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Chapter Text

"You never know what will happen next, when you get mixed up with wizards and their friends." - Roverandum by J.R.R. Tolkien.

---

No sooner had Bilbo Baggins returned from The Lonely Mountain and ruined his reputation, then Primrose Took of Newbury (formally of Tuckborough, and one of Isembold Took's many descendants) set out in search of Elves.

She was thirty-three, now come of age for a Hobbit, and once she'd settled into her new "home" she'd known precisely what she planned to do with her newfound freedom: quickly and quietly slip away as her many relatives had over the years into the wild Blue. If Bilbo was a pleasant, well-regarded member of Shire community before his journey, Primrose was the "local lunatic". We've all had those neighbors⏤the sort whose eyes glaze over as soon as they spot you, the snoops and gossips and unwanted advisors⏤though hopefully not as numerous as Primrose's. They were as glad to see the back of her as Primrose was to leave them behind. 

"Going to find a husband, are you?" called one of the elderly, good-intentioned ones. She was knitting a toy mouse for the patient cat on her lap.  

"Who knows?" Primrose called back, adjusting her bonnet. "He could even be an Elf!" 

The elderly woman gave an impressive witchy cackle. "Make sure he fits through the door, first."

Primrose laughed and adjusted her bags. She'd packed what things she thought necessary (to which Bilbo, had he borne witness, would have added still more)⏤bonnets, lots of pocket handkerchiefs, a hefty provision of dried fruit and seedcakes, her pipe and tobacco, and an umbrella⏤and took advantage of the Bilbo-induced commotion. 

Of course, for a Hobbit lass in search of adventure on a bright May morning, only one mode of transport would do, and that was Gandalf's wagon. As luck would have it, he was waylaid by the local busybodies trying to shoo him off like a stray cat. Primrose took advantage of that, too, and slipped in among the wizard's things, finding them disappointingly un-wizard-like. Not even fireworks!

But perhaps that's a good thing, she thought, shuddering at the idea of knocking one over. I'd hate for good old Gandalf to be accused of murder!

So she lay curled up with her bundle of things, listening to the comforting creak and rumble of the cart beginning to move again. In time she could even hear Gandalf humming Hobbit songs under his breath, and that was very comforting. The more he sang, the more sleep overtook her, and time passed in a most pleasant fashion.

But that didn't last. Eventually she woke to the sound of a long, pointed stick knocking above her head, and found that she'd been found a few miles onto the East Road. She could still see the top of the mill, how embarrassing. 

"Primrose Took," said Gandalf, his bushy brows most concerned, "what are you doing in my luggage?"

"Good day, Gandalf," Primrose replied, sitting up and adjusting her bonnet. "I would like an adventure, if you please?"

Gandalf lifted his head slightly, taken aback by such relative forthrightness from a member of a (mostly) well-to-do family. Then he laughed that wonderful, warm laugh that had so delighted generations of Tooks and set his arms akimbo on his waist, appraising her.

In many ways, Primrose was a perfectly ordinary Hobbit, if perhaps over-freckled and with shorter hair than Shirefolk thought proper. Her hair was brown and curly, if a bit sandier than others, which matched the wool (carefully brushed) on her toes, and her dress was a straightforward dark green that would help her blend in with any forest.

But her eyes were a curious green: a color that reminded Gandalf of sea-glass, or the Dorwinion wine in the Elvenking's larder. When they lit up with excitement, they had a fey light inside them that no well-to-do upbringing could snuff out.     

"I must say, compared to dear Bilbo Baggins you need much less convincing. But whatever would you need my permission for? Your mother proclaimed you 'a veritable Troll's purse', in my earshot no less. All you need do is find a guide and head into The Old Forest for a day, and I'm sure you'd come out with a perfectly good adventure to tell."

Primrose considered this for a few moments. It was good advice, from what she could tell. If Gandalf was busy she'd hate to bother him. And yet...and yet, her heart lit up with the warm memories of her relatives' tales: perching among trees to see birds hatch from their eggs, outwitting Trolls, and of course visiting Elves. Elves! To listen to their songs under the stars, laugh with them under the autumn trees, share in their woodland feasts just once.

"Thank you very much," she said at last, looking the hero of countless fireside tales dead in the eye, "but when it comes to fulfilling my dream of visiting Elves, besides myself there's no-one better than you, sir. I've seen them at Woody End, shining through gaps in the trees, but I beg your pardon, I can't be content with that."

