"I give you my word, she will not come to harm."

Bilba stirred and blinked blearily. For the second time she woke to find the strange elf kneeling in front of her, though this time she felt a thousand times more refreshed and aware.

Looking up she saw Thorin with his head up, resting back against the wall. He still held her on his lap, one knee and arm supporting her back while the other leg stretched out straight and his other arm lay across her lap.

He looked every inch a blooded King, even in chains. Bilba spent so much time with him slogging through mud and escaping death that she sometimes forgot that King under the Mountain wasn't just a name or random title he liked to use.

She looked toward her elf and saw, behind him, the two guards standing at the door, their eyes wide with shock. Bilba stiffened, her hands tightening on Thorin's shirt and she heard him actually growl.

"You've done a poor job of it so far."

Her elf shrugged. "I only just found her, her condition can hardly be laid at my feet. I will see to it that she is cared for from now on, however."

"Her condition can be laid at her own feet," Bilba said in annoyance. "I can take care of myself you know."

Thorin and the elf she was beginning to think of as Ridiculously Pretty Elf both looked at her.

"Yes," Thorin said, his voice dry, "I can see how well you've been taking care of yourself."

Bilba rolled her eyes and then leaned forward and kissed him. He kissed her back possessively, releasing her when she pulled away but not without sending a challenging look at her elf.

Bilba got up and obediently followed the elf to the door, skirting to stay close to him and away from the guards who were still giving her dumbfounded looks.

As she crossed the threshold one of the guards went to close the door only to have Bilba put her hand on it.

"Leave it open."

The guard frowned, opening his mouth to say something, so Bilba dismissed him and turned to her elf. She'd seen him given deferential treatment so surely it meant he had SOME power, right?

"Please?" She knew full well she was small, even for a Hobbit, and the last few weeks had made her thinner and frailer looking. Her clothing, tattered and pieced together as it was, probably only added to the overall waif look and she played it up, clasping her hands in front of her and gazing up at the elf.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Thorin had his head lowered somewhat to hide a smirk, though his eyes looked up at her in amusement.

From the amused look in the elf's eyes he wasn't the least bit fooled by her act but she didn't let it stop her.

"He's already chained," she insisted, "why does the door have to be shut? Please? Just leave it open."

The elf's eyes tracked to Thorin and then to the guards.

"Why has the door been kept closed?"

One of the guards flinched and began to stammer. "Well...you see...it's the dwarf....he--"

"He's quite rude," the other guard cut in, "we had to close the door just to shut him up."

"Not that it helps," the first one muttered. "His voice carries through wood quite well."

Bilba turned to face Thorin who now had his head up and was outright smirking, pride shining in his eyes.

Bilba bit her lower lip, hard, but was unable to fully pull back her own smile.

"Thorin," she said calmly.

"Yes, Bilba?" he answered, sounding inordinately pleased if not outright gleeful.

"If I can convince them to keep the door open do you promise you'll keep your opinions to yourself?"

"Even if they're true?"

"Especially if they're true."

He considered. He already looked radically different from the slumped, despondent form she'd seen when she first opened the door. Learning she and the others were safe had clearly revitalized him and, if anything, would probably make him worse. She wondered how the guards would react if she mentioned any insults Thorin had leveled at them had most likely been half-hearted as he wallowed in despair and worry over the fate of his people.

Thorin inclined his head slightly to her.

"I give you my word. I shall refrain from showing my feelings toward our...hosts."

"It would probably be best if you refrain from speaking at all," Bilba said cheekily. Thorin was not the only one whose mood had been dramatically improved.

Her elf nodded at one of the guards who gave a shaky nod in return. "The door will be left open."

"It should have been left open in the first place," her elf said, the slightest hint of reproach in his voice. "Bad manners on the part of a prisoner are no excuse for cruelty."

Both guards had the decency to look ashamed, focusing on their feet and mumbling apologies.

