorts had taken her straight to the home of the Master of the town, informing her that the Master and Bard were not the same person but that it was best for her presence to be known to the Master as he was known to take objection to things being kept from him.

The tall building she had spotted from out on the lake stood out even more from the surrounding buildings the nearer she got to it. It was plain to see that there was money in the town and that very little off it circulated outside of the influence of the official in power.

The Master and his slimy, creeping weasel of a servant had leered down at her and exchanged a calculating glance. Against her will she had edged closed to her escorts, glad of their presence and the countless sharp things on their persons.

"Would the lady care to be shown to her…companions?" the Master had asked, quirking an eyebrow at her and placing an emphasis on 'lady' that had her skin crawling.

Bilbo had straightened, holding herself as tall as she could and set her jaw.

"Yes, the lady would," she ground out not caring at all for his attitude or his insinuation.

"Very well,"

The Master had given her a mocking bow and led her to the room where from the sound of it she had already guessed what she would find.

"Could you wait here please?" she had asked the two guards who had followed her into the building, the others waiting outside on the street.

"My lady," her guards had objected, their eyes darting between her face and the door several feet down the corridor, their expressions filled with concern.

She had been warmed by their obvious worry for her but she had thought that a confrontation between a group of intoxicated Dwarves and her guards was best to be avoided.

"Laaaaaaass,"

Bilbo started at the sudden wail and scanned the group of exceedingly tipsy Dwarves.

"Hello Balin," she smiled at the one Dwarf who appeared to be the most sober and gave him a small wave.

"You're alive," he laughed, staggering to his feet and making wobbly progress towards her.

Bilbo stole a quick glance at the Elves who were standing ramrod straight and as tense as a bow string where she had left them. She noticed both of them had their hands on dagger hilts, ready to draw them and some blood.

Now was not the time for an altercation if Balin spotted them.

She stepped into the room and towards the smiling and dangerously tilting Balin. If he was a ship she was sure he would have sunk by now she observed thoughtfully as he listed to the left, corrected his course and then swayed to the right.

Oh dear.

She dashed forward and planted herself beneath one of his flailing arms, lodging herself against his side and wrapping an arm around his waist.

He misunderstood her assistance as a sign of affection and enveloped her in his arms, hugging her tightly and patting her head.

"Och, I'm gla' to see you too laaass," he swayed dangerously and she set her legs and held on tight.

He was not going to drag them both to the floor.

"M' poor lassy," he pulled away from her, his eyes bright with alcohol – just what had he been drinking – and the sentimental smile that had been on his face faded to a sober frown, "Jus' how did y u ge' here?" he belched his way through the question and leaned in towards her.

Bilbo planted her hands on his shoulders to stop him from banging into her.

It was strange to see the usually so proper and controlled Dwarf in such a way, but she glanced behind him at the others – who hadn't even realised she was in the room, despite all the noise the king's councillor was making – and figured she was lucky he was cognitive at all.

Keeping a steadying hand on his shoulders she quickly stumbled through her explanation, receiving sympathetic nods occasionally.

"Brave lassy," he slurred, leaning in to give her another hug.

She endured the embrace, wondering if he would remember a word she said come morning, and breathed a sigh of relief when he released her, clapped her on the shoulder and stumbled back to his seat at the table beside his brother.

It seemed her presence was once more forgotten.

She sighed in disgust as she surveyed the table.

Pitchers of wine, goblets of ale and plates of half eaten food littered the table and all the Dwarves were well and truly stewed.

Fili, Kili and Ori - having she assumed less practice in handling drink - were all fast asleep in various positions. Ori was curled into Dori's side, a soft smile on his face, Fili was slumped over the table, lengths of his hair clumped together in what was left of his dinner - Bilbo was amazed his face had managed to miss the plate and she had no doubt that come morning the vain young man would be in a panic over the state of his mane - and as for Kili, well the youngest prince was fast asleep on the floor beneath the table, his arms wrapped around his brother's legs and snoring into his ankle.

From the way Bofur was slouched in his seat she wouldn't be surprised if he would be joining Kili on the floor soon.

Dwalin and Nori were exchanging drunken insults one minute and laughing over shared stories the next.

Dori - ignoring the presence of his little brother at his shoulder - was suddenly lurching across the table towards Bombur laughing loudly and slapping the company cook on the shoulder in a congratulatory kind of way. This caused Ori to slip from his shoulder and slide behind him. She really hoped he didn't sit back quickly or the poor lad would be squashed between him and the back of the seat.

Thorin and Bifur appeared to be having a soul deep discussion in Khuzdul that only made sense to the very drunk and Balin had begun to referee an arm wrestling match between Nori and Dwalin while chugging back the contents of a goblet – she was sure that by the end of his next drink he would be just as drunk as the rest of them.

This was the company of the great Thorin Oakenshield. Honestly, they hadn't got the mountain back yet-

Bilbo froze in her inner rant when she realised something that caused her heart to leap to her mouth in panic.

She was missing two?

Bilbo scanned the group, doing a quick head count, her eyes following Bofur as he finally lost his valiant fight with gravity and slid beneath the table to curl up into a sleepy ball.

Where were they?

Where, where, where - Ah.

She stopped her frantic scan of the room when her eyes landed on Gloin and Oin who were sitting away from the rest of the company.

Oin was sitting with his arm wrapped around his younger brother, nodding his head in an understanding kind of way while Gloin was sitting with a tankard of ale in one hand and the pictures of his son and wife in the other – she was well acquainted with the silver frame as Gloin had been in the habit of showing it to anyone if given the opportunity. The poor man was sobbing the sobs of a drunkard, his cheeks (what she could see of them beneath the beard) were flushed and shining with tears.

They were all here and all appeared to be unharmed.

She shook her head in annoyance and let herself out of the room without any of occupants being the wiser and only one of them knowing she had been there at all.

Bilbo closed the door softly and walked to her fretting protectors.

"On to Bards?" she smiled wanly.

They looked her over from the top of her head to her bear toes, their ancient eyes taking in everything about her, finding no faults thy bowed their heads to her and lead her out the building.

She was glad to step through the massive doors and back out onto the street. She looked around for the rest of her travelling companions and found the four Elves standing to the side in the company of a man. They were talking amiably and not wishing to interrupt them she turned to the two who had stood guard in the corridor.

"Lead on," she smiled.

To her surprise they led her no further than the small group.

The immediately stopped talking and she tried to keep her feet still and resist shifting uncomfortably under the weight of the Man's assessing looks.

Well, fair is fair.

Bilbo lifted her eyes to his face and studied him with just as much intensity as he was her.

He was tall, but then everyone was to her eyes.

Crow's feet stretched from the corners of his eyes, fine lines that she was certain were caused more from responsibilities than age.

His dark hair fell to his shoulders and it was strangers to Bilbo to see such short hair again after spending so much time with first the Dwarves and then the Elves – both races favouring long hair.

She was sure that he would have a nice smile and she was proven correct when he flashed one at her as one of her guard's introduced them.

