((A note to offers to "illustrate" my story. I am not interested in paying people for artwork at this time, especially since I am willing to bet that I will never actually see what I paid for. So if you're a scammer trying to con me with promises of artwork for my story, please note that I'm not that stupid, so you may as well forget it, and quit wasting your time with someone whose IQ is high enough to get into MENSA if I wanted to (I don't see the point in MENSA, but I do qualify, so that should tell you something about my intelligence). Go get a real job, and knock it off. Tweetzone86))

For genuine readers-

I do not own any of the characters or The Hobbit (Just the AU storyline and my OC). Those are the work of the esteemed and brilliant John Ronald Reuel Tolkien, and without his genius, this and many other fanfics would not be in existence.

As always, please review, favorite, and follow -it is really encouraging :D

A note- lots of family stuff going on right now. My ADHD is struggling with being able to put the story together due to everything else that's going on, overwhelming the attention center of my brain. I will update as I can focus, so please be patient with me! I really appreciate it! -Tweetzone86

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Cirashala stared at the beautiful elven city below her. Her new bedchamber was rather high above the winding path below, and she looked out to see if she could find a perch from which to climb down.

To her dismay, the limestone had been polished smooth, and not a single handhold or foothold was to be seen. If she were to climb out of her de facto prison, she would have to have some sort of rope and hope that no keen-sighted elves spotted her. Judging by the number of elves she saw wandering through the halls on some unknown errand or purpose, she had a feeling the odds of not being seen climbing out were highly unlikely.

The young woman leaned a little further out of her window, taking care to ensure her hold on the carven stone pillar was secure as her toes barely brushed the floor. Her chamber wasn't any higher than perhaps an intermediate diving board was at the community pool she used to swim at back in her world. She could risk a jump if she wanted to, but she would have to make sure she jumped far enough forward that she wouldn't miss her mark and fall the significantly further distance to the ground itself. She would also have to be very careful that she tucked herself into a ball and rolled out of the fall, lest she break her ankle on the stone.

But once I jump, where would I go? She had no idea where the dungeons were, nor did she know if Bilbo had made it through the gates, as she had been unconscious and very, very sick at the time. She also knew he was likely wearing the ring and would have been invisible anyway.

Cirashala sighed in frustration as she thought about her conversation with the elven prince the day before. She had liked Legolas as a character in the books and films. His loyalty, his honesty, his trustworthiness, his willingness to protect his friends even at the potential cost of his own life- she valued those traits in a person very highly. This Legolas, however, was almost unrecognizable to her. She had to remind herself that it was at least sixty, if not eighty, years before the War of the Ring would happen. Elves were immortal, it was true, but a lot could happen in sixty years to change a person.

It blew her mind to think that the very same Legolas who selflessly volunteered to protect Frodo Baggins on what they all believed was a suicide mission would even consider the idea that Thorin Oakenshield had taken her prisoner. She knew he did not like dwarves- his insults and barbs toward Gimli, and the mutual response of the latter, during the Fellowship's early days were a testament to that. But to think that they had taken her prisoner, especially for no discernible reason? Did his hatred of dwarves run so deeply within him that he would think the Heir of Durin capable of stooping so low?

Apparently, she thought to herself angrily. I never would have believed it if I hadn't heard it straight from his own mouth. She did wonder why she was still given this lovely guest room, instead of being tossed into the dungeons with her friends.

Is it because I'm an Adaneth, not a dwarf? The more she thought about it, the angrier she got. Mortal human woman or not, it was not right for her friends to be imprisoned in some stone cell sleeping on straw while she had a nice soft featherbed, a warm fireplace, a toilet (though it reminded her more of a stone portapotty than the ceramic, water based ones in her world), and even a bath that she was told a servant would fill for her. The bath was especially lovely and she would miss it dearly when she joined her friends, but it just wasn't right, and she felt guilty having such luxury when they surely had iron bars straw for a bed, and a mere bucket for a toilet. The only thing that had changed, besides Legolas's demeanor, since her correction of her relationship to the dwarves had been the armed guards stationed outside her door.

She hadn't told him much, other than she had been traveling with the dwarves, and they were her friends. He tried asking her about where she was from, why she was in the wild alone, and how she came into the company of the dwarves, but she refused to give him any other answer than, 'I was lost and trying to hide from trolls, and they rescued me'. He asked where, and if the trolls were in their realm, and she said no, the trolls had been further west, and were now dead. Which, though vague, was technically true. Only he didn't have to know just how lost she truly was!

She knew that the company would be captured. It was inevitable. They had wandered into Thranduil's realm the moment Thorin foolishly left the elven path and she had been forced to either be separated from them and alone in the dark, spider-infested woods, or with them and protected. The young woman also did not want Kili and Fili to be forced to choose between leaving a mostly-defenseless woman alone in a hostile forest, and following their uncle and king.

