A/N: Greetings, folks! Sorry for the wait for this chapter! (I wasn't very late, was I :O) Thank you for all your support!

I created a word for the Dragonkin in Quenya (sorry if it's cringey or super inaccurate): Vilyahíni (sky-children). In this fic, "lócë" (serpent, snake, dragon) is used as an insult.

Quenya because although Sindarin is more commonly spoken in the Third Era, I imagined that this word would be created way before the Third Era and simply adopted into Sindarin since it's a proper noun. All information are from various wikis and translation websites.

Ahh yes this chapter mainly focuses on Thranduil, Bilbo and Thorin. Next chapter will have more of the other dwarves~ Hope they're not too OOC; I tried ;^; It's unbeta-ed for now, so do tell me if there's any grammar errors or mistakes! If any dialogue or actions are too stiff/unbelievable/exaggerated/OOC, will also very greatly appreciate you pointing it out :) Comments will be greatly appreciated!

DISCLAIMER: not mine

Chapter 19

They crossed the bridge across a swift and dark river to the doors of Woodland Realm, entrance half-hidden in a cave. Part of the kingdom was underground and built out of tree roots. At the far end were the stone gates, towering to the height of the tallest trees and intricately carved with depictions of stags, elves and twisting trees.

They were marched through the raised wooden walkways until they came upon the closed doors to the Thranduil's Hall. The elves stripped them of their weapons, even those hidden. Dori grumbled when they found those in his boots.

Finally, the doors to the Great Hall swung wide. Pillars hewn out of living stone supported the tall ceilings of the Great Hall. King Thranduil sat on a chair of carven wood polished to a light brown, with expansive antlers adorning the his head was a crown of berries and red leaves. In one hand held a staff of wood, his other arm carelessly slung over the armrest of his throne. his expression was cold and aloof, posture slouched diagonally across the chair and legs crossed confidently.

Those familiar with the ways of the Elven King could spot the almost imperceptible straightening of his posture the moment Bilbo stepped into the throne room. His voice, cold and hostile, cut through the air. "Why are you here? My kingdom do not welcome your kind, lócë."

Bilbo stiffened. "What are you talking about?" Dwalin demanded.

King Thranduil's eyes narrowed. He surveyed them for a moment before relaxing back into a slouch with an amused smirk.

"They know not, do they?" His expression flickered into one of vindictive glee before it morphed back into a facade of boredom. "No matter. I will deal with you later." He directed his piercing gaze towards the dwarves. "Dwarves, state your purpose." He said, pronouncing dwarves as one would to scum. There were dissent, but Dwalin silenced them with a raised hand and stepped forward.

"We heard King Thorin has joined your halls. Where is he?" Dwalin said.

Thranduil smirked. "With the Prince, are you? State your purpose to coming to my kingdom, dwarves, and my elves shall bring you to your Prince."

"How do we know you're not lying?" Dwalin said suspiciously.

He lounged on his throne. "In his possession was a rather unique weapon, don't you think? One of Elven make?" From behind his throne, he pulled out a familiar silver sword with a jewelled helm: Orcrist.

Gloin gave a shout and had to be held back by other dwarves. Dwalin remained stout. "What did you do to him?"

Thranduil caressed the sheath of the sword. "Such a beautiful sword, made by the Elven smiths of old."

"What did you do to him?" Dwalin repeated.

His eyes flashed. "I missed not the rude behaviour of dwarves," he said. "I gave him food and water, and offered him resources and assistance if he told me his true purpose for being here." He passed the sword back to the guards and rested his elbow on the armrest of his throne. "He spat on my kindness. But I shall extend the same offer to you." He leant forward. "Tell me your purpose, and I'll consider letting you go."

Dwalin's jaw was set. "If my king deigned telling you why we are here, then you will hear not a word of it from us."

"You choose to be difficult? Very well," he sighed, faux-disappointedly. Lazily, he waved his hand towards the dwarves. "Throw them into the dungeons with the rest of their motley crew."