She dropped him a curtsey.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Master Bard,"

---

Bilbo rolled over in the bed that had been provided for her and stared into the blackness in the direction of the ceiling.

She had left the company some time ago in the Masters home and it had to be early morning by now but she was finding it difficult to sleep. She was tired, exhausted even from all of the nerves she had kept at bay during the trip on the lake but the rest she needed continued to be elusive.

Bilbo found that she missed her room in the woodland realm, as well as the solid, silent company of her guards as they had left her in Bard's care outside the Master's home.

"We bid you good bye my lady, and we pray it will not be long before we see you once again in the woodland realm," the delegated speaker had bowed low.

She had thanked them all and curtseyed – at a loss for the proper way to behave.

Bard – who had become stern and stiff after the initial introduction - had lead her through the still bustling streets of the town to his home.

It had been obvious that the man had a lot on his mind and the cheer and air of celebration that seemed to have affected everyone else appeared to have missed him entirely, but he was a fair enough host and had ensured that his daughters had shared a room with her - she assumed to make her feel safe in a strangers home.

So here she was, snuggled in a stranger's bed, in a strangers house while the rest of the company were busy soaking their brains in ale.

She closed her eyes, missing the smell of wood and flowers. She felt alone for the first time in several weeks and she did not like the coldness it filled her with.

She could hear Bard's daughters – Sigrid and Tilda – who were sharing the elder's bed whispered softly to each other.

It seemed that she was not the only one finding sleep hard to come by this night.

"Do you think she is a fairy…or a little elf maybe?" the little girl was whispering to her big sister.

Bilbo couldn't help but smile at the child's observations. With her ears it was only natural for the little one to think that she was an Elf of some kind. But a fairy?

"I told you the Dwarves were lucky, just wait until I tell May that a fairy came to my house,"

"The lady isn't a fairy, Tilda. The lady is a Hobbit, she is travelling with the Dwarves," the girl sounded weary but resigned, like she was used to her little sister's flights of fancy, "Didn't you hear them talking to father about her?" she hissed.

"And how do you know a Hobbit isn't a kind of fairy," the girl sounded stubborn, reluctant to give in.

Bilbo was a fairy and that was that it would seem and no one would tell her otherwise.

Bilbo found herself mentally applauding the girl's determination.

Sigrid sighed.

"Go to sleep Tilda,"

There was a rustle of bed clothes and then silence once more.

Bilbo stared into the darkness as the silence settled around her and tried to push the hollow feeling in her chest to the back of her mind.

Chapter Text

Chapter 7

Bilbo woke with a foggy head and the feeling that she had only slept for a matter of minutes and realised that could very well have been the case. She had spent most of the night tossing and turning in her borrowed bed until she had forced herself to remain still and willed her mind to do the same. The last thing she could remember before finally dozing off was the faint beams of light breaking through the gaps in the curtains.

She turned away from where she had managed to lodge herself against the wall and found that the other bed in the room was empty of her young roommates, and, for the first time she noticed the noises that must have woken her coming from outside the door.

The rattling of pans and clashing of cutlery had her stomach rumbling loudly and she clutched at it in a futile attempt to muffle the sound, and despite the fact that she was alone in the room a flush rose to her cheeks. She had been spoiled in the Woodland Realm. Thranduil and Legolas had made sure she had not missed one meal while she stayed with them. Bilbo sighed at the thought of getting accustomed once again to the travel rations that had been her daily intake during the journey. She wouldn't have to be used to them for long though, she comforted herself. After all they were not that far from the mountain now.

More noises of clinking pots had her sliding from the bed and struggling to straighten her rumpled clothing. It had been terribly bad mannered of her to sleep in her travel clothes the way she had, but she had not been offered anything to wear the night before and she had not wanted to add to the hassle she felt she was already causing by asking for something.

She tugged and pulled at her rumpled layers trying to convince the wrinkles and creases to fall from the fabric. Her clothes really had held up well to the rigours of the journey – better than she had in some cases. That was good old Shire craftsmanship for you. Apart from a few hasty repairs she had to make on the road – rips caused from some branch or rock – all the seams had held together well under the strain of being used as a handkerchief for trolls, rolling into the middle of the Misty Mountains with a Goblin on top of her, climbing trees, riding eagles…the list just kept growing.

She ran a hand along her waist and stopped, feeling the hard circular piece of gold within her pocket. Impulsively she slipped a hand into it, her fingers itching to touch the cool metal.

A fog came over her mind, slowing her thoughts until all she could focus on was the gold ring hidden in her pocket. But it felt wrong. She shook her head and pulled her hand free, forcing the fog to clear. She would speak to Gandalf of the ring when he returned from his errand. He would know what magic it held.

Yes, she decided with a decisive nod of her head as she opened the bedroom door, she would speak to Gandalf.

She stuck her head into the corridor and seeing it was empty stepped fully out of the room and set of cautiously in the direction of the noises, thankful that the house was nothing like the smiels back home or she would have been lost as soon as she set foot outside the door.

Much to her surprise she met the eldest girl coming towards her with a pitcher sitting in a bowl and a towel draped over her arm .

"Oh, Miss Baggins," the girl smiled at her and Bilbo quickly scrambled for the name of her host's daughter.

Ah, she had it.

"Bilbo, please, Miss Sigrid,"

The girl blushed. At the request or the title, Bilbo wasn't sure.

"Just Sigrid," she paused, "Bilbo. I was on my way to bring you some water to wash with," she glanced down at the items in her hands, "I am sorry I did not think to offer you anything to sleep in last night. It must have been uncomfortable sleeping in your clothes,"

The poor girl looked mortified by the oversight.

"My arrival was late and disruptive, Sigrid. Besides, it was a long journey here, I have slept in my clothes many nights and in far less comfortable places than your lovely bed," she reassured the girl quickly and in no time at all Bilbo found herself back in the room she had just left with a supply of warm water and a well-warn but clean towel.

---

She tipped the used water out of the window and into the lake as Sigrid had told her to do once she was finished. Strange. She had forgotten that she was actually in a house that was part of a floating town.

For the second time that morning she left the room carrying her used towel and the empty bowl and pitcher. Bilbo very nearly dropped all of it when she stepped out of the room and found the youngest girl – Tilda she reminded herself, Tilda - standing at the door, apparently waiting for her to be finished.

She smiled at the child who looked at her with open curiosity and she recalled the whispered conversation she had heard the night before between the sisters.

"Do you think you could show me the way to the kitchen?" she asked the girl who nodded her head and walked ahead of her.

Bilbo followed her down the not so very long corridor and into the kitchen – well, that was easy - where her burden was taken from her by Sigrid.

Before she could even say a 'thank you' for the water she was being tapped on the shoulder and she turned to look into the wide eyes of Tilda.

"Are you a fairy?" the child asked with all of the straightforwardness of youth, her face showing that her question was deadly serious and her bright eyes shining keenly with the desire to know.

