Rivendell was beautiful in every meaning of the word.

After dinner, I left the company of the group and finally found some time just to explore the beautiful home of the elves. I set a leisurely sort of pace about the entire thing, strolling casually down hallways and greeting elves whose voices flowed over me like water. They were friendly and all too willing to show courtesy, gestures that I had grown to miss greatly. It did my heart wonders to see such tall graceful creatures bow and nod politely to even one as tiny as I was.

In the comforts of Elrond's home, I also had the chance to have a moment for myself without the overbearing presence of a dwarf hovering over me like an overprotective nanny. The freedom of movement, the echo of sensations from the sounds of Rivendell all around provided a retreat in its own way.

I strolled through the courtyards, amazed by how healthy the gardens looked, well tended most likely by the magic of the elves and preening all the more for it. Even the trees looked well cared for, hovering over walkways so that even the shortest of elves had to dip low underneath to avoid running into branches. Rivendell was truly a beautiful place.

I explored with eager eyes, wanting to see what each open doorway had to offer; more than once, I was pulled off by a group of elves who coo'ed over the sight of a tiny Periannath as they called me, their fingers in my dirty honey colored curls and looking as if they hadn't the slightest care if it were gross to the touch. Honestly, as their voices coated my mind in bliss, I didn't care either.

Some of the elves I ran into knew the common tongue and others did not but even when our inability to communicate became evident, I found that they were still gentle and friendly, their pure lyrical tones setting me at ease. I still had no idea why the dwarves disliked them so... They really were such a lovely people.

When my strolling found me in one of the main courtyards where many elves chatted and delighted each other with poetry, I sat down to listen and was once again caught in the blissful tones of their voices. I was surprised to see as I listened to the elves read lines of poetry that some of the elves looked as euphoric as I surely did. Did they really appreciate such things so much?

I looked around the courtyard, just wanting to see if the elves truly did take to their arts so deeply, but I saw that only a few of them looked as I did. Their faces were relaxed, their eyes closed and some even swayed from where they sat; one was dozing lightly, her eyes opening every so often when the reader stopped. I noticed the elf next to me, his hair silver like moonlight and long to the waist, held back with braids; his eyes were closed and he swayed as our poet motioned with his hands of the beauty of his words.

I tugged a little at the sleeve of the elf and watched him as he slowly opened his bright green eyes, perhaps only noticing me now, though he smiled despite the fact that I interrupted his near trance. "Yes, periannath?"

"What is this place?"

He looked at me curiously and I followed his hand as he brought it up to his head to scratch at his hairline, noticing that it was the same spot that itched on my own head when I spoke. "This is a place to listen."

He answered simply before closing his eyes again so he could return his attention to the words of the poet; only a moment later, he was looking down at me again and staring, his green eyes searching until he smiled at me brightly. He leaned over and put his hand to my shoulder while the other one hovered over my eyes, directing me to close them, "Close your eyes," He whispered in my ear, my body going slack under his voice, "It allows you to focus without the distraction of sight..."

Already the effects were felt, the elf's voice next to me washing away to be replaced by the words of the poet. I could not understand them as they were spoken in the elvish tongue but it did not matter; he was speaking of something fierce for the euphoria all around me swelled. "His words only paint one layer of the tale. Feel the passion in his voice," The unknown words curbed the euphoria, belying an undertone of sadness in the poem, "His sadness over loss."

"His nervousness for his words being heard."

The elf in front of us was indeed nervous, though it was not something one could determine from the steady way his words were spoken. As I listened to him, it became apparent that this was probably his first time reading out loud to the elves who listened here, elves who were like me and could hear with their bodies. The elf next to me stayed close, his scent drifting over me a hint of lavender and berries making me sigh into his steady touch.

"AH!" I jumped, feeling the elf next to me as well do so; I opened my eyes to see the elves sitting up and looking for the person who would so rudely interrupt their unknown commune. "Bilbo! There you are! Come along now, we're having a dinner of our own!"

As much as I wanted to be upset at Bofur for the interruption, even I could not deny the sensation his voice brushed against the tops of my feet, tickling happily and forcing a giggle from my lips. It seemed that the elves too were unable to deny their own reactions to his voice, some of them looking confused and others giggling. Before Bofur could continue to talk and interrupt the group, I stood up and apologized to the others and went off to join the dwarf. He looked confused enough as it was by the fact that his presence somehow made a few of the elves react to him all at the same time.

"Miss Bilbo?"

I stopped and looked back to the silver haired elf that I had previously sat next to; he stood from his seated position and crossed the short distance to stand in front of me. I was surprised by his height because while he did not look that much taller than me while I sat next to him, he was indeed quite taller, taller even than Elrond! He nodded to Bofur politely before bending over and taking my hand in his and kissing it lightly, "Should you wish for the company of another skin-listener, please do not hesitate to find me again."

I nodded in a daze, eager to take up such an offer again just for the company of someone besides Gandalf who knew what it was like to listen to the world through one's own body.

