Author's Note: There's a lot of learning going on in this chapter and maybe even some relationship building.

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Disclaimer: I own nothing except Laura.

We were still lost.

We were lost, the others were lost, and Thorin was in a mood.

Thorin hadn't said one word since we left behind the spiders and pressed further into the forest. I kept a few steps behind him, eyeing his tense shoulders, the way there was a definite stomp to his walk. I wasn't feeling much better, turning over what I managed to pull out of him before we started off again.

Yes, there were elves in Mirkwood and had been for a very long time. No, they were not related to Elrond. They were ruled by a king named Thranduil. Yes, the elves had kidnapped our companions. Yes, Thorin knew where, it was somewhere called the Elvenking's Halls. But also, on the other hand, no, he did not know where the Halls themselves were.

That didn't stop us from walking, though. Or Thorin from walking and me just trying not to lose him. We walked until the darkness of the forest was so thick that we huddled together between the roots of one of the great trees for the night. Thorin was a little more pleasant then. He didn't utter one word of protest when I pressed up close to him, only offered to keep watch while I slept. It was kind, if unnecessary. I knew neither of us slept at all that night, too on edge from what had happened and where we were. Once the sun began to show itself in thin slivers of light the next morning, we continued on into Mirkwood.

Admittedly, walking deeper into a dangerous forest with no food, water, or sense of direction was probably our worst decision since we started on this quest. But there was a chance- even if it was an almost nonexistent one- that we might find some sign of where our friends had been taken.

That was all that we needed to motivate us, really.

But I had no idea what possessed me to allow Thorin to take the lead. So, after debating internally for a few hours that morning, I stopped walking. Thorin, to his credit, stopped too, though he did turn around to stare impatiently at me in the grey light streaming through the trees.

"Listen," I said hurriedly, not interested in letting Thorin speak first. While he'd been much more companionable since the Carrock, I didn't want to risk giving him an opening to hurt my feelings, intentionally or not. Given our current circumstances I would absolutely cry. "What's our plan here?"

Thorin's expression darkened but he didn't speak, so I kept going, unable to keep my exasperation completely from my voice. Though, it was probably better than the combination of frustration and fear that was churning beneath it. "What are we doing, Thorin? Are we just going to wander around Mirkwood until we find the others?"

Thorin, to my surprise, looked away, eyes trained on the forest floor. "What would you have us do, Burglar? Leave them behind?"

"No," I answered quickly, because honestly, "Of course not. But we also can't keep wandering around like this. Do you have any idea where we are?"

Thorin glared, eyes finally moving up to meet mine but he said nothing which, really, was answer enough.

I sighed. "Me either. Look," I moved to stand underneath the closest of the huge trees around us, staring up into its branches. "Why don't I get another look around? At least then we might get some clue of where we are."

Hopefully. The last survey I did up in the treetops was depressing by almost every measure.

Thorin made an ambiguous noise that I took to mean that he agreed, which, thank God. I opened my mouth to ask Thorin for a boost when a sudden flash of movement out of the corner of my eye caught my attention.

Frowning I turned, my shoulders already growing tense as my hand slowly reached for the hilt of Sting.

"What is it?" Thorin wanted to know, joining me. He was staring out into the trees in the direction I had turned.

I took a step closer to where I thought I'd seen the movement, feeling very much like a tightly wound spring. God, no more spiders, please. "Did you see that?"

Thorin pressed his shoulder to mine and I heard more than saw him unsheathe Orcrist. I hastily drew my sword, ignoring how my hand was shaking.

And then between one blink and the next we were surrounded.

I eyed the arrow that was uncomfortably close to my throat. That answered my question, I supposed.

Elves. Obviously, they were elves. And they clearly did not share Elrond's- or even the other elves of Rivendell- patient disposition.

"Drop your weapons," A voice said from my left. It was high and melodic and not one bit amused.

I slowly turned my head, painfully aware of how many arrows were aimed at me. There were a half dozen elves in my line of sight, all of whom had their bows drawn and pointed in our direction, and I wouldn't be surprised if there were more that I couldn't see among the trees.

I made eye contact with a willowy red-haired elf. I could feel my eyebrows rise in surprise. It was an elf woman.

Well, I was pretty sure, anyway. I had a hard time telling elven men and women apart in Rivendell thanks to their fair features and wardrobes that consisted of nothing but billowy robes. These elves also all seemed to have a shared wardrobe though theirs were greens and browns and leather.

"Drop your weapons," The elf-woman commanded, her words short, her voice calm. "Or we fire."

I could hear Thorin snarl, just once, under his breath before he dropped Orcrist to his side. With a sigh, I followed his lead, allowing Sting to hang loose in my hand at my side. I found my back pressed to Thorin and we were searched. The elf that ran his hands along my sides and back was surprisingly gentle in his investigation and I held my breath as his hand passed over the waistcoat pocket that held my ring. Behind me, I could feel Thorin either being dealt with roughly or he was resisting. It was a toss-up, honestly.

Suddenly I felt Sting being pulled out of my grip. I gasped involuntarily, feeling very vulnerable without it. The elf-woman's full attention turned to me and then, after a moment, to Sting which was now in the possession of a pale-haired elf.

The elf-woman held out one hand to the other elf, giving out a short command in the language that I'd come to recognize as elvish. The pale-haired elf turned it over immediately, taking one step back as he did so.

So, the elf-woman was the one in charge?

The elf-woman looked over Sting carefully before speaking quietly. Finally, after a few moments her attention returned to us. "Who are you?"

"Travelers," Thorin bit out harshly, moving so that he stood in front of me, shielding me mostly from view. I had to lean around his shoulder to see the elf-woman. "Is this how you treat with visitors?"

