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.
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The forest was far dimmer than Bilbo expected, and he glanced wistfully up at the thick canopy above him and sighed. Hardly a shred of sunlight was to be seen amidst the tangled boughs, each tree's branches intertwined within that of the next.
"Do you miss the sun too?" Cirashala asked him in a low voice. The hobbit nodded sadly.
"Yes," he admitted as homesickness rose within him. "I miss the sun. I miss healthy trees that do not smell half-rotten. I miss my books, my armchair, my home." He quickly blinked back tears threatening in the corners of his tired eyes.
"But most of all," he continued, "I miss my garden. I wish you could have seen it, Cira. The flowers blooming, the smell of grass coming through the window, the smell of tomato plants as I harvest big, ripe, juicy tomatoes. This time of year, I would be venturing into the forest on the borders of Buckland, harvesting mushrooms. You should see them, too. As big as your hand, some are!" He sighed heavily as his shoulders slumped.
"I wouldn't touch these mushrooms for all the gold in the world," he muttered, kicking a very ugly one that had the audacity to grow right in the middle of the elven path. "Likely poison, and hardly palatable." Cirashala nodded.
"Even if it were safe to eat, I still wouldn't touch it." She made a disgusted face, and Bilbo looked at her quizzically.
"Why not?" he asked, genuinely curious. She wrinkled her nose further.
"They taste disgusting," she replied, and his eyes widened in surprise. He was glad the flies had died down at least. Now he could actually see her face when speaking to her.
"Then you haven't had mushrooms cooked by a hobbit," he chuckled a little, though he hardly felt like doing so in this place. "They are heavenly when roasted in boar fat in a frying pan alongside summer potatoes, green and yellow squash, carrots, boar meat, and sprinkled with salt and spices." She shook her head.
"I could have mushrooms made by the finest cook in all Middle-earth," the young woman stated stubbornly, "and still think they taste like bitter, slimy, sweaty socks." Now the hobbit made a face.
"You really think that mushrooms taste that bad?" he asked, baffled. He had never met anyone who hated mushrooms before. The dwarves certainly hadn't, as they had eaten every last one he had when they had unceremoniously pilfered his larder. She nodded emphatically.
"Yes," she replied. "I think it is because I find them so bitter. I do not like bitter things at all. I also do not like purple cabbage, dark chocolate, coffee, very strong tea, or al-beer and wine for the same reason. They are too bitter." Bilbo's brow furrowed in confusion.
"What is al-beer?" he asked. She paused for a moment, and he thought he detected a very slight hint of alarm in her eyes. It was so fleeting that he wasn't quite sure his tired eyes weren't simply deceiving him.
"I started to say alcohol," she said quietly, "but then I realized that hobbits may not call it that, so I decided to say beer and wine instead." He shrugged.
"I've certainly heard some odd words from you since we met," he stated matter-of-factly, "so nothing surprises me about what you say anymore." He chuckled, but the hobbit could not help but notice that she stiffened a little when he said that. Bilbo found it a little strange that she would be uneasy about his statement, but had no time to ponder on it as she changed the subject.
"What do you think they're like?" she asked, her voice so low that none but he could have heard it. He leaned in, confused as to why she whispered.
"Who?" he asked, keeping his own voice quiet, but not a mere whisper. "And Cira, why are you whispering? Hobbits have sharp ears, I grant you, but even I can barely hear you." She glanced around, then pointed toward Thorin.
"I really don't want to make him mad," she explained. Bilbo was getting pretty tired of her being so confusing, and suddenly remembered why he had not wed anyone yet.
Women are so confusing!
"You do realize he likes you, right?" The hobbit asked. "I mean, I wouldn't go quite so far as to say that he's fond of you, but he does like you, especially after what you did for Kili. How on earth would you make him mad?" Cirashala sighed.
"Because I wasn't talking about the company," she explained, her voice still very quiet. "I was talking about the elves." Bilbo's eyes widened.
Finally, she's making sense.
"Ah," he replied, also making sure none of the dwarves heard his reply. "I can definitely see how he would be quite bothered by that question, though it makes little sense to me. Lord Elrond was very kind to him, and yet…" The hobbit trailed off.
"He still hates elves," she finished. Bilbo nodded.
"Yes," he affirmed. "It is quite…unfortunate. I think they are very lovely people, and I should like to get to know Lord Elrond better myself. He is quite a pleasant fellow." Cirashala nodded in agreement.
"Yes, indeed." He saw the young woman glance around warily. "But I have a feeling the ones who live here may not be so pleasant, especially if they see us." The hobbit shrugged.
