They don't make it to Rivendell by nightfall. Their ponies are slower than the elves' horses and all of the dwarves are obviously exhausted. Upon hearing the reason behind it the twins dispatch their companions to look into the trolls, their cave and any signs that there might be others in the area. They are clearly disturbed to know that three trolls could be in the area for so long without being detected and equally embarrassed that the problem had been solved by six dwarves and a hobbit.

Bilba doesn't really know what to make of Elladan and Elrohir. She has always imagined elves as stately, wise and serious, little prone to humour. Indeed, those elves she has observed on their way to the Grey Havens seem to be exactly that. These two are nothing of the sort, singing cheerful ditties as they ride and teasing Thor, whom they refer to as Thorin and Oakenshield and Shield of Durin with varying levels of respect and mockery as though they actually believe that this is the dwarf of legend and not just a blacksmith from Bree as his companions have all insisted.

The only two who seem surprised by the name that the elves use are Fíli and Ori, but they are young and likely didn't know. Fíli sinks into silence, watching his uncle with an increasingly injured expression as Thor ignores him or addresses him simply as lad or boy, introducing him to the twins as little more than an afterthought. He must have his reasons, Bilba knows, because as little as she knows of dwarves it has always been very clear that Thor adores his nephew and just as clear that Fíli idolises him.

She doesn't get the chance to discuss it with Fíli when they stop for the night as the blond eats his dinner in silence and retires instantly to his bedroll. Ori meets her concerned gaze with one of his own, but quickly falls into a hushed and heated discussion with his brother. Bilba suspects he is demanding answers and she wishes she could do the same. It's none of her business, however, and of all of them she is the least entitled to the information.

They leave early the following morning with the kind of reluctant urgency that comes with a desire to get something unpleasant over and done with. Neither Elladan nor Elrohir appear to have slept, though they don't seem the worse for it, and they continue their cheerful chatter and teasing as they go. Today, however, they focus on Fíli, gradually drawing him out and Bilba sees Thor watching with suspicion. He doesn't try to put a stop to it, however, and she finds herself wondering at the sudden complexity of a relationship which had seemed so simple and she had been so envious of.

All thoughts of Fíli and Thor, or Thorin no matter how ridiculous it seems, are driven from her mind as they emerge from a thickly wooded area and she catches her first glimpse of Rivendell. It is glorious, she thinks, seeming to grow out of the landscape as though its presence was always intended by nature. From this distance she has no way of discerning whether it is one structure or a dozen joined almost seamlessly, a vast house or a hamlet tucked into the enchanted valley. It quite takes her breath away and fills her with understanding about why her mother might have wished to return so many times.

"Still looks like one good sneeze might bring it down around our ears," Dwalin comments. Nori chuckles even as Fíli sniggers regardless of the fact that he seemed to get on so well with the twins.

"Jealousy is unbecoming, Dwalin son of Fundin," one says loftily. "We're well aware your pokey little holes under the mountains cannot possibly compare but there's no call to express it in such a crass manner." Dwalin splutters and Gandalf lets out a chuckle. Bilba hides her own smile behind a hand, more amused at the ridiculous need elves and dwarves seem to have to outdo one another than the exchange itself.

They continue forwards and she ignores her companions to look around her in wonder. Hobbits have long managed to make their homes part of nature, building them under hills as much as they can, but they lack the majesty and grace of Rivendell and nothing in the Shire can compare to the age of this place and with age has come the organic feel that hobbits reach for but never achieve. This is not some mouldering pile of stones maintained out of a sense of duty or obligation, this is a home filled with love and clearly it is cherished by all who reside here. She wonders if Moria will feel the same way when she finally arrives there. Bilba still doesn't want to go, but weeks on the road with these dwarves has taught her more about their people than any number of stories has. Perhaps the experience won't be as bad as she fears.

The twins have led them over a bridge into a courtyard, dismounting with far more ease and grace than Bilba or the dwarves can manage. Several others, evidently having expected their arrival, hurry forward to take their ponies with their belongings still attached and the small party all make noises of protest. All except Thor, Thorin, who folds his arms over his chest and calls for silence. Elrond and his kin have no need for the road-worn clothing and trinkets of dwarves and hobbits. The twins, meanwhile, are having a quiet conversation with another elf who has appeared on a sweeping set of stairs that, like the bridges they crossed, lack anything as sensible as a railing.

