Legolas

A small personal fire I created burns before me, flickering in the darkness of the trees where we have set up the main camp. Most of our men have retired for the evening, leaving only a few wanderers who move about. But none dare approach me.

A wise decision on their parts.

It gives me the time I need to attempt to quench my anger—if such a thing is possible in one sitting.

However, the longer I glare at the red and gold flames, the less likely it seems. The memory of our earlier encounter is persistent and flashes through my head at every opportune moment. As I recall the experience for perhaps the twelfth time, I focus on the part where I first noticed Aranel.

She looked so calm when we came to call, as if she was completely devoid of emotion, as if her betrayal meant nothing.

I was wrong to ever have considered her an ally. Since the day we first met, she has made it abundantly clear that she's only out to serve the dwarves. She deserves to be locked up in the mountain with them—let the gold keep their company until their deaths.

We have no need for them.

And she is no kin of ours.

"You've been staring out into space for the past hour, mellon." A familiar voice interrupts my thoughts.

I jolt and look up.

Tauriel approaches me, her long red hair falling gracefully down the sides of her fair cheeks. She sits down beside me and tilts her head. "What troubles you?" she asks.

I purse my lips and return my gaze to the fire. "It's nothing."

"Come. Be honest with me," she insists. "You're not fooling anyone."

I glance at her and shake my head.

It seems conversation cannot be avoided.

Reluctant, I nod my head, stand up, and pace a few steps while the words form. "It dawns on me that I have been a fool," I start. "We were nothing but hospitable to the Warden. We showered her with nothing but kindness and respect. And yet, she turned her back on us and defended the dwarves. And for some reason, I thought she was better than that. I thought…"

Images of Aranel's face cloud my vision and I close my eyes, my fists clenched tightly by my sides.

Silence descends upon us and Tauriel stares at me.

"You've grown fond of her…" she utters softly.

My head snaps up. "Fond?" I scoff. "No, you are mistaken." I shake my head and return to pacing. "Who would grow fond of such an overconfident, impatient, and arrogant outsider like her?"

"Say what you will, but your words do not deceive me." Tauriel says with a smile. "You have grown fond of her. If you haven't, her actions would not anger you so."

Furious by her persistence and illogical reasoning, I open my mouth to retort, but suddenly find myself speechless as I consider her words further.

It's true that her actions bother and perplex me more than anyone else I have ever known, even more so than Tauriel's. Why though I do not know. However, does that equate to being fond of that frustrating woman? Images of my time with Aranel flash before my eyes. I remember every one of her expressions, the intensity in her clear blue eyes when we first met, the sadness when I learned of her people's suffering- all of it. But nothing stands out more to me than the moment when I first saw her in the mountain, emotionless and unwelcoming.

Anger pulses through me again. No, she's wrong. She must be. Her betrayal has merely struck a nerve. That's all. She means nothing to me, I'm sure of it. I was only deluded into thinking of her as our kin. That's it.

While I argue back and forth inside my head, Tauriel stands up and walks up to me, shaking me from my daze. She places her hands on my cheeks, her skin warm to the touch, and looks deep into my eyes. "I'm certain her choice has a good reason," she whispers to me reassuringly and the anger inside of me dissipates. Tauriel then moves away and walks towards our tents. When she's a few paces away, she glances back at me, her green eyes soft and sympathetic. "Come," she calls to me over her shoulder. "You must rest. We have another long day tomorrow, and you must be at your best."

With more questions than answers now, I nod and follow after Tauriel, her words still swirling in my head and confusion weighing down my heart and mind.


Aranel

Many hours have past since the encounter we had with the Mirkwood elves and shems of Laketown.

At dawn, banner-bearers returned and demanded that Thorin deliver twelfth portion of the treasure to Bard or be declared a foe. Of course, Thorin did not take kindly to this. So instead of responding vocally, he took Kili's bow and shot at them. Thankfully it merely smote into the speaker's shield and sent them running, declaring the Mountain besieged. I hate to think of what rage it might have incurred if the arrow had actually shot him, but thank the Creators such a crisis has been avoided.

Now that we're all alone again, all of us have gathered to consider the affair, but no one appears to be happy.

"Twlefth portion of treasure…" Dwalin grumbles and shakes his head, moving his long beard with him. The over-sized dwarf stands up and looks around at all of us. "None of them have a claim to the treasure. None of them!" he shouts.

"Aye!" All but Bombur, Fili, Kili, Bilbo, and myself chime in agreement.

Bilbo shifts in his seat awkwardly. "B-But, pardon me if I may, should we not consider giving them even a little bit?" the hobbit speaks up. "Smaug did destroy Laketown, and it's only thanks to their assistance that we got here."

The dwarves glare at Bilbo, all except Fili, Kili, and Bombur whose gaze is directed on the fire.

Bilbo fidgets nervously under the pressure and looks down at the ground. "Or maybe not.." he whispers and folds his hands in front of him.

I sigh and stroke my fingers through my hair. Well, this is going nowhere.

As if in agreement, Maenor nudges his head against my neck, urging me to move away from the others.

Thorin then stands and paces around the campfire, stopping Maenor's persistent nudging and catching his attention. "Tis' true that we owe a debt to the men of Laketown," Thorin says, much to my surprise. "But that debt will not be paid under threat of force."

"Agreed!" Gloin exclaims, and the other dwarves also mutter in agreement.