"Only those uninvited," The elf-woman shot back, eyes hard. "Particularly those who wander so far from the Old Forest Road. Tell me," Her eyes were still trained on me. "Where did you get this blade?"

I swallowed nervously, overly aware of how Thorin was glaring. After a moment's hesitation I decided to settle on the truth. "It was a gift."

It was the elf-woman's turn to raise an eyebrow. After a long uncomfortable moment, she seemed to decide that she didn't need to know more because she called out, "Bind them."

At once, our arms were twisted behind our backs and tied together with a thick rough rope. I winced at the tightness, hoping that my circulation wouldn't be cut off.

After the elf-woman called out one last order, this time in elvish, and we began our march. We walked for hours, me following close behind Thorin. I fell silent, concentrating on keeping pace. The dwarves were one thing, but the elves' legs were so much longer than mine, and they didn't either didn't notice or didn't care, and it was a struggle to keep up.

Just when I was about to demand a break from our brutal hike, consequences be damned because I was seriously struggling to keep up with their long strides, we arrived at our destination. Or, at least, I assumed the giant wooden door flanked by two enormous pillars across a thin stone bridge was our destination.

There was only one place we could be: the Elvenking's Halls.

I eyed the arching door nervously as it swung open at our approach. I had no idea what to expect. These elves weren't like Elrond, it was obvious even without Thorin having told me previously. They had a king, a king whose name was Than- Thran- Thranduil? Thranduil, I was almost sure. And they clearly either didn't like hobbits or dwarves or, just as likely, they didn't like anyone who came into the forest.

The huge wooden doors closed with barely a sound behind our procession. I was only sure they closed at all because of how dim the halls became. It felt like we'd just been locked inside a prison.

The elves pressed on deeper, into what I suspected was underground. I glanced around as much as I could dare to without risk being caught. The architecture consisted of tall pillars, huge wide archways, and dropped chandeliers, all of which were intricately detailed to resemble as close to a forest as possible down to the tree roots carved deeply into the pillars, antler-styled lighting, and the leaves and branches carved into the archways.

We finally came to a stop near the end of a long hallway, after many minutes of winding down mazelike corridors. The elf-woman held out a hand, signaling for her men to wait before disappearing around a corner.

We waited for only a few minutes before she came back into view, gesturing for the elves flanking us to follow. My two elves each grabbed me by the shoulder steering me firmly to follow behind Thorin and his guards. I caught the elf-woman's eyes once more before being hauled away around the corner. To my surprise she seemed curious, her eyes soft in a way I hadn't expected, and, if I wasn't mistaken, she looked a little regretful.

What I saw when we turned the corner took my breath away and all thoughts of the elf-woman fled my mind.

It was a throne room, the likes of which I'd never seen before. Stairs seemed to float entirely of their own accord as they winded higher and higher stopping at tiny platforms suspended by thin tendril-like stone from far below before continuing up. The room was cavernous but well-light and at the very top was a huge dais on which throne made of elk antlers was situated at the top of a small set of winding stairs.

It was stunning. Overwhelming. It felt unreal like Rivendell, both in the same but also a completely different way.

Once we reached the throne, I was about ready to pass out. I was so tired even before we'd met the elves, and the hellish trek that followed knocked something out of me. To my surprise, the elves that had escorted me quickly cut away my bindings before disappearing back down the staircase. On my left I could see the same had been done for Thorin.

I chanced a real glance at Thorin who looked as thunderous as I'd ever seen him. His expression eclipsed even the worst of when he and Gandalf argued. This was going to go well.

Then I caught sight of movement above us on the throne. Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm, began his descent.

He was beautiful, I noticed as he drew closer, in the way that all elves seemed to be. Lovely features, a flawless pale complexion, and an elegant grace made him quite a sight to behold. But his eyes were cool, like chips of ice, and the way his mouth was set completely countered his natural beauty. From what I could tell, he was Elrond's opposite: worn, disillusioned, and merciless.

We were definitely in trouble.

I leaned to my left, as subtly as I could, to press my shoulder gently against Thorin, my knuckles brushing his. Thorin glanced over, clearly surprised, but recovered enough to give me a tiny inconspicuous nod.

I sighed, turning my attention to Thranduil who was approaching us at a leisurely pace. I could only hope that Thorin would know how to handle this, what to say. He had some knowledge, at least, of these people.

"Thorin son of Thrain," Thranduil said calmly, as if he was simply commenting on the weather. "How serendipitous: Tauriel had only just found a dozen of your kin on our doorstep."

"Thranduil," Thorin spat out, looking for all the world like he just tasted something foul. I resisted the urge to screw my eyes shut.

"Oh, do not be troubled," Thranduil told us, his voice too flat to be reassuring, "They're quite safe. But it begs the question – what brings you to my kingdom? And with such," It was then that his eyes darted to me, cold and assessing, "Curious company."

A wave of relief washed over me with sudden force. I sighed, thankful, shoulders sagging. Beside me, Thorin didn't answer.

Thranduil's eyes narrowed at Thorin, just for a moment, before turning to me. "And who might you be?"

I shifted uncomfortably under the weight of his gaze. I felt very much like I was walking on thin ice. One wrong move, or word, would send me through. "Bilbo Baggins of the Shire."

"And what brings you in the company of the King under the Mountain, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire?" Thranduil demanded, leaning over me in a way that could almost be called threatening. I suspected that may have been the purpose of it.

I cleared my throat, doing my best not to look over at Thorin. I hoped that my answer would be vague enough, "A mutual friend."

Thranduil's face changed very little but his eyebrows rose by a hair. "And who might this friend be?"

I chanced another glance at Thorin who looked to be in no mood for talking. Great, no help from him then.

