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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Legolas had just finished a long, exhausting meeting with the King's Council, when he was approached by Erestor. The Head Captain of the Guard saluted the young prince.

"Mae govannen, mellon-nin," he greeted in Sindarin. Legolas smiled widely, and returned the greeting, before embracing the elven captain in a big hug. Though he was weary from the affairs of the kingdom, his best friend's appearance gave him joy. Despite being a lowly Silvan elf by birth, Erestor had made the effort to learn the elven dialect of the king's household, and his use of it when speaking to his friend showed a great respect for the few Sindarin elves ruling over an overwhelmingly Silvan-populated realm. He pulled away, and placed a hand on the captain's shoulder.

"When did you arrive home?" he asked. The captain had just returned from a moon-long tour of the kingdom's border less than a week prior, and Legolas had been so busy with the patrol guard rotation, and many council meetings, that he hadn't had a chance to greet him yet. Erestor smiled, but the smile did not reach his eyes, and the young prince frowned.

"What is it, mellon?" he asked, now concerned. "Did something happen on your journey?" Erestor glanced around, before turning his gaze back toward the prince.

"Might I have a word with you in private, High Captain Legolas?" he asked quietly, mindful of other ears in the vicinity. The use of his army title told Legolas this was indeed related to official business. He nodded.

"Come," he said, his tone less jovial than before. "I shall speak to you in my chambers." Erestor nodded, and the pair headed toward the royal halls. They spoke freely as they walked, each inquiring about the other's kin, commenting about the fair early autumn weather, and discussing other pleasantries. But Legolas knew that something else was troubling the captain, and it had nothing to do with seasonal changes.

After a long walk amongst the winding upper paths of the King's Halls, they finally reached the stone bridge that led to the royal family chambers. The bridge was long and narrow, hovering very high above the jagged rocks and underground river below. Like every elevated pathway within the vast chamber, the limestone was carven to look like tree boughs, and extended from a central trunk, carven out of the natural stone pillars that extended from the high cavernous roof, all the way down to the lowest part of the cavern floor.

One might look around at the vast underground cavern, and imagine themselves perched upon the boughs of great white trees, all sprouting from the ground within a beautiful, well-lit subterranean forest, with sunlight peeking through a dense, white canopy high above the earth, and moss-carpeted forest below, with the sound of birds chirping from their nests amongst the tallest branches, and rushing water flowing over rock, the cool liquid misting the air as it plunged toward the river-pools beneath. For such was the nature of the elves, that anything made of their hand was a reflection of the beauty of the natural woodlands that they knew and loved. Thranduil's Halls were but a reflection of the Greenwood outside of them, a once beautiful forest filled with starlight and ancient beech and oak, before the darkness came from the south, and its shadows dimmed the once beautiful, vast wood of their elven home.

But here, under the stone canopy, there was still beauty. Even within the wood, the elven influence of that land still held the darkness at bay. But, more and more, the darkness encroached, coming in the form of hideous beasts, spinning their webs in the trees, killing elves, and cursing the land with their foul breath. As they approached the royal chambers, Legolas noticed his friend's face turn grim. Whatever was on Erestor's mind, it was clearly important. The bridge was only wide enough for three ellons to pass without venturing too close to the edge, and Legolas took the lead as they approached the door.

At the other end of the long, narrow bridge was a small ledge, upon which stood four heavily-armored royal guards, two on each side of an ornately-carved oaken door. The elf-high door opened down the middle, and bore two great handles made out of carven stag antlers. Also flanking the door were two bronze bowls atop a curved iron base, the fire within them providing additional light to the space, beyond the light coming from the many roof vents in the stone ceiling of the cavern. Two more were on the other side of the silent guards, the light of the flames glinting off their polished steel armor as they stood watch over the king's private residence.

To the right of the door was an equally well-crafted desk, upon which sat thick beeswax candles, a stack of parchment, an open, leather-bound ledger, a bowl containing several sticks of specially dyed wax, an inkwell, a small silver bell, and several freshly nibbed quill pens. Behind this desk sat the king's master scribe, who at that moment was copying his notes from the council meeting so the provincial lords could take them with them when they return to their chambers. The signet ring bearing the king's seal rested upon his left middle finger, signifying that any correspondence he sent away with messengers was indeed from the king himself, and none other. Very few in the kingdom bore one of those rings, for those who were given the authority to use them had the king's word as their bond, and were amongst those Thranduil trusted most of all.

Lord Teithan looked up as the prince approached his desk, and carefully set his quill down. He had been Thranduil's scribe since long before he was born, having followed his father and grandfather from Beleriand after the War of Wrath long ago. Legolas suspected he was even older than his own father, and treated him with great respect, despite his position being lower than his own. The scribe slowly stood up from his seat, and saluted the young prince.

"Mae govannen, hir-nin Legolas," he greeted him. Legolas saluted back, and looked at him sternly.

"How many times have I told you, Teithan," he chastised him, though there was no anger in his voice, "that you need not stand up and greet me every single time I come home?" The older elf chuckled, and glanced down at the his right leg.