She suspected Kili would have chosen to stay with her, as Thorin and the others were far more capable with their weapons than she was and thus better able to protect themselves. She had grown pretty skilled with her weapons under the young heirs' tutelage, especially compared to her first days in Middle-earth, but she was nowhere near achieving the prowess of any of the Company save Bilbo. The choice would have been excruciating for the dark-haired prince, but in her heart, she knew he would not have left her alone. And there was no question in her mind that Fili would have stayed where his brother was. Their bond was too strong to be separated. She did not want to subject him to such an agonizing choice either.

Besides, they had been caught in the book too, albeit at one of Thranduil's woodland feasts, not in the spider's nest itself. She highly suspected that the delay between the Goblin King's tunnel escape and the reunion at Beorn's house two weeks later (or so they told her when she became conscious again) was the likely culprit behind the different location of their capture. She prayed that their delay wouldn't interfere with them reaching Erebor on time, and realized for that to happen, she may have to give Bilbo a hint at the way they needed to escape a bit sooner than he was supposed to figure it out on his own.

That is, if he survived the spiders. If he made it into Thranduil's halls. If he found the dwarves…if he found Kili.

At the thought of Kili, her heart fluttered in her chest. How was he faring? Was he worried about her? His protectiveness of her made her feel so, so safe, and…loved, though she knew it could only be the love of a cherished friend. There was no way a dwarf would love her as anything more…would he? And why was she even thinking that? She only just buried her husband and children…how long ago was it? She'd lost count of time in the forest, as it had seemed like an eternity since they had seen the sun and stars.

Which is probably why I was blinded when I woke up in the healing halls.

It was so strange. It was almost as though she had been in Middle-earth for many years, not however many months it had been. The memory of her own world seemed so long ago, as though it were ancient history that time forgot. Even the dwarves of Thorin's company finding her in the troll cave seemed like it happened forever ago. What about the others? Were they getting enough to eat and drink? The book said they had, but she couldn't really rely on the book to be accurate. At this point, it had become rather more like a simple guideline than anything else, especially with the delay, and Thorin and Thranduil's feud having been absent from the book. The elves, Legolas included, had not said anything to her about their plight, beyond the fact that they were imprisoned in these deceptively beautiful halls as well.

She'd tried to ask Legolas about them, but he clammed up and wouldn't say a thing. He merely left, and later a guard showed up to escort her to her new room.

As she paced through the room, her worry for her friends grew. To say that Thorin didn't like Thranduil was like saying that the Ice Age was just a little chilly. She was perfectly aware that the dwarf king could not stand who he once colorfully described as a "pointy-eared horse's arse who thinks he's the king of all Middle-earth". Being imprisoned by King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm had surely pissed Thorin off. And she had learned enough about the elvenking at this point to know that the feeling was mutual.

What Thranduil was subjecting the company through right now, she did not know. She did notice that the elven prince now wore Orcrist around his waist, because she had seen him in the hall when the guard transferred her to her new room, and the thought made her blood boil. No one else had taken the others' weapons for their own, at least not that she knew of. They were likely locked up in an armory somewhere, safely out of reach of any company members who might think about escape. Orcrist was a fine sword, and she knew most male warriors in this world would easily covet it. However, she had expected Legolas to have a little more class than that.

That sword had been formally given to Thorin by Lord Elrond, who, being the great-grandson of Turgon the high king of Gondolin himself through his father Earendil, had far more claim to it than a Sindarin princeling descended from the nobility, but not royalty, of Doriath. At least, that's as far as she knew about Legolas's lineage. Tolkien hadn't been as forthcoming about his family tree, but that was beside the point.

Wearing it was not only incredibly arrogant, but a blatant insult to Thorin. Taking prisoners' weapons away for their captors' safety was one thing. Irritating, but understandable. But stealing them to keep for themselves was another. She did not know what else had transpired between her friends and the elves, but she had a gut feeling it wasn't a warm welcome, especially since Legolas originally thought they were kidnappers as well as trespassers.

Her thoughts were broken as the door to her chamber opened. Burying her frustration as best as she could, the angry young woman kept her tone and expression as neutral as possible as she turned around to face the young elven prince. Now would not be the time to lose control of her anger and piss him off- not when she needed information on the dwarves and the conditions of their imprisonment. She did not want to risk revealing something she shouldn't by accident, and end up hurting or betraying the dwarves and her chosen king unwittingly in her fury.

"My lord wishes to speak with you," he said, his soft-spoken voice absent of hostility, but also absent of his formal gentleness and sympathy. She knew it was not a request, and approached him cautiously, half expecting him to bind her hands. To her surprise, he simply stepped forward and gently but firmly grasped her upper arm.