We both stayed quiet which was clearly not what Thranduil was hoping for. His eyebrows dropped and furrowed over his eyes.

"You do not wish to speak with an old ally?" Thranduil asked, not looking the least bit surprised. "Come now, Thorin."

Thorin's went rigid. I chanced a glance down to see his hands were now curled into tight fists. I shifted uneasily. There was history here and even I could tell it was bad. Thorin, for all his reticence with Elrond, with Beorn, had never been angry, not like this.

"I fear that there is more to your sudden appearance than you'd like to admit," Thranduil continued, circling us slowly. "A noble quest perhaps?"

This time Thranduil seemed uninterested in a reply as he pressed on, eyes bright. "A quest to slay a dragon and reclaim a homeland. But I suspect a more prosaic motive."

Wait what. What.

My thoughts came to a screeching halt. I felt as if I'd just been dunked into an ice bath. What did he mean? What did he mean?

What dragon?

Dragon, I repeated to myself. I found I couldn't breathe. I still felt cold. My heart was pounding, not just in my chest, but in my ears. A buzzing was starting, like tinnitus, low but persistent. Through it, though, I heard, "An attempted burglary or something of that ilk."

No. No. Surely, he couldn't mean an actual dragon. It must be a metaphor of some kind.

It felt like I was drowning. Is this what it was like?

It was Thorin who pulled me out, though I don't think he meant to. Thorin had moved away from me, turned to circle the dais, his hands clasped behind his back. The panic receded a bit, though it still lingered. Thorin's face was impassive but his shoulders were still tense. What did I miss?

"A favor for a favor," Thorin mused thoughtfully, "What are favors between allies?"

A favor, I thought. Yes! A favor! We could get out of here!

"You have my word. One king to another," Thranduil confirmed blithely.

Thorin was quiet for a long moment. Then he spun around quickly and snarled, voice rising as his face contorted in anger, "I would not trust Thranduil, the great king, to honor his word should the end of all days be upon us!"

"Thorin," I gasped out, startled. No, no, no – what about the others?

Thorin ignored me, shouting even louder, "You who lack all honor!"

I stared. I'd never seen Thorin this angry, so incandescently furious. Not with me. Not with Gandalf. Not even with the pale orc- Azog. It was frightening, the way that a storm passing over you with nowhere to go was frightening.

"I have seen how you treat your friends," Thorin continued, voice like great cracks of thunder in the cavernous hall. Thorin looked almost manic, "We came to you once, starving, homeless, seeking your help!"

Thranduil was still now, shock written across his previously blank face. He looked almost human.

"But you turned your back," Thorin declared loudly, his rage making his voice shake, "You turned away from the suffering of my people and the inferno that destroyed us!"

Something inside Thranduil seemed to snap as the startled expression morphed into one of fury.

"Do not speak to me of dragon fire," Thranduil hissed looming over Thorin.

Dragon. There it was again. Fear, cold and slinking, was back, my heartrate picking up again.

I barely registered Thorin shouting again, Thranduil hissing a reply.

Dragon.

I gasped, shocked, when I was pulled back into the present by my arms being seized. My two elf guards were back, and so was the red-haired elf-woman.

"Stay here if you will," Thranduil told us as Thorin struggled against his guards next to me. "And rot. A hundred years is a mere blink in the life of an elf."

I could feel my guards pull me down the stairs with Thorin close behind.

"I am patient," Thranduil called out after us, "I can wait."

A hundred years, echoed dully in my head. A hundred years?

I didn't bother to put up a fight as my two elves dragged me away. They pulled us deeper into the halls, weaving around corners and down flights of stairs with practiced ease. After what felt like hours, they finally brought us to a stop in the middle of a poorly lit dead-end corridor.

I glanced around, struggling to adjust to the sudden lack of light. I could make out two prison cells, one opposite the other, with only pitiful sconces flickering on each side of the doors.

Oh. We were prisoners, true prisoners. In cells, behind bars. That was what Thranduil meant.

A hundred years, he'd said.

There was a gentle push in the center of my back and I found myself in the cell on the right before my door was slammed shut behind me. A moment later, I heard them do the same to Thorin.

I turned, if only to watch my captors leave, and was surprised to see the elf-woman staring at me through the bars. Thandruil called her Tauriel, hadn't he?

I stared back. I didn't know what to say. Should I ask her name? Should I try and beg? Bargain? Ask for a rematch with Thranduil? Before I could decide, the elf-woman – Tauriel - was gone, the hall between our cells empty. I heard a door slam. We were alone.

The panic made itself known again. I tried to temper it by focusing on my cell.

It was maybe six feet wide and four feet deep and clearly not used often as a layer of dust and cobwebs seemed to cover the floor and corners. The stone floor was cold and unyielding and the bars of my cell door looked more like dull sword blades than the thin cylindrical bars that I always associated with jail. Against the right wall was a suspended cot and in the far left corner was a cobweb covered chamber-pot. I decided right then and there that I wouldn't investigate if it was clean until absolutely necessary.

I could feel my breathing turn ragged. I focused on holding each breath for ten seconds, before releasing it again for the same length of time. Dimly, I could hear Thorin moving about his own cell for a few minutes before he too grew quiet.

Finally, after a long stretch of silence, I heard Thorin say, "Burglar."

It was astonishing, how quickly hot fury erased my panic completely. Why had he done that? Our one chance to get back to the others and instead we were here.

"Leave me alone, Thorin," I said firmly, winding my hands together in an effort to stop them from shaking.

Mercifully, Thorin went quiet and we spent a long time in the near dark in total silence. I settled onto my cot, my mind turning back to the throne room, back to repeating the same word, still in Thranduil's voice.