The dwarves shouted and reached for weapons that were not there. The elves closed in on them, movement fluid and rapid. Bilbo tensed, expecting hands to reach out to him, but they bypassed him completely. They pushed past him until Bilbo was standing a few feet forward, in the middle of the throne room, while the rest of the dwarves were herded towards the door.

They stared at each other in shock for a few seconds, the elves between them, before the dwarves began shoving against their captors, shouting with increasing volume.

"Why are we being thrown into the dungeons? We did nothing!"

"Why are you separating us from Bilbo!"

Don't you do anything to him!"

"What do you want from our hobbit?"

"It is not of your concern, dwarves," came the King's silky voice as the elves herded them away. "You should worry about your own fates instead."

Bilbo casted one last look at the dwarves, yearning to go with them instead of dealing with the king. Bofur was furiously arguing with the elves as he was tugged along. With a last push, the last dwarf was dragged out of the throne room and the great doors slammed shut.

The air turned colder. "Declare yourself, lócë."

Bilbo schooled his expression to one of neutrality. He bowed stiffly, tapping on almost-forgotten lessons on Elven formality. "Âr-Thranduil. I'm Cyadhon of the Vilyahíni; Elf-friend and Lord Elrond's Ward. Currently known as Bilbo Baggins, hobbit from the Shire." The Elvenking stared him down like a predator to a mouse. Bilbo resisted the urge to fidget, figurative hackles raised.

Danger, a part of him whispered. Run. Destroy. Run. Destroy. Ru-

Stay calm, he berated himself.

"You." Thranduil rose fluidly from his throne, silver clothes rustling as he glided towards the hobbit. Slowly, he circled the hobbit. Bilbo twitched every time the elf disappeared from his peripheral view, resisting the urge to turn and face the elf.

"I tolerated your presence last time, when Lord Elrond assured me you would bring no harm, and that he would be fully responsible for your actions. But now, you came without him, instead bringing dwarves in tow and disrupting the peace in my kingdom."

The periodic muffled thumps of his staff against the wooden floor were the only sounds in the throne room. Goosebumps crawled up Bilbo's skin as the king stepped closer to him, eyes like glaciers. His skin itched. Threat, the voice in his mind growled. Destroy? It said hopefully.

Shut up, he told it as he stared back into the cold eyes of the king.

The elf stopped when he was a step away, and leant forward. His face was unnaturally smooth and symmetric. Hand caressing the hilt of his sword, he purred, "Tell me, what are you doing here, Child of Wyrm? Why shouldn't I just kill you on the spot right here and save myself the trouble in the future?"

Bilbo stiffened, expression stoic. He smelt danger, like the thin wisps of smoke in the air. King Thranduil was danger he could not predict or fight. His hands itched and burnt, but he resisted the temptation to look at them.

The Elvenking paused. He wrinkled his nose slightly and his eyes darted downwards. Instantly, he took a step back, almost in a stumble. His eyes widened before his expression turned cold. The thrum of nocked bows rippled through the air.

Bilbo's mouth went dry. He could see the glint on the tip of the arrows. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. Thranduil made to speak again, but Bilbo beat him to it, speaking rapidly. "The elves have pledged assistance to those of the Dragonkin. I'm, ah, also under the care and protection of Lord Elrond himself." He swallowed dryly, sounding more confident than he felt. "You can't kill me."

He sensed, more than see, the arrows aimed at him. Sweat matted his hair and his hands felt even hotter than before. His palms itched with the sensation of rocks poking out of his skin.

Thranduil took a few paces back. Elven Guards, usually hidden, stepped out from the shadows. He rested his hand on the hilt of his sword strapped at his waist as he appraised the hobbit warily. "I will be merely ridding the world of another wayward dragon. Lord Elrond is a fool for taking you in." He sneered. "Does he know of your lapses in control?"

"I've never lost control before!" Bilbo spat out. His nerves hummed, high-strung and fragile like a spider's web.

The Elvenking's laughter was high and mocking. "Then, hobbit, explain the state of your hands. Or... Is it a deliberate confrontational attempt on the life of the Elvenking?"

Bilbo froze.

His skin itched. His palms burnt. He did not want to look at his hands. He had to look at his hands.