As he led Cirashala through the open hallways and along pathways carven to look like giant tree branches, she took in every detail she could see, every twist, turn, stair and doorway they followed. She had no idea if she would be able to remember it without getting turned around, but she was determined to try. The young woman prayed Bilbo had indeed made it inside, as he was the only one who could openly roam these halls unnoticed.

With the keen sight, ears, and scrutiny of the elves, the dwarves would need him to get out of here, just as they had in the book. As for her- well, she had no clue whatsoever about how she was going to escape. What she did have was an abundance of time to figure it out. It wasn't like she was going anywhere anytime soon, and she didn't even have a good book or movie to ease her boredom. So all she could really do was eat, sleep, bathe, and try to think of a creative solution to her predicament- which is precisely what she needed to do.

Legolas' grip remained firm on her arm as he walked beside her. She had to walk quickly, but soon noticed that the significantly taller elf was pacing himself to match her shorter stride. It took her a minute to figure out why, as she had to remind herself to think like he would- like a warrior would.

He doesn't want me falling behind him.

She knew from Fili and Kili's training, and just plain common sense, that one should never turn their back on their enemy. She didn't have the heart to tell them that she already knew that basic fighting principle. To turn one's back on an enemy meant giving them an opening to kill you while you were unable to counteract their strike. That rule was obvious to anyone with half a brain, even in her world. She remembered Legolas' intricate and fast twists and turns with his knives as he danced around his enemies in the films. The young woman reasoned that the agility and speed of the elves, and years of practice well beyond the measure of mortal Men, might have aided them in being able to do so while still managing to successfully dodge enemy blades.

The fact that he did not let her fall behind him told her that he did not want to risk her trying to attack him again. It was somewhat contradictory to the relaxed way he held her, as she could easily break away from his grip if she moved suddenly and swiftly enough. Her hands were not bound. She was no longer incapacitated by that dreadful spider poison that had rendered her unconscious for two days. Theoretically, she could try to grab one of his knives and use it against him.

However, the idea was laughable at best, considering his enormous skill in relation to her pitiful own. Not to mention his height, compared to hers.

Not only would I have to jump high enough to fully draw his knives, but I'd never even touch them. He'd kick my ass in about three seconds flat if I tried anything.

She also knew that he knew that too. It didn't take a genius to figure out that she was most definitely a beginner swordswoman and archer, even if he'd never seen her fight. She didn't quite have the musculature and callouses that came with long years of training, and if they'd found her bow, he'd know her draw weight was still pretty low. He may not even consider her a warrior at all, or even know the bow was hers, and he wouldn't be far off the mark. Compared to him, she couldn't hit the broad side of a barn if it smacked her in the face! Another possibility entered her mind.

He doesn't want me to try and run away, and try to find my friends.

That one seemed far more plausible, now that she truly analyzed it. She was a really fast runner, especially for her height, but she knew elves were faster, and had far greater balance and endurance. Even if she broke away and took off like a bat out of hell, he'd catch her within a minute at the most. She also had a feeling he knew that, too. For starters, his legs were longer than hers…

Oh. The young woman finally realized that she was overthinking it, and that he kept pace with her simply because he knew she had shorter legs than him, and he didn't feel like dragging her down the corridor as if she were a limp rag doll. Every time she'd ever had to walk with someone taller than her, either she'd have to be really fast, or they'd have to slow their stride, in order to make it work. She had experienced that frequently with her husband, too. Legolas doing the same made so much more sense to her, compared to all the other scenarios she'd envisioned! At least the dress the elves had given her had been hemmed up enough that she wasn't tripping on it.

She took a deep breath, and tried to regain her focus. It would do her no good to get so caught up in what-ifs that she missed what was right in front of her. She needed to accomplish her own mission- find out where her friends were, and if they were all right. She knew Thorin's take on Thranduil was most definitely informed by prejudice, but she trusted him, too. She had no reason to think that Thorin would lie to her about who Thranduil was, despite the slight dissonance between his story, and the book.

What do I believe? She thought to herself. Who do I believe? Book-Thranduil, or Thorin's Thranduil? She glanced up at Legolas, and remembered his comments about kidnapping, and how out of character it seemed for him.

I guess I'll find out.

Finally, they entered an intricately-carven, arched stone doorway. Four heavily-armored guards flanked either side of it, and she had a feeling they were either the royal chambers, or at the very least, private meeting rooms used only by the royal family. Unlike most of the open or windowed pathways they had taken, these hallways were completely enclosed by stone and lit with beautifully-wrought iron tables spaced about every eight feet on both sides. Despite the many brightly-burning flames in the little oil basins atop them, the hall was surprisingly free of smoke.