Dragon. Dragon. Dragon.

The rhythm of it lulled me into sleep.

I woke up terrified, mind blank and body shaking.

I rolled myself off my cot, letting the jolt of my body hitting the cold stone floor wake me up the rest of the way. I blinked quickly, my chest heaving, as I pieced together what exactly happened. I was still in a cell, locked away with Thorin of all people, deep in the halls of Thranduil.

But that wasn't the worst of it.

I pushed myself to my feet, stumbling a bit, and doing my best to ignore the full-body shivers running through me and the terror clawing at my chest. I 'd finally figured out what was causing my nightmares.

Moving to rest my back against the wall opposite my bed, I carefully lowered my head into my hands and tried to ignore how fast and hard my heart was beating.

It was my ring.

My ring, that saved me from Gollum and the spiders, was what had brought on my nightmares. How could I have missed it? I felt the same numbing cold after my nightmares that I' felt every time I used my ring. I could remember now, clear as day, the possessiveness I felt in the goblin tunnels over a seemingly ordinary object. The dark gripping nightmares only began after I found it. That was the only logical answer.

Oh, God.

"Master Baggins," Thorin called to me from his own cell, breaking through my despair and terror. "What is it?"

I took a deep breath, not particularly interested in talking to anyone, least of all the mastermind behind getting us locked down here in the first place.

"Answer me, Burglar!" Thorin shouted, sounding not quite angry. Impatient, maybe. If it was anyone else, maybe even worried.

"I'm fine," I replied woodenly, hoping against all odds that would be enough to satisfy Thorin. "Just a nightmare."

"A nightmare?" Thorin repeated in disbelief.

"I'm fine," I insisted, even as I clenched my fist around my waistcoat pocket.

Thorin was quiet for a moment. I hoped that that was the end of it. My hope was dashed when he said slowly, as if he was still turning over this new information in his mind, "This is not the first, is it? You have had them before. Is it the forest?"

I knew I didn't have the option to not answer. I had nowhere to go and I knew Thorin was as stubborn as they'd come.

God, I really didn't want to have this conversation. I settled on addressing the last question, "No. Not the forest."

"How long?" Thorin demanded. I could almost hear the gears turning in his mind as he recalled the many nights we'd been in one another's company.

I rolled my head back against the stone wall, not able to gather up enough energy to lie. "Since the goblin tunnels."

There was a tense minute of silence.

"You have kept this a secret from us?" Thorin growled, anger bleeding into his voice. "From my nephews?"

Not on purpose. But how could I explain to Thorin that I'd been so oblivious that this was the first time it occurred to me that they were a true pattern?

"I didn't realize," I started quietly, before deciding that pretty much summed it up. So, I said again, "I didn't realize."

Thorin said a few more words to himself before replying, "Night terrors are rarely coincidences, particularly those that appear more than once."

No kidding.

"Yes, I know." I told him reluctantly.

"Do you," Thorin demanded sharply.

I weighed my options carefully. Thorin- the spectacular disaster he caused with Thranduil, in which he threw out not just our freedom out but the others' as well, notwithstanding- had been making very clear attempts to show his sincerity: that he meant what he said on the Carrock, that I was valued. That I was a friend. He was also honest, sometimes painfully so, and much more versed in the lore and knowledge of Middle Earth than I could ever hope to be. He was no Gandalf, but perhaps he could still offer me some insight into my strange- and, I was accepting now, probably evil- ring.

"I found something in the goblin tunnels," I admitted quietly. "And I think it's the cause of my nightmares."

"And?" Thorin pressed impatiently. "What was it?"

I hesitated. What if he tried to take my ring from me? I didn't need to tell him anything. I didn't want to tell him anything. There was something like fear building in my chest, but not of my ring. Of Thorin.

No. No.

I shook my head, discarding those thoughts even as they continued to linger in the back of my mind. My ring was dangerous. I needed help and the only one who could offer it was Thorin. Despite these new impulsive thoughts- and they didn't feel natural at all - I trusted him.

"A ring," I finally said slowly, feeling more like I was pulling teeth than admitting my find.

"A ring?" Thorin repeated, disconcerted. "How did you come across such a thing?"

I rolled my shoulders uncomfortably. "There was a creature far below the tunnels. It had it."

"And I suppose," Thorin said dryly, "You were able to acquire this ring from it?"

"Yes," I confirmed, eyes narrowed. "It was an accident – the creature dropped it. It was more of a monster than anything. I should've known that it was no ordinary ring with the way it was obsessed by it."

"Obsessed," Thorin mused thoughtfully, "Odd for it to be so taken by such a little thing. Did it have great stones? Rubies or diamonds? Was it made of mithril?"

Before I could let myself fully weigh my choice, I moved to my cell door. Thorin mirrored me, I dug my fingers into my pocket and pulled it out. It felt heavy again, like the first time I'd found it. I froze for a moment, holding it close, before steeling myself to hold out my hand to the bars, fingers splayed and palm up, to let Thorin take a look. The ring gleamed brightly, even in the sputtering sconces.

Thorin's head tilted, frowning, as he wrapped his hands loosely around the bars of his cell. He looked confused. His eyes drifted between the ring and my face twice, before settling to meet my eyes. When he spoke, he sounded disappointed. "It is quite plain."

Amusement crept up on me, unexpectedly. I didn't know what I thought Thorin would say, but what came out would probably have been very low on the list.

I pulled my hand back and tucked the ring away safely, before meeting Thorin's eyes again. "I think Gollum's love for it was less about what it looked like, and more what it can do."

Thorin shifted suddenly. His back was ramrod straight, his knuckles now white where they were still wrapped around the bars. His disappointment was gone when he spoke, replaced by something close to urgency, "What?"