He lifted his hands up.

The fear in his stomach curdled. His fingers were claws, with talons and almost black. They were covered with defined, dark green scales. The scales ran down his fingers until the knuckles, where they melded with his skin into a rough texture, similar to calluses. The back of his hands were darker than pine, and hardened. Patched of small scales poked out from beneath his skin. They speckled up his forearms, becoming more sparse and ending at his elbows.

Coiled between his fingers were wisps of flames, blue and almost invisible.

"I... This..."

"Have never happened before?" Thranduil's lips twisted into an ugly smile. "How convenient it happened in my court, lócë."

The flames extinguished the moment he noticed them. The scales faded off as well, some simply falling off while others melted back into his skin until his arms returned to its unblemished state it once was. He held up his very hobbit, very fleshy hands non-threateningly.

"It has never happened before. I deeply apologise for the unintended offence."

"You fool no one." Thranduil turned away. "I may not be able to do anything you yet, but I will not let your kind bring any more harm to my kingdom." He strode towards his throne, passing his staff to one of the guards. "Throw him into the deepest dungeons, far away from the rest of the dwarves."

"Wait!" He cried. "I came to give word. Gandalf sent me." Everything came rushing out, as quick as he could before Thranduil decided to silence him once and for all. "Something dark is stirring, far in the North. Gandalf fears that the darkness will spread. It will spread, all the way to Erebor, to Smaug. When the dragon awakes - it will be the end of Mirkwood and the other kingdoms around."

Thranduil halted.

"It is spreading, fast. Gandalf had to leave mid-journey. Radagast the Brown reported the spread of the poison within the forest. Spiders, dark creatures - are they not the same thing that Mirkwood has been experiencing? It will only get worse!"

"We have been experiencing spiders for the past decade. It is nothing new."

"And," Bilbo said, "orcs. Azog the White has reappeared. They were —"

There was a blur of movement before he finished his sentence. He felt a sharp prick at his neck. Bilbo stared up the tip of a sword, into the eyes of a furious Elven King.

"— chasing us."

"You brought orcs to my kingdom." His voice was dangerous, low.

"N-no! We lost them before we even reached Beorn's lodge—"

The cold pressure at his neck increased ever so slightly. A bead of blood formed. He gulped. "They aren't chasing us anymore."

Thranduil stared suspiciously into his eyes for a moment. In a fluid movement, his sword was sheathed as through he had not threatened to run it through Bilbo just seconds ago.

"It is still not of our concern. My concern is of my people."

"It will concern you, when your kingdom's burning down and you lose everything you love!" He shouted. Instantly, the guards drew their swords. Bilbo exhaled slowly, anger dissociating. He held his hands up in an exaggerated manner. "Look. Hobbit hands. Still in control."

Thranduil remained unfazed. "You will do well to remember that this is not Lord Elrond' court, lócë," he said coldly. "I do not tolerate such insolence."

"Vilyahína, King Thranduil," he snapped, "I am one of the Vilyahíni. We hate being addressed as a lócë, you know that."

The King's very demeanour was challenging as he towered over the hobbit. "You are a lócë, a serpent, a wyrm. All your kind do is destroy and burn, bringing death and calamity wherever you walk."

Bilbo swallowed and looked away. Thranduil took it as a sign to continue his speech.

"Lose everything I love, you say? You know nothing." Thranduil tilted his head sideways, tucking his long fringe behind his left ear. Right before Bilbo's eyes, the porcelain appearance of the left side of his face crumbled and dissolved.

Bilbo flinched.

The skin stretching across Thranduil's left half was red and angry. Ridges marred his complexion, small chunks of flesh missing. His hairline and eyebrow was burnt off, eye cloudy.

"Do you think I know nothing of loss?" He said quietly as he leant forward. The other half of his face, still smooth and perfect, was icy. "I risked everything once. I will not risk it again." Satisfied at the hobbit's reaction, he pulled back, features once more rearranging into perfection

"Unless..." He drawled out.

Bilbo caught on quickly. "You want something in return."

