Right, this beauty is adopted from the wonderful WriterGirl1198, all work in this chapter belongs to her :)

R&R x

Disclaimer - I don't own anything, anything recognizable belonging to The Hobbit or anything else from LOTR is Tolkien's and the original characters, Cuilwen Morwen Thranduileth, along with her mother, Queen Tawariell and a few assorted others belong to WriterGirl1198

Chapter 2

*Thorin's POV*

It had been about three days since Thranduil's daughter had come to me with food on the day of our capture. Three days, and still I wondered about her. She did not seem to be like her father. There was something there, something that I was missing. It was just beyond my reach, but I could not grasp it.

Something about the girl had drawn me to her, since I had first caught her looking at me when the Company was taken before the Elven-king. Her very name intrigued me: Cuilwen Morwen, Dark Life. I wondered what had happened for her to receive such a contradictory name.

She looked nothing like the Wood Elves. Her flaming hair and steel grey eyes stood out in sharp contrast to the blonde haired, blue-eyed Elves. Also, there was her height. Though she appeared to move as gracefully and fluidly as all Elves, she was just as short as I am.

Cuilwen. Her very name entranced me, throwing my heart and mind into complete turmoil. My heart wanted to know her better, to know everything there was to know about her. But my mind fought hard against my heart. My mind brought up all the hatred I had ever felt towards the Elves. It brought up all the reasons I had to hate Thranduil. And when I remembered that he was her father, I growled angrily, jumping up to pace the small cell the Elven-king had put me in as I muttered Khuzdul curses under my breath.

Yet another reason to hate Thranduil, I thought grimly. Suddenly, I felt a presence outside my cell door. Someone else was down here. I turned to face the iron bars and saw a short form, lithe and graceful.

"Hello," Cuilwen said to me softly.

*Cuilwen's POV*

I walked through the tunnels, trying to avoid as many guards as I could. Especially Legolas; he would know in a moment that I was up to something.

Fortunately, my brother was nowhere to be found as I made my way to the cell of the Dwarves' leader. I used my agility and light weight to my advantage, working my way through the numerous dimly-lit passageways.

Finally, I reached the lowest dungeons and came to a halt in front of the Dwarf's cell. He was pacing the floor angrily, muttering under his breath in Khuzdul. From the way he was glaring at the walls, I assumed he was cursing.

I considered him for a moment. He was very handsome, and his obvious fury did nothing to detract from that. In fact, if it changed anything at all, our made him look even more attractive.

His black hair with only a few streaks of grey, his powerful, strongly muscled body, and his eyes, his beautiful sorrowful deep blue eyes… I realized my thoughts and hurriedly brought them to a screeching halt.

Just then he stiffened, turning to face the bars where I was standing.

"Hello," I said softly.

He looked at me in confusion for a moment, then anger overtook his face once more, "Why have you come?" he demanded.

I hesitated for a moment, looking down at the ground.

"As I said before, my father is wrong to do this," I said, my voice barely a whisper. I looked up as my confidence grew slightly. "My brother and I both know it, but Adar would listen only to Legolas. And about this," I shook my head. "My brother has too much to lose to try to persuade our father. Centuries worth of anger and grudges fester in his heart, and the only person who could even hope to heal him is now gone."

We were both silent for a moment, and I then remembered the question which had haunted me for the past three days.

"If it is not too forward of me, May I ask your name?" I said to him.

Instantly his defenses see up, and he gazed at me in suspicion. I felt yet another gash open on my scarred heart and felt the blood flow, filling my eyes with hurt. Another feeling fell over me:despair. It seemed that I would ever be regarded with suspicion and hatred. I lowered my head and turned away, tears filling my eyes.

I walked toward the exit, until I was halted by his deep voice.

"I am Thorin, son of Thrain," he said.

I turned to look at him, surprised that he had responded to me. He had moved from the back of the cell, now clamping the bars with his hands. His eyes looked at me briefly, and I saw how vulnerable he felt in that moment, with his name in my possession.

I smiled slightly, turning back to him. My eyes, I knew, still betrayed the pain I felt at his earlier reticence, though I could hardly blame him for not trusting an Elf, especially a child of Thranduil.

