The dwarves were only a few days into Mirkwood and Thorin was already sick and tired of it. To be fair, he was entirely done with Mirkwood before they had even stepped foot inside, but he grit his teeth and led his companions through the dark trees. Even in the middle of the day, when the sun should be shining the brightest, there was hardly any light filtering through. It was a lucky thing that dwarrow were able to see so well in the dark; otherwise they would've been stumbling around the forest, lost, for days.

Not that it would've been much different from what they were doing now.

He would never admit it to the others, but Thorin was not so proud that he couldn't see the issue with him leading them through unknown territory. Still, his men followed him without hesitation, and he was continually humbled by their loyalty. He was a blessed King, indeed.

Well, King-in-Exile, but he would soon remedy that.

For his people.

At least, as soon as they could make it out of this blasted forest.

Thorin growled as he spotted a patch of fallen leaves in front of that one tree for what seemed like the hundredth time. "Is there no end to this accursed forest?"

He could hear his men muttering to themselves, although he doubted it was anything of consequence. They were all going mad in this forest. Whatever spell the Elf King had placed over it to keep out intruders was working quite well in muddling their brains. One of his men was now going on about a bag of weed he found on the ground. Bofur, he thinks, before forcing his thoughts to focus, and realized that they were no longer on the path.

"Spread out; find the path! Find it!" He called out, and immediately they all moved to search for the path.

Thorin sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose before joining his Company in their frantic search for the lost path.

He only hoped they could find it before something else found them.

Well, they didn't find the path. Gandalf was absolutely right when he said if they lost it they would never find it again, which was something Thorin would never ever admit out loud. The wizard's ego was already big enough, no need to spur it on.

What they did find was a suspicious river with an equally suspicious boat (and by boat, he meant slightly more refined than a raft) to get them across. They were almost all across when a stag bounded into view and knocked Bombur into the water. They were all relieved to pull him out and find him breathing still, especially his brother and cousin, but they had to carry him now because he was unconscious. Thorin ordered for a litter to be made, and then they moved on, hopefully stumbling across the path again.

Yeah, right.

When Bombur woke up again, a few days later, they were all relieved, although it was more for the fact that they wouldn't have to carry his substantial girth around anymore. Unfortunately, Bombur had a brief bout of memory loss and only talked about a feast he had dreamed of, setting them all more on edge, and Thorin almost wished more for his silence from when he was still unconscious. They had run out of food the day before and were now going on what they could forage.

Which was to say, absolutely nothing.

He was almost relieved when the spiders dropped down on them a few days later.

How Ori, of all people, was able to cut out of his bindings first and rescue them all, Thorin couldn't say, but he was grateful all the same. As soon as he was on the ground again, he was swinging his swords at any spider that dared come near him. He was tired, hungry, and by golly these spiders were going to feel his wrath.

"Grab its legs!"

Several of the dwarrow grabbed the legs of one spider, right before it ate Bombur. Despite his earlier misgivings about Bombur for speaking consistently about food, Thorin still liked the dwarf, and he certainly didn't want him to die. They fought off those spiders immediately surrounding them before running through the trees, hoping to lose them.

They did not, in fact, lose their pursuers, but did, instead, gain another set in the form of elves. Thorin cursed his luck.

"Kili!" FIli's agonized yell for his brother had Thorin cursing his abysmal luck once again. Before anybody could do anything to rescue his beloved nephew, however, one of the elves ran forward, dismantling the spider's limbs efficiently from its body. Thorin, however, was greeted with an arrow to the face.

"Do not think I won't kill you, dwarf. It would be my pleasure." The annoying shade of blonde hair with blue eyes reminded him of somebody, but he could not place who it was at the moment. He lowered his bow and began to walk away from Thorin. "Search them." At his command, the other elves came forward and began stripping the Company of their weapons. Thorin's eyes followed after blonde elf as he walked over to Gloin and found his precious locket.

"Hey! Give that back! It's private!"

"Who is this? Your brother?" At the insult, Gloin very nearly growled.

"That is my wife." LEgolas raised an eyebrow at that, but looked at the other picture in the locket.

"And what is this horrid creature? A goblin mutant?" Thorin thought for sure Gloin was going to shave the elf bald for that one.

"That's my wee lad, Gimli."

The other elves were searching the rest of the company at the same time. Thorin watched as an elf continued to find Fili's hidden knives, and had no doubt they were doing the same to Nori as well. He was sure he would've found amusement at it in any other situation. As it was, he growled as the elf searching him took Orcrist away. Despite the sword having been made by elves, Thorin had to admit it was an extraordinary weapon, and had grown semi-attached to it. The elf showed Orcrist to the blonde one, who stopped what he was doing immediately as he focused on it, knowing right away what it was. He spoke in elvish about the elven make of the blade, as though Thorin couldn't understand him.

He may hate the elves, but he admitted it was useful to know their language so they didn't have to rely on translators in any meetings. It was a skill he learned long ago, and one it seems elves forgot about, as they continually spoke as though they couldn't understand them.