I shrugged uncomfortably, "Well, it's a magic ring."

There was another lengthy pause. I moved my gaze to the floor. It was only when Thorin spoke again that I glanced back up. His face was serious, his knuckles still white.

"Burglar," Thorin said, voice low. "What sort of magic?"

I blinked, startled by Thorin's graveness. I mean, he was almost always solemn, but this was something else entirely. There was a new depth to it and that was absolutely not a good thing.

"I turn invisible," I told him warily, "when I wear it. It was how I was able to find you and the others in the goblin tunnels and then again to free you from the spiders without being seen."

Thorin let out a long breath.

"What?" I asked anxiously after I realized he wasn't going to speak. "What is it?"

Thorin didn't reply. He pulled his hands free now and they dropped to his sides. Then, one came back up, to scrub at his face. Thorin still said nothing.

I couldn't stand it and I snapped out, "Thorin."

Thorin sighed, and turned back again to meet my eyes. There was concern there now, unmistakable. "There is great magic in this world, Master Baggins, make no mistake. But for you to disappear entirely? That is a rare gift. And, truly, it is likely no gift at all."

I wrapped my hand around one of my own bars now. It was with great effort that I didn't tighten my grip. "What do you mean?"

"You must be very careful," Thorin told me slowly. It struck me that his words were an echo of Gandalf, "Such a trinket is surely not one forged out of benevolence. I believe that its magic comes at a price."

Understanding hit me, though it wasn't with relief. It was with dread. "My nightmares."

"For a start," Thorin confirmed with a nod. "It is very possible that the consequences are far more reaching than that."

I squeezed my knuckles tighter around the bars. "You mean, they'll get worse? My nightmares?"

"They," Thorin said, shaking his head, "should be the least of your concerns."

A great and terrible darkness that will ruin you if you are not cautious. That was what my visiting Valar told me.

Oh, God. I wanted to throw up. I wanted Gandalf.

"I am not well-versed in magic." Thorin continued steadily. "A wizard could tell you much more than I. Dwarves once had their own rings, long ago, but they have all been lost now, with my father. And our knowledge of their power lost, too. Still, I can say with certainty that you have stumbled upon something dangerous."

I let out a huff that could almost be called a laugh, though there was no joy in it. That pretty much summed up my entire experience in Middle Earth. "You have no idea."

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Thorin turn his head sharply to look at me, eyes very bright. I held my breath, afraid I might have raised his suspicions once again.

After a tense moment, Thorin turned away and made a small noise. "It would be for the best," He said slowly, almost gently, "That you do not use your trinket again."

I smiled ruefully, running a hand over my face. "Agreed."

Thorin nodded and we both fell into silence.

Finally I managed out, "Thank you."

"You are part of my Company," Thorin informed me solemnly, as if it was as simple as that. I supposed it was, wasn't it? It was far more comforting than I expected.

"Yes," I confirmed, smiling for the first time in what felt like a long time at the first kindling of warmth in my chest in a long time. "Yes, I am."

Suddenly, a loud clanging rang out down our corridor. I jerked my head in its direction, instantly on high alert. Thorin was mirroring me in his own cell.

We watched the end of the corridor and in less than thirty seconds three elves one of whom appeared to have two plates in his hands. He stopped in between our two cells, setting down plates carrying half a loaf of bread and small chunk of cheese and a cup of water in front of the bars before moving away back down the long corridor.

The two guards glanced between us before one said something, quite condescending if their tone was anything to go by, in their language.

Thorin's reaction was immediate. He snarled ferociously at the guards in the elvish language. It was almost funny, how startled they looked by it. It was the strongest expression I'd seen on the elves yet. Being trapped here hadn't dimmed Thorin fury. I had to give Thorin some credit, he was dedicated. I had no idea that he could speak elvish. It certainly put Thorin's behavior in Rivendell in a new light.

The elves recovered quickly, which was a little disappointing, and gave us a disdainful onceover before turning in sync back where they came.

My food was gone before the clang came again. I'd barely tasted it but it wasn't nearly as bad as I expected.

Now that I was awake and the emotional rollercoaster of my confession to Thorin had leveled out, my mind circled back to what Thranduil had said the day before. It was all I could think about now, my mind stuck on it. I could feel anxiety sparking in my stomach and I knew if I wasn't careful, it would blaze back into panic.

I didn't want to ask. But I had to ask.

After Thorin finished his food, I said hesitantly, "Thranduil," Thorin immediately went tense, his expression turning stormy. I pressed on anyway, "He mentioned a dragon. What did he mean?"

Thorin's expression cleared, only for confusion to settle into the lines of his face. It would have been comforting, if I wasn't dreading what he was going to say. We were on the same rocky footing it seemed.

After a long tense silence, Thorin finally replied. "Smaug."

Smaug? What did that mean?

Thankfully, after an awkward moment in which Thorin seemed to be assessing me, he continued, "It is the creature that stole Erebor from my people. A terrible calamity comprised of greed, fire, and fangs."

Stole Erebor? But Erebor was lost, wasn't it? That was what Gandalf had said. Or, I was realizing as dread pooled heavy in my stomach, in my lungs, it was both. Erebor was lost to this Smaug. It was the calamity that Gandalf had referenced. Smaug with fire and fangs. This – this –

"Dragon?" I breathed out, my hands starting to shake, I dug them deeper into my jacket. "Smaug is-"

My voice failed me. All I could hear was my own heartbeat, so loud again. It was hard to breathe.

It was Thorin again who pulled me out. I could dimly hear him calling out, "Master Baggins? Master Baggins!"

