A/N: Something tells me you all are going to really like the end of this chapter ;)
Bombur slept on without waking and without losing the blissfully unaware smile that had plastered itself to his face. The others, however, were not so happy. Not only were they having to take turns carrying him on the makeshift litter, but their packs were growing lighter and lighter thanks to their dwindling food supplies. Their tempers, too, were beginning to diminish; even the hobbits were growing irritable thanks to their nearly-empty stomachs.
On the fourth day since leaving the river, unable to bear it anymore, the dwarves had sent Bilbo climbing into the tree tops in hopes of having the hobbit spot the end of the accursed forest. It was to no avail, however: The trees seemingly went on for forever and ever. When he passed this news on to the rest of the company, he was met by curses and groans.
That night was also the night they ate the last crumbs and drank the last drops of water they had. They went to sleep that night, hoping beyond hope that it wasn't true and that, when they woke up in the morning, their packs would have plenty of food and water in them.
The fifth day brought not only empty stomachs and parched throats, but it was also raining. It felt as if the world was mocking the group; large drops of water occasionally found their way down through the canopy, falling to the ground with loud 'splats' on the dried leaves. As badly as they wanted to stop and stand still in hopes of a droplet landing on their tongues, they pressed on.
Late afternoon of the sixth day, though, brought a bit of goodness—at least, it was good at first. Bombur woke up. Not surprisingly, he remembered nothing that had happened over the last week. What was surprisingly was that he didn't remember anything about their adventure whatsoever. The last thing he could recall was going to sleep in Bag End.
"Do you honestly not remember a single thing?" Bofur questioned, his brows furrowed. "Not the trolls? Not the warg riders? Not even bein' chased through Goblin Town?"
Bombur shook his head. "Not at all. The only things I remember are my wonderful dreams. Oh! You would have liked them, Bofur! There were great feasts takin' place in a forest much like this one—only, the trees were filled with torches an' lanterns. An' the tables were overflowin' with food! There was so much food, Bofur! An' at the head o' the table there was a king who was crowned with leaves!"
"Shush!" Balin scolded. "Keep your dreams to yourself; we've been havin' to carry you on empty stomachs for the past two days!"
Horror came to Bombur's round face. "Wh-what?! We're out o' food?" he gasped. "You're jokin'!"
"No, he's not," Bofur told him. He then wagged a scolding finger at his brother; if he wasn't so hungry, Bilbo would have found it amusing, as Bofur had adopted the same posture as him when he was scolding Baylee. "Now look: While I'm happy you're finally awake, we won't be havin' none of your complaining, alright? We're all miserable." He helped his brother to his feet, though he noticed how he wobbled slightly.
"Now I wish I hadn't woken up," Bombur pouted. As he rose, he felt his head grow light and he was, for a moment, quite dizzy. "I wish I had remained asleep and dreaming of those wonderous feasts!"
The company continued onwards, many of them feeling their stomachs painfully demanding sustenance. Bombur took up the rear of the group and, despite his brother's warnings, he continued to complain. Around them, the forest began growing darker and darker as night fell.
Thanks to Bombur's complaints, they weren't able to hear the distant singing and laughter, though they were drawing nearer to its source.
But then, Baylee spotted something. She was walking alongside Thorin and Fili when she happened to look up and to her left. Her brows furrowed when she saw what looked like the light of a fire; it occasionally flickered as, what she assumed to be a person, walked in front of it. Tugging on Thorin's sleeve, she pointed towards the light.
"Is—is that a campfire?" she asked him.
Thorin's head whipped around to see where she was pointing. Fili, having heard her as well, also looked into the distance.
"It is a fire!" the prince gawked. "There's people!"
"People? Where?!" Dwalin demanded. He hurried to stand alongside them and, when Fili pointed, his eyes widened. "By my beard, it is a fire!"
"I can smell roastin' meats!" Oin cried. "They've got food!"
"An' where there's food, there's drink!" Bofur quickly added.
"What're we waitin' for?! Let's go see if they've enough t' share!" Nori said. Without another word, he started to walk forward, towards the edge of the path.
Thorin suddenly held out his arm, stopping him. "No. We need to think about this," he told the group. "This could very well be one of those illusions Gandalf was telling us about."
"Don't be preposterous!" Dori snapped. "Illusions don't have smells, Thorin. They're tricks o' the eyes—not the eyes an' nose!" His chest puffed up somewhat in pride as the others started to agree with him. "See? The others agree with me. We must go see if they've got any food to spare."
Bilbo shook his head. "But it's off the path—far off the path! It's getting darker by the minute; what will happen if we lose our way between here and there?"
"We'll be damned if we do an' damned if we don't," Dwalin grumbled. He looked at Thorin. "You're our king an' I'll stand by whatever decision you make, Thorin, but I really hope that decision ends up bein' the right one."
Thorin tried to look at the faces of his companions, though with the light fading, it was hard to see those who stood further away from him. After some minutes, he turned back towards the fire and heaved a great sigh. "We'll all go," he told them. "If we get lost, then at least we'll be lost together." While he spoke, he subtly reached down and took hold of Baylee's hand; behind them, Bofur did the same to Bilbo.
With the group in agreement, Thorin started to lead them away from the path. He kept his pace somewhat slower, both because he didn't want to sound like a wild animal charging towards whoever it was that made the fire and because he didn't want to make Baylee sprint to keep up with him.
