Day Eight

He was warm and lying on something soft and comfortable. A faint scent of moss and herbs reached his nostrils and he inhaled deep, feeling content. The scent reminded him of his youth, of the long, peaceful days he had spent wandering around the flourishing forests of the Shire, and he smiled, embracing the happy memories.

Bilbo might have fallen back to sleep, then, to dream of those carefree days of his youth, hadn't he suddenly felt a presence near him and hadn't a voice spoken from above him.

"So you awake, Master Baggins," someone noted in a dry tone of voice. "Do feel inclined to open your eyes at some point in the near future. Sooner rather than later, if you please."

Frowning, Bilbo opened his eyes, blinking, prompted by the voice – only to see Thranduil's face, which was about two inches from his own. With a startled squawk, he made a reflexive swipe with his hands and slapped the elven king in the cheek. The slapping sound was loud in Bilbo's ears, but Thranduil gave no reaction to being hit, his face remained blank, his expression impassive. He seemed so unfazed by Bilbo's reaction that one might have assumed that he was used to getting slapped by startled hobbits.

With grace only elves seemed to possess, Thranduil straightened himself from the crouching position he had been in by Bilbo's right side.

"I- I-" Bilbo stuttered, mortified by what he had just done. "I- I sincerely apologize for hitting you, Your Highness. I didn't mean to slap you, it was purely instinctive."

"I have faced foes fiercer and far more dangerous than you, little one," stated Thranduil, not unkindly. "You insult me if you believe that your flailing limbs could be anything more to me but a slight inconvenience."

"Of- of course," Bilbo swallowed hard. "Yes, well. I'm- I'm very sorry, nevertheless. I shouldn't have- I... sorry."

From Bilbo's left side, there came a snort, and a hint of annoyance appeared in Thranduil's otherwise impassive expression. Upon turning to look, Bilbo saw Dwalin who was standing by his left side, opposite to Thranduil, with his muscular arms folded across his chest in his characteristic, imposing manner. Dwalin was smirking up at Thranduil with almost a triumphant look upon his face, and Bilbo felt his heart rise to his throat at the sight.

It all came back to Bilbo in a rush: the execution order – he was to be beheaded by Thorin's order – the black execution axe, avoiding getting executed just so, running for his life, getting caught in Lake-town, waking up in the camp of dwarves, running for his life again, kidnapping Dain, getting caught again, collapsing in the wagon... Bilbo remembered with vivid clarity why he had been desperate to get to the camp of elves, he remembered his own desperate attempts to escape from his former friends. He recalled how the dwarves had been after him, and how they had caught up with him and Dain shortly before he had collapsed due to his feverish state. He also remembered the way Balin had tried to convince him that Dain had mistaken Thorin's words for an execution order, that it had all been a misunderstanding – Balin had said that Thorin didn't want him dead, that the dwarves still wished for Bilbo's friendship, if he was willing to give it to them, and Bilbo remembered his own confusion at hearing Balin's words.

If all that hadn't been confusing enough, Bilbo was now in a tent with Thranduil and Dwalin who were both standing by his bed, while Bilbo had no idea how he had gotten onto the said bed, or even in the said tent.

"I've seen Baggins face goblins," Dwalin was saying to Thranduil, "and wargs, and trolls, and even a dragon, but this is the first time he has ever cried out when coming face to face with an unpleasant creature – can't blame him though: who would want to wake up to your elvish features? Must have been a shock."

Thranduil's nostrils flared.

"After spending months in the sole presence of dwarves," the elf king said with audible disdain, "the halfling's eyesight must have become accustomed to certain level of crudeness. What you just witnessed, Master Dwarf, was a reaction of pure awe – Master Baggins must have felt nearly blinded when he came unexpectedly face to face with the graceful features of my family line."

Dwalin gave yet another snort, finally looking down at Bilbo. The look in his eyes seemed to soften when he met Bilbo's gaze, and for a moment, Dwalin studied him closely, as if he was searching for some kind of an answer to an unvoiced question. The dwarf's was voice uncharacteristically gentle when he eventually spoke,

"How are you feeling, Baggins?"