"Tilda, don't be rude," Sigrid hissed from behind Bilbo, "We've talked about this,"

Tilda ignored her sister with a single-mindedness that Bilbo found commendable, her curious gaze never shifting from Bilbo.

"Well," Bilbo lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "I have Took blood in me you know," she told the child who's eyes had widened even further if it was possible, "and it is said that a Took married a fairy,"

The girl's mouth dropped open in amazement, and her eyes shone in wonder before she turned to her sister with a crow of triumph.

"See! I told you so," she squealed and went running from the room, shouting about needing to tell her friends that she had a fairy staying in her house.

Bilbo couldn't help but smile at Tilda's delight as she watched the blue dress vanish out of the door and she turned back to Sigrid who seemed to be stuck between embarrassment and amusement at her sister's antics.

"Sorry," she apologised sheepishly, "She is just excited. We don't get many visitors you see,"

"Don't worry yourself. Now, can I help with breakfast?"

Before she could receive a reply there came a loud knock at the door. The kind that said there would be trouble if it was ignored.

Bilbo stood helplessly in the kitchen as Sigird went to answer it but turned in shock when she heard her name mentioned.

"Miss Baggins has not even had her morning meal yet," the girl was sternly informing the caller and Bilbo though the girl would fit in quite well in Hobbiton.

"That is why I am here girl," came the rough reply, "Now fetch her before I do so,"

Bilbo watched Sigrid plant a foot firmly along the base of the door and tighten her hold on the wood, ready to bar any such attempt.

"You will do no such thing," the girl told him angrily, "I'll see if Miss Baggins will speak to you,"

She stood back from the door and shut it firmly in the callers face.

Bilbo found that she liked these girls more and more with each passing minute she spent under their roof. Sigrid came towards her.

"A messenger from the Master to speak with you, Miss-" Bilbo shot her a look, "Bilbo," she corrected herself.

The Master? What could he want with her?

"Oh, well, I had better speak to him then,"

---

Bilbo sat at the table, her feet swinging several inches from the floor and smiled at her young hostess as she passed her a chipped cup filled to the brim with steaming tea.

"Thank you," Bilbo took the cup and held it reverently between her hands, allowing the warmth to seep into her chilled hands and thaw her joints.

She had only stood at the door for a matter of seconds but Winter seemed to have arrived overnight and she had grown chilled quickly while talking to the messenger sent by the Company.

Bilbo scoffed at the thought of the armour plated guard who had been sent to 'escort' her to the Master's home to partake of breakfast with the 'esteemed Company' of his Majesty Thorin Oakenshield. Had she not seen them the night before - so far into their cups that they probably wouldn't have been able to spell their own names had she asked - she would have gladly joined them. But as it stood, she was still feeling exceedingly put out with them and had refused to accept what she had chosen to see as an invitation and not an order.

The guard-come-messenger had seemed very annoyed with her lack of cooperation but she refused to be troubled by it and had happily slammed the door on his frowning face and joined the small (by Shire standards anyway) family for breakfast.

Now, as she sat and sipped at the deep brown brew and Sigrid pottered about preparing the first meal of the day, she could do nothing but think. She didn't want to think. She wanted to do anything but think. She had tried to help her host's daughter but Sigrid had refused her offer.

Bilbo's thoughts plagued her and as she had no other option, for the first time since she had fallen asleep she allowed herself to think about just why she was so annoyed with the Company.

It was hurt.

She was hurt that they did not immediately set out from Laketown, weapons drawn, to return to the Woods and try and find her. No. What had they done instead? They had gone and got themselves drunk. So roaring drunk that out of thirteen of them Balin had been the only one to even realise she was in the same room as they were.

But then again, according to Balin, they had obviously thought that she was dead. That did not let them off in Bilbo's mind. In fact, it made it worse. She had been the one to free them from the spiders hadn't she? Yes! So if she had been lying dead somewhere it would have been their fault and it was their honour bound duty to come and retrieve her dead or alive!

Well…she though it was anyway.

Just what had that wretched contract said about that? She couldn't really remember…

Reading and signing the contract seemed so long ago now…

Well it didn't matter. It was the decent thing to do and she was disappointed in all of them. Next time they could kill their own spiders.

A part of Bilbo's mind screamed at her that she was being ridiculous, but the larger part of her mind told that part to shut up and allow her this moment of righteous anger. She deserved it. She had put up with one thing after the next during her journey with the company. From missing out on meals (and then the ones that she got weren't exactly up to Bag End standards), sleeping on rocks, nearly getting eaten (on multiple occasions), public bathing (Dwarves had an alarming lack of modesty) and a multitude of other things no proper Hobbit should ever have to endure, all while being snapped at and put down by Thorin. And then she had saved his life. Now, while it had initially set her off centre – hugs out of the blue tended to do that to a person – the time spent staying at and travelling from Beorn's home had allowed her to grow used to this new side of Thorin.

Bilbo had been surprised to realise that he actually had a very nice smile when he wasn't all broody, and despite his gruffness he genuinely cared for each of the company and during their stay in the skin-changers home – now that gentleman had known how to feed a Hobbit and Bilbo would have allowed him to call her Little Bunny for the rest of her days to have constant access to his pantry – she had seen him draw each member of the company aside and ask them of their injures. She had been more shocked when he did the same with her. He had stuttered and stammered his way through another thanks and another apology in a very kingly manner, and then after one of the most awkward silences Bilbo had ever experienced – in which she had been keenly aware of the eyes of the Company burning into her back – he had asked her if she had sustained any injury while separated from them in the mountains or during her defence of him.

As it turned out she had nothing more than some bruised ribs from her fall in the tunnels and then some burns from the tree. Nothing that Oin had shown much concern for and he had pronounced that time would take care of each of them as long as she did 'nothing foolish'.

And so it had begun. And while she had found that getting used to Thorin's solicitous attitude had taken most of the stay at Beorn's to be comfortable with, she had decided that she enjoyed it. Surprisingly Thorin had turned out to be not very difficult to be around when she didn't constantly have to be on her guard and ready with a rebuttal to anything he might throw at her.

The other members of the company who had kept their distance all of this time – a feat she tipped her hat to them for accomplishing during the forced intimacy of travel – took their Kings acceptance of her as some kind of sign to approach her and it was as though a dam had burst.

The younger members of the company had accepted her quickly enough from the very beginning but they approached her with less caution now that their elders no longer viewed her as some sort of… Well, actually she had no idea what the other Dwarves had thought of her.

Their youth and curiosity had drawn them to her like moths to a flame. Little Ori – the lad was taller than her but he seemed so young she couldn't stop the need to look after him – could always be seen with his journal and quill and she was sure her answers to his seemingly endless questioned filled more than a few of its pages. Fili and Kili seemed to be fascinated by her home and were always speaking dreamily about the warmth of her rooms.

She really hoped they weren't too uncomfortable this morning after last night's drinking.

It would serve them right of course if they were…

Bilbo sighed and drank more tea.

She couldn't even convince herself she meant it; she would have no luck convincing anyone else.

