Authors Note: I realise that it's been a bit since I've updated, and I do apologies for how long it's taken...but this chapter was lengthy and took a while to write. Ugh. Much to my misfortune the Thranduil in my head is incredibly wordy and what I thought would be a short chapter turned into a lengthy one; a painfully lengthy one. That being said, I hope you all are enjoying the story so far and as always comments are appreciated, and I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Disclaimer: Once again, Harry Potter and his universe were created by the wonderful J.K. Rowling. The Hobbit, and all characters associated with his writing are the work of the brilliant and masterful J.R.R Tolkien.

Everything else belongs to me.

Having grown accustomed to his thoughts and his own peace of mind intruded upon as of late, Thranduil was not at all surprised to suddenly find himself in what appeared to be some sort of library. In the last few months he had spoken with Lady Lothlorien with such frequency that he had come to expect her whenever his body required sleep. He was however surprised to find himself here at all. After his last confrontation with Galadriel, in which he vehemently refused to believe that this 'heart' had anything to do with him, he did not believe that she would come to him so soon after, if at all.

He had not exactly shown restraint in voicing his disbelief or his outright refusal in being a part of what was to come, and as far as he was concerned his feelings on the matter were still the same. The business of dwarves had nothing to do with him or his people and he would not be pulled into anything that involved the Erebor Dwarves (or any dwarves for that matter) simply because Galadriel 'believed' he was to play a part in the unfolding events.

His expression turned cold as he headed in the direction he thought he might find Galadriel. How she thought he would have anything to do with the dwarves of Erebor after everything that had occurred was something he simply could not comprehend. It was true that what had occurred between the dwarves had happened years ago and that it had not been Thorin Oakenshield that had slighted his kin, but the wounds of old ran deep and somethings could not be forgiven even with the passing of time. The dwarves had proven that they valued little else but their own greed and worse still he had been betrayed. It was a slight that he could not forgive, ever; and he doubted he was the only who felts this way.

It was common knowledge that the race of dwarves was prone to holding a grudge and he had certainly handed Thorin Oakenshield a sizable one the day he had turned his kin away from the flames and the destruction of the dragon. He did not believe for one moment that Thorin would welcome any help from him anymore than the man would trust his aid. In fact, Thranduil was certain that Oakenshield would sooner accept aid from the dragon himself than he would him—and there were some who believed that his feelings were justified.

"Well fuck."

His eyebrow arched in surprise. The voice and even the words were completely unfamiliar to him, though the sentiment behind the woman's words was simple enough to grasp; swearing, no matter what language it was spoken in was universal. Aside from the fact that it was clearly not Galadriel who had spoken, what surprised Thranduil the most was the fact that he did not recognize the language that had been spoken. At well over a millennium there were very few languages, if any, that he had not heard of or knew and that he did not know this one was something in it of itself. He felt something akin to curiosity and after a moment of thought he altered the direction he had been heading in.

Thranduil was not certain what he expected to find once he found the person belonging to the voice but the sight that greeted him was not it. There were few times in his life that he could say that he was genuinely shocked; and this was one of them. The woman –and he could not even be sure that she was Edain because of her height–was standing on a chair in front of book shelf. With her back to him the only thing he could say about her was that she was short and that she had an abundant amount of curly hair that was as black as the night sky.

The fact that she was in a place she should not have been in and seemed to be more hair than person, was not what had shocked him the most. No, what had completely stunned Thranduil and froze him where he stood was the woman's fëa. Though he was not able to see the fëa as clearly as those that bore the three rings, as an elder he was still able to see parts of it, and what parts he could see of hers was unlike anything he had ever seen. Multifaceted, it was as if parts of her fëa had been split and another added to what had been torn. It was something that he didn't think possible. Yet, here it stood before him, engrossed in something he could not see from where he stood.

Although, not so completely engrossed, he thought as he watched the woman become aware of his presences. Uncommonly subtle, most would have missed the way her shoulder tensed or how the very air around her shifted, but he was not most, and he had been a soldier for much of his life, and therefore trained to recognize such things. He wondered as he watched her from his position near the pillar what she had seen to make her so acutely aware of her surroundings.

