An Unexpected Meeting

Excuse my Sindarin, I've been using a variety of sources including a translator and various dictionaries.

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Disclaimer: I am not Tolkien. This is for practice and fun.

~ o0o ~

Why had they not heeded the wizard's words?

All about them dark trees loomed, their large branches blocking much needed light from reaching the forest floor. They could see nothing that distinguished one direction from the other, nothing that would lead them back to the Elven Path. They had searched in vain for hours – days – for the path they had strayed from, only to find nothing. They were now reaping the consequence for their foolhardy decision as they were now lost in the twisting darkness of Mirkwood.

Worse still, they had not even a crumb of food to show for it.

Hunger has a horrible way of making one desperate, mused Bilbo, rather dispirited, his shoulders hunched, as he followed after the others, who were in a rather similar state to himself, even so far that it would make one run off towards mysterious lights in the wood.

But what a sight it had been!

Song and revelry filling the clearing, bliss and exuberance clear upon fine-boned features.

He had been perplexed, unsure why the Elves were feasting – why they would do so in the Shadow of the forest – and perhaps if he had been less ravenous he would be more curious, but as it stood what had truly caught the hobbit's notice was the large spread laid out upon the vast table. The temptation had been too great, provoking them into acting rashly, consequently startling the feasters away.

How I wish to have been able to participate.

Pushing such thoughts from his mind, Bilbo hurried after the dwarves, valiantly ignoring his throbbing feet, and consoled himself with the knowledge of resting soon. Though exactly how soon, he had no idea, for light scarcely pierced through the darkness of Mirkwood, making it a struggle to differentiate minutes from hours.

He wondered why he thought it was a good idea to agree to come on this 'adventure'.

~ o0o ~

Bilbo could have very well wept in relief, when, at long last – perhaps minutes, perhaps hours later, he could not tell – Thorin declared it time for rest.

The earth was a mess of jutting roots, dark leaves, and fallen twigs but, uncaring of the area's condition, fourteen forms all but collapsed onto the ground. Relief surging though their sore bodies, so great none felt the need to move for a long while.

It was Oin that eventually stood, though he urged the others to take what rest they could, while he took the first watch.

He did not travel far, perhaps three feet away at most, seating himself upon a large rock, his gaze turned towards the trees. He was undeterred by the numerous luminous eyes that peered at them, having become accustomed to their frightening presence.

Bilbo envied his stout heart – he still found them disconcerting, sure that an attack would come at any given moment.

As lay there, jagged roots and rough rocks prodding him no matter which way he positioned himself, his stomach gave a pang of hunger.

Ignoring it was a struggle, as was the search for rest, which seemed to elude them all. Eventually their bodies were too tired to keep them awake, and fitful though it was, they slept.

~ o0o ~

Hours pass and their turns on watch consisted of searching in vain for even the smallest hint of a light. None were successful, leaving them despondent.

As such it was a surprise when quite late in the night when Kili, just a touch excited, roused them, news of the reappearance of lights and soft music not too far away.

Unlike their previous encounters they do not immediately head towards it, instead staying upon the earth, the soft sound of voices and harps washing over them. Each pondering the wisdom of trying to head towards it after their last two failed attempts. Ultimately hunger overcame them, and up they went, determined once more, hurriedly making their way to the faint glimmer from between the trees. They quieted their steps as they neared, hoping to go unnoticed.

Once concealed by wide holes, the Company furtively gaped, for the feast laid before them was even grander than before. Slender forms were conversing and feasting, laughter easily falling from unblemished lips. Lissome figures swaying and twirling in time with the hauntingly beautiful melody being strummed by long fingers, as unbound hair fanned around them, flowers of various shades moving not an inch from the long tresses.

While it was an alluring sight, Bilbo's attention was fixed upon the Elf that sat at the head of the large table. It was, of course, the Elven-King, appearing much as Bombur had described; hair the colour of silver, though it gleamed gold under the light of the fire, with flowers of red and violet cleverly woven into the locks. White gems glittered upon his trim waist, the green of his long robe accenting it beautifully. A crown of leaves sat upon his head, worn as Autumn was coming on. He was speaking to another fair-haired elf, a furrow of the King's brows the only indication of his unhappiness.

Unbidden, his gaze travelled to the generous spread that lay upon the table, and had Bilbo readily forgetting the King and his displeasure.