"A-are you sure this is a good idea?" she asked him after a few minutes.
"No," he quietly admitted, giving her hand a gentle squeeze, "but we have no other choice." He tried to glance down at her, but at that point, it was too dark to make out her features. "We need to find some sort of food source, even if it means leaving the path to beg from strangers."
She returned the hand squeeze as best she could, but being that her hand almost fit entirely within his, it was difficult. Part of her told her that this was going to lead to their deaths; that they should have stayed on the path like Gandalf said. But as the smell of roasting meats filled her nose and made her mouth begin to water, another part of her told her to keep going and she would be rewarded with food.
'I just hope that this will end with us getting a good meal,' she thought. Glancing over her shoulder, she could only see moving silhouettes behind her; the sight was actually quite eerie and sent a shiver down her spine.
"Just…don't let go of my hand, alright?" Thorin's voice was quiet, not wanting to be overheard by the others. He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb.
"I won't," she promised, her voice just as quiet as his. Despite the tense situation they were in, the softness of his voice made her feel a little less scared.
The nearer they got to the fire, the stronger the smell of cooking meat got. They could also hear the sounds of voices singing—fair voices, but ones that became eerie as they echoed through the forest. Soon, the group could see that the fire was in the center of a clearing and that the voices belonged to elves. Upon seeing what race it was, Thorin was tempted to turn right around and head back to the path, but his empty stomach made him ignore that urge.
The group was about thirty feet from the clearing when, ahead of them, they could see the shape of an enormous boar being slowly turned on a spit. Thanks to being continuously basted with its own drippings, its skin was golden brown and looked as if it would be quite crispy.
So hungry the group was that, before Thorin could stop them, they charged forward with the full intent of begging for even just the smallest taste of the pig. But no sooner had the first dwarf stepped out of the shadows that the fire was doused, sending thousands of red sparks into the air and plunging the area into darkness.
"No! No, please come back!" someone wailed; in the confusion, it was hard for Baylee and Bilbo to tell just who it was. "We mean you no harm!"
"Please, we're starving!" another person cried.
But it was too late; whatever elves and food had been there just a few moments ago were now gone.
"This is terrible," Kili lamented. "Absolutely terrible. Now, not only are we starving, but we don't know where the path is."
Thorin swore under his breath, using his free hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Then we'll just settle here for the night. When morning comes, we'll look for the path…and, possibly, any scraps of food that may have been left behind." Though he very much doubted that the elves had left any behind. "Dori, you take first watch."
"Wh-what?!" Dori gawked. "But I—"
"It was you who argued so hard for us to go after the lights," Thorin harshly reminded him, "therefore, you get first watch."
Grumbling, Dori plopped down right where he was and crossed his arms over his chest. He remained upright while the rest of the group, with little choice left to them, laid out on the ground and prepared to sleep away the rest of the night.
Baylee let out a quiet, defeated sigh as she let go of Thorin's hand in order to get settled on the ground. No sooner had she sat down, however, than she felt him wrap his arms around her. Her eyes widened slightly as he brought her in close, holding her against his chest.
"…Oakenshield?" she murmured, her voice betraying her confusion.
"Shh," he murmured, letting her use his arm as a pillow. "Not now, Mouse-Lass. Maybe come morning."
Biting her lower lip, she nodded and snuggled in closer to him. She closed her eyes, a soft sigh leaving her mouth. Thorin started to stroke the back of her head, leaving her wondering if he was doing it more to comfort her or to comfort himself. Whatever the reason, it was soothing enough that she soon felt herself beginning to drift off into slumber.
But before sleep could fully take hold of her, Dori's voice broke through the silence. "I see another light!" he told them. "Actually, I see many lights!"
There were groans of confusion from the group as they started to sit up and look around. It took a few minutes for everyone to find the fires in the distance, but when they found the lights, they started to scramble to their feet.
"Wait!" Thorin said, his voice loud and authoritative enough that everyone ceased moving. "We cannot rush them this time. We will travel towards the lights as a group, but when we get there, we'll send Master Baggins forward to do the talking."
"Wh-wh-why me?" Bilbo questioned.
"You and Mouse-Lass are the least threatening looking among us," Thorin said, "and between the two of you, you are better when it comes to coming up with words on the spot."
Bilbo highly doubted that that was the reason why Thorin wanted to send him instead of Baylee, but he wouldn't argue—he didn't want to put Baylee at risk, either. "Fine," he sighed. "I'll try to persuade the elves to help us, though I can't make any promises."
With the plan set in stone, the group once again made their way towards the lights. This time, however, they held hands with one another; they didn't want to risk getting separated in the darkness, especially with many of them still being a bit groggy. Slowly, they made their way through the forest, occasionally stumbling over a tree root or getting caught in a bit of underbrush.
After half an hour, they finally made it within fifteen feet of the new elf circle. Thorin gave Bilbo a reassuring pat on the back before sending him forward. With his stomach churning in nervousness, Bilbo crept his way along, the light of the bonfire enough to let him see the ground. He approached the end of the trees and, taking a deep breath, took a step forward.
"E-Excuse me—"
But before he could say another word, the fire went out once more in an explosion of red-orange sparks. The dwarves started to cry out their pleas once more, but it was too late. Yet again, the elves were gone and the company was left in total darkness.
Cursing their foul luck as well as the coldhearted elves, the company settled down for the night once again. This time, Kili was left on watch, though it was quite unneeded: Despite laying down, most of the company was still wide awake and grumbling away.