"It's rude to stare." Though she spoke in perfect Sindarin the accent that accompanied her words was not one he was familiar with and gave his native language almost a lyrical lit to it. She closed whatever book she held in her hand and he watched as she turned around. Even though his expression remained neutral Thranduil found himself once again, well, startled. Her beauty of course did not compare to that of an elf, but it did surpass that of any man or dwarf he had ever seen. Her ebony hair, which was just as wild from the front as it was from the back, complimented the rich colour of her skin and seemed to match the wild air about her.

However, it was neither her beauty nor the wildness of her hair that he had startled him, but what he could see shinning from the depths of her odd coloured eyes. War, death, misery, and life, she had seen it all and she had not yet reached half a century. How and where had someone so young seen such things? More importantly why? It was true that many so young throughout Arda had seen war and had been involved in some form or another, and had no doubt fought some. But he doubted those few had seen as much as this woman had or had lived to tell the tail. What part of Arda had she come from?

There was a speculative look in his eyes as he gazed into the woman's. Despite himself, Thranduil was curious about this woman and the secrets she held…and he wasn't certain who it boded ill for, himself, or the woman.

As he watched her firmly stand her ground, her gaze never leaving his, he wondered when someone had last been so bold. There were few in his kingdom and even fewer still in the surrounding areas that did not fear him in some way (be it his reputation or his manner) and as a result it was not often a person stood their ground. Yet, even in her fear –and she was afraid of him that much was obvious–she stood her ground, unrelenting. It was refreshing, he could admit, but it also made him want to break that strength, to crush her nerve as one would a spirited animal.

So, caught up in his own musings, Thranduil found himself blinking in surprise when the woman's eyes suddenly crossed. Did she just…He was quick to recover and slowly arched his brow at such behaviour. Thranduil had no idea what had cause it, but he watched as her apprehension melted away only to be replaced with humour, and barely contained humour at that.

"They're like two big arsed caterpillars trying to mate on your face."

He was not sure what she meant or what she was talking about as a few of her words had once again not been in any tongue that he was familiar with, but he again understood that she had cursed. He arched his brow higher in response to her words and gave her a look that he reserved for those he found to be beneath him. It was a look he had perfected many years ago and one that never failed at letting people know what he thought of them. Or at least it normally did, he thought with some confusion and irritation as he watched her burst into laughter. Rich and melodic, the sound of her laughter only served to grate across his nerves and increase his irritation.

"How…how does anyone take you serious with those eyebrows!" Without evening thinking about the consequences of his actions both of his eyebrow shot up in surprise. His eyebrows?! That was what she found amusing? He scowled, his cerulean blue eyes narrowed on her when she only laughed harder. He found little enjoyment in being the object of someone else's amusement and he certainly would not be laughed at by someone he did not know and who did not know him.

Her laughter increased to the point that Thranduil was certain she would have toppled off the chair had he not took a menacing step towards her. To his surprise, her laughter came to a sobering halt and a look that could only be described as pain flickered across her face. Thranduil couldn't help but wonder what had caused it as he pulled up short and watched as she dug her fingers into the bridge of her nose. Had the look on her face not been genuine or so sudden he would have thought she was attempting to avoid his wrath, but it was obvious that something had clearly caused her pain. The look of pain increased when he approached her once more, her fingers digging in even more, and he stopped. Could it be him that was causing such pain? He took several steps backwards and watched with absolute fascination as the tension in her face eased and she gave him a grateful look.

"It's called magic sensitivity…" She said as she jumped down off the chair, the simple action very graceful, and eyed the distance between them. "It usually isn't this bad but you're quite old –no offense–and whatever 'magic' you have packs one hell of a beating" Again, some of her words were not spoke in Sindarin, and again some of her meaning was lost on him; which was beginning to lose its charm if he was completely honest.

"You can sense it?" He questioned, his tone almost indifferent.

She nodded, her wild curls bouncing around her face. "Yes." She again eyed the distance that was between them before coming to some conclusion and crossing to the table, determined. "The stronger the 'magic' is the more I'm able to sense." It was obvious that she was in some discomfort but was determined to overcome what ailed her. "It will pass in a bit, so you don't have to stand over there like some statue."