As she spoke, Gandalf's eyes brightened under his hat, like the first flickers of a hearth fire. He didn't scoff or interrupt her, like her neighbors would. Rather, he loomed pleasantly overhead like a great oak in summer and listened patiently, like her uncles she missed so much.

"Well, now," he muttered under his breath, laughing softly every now and then. "Perhaps, now that the Misty Mountains are somewhat quiet again...and certainly Bree is not that far..."

Primrose leaned forward, hardly daring to believe. "Then may I, Gandalf?"

"We can have a 'trial period' of sorts," Gandalf said, with a decisive nod. "If, when we reach Bree, you are not sick to death of travel rations and the sound of my voice, then we may continue on and see where the Road takes us. Does that seem fair?"

"Yes indeed," said Primrose, overjoyed, and they shook on it. Very carefully, in Gandalf's case, as his hand was easily twice the size of hers.

"Very well!" And Gandalf picked her up and set her in the passenger side of the cart, the better to converse while they traveled.

---

Primrose's father, a stolid man of few words and great disdain for "those wanderers from out there", would have been appalled at how Gandalf and Primrose got on. Within three days they were good acquaintances, and by the time they reached Bree and The Prancing Pony they were most assuredly friends.

It helped a great deal that Gandalf seemed to have an odd sort of light inside him: rather than his age wearing him down into cynical dreariness, he seemed to appreciate even the smallest of details all the more. He pointed out the treetops of the Old Forest and spoke of them like old friends, and saw shrouded beauty in the eerie fog cloaking the Barrow-downs. He wanted to know all about "Shire goings-on", and those at the sparsely-populated places, and fellow travelers, and what Primrose thought of them.

"Most Hobbit women, even the Tooks, take to the joys of things that grow among the Shire rather than the unpredictability of the open road, and so I'm admittedly curious," he explained (with a slight sheepishness that suggested even his wisdom had its limits).

"I've always been more fond of animals than people," Primrose admitted, "so I'm not sure how 'good' my thoughts will be."

"They don't have to be 'good'," Gandalf began to explain, only to catch sight of something. "Ah! Here we are, The Prancing Pony."

The Prancing Pony was beyond any inn Primrose had ever encountered before. Most everything was made for the Big People, which meant that while some chairs were more suited for giants than Hobbits, the pints of beer felt the height of decadence. Gandalf gathered all stories to him at the hearth, and she listened enraptured to everything while nursing her pint. There were stories of "the late King Under The Mountain", "bear-people", and suddenly, lighting up like a distant star⏤

"The Elvenking himself rebuilt Dale in a single night! They say he's a-wandering now after all his time in Mirkwood. Not sailing yet, oh no. He's getting his lad used to being in charge for a bit."

"Oh is he?" murmured Gandalf, wreathed in smoke from his and others' pipes.

"Don't listen to that lout, Gandalf," said someone else. Primrose could only make out the person's knees. "I hear the Elven Prince went to find some Rangers. Found 'em, too, and had whatever talks he wanted from those odd folk."

"I hear the Elvenking just wanted him to clear off for a bit while he snuck off for Barliman's ale," said another, and everyone laughed at that. It helped that it had a grain of truth.

"It is good," Primrose added, her nose crinkling into a mousy sneeze. The foamy bubbles had flowed up her nose. "Where does the Elvenking live?"

"In Mirkwood, beyond the Misty Mountains," someone answered, and deep inside Primrose's chest there came another pang of longing.                  

That evening, she and Gandalf went to bed (he in a Man-sized bed, she in a Hobbit's from downstairs). She had already turned down her covers, yawning, but he was still sitting near the window, brooding in the semidarkness as only wizards can. 

"I'm sure you've quite made up your mind, Primrose," Gandalf said with a hint of amusement, and something more bittersweet. "But I counsel the realm of the Elvenking is a long ways off, and there are still many dangers waiting to be faced, if you wish to go."

Primrose stared up at the ceiling. The very title of "Elvenking" had snared her mind and heart like a pale thread, tugging them both beyond the high walls of Bree toward somewhere else; between dappled tree-shadows and the cool darkness of a forest she could vaguely sketch out. Oddly, she could almost envision the Elvenking himself, as if he were there before her: an ancient crown of woodland leaves or berries atop his head, his eyes the grey of river-smoothed stones, his brows dark as the Brandywine on a moonless night.