He spread his arms wide. "Such is only fair, for the risk I am taking. What am I to gain, then?"

Bilbo's shoulders dropping minutely in resignation. Power, treasure, a trade for a trade — this, he knew. "Very well. What have you?"

He smirked like a cat who had caught its prey. "A share of the treasure," he said.

Bilbo blinked. "What?"

"There are gems in the mountain that I desire. White gems of pure starlight," he said calmly, even steps clicking on the polished ground, cloak swishing behind him. "Centuries ago, I entrusted King Thror to make my Queen a necklace of my design. I provided all the materials - the finest raw gold, silver and the White Gems of Lasgalen — " at this, Bilbo's eyes widened. "— but it was never returned to me." Thranduil narrowed his eyes. "It is finished, somewhere in the mountain. I offer my help, if they but return what is mine."

"Middle Earth is in jeopardy and you worry over a few gems?"

Thranduil's glare could have frozen over a volcano. Stiffly, he said, "the dwarves broke a deal, then blame my people for it. We will not tolerate any more slandering while they hoard our treasures."

Bilbo's mind whirled. The white Gems of Lasgalen were famous even in Hobbiton. Famed for its beauty and value, he was not surprised that Thranduil would hold a grudge against the dwarves if it was not returned to them. To the elves, it was thievery. Finally, he huffed. "Alright, I'll see what I can do. Let me negotiate with Thorin."

He inclined his head gracefully as Bilbo was escorted out. "You have a day, Vilyahína." He smirked. "I wish you all the best."

The doors slammed shut.

Bilbo, flanked by two elves on each side, strode through the narrow and winding halls. Underground, the only light was the soft glows of enchanted lamps bordering the corridors. He tilted his head slightly, ears twitching. He halted. Without turning around, he said, "I know you're behind me, Prince Legolas. Why don't you join me proper?"

The Prince detached himself from the shadows at his right instead. "Not so sharp this time, Vilyahína," he teased.

Bilbo wrinkled his nose in disappointment. "Eh, close enough."

Legolas fell into step next to the hobbit, seamlessly replacing one of his guards. "I told you to be more careful, Cyadhon."

"Wasn't I polite enough? I was polite!"

He snorted softly. "Yet you were manipulated into an situation out of your control."

Bilbo shrugged. "It could have gone worse."

Legolas hummed noncommittally. "Your temper seems a bit… frayed, lately. In the Throne Room—"

The hobbit quickened his pace, pretending not to have heard.

"Hey — Cyadhon!" he grabbed Bilbo's wrist, halting him entirely in his tracks. All traces of good humour was wiped clean from his expression. "Don't try to evade this. That lost of control, what was it about?"

Bilbo tugged at his wrist half-heartedly. The grip around his hand tightened. "I don't know, it just happened."

"It has never happened before," Legolas pressed. "How could it have happened now?"

Bilbo yanked his arm away angrily. "I don't know, alright?" he said as he cradled his arm. "Maybe that's because your ada is—"

"Watch your words," he warned, eyes darkening. "He's still my ada."

"I don't know, truly. I'm terribly sorry, Legolas, I don't know what has come across me lately." He wiped a hand across his face, fatigue heavy in his actions. "I'm just so tired and angry, and that was a mistake. Coming here was a mistake." Accepting the ring was a mistake. "I didn't mean to. Can you drop it now?"

Legolas studied him for a few seconds. A flash of worry marred his expression before it was wiped clean. "Fine," he said abruptly. "We can talk later. I'll leave you to deal with your dwarf."

Bilbo blinked blankly. "We're here?"

"Turn left down the corridor and take the stairs down. That's where Prince Thorin is held." He smiled crookedly. "I have to go back now. All the best, Cyadhon. Something tells me it won't be easy."

"To be honest, with Thorin, nothing really is."

The doors leading to the dungeon clanged open and warily, Bilbo stepped in. The dungeons were cold, not unbearably so but uncomfortable enough to make the hairs on Bilbo's skin stand. Each cell was spacious m enough to house at least seven dwarves, the bars wrought from thick elven metal that even the strongest dwarf cannot bend or break with an axe. A single lamp dangled from the ceiling, emitting a soft orange light.