"I may have a wooden leg now," he replied in good humor as he shifted his weight, taking the pressure off the prosthetic, "But I will still stand for Thranduil's son." Legolas grinned, and rested his hand on his shoulder.

"And I will scold you every time you do," he replied, his eyes twinkling. Teithan had fought bravely during the Battle of the Last Alliance in defense of his father, and lost his leg to a troll as a result. Even with a crushed leg, he still managed to deflect an orc blade that had been thrown right at Thranduil's head and save his king's life, and his father never, ever forgot the scribe's loyal sacrifice on his behalf.

Legolas never forgot, either, because, had Teithan not done so, he would have never been born. He smiled, and backed away so the old warrior could sit back down. Teithan nodded to Erestor, who was signing the guest book.

"And you've brought a friend," he observed, his expression more serious than before. Legolas nodded, and his expression grew more serious as he remembered the reason why he brought Erestor home.

"Ayeth," he confirmed. "Please send a message to the kitchen to send up enough for two for my midday meal. I shall have it in my chambers." Teithan nodded, and rang the bell. A young messenger appeared from the side room just inside the oak doors, and the older elf gave the lad Legolas's message. The youth hurried off toward the kitchen, and Legolas and Erestor entered the royal hall.

Unlike most of the cavern, which was very open and vast, the royal halls were in turn narrow and small, being only four ranga high and three ranga wide. Brass lampstands like the ones on the balcony lined the walls at regular intervals, providing light, as well as some lanterns with glowing crystals suspended on the ceiling above. Tapestries lined the white walls, telling the history of Thranduil's house, dating all the way back to Beleriand, when his kin resided in Doriath under King Elu Thingol and Queen Melian the Maia. Every seven ranga stood another pair of fully armored guards standing opposite each other, armed with sword and spear and knife. They said nothing as the pair walked by, just simply nodding their heads in acknowledgement of their prince.

The first door on the left, just inside the great oak door, was the guardroom. This was where the royal body guards would sleep when not on duty, and take their meals. Off the guardroom was the royal guard armory, a small kitchen, and a pantry- all for the service of the royal guard. On the right opposite it was another door. This one was where the lower messengers slept. These were noble youths from families the king favored that were interested in becoming part of the royal guard in the future, and would serve as both messengers, and esquires to the royal guards as part of their training. They were overseen by Thranduil's herald, Feren, who not only supervised the lower messengers, but also delivered the king's correspondence and messages personally.

As Legolas and Erestor continued down the long, winding hall, they passed by the king's meeting rooms, including a small dining hall and parlor for more intimate family gatherings, the king's personal library and archives, and a small training chamber for when the royal family wished to hone their weapons skills. Though the hall wound its way deep into the rock, it never exceeded three ranga in width. Legolas knew his father designed his home this way deliberately. A narrow, closed passage was much easier to defend than a wide and open one.

Finally, they passed Thranduil's private chambers. Two guards flanked the door, and they stood so still that the only sign of them being living beings was the subtle movement of their eyes as they watched the two elves pass. These were Thranduil's personal guards, the most elite and trusted warriors in his entire kingdom. Should any enemy breach the hall, they were the final protectors of the king himself, and would not hesitate to die in defense of their lord.

Finally, they reached his own chambers. Legolas had often wondered why his chambers lay beyond that of the king, given that he always viewed Thranduil as the most important elf in the entire kingdom. But it was Erestor himself who gave him the answer one day.

"If you had a family, and they were in danger, would you place them in front of you, or behind you?" To the young prince, the choice was obvious. He would die protecting his family, if he had one. He then understood why his chamber was behind his father's. The only way anyone could reach Legolas's chambers was to pass by his father's first. There was no other way in, or out.

The elf paused, and glanced across the hall. There was another door there once, but it was now blocked by stone bricks. That chamber had not been opened since before he could remember. Grief panged at his heart as he thought of the one who used to live there, and his eyes misted over ever so slightly. Blinking, he turned and entered his own chambers, with Erestor in tow.

The young prince lit a fire in the fireplace and drew his drapes open, before settling himself into a comfortable chair. Turning toward the captain, he bade him sit as well.

"Well, Captain," he asked, taking on a more formal tone than before. "What seems to be troubling you?"

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Every single member of the company stared at Bombur in stunned silence for a moment, before the forest erupted in a cacophony of noise.

Bofur and Bifur hugged the slightly less rotund dwarf tightly, sighs of relief emanating from their lips. Several others praised Mahal that he awakened, and Thorin felt a little less annoyed than before.

"Thank Mahal," he whispered to himself, still quite irritable at the whole affair. Who knows how many days' travel they lost, due to his clumsiness and stupidity? Even he, an experienced captain and warrior, had lost track of time in this Mahal-forsaken forest, and that was no small feat for a dwarf who could spend many months underground!

"What happened?!" Bombur asked, as soon as Bifur and Bofur let him go. "Where are we, and who in Durin's name are those two?" He pointed toward Cirashala and Bilbo, and the latter looked rather aghast. Strangely enough, the young woman didn't seem the least bit surprised that he couldn't remember her, which surprised Thorin as well. He didn't have much time to ponder it.