I nodded to show I heard him and it took a tremendous effort to raise my eyes to meet Thorin's own. I couldn't see the blue in them, in the low light. But I could see the corners were tight and the rest of his expression was now too. It was horror, in his eyes, in his face. I had a feeling he was seeing the same thing in mine.

"This cannot be the first you have heard of that wretched creature," Thorin insisted, though it felt like it was more for him than for me. It didn't sound very convincing.

I curled my fingers painfully around my cell's bars. The dull edges were cold and biting, but they were grounding too. "I didn't know."

"You signed the contract," Thorin said, voice unreadable after an awkward stretch of silence during which I was trying very hard not cry. "You agreed to this."

'Taking back' Erebor. Never in my wildest dreams did I think that was meant literally.

I was an idiot.

"I," I finally said, voice shaking. A dragon. There was a dragon waiting for us. "I can't read."

"What," Thorin asked flatly.

"I can't read." I repeated numbly. "I didn't know."

Everything was slotting into place. That was why they needed the King's – whatever. The symbol. That was why they needed the other kingdoms. I was meant to steal from a dragon. That was why the Company called me "Burglar." It wasn't an insult at all. It was a job title.

"You cannot read?" Thorin demanded, sounding angry now. Like this was news. I was a little surprised by it. I'd assumed, from Ori's confession at Beorn's, that Kili and Fili would've the others.

I couldn't find my voice. I shook my head instead.

Thorin reeled back, like I had struck him. "Why did you sign the contract? How could you have-"

"Gandalf," I said, causing Thorin to fall silent. Gandalf. "He summarized it for me but he didn't. He didn't-"

Did Gandalf know? A spike of irritation cut through me. Of course Gandalf knew. And it wasn't surprising that he hadn't mentioned it, even if it did hurt. If I'd known about a dragon back in Bag End then no shouting, no sudden storm cloud, no cajoling could have made me step even a foot back out the front door.

I swallowed back my shock and my hurt and pushed on. "He said this was important. That he needed me."

Was this what Gandalf meant when he said this was my task? My purpose? To what – fight a dragon? Steal from one? Both options sounded ludicrous.

Thorin said nothing else. Neither did I. I didn't know what else I could say. I turned back to my cot and collapsed on it, curled up on my side and facing the wall. I was suddenly so tired, even though it hadn't been long since I woke up. It felt like days, weeks, since then. My mind seemed unable to do much at all, so I stared at the stone walls of my cell, breathing.

I couldn't say how much time passed since we'd both fallen silent, but Thorin was the one to break it, "Master Baggins."

I flinched with my whole body at the sound. But it was enough to pull me back into awareness, to sit up and pad back over to my cell door.

Thorin was waiting at his own, eyes bright and solemn.

I tilted my head forward to rest my forehead against one of the bars. I watched Thorin watch me. Then he spoke again, "I am sorry for my part in this."

I straightened on instinct, in shock. "Thorin," I started, but I didn't know how to continue. I couldn't decide on the words. Thorin had nothing to be sorry for. Gandalf, a bit, certainly, and the Valar definitely, but Thorin? We'd long mended our relationship. And we now had, solidly, a friendship, which I would've never predicted when we met.

"It was our quest that brought you here, Master Baggins," Thorin went on, as if I hadn't spoken, "My quest. My burden, that has been placed upon you. I am sorry for it."

A burden. That was the word that the Valar from the goblin tunnels had used, too.

"Don't be," I said, the words pouring out unbidden. But I found that I meant them. "Please."

Thorin's expression was shockingly soft, obvious even in the low light. It made something in my chest twist. He didn't press the matter further. He didn't speak again, not until long after our next meal, not until I'd collapsed back onto my cot and let my mind go blank and my eyes fall shut.

Thorin's voice was the last thing I registered as I was pulled into sleep, "I am sorry that this is where we find our end."

It felt more like a final sentencing than anything Thranduil had threatened.

In the weeks that followed, I was able to come to terms with our situation more solidly. I kept to a strategy I learned from a college counselor almost a decade ago, back when I was slowly self-destructing in my freshman year: Focus on what you can control. It was actually the strategy that led me to quit college all together. Quitting was the one sure-fire thing I could do to control my state of mind, to better it.

So, as the days turned to weeks, I focused on what I could control from where we were. It wasn't a lot, admittedly. But it helped me let go of the overwhelming anxiety that came back every time I thought of Smaug. We were here, in these cells, indefinitely. Smaug was out of reach, so far out of reach that it became easier and easier to dismiss it whenever my mind entangled itself on Smaug's existence. There was no point thinking about something that was so far away.

And there was a light in the dark, a small hope.

Gandalf.

Gandalf had said, with such certainty, that he would meet up with us again once he finished his other business. Gandalf would realize when we didn't show, that something happened, and that he would need to find us. And despite the hurt prickliness that came whenever I thought of him, I knew Gandalf cared for me. I knew that he cared for the dwarves too, and that he believed wholeheartedly that we were meant to reach Erebor. Gandalf would do everything he could to see it happen.

Thorin, when I brought it up to him, didn't seem particularly convinced though he did acknowledgement the possibility. I couldn't blame him. After all, how was he to know that Gandalf had such a vested interest not just in the quest but in me? I certainly wasn't going to explain it to him. Magic evil rings were one thing but my presence, my existence, in Middle Earth was a whole other beast.

So, I couldn't control Smaug. I couldn't control our imprisonment. I couldn't control Gandalf, but I could choose to trust in him. And that, along with knowing the others weren't in danger, relatively, and weren't out in the forest, was enough to keep me sane. To keep me from curling up on my cot and ignore our circumstances.

To my surprise, Thorin was a boon in many ways. Despite his general reservedness, Thorin was a fount of information and was amicable about sharing it. There was no question that I'd asked that he refused to answer. And his answers were always measured and thoughtful. There was never a trace of annoyance, only the serious consideration that I'd come to expect from Thorin.