As Cirashala walked, she suddenly felt cool night air upon her head. Glancing up, the young woman saw what could only be air vents leading in from the outside. They were too dark to see far up now, but she reasoned that the hallways were also well lit by natural light through them during the daytime. It was very strange to realize that she had completely lost the concept of night and day since they had entered Mirkwood. The large lamps the elves had hanging from the cavernous roof of the great elven halls must be brighter than she realized. Or, perhaps, they were magic lamps, that brightened at night? Maybe she was asleep during the day, and due to the heavy, thick draperies in her window, she had been unaware of it? The only difference between night and day in the forest was that it was light enough to see the path, but not much beyond.

Is this what it's going to be like in Erebor? She wondered silently. No sunlight or moonlight to tell me when it's day and night? No sunrises and sunsets to watch? Nothing but lantern-light every single day and night?

She didn't have time to ponder this strangely melancholic revelation as the elf beside her finally stopped in front of a great, intricately carven wooden door.

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Kili kicked the wrought iron cell door again, and again it refused to budge. He growled to himself in frustration, even as his foot throbbed in his worn boot.

"Enough!" Balin called from the cell under him. "I've been telling you all day, it won't give! These aren't goblin dungeons! These are the halls of the Elvenking!" Kili scowled.

"Aye," Bofur sounded from across the narrow chasm between the dungeon baths. "These doors are tough, as tough as dwarf iron. Might even be dwarf iron, from the feel of them." He watched as the miner fingered the bars with the skilled touch of a dwarven craftsman.

"Don't be absurd," Dwalin contradicted him. "This faithless elf sprite would never hire dwarves for steel-work!" Kili growled again, and kicked. The bang echoed through the dungeon cavern, audible above even the rushing sounds of the waterfall and river at the bottom of the chasm.

"Enough!" Thorin finally shouted. Kili hit the bars with the palm of his hands in frustration.

"Kee," Fili said quietly behind him. Apparently, Thranduil didn't have thirteen dungeons, so a few of them had been forced to share. He turned, his eyes sparking with anger and worry.

"They have her, Fili!" he hissed, unwilling to allow the elves to hear him. He didn't care if they heard the banging, but he didn't want them to hear what he had to say to his brother. "That damn elf took her, and no one will tell me anything!" Fili stood up and yanked the angry young dwarf toward him.

"Kili!" he whispered firmly. "You cannot do this. You cannot let them know you care for her. They will use it against us! Against you!" Kili shrugged his brother's hand off.

"I don't care," he said. Fili grabbed his tunic and shoved his face close to his.

"Brother, listen to me!" he whispered in Khuzdul, despite their location. "DO. NOT. LET. THEM. KNOW. If Thranduil finds out you love her, he will take her prisoner, and threaten her life to gain information from us! Right now, he probably thinks she was lost in the forest, and the spiders found her, and then found us. There's a chance he doesn't know she is with us, and that she's safe. If you truly love her, you will shut up right now!" Kili glared at him, before his eyes filled with tears.

"I'm worried, Fee," he admitted. "I don't know if she's safe. I don't know whether the spiders killed her or not. I don't even know if she's alive." Fili's gaze softened, and he let his tunic go and placed his hand on the younger's shoulder.

"I know," he whispered. "I am also worried, and so is everyone else. I do not trust these elves." Blue eyes met brown.

"But," he continued, his voice firm. "The best thing we can do is to hide her friendship to us, and even act as though we do not know her at all. She will be safer that way. Elves are not as cruel to Men as they are to dwarves. At least, that is not what I have seen." Kili thought about his uncle's stories, and his fist clenched.

"But these elves are different," he argued. "You heard Thorin's stories. These elves are not like the ones in Lord Elrond's halls. He is not like Lord Elrond at all! As much as I hate to admit it, Lord Elrond was rather…kind, and his people were at least cordial, if not kind." Fili sighed.

"Aye," he agreed. He looked Kili dead in the eye. "Brother, you cannot keep trying to kick the door down. Despite what Dwalin says, I think Bofur's right. Either these doors are dwarven-made, or the elves are surprisingly skilled at metallurgy." He walked forward and fingered the bars as well.

"I can get them down," Kili muttered. The elder turned around and shook his head.

"No, brother, you cannot," he replied firmly. "They are fast. Nothing you have with you will break them. And even if you did break it down, what then? There are well-armed guards ahead, and neither of us have weapons! You will never reach her. You would die before you even left the dungeon!" Kili glared at him, before sighing.

Leaning against the wall, he slumped down to the floor.

"We are never going to get out of here," he lamented with his head in his hands. Fili sat beside him and placed his arm around his shoulders.

"We will," he said unconvincingly. Fili leaned in close and whispered almost indiscernibly in Khuzdul.

"Besides, we still have a burglar out there somewhere. If he could elude all those spiders, maybe he managed to get in here, too." Kili sure hoped he was right.

But how can a hobbit possibly get through an elven-gate unseen? He would have to be invisible for an elf to miss him! It's impossible!

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Thanks to all who review, favorite, and follow! You guys are amazing! : D : D : D