"If we don't pay them back soon though, we're going to run out of things to eat," Bilbo reasons. "And as much as I enjoy all of your company—truly I do—I have no desire to be locked up in this mountain more than necessary with nothing but cram, I'll have you know."

"I have to agree with Bilbo on that," I add.

They all turn to me, looking somewhat surprised by my sudden involvement.

"Although I understand your plight and reasoning, Bilbo has a point," I tell them. "Unless there's some form of compromise, we will soon run out of supplies. And when that happens, what will we do next? With no food, and so few numbers to begin with, we'll soon be at a major disadvantage. And moreover, such inaction could result in war being brought into the mountain, and I don't believe we have the supplies or numbers to defend against them."

"If that is to be our fate, then let them come," Thorin replies. "But my decision stands. If they want even one piece of this treasure, they'll have to steal it from my cold, dead hands!"

The other dwarves cheer, their voices booming and echoing down the empty halls.

Meanwhile, Bilbo and I shake our heads—our hopes for a quick and peaceful resolution once again dashed by the stubbornness of the dwarves. Our efforts for logical reasoning dismissed and nothing but dust in the wind.


Days after our meeting passed slowly. Most of our time has been spent shifting and reorganizing treasure in search of the Arkenstone. And as the days have lagged on, Thorin has become more and more obsessed with the gem, even threatening us if someone withholds it. Just the other day I heard him threaten Dori because he caught him resting instead of searching, which apparently seemed suspicious despite our obvious fatigue. And if that wasn't bad enough, ravens have brought news that Dain and five hundred other dwarves are hurrying from Iron Hills towards the North-East end of the mountain. And with their expected pace, they're only two days march away from Dale.

The very thought makes me want to curse at Balin for even suggesting such an idea to Thorin without consulting with the rest of us first. After all, based off of Thorin's recent behavior and mindset, I wouldn't be surprised if as soon as Dain arrives, Thorin suddenly decides to engage the enemy and start a war.

Blasted dwarves. Always taking action without considering the consequences. That's how this kingdom originally fell in the first place, and now its descendants may very well be stuck following in their ancestors footsteps.

Heaving out a deep sigh, I lean against a nearby pillar and stare out at the endless treasure hall. We've only gone through such a small portion. And with just the handful of us, it could take decades to shift through all of it. We have to make some sort of compromise or else the mountain and its inhabitants will be doomed.

Exhausted both physically and mentally, I sit down on the ground and watch the other dwarves continue to dig through the vast piles of gold and jewels. As they do so, small golden flecks of light reflect off the treasure and shine on their dirty faces. It reminds me of camp after our party exited the Deep Roads in Orzammar. Zevran, Alistair, and Oghren had grabbed so many items and gold on the way out that we had a large pile as soon as we regrouped with the others. Morrigan's look of utter disgust with their greed was priceless, but Bodhan was certainly pleased. We ate like kings for several nights after that, and our weapons and armor never looked finer.

Recalling the old memories, I can't help but smile. It's hard to believe how fast time has past. Hopefully, they're all doing well now. I ran off to Middle-Earth without telling them, so they might be worried. Alistair is probably desperately trying to find me, much to Anora and the other nobles protest I imagine. But as soon as things have calmed down, I'll send them all a letter. Until then, Alistair has to deal with nobles on his own. I have my own royals here to deal with.

While I contemplate our situation further, searching for a potential answer to get the dwarves to agree to a compromise, I notice Bilbo walk past me and head towards the stairs. I turn to watch him, and notice that one of his hands is deep inside his coat pocket, fumbling with something. When he nears the stairs, Thorin descends the staircase. As soon as Bilbo sees him, he pulls his hand out and I notice that whatever he was fumbling with weighed fairly heavily on his coat pocket. The hobbit and dwarf look at each other, and then Bilbo nods his head and heads up the stairs to go on guard duty.

When the hobbit disappears from my sight, I turn back around and lean my head against the pillar. What in the Fade is that hobbit up to now? I wonder.

But for some reason, I feel like I already know.


Later that night, the dwarves and I have gathered around our usual campfire to eat our portion of cram. While the other dwarves inhale their biscuits, Balin glances around the party.

"Where has Bilbo wandered off to?" Balin ponders aloud.

"Don't know," Fili replies between bites, "Last I saw him was in the treasure hold."

Balin doesn't appear content with that answer.

"I'll go look for him," I assure him and stand up.

The old dwarf's shoulders relax. "Alright, but don't be gone too long," Balin calls behind me as I walk away.

I wave back to the dwarf and then raise my arm and whistle for Maenor. He screeches, flies over to me from the statue where he was perched, and lands on my arm. I position my arm so he's right in front of me and look him in the eyes.

"You followed him earlier, correct?" I whisper to him so the dwarves can't hear.

Maenor squawks and bobs his head.

"Take me to him."

With another screech, Maenor flaps his wings and flies down the hall. I run after him and he takes me to the secret door the dwarves entered through when they first arrived. The door is creaked open slightly, allowing a slight cold breeze to enter the mountain.

"Bilbo was definitely here," I mutter and put my hand on the cold stone. "And I have a feeling I know exactly where he has gone."

With a quick glance back down the hall, I heave out a deep sigh, exit the mountain, and run as fast as my legs can carry me to the enemy's main camp.

Creators have mercy on this troublesome hobbit. Gods know he needs it.