"Please," he said, his voice pleading. "Please stay. I can't bear being alone down here..."

I sat on a short stool by his cell door. "I am used to solitude. Legolas is the only one who cares what becomes of me."

Thorin's face remained neutral, but his eyes showed confusion, as did his voice when he spoke.

"But surely your father and mother care, and love you as well," he said, his voice puzzled.

I shook my head. "My mother died in childbirth to me. As a result, my father cannot stand the sight of me.

Naneth's last words were to beg Adar to name me Cuilwen. He did as she asked, but added Morwen to it, and instructed all of his subjects to address me as such. Legolas is the only one who does not. He calls me Narylfiel, meaning 'Fire brand,' though he usually shortens it to Nary."

Something flickered in Thorin's eyes, and I realized that it was a spark of compassion. He reached his hands through the bars, gently encasing mine.

"Forgive my earlier harsh words," he said, his sapphire blue eyes piercing mine like daggers. "I was too hard on you, judging you by your race before I knew anything about you."

I nodded, accepting his apology. "There was no harm done. It is in the past now."

He seemed relieved to hear that, and I smiled slightly at him. There was something nagging at me, and my brow furrowed in thought. Suddenly it came to me, and I gasped at the realization, though I kept my voice down.

"You are Thorin Oakenshield," I whispered in awe. "King Under the Mountain, heir to the throne of Erebor!" I realized then where he was bound, and why my father might not want him to get there. "That is your quest. You are going to reclaim Erebor!"

He nodded, and I paled slightly. "You have to get out of here," I muttered to myself. "Erebor must be retaken, and Smaug destroyed."

"You support our quest?" Thorin said, looking at me with an incredulous expression on his face.

I nodded. "Aye, I do. You must succeed; the fate of Middle Earth rests on this," I said, my mind churning.

He grasped my wrist through the bars and said, "I will not let you risk yourself just to free us."

I laughed mirthlessly. "What more can my father do to me? Already I do not have his love, but he would never harm me; he loved Naneth too much. The worst he could do would be to banish me, and I would gladly take that if it meant saving Middle Earth." I gently freed my hand from his and backed away from the cell slowly. "I will find a way out for you, Thorin Oakenshield," I said to him. "I swear it on my life."

With that I turned and went back to the upper levels. On the way up one of the stairs, I tripped over something in the floor. I fell with a small yelp, which was echoed in another voice. I realized that I must have tripped over a person, though I was paying attention and did not see anyone. I reached down and grasped the person who I had tripped over. But when I looked, there was no one there.

"Whoever you are," I said in a low warning voice. "Make yourself visible this instant."

I heard a sigh, and the person I was holding moved slightly, then did as I bade him. He was a short being, and slightly chubby. His curly blonde hair was badly mussed, and he had traces of spider web clinging to him.

"Who are you?" I said in curiosity, my voice hushed.

He sighed and said, "My name is Bilbo Baggins. I am a hobbit of the Shire."

"Let me guess," I said. "The Company of Thorin Oakenshield is thirteen Dwarves plus one hobbit, yes?"

He nodded, a startled expression on his face.

"You are trying to find a way to help them?" I guessed, and he nodded once more. "I want to help you get them out."

He looked very confused. "Why? You're an Elf. I thought your people hated each other."

"The Dwarves have hated my father and our people since the fall of Erebor when he turned away from their suffering," I answered him.

"Your father?"

"I am Cuilwen Thranduileth," I answered him, dropping the surname my father had given me. "Thranduil is my father."

He gasped and said, "Then shouldn't you be glad to see them imprisoned."

"I am not my father," I told him. "And what my father is doing is wrong. I am looking for a way to break

Thorin and the rest of your Company out of here. Can I count on your help?"

He nodded, speechless, and I nodded at him in return. "Good. Now, make yourself invisible and follow me.

The room I go to will be where you can find me, and if I am not there, you can wait there for me."

He nodded and put something on his finger, disappearing as soon as he did that. I headed towards my room and went in, closing my door behind me. I tried to go to sleep but was kept awake all night trying to think of a way to free Thorin and his Company. I could not fail him - I could not.