"We are to take them straight to our father," Elrohir, Bilba thinks from the markings on his armour, says.

"And had you arrived four days ago that would still be the case," the newcomer replies. "There have been additional arrivals since you left and my Lord Elrond believes that Lord Thorin, at least, would prefer to be properly attired before coming into their presence."

"Thorin has never been much of one for ceremony, Lindir," Elladan points out. "You know it as well as we."

"Lord Frerin of Moria arrived six days ago," Lindir whispers, but Bilba's hearing is better than that of her new friends and so she hears him clearly enough. "Not far behind him was Thranduil of the Woodland Realm and his son. Thorin and the King of Greenwood-"

"Have an unfortunate history," Elladan finishes. "These are our father's orders for all of his companions?"

"They are," Lindir inclines his head and the twins glance back at Nori who waves one hand and Bilba sees a flash of silver between his fingers, a fine elven blade that obviously belongs to one or other of their escort dancing between his fingers.

"Good luck," Elrohir laughs, moving to pluck the pilfered knife from Nori's digits with envious speed and skill. "We will see you all once Linder has had his way with you." He grins suggestively and Ori turns scarlet and splutters, Fíli frowns in much the same way as his uncle. Gandalf and Balin roll their eyes at the blatant innuendo, but Nori turns his gaze to Lindir speculatively.

"Too tall and skinny for my tastes," he shrugs. "I prefer them burly and muscular."

"Believe me," Elladan pulls a face, "we know."

Nori cackles and to Bilba's amazement Dwalin flushes. Nonetheless they follow Lindir when he steps forward, his face set disapprovingly, and are quickly directed to separate rooms. Bilba sees Fíli hesitate on the threshold of the room he is taken to, looking towards his uncle who barely glances at him. Bilba offers him a brief smile before entering her own room. It is light, bright and airy with large windows and a bed big enough for eight hobbits to sleep in comfortably. Gossamer curtains billow in a gentle breeze, pristine white that seems to glow in the late morning sun. it's beautiful, but not a beauty she can truly appreciate when she has to tilt her head so far back to really see it. Abruptly she finds herself longing for the sensible height of the ceilings in the Great Smial or even Bag End, though she hasn't been there in years.

"I've worked with worse," a voice says behind her and Bilba spins to see an elleth, tall and pale and willowy in the way of elves, her skin so clear and perfect that the hobbit's insides churn with envy. "Come, there is a hot bath waiting and I am certain we can find something to fit, you are hardly our first hobbit guest."

For the next hour Bilba is bathed and styled and dressed. Fine oils scented with lavender are rubbed into her road ravaged skin and curls. Her hair is brushed until it shines, and the messy ends are trimmed to hang level. Torn and snapped nails are filed smooth and cosmetic powders are used to hide the dark circles of sleepless nights and rough red where her cheeks and nose have caught the sun. She is dressed in a fine gown of green silk, one obviously cut for a hobbit and with hobbit tastes in mind. When Bilba looks in the mirror she hardly recognises herself. She has lost weight on the road, though she still carries a little of the proper hobbit plumpness, and the dress has been hastily stitched to fit where it sags or is a little tight where a seam has been let out as much as they can. The fashion of it is almost a decade out of date, but it's nice just to feel like a hobbit maid again.

Everyone else is waiting when she emerges, save Thor who is nowhere to be seen. Her eyes skim over Nori, Dwalin and Ori, who is fiddling with a thread on his tunic already and pass even more briefly over Balin before coming to rest on Fíli. He cleans up very nicely, she thinks, and he has even placed a couple of braids in his hair, although she has no idea if they mean anything at all. He's still wearing his coat, in fact most of the others seem to be wearing whatever of theirs they have that is in good shape, and she notes that the collar of Fíli's coat is turned strangely. She doesn't think, just steps forward and sets it straight, running her fingers through the fine golden fur that has obviously been brushed free of the dust and dirt of the road and marvelling at the softness of it between her fingers.