Her elf turned and swept from the room and Bilba hurried after him, catching up just as he reached the stairs and moved in front of him to stop him.

He looked down at her, amusement in his eyes. "Is there something else?"

"Yes," Bilba said. She dropped into a polite curtsey, "Bilba Baggins at your service." She stood back up and stepped forward, reaching out to grab one of his hands in both of hers. "Thank you, thank you so much. You have no idea how much this meant to me."

He studied her, taking in the new light in her eyes, the bounce in her step and the sudden straightness of her spine. "I think I might have an idea." He stepped back and gave a slight bow of his own. "Glorfindel, originally of Gondolin, most recently of Rivendell."

Bilba gaped at him. Her mouth opened, then closed, then opened again.

"Glorfindel," she finally said, her voice stunned, "THE Glorfindel?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I wasn't aware there was a THE Glorfindel but I am Glorfindel."

He began walking up the stairs again and she scrambled to catch up to him.

"You're like a walking history book!" She exclaimed, "My mother used to tell me stories about you all the time! You're a legend! You killed a Balrog!"

"There are others who have killed Balrogs," he replied, "my feat was not so very special."

Bilba stopped again in front of him on the stairs. "But it was," she said, "you DIED and were sent back again. You're--" She stopped, her mind racing through all the things her mother had told her. Stories of Tuor and Ecthelion, of great wars and fallen heroes. "You're amazing," she finished finally, lamely, knowing there was no way to put what she actually felt for this...HERO of old into words.

Glorfidel sighed and knelt until he was at eye level with her.

"You want to know what I learned from that battle with the Balrog?"

Bilba's eyes widened. "What?"

He reached up and lightly tugged on her hair, which was currently tied back in a messy bun. It had grown overlong again, down to just past her shoulders and the only reason she hadn't cut it off again was because Thorin had said he wanted to braid it, not that they'd had the time or that she'd bothered to remind him since doing so would make their relationship official to the rest of the Company.

"I learned," Glorfindel said seriously, "to keep my hair under a helmet."

Bilba frowned in confusion. "What?"

He just gave her a dry look in response and straightened, walking up the stairs.

"And, as I said, I wasn't the only one to fight a Balrog," he continued conversationally. "A friend of mine fought their Chief and stabbed him with the spike on his helmet."

"Ecthelion," Bilba whispered, "I'd heard that story but it seemed so outlandish I never knew if it was true or exaggerated."

"It was true," Glorfindel whispered, his face twisted in sadness and his voice tinged in sorrow. "He was a dear friend."

Bilba was silent. She remembered the story, how Ecthelion had leapt at Gothmog, wrapped his legs around him, stabbed him with the spike and driven them both into a fountain where they had perished together.

As they walked up the stairs she found herself remembering the rest of the story, and one part in particular.

"Dragons," she whispered. She looked up at him in excitement. "You fought dragons!"

"A few," Glorfindel acknowledged, "though fought may be too strong a word. With a dragon the best course of action is usually to get out of its way."

"But you must know how to kill one!" Bilba insisted. "I'd heard the only way is a black arrow but--"

"A myth," Glorfindel said, "black arrows are merely the easiest way to kill them, if any way can be called easy. Another myth is that dragons have impenetrable skin, they have weaknesses as any living creature."

"Like what?" Bilba said. Her heart raced in excitement. Perhaps their quest wasn't so hopeless after all.

"Their eyes are not armored," came the reply, "nor are the muscles that connect their wings to their body or the membrane of the wings themselves."

Hope faded. Getting at any of those areas would be a thousand times harder than a black arrow. If she couldn't find the arken-whatever-it-was or if she woke up the dragon in the process they were all doomed.

Glorfindel stopped, his eyes turning to her with the ageless wisdom thing in full effect.

"Is that what this is all about then? You plan to challenge the dragon?"

"Well not ME, personally," Bilba said, "I hope." She gave him a hopeful look. "I don't suppose you would be interested in going after a dragon would you?"