"I want to go," she said, hushed and awed by her own voice. Under the light of the new moon glowing outside in the great dark, it didn't quite seem her own.

The big bed creaked. Gandalf must be looking at her, seeing something beyond her understanding. "Careful, young Took! It's been many a year since any fell under his enchantment from so far away. Some fey mischief's gotten into him, and even I may be unable to pull you out of it in the end."

"We can cross that bridge when we come to it," said Primrose, her eyelids already drooping. "Still...thank you for looking after me, Gandalf."

"Hum!" said Gandalf, sounding quite touched. "It's the least I can do, really. Now get some sleep, if you want to have breakfast along with an early start."

---

Breakfast at The Prancing Pony was quite good⏤crispy eggs and bacon, and piping-hot tea⏤and Primrose was looking forward to a second one as she and Gandalf took care of their last business in Bree.

"I'm afraid the cart will only slow us down," Gandalf told her. "You know how to ride a pony, I hope?"

"Oh, yes," Primrose replied, suddenly missing her dear, fat filly in Tuckborough. (The filly had plenty of grass and caretakers there, and would have run back home miles ago.)

Gandalf seemed to guess both these things, and smiled warmly at her. "We'll find you a sturdy, reliable friend before the morning's out."

After some bargaining, between the two of them they were able to find a jolly, nut-brown pony and a nimble white horse respectively. Off they rode, with dawn's rays gleaming like amber on their new mounts.

It was a comforting warmth, for soon they were in the Lone-lands, where there were no inns and the roads were choked with shadowy brambles. The hills looked dangerous, as though any minute some giant would crest over the top and chuck rocks at them. Yet despite that, Primrose's gaze kept turning to certain hills: ones topped with abandoned castles whose windows and doors grinned emptily down at her. Come in, come in, they seemed to say. Come and join our rotted revels.

While Primrose's curiosity overtook her eventually, she still had her wits. She guided her pony closer to Gandalf's horse. "Er, Gandalf, if it isn't too much trouble...would it be alright if we explored one of these castles?"

Gandalf looked down at her, his bushy brows slightly raised. "These castles?" he asked, gesturing with one hand to a particularly evil looking one. "Are you quite sure?"

Primrose squinted at it, shook her head, and gestured to a slightly less ominous looking one opposite. "This one seems reasonable to me. And," she continued, bolstered by his wry chuckle, "I promise I'll stay close to you!"

"Ha! I know you Tooks of old, my friend. You'd be better off saving your breath and taking my hand before we cross the front door."

Thanking him profusely, Primrose got her wish, and as a nice bonus their mounts had a resting place under the shadow of some scrawny trees and their feed bags. The grass was green enough that no doubt they could enjoy it too. 

As soon as she and Gandalf linked hands before the cobwebbed "front door", the air grew unusually cold. It was as if ghostly fingers were caressing her neck. Moving closer to Gandalf, she peered into the musty dark, biting her lip and wondering.

"What do you think, Primrose?" Gandalf asked quietly, adjusting his grip on his staff. "Is this adventure enough for today, or shall we chance it?"

That he asked at all was a great comfort. After thinking some more (and looking asquint at a particularly fresh-looking web), she made her decision. "We chance it, just a bit. I can make out someone else's boots on the stone, here."

"So can I. Do they head in, or out?"

"...Both?"

"Very good," said Gandalf, and lit up his staff before crossing the dust-covered threshold.               

The musty dark was eased slightly by the pure and golden light of Gandalf's staff, and the faint light of day stubbornly pushing in through the slitted windows. Still, what could be seen was hardly to Shire standards: dust and cobwebs everywhere (some webs distressingly Hobbit sized), and ancient furniture moldering away in dignified loneliness. Gandalf's immense black boots didn't echo, which was disappointing to Primrose's sense of the dramatic, yet intriguing. Were the cobwebs smothering the sound? Or perhaps...

"Hum!" said Gandalf, when they reached a room resembling a kitchen. "It seems our well-shorn friend has been here recently too. They didn't find much, and doubtless we won't either."

Primrose stood on tiptoe. "Why would they need food? Did they plan on staying long?"

"Now that is a troubling thought. Keep it in mind, just in case."

Suddenly a few halls away came a noise Primrose never expected⏤the tuneless terror of frightened birds. 

