"The Valley of Imraldis. In Common Tongue, it's known by another name."
"Rivendell."
The Company proceeded along the cramped path that they encountered themselves on. It dropped to an immense span of sheer white cliff to the left of them; green overhang leering down the sides, overseeing the marvel that was the Last Homely House, East of the sea.
Mist tumbled gently from the cliff tops, submerging the trees; the resonance of rushing water consumed the atmosphere, streaming from the banks; the spherical domes of the tall buildings, carved like intricate and delicate embroidery, shone a pearlescent white, the last of the fading sun's reds rebounding off it's rounded edges, making the whole ordeal completely surreal and… it was truly magical.
"Mithrandir," greeted an Elf as the Company approached the archway and courtyard. The Elf's eyes flickered a silver that Bilbo had not seen before, and his hair flowed down his back.
"Ah, Lindir!" Gandalf greeted back, bowing his head, his pointed hat askew.
Lindir meandered down the elven steps, velvet robes billowing out behind him, from the warm breeze that whisked up from the path that the dwarves had taken.
The Company turned their backs on the Elf, shoulders crowded together, and they murmured amongst themselves in distrust; for dwarves and elves have never really gotten on well with one another. Most think the hatred and disliking goes back to the days of Thingol of the First Age. In fact, it probably does.
"Lastannem i athrannedh i Vruinen," the Elf spoke, advancing towards Gandalf, hand outstretched, a welcoming smile upon his face.
The Company, part from Bilbo, started making an even louder and blatant commotion than before, as if to prove that they didn't trust Lindir, or like him in any shape or form.
To the elves, it was already quite obvious that the dwarrows did not trust them- it would be obvious to anyone who stood there with them, for there were several rather brash remarks made by the dwarrows, and quite obtrusive ones at that.
Morlia barked some Khuzdul, vulgarly, clasping Thorin's shoulder and thrusting her sword in the direction of Lindir, further pushing their point.
Lindir contemplated the Company, lips pursed, and then focused back to the wizard.
Gandalf gave a tepid smile, turning to Lindir and hastily speaking, "I must speak with Lord Elrond."
Lindir's eyebrows drew together and he held his hands out in apology, "My Lord Elrond is not here."
"Not here? Where is he?"
And without warning, the sound of a horn erupted from behind the archway and large horses cantered down the path; hooves powerfully clapping against the rock at an extremely alarming rate.
Thorin commanded the Company to hold fast, and the dwarrows fortified themselves in the centre of the courtyard, pulling Bilbo into the heart of their barricade, so they were in position to guard him, their swords pointing outwards, creating a jagged outline to their silhouetted mass.
On top of the horses, sat armed elven warriors, coated in fine elven armour, which flashed clear silver and brilliant gold in the light. And they circled the Company, heads held high, faces flawless and unmarred.
When they came to a halt, one elf separated himself from the others and jumped swiftly off his horse, landing with less than a clink of metal.
"Gandalf," he said, striding towards the wizard, his stature elevated and regal.
Gandalf bowed low and gracefully, "Lord Elrond. Mellonnen! Mo evínedh?"
Elrond inclined his head, "Farannem 'lamhoth i udul o charad. Dagannem rim na Iant Vedui."
He then smiled, quite suddenly, at Gandalf, and embraced him, clasping his back. He stepped back and he peered at the Company out of the corners of his eyes.
"Strange for Orcs to come so close to our borders. Something," Elrond glanced at Thorin, "or someone, has drawn them near."
Thorin raised his chin up; his face accommodating a bitter disposition.
"Ah, that may have been us," explained Gandalf, waving a hand about and smiling, cautiously.
Elrond strode ponderously down to the Company, who muttered and murmured in discomfort.
"Welcome Thorin, son of Thrain."
"I do not believe have met," Thorin replied, bluntly.
"You have your grandfather's bearing. I knew Thror when he rules under the Mountain."
"Indeed; he made no mention of you," Thorin retorted, upper lip turning up in disgust.
Bilbo frowned.
Elrond ignored Thorin and turned to the rest of the Company, opening his arms, "Nartho i noer, toltho i viruvor. Boe i annam vann a nethail vin."
"What is he saying?" yelled Gloin, "Does he offer us insult?"
The dwarrows grew louder and louder and more bellicose by the second, gripping their weapons firmly and shaking their heads.
"No master Gloin!" intercepted the wizard, exasperatedly, "He's offering you food!"
The Company stilled for a moment, then discussed the matter. And it was decided.
"Ah well, in that case, lead on."
The Company were first taken to a large sleeping quarter and then were shown were the bathing areas were. Of course it was stunning, all of it was stunning; even the loo was stunning. Though, it was a shame that it was an elven one.