Well, she was still very put out with them. Very.

---

Bilbo settled down to breakfast, a steaming bowl of some fish dish sitting in front of her. She had never tried anything like it before but it smelled divine and had her mouth watering as she waited for the rest of the household to take their seats. Bard and his son had appeared as if by magic almost as soon as Sigrid had removed the pot from above the fire.

He had smiled at her as he entered the house and asked if she had spent a good night.

He was a nice man, she decided. Nothing at all like the arrogant messenger who had appeared at his door some time before. She really had taken a great deal of delight in refusing the invitation. The man had assumed she would be so honoured by the request that her refusal hadn't entered his mind and "Thank you but no" had not been the answer he had been expecting to hear.

The clinking of cutlery hitting plates drew her back to the here and now and she looked around to see that all of the family were now seated and eating their breakfast. Taking up her own fork she forced all thoughts of the Company to the back of her mind and settled down to enjoy her breakfast.

---

"The Dwarves will be leaving in an hour," Bilbo's eyes snapped open in shock.

Breakfast had been lovely, warm and filling and in a show of terrible manners she had begun to drift into a doze while the children finished up the dishes.

She stared in shock at Bard who was sitting opposite her.

This was a man who had aged prematurely. She was sure of it. The lines on his face and around his eyes were not the kind caused by age but by worry and care a long time borne.

"I have brought you some warmer clothing if you intend to continue on with the journey,"

She nodded dumbly.

"It will be cold further up the mountain," he told her, pushing back his chair and retrieving a small bundle from the door.

"They seemed to be very concerned over your safety Miss Baggins," he put the pile onto the table in front of her and she met his eyes, "and yet they are taking you to face a dragon?"

Bilbo was confused. The man was obviously trying to find something out and yet she couldn't think of what. The whole town knew that the Dwarves of Erebor had come to re-take their home. There was nothing secret about their quest anymore.

She licked her lips. Remaining quiet seemed too rude after her had housed and fed her but she did not know how to reply to his question. If it was a question?

Bard simply smiled a little sadly at her and pushed the bundle nearer to her.

"I will escort you to the Company once you are changed,"

---

Bilbo stuck as close as she could to Bard as he escorted her to the docks – she wondered how the people of Laketown differentiated the dock from the rest of the waterways in and around the town, as from what she had seen last night and now this morning, boats of all sizes and descriptions seemed to be moored anywhere and everywhere.

The crowds of Laketowners seemed to press in on all sides and she finally gave up on any pretence of maturity in the situation and grasped hold of the material of Bard's jacket. She was terrified of losing sight of him and becoming lost in the crowds. Bilbo knew he felt her grabbing at his clothes and she was grateful that he was gentleman enough to not say a word about it. He did slow his pace however.

This was nothing like the tranquil halls of Thranduil's realm and she found it jarring to be suddenly thrown into such bustling surroundings after living quietly for the past few weeks.

Bodies, much taller than herself, towered above her on all sides, pushing their way through the crowd and forcing anyone who was in their way out of it with a firm elbow and hardly ever bothering to look down. After what seemed like an age of battling to keep a tight hold of the Man's jacket they reached their destination.

Bilbo had to force her chilled fingers to release the material she clutched like a lifeline but eventually she managed to convince the digits to do as she wished.

With the general bustling and chatter of the crowds ringing in her ears she could hardly hear Bard when he turned her gently and pointed towards the Company several yards away. It looked like they were waiting for a boat to be loaded and by the way more than a few of them were shielding their eyes from the morning sun a hangover appeared to be the common malady being suffered.

"I will leave you here, Miss Baggins," he leaned down and spoke near her ear, "Your leader and I do not see eye to eye on the matter of the dragon. I hope we meet again," he straightened and before she even had a chance to finish a "thank you for your hospitality" her host had vanished into the crowd of men and women.

She frowned in the direction he had retreated in and shook her head with a weary sigh. She feared she would never understand men.

"Well…" she breathed out, gathering her courage as she turned back to face the Company.

She pulled on the hem of her borrowed coat – a cast off from a child of Lake Town she judged from the size (it actually fit) – straightened her hair and adjusted the strap of the bag Sigrid had put together for her on her shoulder.

"Stop putting it off, Bilbo," she scolded under her breath and forced herself to take the first step towards the Dwarves.

Ori was the first to spot her and much to her surprise he closed the remaining distance between them, wrapped his arms around her, lifted her clean off her feet and spun her around.

Bilbo couldn't stop the giggle that escaped and she held on tightly until the young Dwarf put her back on the cold ground. In no time at all Ori had dragged her to the Company and she was surrounded by the Dwarves, being passed from one to the other and hugged within an inch of her life. Her cheeks glowed a rosy red against her will and she couldn't help but notice the light feeling that had come over her at their welcome. She was truly terrified of what she would have to face in the coming days but she would never regret coming to them now.

"Miss Baggins, I am glad that it was no dream of mine that you had returned to us last night," Balin smiled, his eyes shining, "I had a hard time making out Company believe I had not lost my senses until the Master informed us of your arrival this morning,"

His words seemed to open a floodgate for the others and she was bombarded with questions.

Where had she been?

Why had she not joined them for breakfast?

Where had her new clothes come from?

Had she been cared for?

On and on the questions continued until they were making her head spin with the speed that they were filling her ears.

Thorin's voice bellowing for them to be silent brought all the questions to an end but the look he was levelling at her told her she was not getting out of answering any of them.

"I am sorry did not join you for breakfast," she decided to start with the easiest question put to her, "B-" she quickly changed what she was going to say, if Thorin and Bard were not on the best of terms perhaps naming who she had been staying with was not the best idea, "A family, offered me a bed for the evening, I did not wish to be rude by leaving suddenly this morning,"

I was also still very put out with you all, remained unsaid but fluttered on her tongue for the briefest moment.

She bit it back. She was with them now and she had forgiven them for something they didn't even know they had done wrong. There was no need for her to cause an argument.

"And the forest?" grumbled Thorin.

She looked towards him and his eyes bore into hers. He was standing with his arms across his chest, his face set firm. She gulped and quickly turned to look at all of them, hoping that if she kept her eyes moving she wouldn't have to look a single one of them in the eyes as she lied to them.

"I..." she cleared her throat; maybe she should have practiced this a little more after all.

She launched into her fabricated explanation just as she had planned it with Thranduil and Legolas.

Much to her surprise the Company accepted her story. Every. Single. Word of it. Which only made her feel worse about the whole rotten business.

Why couldn't they have questioned her about it? Looked at her with disbelieving frowns, anything to make her feel better about the deception? No, instead they accepted every word she said as the truth and made her feel lower than a troll. But it was for the best. There was no knowing what they would do if they found out the truth of the matter.

"You did well burglar," Thorin smiled at her – why did he have to smile – and Bilbo wanted to fall through the wood beneath her feet and sink to the bottom of the lake. Maybe she would stay there for a few hundred years until her guilt had worn off a little.