I'd learned from Thorin the history of Erebor and its sister-city of men, Dale. That the Arkenstone – I drilled that into my memory so as not to forget again – was the very heart of the mountain and symbolized their right to Erebor and their rule over not just Erebor, but all dwarves across Middle Earth. That when Smaug had sacked Erebor, his people scattered and it took a whopping two hundred years for them to rebuild even a shadow of their former home in the Blue Mountains, which I remember was a neighbor of the Shire. I'd choked on my water when Thorin had gotten to that part during one of our meals. Thorin was old, so was Balin, who'd also been present when Erebor fell. And he didn't miss my shock, though to his credit all he gave me was a long-suffering look before continuing.

When Thorin reached the part about the elves, it made everything he'd shouted at Thranduil slot into place. The elves had come after Erebor was taken by Smaug, after Dale was burned. But instead of helping them fight back, they'd refused and returned home and Thorin hadn't seen or heard from them since.

Two hundred years. No home. No help. Only the memory of what happened – the memory of fire and wings and destruction.

My half-baked plan to try and convince Thorin to speak to Thranduil again was discarded. I couldn't blame Thorin for his anger, even if it meant we were locked away.

All we could do was wait. Gandalf would come, I knew it. He had to.

So, the days, then the weeks, blurred together. Sometimes Thorin and I would talk, sometimes we would go days without speaking. Sometimes I would ask more questions about Erebor, about the Blue Mountains where they'd come from, which Thorin always answered, and sometimes we would tell each other stories, pieces of our lives. It was – good. Comforting.

I liked Thorin's stories about Fili and Kili – who were apparently quite young by dwarf standards, younger than I'd thought, only just of-age which was why they'd been allowed to join the quest – the best, but sometimes he'd talk about Erebor unprompted, and what he could remember about growing up there. Sometimes he'd talk about his father, his sister Dis, or Dwalin and Balin who were his cousins, or even a little boy named Frerin. They were always quiet things, his voice low and rumbling and gentle.

I tried my best to reciprocate. I'd talk about my dad, who had been so young when I was born, and my grandma who took us both in. How my dad once tried to build me a tree swing only to fall out of the tree and break his arm. How I'd first met Hayley when we were five and how we spent nearly all our childhood together playing in the open fields behind her childhood home. How my grandma once lost me for five hours when I was seven only to find me in the tree in her backyard, unable to climb down.

Thorin always paid rapt attention when I shared my own stories. It surprised me but maybe it shouldn't have. He even asked questions, though not often, and seemed content to simply listen to me talk.

But that was a silver lining at best, because we were here, still, in the dark dungeon. The others may have been, too, but I didn't even need to ask to know we wouldn't be allowed to see them.

And then there were my nightmares.

They continued every night. I couldn't put my finger on whether the dungeons were making them worse, or if it was the lingering effects of using my ring in the forest. But they were always the same: red fire, dark writhing shadows, and I was falling. I was always falling.

It was that sickening feeling that woke me up. I gasped awake, feeling more like I'd hit my cot on impact than sleeping on it all night. My heart was pounding, and I focused on keeping my hands still, to stop the shaking, and to take in a deep steadying breath.

Thorin was singing. I could hear the melody of his low voice as I came back to myself. This wasn't new. Ever since my confession, Thorin had taken to singing when I came to- he always seemed to wake before me- and would keep going until I eventually got up. It was always soothing, this time was no exception, and I was able to shake off the last tendrils of my nightmares enough to listen more closely to the words. It took a few lines to understand the song's subject, but when Thorin reached "the dragon's ire, more fierce than fire" it couldn't be referring to anything other than Erebor.

It felt heavy. Important. Something special that Thorin was offering to me: a song of his own history to quiet my fears. The realization made something warm and sparking ignite in my chest.

I lingered on my cot, content to let Thorin finish his song, but flinched in surprise when the loud clang of the door we couldn't see rang down the hallway. I sat up and Thorin fell silent. It was one of our meals, I knew. Apart from a handful of times that they brought us water to clean up with, that was the only reason the elves came down our hallway.

After a few moments, only one elf came into view, their red hair shimmering in the low light.

It was Tauriel.

I stared in shock. We hadn't seen her since that very first day, instead we'd gotten a seemingly random rotation of other elves. Thorin must have been surprised too, since instead of his usual stream of elvish – presumedly curses – there was only silence from his cell.

Tauriel stopped between us, her eyes moving between me, Thorin, and then back.

"I expected worse," Tauriel commented idly, holding out a plate in my direction. It was the usual fare: a pitcher of water to tide me over until our next meal, a cup to go with it, bread, cheese, and usually something else. This time, it was grapes. "Given what my men have said about you. Delivering your meals has become an effective punishment."

I sat up and shuffled hesitantly towards my cell door. After a moment of deliberation, I slowly extend my arm to take my plate gingerly from Tauriel. I was always unprepared for the weight of it. "Thank you."

Tauriel moved to the other side of the corridor. When Thorin didn't move to take his plate, she actually sighed, before bending down and placing it within arm's reach of his cell.

Tauriel's attention returned to me and she watched me carefully for a long moment. Then she tilted her head, considering. "Where do you hail from, Bilbo Baggins?"

I stared back at her, surprised. I didn't think any of them bothered to learn, or even remember, my name.

I thought over her question. It was a tricky one. The Shire, technically. Kansas, also technically. Both answers, strangely, felt like half-truths.

"Here, I suppose," I answered finally, watching Tauriel's brows furrow. I glanced over to Thorin, whose face was impassive, though his eyes were sharp and glittering. "That's what your king said, wasn't it? A hundred years?"