After nearly an hour, though, their complaints grew quiet and, slowly, they started to drift off. When an hour and a half had passed, Kili got ready to rouse Dwalin for his turn at watch. Luckily, he had made sure to sit down next to Dwalin so that he wouldn't have to stumble around in the dark looking for him.
But just as he reached down to shake the older dwarf, he his nose caught a whiff of something: Roasting meat. His brows furrowing, he started to twist and turn about in an attempt to locate the direction the smell was coming from. Instead, as he turned completely around, he found himself staring at even more lights than before. They were closer this time—so close, he started to hear bits of their songs.
"Everyone! The lights are back!" he called. "They're back and they're closer than ever!"
"Just leave them be!" Gloin grumbled. He was tired of stumbling through the dark, chasing after parties of elves who wouldn't let them get a word in before disappearing.
"Aye," Nori agreed, his voice heavy with sleep. "Haven't we made fools o' ourselves enough tonight?"
"I-I think we should risk it," Bilbo said, taking them all by surprise, "just this one last time. Isn't—isn't the old adage 'third time's the charm', after all?"
After a tense moment of quiet deliberation among the half-awake dwarves, it was decided that they would try one last time to get help from the elves. This time, however, it would be Thorin stepping forward in hopes that they recognized he was a person of great authority. If the elves left them for a third time, though, then that was it. No matter if they saw the lights again or not, they wouldn't chase after them anymore.
For the final time, the company made their way towards the lights. Admittedly, most of them had little hope for this to work; the elves disappeared the first two times, why would they suddenly stay for the third? But whether it was desperation brought on by hunger or hope brought on by their burglar that made them risk a final try, no one knew.
Once more, they stopped just short of the lights. Without a word, Thorin released Baylee's hand and looked over his shoulder at the others. He gave them a small nod before stepping forward.
For the third time, the fire disappeared, but just a second before the black of night enveloped them once more, Baylee saw Thorin's body go limp and start to fall forward. She squeaked and darted forward, praying that he hadn't been hurt. Just as she reached his side, however, a great drowsiness came over her and it felt as if her limbs had turned to lead. Before she realized it, she was laying on the ground beside the king, fast asleep and dreaming of elven feasts.
It was chilly. Very chilly.
As Baylee started to wake up, she wrapped her arms around herself and curled up into a small ball in hopes of getting a bit warmer. With her mind still half asleep, she wondered where the warmth of the bonfire had gone and why she could no longer smell roasting meats. She also wondered where the lovely music had gone and why the storytellers had ceased telling their stories. After all, she had just been present at a glorious harvest feast!
What she had yet to notice was how, instead of the somewhat soft forest floor, she was now laying on carven stone. Nor did she quite yet notice how the air was fresher and not the least bit heavy. But what she did notice, was that when she tried to tuck her feet under her petticoats, there were no petticoats to tuck them under.
Her brows furrowing, she opened her eyes. It wasn't darkness she was greeted by, but the warm, flickering light given off by torches. There were no trees around her; she was in a tiny cave, its entrance blocked by a door made of wrought iron bars.
She was in some sort of prison cell.
But why? She was no criminal! Then, swallowing hard, she looked down at herself. At first, everything seemed to be alright; her dress was a bit dirtier on the front than she remembered it being, though nothing else stood out to her. But as she lifted her dress up to her knees, she let out a few choice and very unladylike words when she found that she was no longer wearing her petticoats. She also discovered that her sword was nowhere to be found.
'This isn't good,' she thought, biting her lower lip. 'This isn't good at all! Where am I?' Standing up, she made her way over to the door and peered out of it. She was in some sort of underground cavern, that much was obvious to her. In front of her cell, the walkway was made of both carved stone and carved wood. Not more than five feet in front of her, it ended in a sheer drop over a cliff, though she couldn't tell how far down it went.
Closing her eyes, she did her best to listen for any sounds that may help her get an idea of where and why she was being held prisoner. Aside from the sound of distant, rushing water, however, she could hear nothing. No voice, no music, no rattling of utensils. Just rushing water.
'Given how I was in Mirkwood before I fell asleep and the style in which these bars have been cast, I can only assume that I'm in an elven dungeon. But why? And how!? And why did they take my petticoats!? My sword I can understand, but my petticoats?!'
A groan from behind her made her squeak in surprise and, as she spun around, she could see a figure near the base of the wall beginning to stir. How she hadn't noticed the figure before was beyond her, but as they started to fully wake up, they swore. Her eyes widened and she hurried to the figure's side.
"Th-Thorin? Are you alright?" she asked, keeping her voice soft as she knelt beside him. She set her hand on the back of his neck and helped him as he started trying to sit up.
"M-Mouse-Lass …?" His eyes opened and he looked at her blearily. Propping himself against the wall, he pressed a hand to his forehead, his eyes closing once more as he tried to get his wits about him. "I was having the most wonderful dream…that we had finally gotten to sit down at the feast table. There was so much food, even Bombur got too full to eat!" She could see that he had been stripped of most of his clothes, leaving him in just his boots, trousers, and shirt (and, presumably, he got to keep his underclothes).
"I had that same dream," she told him, a pitying smile on her lips. Her hand unconsciously reached out and came to rest on his cheek. "I'm very sorry to say that the place we woke up in couldn't be further from a feast hall." He looked at her in confusion, but before he could ask what she meant, she answered with, "We're in the dungeons of Mirkwood. At least, I can only assume we are."