"Radagast?" Gandalf called, looking as confused as Primrose felt, and strode along the halls practically half-carrying her until they reached their destination.

In what once was a great hall fit for princely dinners, a funny old man was bundled up in thick spider silk, hanging from the dusty rafters and spinning round and round like meat on a spit. Two bluebirds were working at his bindings between sounding the alarm.

Two grey spiders fought for their spoil on the table beneath him, their legs scuttling and scraping against the wood.

Now Primrose tolerated most spiders, so long as they were small and far from her person. These spiders were large, fat as barrels and their limbs the length of spears, and their eyes had an unpleasant malevolence to them.

As soon as they saw their intruders they broke off and made for them. And worse yet, they talked to each other in raspy, cruel voices.

"My dear sister, look! Guests, and so early in the morning!" said one, her intimidating mandibles clicking away. "The first one here simply refused to be juiced, so perhaps these will fare better?"

"That small, fat one seems especially ripe," said the other, already scuttling forward with terrifying speed.

The spider was almost upon her when Primrose in desperation babbled out "But we're guests!"

Everyone paused at that, united in their confusion. Gandalf had his staff at the ready, but even he seemed stuck to the floor. 

"You," Primrose continued doggedly on, "you need to treat guests with hospitality. We won't 'juice' well otherwise."

"You never should have made that little joke, sister," said the spider about to attack Primrose. "You've made it talk." 

"Well what else can I do?" Primrose struggled to her feet, leaning against the wall. "No wonder you're both fighting; you've made such a wretched mess of this place travelers assume it's abandoned. At this rate⏤"

"We should eat while we can, is that it?" The spider moved uncomfortably close to her, poking at her wooly feet with her uncomfortably soft legs.

"No, no, not at all," said Gandalf, placing himself between them and ensuring the spider warily scuttled back. "What my good friend was going to say until you rudely interrupted was 'you need to make this place hospitable'. Dust the rooms, buy better furniture, stock the kitchen..."

"But that's not food," said the first spider miserably, and Primrose was inclined to agree.    

"It isn't," Primrose added, "but if you don't put in a bit of effort, you'll both starve to death."

"Not necessarily," said the spiders, sizing each other up with nasty looks. 

Gandalf and Primrose were exchanging glances, too, but theirs were more uncertain. It was very strange: these creatures were clearly intelligent, but they may as well be played by a puppeteer called Hunger. 

Then the spiders were at each other again, hissing and spitting most vindictively between sharing blows. Sometimes they traded insults: "Mother always liked you best," "Well you ate that perfectly handsome mate before I ever had a go at him", "That was months ago, you ninny," and other bits of gossip not far removed from your average family feud.

While Primrose scrambled out of the way of the scuffle, Radagast finally stopped his eternal rotation. Gandalf burned at the web with his staff, Primrose and the birds tugged at the webs and Radagast wriggled furiously, and between the five of them he landed on all fours atop the table.

"Gandalf, my staff," he wheezed, pointing shakily to a corner clotted with shadows. 

"Primrose can handle that."  

"Anything to get away from those horrid things," Primrose thought as she crept off.

"My feast now and forever, dear sister," cried one spider, and the stone floor drummed with countless legs. "Now where is that nasty little fat one⏤" 

Then came the sound of steel being drawn, followed by something more disturbing, like leather being torn by weapons natural and made. Primrose didn't dare look back. She soon found the staff, charmingly gnarled and topped with a beautiful greenish-blue jewel nestled amid the tangle of roots.

No sooner had she begun to admire it however when she found something else: a third spider waiting patiently in the dark.

Red bulbous eyes covered her vision, and hairy mandibles lifted, exposing dark fangs curved like scimitars, and Primrose's wits left her in a horrified scream.

But in her mindless fear she still gripped the heavy staff. Hobbits are no wizards, but when cornered they're as good at lashing out as any prey animal. Frantic she struck, aiming for anything that looked dangerous or soft. Crack went the staff over the spider's many-eyed head, stunning it. 

That was enough for Primrose. And for Radagast too: he picked her up by the back of her dress and plopped her behind his back, taking up his staff in her place. "Are you alright?" he asked, fretting over her so anxiously he felt like long-lost family. 

"I think so," she finally managed. "Thank you."

