Authors Note: This is my first fanfiction so please read and try to be as gentle as you possibly can. I do look forward to hearing what you have to say so feel free to speak your mind-all criticism will be taken as constructive. I will warn readers now that I took some rather creative liberties with both stories-so be warned that there might be some things (quite a lot actually) in the story that aren't cannon.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his universe was created by the wonderful J.K. Rowling. The Hobbit, and all characters associated with his writing are the work of the brilliant and masterful J.R.R Tolkien.

Everything else belongs to me.

In lands far beyond the west,

where stars have faded and the gray night lingers on.

Beyond all mountains

Steep and shadowed

there in cloudless skies,

In weeping ash and bitter fate

lies the heart of Durin.

In grey twilight it has awoken,

twice blessed child of Ilúvatar,

and heart of Aulë.

In fields of white from the west it will come, need shall drive it;

and from the light of sun and star and moon,

the heart of Durin shall once more be returned to the people under the mountain,

to the king under the mountain.

In an instant Thorin went from a deep and somewhat troubled sleep to wakefulness, though none around would have realised that the Dwarf king had been awakened, had anyone but himself been awake. He remained completely still on the makeshift bed situated in the far corner of the room. The only outward sign in his sudden change in status was the small hitch in his breathing and the subtle tightening of the muscles in his shoulders and legs; a tenseness that told just how troubling the recurrence of this particular dream was.

Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, high King under the mountain could be called a great many things; stubborn, willful, proud, cynical, an all-around hot-headed dwarf, and a few other less than flattering words on any given day. He was a man of many failings and shortcomings of this he freely admitted to. He was who he was and little could be done to change that fact after nearly two hundred years. However, the one thing that the exiled king under the mountain could never be called was foolish. The first time the haunting voice echoed throughout the dark and murky recesses of his mind Thorin had admittedly brushed it aside, taking it for what it was; a manifestation of his mind's longing desire to return what had been lost to his people. A dream and little else, he had firmly told himself.

However when the voice whispered to him for a second time in the deepness of sleep and he had woken, drenched in sweat, the smell of his own fear heavy in the air, Thorin had known then it was no ordinary dream. No, someone was trying to tell him something and when he had not heeded the message the first time, sent it a second, third, and now a fourth time— as a reminder, he guessed. He had not forgotten of course. The deep and haunting words had plagued his thoughts with such frequency after the last dream had occurred that they had settled like a great stone around his neck, pulling at him, daily. It had taken every ounce of restraint Thorin possessed to not forgo the preparations for the gathering and his obligations as King in order to determine what exactly he was supposed to discern from the message. Instead, for the sake of his own sanity he had completely closed his mind off to the dream, some few weeks ago, until such a time could be found when he could put every effort into figuring out what it all meant and why it was so important he discover it's meaning.

It would seem now was such a time, he thought with a heavy sigh. Knowing full well he would be unable to return to –a hopefully dreamless– sleep now that the dream occupied his thoughts, Thorin threw back the pelt of fur and with a dark and thunderous scowl attempted to make his way through the throng of bodies. Scattered all about the room on similar beds, their booming snores echoing off the chamber walls, were almost fifty dwarves from the seven kingdoms. All were a part of the envoy sent to Ered Luin to hear his proposal to march on Erebor and reclaim what had been taken from them. In hindsight electing to sleep with the members of the envoy in the main hall, rather than seeking the comforts of his own bed had not been one of his brightest ideas. But he was just brimming with less than intelligent ideas as of late.

This gathering he had orchestrated for example.

His scowl deepened as he finally made it to the other side of the hall, the events of the night's gathering still threatening to crush what little hope he had left. The evening had started out as planned, there had been general talks on how the seven kingdoms were fairing, what problems there were, followed by good food and music, and casual conversation between friends and kin alike. The atmosphere had been filled with boisterous laughter, bawdy jokes, heartfelt songs and warmth that Thorin had not felt in many years. It had given him a renewed sense of hope for both himself and his people—that is right up until talks had turned towards why they had all been called to Ered Luin.

What little faith Thorin had felt during those precious moments had faded when his request had been met with immediate refusal and admonishment. The seven kings wanted no part in what he proposed and made it painfully clear that this undertaking was his and his alone.

While he understood why they would not join him and the others on this expedition; he at the same time did not. True, there were no incentives for any of the other seven kingdoms to join and risk the lives of their people. All had somewhere they called home, a place that had been built from the rock and stone and the sweat and perseverance of their people, and that even now doubtlessly called to them as they lay strewn about the hall floor. Yet, should that not of compelled them to help all the more? Should not the fact that the home that called to his people had been taken from them been enough of an incentive to offer aid? Could they not see what a heavy burden the ache in their hearts had become? Could they not see how much his people longed to return to the halls of Erebor?