"I- I'm-" Bilbo stuttered with his heart in his throat, feeling slightly hysterical and more than a little bewildered. "I'm... a bit thirsty?"

As soon as Bilbo had managed to utter the words from all his bewilderment and fear, Thranduil put one of his large hands behind Bilbo's head and helped him to lift his head. A tankard of clear water was pressed onto his dry lips, and Bilbo took a sip after sip, only just realizing how thirsty he was, while Thranduil held him steady, all the while.

Once Bilbo had satisfied his thirst, Thranduil allowed him to lean back onto the pillows.

"Thank you, my lord," Bilbo said softly, taking his surroundings in for the first time.

They were in a relatively large tent that was illuminated with candles and wooden lanterns. The sun had apparently already set, for it seemed to be dark outside, but a cozy fire was crackling in a portable fireplace near his cot. He was lying on a soft mattress, covered with a warm blanket and various herbal compresses that caused the air around him to have a lovely fresh scent. His wounds had been dressed and he had been given a bath, Bilbo noted, much to his mortification – someone had seen him in a state of undress! – but at least he felt much better than he had in days. He wasn't in any pain.

"Where am I?"

"You are among my people," answered Thranduil, narrowing his eyes and tilting his head as if he couldn't quite decide whether Bilbo was being obtuse on purpose. "In the camp of my warriors. Is that not obvious?"

Yes, it certainly was quite obvious. If the presence of Thranduil himself wasn't enough of an indication of their whereabouts, then the fact that there were shades of green and brown everywhere, and that most structures were wooden – unlike in the camp of dwarves where most structures had been made from one metal or another – certainly should have been.

"How did I get here?"

"We brought you here," Dwalin told him. "You were in need of immediate medical attention, and as the camp of elves was closer than our own, Balin came to the decision that we should bring you here."

Swallowing hard, Bilbo turned his head away from Thranduil in order to look up at Dwalin, meeting the dwarf's gaze warily from his horizontal position. Some of his wariness must have been visible in his expression, for Dwalin let his arms to fall to his sides as if he was doing his best to look less imposing – not that it did anything to ease Bilbo's tension.

"Relax, Baggins," grumbled Dwalin. "I'm not going to hurt you, and I'm not going to let elves hurt you either – I'm here to protect you – so there's no need for you to look like someone is about to shave your hair off. You have nothing to fear; yer under dwarven protection."

Bilbo could do little else but stare. His mind was in turmoil, his thoughts troubled, his feelings a mix of fear, bewilderment – and hope. Hope that Dwalin was speaking the truth, hope that Balin had spoken the truth when he had said that Thorin had come back to his senses, that Thorin did not wish to harm Bilbo, that the execution attempt had been caused by a misunderstanding between Thorin and Dain.

It might have been a foolish thing to allow oneself to feel hope, for it could well be that it would be for nothing in the end, but on the other hand, Bilbo was now lying comfortably on a bed in the camp of elves, which in his current situation felt like a safe haven to him. It could well be, Bilbo thought, that Dwalin was being sincere, that he was being truthful and honest. But – but – it could also be that Rambesiel and her elves had for some reason forced the dwarves to bring Bilbo here – it was possible that she hadn't given them another choice – and that Dwalin was now pretending to care for him to fool Thranduil into releasing him into the dwarves' care.

Thranduil gave a snort – or what constituted as a snort when coming from him – and spoke,

"'Dwarven protection', indeed. Well have dwarves looked after and 'protected' Master Baggins! If the kind of 'dwarven protection' I have so far witnessed in Master Baggins' case is of any indication, dwarven protection is anything but effective. Do you dwarves not feed the one's under your 'protection'? Do you at least try to see to their wounds, or do you simply just allow the wounds to fester?"

Bilbo saw Dwalin clenching his fists.

"You have no idea of what you're talking about," the dwarf said through gritted teeth, "so you better mind your own business, king of greenlings."

"And you better mind your tongue, dwarf," said Thranduil with a sniff, wrinkling up his nose. "You may be well loved by your king and kin, but I will not listen to disrespect in the camp of my warriors. Consider yourself thus warned, son of Fundin."