She closed her eyes and tried not to flinch as she received more than one congratulatory slap on the back for stealing the Elves food the way she had done.

Oh dear.

Finally it was over and they told her of their capture and unwarranted imprisonment in the Woodland Realm as the last of the supplies were packed onto the boat.

Bilbo only just managed to stop herself from shaking her head in disbelief as they painted their stay in the dungeons as one of the worse experiences of their lives. She couldn't believe it. They had been fed, watered and kept warm. True, the dungeons wouldn't be her first choice of locations to enjoy any of those things but it was better than being eaten by spiders surely.

Thankfully the call that all was ready saved her from making some indiscreet comment. But one thing was for sure, she got into the boat – with the help of a smiling Bofur – feeling a lot less guilty about her story.

The boat slowly pulled away to the cheers of the crowds and the sound of a band playing.

Here it was after all the hard months of travel, the last leg of their journey.

Bilbo tried to ignore her trembling hands.

---

Bilbo sat behind Thorin, watching as the mountain grew closer.

It was cold, very cold and she burrowed closer into the slight warmth offered by the blue coat that Bard had provided for her. It had been nice of him to think of her need for warmer clothes and she wondered if he had thought of it or if her Elven guard of the evening before had brought it up.

Bilbo had never thought it would be possible for the temperature to drop so. She had never lived in a forest before and didn't realise just how much heat the cover of the trees provided.

She was ready to content herself for the rest of the frigid journey with thoughts of the realm she had left behind. She had only been away for a day and yet it seemed so much longer and then she remembered with a force that made her dizzy the reason she was here at all.

The Orc attack on the gate. How could she have forgotten?

Selfish Bilbo Baggins. You're a forgetful, selfish woman!

She continued to berate herself as the boat glided over the water, cutting through plates of ice that bobbed on the surface with the wind.

Had there been any injuries? Any deaths? While she was sitting here surrounded by the Company – safe and sound (for the moment) – was there some poor Elf screaming in agony or being prepared for burial…

Bilbo had to force herself to calm down when she felt Balin's hand come to rest over hers where she had grabbed at the side of the boat.

"You're alright, lassie," he told her and she turned slightly to see his face.

His expression was furrowed with concern and his eyes were dull – lacking the sparkle that had filled them when he had first welcomed her back to the company.

"The boat is a sturdy piece of craftsmanship, it won't be going over in a hurry," he squeezed her hand and released it.

Bilbo mustered a smile, realising that the Dwarf was aware of Hobbits and their aversion to water and he thought that was the reason behind her discomfort.

"Thank you, Mister Balin," she whispered hoarsely, allowing him to continue to think that.

A few moments of silence fell between them and all that Bilbo could hear was the whooshing and splashing of the oars as the cut through the air and into the water over and over again.

She focused on the sounds and forced herself to breath steadily. The oars burst free of the water, she breathed out. The oars sunk beneath the surface, she breathed in.

In and out. Calming and steady.

The Elves of Thranduil's kingdom lived in a troubled realm, they went hunting for spiders on a regular basis (if Legolas was to be believed it had become something of a sport for some of them), surely this would have kept their abilities sharp and they would have been more than ready for the Orcs.

Oh please let all of them be safe, she begged, please.

Her heart skipped a beat when she remembered the mischievous smile on Legolas' face when he had told he goodbye in her rooms. He was a child in the eyes of Elves and still capable of doing foolish things. What if he had done something foolish yesterday? What if-

"Miss Baggins," Balin cleared his throat nervously and Bilbo turned completely to face him, grateful for the abrupt end to her thoughts.

Embarrassment of this sort was not something she was used to seeing from Thorin's councillor, so whatever the old Dwarf was about to say was obviously going to be worthy of all her attention.

"Yes Mister Balin?"

Was he flushing?

"I would like to apologise on behalf of the lads, and myself, for the scene you stumbled across last night,"

The whispered conversations going on among the Company ceased and Bilbo sighed. If this apology had come first thing this morning she would have replied with something along the lines of 'I should think so too'. But not now.

"Mister Balin, there is no need for an apology I-"

Balin raised a hand and she stopped talking.

"All the same, we offer it,"

She glanced about the boat. The Company were looking at her sheepishly.

"Well then," she sighed, "I accept your apology with thanks,"

The whispered conversations began again but Balin it seemed had not finished.

"I would also like to offer my own apology, Miss Baggins," yes, that was definitely a blush she could see burning on his cheeks. If he wasn't careful his beard was going to catch fire.

Bilbo had learned her lesson from before and allowed him to continue speaking uninterrupted.

"Last night is a little…foggy as you may understand. And I would like to apologise for anything inappropriate that I may have done,"

Bilbo thought back to the evening before.

Was hugging someone inappropriate in Dwarven culture?

Well, it seemed like everyone in the Company had hugged her at the docks so it mustn't be.

He had of course nearly toppled over and taken her with him but she could hardly hold that against him.

"No Mister Balin, you only made it known that you were glad I was well," she told him and the councillor sagged with relief and smiled broadly.

"Well then, allow me to repeat myself Miss Baggins, I am very pleased you are with us once again," he looked her up and down, his eyes assessing, studying, "I am sure you have a story to tell that encompasses far more than you were able to tell us in Laketown," he quirked a brow at her, almost disapprovingly, as if he knew she had kept some things to herself.

Bilbo felt a chill that had nothing to do with the weather.

She did not like to lie to them. But she had no intention of them finding out the truth right now. Not until after this was all over.

---

 

Chapter Text

Chapter 8

It took some days of sailing and walking to even reach the overlook that Gandalf had spoken of what seemed so long ago. The days of constant travel were almost pleasant compared to the rush and panic of some of their journey. No wargs or orcs in sight, In fact, apart from the time restriction, the only thing to worry about was the inclement weather.

Bilbo spent most of the first day or so listening to the Dwarves speak of their imprisonment by Thranduil. By noon of the first day she had nearly mastered control of the flush that came to her face whenever they brought up their stay in the Woodland Realm. Guilt filled her constantly.

Had she done the right thing by staying away from them the whole time?

Maybe it would have been better after all if she had just got everything out in the open weeks ago and gone to see them. But Thorin hated Thranduil and despite her 'rescuing' him and his sudden change in demeanor towards her she still wasn't sure of him. It was hard to put aside months of harsh and at times hurtful words and treatment just because he had suddenly changed his mind about her. No. She was sure that Thorin, while having a new appreciation of her, did not trust her enough to put aside any animosity he felt for the Elf King just on the power of her word alone.

She had done the right thing. She was certain of it.

Now, if she could just stop feeling guilty about it everything would be so much better.

As Bilbo struggled with her inner turmoil they walked and they climbed, eating while they travelled and only breaking off to make a rudimentary camp and find as much sleep as they could when night fell and continuing on became too dangerous.

It seemed with each passing hour the temperature grew colder and Bilbo found herself offering silent thanks to Bard for his thoughtfulness in supplying her with the cloths – her Shire jacket would not have stood a chance against the cutting wind and the odd flurry of snow the land nearer the mountain was offering.