Several emotions flickered across Tauriel's face quickly. Shock, I definitely caught. Defensiveness, maybe. And, if I wasn't mistaken, guilt.

"King Thranduil does this to protect us all, even you," "Tauriel insisted, though there was something flat in her eyes.

I didn't completely believe her. There was something else there, between Thorin and Thranduil, that was more than Thranduil refusing to help Erebor when Smaug came. Something in Thranduil's eyes, the way he spoke, seemed to indicate that there was a grudge on his side, too.

Tauriel made no move to leave. Instead, she continued to watch me. I stared back, unsure.

"If you were to swear," Tauriel said hesitantly, after a long stretch of silence. "To return to where you have come, our king will let you go, with our goodwill."

I wondered if this was her way of trying to help. It was kind, I supposed, if off the mark.

"Erebor is where they came from," I told her exasperatedly after my own long pause. "They want to go home."

Something passed quickly over Tauriel's face again, but this time I wasn't able to catch it, "And you?"

Of course I wanted to go home. It was an ache I'd carried with me all these months. An ache that lingered even here in the dungeons, where it never seemed so out of reach. Even now, with a potential way out offered, it still felt unobtainable. It probably had something to do with the dragon waiting for us.

"It'd be nice to see the sun again," I answered her. "For a start."

Tauriel's eyes flicked over me. Her face was impassive again but there was something in her eyes as she said, "We knew your kind, long ago. They lived in the valley of the Anduin, on the borders our land."

I didn't recall Gandalf telling me that. But to be fair, he'd thrown so much information at me my first week here I knew I'd forgotten most of it. I mean, I forgot what the Arkenstone – the literal reason Gandalf gave to me back in Bag End that I had to go with the dwarves– was meant to be. But, I considered as I thought back to the Shire and it's rolling green hills, that did track.

I nodded, which Tauriel seemed to take as permission to continue. "You are very far from home. Why?"

Because Gandalf was pushy. Because the Valar was pushy. Because Bilbo was supposed to be here, instead.

"They asked," I said blandly. Okay, Gandalf asked me, not that he gave me much of a choice. But apparently the dwarves really were going to try to hire Bilbo, regardless. The contract Gandalf had given me was proof enough of that.

"And if you were offered your freedom?" Tauriel pressed, eyes bright and searching.

I paused, a little stunned. No way. Thranduil didn't strike me as one to bluff. And there was no way he would be so petty as to let the only not-dwarf free but keep the others locked away, right?

Okay, there was definitely a way, I accepted grudgingly.

I glanced up, meeting Tauriel's eyes squarely. I wanted to make sure there was no room for doubt. "Not without them."

It was Tauriel's turn to look stunned. It was almost comical, how exaggerated it looked on her usually impassive face. She stared and I stared back.

After another long moment in which none of us said anything more, I asked cautiously, "Do you have anything else to ask?"

For a split-second, I thought for sure Tauriel was going to take me up on my offer. There was something in her face, a hungry curiosity. But, finally, Tauriel gave me one last long puzzled look before disappearing down the corridor.

"Master Baggins," Thorin said the moment the door down the corridor clanged shut. "You should have taken her offer."

I stared down at my plate. Nothing about it was appetizing, but I knew Thorin would scold me if I tried to slide my plate across to him, just as he had every other time I tried.

"No, Thorin," I told him firmly, unable to meet his eyes, "I really couldn't."

Thorin didn't press the matter further, which was a relief. We ate our dinner in silence, sitting across from each other and reaching through our doors for our plates. They were oversized, which meant we couldn't bring them into our cells. Normally, it didn't matter much, but I felt a little too seen by Thorin and Tauriel both and I wanted to spend the rest of my day in the shadows of my cell. I'd almost finished my meal when I reached absently for my pitcher of water only to knock it over. I cursed, watching the water spill out, darkening the stone floor beneath it and rolled just out of reach.

I was annoyed, now, more annoyed than I'd been with Tauriel. I'd hoped to use what was left of it to wash my hands and wet my hair in an attempt to keep it clean.

Hopeful that there might be a little water spared from the spill, I pressed myself up against the bars of my cell, shifting my shoulder to give me the best angle to fully stretch out my arm. I hissed in frustration. No luck. I adjusted my shoulder again, and this time, to my surprise, it slid through, stopping just at my collarbone.

I paused, processing. Then I glanced up at Thorin, who already retreated further into his own cell. He didn't seem to have noticed. Could I actually-

I pulled back roughly, ignoring the slight pain at pulling myself out from between the bars so quickly, and rose to my feet hastily. I assessed the cell door quickly, concluding that I might actually be small enough for this to work.

There was only one way for me to find out. And I couldn't let myself think it over much more, otherwise I knew doubt would creep in and stop me.

I pulled my body back only to slam it forcefully through the space between the bars. I stopped about halfway thanks to my chest and belly and I found myself stuck. Resisting the urge to squirm and find a better angle, I raised my left arm, which was mercifully on the other side of the cell door, and did my best to push myself the remaining distance, using the bar in front of me as leverage.

I heard Thorin moving again in his cell. I didn't look up to check, too focused on my task. I heard him ask, "Master Baggins?"

I grunted in acknowledgment. I could feel the buttons of my waistcoat catch on the bar in front of me and I knew what I had to do. With the last of my strength, I used my leverage to push through the bars. Almost instantly the buttons on my waistcoat gave out and I could hear them bouncing off the stone floor.

Then, I was falling. I could feel my huge feet catch on the bottom of the cell door and my body twist through the air with the force of my push. Suddenly I was on the floor, my feet still caught by the bars.

But I was free.