"You need not worry about the dwarf, Master Halfling," Thranduil then continued, looking down at Bilbo. "You will be well looked after here, for it gives me great pleasure to prove that my people can do what dwarves failed to do."

It turned out – much to Bilbo's bewilderment – that the dwarves had, indeed, ended up bringing him to the camp of elves after he had collapsed, some twenty hours earlier. Thranduil had only allowed one dwarf to remain to accompany Bilbo, for he had wanted to keep the situation "as controllable as possible", and so it had been decided that Dwalin would stay with Bilbo while the other dwarves would return to their own camp.

As he told Bilbo of this, Thranduil put quite a lot of emphasis on the fact that he had been "willing to offer Bilbo his aid," and even though it was only implied – once or twice or fifteen times – Bilbo understood that Thranduil was doing this to demonstrate that "he, unlike Thorin, could look after injured hobbits without causing them further harm". While the feud between the two kings was quite sad, Bilbo didn't actually mind that someone – he, that was – could benefit of it for once. The important thing was that Thranduil was helping him, that Thranduil would agree to protect him from the dwarves if necessarily, if only to spite Thorin and to cause inconvenience to dwarves.

"And then there is always the fact," said Thranduil, sounding quite pleased with himself, "that Mithrandil himself asked me, as a personal favour to him, to look after you while he went to the camp of dwarves to speak with Thorin Oakenshield to find out whether or not it is true that dwarves are after your head."

It took a moment for Thranduil's words to sink in, but when they did, Bilbo inhaled sharply.

"Gandalf?" he gasped. "Gandalf was here?"

"Yes, he was," grunted Dwalin, folding his arms across his chest. "That's another one of the reasons why Balin wanted to bring you here, of all places. Balin knew the wizard was here and wanted to get him involved, you see. He said that you would believe Gandalf's word over ours and that Gandalf would be the only person who would be able to solve this situation. I assure you, Baggins, that I didn't want to bring you here in the mercy of elves, and it wasn't a decision made easily, but I do trust my brother and his judgement, and if he says that this is the best solution, then it probably is."

"Where is Gandalf now?" asked Bilbo eagerly. "Can I talk to him?"

"Later, undoubtedly," said Thranduil, "but not at the moment, no. As was explained, he went to the camp of dwarves to question Thorin Oakenshield, to find out whether or not the future king of dwarves wishes you harm. He will likely come back once it stops snowing, if all goes well, and then he shall tell us the truth of the matter."

The fact that Gandalf was aware of the situation and was actively doing something to solve it felt like someone had taken a heavy load off Bilbo's shoulders. Suddenly it was easier for Bilbo to breathe, his immediate future no longer seemed quite so bleak: If no-one else, then surely at least Gandalf would protect him. Gandalf was his friend, Gandalf would help him, Gandalf would guide him to safety, of that Bilbo was certain.

And who knew, Bilbo thought, perhaps Gandalf would find out that the execution order had, indeed, been a misunderstanding. Perhaps Gandalf would come back with news almost too good to be believed. This chance – small as it felt – was enough to make Bilbo almost giddy with hope.

Nevertheless, Bilbo needed to be prepared for the other alternative as well. He needed to have a plan ready in case Gandalf came back and told him that Balin had been lying, that Thorin did wish to have Bilbo's head separated from his body. Bilbo needed to prepared in case he had to continue his escape.

(How deep could the wrath of dwarves run? How far would they keep on chasing him? To the edge of Mirkwood? To the Misty Mountains? To Rivendell?

To Hobbiton?)

With this in mind, Bilbo bit his lip and met Thranduil's gaze.

"What if-" he began, swallowing hard, "what if Th-" orin, "the dwarves do want me beheaded?"

"We do not," Dwalin put in quickly.

"But what if Th- they do?" repeated Bilbo stubbornly, keeping his gaze on Thranduil. "Will you protect me then, my lord? Will I be safe among your people? Would you grant me refuge?"

It was quite forward of him to ask such things, but now was not the time to be coy. Now was the time to form alliances and take action.

Thranduil didn't seem to mind his forwardness since he merely raised an eyebrow.