Thorin gritted his teeth, the tenuous control hanger threatening to snap. They had been robbed of their homeland, many of his people had been slain and many more were left to mourn (and still mourned) and his own brothers could not seem to find the loyalty nor the strength of heart to help.

True, they had built a new life for themselves in the Blue Mountains, a life of peace and plenty, and he had done honorably by his people in doing that. But the wounds of old ran deep, for always did they feel the call of Erebor. Always did they remembered the mountain smoke beneath the moon, the trees like torches blazing bright, for they had seen dragon fire in the sky and their beloved city turned to ash. There were still nights when he would wake to the scent of fear saturated in the air of his bedchamber, the screams of his people ringing in his ears, and the taste of ash in his mouth.

This Thorin could not understand. He could not understand how his own people could idly sit by and do nothing, when there was such misery among his people, among the Dwarves. He especially could not understand when he himself had sent a great many of his people to their deaths because his brothers had been in need.

However, as troubling as his brothers unwillingness to help when help was needed, what troubled Thorin the most was that if he could not even count on the other kingdoms for aid who then, if not his fellow Dwarves, his brothers, his kin could he depend on? Men? Elves? Men were weak and had proven so each and every time they obtained any sort of real power. And as for elves Elves—Thorin felt laughter, dark and unforgiving threatening to burst from his throat, but he contained the sound for fear of waking the sleeping company. Elves had proven long ago that they could not be trusted to come to the aid of anyone, when Thranduil abounded them to the wrath of the dragon. No help had come from the elves that day, nor any day since, and it was unlikely to ever come.

As he slipped from the noise room unnoticed, he pushed such thoughts aside. He knew it would be better for all if he did not dwell on such mental wanderings. He inhaled the cold air once outside and let the silence of the night wash over him. Besides, the meeting had come to an end, decisions had been made, he and those he had called upon would take the mountain on their own, that was that, and there was nothing anyone could do to alter what had come to pass. Moreover, there were more pressing concerns to worry about now.

Such as this troubling dream for instance.

He sighed, the sound coming from deep within. What the dream meant Thorin could not say—and it was unlikely he would ever, even if he were to give more thought. He had never heard of any such thing as a heart of Durin, nor of a twice blessed child of Ilúvatar and heart of Aulë. To his knowledge such a thing could not exist—and there in lie the problem. Thorin possessed a limited amount of knowledge about such things, and there were none he could seek out for answers, for none now lived, who remembered, and much of what once was had passed into myth or legend, lost to all.

"Not all is lost, Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror." Thorin straightened; his face set like stone, but did not reach for the weapon he kept hidden on his person, as he turned to face the voice that had haunted him these past few months. She'd appeared, out of the darkness like an apparition, the natural glow that emanated from her form blinding.

"You cannot be real" Unsure as to whether or not his mind had conjured her as a result of his need for answers his voice was that of disbelief and shock.

"I am as real as you Thorin Oakenshield" The woman laughed a little then, though whether it was at his expense he could not say.

He frowned as he contemplated this, wondering how such thing was possible. To his knowledge female wizards did not roam the lands of middle-earth, and any witch that had not died with the defeat of Sauron had been driven from the land or killed long ago. So how was this possible? Frown deepening, Thorin searched every part of his mind for a possible solution.

It did not take him long to find the answer he sought. As realisation sank in, his frowned turned dark and thunderous. Elf. The word cracked across Thorin's already raw nerves like a whip and for a blinding moment the control on his anger snapped, sending waves of anger coursing through him.

Thorin saw red.

How dare the she-elf!

Teeth grinding, Thorin spun on the heel of his boots and without so much as a word headed in the opposite direction. He needed to put some distance between the woman and his uncontrollable rage before he did something unthinkable. Normally under control, there had only ever been a few instances over the years when his tenuous control had slipped, and even fewer times when it had snapped completely. However, when his control did snap, frayed by constant and daily annoyances, it always better to put some distance between himself and—well everyone.

As Thorin continued along the inner wall, the faint sound of his boots echoing off the stone, it did not escape his notice that many of those instances had involved elves. Nor did it escape his notice that the blasted woman was still trailing quietly behind him.

"I did not set out to deceive you Thorin Oakenshield, nor to make a fool of you." she murmured the softness of her voice sliding roughly along his frayed nerves.