The dwarves were separated into three different cells, yet Thorin was given one entirely to himself. 'Special Royalty Treatment', Bilbo guessed. He was worried for his friends, for everyone of the Company. Was anyone hurt? He hoped not - or at least, that the elves were sympathetic enough to offer treatment, and the dwarves practical enough to accept it.

Bilbo was escorted past the three cells containing the rest of the dwarves. Their heads lifted when they saw him and they began shouting, banging the bars, calling out his name.

"Bilbo?"

"No, Bilbo! Not you too!"

"Bilbo, yer fine? They din touch yer, did they?"

"Why is he here? Let him go, or I'll bash yer heads when I'm outta—"

He felt touched, truly, that they cared for him in their endearing, gruff ways. It was also a relief to see them, all still in one piece despite being locked up. He grinned widely, shook his head to signify he was fine, and tried to reassure them of their predicament when he himself was not feeling very assured. His guy twisted at the thought of seeing Thorin again. How would the prince react? What should Bilbo say to him?

They halted at the far end of the dungeon. Thorin sat facing the furthest wall of his cell, under the wane moonlight casted through the tiny window. A blanket was strewn on the floor, next to a tray consisting of an apple and a jug of water. Both were untouched. Wordlessly, the guards excused themselves. Their presence were unwanted here, they knew.

The elves' footsteps faded away.

"Thorin?" Bilbo said quietly. He wrapped one hand around the cold metal bar, smooth and solid and unbreakable even to him. His nails clicked against the metal, creating a dull ringing vibrating under his palm.

The captive spun around rapidly. "Bilbo? Is that really you?"

He was already moving as he spoke. Dwarven eyes were sharp and the darkness of the cell was insufficient to even hinder their sight.

Thorin shifted closer, away from under the faint moonlight. His features were hidden in darkness until he stepped under the light, the lamp above chased away the shadows on his face.

"Yeah," Bilbo said nonetheless, a beam breaking out on his face. Prince Thorin stood before him, delight crinkling the corners of his eyes despite the cautious twist of his mouth, posture still regal despite his environment.

"Why are you here? Did you find a way out? The Company told me you were free, and safe," he said hoarsely. One hand gripped the gate tightly, his eyes inspecting the hobbit anxiously.

Bilbo took the opportunity to do the same. Relief flooded through his body, and it was as if a heavy burden finally dissolved. His Company was fine. All of them were uninjured. They were safe and here, there were no enemies to tear through, and everything would be fine.

Thorin was relatively unscathed, albeit haggard. Strands of hair that were once neatly braided and held back by the beads were matted and hung loosely across his face. A small cut on his cheek had scabbed over. Flecks of brown still speckled his face and clothes.

"I'm fine. Well... Relatively."

Instantly, Thorin's eyes snapped up, burning with fury and worry. His hands shot out and grabbed Bilbo by the shoulders, pulling him closer and examining him intensely. "Tell me, where are you hurt? Did they do anything? If they dared...!" He growled.

Bilbo laughed sheepishly and gently batted at Thorin's arms. "Ah, no, don't worry. It's this tight fix we're in that I'm worried about. I talked to the Elvenking and, well... " he sat down, expression becoming sombre, "he has a proposition for you."

Immediately, Thorin moved half a step back. His lips thinned into a line as he sat on the floor, crossing his legs and folded his arms. "I see you've been busy. You have some explaining to do, Bilbo."

Bilbo hugged his knees. He felt like a wee lad again. Oh, Thorin was not going to be happy. "I know."

By the time Bilbo was done explaining his part of the story, Thorin's expression had curdled from Mildly Displeased to Outright Sour, as if someone had stuck a rotting fish under his nose.

"You told him about our quest!" he fumed.

Bilbo held up his hands defensively. "Gandalf's orders. Sorry, Thorin."

"And he wants a part of our treasure," he continued, ignoring Bilbo, voice slowly rising, "in exchange for our freedom and for his assistance?" His expression twisted unpleasantly at the last word. Thorin struck his fist against the ground. "What right does he have to lay a claim on our inheritance? None!"