Master Baggins had not been the only one to spot King Thranduil, however distracted as they were, none noticed Thorin stiffen.

Calloused hands tightened into fists as hardened eyes caught view of the ageless face. A scowl pulled harshly at Thorin's lips, no longer willing to witness the Elves celebration, he turned his face away from the sight. It seemed, however, no matter where he turned his gaze there were Elves. Disgusted, Durin's Heir snapped his head towards the left, where at least, his vision was not completely assaulted by the merry beings.

For a moment his resentment calmed, thoughts momentarily silenced as his gaze, almost lazily, wandered about. Slowly, his body unwound from its stiffened position – only to still.

Blinking once, twice, even going as far as rubbing them – for surely it was simply a figment from his tired mind – the apparition did not disappear.

Dwalin, ever faithful, was the first to notice their leader's confused gaping, which attracted Balin's attention, which snatched Oin's and then Gloin's, until all fourteen members stared, captivated.

For not too far away stood a slight and slender figure, pointed ears – partially hidden by gleaming locks with flowers of white and yellow woven throughout – had their back turned towards the Company, head slightly tilted as if struggling to discern some thing.

Nothing of the Elf's dress surprised them, no what brought them short was the fair being's stature. An inch or so shorter than Thorin, who was the tallest of them, was something none had thought they would ever view.

An Elfling.

Breath stolen, Thorin and his Company stared in awe, and quite a bit of confusion, at the elf-child. Long had it been since a child of the Elves had been seen, and even longer since any of the Mortal Races had laid eyes upon one. As enraptured as they were, they were utterly unprepared when the small form unexpectedly turned towards their exact position.

Large eyes widened in alarm, and seemed to only grow larger with every figure they landed upon. Nori, Bombur, and Dwalin were subjected to a longer study than the others, drawn to their rather noteworthy features. Though, it seemed, the one that had truly caught the elfling's attention was the burglar. Green orbs lingered upon the mess of brown curls, both upon his head and feet, matted after almost a month without washing, muted curiosity shining in the fine features.

Bilbo could feel his skin flushing under the scrutiny, well aware how disheveled he and his companions were. Clothing, stained by both nature and perspiration – blanketing them in a truly foul odor – was a tad large, attesting to the unwanted weight loss over the last few days. Any visible skin was smudged with dirt, with a scattering amount of superficial wounds in various stages of healing – it almost seemed as if the trees were trying to discourage them. He had become accustomed to appearing so, after months of traveling, but his Good Hobbit Manners were bristling at even being seen at such an elaborate function in such a state. Regardless of not having been invited.

In contrast the child was immaculate, not a hair out of place, fitted in silken clothing in the most fetching of green – bringing attention to prominent eyes that the child possessed. Which had not moved from their persons, continuing to gaze upon them in suspicious wonder. Too soon, however, they darted quickly away, something like panic in them – searching for the nearest adult. They landed upon a pair not too far away, seated upon stumps and with silver goblets of wine in hand. Relief shone brightly in those striking orbs, before warily turning towards them, taking hesitant steps back.

Anxiety was quick to grip the Company's hearts, while they dearly wanted help, what were they to do if the WoodElves perceived them as threats? The child was clearly already on guard with them, and that would undoubtedly influence the elder elves.

Thorin, in particular, was wary of having a confrontation with any, specifically Thranduil, and hoped to avoid doing so altogether. Steeling himself, Thorin acted with impulse.

"Greetings child, we mean no harm – we are simply searching for assistance." the words were uttered in Common – a gamble, as he was unsure if the child had been taught it – with a throat rough with thirst.

The young elf halted, appearing a beauteous statue as the youngling stayed unnervingly still in the way only elves could be, assessing the dark-haired dwarf.

Thorin did the same, his own blue orbs meeting green, resisting the urge to move as he did so. Those eyes were young, free of the weight Thorin was accustomed to seeing from the Fair Folk, though he was just as unnerved by the intensity of it. Elves had a way of looking at you – as if they were laying bare all your secrets, every facet of your life examined – that had one feeling inferior and shaken. He felt it then, from an elf-child younger in both age and body than himself, and hoped that he would pass inspection.

It seemed a small eternity, but none dared move, unsure of what would result in the encounter.

Until at last, the connection between the elf and dwarf was broken. Hesitantly, the golden-haired child took a few steps forward, stopping in his previous position, besides a large beech tree.

