First of all, a shout out to the wonderful and slightly maddening Cockapoo, who PMed me enough to get me off my lazy ass and continue this story. I'm come to terms with the fact that our stories are equally tragic...maybe.

Also, I have another Hobbit story in the works, called Culture Shock. You should go check it out. *nudge nudge*

Second of all: I hate this chapter. I really do. It's pure filler and serves no purpose whatsoever. It's mainly a pointless conversation between Fili and Arwen that was supposed to get me to the next point in the story, but ended up going nowhere. Hopefully the next chapter will be better, but I think I must have written this one on a caffeine high. That happens sometimes.

But I still can't think of anything better to do with the Rivendell scenario. I wanted a chapter where Fili is interacting with somebody other than Bilbo or Kili. And this is the best I can come up with...

*cue Monty Python-style "GET ON WITH IT!"* (yes, I know that's the second reference today)

Oh, okay...

Gandalf and Elrond met us at the gates of Rivendell, where a company of stewards were waiting to take my brother up to a chamber to be healed. The elves were apparently renowned for their skills in healing, but of course, they were magical beings. They possessed powers that we mere mortals could not begin to fathom.

Upon coming through the gates, Elrond greeted us in Elvish and then leaned down to me and whispered something else in Elvish. Why wouldn't he speak common when addressing us, knowing that none of us understood him? Perhaps it was because he needed to maintain a measure of superiority. I would have loved to scoff in his face, but remembered that we needed his help.

"All will be well," Gandalf translated for me, as he led me away from the group. "Thorin is concerned for you," he told me as we walked down the white marble passageway. "He doubts your strength. It would seem that it only comes from Kili." When had he spoken with Thorin? We'd only just arrived. I decided not to question it.

"In part, it does. But I have learned to get on alone just as well."

"I feel like you're not telling me the full truth, Master Dwarf."

I paused, feeling cornered. I disliked this subject immensely, and where it was going. "I was a timid child," I told him uneasily. "Until Kili came along. I felt I needed to protect him. So I learned to be strong."

"The reason for our concern, Fili, is that, even with the elves' help, Kili might not regain all his strength. His recovery will be a long one. There is no promise that he will be able to join you again on your journey. He may have to stay in Rivendell—or die. Do you think you can take on the strength of two?"

"Easily," I replied. "And I'd rather die than recruit an elf to help us reclaim our home."

"Fili!" Gandalf admonished, looking around. "Remember where you are! The strength I spoke of was not only physical. Would you be able to bear this burden if he could not join you?"

"Yes," I said, trying to sound much more sure of myself than I was. "But would the elves keep him here?"

"Elrond has promised," he assured me. "Elves do not break their promises." I hoped not.

I was shown to a chamber to rest. The elves were being oddly hospitable—as per Gandalf's request, I supposed. We were to join Elrond and his family for dinner. This more than unnerved me, as we'd be under close scrutiny and I was unfamiliar with their very detailed etiquette. I didn't want to look like a savage. Any displeasure from them could signal the end of our welcome.

After I had bathed, I found myself restless and bored. I was advised to stay in my chamber. Not everyone here was pleased by our arrival. It must have been a concern for the elves' safety and not ours. After all, we were very heavily armed and supposedly rogue.

There were books in the room, but I couldn't read Elvish. Not knowing what to do, I lay back on the bed and stared at the wall opposite. Then I noticed a fiddle in the corner. I had left my fiddle at home in Ered Luin, and I had not played in a long while anyway. I crossed the room to examine it and found it to be quite old, dusty, and out of tune. Plucking at the strings and finding they still held, I began to tune it and scratch out a simple, melancholy tune that Thorin had taught me when I was young.

Footsteps stopped outside the door, and I heard it slowly open. A young elf maiden stood in the doorway, looking curiously over at me. She was rather pretty, for an elf, with long brown hair and pale skin.

"I have not heard that fiddle played in years," she said.

I stopped playing immediately. "Sorry," I said, placing it on a chair. "I didn't realize it was an antique."

"No, it's all right. I'm glad to hear it again." She smiled. "What is your name?"

"Fili, miss." I replied with a bow.

"My name is Arwen," she said, with an odd gesture. "Daughter of Lord Elrond." Aule, help me. I was speaking with the king's daughter. "You're very polite." she added bluntly.

"Thank you. Would you mind telling me whose fiddle I was playing?"

"It was my grandfather's. He doesn't play anymore, of course. My father prefers the flute and harp. He considers the fiddle to be too rustic of an instrument."

"It has its merits."

Taking a step closer and examining me, she continued. "Dwarves are such a strange people. Why do you not remove your coats, or armor when not in battle?" She must have been very young, in mind at least, to be asking such straightforward questions.

"Well, here it might not be the best idea." I said. I was in only tunic and trousers, just having bathed, but my weapons, armor, coat, and boots were in the wardrobe. Two daggers were hidden in my coat, and four knives in my boots, two in each. "We are usually heavily armed, and it might frighten you to see how much we carry."

"I'm not frightened. May I see them?"

"I wish you wouldn't ask." I dreaded to think of my fate if she were injured. "They are very dangerous."

"Oh," she said. Her next question was, "How old are you?"

I chuckled a bit at that. "I'm eighty-two. And you?"

"Two hundred and seventy. I think in your years I'd be about ten, and in humans' I wouldn't even be born." That explained things. Really she was still a child. I guessed since elves were immortal, they had all the time in the world to mature. Maybe that was why she wasn't as wary of me as others were. She also had the advantage of being taller than me by over a foot.

"That's pretty exact," I remarked. "I thought you were young."

"Will you play for me?" she asked, gesturing towards the fiddle. I obliged, picking it up and beginning the same tune I'd been playing when she came in.

"That's nice," she said. "What is it?"

"An old Dwarvish folk tune," I said. "My uncle taught it to me. It reminds me of when times were better."

"Before Erebor fell?" She looked down at me. "I don't know much about dwarves or their history."

I decided, since she was being polite, I'd tell her a few things. "What would you like to know?"

"Well," she looked away briefly. "Is it true you drink the blood of your enemies to bolster your strength for battle?"

"What!" I tried not to laugh. "No, we don't. I bet it would taste awful!" I smiled. She continued her serious gaze.

"I've heard things…terrible things. By all rights I should be afraid of you." Suddenly, I didn't want to know what else she had been going to tell me. She caught on and said, "It's just about time for dinner."

I know Arwen is probably older than that, but hey. Creative license exists for a reason.

I warned ya! Didn't I warn ya?

Hopefully your eyeballs aren't bleeding now...

Ok, that was kinda gross...

Review please! (Pretty please? With various ice cream toppings on top?)