She tried her best to avoid the odd bank of snow or puddle of icy water but it was not always possible and for the first time since leaving Bag End her feet were cold and she envied the Dwarves in their heavy boots – despite not knowing how they walked with such uncomfortable looking things on their feet…and heavy, how on earth did they lift their legs?. But she trudged on after them and as they grew nearer to the base of the mountain and the conversations and excited chatter between even the younger members of the company became less, she lost herself in thoughts of Legolas and Thranduil and the time she had spent with them.

She could not remember ever feeling so happy. Not for a long time anyway. It had only been a few days and she missed them both so fiercely her chest hurt with the strain of it.

---

Bilbo was walking along in a bit of a daze – the weeks of inactivity had made her soft and she had lost some of the stamina she had gained – when a cry came from the front of the Company. She looked up from where she had been concentrating on putting one chilled foot in front of the other and realised they weren't even walking in a straight line anymore.

Her eyes darted about as she tried to spot each of the Dwarves strewn about in front of her.

Just when had everyone spread out like that?

Oh Bilbo, where is your brain. Wake up you foolish creature. She chided herself, blinking repeatedly and scrubbing at her eyes viciously to rid herself of the sleepiness that seemed to have fallen over her.

That was better.

They were all together in what could be called a group – if you were feeling generous with the word – and Thorin had broken away to run to the edge of a cliff. In a moment of panic she thought he wasn't going to stop but he did and she herd the clang of the blade of his sword hit the stone beneath his feet as he leaned on it.

She sped up and joined them all looking out onto the ruin of a city.

At least that is what she imagined a city looking like…if it had been knocked over and left to the elements for a while. Hobbits did not have cities and the largest towns she had seen were Bree and then Laketown. Just how many people could have lived in this place when it was inhabited? The number she imagined boggled her mind as she tried to imagine how many Hobbitons would fit into the place.

Bilbo squinted, trying to take it all in.

There was a bridge far below to the right. The supporting columns looking thin in places and there were sections missing completely. Unless you could sprout wings there was no way of crossing that bridge that she could see. The buildings were obviously abandoned and she could clearly see were some had collapsed in on themselves and on onto their neighbours.

The Company stood silently and all she could hear was their breathing.

There was an eeriness to the whole thing and Bilbo felt a shiver start at the back of her head, making her hair itch and her scalp crawl. It was as though a skeleton hand had just ran down her spine for the fun of it before closing about her neck permanently.

"What is this place?" she whispered, although she was sure she already knew.

Balin was the one to answer her question as she came to stand between him and Thorin. She was still gazing in fascination at the view but she was aware of the others joining the row at the edge of the cliff.

"It was once the city of Dale, and now it is a ruin," Balin sighed.

Bilbo tore her eyes away from the city and looked at him.

There was a deep sadness etched on his face, making him appear older than she was accustomed to him looking despite his snow-white beard. She wanted to reach out and touch him. Hug him. Something.

Was this the first time any of them had seen the city since they had left all those years ago?

It must be.

"The desolation of Smaug," he growled, turning away from the sight.

She moved to join him, wanting to comfort him but Dwalin broke from the line and walked behind his brother with a firm hand on his shoulder.

Bilbo looked back to the city as the old Dwarf and the warrior walked a few steps away wanting to give them the privacy they deserved.

"We must find the hidden door before the sun sets," Thorin's deep voice allowed for no silence an no arguments now that the shock of the view had run its course, "It is already nearly midday. This way," he had turned and was already pacing away before the last word was uttered.

A sudden darkness fluttered through Bilbo despite the sudden smiles on the faces of the Company. She could not blame them for their smiles. After all they were nearly there. After so long the end was in sight.

Gandalf though. What about Gandalf?

"Wait. Thorin," she turned from the sight of the ruined city before her and was glad to see that Thorin had stopped. He looked at her with some impatience in his eyes.

"Gandalf told us to meet him here, didn't he? This is the overlook?"

They needed Gandalf. There was a dragon inside that mountain. A big dragon judging by the destruction she had just looked down upon…

It was funny. The dragon had always been a fuzzy figure in her mind whenever her thoughts had drifted towards it. Sharp teeth and fire breathing were a given but the size… She gulped. Feeling terribly sick all of a sudden.

"He said on no account-"

"Do you see him?" Thorin snapped bringing her reminder to an abrupt stop.

Thorin was angry at the delay she was causing. She could tell.

"There is no time to wait for Gandalf," he told her sternly and she watched as his eyes drifted from her to the mountain at her back.

"We are on our own now, Miss Baggins," he met her eyes for the briefest moment before turning and calling for the Company to follow.

Bilbo stood for a moment as the Company obeyed his summons and strode after their leader. The end of their quest was in sight and there was a lightness to their steps that Bilbo had not seen for months. Not since the very beginning of their journey.

She bit down on her bottom lip and turned back to the ruin of Dale.

Where was Gandalf?

Sighing she scurried after the Dwarves who had got a lot further than she would have expected in the moments she had been thinking.

"Wizards are never late indeed!" she muttered irritably to herself as she skidded down the slight hill, sending small stones and shingle skittering ahead of her. Gandalf would be getting a piece of her mind when she saw him next.

Despite herself she stole another quick look over her shoulder at Dale.

If she saw him again.

---

It had taken longer than Thorin had been happy with for them to reach where they needed to be but they had made it.

Bilbo panted for breath as she wandered about in what she felt was circles while Thorin looked at the map and the others wandered about just as aimlessly as she in search for the door.

Door? Huh.

All around her were rocks. Big rocks, small rocks, slopes, hard earth, some poor excuses for plants and stones. Lots of stones. Which were just very small rocks at the end of the day and so she was back at the beginning again.

No door.

She wondered if a dwarf door could be destroyed. Had they come all of this way only for Smaug to have already burned it or crushed it to rubble.

What kind of a door would it be?

She felt the ridiculous urge to giggle as an image of her lovely round door at Bag End came to mind. In her mind's eye she stuck it onto the front of the mountain. She hid her giggle by coughing.

It was the excitement of it all. That was it.

"If the map is true, the door should be directly above us,"

Above us?

She looked up, her eyes catching on a pile of boulders that was hiding something behind them from her sight. She glanced further up and saw that behind it was the side of the mountain but a whole section was still hidden from her view.

Her heart skipped a beat as she sprinted to get a better look.

Oh please let this be it. Please.

Bilbo looked up.

Steps.

And up.

Steps. Built into a massive statue. Steps that would lead them up to the secret door. Because why else would they be there?

"Here. It's here!" she called, wanting to dance and jump and cry, the excitement filling her chest and making her giddy as all thoughts of the Dragon were pushed to the back of her mind with this new discovery.

She couldn't stop herself from smiling as the others flocked to her. Thorin came to her side, smiling as widely as she was.

He really did have a lovely smile.

"You have keen eyes Miss Baggins,"

She continued to grin like a fool.