"Oh, thank goodness," Radagast said with open relief, and returned his attention to the spider. "I hate to admit it, but these fell creatures aren't under my protection," he said. But he still shook as if it pained him to harm anything, even a "fell creature" that had been knocked unconscious.

Some might call it cowardice. But in that moment, Primrose understood that Radagast was a great wizard in his own way. 

The birds flittered back and settled back in their nest tangled in his hair. That seemed to settle Radagast, too, though he was clearly still pondering his options. 

Gandalf strode over, wiping black blood from his sword. Patting Radagast's shoulder, he said quietly "Still, we must do something, or else other travelers will not be so lucky."

Primrose, thinking of her parents' hole in the Great Smials and coaxing much smaller, less dangerous spiders outside, finally suggested in a shaky voice "Perhaps we should push it out the window? It's smaller than the others."

That suggestion seemed to shake Radagast from his conflicted thoughts. "We can try. Gandalf, if you'd lend a hand⏤?"

Soon the last spider tumbled out and down, down into the darkness of the collapsing foundation below, and there it lay still. And there it remains, some say, quite spooked by anything bigger than itself, like all its regular-sized brethren.    

---

"Thank you both," said Radagast for the hundredth time, after they'd cleared out the remaining spiders and explored more of the ruin. On closer inspection he was younger than Gandalf, with long grayish-brown hair that birds clearly thought suitable for their needs, and garbed in brown wool that looked comfortable for any weather. His eyes were the color of robin's eggs, and gave him and Gandalf a strong family resemblance.

"Those spiders refused to talk to me, either. Who knows how long I could've hung there!" He shuddered, sending smaller cobwebs floating dismally through the stale air. "By the way, what are we looking for again?"

"Something that might protect young Primrose," Gandalf rumbled, sticking the end of his staff into a clothing chest and giving it some experimental prods just in case. "I would sleep easier if she had less near-misses like today. I'm not always nearby to help friends out of tight corners."

"Thank you, Gandalf." She leaned over the side of the chest and peered in. "I wouldn't mind a small shield."

"Very practical of you," Gandalf praised, and added "A more fanciful answer is quite welcome, though."

"Aldarion's bow of power?" 

Radagast laughed good-naturedly. "We'd need to stretch you a fair bit first, I'm afraid!"

"Oh..." Primrose's eyes widened. "Oh, Gandalf, look! There's something wooden near the bottom."

Gandalf reached a long arm inside. After some rummaging, he pulled out a small bow of Elvish-make, perfect for her size. There was a quiver too, with arrows to match. Perhaps there was some truth to the stories of the Hobbit archers who went to help some king or other after all. Or perhaps it was meant to appease a child's fancies. The more cynical part of her suspected the latter.

"Do you know how to use it, Primrose?" Gandalf asked.

She demonstrated, knocking an arrow in place and drawing it to her ear. Obviously it was all well and good to do so when not being menaced by spiders, but still, the Tooks knew how to hunt if need be.     

"Thank you again," she said to Gandalf when she slung the bow and quiver on her back, and curtsied. "I hope you won't worry so much now!"

"Gandalf wouldn't be Gandalf then," Radagast said with a Hobbitish laugh. "Come on! Let's see if there are any new friends about." His bird friends flew out from under his hat, understanding him perfectly.

"'Friends'?"

"He means animals," Gandalf explained, looking fond of his fellow wizard. "Agreed, old friend. Is that why you were so far from home?"

"Well, yes, and also no," said Radagast, actually lying on the floor like a fuzzy rug and peering into a mouse hole. "I'd hoped to keep those spiders from spreading. Excuse me a moment."

He spoke to it in a strange language, somewhere between that of Men and mouse. Then with a disappointed shake of his head he lifted himself off the floor⏤only to look surprised to find Primrose sitting next to him with her knees drawn to her chest, curious.

"Hullo!"

"Hullo." Primrose rested her chin on her folded arms. "Can I learn that language too?"

Radagast's eyes widened. "Really? As it happens, I'm not sure...but I'd like very much to have someone else around who can keep the creatures of this world company, you know. Especially in Greenwood Forest, though people call it Mirkwood now."

"'Greenwood'..." Primrose repeated the name like an enchantment.

For enchantment it was, in its own quiet way. All forests have that sort of power, named or not. You hear forest and some ancient part of you, however small and however brief the moment, wants to go there and stand amid the endless green, breathe the clear air, listen to the whispers of leaves. 