"Where did you get this?" The blonde elf spoke directly at Thorin this time.

"It was given to me."

Obviously, the elves thought very highly of Thorin and his dwarrow as he leveled Orcrist at Thorin, a dangerous glint in his eye.

"Not only a thief, but a liar as well." He sheathed Orcrist and called for his men to move out. They dragged the dwarves with them towards Mirkwood's palace.

As Thorin was separated from his Company, all of them shouting insults at the elves for doing so, he realized why the annoying blonde elf looked so familiar.

He was the son of the blasted Elven King, Thranduil-the-Mighty.

As Thorin stood there listening to Thranduil drone on about white gems of starlight, and quests, and understanding, he observed the other King. Haughtiness was there, of course; Thranduil wouldn't be himself without seeming so high and mighty. There was anger there, anger at the dwarves for allowing Smaug to come, as though practically inviting him in, as though Thorin was to blame for his grandfather's - admittedly - poor actions. But there was something else there as well. It took a while for Thorin to place the hidden look in Thranduil's eyes (although, really, he had the time; Thranduil was still going on), but he finally recognized what it was: fear.

Fear. Something had Thranduil afraid.

In all of Thorin's many years, and acquaintances with Thranduil, he had never once seen the King look so terrified in his life. Although he hid it well, the elf king could not entirely mask that emotion, and that alone is what gave Thorin pause, instead of just yelling outright about Thranduil's cowardice and false promises.

"I would not trust Thranduil, the great king, to honor his word, should the end of all days be upon us!" Thranduil's features twisted into anger, and he called for his guards to take Thorin to the dungeons.

"Stay here, then, if you will, and rot. A hundred years is a mere blink in the life of an elf. I am patient. I can wait." Throin was practically dragged to the dungeons, spitting insults in Khuzdul as he went. As much as he was concerned, he was still incensed by the way he and his dwarrow were being treated. After he was thrown into his cell, Balin asked about his conversation with the king, and if any deals were offered.

"There was."

"And?" Balin prompted.

"And I didn't take it. He doesn't deserve any of our treasure. He claims to be benevolent, but he is just as selfish as he claims us dwarves to be."

Balin sighed. "That's it, then. A deal was our only hope."

"Balin." Thorin waited until he was sure he had Balin's complete attention. "Something was bothering Thranduil." Dwalin scoffed, as did a few others. It seemed he had the attention of almost everyone there, then. There were a few mutterings as well about the King and some not so flattering observations. "Quiet!" Everyone immediately quieted down, but the contempt for their "host" was still there, and Thorin didn't blame them. "I agree with you all; Thranduil does not deserve our concern. Still, there was a fear lurking in his eyes. I have never seen him look so unsettled; he has always had his emotions tightly locked under his control, for as long as I have known him. For him to not be able to hide it all completely from showing… as much as I despise him, there is real cause for concern there, and I will not deny it out of spite for his haughtiness."

"Well then," a voice drawled from farther down the row. Thorin saw something flash briefly from Nori's cell, and thanked his forefathers that the elves hadn't discovered his lock-picking set. "I suppose it's about time we got ourselves out of here, huh?"

Thorin grinned at the tri-haired dwarf.

Despite Nori having his lock-picks still on his person, and assured them he would be able to get them out in record time, they still were forced to wait a few days. They found their opportunity to escape during what had to be a celebration as there were hardly any elves around at all. It made them all nervous by just how smoothly their escape was going, and somehow they ended up in the cellars, bypassing the two guards down there that were passed out drunk. Bifur noticed the lever, pointing it out to Bofur, who made note of the trap door and the barrels lined up, and Thorin knew what they needed to do to escape.

It wasn't going to be very pleasant, but they were still on a timeline, and couldn't afford any more delays.

They climbed into the barrels.

It was fortune that looked down upon them as one of the drunk elves woke up briefly to send the "empty" barrels down the river. The ride was slightly chaotic; there were horns blown and yelling as well as brief snippets of Black Speech accompanied by weapons clashing, and Thorin knew there was a battle being raged around them. Still, he didn't dare attempt to open the lid on his barrel. Their escape depended upon them going by unnoticed. By the time the noises faded, the river had slowed down considerably. Thorin gave it another few minutes of floating before deciding it was as good a time as any to peek outside and determine whether it was safe or not.

Luckily for them, it was, and he called for the others to open their barrels as well and push for shore. As soon as everyone was accounted for, Thorin allowed them to rest for a couple minutes before they would need to continue the trek onward. He walked a few steps away and looked for which direction they would need to travel, Balin joining him, and they spied a boat nearby. Before they could do much more than briefly wonder where the captain was, a commotion behind them had them turning around, both wishing for their lost weapons.

A man was standing on a rock above them, bow and arrow pointed at the youngest three of their group, not a hint of hesitation in his stance.

"Do it again, and you're dead."