Not even the thought of having to climb all of those stairs was enough to dampen her spirits as she followed the others towards the bottom of the giant figure carved into the rock.

---

How dare they! How dare they!

They were just giving up. Just like that!

Oh she was so angry. Bilbo couldn't remember ever feeling so angry in her life.

They had climbed up that wretched statue – she was almost certain (more than once) that she would die during the climb – found the place and now they couldn't find the door and they were all just walking away.

How…How…How…

Ugh!

She wanted to push them all off the mountain one at a time for their stupidity. They had come all of this way and they were just giving up.

Well. She wasn't going to give up so easily.

Oh no.

She could have just stayed in Thranduil's halls and saved herself the trouble of joining them again if she walked away now and she was not going to make her decision to join them in Laketown a pointless one.

Bilbo began to pace. Anger and nerves making her movements sharp until she forced herself to stop and breath.

She rubbed at her forehead and pinched the top of her nose as she thought through the verse.

She had riddled with that creature beneath the Misty Mountains and kept her head while her flesh was on the line, surely she could figure this out. She could and she would.

All she had to do was calm herself down and think.

She allowed herself one more chance to narrow her eyes in the direction that the Dwarves had retreated in and then began to speak the words written on the map.

They had been repeated quite a few times during the journey and she knew them by heart now.

She could do this.

"Durin's Day. Durin's Day," she muttered under her breath as she paced and pointed at the wall of rock before her like it was a misbehaving child.

"Durin's Day. Durin's Day? Day?" she slowed down.

Today was one day. Tomorrow was another.

Last light of Durin's Day. Light?

Tomorrow would not begin until…tonight had ended.

Light?

The sun lit the day and at night the-

Movement caught her eye and she glanced up to watch a bird, a thrush, flutter down to the wall.

She was spellbound by the small creature as it hopped along the ground until it was almost flush with the wall and began to knock at the rock.

Bilbo's heart was in her mouth. She had almost forgotten the passage about the bird.

"When the thrush knocks…" she whispered reverently to herself.

She turned to look up to the sky just as the clouds cleared from before the moon and a beam of the cold white light broke through the darkness.

She turned towards the wall, not daring to breath. Not daring to hope…

Her heart froze as she watched the light illuminate the wall.

Bilbo stopped breathing as the keyhole melted into existence before her eyes.

It was there.

She glanced between the moon glaring impassively down upon her and the keyhole that had appeared by magic in the rock.

The key!

Bilbo scrambled looking for the key that Thorin had discarded in his anger and disappointment.

"Come back!" she tried to shout but the excitement had dried out her mouth and was threatening to close her throat and all she managed was a squeak.

She coughed and tried to clear her throat.

"The moon," she stopped in her frantic search and pointed towards the pale sphere high above her, "It was the light of the moon," her voice finally gained some strength.

"Come back!"

She squinted at the ground about her looked for the key, turning in circles as she scanned the rocks and stones.

Suddenly her foot caught something and her heart shot into her throat as it skittered away with a metallic clang.

Bilbo's eyes widened and she watched helplessly as the key shot away along the hard ground and towards the edge of the ledge.

Oh no.

A heavy boot dropped down onto the chain and she looked up.

Thorin was staring at her, his face pale and cautious as he bent down, never moving his foot, and rescued the key from its near fall from the mountain.

She smiled broadly at him and gasped his name, pointing at the circles of light shining on the wall.

Thorin stepped forward, his eyes like someone in a dream.

Bilbo moved to the back of the Company as each of them returned to the ledge – each of them only had eyes for Thorin as he raised the key – this was their moment and she would not interfere with it by being accidentally in the way.

---

 

Bilbo had felt a twinge of discomfort that had started at the back of her mind and had spread like a fire through her as the eyes of the Company had locked onto her.

Now as she walked down the dark corridor towards a dragon she knew what that feeling was.

Betrayal.

It was a freezing, sick sensation and although she told herself she was being ridiculous she couldn't rid herself of it.

They had looked at her as if she was nothing more than a hammer or an axe.

"This is why you are here," Thorin's words echoed through her mind.

No one had said a word to her. Bofur had clapped her on the back and the younger Dwarves had smiled at her sadly.

They thought they were sending her to her death and all she got for her trouble was a probably bruised shoulder – the Dwarves didn't know their own strength – and some sad looks.

Yes, betrayal was definitely the feeling coursing through her veins.

She had thought she had come to mean something to them over their months of travel and to have them all look at her as they had was a shock.

But Thorin was right. It was why she had come and she told herself that she was being stupid.

Dear Balin had told her she did not need to go into the mountain. Bless his heart out of the whole company he had been the only one to speak a word to her as he escorted her down the tunnel…

But she was a Baggins and she had given her word.

Besides, if she survived she would have a story wilder than that of her Took ancestor to tell.

She gulped.

She did so wish that Gandalf was here though.

---

Nightmares of Smaug haunted Bilbo's sleep during the few times she grew exhausted enough for her body's need for rest to overrule her panic at the changing attitudes of the Company. She hated sleeping, knowing that the giant lizard's warm breath and deep hissing voice waited for her in the depths of her mind.

"I smell you,"

She couldn't move, frozen as the beast passed over her. She couldn't move. She couldn't move. The monsters face was inches from her own, his teeth so close, his rancid breath blowing against her face, she could feel the heat of his massive body scolding her skin.

"Where are you?"

Smaug's open mouth lunged at her.

Bilbo woke in a cold sweat, panting for breath, her heart beating rapidly in her chest.

She looked around in a panic, her eyes growing accustomed to the dimness of the corridor she had found to rest in.

She staggered to her feet after crawling on her hands and knees for a few feet, fighting the urge to vomit, her stomach rolling in fright.

She groped along the wall to the entrance to the treasure room and peaked in before ducking back and leaning against the wall.

The sweat shimmered on her forehead and she turned to face the cool wall, pressing her face against the stone.

They were still looking…

---

 

He was chasing her. His giant body causing ripples in the sea of gold and making her lose her footing as she tried to run. To hide. She bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from crying out as she fell forward and tumbled down the hill of jewels. Head over heels she tumbled until she rolled to a stop. Stunned, her head spinning and not knowing what way was up she swayed drunkenly as she clambered desperately to her feet and ran.

A pillar.

She gripped at it, falling against it in her dizziness before she flattened herself against it, willing herself to vanish into the stone.

"Don't be shy. Step into the light,"

Her heart beating violently in her chest Bilbo's eyes flew open.

She was alone in the dark and the cold.

Bilbo turned onto her side and curled into a ball. She sobbed into the silence.

---

 

She couldn't breathe. Her throat was closing up. The ring was in her hand and no longer on her finger.

The dragon was staring her in the eye.

Why had she taken it off?

She couldn't remember.

Why?

She was going to die. She was looking into the cat like eyes of an almost gloating Smaug, she could almost see her reflecting in his glowing gold eye as he peered at her.