"I must consider the future of my people, Master Baggins," the king mused, inspecting his fingernails, "and as it looks like a considerably powerful dwarven kingdom shall be rebuilt near my own kingdom, I would prefer our relations with that kingdom to be as peaceful as possible despite of my personal feelings towards certain dwarven royalty. If dwarves would, indeed, see you executed and if they requested your extradition – as they haven't yet done – I would need to extradite you to them, considering the rather delicate political situation we find ourselves in. I wouldn't harbor someone dwarves consider a traitor, it would be... politically ill-advised."

The words were harsh in their honesty and directness. The weight of them hit Bilbo like a physical blow, and the relief he had felt upon hearing of Gandalf was now dimmed by the possibility that Thranduil would agree to extradite him if the dwarves were to request it. If Gandalf was to come back with bad news – and if Thorin requested such a thing – Thranduil would agree to extradite Bilbo to dwarves, even though he had also agreed – for now – to look after Bilbo as a favour to Gandalf.

Could – would – Gandalf protect him from both dwarves and elves? Bilbo wasn't sure and the possibility that he wouldn't terrified him.

Thranduil was giving him a look that was probably meant to be apologetic but came closer to "mildly inconvenienced" if anything.

"I do hope, Master Baggins," Thranduil said once he hold Bilbo's attention once more, "that you wouldn't take the extradition personally, of course, for it wouldn't be anything personal. I must admit that I, for one, find you and your antics curious and rather fascinating – in less than forty hours, you have kidnapped dwarven nobility in desperation, slapped elven royalty in awe, and had Mithrandil to do your bidding while unconscious. I am quite entertained by these unexpected turns of events. It would be a pity if the dwarves wished to see you beheaded. I want you to know that it wouldn't be a pleasure to extradite you, for I don't-"

"A pleasure," Dwalin hissed, cutting Thranduil's words off. "A pleasure! If my people were actually trying to harm Baggins, you would hand him over to us, just like that, and that would be the end of him. The thought of that – it's- it's- it's unacceptable! Did you not just promise to look after him – would you take your word back?"

"I will look after Master Baggins for as long as it is convenient to me and my people," said Thranduil, looking at Dwalin down his nose. "If you had an ounce of the political understanding your brother is in possession of, son of Fundin, you would now choose your words carefully, or remain silent altogether. In any case, you should be content to know that I am willing to encourage cooperation between our peoples, that I wouldn't harbor enemies of your cousin's in my halls – nor in my tents."

"Content?" Dwalin seethed, banging his fist against Bilbo's bedside table, causing Bilbo to give a start and cover his mouth with a hand. "Content? How could I possibly be content when I'm hungry and when it looks like I'm the only person in this entire camp that actually cares about Baggins? His fate is in your hands and you would sacrifice him for political gain – have you no honour at all?"

Bilbo blinked and studied the dwarf more closely. Dwalin's eyes were wide and filled with emotions Bilbo couldn't quite read. Still, it looked to him like Dwalin was upset in earnest, it looked like the thought of Bilbo's execution was making Dwalin so anxious that he would lose his composure in Thranduil's presence. Surely, Bilbo thought, surely if Dwalin wanted him beheaded, he would have been delighted to hear that Thranduil would agree to extradite Bilbo to dwarves upon request. Surely Dwalin wouldn't have become upset at the idea, surely Dwalin would have no reason to keep on pretending to care for Bilbo if he knew that Thranduil wouldn't oppose to extraditing Bilbo to dwarves for the execution.

The more Bilbo thought about it, the more it began to look like to him that Balin had been speaking the truth, after all, when he had told Bilbo that the dwarves wished him no harm.

Bilbo felt almost shy the next time he caught Dwalin's eye, but then his own eyes began to feel heavy and he had to close them. He fell asleep to Dwalin and Thranduil's argument like it was a lullaby, an aggressive lullaby, maybe, but a lullaby nevertheless.

The next time he woke up, Gandalf was sitting on a chair by his bedside, smoking a pipe with a faraway look on his face.


A/N: Thanks for all the reviews! :) The next chapter will be up next week.