"Are you alright?" She asks him. He shrugs and grins, but she can see that his heart isn't really in it. "Did you know?" She breathes and even though she doesn't elaborate she knows he understands her when he shakes his head. "Do you think he really is?" Fíli's eyes drift away from her face at the sound of the door opening and she turns when she sees them go wide and troubled.

Thorin stands there, this cannot possibly be Fíli's Uncle Thor even though the face is the same. The tunic he wears is a rich blue, deep and crisp and hardly worn, embroidered with fine silver in the geometric designs favoured by dwarves. Bilba would put good money on that thread being real silver, just as she is willing to bet that the new beads he wears made of a brilliant white metal are mithril, the most valuable metal found only in Moria. Everything he wears screams of vast wealth and high status. Even his bearing is different, cold, purposeful and utterly regal. Without meaning to, she finds herself staring at him in awe as he walks past them and, one by one, they fall in behind him until only Fíli and Bilba are left and his expression is heartbreaking, he looks utterly lost as he watches his uncle walk away. His steps, when he follows, are reluctant and so she slips her arm through his and leans close. The least she can do is try to be a friend.

Thorin is obviously familiar with Rivendell and just as obviously knows where he is going from his utter confidence (although she knows that he got them turned around more than once on the road). It probably has as much to do with Gandalf, who joins them only moments after they have left the corridor dressed in a new grey robe of finer material than his other and with his hair neatly combed, as it does with Thorin's own familiarity with the place. Gandalf mutters in a low tone every now and again, usually when they reach a door or intersection, but allows Fíli's uncle, if that's even what he is, to continue giving the impression that he knows where he is going.

Bilba expects Thorin to lead them to a hall, or at least a large room, where they end up is not like anything she had thought to imagine and a place she feels she should have expected all the same. They walk through a wide door into a circular space, with columns one side that is open to the sky and warmed by the early afternoon sun. Elves, dwarves and even some Men fill the space, gathered in their own groups as they talk, the susurration of their words seeming fill even this space as they talk in low tones that mix into an odd blend of languages that she has no chance of truly understanding. Her companions all draw themselves upright, tilting their heads in such a way to make them appear taller, larger, than they are. Bilba, however, and in the way of all hobbits, shrinks closer to Fíli. Dwarves are warriors all, fighters and unafraid of being seen. Hobbits are farmers, quiet folk who prefer to be left alone and undisturbed, they prefer to avoid notice and that is exactly what the group have gained upon their entrance. A dark-haired elf bearing a resemblance to Elladan and Elrohir, with whom he had been quietly conversing, breaks away and approaches.

"Thorin," the elf touches a hand over his heart, "it has been some time."

"And yet, rarely does it feel long enough, Lord Elrond," Thorin replies, confirming Bilba's suspicions. She watches Elrond's expression flicker and marvels at Thorin's audacity when they are guests in the elf's home. Elrond doesn't comment on it, though whether through graciousness or familiarity Bilba couldn't say.

"Balin, Nori and Dwalin I am familiar with," comes the cool response and there is a slight hitch in his tone on Nori's name that makes Bilba wonder what he did the last time he was here. "However, the others are unknown to us. If you would be so kind."

"Nori's brother Ori, my apprentice Fíli, who isn't of an age to be left alone with the forge, and a hobbit we rescued on the road by the name of Bilba Baggins." Thorin's tone is almost indifferent when he introduces them, making no reference to his previously claimed relationship with Fíli. Bilba isn't looking at Elrond when Thorin introduces Fíli, she is looking up at her companion and so she sees the flicker of heartbreak on his face before he schools his features into neutrality so that he doesn't show weakness in front of the elf. She squeezes Fíli's arm lightly but has no chance to do more as Elrond's attention turns on her entirely.

"Ah, yes, I have received several increasingly frantic letters from the Thain of the Shire about Mistress Baggins," Bilba flinches. "You are fortunate in your companions," he addresses her.

"The good fortune was mutual," Gandalf replies before she can. "Shall we get this over with?"