"What?!" Thorin started to look around, his brows furrowed deeply and his eyes wide. Seeing all the stone, he pushed himself to his feet and, after wobbling for a second, he went over to the door. He peered out, seeing much the same as Baylee had, but he could also see that, much like Goblin Town, the walkways were twisting and winding in a seemingly endless maze. The cavern, too, seemed to stretch on an infinite amount with silhouettes of bridges dotting the horizon.
"Why are we here!?" he barked, his voice echoing around the cavern outside. "And where are the others? Where are our companions!? We've done nothing to warrant being locked up like petty criminals!" he practically shouted. In his anger and frustration, he bashed the side of his fist against the iron bars, but they hardly rattled, let alone budged.
Baylee shrank back against the wall and, pulling her knees to her chest, she hugged herself in fear; she had never seen him this angry before. She had never seen anyone this angry before. "I-I-I don't know," she squeaked. "I-I only ju-just woke up m-m-my-myself."
As he turned, his anger was written all too plainly on his face. He searched for the hobbit lass, unable to see her at first. But as he squinted, he was able to see her near the spot he had been laying. She was curled up in a small ball, her eyes wide as she watched him and shaking ever so slightly.
Guilt filled his empty stomach as he saw her cowering—cowering because of him. His expression softening, he let out a soft sigh and moved to kneel beside her. Slowly and gently so as to not scare her, he brushed the back of his knuckles against her cheek. "I'm sorry," he murmured. Feeling her relax under his touch, he leaned forward to press his forehead against hers. "I didn't mean to frighten you like that. I was just…"
"Scared, confused, and angry?" she murmured, a bit of a waver to her voice.
"Yes. Exactly." He sighed. "I'm sure you felt the same when you woke up."
"Most certainly scared and confused, yes. Angry? Not so much." Her eyes closed and a shiver ran down her spine as his palm came to rest against her cheek; his skin was much warmer than hers. "I suppose I am a bit angry, though: Whoever put us in here took my petticoats."
He frowned as he felt how cold her cheek was. "More than likely, they thought you were hiding weapons beneath them. You're freezing, Mouse-Lass." Before she could say anything, he scooped her up and, after sitting with his back against the wall, he held her close to his form. His arms remained wrapped around her, giving her further warmth. If he had had all his clothes, he would have gladly given her his overcoat. "How's this?"
"Much better." Her voice was a bit muffled thanks to her head now being nestled in the crook of his neck. "Thank you." Another shiver ran down her spine as his body heat started to sink into her skin.
"Do you remember anything prior to waking up?" He closed his eyes, his fingers absentmindedly stroking the side of her arm.
"Not really, no. The last thing I remember clearly is da' stepping forward to try to speak with the elves."
"That's what I last remember, too." He let out a heavy sigh. "I hope the others are alright."
"Me, too. I don't want to think about the possibility of them being captured like us, but at the same time, I kind of hope they have been."
His brow rose and he tried to look down at her, but her face was hidden from view. "Why do you say that?"
"Elves may not like dwarves very much, but they wouldn't let dwarven—and hobbit—prisoners starve." As he stroked her arm, she could feel her mind trying to grow fuzzy with sleep again, but she fought the feeling.
"That is true," he agreed, though reluctantly. Closing his eyes, he let his head tilted back to rest against the wall.
"And if they have been captured, I hope they're in cells that are a bit warmer than this…or, at the very least, have been given a blanket."
Thorin couldn't help but chuckle at her words. "We're trapped in a prison cell and you're hoping that, if the others are also imprisoned, they have blankets. Mouse-Lass, I'm not sure if you're worrying about the right thing."
As she heard his laugh, a small smile came to her lips. "Believe me when I say I'm worried about this situation," she told him, "but there's not much either of us can do aside from wait." Lifting her hand, she reached over and ran her fingers along one of his braids. "They're bound to come down to check on us soon; when that happens, we can start asking questions."
"It is not you who gets to ask the questions."
Both Thorin and Baylee jumped, their eyes wide as they looked at the cell door. Two female elves stood there; one had long, raven hair while the other had long, silvery hair.
The one with raven hair unlocked the door to the cell, opening it. "Come. Our king demands an audience with you both," she said.
"Why have you brought us here?" Thorin demanded, his eyes narrowing. "And where are our companions?"
Baylee reluctantly pulled away from Thorin and stood up. The sudden lack of warmth made her shiver and she hugged herself.
"As I said, dwarf, you are not the one who gets to ask questions," the black-haired elf told him, her voice almost as cold as the air. She watched as he stood up and both prisoners began to make their way towards the door.
When the two came out of the cell, the black-haired elf started to lead them off down the path. Thorin followed next, with Baylee behind him and the silver-haired elf taking up the rear. Along winding walkways and through countless halls they were led, the path they followed more of a maze than anything. But it was a maze the she-elves knew all too well by this time; they could have followed it with their eyes closed.
After nearly ten minutes of walking, Baylee and Thorin were brought around a bend and, above them in the distance, they could see a great throne carved from a massive tree root. It was hard to tell, but it looked as if great elk antlers had been affixed to the back of the throne, making it look even larger and more intimidating. It didn't help that, as they got nearer and nearer, they found the throne to be higher and larger than they originally thought.
They climbed a short flight of stairs before the raven-haired elf brought them to a halt. "Stay here," she told the prisoners before walking forward.