"Have you seen this?"
"Have I seen what?"
"Bofur, I think the elves have forgotten how bloody short we are, look at the bog-"
"Good Mahal, that's a massive loo!"
Morlia shook her head and rubbed a hand over her face, pulling at her beard, as she looked at Bofur and Nori.
They all were soon taken to a different elven courtyard, where a meal had been laid out for them.
"Just a mouthful-"
"I don't like green food."
"Where's the meat?" Dwalin grumbled, riffling through a salad.
Oin stabbed a slice of onion with his knife and held it up to the light, squinting.
"Have they got any chips?"
Bilbo closed his eyes, trying to enjoy the music and drown out the sound of the complaints. But, opened them soon enough, as more food was put in front of him.
Kili was gazing at one of the harp players, who admired him with a slight curiosity.
Bofur looked between Kili and the maiden with a baffled expression upon his face.
Kili winked at the maiden.
Dwalin stared at Kili, blatantly, from across the table.
Kili caught his gaze and his smile dropped.
He then shook his head, continuing to help himself to food, "I can't say I fancy elf maids myself."
Dwalin raised his eyebrows.
"Too thin. They're all high cheekbones and creamy skin."
Kili turned to Bofur, who gave a blank smile.
"Not enough facial hair for me-"
Kili glanced at Morlia, who didn't seem amused.
"Although, that one there's not bad," Kili smiled and nodded to a passing elf.
The dwarrows stared at him.
Dwalin leant forward in his seat, "That's not an elf maid."
Dwalin winked.
Kili's smile fell and he dropped his gaze to his plate, while the others roared and laughed around him.
"Funny," he said, stabbing his lettuce.
The Company really enjoyed themselves, they honestly did. Obviously, they had fun on the road with one another, but now they actually had the time to talk and laugh and smile with each other, in safety.
The sun had gone down hours ago, and the dwarrows lay about, smoking.
Morlia lay on a window-sill, puffing away at the stuff Bofur had lent her, chatting to Dwalin and Balin, who rested against the wall below her.
Bilbo watched them. Seeing a family so close- it resonated something inside him. A feeling of longing, mostly.
Longing to belong.
He swallowed dryly.
"Mister Baggins," called Morlia.
Bilbo glanced up and gave a quick smile and wave.
Morlia jerked her head over to where they were sitting.
It took Bilbo a second to acknowledge what she was meaning, before he ambled towards them, his fingers flexing out, nervously.
Dwalin bowed his head at Bilbo respectfully. Balin gave a smile.
Morlia shifted over and nodded to the space left at the window-sill. Bilbo hesitated a little and glimpsed at her for a moment longer, before jumping up and settling down. She offered her pipe to him, he refused, politely.
"Do you not smoke?" Morlia grumbled, puffing on her stumpy pipe.
Bilbo scratched his head, "Erm, well, yes, I do, most Hobbits smoke actually-"
Morlia offered the pipe again and this time he took it, raising it up in thanks.
After a few minutes of comfortable silence, Morlia leant her back against the cool window and turned to Bilbo again. Bilbo tried to hand her the pipe back, but she waved him down.
"So, are you enjoying the elves and their good hospitality?"
Bilbo nodded, cautiously, "They seem to let me make myself at home."
Morlia nodded back, slowly.
A moment of silence passed and Balin and Dwalin had decided it was time to retire. Bilbo and Morlia waved them a quick goodnight.
"First time in an elven household?"
"Yes, actually," Bilbo furrowed his brows and turned to her, "...is this your second? I thought dwarves hated elves-"
Morlia let a bark of laughter escape her, "Oh, we do."
Bilbo smiled briefly and inclined his head, curiously, "Where have you been, if you don't mind me asking?"
Morlia scratched at her beard and raised her eyebrows.
"I went to the Elven dwelling of Forlond, in Lindon."
Morlia let her eye close.
The salt filled her senses.
The paths winded and intertwined with each over, making it an impossibility to see the end of one and the start of another, which made the task at hand twice as difficult as it might have been. And twice that, when you take into consideration the height of the Association. The Association being Morlia, a dwarf with a bushy black beard and a dwarf without much beard at all, who seemed rather young to be apart of this kind of Association.
Of course, the Association being the 'Association of Rare Goods'. Some liked to call them thieves, and some would call them burglars, but some people thought they were highly respectable. Those 'some people' being themselves. Each of them had their own reasons for being there, which the others respected, but did not actually know what the reasons were. Though stranger to one another, they had a given appreciation and a courtesy to assist each other.
No.
Morlia's jaw tightened.
Stop.
Morlia's head lulled to the side as she opened her eye. She bid Bilbo a goodnight and plodded out the room, tipping the ashes out of her pipe, onto the ground.