"I'm afraid I have more pressing concerns to deal with," he answered, "I'm on my way back to Rivendell."

"From where?" Bilba asked in surprise, wondering what in the world could be more pressing than a dragon.

He hesitated. "A...scouting mission you could say. A close friend of mine asked me to do it and I could not tell him no. I came through Mirkwood to advise Thranduil on my way back. I only just arrived yesterday and plan to leave in a few hours."

He'd started walking once more and Bilba hurried to catch up.

"Which friend?" she asked curiously.

"Olorin," Glorfindel answered. "I believe you know him better as Gandalf the Gray."

Bilba started in surprise. Gandalf had asked him to travel all the way out here? Her mind went to the way Gandalf had left and she realized that now made two people who had decided something else in Middle Earth was more important than possibly pissing off a dragon.

A cold finger of dread wrapped around her spine.

"What is happening?" she whispered. "What's going on that's so bad it requires the attention of you and Gandalf?"

He gave her a tense look and she saw a deep weariness in his eyes. "Something Gandalf and I were sent to prevent, and prevent it we will if it is possible." He smiled at her. "Do not worry, young one, we will set things to rights."

Then why are YOU so worried? Bilba thought.

They reached the top of the stairs and began to walk back through the twisting maze of corridors and rooms.

"Will the guards tell Thranduil about me?" She asked suddenly.

Glorfindel nodded. "I imagine they already have. There is more than one way out of that room after all."

Bilba shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. "Are you taking me to a cell then?"

He smiled at her. "I had been thinking of offering you a bath and a change of clothes. If you really want a cell, however, I'm sure it can be arranged."

Bilba looked up at him with something close to adoration in her eyes and he laughed in response, his face lightening from the worries he carried for just a moment.

She followed him eagerly after that and, true to his word, he led her to an enormous, heated pool complete with a cascading waterfall in the center and left her there with a promise of sending someone with clothing after she was done.

Bilba felt a twinge of guilt over getting to take a bath while her friends and Thorin languished in cells but it vanished almost the second her toe hit the water. With a groan of pure happiness she sank into the steaming water and relaxed. For a while she simply lay against the edge, letting the hot water soak into her muscles, loosening the knots placed there by weeks of worry and months of travel.

Finally she gave in and began to wash, using the soap left for her by the side of the large pool. She cleaned herself thoroughly and then scrubbed her hair, unbinding it from its bun and lathering it up multiple times before she was happy with it. It felt thicker and fuller than it had ever been before and took longer than she'd expected to wash.

Soft footsteps heralded the arrival of a young elf maiden. She smiled at Bilba and set a bundle of clothing down before retreating.

Getting out of the bath, Bilba dried off and then went to the bundle, pleased to find it was several different outfits of various sizes, styles and cuts. Glorfindel must have raided the closets of several elf children in order to find them. She settled on a dress of a deep green color with gold threading through it. It was a bit big on her but still felt a thousand times better than the stained, ragged clothing she'd been wearing, particularly since she'd managed to lose the pack Beorn had given her with the extra clothing in it. It seemed her lot in life to constantly lose her supplies. Various ribbons had been added to the pile and she selected gold and a green one, using them to bind her hair back into a thick ponytail. Usually, when it was grown out it was curly and out of control. Now, however, it had apparently decided to have mercy on her as it hung in soft, shiny waves. Bilba finished tying off the ribbon and let her hair drop on her back, if it kept up like this she might just consider leaving it longer.

Finally she stood up and stepped to the door. Walking through it she saw Glorfindel several yards further down the hall, leaning against the wall. She flushed in embarrassment.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I didn't know you were waiting."

"It's all right," he said, pushing off the wall and approaching. He smiled down at her. "You look as though you feel much better."

"I do," Bilba said, giving him a blinding smile.

He smiled in return. "The dwarf chooses wisely," he said mildly. Then, before she could respond to that cryptic comment he nodded down the hall. "Thranduil has expressed an interest in meeting the intruder I refuse to let anyone near. Would you care to join me for breakfast with him?"