Baylee swallowed hard as she looked up at the elven king. He was unlike Lord Elrond; the Lord of Imladris had dark hair and had been surrounded by an air of kindness and intelligence. The Lord of Mirkwood, however, had white-blonde hair while the air about him was one of cold arrogance. Even without speaking to him, she found that she didn't much care for him.
It was then Thorin was beckoned forward. Watching as he walked towards the throne, she brought her braid over her should and started to stroke it. Her stomach was a mess of nerves; she couldn't begin to imagine how Thorin's must've felt.
"Long has it been since last we saw one another, Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror," the king said, his voice echoing throughout the chamber around them.
"Thranduil," was all Thorin replied with, his voice cold.
One of Thranduil's thick brows rose ever so slightly. "I find it curious that you and so many others were tramping about my realm so recently."
Thorin said nothing.
Displeased by his silence, Thranduil then asked, "Why did you and your folk three times try to attack my people at their merrymaking?"
"We didn't attack them," said Thorin. "We came to beg because we were starving."
"Where are your friends now, and what are they doing?"
Neither Thorin nor Baylee liked this question; it told them that the rest of the company was still somewhere out in the forest. "I don't know," Thorin then answered, "but I expect starving in the forest."
"And just what were you doing in the forest? And on a path so very rarely used by outsiders, no less."
"Looking for food and drink because we were starving."
Thranduil's irritation began to show. "But what brought you into the forest in the first place?" he demanded.
Once more, Thorin said nothing. But, unbeknownst to him, his silence was all the answer the elven king needed.
A smirk came to Thranduil's lips as he gazed down at the dwarf. Rising to his feet, he descended the wooden stairs and strolled his way past Thorin. "Some would say a noble quest is at hand. A quest to perhaps reclaim a homeland and slay a dragon. I myself suspect a more…prosaic motive: Attempted burglary, or something of that ilk." Approaching Baylee, he looked down at her with a mixture of curiosity and disdain.
Her cheeks turning a bit red at his intense stare, she glanced away and hugged herself a bit tighter. 'Why would he suspect something like that?' she thought, rubbing her arms slightly. It wasn't much warmer up here than it had been down in the cell. 'Of course Thorin wants to kill Smaug and reclaim Erebor for his people—it's his home.'
"You have found a way in," Thranduil continued, turning. He walked away from the halfling, coming to instead stand beside Thorin. "You seek that which would bestow upon you the right to rule: The King's Jewel. The Arkenstone." The corner of his mouth twitched upwards just a touch more when he watched Thorin look away from him, confirming his suspicions.
He continued forward until coming to a halt at the foot of the steps leading up to his throne. "It is precious to you beyond measure and I understand that. There are gems in that mountain that I, too, desire. White gems of pure starlight." Then, closing his eyes and bowing his head in a what was surely meant to be mock humbleness, he stated, "I offer you my help."
There was a small pause as Thorin thought over his words. "I am listening," he said after a moment.
"I will let you go…if you return what is mine."
Baylee watched as Thorin turned around, walking a few paces away; she bit her lower lip and continued to stroke her hair. She knew how much Thorin disliked the elven king and what horrors he had left the dwarves of Erebor to all those years ago—but, with their destination so close to them, would he break down and accept Thranduil's help? Especially when they had no idea what had happened to the rest of the company?
"A favor for a favor?" Thorin questioned.
"You have my word," Thranduil promised. "From one king to another."
Thorin's eyes narrowed somewhat and, quietly, he answered. "I would not trust the 'great' king, Thranduil, to honor his word should the end of days be upon us!" By the end of the sentence, his voice had crescendoed into yelling. Spinning around, he pointed accusingly at the elf. "You lack all honor!" he shouted, voice echoing all around them and making Baylee shrink back once more. "I've seen how you treat your 'friends'. We came to you once—starving, homeless, and seeking your help! But you turned your back on us. You turned away from the suffering of my people and the inferno that destroyed us! Imrid amrad ursul!"
With surprising speed, Thranduil leapt forward and, leaning over so that he was level with Thorin's face, he quietly snarled, "Do not talk to me of dragon fire!" Baylee's eyes widened as she watched the left half of his face change from fair, untouched skin to scarred sinew, muscle and bone. His eye, too, changed, becoming milky white. "I know its wrath and its ruin, for I have faced the great serpents of the north," he hissed.
He turned away from the dwarf once more and started to ascend the stairs of his throne. "I warned your grandfather of what his greed would summon, but he would not listen," he said, voice loud enough for all present to hear. "I thought you might have learned from the mistakes he had made throughout his life. I thought you may have been different…but I see now that I was wrong—very wrong. You are just like him." Sitting down in his throne, he crossed his left leg over his right. With a subtle movement of his hand, a pair of guards stepped forward and grabbed Thorin by the arms. "Stay here if you will and rot. A hundred years is a mere blink in the life of an elf and I am patient. I can wait."
A quiet squeak left Baylee's mouth and she tried to go after Thorin as he was dragged away. The silver-haired elf held her back, however, keeping her rooted to the dais. Her stomach started churning, making her feel sick.
"Come, little mistress," the she-elf told her, starting to gently push her forward, towards the throne. "He will not be as harsh towards you."
With no choice left to her, Baylee let herself be guided forward. She hugged herself as she looked up at the king, who she found to now be pinching the bridge of his nose, his eyes shut. 'Maybe he's too annoyed to question me?' she thought, though she knew that that wouldn't be the case.