"Mae– Well met, travelers." The soft voice was unsure, inexperience evident even as the pronunciation itself was perfect, "How did you come upon our Feast?"

"We were not purposely looking for it, or rather we were, but not to do harm. We were seeking aid, for in our foolishness, we strayed from the Elven Path. My Company and I have been wandering for days, and we were relieved to see a sign of others in the dark of the woods." Clasped hands were kept in the child's sight, Thorin spoke gently – eyes soft in a way that only children could make them. He kept his posture loose, having no desire to frighten the little one, regardless of his personal grudges.

The same was true for his kinsfolk, for Dwarves held children, no matter the race, precious. As such it was unsurprising when their hands moved as far as they could from weapons, when their sturdy frames hunched slightly, as they endeavored to appear as unthreatening as possible to the young one.

Small shoulders loosened marginally in response, "But, why were you coming through Greenwood at all? We rarely ever have visitors, and its even rarer for the visitors to be invited to the Feast."

Slender fingers had absently reached upward to twist a silken lock, the natural curiosity of childhood lacing the words. For inviting any to their feast was considered a sign of upmost faith and friendship, long had it been since any had been asked to attend. In fact the last mortal, and person, to have been invited to their feast had been the last Lord of Dale. But that had been more than a century ago, long before the Prince had been born.

There had been none, since then, deemed close enough to the WoodElves to be invited – and surely if any had Legolas would have at least heard of talk of it. But then, how else could they have found them?

Appearing slightly startled, Thorin hesitated, mouth at odds with his mind. He had been anticipating the child to go running for an adult, voice pitched in panic at having spotted dwarves. With no clear idea of how to proceed – or how to answer the elfling's questions – he stood there, utterly flummoxed at the turn of events.

Thorin was fortunate that Bilbo had been expecting such a question – hedid have numerous young relatives, the Tooks especially, that would spring a question on unsuspecting hobbits – and had thought up a suitable answer.

"Ah! I do believe I can answer your questions, my companions and I are having a bit of an adventure, you see, to the Blue Mountains to be precise."

~ o0o ~

Vibrant eyes narrowed in thought, weighing the man's words, attempting to trace their path in his mind's eye. They had likely come from the west, how far out the child was unsure, but how had they found the Elven Path? It was well-hidden – and from what his Adar had said – difficult for mortal eyes to uncover, so how was it that thirteen dwarves and a large-footed person find it?

Though that was a mystery in itself just what was said furry-footed person?

Was he a different type of Dwarf? Perhaps it was a female Dwarf? Yes, that seemed right, his tutors all told him that there was not much distinction between male and female dwarves, they even dressed alike! Though…the manner of dress the he wore was not at all like his companions, nor did he look at all like them.

With the stature of a child, yet possessing the face of a fully grown adult, free of hair save for those upon his head and his large, bare feet.

Whatever he was, Legolas was sure he had never been taught of them in his lessons, for surely he would have remembered a people with such a description. Though he could not help but think he had heard of them…if only he could remember where.

Would it be considered rude to inquire?

Knowledge is something you should always seek. Question all around you for answers, and if that fails, remember that there are other sources to find it.

Calamaethor was always quick to tell him so, and what better source than the very person he knew had the answers?

~ o0o ~

While Legolas had been lost in thought, the others had waited anxiously for the verdict. And so you can imagine their emotional state when the child finally acknowledged them once more.

"I know you thirteen are dwarves, but I am confused on what your companion is. Is he another kind of dwarf or a female dwarf? If she is I am sorry for referring to you as a he." Utterly apologetic, the elfling turned towards the 'female dwarf', hoping that he had not offended anyone.

Dumbfounded, that that was what the child had chosen to focus on, they remained silent, wondering at the logic of children.

Bilbo could not help but be offended yet it gave away to amusement as he took in the faces of the others. He was unsure if they more flummoxed or insulted that dwarven women had been compared to a middle-aged gentlehobbit.

"You believe that our women look like him?!"

Red-faced, Gloin strived to keep his temper, reminding himself that the elfling did not know any better.

Either disregarding or ignorant of this, Legolas returned his questioning, "Are you a Man then? Are you a Woodsman? Or are you a shape-shifter like Beorn? Can you change into a bear like he ca–"

"Slow down, child, I am happy to answer your questions – that is if you leave enough time between them for me to speak." An honest smile was upon Bilbo's kindly face, so curious this child was and not one bit afraid of asking questions, "To start, I am a Hobbit – though most seem to refer to us as Halflings – and as far as I know we have no relations neither to Beorn or Men."