"Well, it would take a lot for me to change my mind about elves," he answered firmly. "I have never heard of elves being anything less than good people." Cirashala nodded reluctantly.
"Perhaps," she said quietly. Bilbo didn't know why, but she got an even stranger look in her eyes now. It was almost as if…she had met the inhabitants of Mirkwood before.
"Have you ever met these elves?" he asked. "I can't explain why, but…you seem as though you've been here before." The young woman blinked, and her expression changed in less than a second.
"N-no," she stammered, avoiding his gaze. "I have not been here before. I just…I keep thinking about what Beorn said. That these elves are less wise, and more dangerous than their kin in other realms."
Bilbo frowned. He had a distinct feeling that something was not quite right with Cirashala. One moment, she's asking questions…the next, it seems as though she already knew the answer. But she couldn't possibly know the answer to something she's never encountered before. It was very strange, and unsettling. He had a mind to ask her about it, but something held him back. Some force that he had never felt before.
Unconsciously, he felt his hand trailing toward his coat pocket. As his dirt-encrusted fingers stroked the cold ring hidden in the fabric of his tunic, he felt a sense of ease and comfort wash about him. The ring he had won from Gollum seemed to have that effect upon him. It also had another effect as well- making him more astute to the small things that he had never noticed before, just like how he'd noticed the strange expression in Cirashala's eyes.
He was, and wasn't, alarmed by this change. The ring had proven quite useful at getting him out of Goblin Town unscathed, and he was ever appreciative of that. But the ring seemed to whisper to him as well, and that he did not like. The hobbit had the fleeting thought to just throw it into the trees and be done with the whispers, but immediately changed his mind. They were still on a very dangerous quest, and it could prove useful again before the end. He brought his hand back down to his side.
"Yes, that is what he said," Bilbo agreed. "And I suppose Beorn would know. He does, after all, live nearer to these woods than we do. Still, it would take a great lot to convince me that they are bad people." She nodded.
"Not bad," she muttered, almost to herself. "But dangerous all the same." She continued on, seemingly deep in thought, though her pace remained steady.
"What I cannot figure out," the hobbit remarked, "is how they can live in such a foul, dark forest. It is the ugliest forest I've ever seen, and the foulest-smelling one." They passed by a particularly rank tree, and he wrinkled his nose.
"Not exactly a lovely place to live," he finished. Cirashala looked around, then back down at him. He noticed her blue eyes no longer had that strange glint to them.
"Maybe," she said slowly, "they have no sense of smell?" Bilbo looked at her in shock for a moment, before a large grin spread over his face.
"C-Cira," he stammered, both stunned and glad. "Did…did you just make a joke?" His words were far louder than he intended them to be, and several of the others looked back at them.
"She made a joke?" Bofur asked. Bilbo nodded, and looked back up at her. The young woman looked stunned as well, her brow furrowed in confusion.
"I…" she began slowly as realization entered her features. "I think…I did?" Bofur's grin matched Fili and Kili's behind him.
"So," the miner asked, eyes twinkling merrily. "What was the joke?" The young woman's eyes widened as a flush spread across her cheeks, and Bilbo realized she was too embarrassed to reveal it.
"I said that the forest smelled foul," he explained, his voice audible to nearly everyone in the group, "and she said that the elves who live here must have no sense of smell." All the dwarves except Thorin and Balin burst out laughing. Even Dwalin chuckled, though less loudly than the others.
"Next you'll be tellin' us about blind elves!" Bofur guffawed.
"Imagine that!" Nori chimed in. "Elves wandering about in the dark, running into trees because they can't see them!" Bombur nodded.
"And can't smell anything either!" he added, grinning. "Good thing, because we stink!" Bilbo grinned, and the poor young woman looked like she wanted to sink into a hole beneath her feet. Suddenly a loud, thundering shout exploded across the path.
"QUIET, ALL OF YOU!" Bilbo's eyes widened as Thorin's filled with angry fire. "Do you want the elves to find us?!" Everyone shut up in an instant. The entire company looked sheepish, and Thorin suddenly seemed to realize what he'd done as echoes of his own shouts reverberated through the trees. Clearly angry with himself now, he sighed heavily and shook his head.
"For the rest of our time in this accursed forest, there will be no more loud talking, laughing or…shouts," he said, looking quite sheepish himself. "The elves could have heard…us, and that would not be a good thing. Not in this realm." Bilbo shifted his feet awkwardly, and the young woman next to him quietly spoke up.
"It's not all bad," she stated reassuringly. Thorin looked at her like she'd lost her senses.