As we left the courtyard, I was surprised to find that the sun was setting behind the mountains, bathing Rivendell in a soft orange glow that made the stone statues and vined pillars glow in creamy shades, speckled with orange when the sun cast at the right angle.

Bofur and I talked about what we had been up to since separating after dinner, our pace casual as we returned to the hall where we stayed with the rest of the company. I was horrified, of course, when I saw how they were cooking dinner but I guess I was not surprised by it. I thought they had raided another pantry, a host of stolen goods laid around an equally stolen table, but no. That was far from it. Amazingly enough, they had actually made a fire in the middle of the hallway, the means of how they did so currently still being broken apart by Bifur. Well, there was the stolen table, if it were any consolation prize... But really, what did I really expect from a bunch of dwarves who pillaged my pantry without a second thought? They would think nothing of destroying pilfered furniture to cook pilfered food and eat them on pilfered dish ware.

I decided to just let it all go, shrug it off and just allow it to wash over me just as the voices of the elves did. I sat on the ground next to Bifur, earning myself a grunted few words in that guttural tone I'd heard a few times before and kept the dwarves company.

"So Bilbo, what did he mean by skin-listener?"

Bofur's voice tickled my feet again and I looked up at his question, seeing that he was getting a few links of sausages ready for roasting. All around me, the dwarves slowed whatever they were doing, readying their ears for gossip of some sort. Really, sometimes they were as bad as hobbit wives! At the same time, Fili noticed me in the hall again and he separated from his brother's side to plop down next to me; I smiled when I felt the brush of his arm against my own, a casual push of fingers so that they touched my thigh.

"Skin-listener?"

Ori piped up, my fingers twitching under the sensation of furry whispers on my palms.

"Yea, I heard one of them call her a skin-listener. What did he mean?"

By now all of the dwarves around were curious and leaning forward or sitting around the fire. Even Dwalin, who was never one for gossip was "sharpening" his knife in a way that lessened whenever someone would speak. I decided that I would tell the others about what my ears were like because honestly, it was never a secret as much as just something that didn't pop up in normal conversation.

"Well, he meant that we were able to hear with our ears-"
"What's so special about that?"

Nori interrupted, only to be pulled down by Dori who told him to shut up and let me speak, "It's not the way you think," I corrected as I eyed Fili and Kili, "It's actually feeling with our ears. I've had it since birth; in fact, I didn't even know that no one else in the Shire had it until I was a child. I just thought it was a natural thing. When my Mum learned of it, she ended up just calling it the Ear Touch."

I shrugged, thinking that my explanation was good enough and for someone like Gandalf and an elf, it probably would have been but as I looked around at the confused stares of the dwarves, I realized that I wasn't talking to the brightest race in Middle-Earth. I decided to dumb it down a bit.

"Well," I cleared my throat, "When I hear a sound, I can feel it too. Like, when you came into the courtyard, Bofur, and some of them laughed when they heard you-"

"My voice sounds funny?" I giggled at the question, my toes curling. Next to me, I heard Fili's deep chuckle, "No, it feels funny. When I hear your voice, it feels like a tickle on my feet."

Bofur looked surprised at that, and using his surprise Ori quickly asked, quill and paper ready, "What does my voice sound like, Miss Bilbo?"

"Well," I smiled, not even believing I was having such a conversation; in all my years since Mum's death, no one had ever asked me how anything felt like, "My hands feel soft, like, really really soft. Like I'm holding a ball of fluff."

Ori seemed to be embarrassed by the statement, blushing shyly and hastily pointing his head downward to write in his book. "Mine?"

Dori leaned in, curious as well. "Like I'm drinking a mouth full of wine." He seemed to puff up his chest at that, proud about the aspect that he produced such an effect in me.

Down the line, everyone asked me, aside from Fili and Kili who did not need to and certainly did their best not to let everyone know just how they had discovered the effect their voices had on me. I was surprised when even Dwalin growled out his desire to know what his voice sounded, followed by the polite inquiry that Balin was indeed also intrigued. Both of them knowing that their reactions were so alike made them grin but Dwalin seemed to grumble about something when I told him how soft his touch usually was on my cheek.

Amidst the jeers of Dwalin being a giant softie underneath all the layers of fur and muscle and tattoo, the group looked surprised when Thorin emerged from his room, a quick glance to the fire and then the rest of the group before heading off down the hallway.

"I must confess, Miss Baggins, but I'm a little curious how his voice sounds to you."

Balin's voice was cheery as he asked and I looked at him with a bit of a lost expression on my face; next to me, even Fili and Kili were looking at me, the question obviously attracting their attention. I just sighed and shrugged, "I wish I could tell you, but, his is a bit more difficult."

Author Note:

I changed something about this chapter... Only someone who originally read it elsewhere knows what was changed. ^^

Also, Translation notes:
Periannath - Hobbit