"Halfling…," now that word was familiar. It was from an old light-hearted children's story – of simple beings that lived in peace, one that he had adored since he had first heard it. Staring in new wonderment at the perian, his mouth quickly ran away from him – questions he had longed to voice would at last have answers – and from a Halfling!

Any misgivings that had lingered instantly vanished with the revelation of a real Hobbit standing but a few feet from him.

As his questions were answered, the child simply became more rambunctious, relaxing as he chattered on with the Halfling. And he would have continued to do so if he had not heard the familiar rumbling sound.

Legolas immediately halted, turning his attention to the source. Seeing the flushed cheeks of the perian, he could feel his own cheeks warm. He had been such a horrible host, not even offering a drink to the weary men.

He would have to fix that immediately.

~ o0o ~

The grumble of a complaining stomach halted the barrage of eager questions. Which they were rather thankful for – by Mahal it seemed as if the elf had not even been breathing at one point – instead turning towards a rather flustered hobbit.

The small child looked especially startled, only for it to give away to determination. They watched uncertainly as the elf turned back, a new purpose clear in the light steps, only to pause near a large beech. A white hand briefly patted the rough bark before leaning down to retrieve a previously unnoticed lump of fabric, hidden under the tree's large, twisted roots.

It was a plain white handkerchief, albeit a large one, laden tightly with some type of pastry – judging by the sweet smell of sugar, which only became more noticeable as the elfling hastened back towards them.

An impish smile, "Promise you will not tell Ada?"

Charmed and amused by it, they quickly agreed, hunger once more making itself known.

The various sweets – primarily biscuits and the occasional small cake – were handed out, and with relief in their hearts, the Company ate. Small though the pastries were, they savored them, both for the marvelous taste and to keep themselves from becoming sick. Experience had taught them to never eat quickly or overindulge after days with little to no food.

Watching them, Legolas felt a tendril of compassion – usually felt towards the injured animals he would stumble upon – fill him. Familiar determination to assist welled, and so he provided all he could at the moment. And if he was already pondering a way to convince his Ada to help, well, no one said that was not in his reach.

The rotund one – who had long finished the small sweet, and was eyeing the remainder of them – was absently offered another large biscuit.

Grateful, if slightly unsatisfied, a large hand reached for it, an answering grin upon his round face.

"Thank you, sweet child you have saved us from starvation!" Bombur looked suspiciously close to embracing the child, but after eying his willowy frame decided against doing so. Instead he offered his hand to shake – a gesture of Men, but it had long been adopted by the wandering dwarves – and after only a look of bewilderment, a slim hand was enveloped in his own.

It was then that a dark-haired elf spotted them, and their close proximity to the elfling.

Now, normally the elf would have quietly alerted his fellows, and they would have then followed the tactic that had been made for just this situation. Wine, however, had clouded his judgment and his first instinct was not to handle it calmly, but instead to alert the whole feast, loudly.

"Ennas sad hadhodrim na i Neth Ernil!"

Startled, Bombur reared back, hand still tightly gripping the smaller, dragging along the slight form out of the protective elvish magic.

The clearing went dark, magic whisking the elves away from the perceived danger, unfortunately leaving one of they own behind.

~ o0o ~

Sindarin:

Perian – Halfling/Hobbit

Ennas sad hadhodrim na i Neth Ernil – There are dwarves near the Young Prince!

CoffeeRanger (guest): This is actually a mixture of both, though it leans more towards book verse. I'll only add certain events, people, details, and personalities from the movie. Though most probably won't be written in this fic, I'll probably expand on it someday. I'm glad that you like Calamaethor and Taurvantian! Their personalities still need a bit of work, but hopefully they come across as individuals and not cardboard cutouts.

IMayOrMayNotExist: I would love to write more mischievous Legolas, but this story seems to be heading a different direction, though I'll probably end up writing more in this verse and posting them as one-shots.

Frodo's sister: I plan to finish this unless I end up loosing internet or my phone.

This chapter was the hardest to write and I'm not really altogether pleased with it, but I've edited and rewritten it so many times I figure this is the best I'll be able to do. Thanks for your patience and I hope you enjoyed it.

As always thanks for reading! And please review and leave constructive criticism!

Word Count: 3,438