With that she sat down in one of the chairs and resumed her reading, as if he were not even there, and he didn't have several questions for her. He scowled at the top of her head his curiosity about the woman at war with his outrage over her treatment of him. Idle curiosity only went so far and her earlier behaviour and comments about his eyebrows (of all things) had rankled. He briefly toyed with the idea of reaming silent and simply waiting for Galadriel to release him, but one look at her fëa and he excused the idea entirely.

"How is it you're able to sense what most cannot?" He asked as he slowly approached the table, watching as her hand once again gripped the bridge of her nose.

For a full minute she simply sat there, massaging the bridge of her nose, before she finally said, "I'm not from here."

He arched his brow at her. "Not from where?"

She looked up as he placed his hands on the back of one of the chairs, and for a brief moment Thranduil wasn't certain if she would answer in him words or more laughter. What was so amusing about his eyebrows!? "I'm not from Arda." She eventually managed to say, thought it was obvious she was once again attempting to suppress her laughter.

He stared at her his face revealing very little expression and after a moment pulled the chair out and finally sat down. What she said was of course no surprise to him –or anyone else who had felt the shift in their world a few months prior–and it certainly accounted for the strangeness of this woman. He watched as she returned to her book, obviously no longer bothered by his presence, and he found himself wondering why Galadriel had orchestrated this meeting. It was not as if he had made his curiosity over the shift in their world known, so what possible reason could she have for this? He did not for a minute believe that she had done this simply to appease his own idle curiosity. No, the woman was clearly up to something and he was again not certain who it boded ill for, himself, or the woman.

"Either take a picture Thranduil or stop your bloody staring."

He felt anger, hot and uncontrollable, coursing through him, colouring his vision red for some moments. He wasn't certain what angered him more, the manner in which she had spoken to him, the fact that she had dared address him by his given name alone, or that he had not understood what she had meant. He struggled for another moment to regain a modicum of control over the anger that was rolling beneath the impassive mask he wore, but even after he'd managed to suppress the worst of it he could still taste the bitter after taste.

When he finally spoke, he noted that those oddly coloured eyes of hers were watching him closely, as if she knew he was struggling with his anger and was waiting for the explosion. "What do you mean by take a picture?"

To his surprise, she smiled at him and sat back in her chair. "It's an expression in my world and it means that you either stop staring at me –because it's really fucking creepy just to let you know–or you find a way to capture my image and stare at that."

It was an elusive feeling and came just as quickly as it appeared, but something told Thranduil not to ask, but his curiosity got the better of him. "The words that you speak –that are not in any language native to Arda–are they curses?"

Thranduil wasn't certain he cared for the gleam in her eyes or the way her smile spread across her face. "Yes, they are. The words from my world –manly the swear words at this point- don't translate into Sindarin or Westron." She smiled, the gleam in her eyes intensifying until it was almost a twinkle. "I should warn you that the last person who asked me what I was saying still can't quite look me in the face without his own burning, and the meaning of the word I just said is much worse."

She had obviously not meant for it to sound like a challenge, but he took it as such. "It's meaning?" He said almost challengingly.

She gave him a lazy smile, the mischievous twinkle to her eyes making him briefly regret asking. "It means to fornicate."

Eru's truth. Thranduil goggled at her in complete an utter shock. That was certainly not what he had expected her to say and he had no idea how he was to process such a thing. The women of this world were not prone to such language, not even the women in the elven guard used such language, and they were soldiers; hardened individuals who spent the majority of the time around men and their equally foul language. He did not even think female dwarves used such language– and they were quite an ill-mannered group.

Much to his surprise, she did not laugh but merely returned to her book, those oddly coloured eyes dancing in amusement. He used the fact she had returned to her book once more to deviate from their current topic and onto a safer one; such as where she was from and how she came to be in their world.

"What is the land called where you are from?" She looked up at his question with a thoughtful look.

"I don't think the word won't translate into any language spoken in Middle Earth." She drummed her fingers on the top of the table before she reached for the parchment and quill that lie on the table between them. "But I might be able to get close with a bit of manipulation." She tapped the quill against the paper for a moment before she began writing, her forehead puckered in concentration. The movement of her hand was both elegant and concise and he once again found himself curious about the woman before him.