Gandalf, for his part, was of many minds about this business. He knew Elves well, and Wood Elves in particular come with no small amount of merry danger. "If you wish to reach the Elvenking before summer, we must pick up our pace. There will be plenty of abandoned castles to explore on our way there." 

"Oh, alright," said Primrose, looking sadly about her one last time. The castle she'd chosen for her first adventure may have looked evil, but the inside felt quite lonely and in need of people to live in it. With luck, the Elvenking's mysterious Halls would have more joy and curiosities. 

"Oh, yes," said Radagast, looking at Primrose with unexpected seriousness. "You have been called to his side. Whatever for, I wonder..." 

Gandalf helped Primrose to her feet. "That is for her to discover."

Chapter Text

After Gandalf, Radagast and Primrose left the abandoned castle, they quickened their pace toward Rivendell under a grim onslaught of rain.

It was the worst sort of rain, too; the kind that never seems to end no matter how far you travel. They stopped to rest where they could⏤under dark canopies of trees, or the moss-covered shade of forts abandoned or sacked centuries ago⏤but for the most part they spent many days trudging down lonely, muddy roads. This was not the adventure Primrose hoped for. But then all adventures she'd heard and read of had their miseries, small or large, and she had company.

Tonight's camp was under a stone bridge, eroded by time and perhaps a war Primrose had never known. The grey stone proved a good awning for three, and out of the rain, but there was a gloomy feeling about it all the same. There wasn't even a castle nearby to explore.   

"On nights such as these, there's nothing quite like a hot meal before a fire," said Gandalf, as he handed Primrose roasted rabbit on a stick.  

"Is it alright, though?" Primrose asked Radagast, who was fussing with the rabbit skins.

"Oh yesh," he said through the bone-needle clamped between his teeth. The thread gleamed like amber in the firelight. He took the needle out and continued, still sewing, "Everything needs to eat, and animals know that better than you or I. But we should use every part we're given, if we can."

"The front legs can be made into stock for stew," Gandalf added, gesturing to Radagast's now-empty pot and his deft needlework, "and the skin can be used to make pouches and waterskins. The bones make good needles, as you can see, and even the intestines can be used for leather handles for our packs, should they break." 

Primrose watched the branches burning in the campfire, crackling and blackening in the heat. "I'm glad," she said after awhile. "I would hate to have eaten a friend."

Radagast chuckled a wry, sandpapery sort of chuckle as he continued putting the remains to use. "The problem with having friends of any sort is, they all pass away sooner or later. Animals just happen to be more blunt about it."

"But not Elves," Primrose said, sinking into strange thoughts.

"Oh no," said Gandalf, a tinge of sadness in his voice. "No, Elves pass too, in their own way. Such is the fate of all things sad or beautiful in Middle-Earth."

When at last they lay down to sleep, the rain whispering in their ears, Primrose lay awake for some time. She looked up at the dark roof of stone, wondering if it had been built by an Elf who no longer existed. And what of the Elvenking? Would he pass before she ever met him? She shut her eyes and turned over, and soon fell into uncomfortable dreams. 

---

The rain continued its needle-like deluge for a few days more. Talk was intermittent (to Primrose's inner dismay) as they passed by some perfectly intriguing castles that surely had some tales to tell. 

"Whatever happened to exploring?" she thought, shaking her open umbrella in Gandalf's direction. "Drat! Noodles! Bother the open road, at least as long as we're tale-less!"

It was the same when they went over a great stone bridge intriguingly called The Last Bridge. Her companions were too busy fighting the rain to explain why and how that name came to be. On either side she could hear the hoarse roar of the river, swollen with rainwater. Perfect drowning conditions. Shivering, she stayed to the center of the bridge as much as possible.  

Things became more interesting when they passed through a small valley and entered a verdant wood reminiscent of The Woody End, but with red stone underfoot instead of the flat, leaf-strewn ground she now fondly remembered. The pine trees were thick and green and had a refreshing scent to them (though the pitch burned a little on her palm). On instinct, she excitedly looked around for Elves perched amid the branches⏤but no such luck. Tempting though it was to complain, she nudged her pony forward instead.

"Only a little farther now," called Gandalf, as if he sensed her restlessness. "Look, up ahead!"