"But, Thorin, can't you take it as part of my-" Bilbo tried again.

"No," Thorin refused. I refuse to give our rightful treasure to the murderers of my people! They stood by and did nothing, and now they seek to take our gold? You want me to forgive the greedy elves? My kingdom was burnt down!" He rounded Bilbo. "What do you understand?" He accused. "You've never seen your people burn!"

Bilbo's expression shuttered. So it was back to this again. It was always back to this.

Instantly, his expression morphed into one of alarm and guilt. "Bilbo, I didn't mean— "

"Save your words, Prince Dwarf," Bilbo said, sharp yet weary as he stood up. "I get it. You've made up your mind."

Thorin's eyes widened. "Wait, Bilbo! Where are you going?"

"I have nothing left to say," he said numbly. "There is no alternative I could find. There is no one else to help you, and no way to. What more do you want me to do?"

Thorin squared his shoulders. "We must find another way. My decision remains final."

"Of course, Prince Thorin," he said derisively. "If only it is as easy as you make it seem. But it seems that, to you, the past outweighs future, and holding onto your pride and sense of righteousness is more important than the quest to reclaim your homeland." Thorin froze. "You will lose everything because you can't bear to sacrifice a part of it. Think about that."

With a perfunctory bow, Bilbo stalked out, leaving the prince behind. The phantom screams of his kin and the stench of burning corpses lingered with him for the rest of the day.

He sent word to King Thranduil that Thorin would need a day to think it through. Then, he was escorted to a palatial room (Legolas' doing, he supposed) to freshen up. Bilbo scrubbed at his face, trying to block off memories of anger and pain, of helplessness and fear. The ring was having a wider than expected effect on him. It sent a chill down his spine, just thinking about the confrontation with King Thranduil, and the battle with the spid—

He pushed it to the back of his mind. The idea that he was responsible for such - such slaughter, for it was not even much of a battle, and he had enjoyed it — he shuddered. There was still a part of him, suppressed and hastily locked away, crooning in pride at the memory and savouring the feel of the fear their enemies. That part was pleased they had protected the ones precious to them, and wasn't that all that mattered?

He scrubbed his face roughly. Throwing the towel into the basin, he pulled on fresh clothes of a darker colour. Elven style it might be, it fitted and the mottled colours of green and grey were perfect.

What was he to do with Thorin, as well? Bilbo could sympathise, but there was no time, damnit, why could he not understand that? There were so much at stakes in this quest, much more than he possibly know and hopefully would never know. Maybe he should speak to Ballin about it? Stubborn Thorin might be, but maybe the advisor could persuade him to see reason?

He could give it a shot later. For now, he had some sneaking around to do.

Thorin brooded over Bilbo's harsh words. There was a thread of truth through them, but how could Bilbo understand? That elf had no honour, and the deal was one he planned not to uphold. The hobbit, the naive, innocent burglar of theirs, did not see the trap for what it was. Maybe he was coerced or threatened into the deal. He would not put it past the lying, thieving elves.

His thoughts warred against each other. Were he truly living in the past? He held onto the past for strength - he had to, else there would be nothing left, nothing left for him, and Thorin was afraid he would lose his will to press on if that happened. He could not let go of his distrust and grudges - how could he, when he watched his people suffer so, and that was all due to the elves cold-heartedness? The elves could do it again, and they would similarly be at their mercy once more.

Yet Bilbo raised a valid point that they were stuck and needed the help if they wanted a chance of reclaiming Erebor and surviving to tell the tale. Thorin just did not want to give the smug tree-bastards any more leverage against them, nor give them a reward they did not deserve.

He had hurt the hobbit with his accusations again. He was careless - he knew Bilbo had lost as well, and regardless of the extent, grief was still grief, and old scars should not be ripped open as heedlessly as he did to Bilbo.

He scrutinised the elven guards standing before his cell. Bilbo could wait - it seemed that he had an audience with King Thranduil again.

"What do you want?" he demanded gruffly.