"There you are, thief in the shadows,"

Bilbo awoke with a small cry, tears of despair and terror falling from her eyes. How long had she been crying. She could taste the salt on her lips and despite the chilliness of the corridor that she had come to call hers she could feel the grittiness of sweat upon her forehead.

She struggled to calm herself.

The dragon was dead, someone in Laketown had managed to bring him down.

And how many died in the flames?

A fresh wave of sobs broke from her chest.

Just how many had died because they had failed to kill the dragon. She had not seen much of Laketown during her short time there but she had seen enough to know that the people could not survive without their homes with winter so near and the snow already falling.

Thorin could offer them shelter in the mountain but he had been growing unpredictable and easily angered of late and she doubted he was willing to think of anything at the moment other than the gold and the damned stone.

She felt her pocket, her hand closing in on the hard lump that was the Arkenstone hidden in its depths.

Had she done right by keeping it hidden?

She didn't know anymore what was right and what was wrong.

But then again, she hadn't known for a while if she was to be honest. Nothing was clear anymore.

Bilbo had thought helping Thorin and the others reclaim their homeland had been right when she had left Bag End, but never at the cost of the lives and homes of others. That was a cost she thought too high. Would she have said no all those months ago if she had known what this adventure would have led to?

She removed her hand from her pocket and curled in on herself.

"Watch it corrupt him,"

She shivered at the memory of Smaug's words.

"Watch is corrupt his heart-"

Bilbo curled tighter in on herself.

"-and drive him mad,"

She couldn't let that happen. She had not liked Thorin for a great deal of the journey and they had had their share of disagreements during months of travel but even then it had been clear that he cared for his people. That much had been obvious from the way that he looked after the Company.

And what about now?

Now he was still little better than a stranger to her compared with his relationships with the others in the company but that did not been there was no bond there.

She liked him in a way.

When he wasn't scowling and growling at her he had turned out to be quite the gentleman - in his own way. And even when he had been at his most surly she had known he would never truly hurt her outside of his hard words.

But now she wasn't even sure of that and it was terrifying.

Bilbo had seen the glint in his eyes when he had come to help her in the treasury. When he had held the sword to her chest just at the thought of getting the stone, baring her way out with the blade and making her walk back into the mountain when she had been so close to freedom.

Echoes of sound drifted to her from the treasury as the fruitless search continued and she raised her hands to her ears to block out the sound.

I wish I had stayed with Thranduil.

---

 

Bilbo was freezing, all of the way through to her bones and she curled tighter into herself, the clothing she had been so grateful for on the journey from Laketown was offering little protection against the cold that now surrounded her.

It had been years since she had been this cold and she did not like the memories it brought back. Visions of snowdrifts twice as tall as Dwalin, hunger, howling…blood.

No!

She bit firmly into her cheek, drawing blood. The taste of copper in her mouth grounded her and stopped her from drifting away into her thoughts. She couldn't do that. Not now.

The sounds of the Company sorting through their own claimed piles of treasure continually filled the air. She could not tell night from day deep inside the mountain but she was sure it had been days since any of them had slept or looked up from the golden hills and valleys of the treasure room.

No, she couldn't lose herself to her memories because there would be no one to pull her from them.

She forced her mind to more pleasant things as she slipped a hand into her pocket and played with the plain gold band hidden there. It offered her a hollow sort of comfort, the knowledge that if she wanted she could just place it on her finger and vanish so no one could find her.

As she felt the smooth metal beneath her fingers she thought of warmth and safety. A warm bed, flowers, food…sunshine. Surprisingly the image of a bee danced behind her eyes and she smiled at the memory of Beorn's hives and his giant home. It had taken a little getting used to but she had quickly grown accustomed to the giant house and their host. His initial hostility and natural gruffness aside he had been a generous host and had offered up enough food to make any Hobbit happy.

There was a shout from the treasure room and Bilbo stiffened involuntarily at the harshness in Thorin's tone as he demanded a report from his fellow Dwarves.

She shivered.

Had the Skinchanger been right in his distrust of Dwarves?

---

 

Things were reaching a terrible breaking point and a cold stone of dread – about the size of the one nestled in her pocket - settled in the pit of Bilbo's stomach as she stood behind the Company and listened to Thorin refuse compensation to the men of Laketown.

She had thought it would go this way but she was still shocked by his actions. How could he?

It was their fault the lakemen were homeless.

How could he do this when he had once been in their position?

He was refusing aid to those in desperate need of it and there was no remorse in his tone or his look.

"We cannot rely indefinitely upon the charity of the Woodland Realm. We only ask for what was promised to us?"

Her legs had quacked with relief when she had first heard Bard shouting up to the wall and she only hoped that the girls and his son had survived the dragon also.

She clenched her fists and thought in a panic for some solution as Thorin refused them their claim, saying that he would give nothing when there was an army at his gates.

"I have nothing to thank Thranduil," he spat the king's name, "for and you shall receive nothing from me with his archers at your back,"

How dare he! Anger flooded her at his words and she knew now that he was surely grasping at straws and looking for any reason to not part with any of his treasure.

The wretched stuff had enchanted him.

Thranduil had treated them well during their weeks there – being kept in cells aside that is. When she had met up with them in Laketown it was plain for all to see that they had been fed well and all of them were heathy. Thorin had no just cause for his words and actions. Nothing but a century old grudge.

"You will have war should you refuse us the means to keep our women and children safe for the winter. Is that what you want King Under the Mountain?"

There was a pause and Bilbo held her breath.

Please Thorin, give them what they want. Prove Smaug wrong. Please.

"Then let there be war," Thorin snarled down at the man, "You will have nothing from me,"

---

 

Bilbo retreated to her corridor and began to pace.

This was not good. This was not good at all. She had kept the Arkenstone from Thorin to stop this from happening but it had happened anyway. Why was it happening? Surely it was not in the Thorin she had travelled with to deny the means of food and warmth to children? No, it wasn't. She was sure of it. And yet here he was, willing to go to war over a few bits of shiny metal. Bilbo feared she would never understand other races.

But Thranduil was providing aid for the Lakemen at the moment and for that she was grateful.

She continued to pace.

How could she fix this?

Her nose was beginning to run from the cold and she reached into her pocket for one of the handkerchiefs that she had brought with her from the Greenwood – it had been awfully kind of Thranduil to provide them for her.

Her fingers brushed against the hard coolness of the Kings Jewel and she froze.

The Arkenstone…

Could the wretched gem be the way out of this mess they had found themselves in?

She had only kept the rock from Thorin to try and prevent Smaug's words from coming true but that had happened all the same. So what difference would it make now if he had the cursed bit of coal?

Her fingers danced along the cold surface.

She couldn't just give it to him. That would hardly change his mind and make him charitable towards the lakemen.

No, she needed to think of something else, something that would make him help the people outside, something that would-

She removed her hand from her pocket and nodded her head in agreement with her thoughts.

Yes that was what she would do. It was the only way she could see.

As soon as night fell she would slip out and find the camp below.

She was about to earn her title of Burglar.

---