"What do you mean?" Bofur asked, the miner looking confused. "We're on our way to Erebor, remember?" Bombur shook his head, and reached up to rub his temple.

"Last thing I remember is Ered Luin," he said, clearly confused. His words were a little slurred, as though he'd drunk one too many pints of ale. "I think I remember a party, and a wizard, but I am not sure. My head is all befuddled." Bofur's eyes widened.

"You don't remember anything since?" he asked, astonishment in his voice. He turned toward the dwarf king. "Thorin, what sort of enchantment was in that stream?!" The dwarf king shook his head.

"Gandalf said the stream carried some sort of enchantment," he replied. "He did not say what it was, but it appears to have caused sleepiness and confusion. And you—" He pointed to Bombur.

"You were clumsy enough to fall in!" he growled, still very much annoyed. "We had to carry you for almost half a fortnight! Who knows how much time we lost on our quest!" The fat dwarf blinked in astonishment.

"What quest?" he asked. The whole group fell silent, and several pair of eyes turned toward Thorin. The dwarf king pinched the bridge of his nose, and turned toward Ori.

"Show him your book," he commanded the scribe, before turning back toward Bombur. "Suffice to say, we are on a journey to Erebor, you fell into an enchanted stream here in Mirkwood, and we had to carry you because of it." Bombur's stomach growled loudly, and he looked around.

"Where's the food?" he asked, very confused. The dwarves all grumbled, and Bofur held up their meager sack of provisions.

"That's it?!" Bombur squeaked. They nodded grimly. He groaned, and put his face in his hands.

"I had such a lovely dream," he said, longing in his tone as his eyes filled with tears. "Why did I ever wake up?! I dreamed I was at a feast with my kin in Ered Luin, and there was so much food! I ate all I wanted, drank all I wanted, and was never hungry or full! There were pork pies, mincemeat, bread, ale, roasted red meat on the bone—" Loud, exasperated groans sounded through the group.

"Shut up!" Dwalin growled. "If you say one more word about food, I'll beat you to death with a stick, you fat, clumsy oaf!" Bofur jumped to his feet, his eyes glinting in anger. Thorin quickly stepped between the two.

"Shut up, both of you!" he ordered, though secretly, he was in like mind with Dwalin. But, as the king, it was his job to ensure that no one murdered anyone else over a dream, no matter how tortuous hearing about it was. "Bombur I do not want to hear another word out of you about your dream ever again. In fact, if you cannot talk about anything else, then be silent! We are very annoyed with you as is, after carrying your fat body for days, and I would leave you here in this wretched forest in your idiocy, if you utter one more word about food!

"You caused enough trouble for us already," he continued angrily. "There is no need to remind us of our hunger. Bofur, make a small fire and cook up quarter rations for supper. We must make this food last until we reach the end of this horrible forest. Tighten your belts if you must, but we must carry on, or else starve to death. Ori." He turned toward the scribe.

"Tell Bombur what all has happened," he commanded. "Show him your book, and explain our business to him quietly." He glanced at Cirashala and Bilbo.

"Go," he ordered them. "Introduce yourselves to Bombur again, so we can clear his mind. We're in bad enough circumstance as is. The last thing we need is someone in our company who has no idea what in Durin's name we are doing, or who we all are." Everyone scattered to do as bidden, and he sat down on a rock and groaned.

"Is there no end to this accursed forest?!" he grumbled. Here we are, almost out of food, almost out of water, and now one of us has gone near-mad. His stomach grumbled loudly, and he tightened his own belt another two notches.

Curse you, Gandalf, he thought to himself angrily. Curse you, and your suggestion to take this elven path! Everything has gone wrong since you left us at the edge of the forest!

The stench of rotting wood and disgusting fungi reached his nose, and he grimaced. How elves actually lived here, and liked it, he had no idea. But there was one elf in particular that he would gladly wish this awful forest upon, and the only comfort he had was that, if he had to suffer in this wretched realm, at least so did Thranduil. There was no doubt whatsoever in his mind that Erebor was, is, and always will be far more beautiful, and far superior, to this dark, dank, festering, stinking, tree-infested elven wasteland.

O Elvenking Thranduil, it is fitting that you are the king of this awful place. If anyone deserves a forest as wretched and horrible as this, it is you, you miserable bastard spawn of orcs.

The dwarf king took his time with his meal, and savored every bite. Goodness knows that they would be overjoyed to tears by a single cake of cram before this was over!

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A response to reviewer AmaraThe 1: I'm glad! I hope you thoroughly enjoy the tale (though, I now realize that you may not see this until you reach this chapter of part 2). She does indeed know how the book goes, but the presence of a variable that was not there before can only mean that things may not be as…predictable as she thinks it will be ; ) Things that differ have a bit of a domino effect, as I'm sure you've seen by now, and I hope that this tale continues to intrigue you enough to get this far into it : ) Looking forward to your thoughts, now that you've reached this chapter! Enjoy!

Please review, favorite, and follow- you guys are the reason I am encouraged as a writer! : D : D : D