The Elvenking scoffed. "Cyadhon had told me all about your little quest." He smirked. "You seek that which would bestow upon you the right to rule. A King's jewel. The Arkenstone. It is precious to you beyond measure, I understand that. You see," he leant forward, "there is something of mine in the mountain that I too desire."

"A favour for a favour," Thorin said darkly. "Bilbo told me about it."

"You have my word," promised Thranduil. "One King to another."

Thorin seemed contemplative for a few seconds. Then, his face morphed into one of derision. "Your word? I would not trust, Thranduil, the great King, to only his word."

Thranduil's eyes widened, stunned.

'You, lack all honor! I have seen how you treat your friends! We came to you once, starving, homeless; seeking your help. But you turned your back! You, turned away from the suffering of my people and the inferno that destroyed us!"

The Elvenking quickly regained his composure. "It was a losing battle, one we could not afford. Our people was struggling as well; we could not have supported your people."

"You never even try!" he spat.

"My people come first," Thranduil repeated without a trace of remorse. "Do not say I did nothing; I warned your grandfather of what his greed would summon, but he would not listen." He leant back and steepled his fingers together. "You are just like him."

He motioned for his guards to grab hold of Thorin. The dwarf struggled as they grabbed his shoulders roughly.

"Stay here if you will, and rot. A hundred years is a mere blink in a life of an Elf. I'm patient. I can wait."

"Wait!" Thorin shouted. He wrenched himself free of the guards. They hesitated when he glared at them before he folded his arms and faced Thranduil once more. When he made no move to escape or attack, the guards relented.

Thorin glowered. "What did you do to our hobbit? Coerce him? Threaten him? He —"

"I did nothing to your hobbit, except speak to him. The deal was one of mutual agreement, when we saw it was to both of our benefits. In fact, what interests me," he said with intentional flippancy, "is your familiarity to your 14th member. Yet do you truly know him?"

Thorin shifted imperceptibly, caught off-guard by the sudden change of focus. "What do you mean?"

Thranduil's smile was cruel. "I will say this only once. You asked if I would honour our deal. I would, because it would be foolish to break a deal made with a Vilyahína. Only a fool would seek to evoke their wrath so carelessly."

"A what? You're scared of a hobbit?"

He laughed mockingly. "Your esteemed 14th member is so, so, much more than just a mere hobbit." he paused and pursed his lips in faux pity. "Unfortunately, it's not my secret to tell."

"You lie," Thorin said, shaking his head in dread. Had Bilbo — had the hobbit truly been lying all these while?

"I do not," he said, tone icy. "It is no one's fault but your own that you are blind, Thorin Oakenshield. Just like your Grandfather, you do not see the truth, or rather, would not admit it. Mark my words: the curse will befall you as well."

"How dare you, Elven scum!" Thorin shouted and started forward. Immediately, the guards were restraining him again.

Thranduil inspected his nails as he made a dismissive gesture. "I tire of speaking to you. Take him away."

From a corner of the Throne Room crouched Bilbo, ring around his finger and eyes wide in fear at what the Elvenking had just revealed to the dwarven prince.

End of Chapter 19.

How's it? What's your favourite part/quote/thing? Any predictions or suggestions? :)

Also:

To Luke, Naya Anima, FireHowl, Salinia, ImpossibleClara9, Mystic Myra 8, madnessdownunder2, Adeleidhis, GM NASAI, Zyenna, TheDemoniacAngel, goddess bubbles, GaaraSandNiN, Its your Uncle bourbon, Guest, LovesDragons, claire1663, aMomentaryLapseOfFantasy, Captainredwolf, Skyhigh, Lucinda Silver, MrsSparkle1 and silverwolfigther00, thank you for your reviews :)

To Guest: Patience, young one. Smaug is coming - soon (in Cinemas 2018!).

To Lucinda Silver: Ah sorry, will try to be less careless next time! Also, there are quite a fair bit of Dragon!Bilbo on AO3 :) (This fit is there as well, haha)

To ClaireCarver: HAHAHA OH CRAP thank you so much! That was erm an honest mistake whoops

Thank you! :'D

-littlesparrowkeet