"It has been many a century since your kind was last seen on this side of the Misty Mountains," he said, lowering his hand. It came to rest on the arm of his throne as he looked down at her; his expression had softened a great deal, almost startling her. "And I must say, your presence here takes me by great surprise. Once settled, Halflings are not the type who care for travel. Especially travel involving dwarves."
She was silent; unlike Thorin, who had been stubborn, she just couldn't think of anything to say in reply.
"Tell me, little one: Why do you travel with Thorin Oakenshield and his kin?" he then questioned.
"Be-because I-I wanted to go on an adventure be-before I settled down. I-I wanted to see the world," she answered truthfully. She couldn't tell if she was stammering more from the cold or from nervousness.
"Is that the only reason? Or, perhaps, there is another—one that holds more value?"
Her brow rose ever so slightly. "N-no, my lord," she replied, trying to keep her voice steady. A hard feat to accomplish. "I-I-I joined be-because I was pro-promised adventure."
His brow rose in turn and she could see a bit of amusement on his lips. "Judging by the fresh scars you bear, you've found more than you bargained for." As her cheeks grew redder and she shifted a bit uncomfortably, his grin grew a touch wider. "And why would Thorin Oakenshield let a tiny thing like you join his 'noble' quest when it was only adventure that you sought?"
She debated whether or not she should answer, but with Thranduil already knowing that they were going to Erebor, what was the point in lying? "He…he needed someone able to for-forage for edible and medicinal pl-plants." She rubbed her arms once more, attempting to create a bit of warmth via friction. "Understandably, dw-dwarves aren't very good a-at that sort of thing, but we ho-hobbits are naturals at it."
Slowly, he nodded and pondered her words as he attempted to detect any hint of falsity to her voice. "There is no need to tremble, little one. Though you may have seen Oakenshield bring out my less-than-pleasant side, I have no reason to harbor any ill will towards you."
"Actually, my lord, it's more the fact that I'm f-fr-freezing cold," she said. "Your halls are like a-a-a cold cellar back home. And it most certainly doesn't help th-th-that one of your guards took my petticoats while I-I was unconscious!" A pout came to her lips and her tone became more scolding. "Th-that was quite rude of the-the-them, by the way. Ta-taking part of my underclothes of all ga-garments! My sw-sword I can understand, but why my p-petticoats?" She suddenly grew tense as she realized she had just told off the King of Mirkwood.
But, evidently, she had nothing to fear, because he and the remaining guards began to laugh at her boldness. "My apologies, little one," Thranduil told her, though she could tell his words were anything but sincere. "Your petticoats were, more than likely, deemed suspicious by my guards, which is why they removed them."
Baylee badly wanted to continue scolding him, but she bit her tongue and remained quiet. 'If I were a dwarven woman or a human woman,' she complained to herself, 'I could understand why they'd think I could hide weapons a petticoat, given how much longer their garments would be. But when I'm this small?! The most I could hide is butter knife!'
"Now, tell me, little one," Thranduil said, a bit of laughter still in his voice. "What is the real reason you and your friends thrice attacked my people?"
Her brows furrowed as she frowned. "Thorin already ga-gave you the answer to that question, my lord," she stated. "We didn't attack your people. We had been without food and dri-drink for nearly four days. We were st-starving and when we saw the li-lights of your fires and smelled the roasting meats, we ru-rushed to go beg for food. But before we cou-could say anything, they disappeared."
At that, a bit of humor left Thranduil's face. "I see. And I take it that you also do not know what has become of your companions?"
"No, my lord," she replied, shaking her head. "The only th-thing I know for certain is th-that they aren't here."
He nodded slowly and looked past her. "Ithiliel. Return the halfling to her cell and see to it that she gets a blanket or two. We do not want her freezing to death while I think of what to do with her."
The silver-haired she-elf nodded and bowed before stepping forward and placing her hand on Baylee's shoulder. "Come along, little one," she said. "We will get you warmed up soon enough."
Biting her lower lip, Baylee turned around and started to walk alongside the elven woman. The pair walked in silence; Baylee tried to take note of the path they walked in case she and Thorin managed to somehow escape. As they walked, though, she couldn't help but notice that Ithiliel kept looking down at her, a curious look on her face.
"I-Is something wrong?" she finally asked.
"My apologies, little mistress," Ithiliel said. "It's just that you're the first halfling I've set my eyes on. I have heard of your kind, before, but…I must admit, you're not quite what I expected."
Feeling her cheeks grow a bit warm, Baylee chuckled quietly. "I assure yo-you, most hobbits aren't covered in sc-scars like I am."
"Oh, no, no—that is not what I meant!" she said, her eyes wide as she spoke quickly. "I merely meant that I have always pictured your kind as, well…as shorter and squatter dwarves. But you are far from that. You're as if Eru shrunk a human and made them adorable."
"Adorable?" she repeated, a bit of surprise in her voice. She then chuckled, looking back down at the path. "I ha-haven't been called that since I was a ch-child."
"…You're not a child? That's quite the relief then—I had thought you were and was greatly questioning Oakenshield's sanity at bringing a child with him on his journey."
Her cheeks grew even warmer at that comment. "No. I am v-very much an adult hobbit. I'm just sm-small, even for my people."
"There are ones taller than you, then?"