Confident that there was enough distance between himself and the elf, Thorin came to a halt but did not turn as he addressed the woman. "I do not know game you play but I will not be made a fool by you or any other elf." His words were sharp, laced with the unchecked rage that was rolling through him, and uttered in a dismissive tone. With that having been said he waited for her to leave, assured that she would do what those around him had always done when faced with his temper and leave. Thorin wasn't sure why he wasn't surprised when he heard the slight rustle of her dress and realised that she had moved to stand next to him rather than leave. Perhaps it was the fact that she was an elf, and elves rarely behaved as others did. Or perhaps it was the simple fact that after this evening little else could surprise him.

He made no move to acknowledge her presence in the hope that she would realise that her company was unwanted.

It did not.

"The wounds of old still cut deep with you Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror." She finally murmured.

Thorin clenched his hands into fists as a deep and hard shudder swept through him, though whether it was due to the anger or of great sadness, Thorin could not say. His emotions were in such disarray that he could not be sure whether it was the mentioning of what had occurred all those years ago, or his anger that had caused the tremor, though he would not have been surprised if it were a bit of both. However, what Thorin did know is that if they continued down this path the wounds she spoke of would prevent him from returning to his bed.

"Did you expect anything different elf? He s said in the same flat, cold, sharp edged voice. The elf sighed and Thorin could have sworn he heard her mutter something that sounded like "save me from the stubbornness of elves and dwarves" under her breath.

"I had not expected anything different Thorin Oakenshield, but I had hoped." His curiosity warred with his anger, when something in the tone of her voice urged him to look in her direction, and in a moment of weakness Thorin conceded to his curiosity. When he finally looked up he found shrewd blue eyes gazing steadily at him as silence stretched between them, glittering brightly with both pity and despair. It was not a look he had expected to see in the eyes of an elf, nor was it an expression he wanted or needed. Sensing that it was the weakness he had unwittingly let her see that was the cause of such a look, Thorin inhaled deeply and fought to calm the waves of rolling anger. He had displayed too much weakness in the last few minutes. It was time to regain control of himself and the situation. "If you are finished bothering me elf, you can leave now. You have nothing that I neither wish nor want to hear." His voice was firm and left little room to argue.

Several tense moments passed before the female elf finally spoke, both guilt and despair no longer visible in her glacial blue eyes . There was a wealth of warning in her voice that even he could not ignore. "If you do not heed all that you have been told Thorin Oakenshield all will be lost, and the race of elves and Dwarves will not survive the coming events."

Thorin stiffened at her words, caught between suspicion and curiosity. "What mean you by this?" The lady regarded him, her fathomless blue eyes never wavering from his face. It was an expression that greatly unnerved Thorin and only served to irritate him further. "I asked you a question elf" He hissed, voice low and menacing. Being in control of his emotions would only go so far, especially where an elf was concerned.

Again, several moments ticked by before her eyes flicked away and she finally said. "A shadow and threat is coming and if the wounds of old do not fade Thorin Oakenshield, the race of elves and dwarves will be lost and there will be no hope for middle earth."

Though spoken in a gentle tone of voice, the force of her words sent tendrils of fear coursing through him. Very much a creature of habit, it galled Thorin to realise that her words were having any effect on him at all; that he Thorin Oakenshield could be so easily swayed by the mere words of an elf.

You know in your heart Thorin that there is no lie in what I say.

He did, but it did not make it any easier accepting. Thorin dug his fingers into the bridge of his nose, a pain in his head beginning to take shape. "What would you have me do when I do not know what it is you speak of?" He asked, frustration bleeding into his voice. Something flickered in the she-elf's eyes, however it appeared and vanished too quickly for Thorin to even begin discern what it was.

"This task was appointed to you," She paused and in that moment Thorin thought that she wished to say more. The moment however passed quickly and it appeared that she had thought better of it "and if you do not find a way... all will be lost."

The throbbing intensified. How was he to figure any of this out when he was not in possession of any knowledge on the matter, nor knew where he might find it?

However, before Thorin could voice any of these questions he suddenly found himself very much alone and with a great weight now weighing heavily around his neck.

Thorin sighed and vigorously rubbed his hands over his face, resigning himself to his newest responsibility. He was after all a king, and as such it was his duty to ensure that his people were protected. True, he did not know what it all meant or what awaited him and his people in the coming months, but Thorin did know if ensuring the safety of his race meant saving the lives of his enemies he would see it done—albeit grudgingly he admitted.

There were something's that not even the test of time could amend.

"I have no wish to question you, but perhaps now you would at least do me the courtesy of explaining what my part is in all this, and why the return of a heart that belongs to the Dwarves concerns me." Thranduil turned towards the Lady of Lothlórien and inclined his head slightly out of respect, though the formal pleasantries did nothing to hide the disgust in his voice, nor the tense set to his jaw.