"How is it you know our language if you are not from these lands?" Her hand stilled for a brief moment before continuing across the page once more.

"I think whatever brought us here gave my friends and siblings the ability to speak Westron." He sensed a rather large but, in her statement, and so he was not surprised when she continued. "But I already had fore knowledge of Arda before we came here."

One eyebrow arched in surprise. "How is such a thing possible?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. I had hoped to ask Lady Galadriel why and how I know about this place, but something tells me that she is not coming." He had begun to get the same idea himself but was not quite ready yet to admit to such a thing out loud. It would only confirm his suspicions that the woman was up to something. "Here."

He glanced at the paper when she slid it towards him and after a moment of consideration attempted to pronounce the word she had written out. "En..ga...lind ?" The world felt foreign on his lips and judging by her amused expression all he had managed to do was butcher the word.

"England." She said, slowly pronouncing each syllable as if she were trying to teach a child a new word.

"England." He repeated, mimicking her pronunciation of the word as best he could—which must have been considerably better than his first attempt for she gave him an encouraging smile before she returned to the book.

"What is the book you read?"

She once again looked up from her book, only this time it was with a slightly exasperated expression. "I believe it is the history of Arda, but I haven't been able to read more than a few pages." It was obvious that she was laying the blame at his feet even if she'd not said as much. "I thought it might have some answers about why we're here or how we even got here."

"May I see it?" She nodded, and he stood and moved slowly around the table mindful of her sensitivity. When she gave no outward sign that his closeness affected her he sat down next to her and extended his hand for the book. She slid it to him after a moment of hesitation and watched him closely as he began to examine the book.

"This is not any book I have ever seen." She huffed out a tiny sound of frustration and pushed some of the wild hair from her face. He frowned when something buried in the nest of hair caught his attention. What…

"None of this makes any sense and I am beginning to get a massive headache." As if to reinforce her words she gripped the bridge of her nose.

"And you have no idea why it is you are here?" He asked as he lazily flicked through the pages of the book.

"No, one minute we were in our world cleaning up the remainder of the damaged caused by the war and the next thing any of us know we're in Middle Earth."

His mind latched onto the word 'war' but before he could ask her about it his attention was once again focused on her hair. Without thinking about his actions Thranduil reached out to see what it was that kept catching his attention, however before he could even touch it her hand shot out and grabbed hold of his wrist.

"I didn't give you permission to touch me Thranduil."

Eye like thundercloud, Thranduil leaned in menacingly, his anger coiling around them both. "A king does not need the permission of a common little nobody." He snarled.

Rather than recoil in fear her eyes darkened, and her lip curled in a silent snarl. "He does if he ever wants to be able to sit on his royal ass again."

Thranduil was on his feet in an instant, yanking his hand free from her grasp, his eyes wild with rage. "Are you threatening me?!"

She remained seated obviously not at all bothered by the fact that he was looming over her and said sardonically. "Will wonders never cease Barbie's actually got a brain in that head."

"You dare." He hissed out, barely able to say those two words; his anger was so strong.

She stood toe to toe with him and though she was a good foot shorter than him she squared her shoulders and acted as if she did not have to crane her neck to look up at him. "I dare when his royal highness is being a royal condescending ass." The air about them began to crack with some unknown energy. "I will not be intimidated by you Thranduil son of Oropher –especially when you were in the wrong– so you can either stop having your little fucking tantrum or you can keep stamping your foot like a child and I can set your bloody eyebrows on fire."

Thranduil knew that had Galadriel not intervened when she did he would have likely throttled the woman or worse; and so, he was surprisingly thankful when she suddenly vanished. As furious as he was –and he was quite livid– his anger didn't completely overshadow the fact that he was curious about the woman and he knew that had he attacked her she was unlikely to share anymore information with him when they met again–which would certainly happen again. Regardless of what had transpired moments ago, he didn't think for one moment that it was the last time their paths would cross.

He only hoped that he would survive whatever it was Galadriel had planned.

Authors Note: My hope is to update again sometime this weekend or early next week!