"Oh, mo-most adults are taller than me," she chuckled. "I'm three-foot-seven. Mo-most adults are four foot and taller." Rubbing her arms, she felt a shiver run through her body; she was looking forward to getting those blankets…
"That is interesting…perhaps I will have to travel over the Misty Mountains one day to see the rest of your kind for myself." As the path started to slope downwards, the two females could hear voices echoing up towards them—angry voices. "Hm. It sounds like the prince and Tauriel have found your companions."
Baylee's eyes widened, feeling her heart start to race a bit. 'Oh, I do hope it's everyone and that none of them are injured,' she thought, bringing her hair back over her shoulder. 'After what happened last night—was it last night? Or has it been longer than that?—I don't want to think about what may have happened to them…'
Just a few minutes later, a group of elves came around a corner; they were led by a male elf who bore a great deal of resemblance to Thranduil and an elf woman with red hair that was so long, it nearly touched the floor. She must have been the 'Tauriel' Ithiliel had mentioned. As they approached, the hobbit ducked behind Ithiliel.
The prince and Tauriel came to a stop alongside the two of them. As the prince handed Ithiliel a ring of keys, he began to speak with her in elvish. Baylee peeked out from behind the elf maiden, her nervousness evident on her face and she found herself badly wishing she could understand elvish. Spotting her, Tauriel looked down at her only to give her a gentle smile.
'She might think I'm only a child, too,' Baylee thought. 'I might be able to use that to my advantage somehow.' As Ithiliel started to walk again, she followed along after her.
"Tauriel will fetch some blankets for you," said the elf, "though it may take her a bit of time, as she has to report to Thranduil first. Will you be alright until then?"
"I believe so, yes." When the two of them rounded the corner, Baylee could see that all the cells, which had been empty when she and Thorin were taken to the throne room, were now filled with dwarves. Dwarves who, when they saw the little hobbit, started calling out to her in a mixture of relief and joy.
"Baylee!" Kili called out, shocked to see her. "You're unhurt!"
"I knew you hadn't gotten eaten by the spiders!" Fili laughed.
"Do you know where Thorin is, lassie?" Balin questioned.
"How did you even get here?" Dori demanded. "You an' Thorin just disappeared!"
With everyone trying to talk to her all at once, Baylee found herself growing quite flustered; she so hated being the center of attention. As she tried to come up with answers to all the inquiries, she looked at each cell and its occupants. It seemed the lads had gone through the same treatment as her and Thorin: Most of their clothes—as well as their weapons—had been taken, leaving them in just their essentials.
But nowhere did she see her father, nor could she hear him.
"Enough!" Ithiliel called out, her voice suddenly quite commanding and echoing around the cavern. She let out a soft sigh of relief when the dwarves grew quiet. "Your king is in these dungeons as well. You have no need to worry; he is unhurt." Without saying anything more, she once again started to lead the hobbit along.
Swallowing hard, Baylee continued to look at the cells, hoping to see a sign of her father. But still, she saw nothing and her stomach started to churn with worry. She did, however, see Bofur gripping the bars of his cell door, a worried expression on his face. 'He has to know something,' she told herself.
She tried to walk over to him, but Ithiliel quickly grabbed hold of her shoulder, stopping her in her tracks. Looking up at the elf with wide, sad eyes, she said, "He's my st-stepfather. Can't I give him a hug be-before you put me back in m-m-my cell? Please?" She did her best to sound a bit sniffly in addition to being cold, which wasn't hard thanks to the worry filling her.
Ithiliel's expression softened and, letting go of her shoulder, she nodded. "Do not take too long, little mistress," she said.
"Th-thank you." Hurrying forward, she carefully put her arms through the bars and gave Bofur a big hug. "Where's da'?" she whispered.
Bofur returned the embrace, leaning over slightly so he could whisper back. "I don't know, lass. I was hopin' he was with you." The frown he wore grew larger when he felt her skin. "Mahal's beard, lass, you're freezing…"
"Don't worry about me. Th-they're fetching some blankets," she told him, giving him an extra squeeze. "What happened t-t-to you lads? Are any of you hurt?"
"It's a long story," he told her. "One that I don't think our warden is goin' t' give me enough time t' tell. But no, none o' us are hurt. What about you an' Thorin? Or do you know if he's even here?"
She shook her head. "Ne-neither of us are hurt," she assured him. "Just cold, tired, an-and still starving."
"Pretty much the same goes for us, too." He pulled back, but kept his hands on her shoulders as he looked down at her. "I'm sure we'll find a way out o' this, lass," he quietly reassured her, giving her a gentle squeeze. "An' then we'll find your da'—if he doesn't find us first, o' course."
Though she didn't quite believe him, she nodded and put on a smile. "I'm s-sure we will, too." Her smile then faltered somewhat in confusion as Bofur reached up to remove his hat.
"Here. This should help keep you a wee bit warmer, lass," he said, plopping the hat atop her head. He couldn't help but chuckle at how big it was on her; it was almost like seeing a child try to wear it. "I'll want it back later, though," he told her, rubbing the top of her head.
Ithiliel walked over, setting her hand on Baylee's shoulder. "Come, little mistress. We've tarried long enough." There was amusement in her voice; she found it adorable how large the hat was on the little lass.
Nodding, Baylee looked at Bofur and gave him a last smile before walking off. She quietly sighed, hugging herself once more.
As they rounded another corner, Ithiliel glanced down at her. "If you would rather, little mistress, I could put you in the cell with your stepfather instead of with Oakenshield."