"How is revealing our presence to every single elf in this forest not a bad thing?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at her.
"Uh, well…" the young woman began slowly. She shrugged. "…Maybe they are deaf?" Thorin stared at her for a moment, clearly not expecting that response. The dwarf king rolled his eyes and sighed.
"Let us hope we are that lucky," he said with no small amount of sarcasm. He turned to the group as a whole. "From now on, speak quietly, and move swiftly. Be on your guard, and keep your weapons at the ready." He turned and looked at the forest path ahead.
"These elves," he said darkly, "are not to be trusted."
***
Legolas stood with his back to the great stone gate in the large entrance hall. Before him were many wardens and patrols, poised to hear their lord's command as they prepared to go relieve the current border watch from the last moon. Speaking the Silvan dialect, he addressed them.
"The giant spiders have been spotted not just beyond our borders, but now within," he stated matter-of-factly. "Your orders are to relieve the current watch, and ensure that no more of those foul beasts enter this kingdom. If they do, you are to kill them all, completely destroy their nests, and cast their bodies out beyond our borders to warn any others that may come of what the consequences will be, should they continue to enter our realm. You are to do the same with any other foul beasts of Morgoth that should attempt to enter here as well. Any intruders to our kingdom that are not the evil spawn of Morgoth are to be captured alive and brought before the king to be questioned." The guard nodded, and he gestured to Tauriel to come stand next to him.
"Tauriel has been granted permission to become a Captain of the Guard," he announced. "She will now command her own patrol on the southern border." Several surprised, and a few dubious, looks were cast her way, and he straightened his shoulders and stood tall. The elf prince greatly disliked conflict personally, but his father's decisions were not to be ignored.
"The decision to give Tauriel her own patrol has been made," he stated firmly as he stared the doubters down. "She has done very, very well in her training, and I, as High Captain, believe her to be ready for command. The king has agreed, and neither my, nor my lord's, decision will be disregarded. Anyone serving under her who fails to obey her command will be punished in accordance with the laws of this realm. Is that understood?" Everyone nodded, and he silently breathed a breath of relief.
"Good," he finished. "You have your orders. May the light of Elbereth guide your way, and keep you from harm. Patrols dismissed." They saluted him in elf fashion, and he saluted back. Turning toward another, smaller group to the side, he squared his shoulders once more.
"My lord has commanded that all of our people who still remain in the forest remove to these halls for a time," he ordered, "until our realm is safe again. The only people permitted to dwell outside these halls are the raft-elves, and they will need protection. The border patrols will take on that task for a fortnight, during which time you are to go to every inhabited village in our realm and relay the king's orders to our people. Once the messages have been given, you are to relieve the border patrols guarding the raft-elves, and resume their task until a new rotation comes to relieve you." The remaining messengers, who were armed patrol guards as well, mounted their horses, and he nodded to them.
"May your steeds be swift, and your errand fruitful." Legolas and the patrols saluted each other in turn, and they rode out into the forest. The elf lord sighed wearily, and turned toward the gatekeepers.
"Close the gate," he commanded. "Only our people are to enter these halls, unless the king commands otherwise. When they do, direct them to the refugee hall." The gatekeepers did as instructed, and the relieved elf prince finally made his way to the his own quarters.
The changing of the guard happened every moon, but it was always an exhausting event for him. Each new moon, his father would rearrange patrol assignments so every single elf patrol guard would not only intimately know every single ranga of their border, but also have experience underneath each Captain of the Guard. That way, if battle was ever necessitated, they could be commanded by any captain on the field, should their own captain perish.
However, it meant a great deal more work for the king's son, who was responsible for not only ensuring that everyone received their assignments, but that they were also aware of their tasks, the current threats at the border, and were assigned to the correct captains. More times than he could count, he had been needed to sort out any assignment confusions, as well as any conflicts that occurred between two patrols, or a patrol and captain, who did not like each other's company.
He was also responsible for receiving the reports of the guards who were returning home, and relaying those messages to his father as well. Sometimes they would be simple; other times, they would be very complex. It did not matter. As the High Captain, ensuring that the king was aware of all the comings, goings, and doings of his kingdom was just as much a part of his birthright as his inheritance. He was also responsible for ensuring that training systems his father developed were implemented, though thankfully he had his second-in-command, Erestor, to aid him with that task.
As the young prince laid his weary head on his soft feather pillow, he could only hope that he made the right choice in recommending Tauriel for advancement to a Captain of the Guard, and that she would truly be up for the daunting tasks ahead of her. The safety of their realm was at stake, and she had never let him down thus far.
It was not long until he fell into a deep sleep.
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