Remembering his comment about leaving Bilba frowned. "Do I have a choice?"

"We all have choices," Glorfindel replied. "Some are just better than others."

He was definitely a friend of Gandalf's, Bilba thought dryly. Her mind went to her friends, and Thorin, locked up in their cells, separated from one another and she felt anger beginning to creep up. She had a few things she would dearly like to say to the elven king and there was no better time than the present, particularly when Glorfindel was still there and would probably keep her from getting summarily executed or locked up for the rest of her life.

He started off down the hall again and she fell in alongside him. It was strange, after all these weeks, to find herself passing elves who had previously not seen her but now looked at her with startled expressions on their faces.

The reactions seemed to remind Glorfindel of the same fact as he commented, "You still haven't mentioned how you came to have a ring that confers invisibility."

Bilba shrugged. "I found it in a cave in the Misty Mountains. Are magic objects so rare that it's a novelty? I know Gandalf once gave a gift to someone in the Shire of diamond studs that only unfastened when the wearer wished it and I've heard tale of other magic objects from time to time."

"Call it curiosity," Glorfindel said, "the last magical objects I saw were a talking purse and talking sword. Rings are rare, their owners generally guard them jealousy."

"As will I," Bilba said, guilt pricking at her, "for the ring has helped me greatly in times of need and I would really rather not show it around if that's all right with you."

He could easily take the ring from her and they both knew it but he only inclined his head slightly. "As you wish."

He seemed to become lost in his thoughts after that, no doubt thinking over whatever mission had brought him out to Mirkwood and beyond and they walked the rest of the way in silence. Bilba felt it was probably only this concern that caused him to lose interest in the ring and for that she was glad. It was HER ring after all and she didn't like the thought of anyone else showing an interest in it.

Still, the guilt lingered over her treatment of him, especially given how much he had done for her.

They finally reached a long corridor that wound its way deep into the inner part of the kingdom, far away from any other rooms or areas with any foot traffic. Here there were guards stationed every so often, dressed in full armor and standing rigidly at attention.

They rounded a corner and Bilba found herself facing a large set of ornately, carved wooden doors. Glorfindel announced himself and she heard a languid voice from inside bid them enter.

Two guards, stationed on either side of the doors, pushed them open and they walked in. As they passed by Bilba noticed one of the guards was the redheaded female elf she remembered from the forest.

The chamber inside was huge, carved from what looked like white marble with graceful arches and spires. On an elevated platform set off to one side was an elaborate round bed dressed with velvet and furs. The center of the room had a large fireplace built into it and another area, to her surprise, held several musical instruments including a flute and a harp.

Thranduil lounged at the head of a long, silver table set on a lower dais a few feet away. As always he was dressed in a ridiculous number of flowing layers that she was convinced explained why she generally saw him seated; he was trying to cut down on tripping incidents.

A few chairs away she saw the blond elf, proving he most likely was a son as she'd first suspected.

Thranduil gave her a bored look, not bothering to get up as they approached. "So," he began to say, his voice deep and rich, "this is the Halfling."

"Hobbit," Bilba said, her ire rising even more. "We aren't half of anything."

He looked amused. "My apologies. Given the company you apparently keep I should have guessed your manners would be equally lacking."

Something in Bilba's mind snapped, her temper overwhelming her.

"MY manners?" She hissed, clenching her hands into fists. "And what of YOUR manners? You are the King of the Woodland Realm, an elf no less, and you are CRUEL." She saw his eyes narrow, his nostrils flaring in anger and continued before he could cut her off. "How could you not tell us you had Thorin? How could you not tell THORIN you had us? Do you have any idea how worried I – we all were? Where was your compassion?"

Thranduil surged to his feet, advancing on her. As he did hands grabbed her shoulders from behind and she was pulled back against an armored chest. The message was clear though it did not stop Thranduil from continuing until he was in her face.