Baylee shook her head. "No, no…it's best I stay with Th-Thorin. Thank you for the offer, th-though."
"Why is it best you stay with him instead?" she asked, her brow rising curiously.
"I'm the only one wh-who can get him to behave when he's in a foul moo-mood." It wasn't entirely a lie, but she wasn't about to tell this stranger that it was because she was in love with him. "And with us being stu-stuck here for the foreseeable future, he's going to be in an extremely foul mood."
"Why is it that you are the only one?" She pulled a ring of keys from her belt as they approached the last of the cells.
"Be-because being scolded by a tiny ho-hobbit lass is far more humbling than being scolded by one of yo-your dwarven friends." As she looked in the cell, she could see Thorin sitting against the wall, his legs drawn to his chest and his elbows resting on his knees; his hands covered his face in defeat. The sight made her heart hurt for him.
He didn't look up as Ithiliel unlocked the door, letting Baylee step into the cell before she closed it and locked it again. "Food and drink will be brought soon," she said, hearing the clank of the lock falling into place, "as well as your blankets." Without another word, she turned and headed back up the path.
As soon as the elf was out of view, Baylee went over and knelt beside the king. "Oakenshield?"
"We'll never make it out of here in time for Durin's Day," he said, his voice quiet. "Even if we escaped this cell, this place is too labyrinthine for us to find a way out." Letting out a heavy sigh, he lowered his hand and lifted his head to look at her only to frown in confusion. "…How did you get Bofur's hat…?"
"The others were br-brought in," she explained, a small smile on her lips. As his eyes widened in shock, she reached over, setting her small hand on his cheek.
"When were they brought in? Were you able to see if any of them were injured?" he quickly questioned. His hand came to rest overtop hers, keeping it pressed against his cheek; her cool palm sent a shiver down his spine.
"I believe th-they were brought in within the la-last ten or fifteen minutes," she answered. "As for injuries, Bo-Bofur told me there were n-none. Fili mentioned something about sp-spiders, though…" She shuddered; part of her was glad she had been brought in before the others since it meant not having to see the spiders for herself. "There…is a sm-small problem, however."
His brows furrowed. "What is it?"
"Da's missing."
"He's not with them?" She shook her head. "Do they have any idea of where he might be?"
"I don't know; I di-didn't have time to ask Bofur many questions." She let out a small squeak as Thorin unexpectedly picked her up and brought her against his chest once again. Within just a few minutes, the warmth of his body was soaking into her skin, making her sigh in content.
"If your father walks free, then there may yet be a chance of us getting out of here," he murmured, some hope returning to his voice. "It will definitely be a test for his burglaring skills, though."
She nodded slowly in agreement, her eyes closing as she nestled her head in the crook of his neck; she was beyond thankful to no longer be shivering. "I just hope he's not hurt and is able to figure out where we are. I can't stand to think about him still being lost out in that forest." She quietly sniffled.
"Your father has a quick wit and a sharp eye about him, Mouse-Lass," he murmured, his voice gentle. "I have no doubts that he's uninjured and somewhere nearby." As he spoke, he stroked her hair; he made a mental note to redo her braids when he realized how unkempt they were by this point. "What did Thranduil question you about?"
"Nothing much." She let out a soft sigh, her body relaxing a bit against the king; as he held her, she felt her worries and her fears being calmed. They were still there, but she wasn't as anxious as she had been just a few minutes ago. "He asked me why I was traveling with you, what purpose I served to the group, and then tried to see if I would give him a different account of what transpired in the woods."
"Hm. He didn't try to make any bargains with you?"
Shaking her head, she nuzzled into him a bit more. "No. And even if he did, I wouldn't have taken any of them."
"Even if it meant securing your freedom?" he asked, a bit of amusement in his voice.
"I still wouldn't do it." Her hand rose up, once more beginning to run her fingers along his braid. "I wouldn't take any deal that kept you behind bars while I walked free."
Her words brought a tender smile to Thorin's lips. "Some would call that foolish, you know…giving up your freedom just because one of your friends would remain imprisoned."
"…I think, by this point, we both know we're more than just friends, Oakenshield," she softly told him after a moment's pause. Unconsciously, she held her breath as she waited to hear what sort of response he would give.
He said nothing at first, merely tilting his head down and, after pushing Bofur's hat nearly all the way off her head, he kissed her forehead. The wiry hairs of his beard lightly tickled her skin, sending a shiver through her. "You're right," he murmured. "We are more than just friends, though we have yet to truly make it official…and, as horrible as this situation is, I find myself quite thankful that you and I got imprisoned together."
"I'm thankful, too." As Thorin shifted them both so that he could press his forehead against hers, she closed her eyes in content. "Being with you makes me feel safe and I don't think I'd feel that way if I was sharing a cell with anyone else."
He quietly chuckled. "At least I'm good for something while we're trapped here." His hand rose up and he brushed his knuckles against her cheek before his palm came to rest on the side of her face. She was such a small creature, he was sometimes afraid to touch her for fear of accidentally hurting her. But, as she had proven over the course of their journey thus far, she was a resilient little thing.
"Maralmizun, 'ibinê abnâmul," he whispered after some moments of silence had passed. Before she could ask what that meant, he translated, "I love you, my beautiful gem."
The words made her cheeks start burning, but they also brought a smile to her lips. "I love you, too, my Oakenshield."