The sight that met her was a wondrous thing. The Ford of Bruinen stretched out beneath them like a huge ribbon of white and blue, ever-rushing, roaring defiantly at any who would pass. The stepping stones were few and far between, peeking out from the water like curious faces. Even she could tell great care needed to be taken here, or else she and her pony would be swept off and broken like eggs against the nearby rocks and cliffs.

"Stay close, Primrose," called Radagast, perched on Gandalf's horse like a raven. Redundant though his advice was, it was comforting.

Their crossing was the height of cautiousness, with horse and pony alike concentrating on their rider's every twitch of the reins. They wished to enjoy a good meal themselves, after all. And perhaps they could sense the homely lands just beyond, with rich green grass to run in. As such, they delicately stepped across each stone with equine grace.

The valley just beyond the Ford was hardly smooth-sailing either, though it looked pleasant. As much as Primrose wished to run among the flowers that bloomed like second constellations on the beautiful green ground (once the rain stopped), Radagast warned her that it would be the last steps she ever made.

"They are remarkable, though," he admitted, turning his head from side to side with infectious joy. "Why, many of these weren't here when I last passed through!"

"Heed your own advice, won't you?" Gandalf grumbled, urging his horse faster. 

They passed behind a grand waterfall through some trick Primrose couldn't make out, and didn't dare ask about. Spells were best left unexplained. On they rode through a treacherous path marked with white stones, peeping from beneath heather and moss like eggs in nests. Sometimes Gandalf needed to double back and check that they were headed the right way. 

It was almost tea-time, by Primrose's reckoning, when Radagast waved her forward excitedly.

"Here we are at last, and none too soon!" he said, actually climbing off Gandalf's horse. "Oh, the scent of trees and rain...!"   

This valley was not a secret bog, but lush and green and naturally decorated with roaring waterfalls that smelled cool and clear. Primrose paid close attention to every step along the zig-zag path that led down toward the verdant pines, then the mighty oaks and the pale beeches, finding hidden lights guiding their way onward. Her spirits seemed to rise like a great wave, cresting higher and higher the more they walked. This had to be an Elf-place.

Suddenly from up above came a chorus of warm laughter. "There she is at last!" cried someone in the trees. "Good old Primrose Took!"

"Me?!" 

"We thought you'd never come, my dear," called another, when Primrose twisted about to see better. "Oh! Never mind us, follow your friends or you'll be left behind."

"But⏤"

"Mind the bridge, it's quite narrow," said another. "Go on! Go on!"

So Primrose did go on, her heart in her throat as her pony nervously clopped its way over the stone parapet, mercifully unable to see the massive rapids frothing below. Still, she had a strange feeling that if she fell, someone in those trees might rescue her⏤after letting her scream a bit. She didn't know it for certain yet, but the Good People have their mischief and morals the same as you or I. She reached the other side just as her pony began to champ nervously.

And suddenly there were Elves: Elves helping her off the saddle, Elves taking her luggage, Elves merrily chatting with Gandalf and Radagast like they were old friends, and even a few potential new ones for her.

"Good afternoon?" Primrose began, feeling light-headed and astonishingly small next to these tall, wonderful beings she'd yearned to meet one day.

"It will be better once you're warm and dry," said one Elf, carrying her inside. "Even our people need shelter from weather such as this!"

That was most welcome. Primrose let herself be carried drippily to a curious room with a ceiling as high as the sky, where a small hearth and heated bath awaited her. There were Elf maidens as well. They helped her out of her soggy clothes (laughing good-naturedly as she struggled out of her dress and petticoats) and into steaming bliss, singing:

Come out of the rain, and into fair water!

You're welcome to it, Isembold's daughter

For you have sought us, through castle and heather

Impressively stubborn, this little bellwether!

Fortunately they couldn't continue further, as Primrose was figuratively and literally drowning in embarrassment at that point and needed to be rescued. Thus ended her first moment in The Last Homely House.

---

Once she was dried off and freshly-clothed (she spent a long time admiring her new cream-colored robe), Primrose wasted no time in exploring.

Everywhere she went there was a new marvel: the carved balconies overlooking the valley and within appreciative sight of the architecture, the library as big and bountiful as the sea, the kitchen full of steam and inviting scents yet gleaming as if it were cleaned just hours ago, and the food that seemed both homey and unlike anything she'd ever tasted before. The many cooks seemed to have no issue with her pulling over a stool and watching them work.

"I beg your pardon, but what are those?" she asked, pointing to the white rounded triangle being formed in the nearest cook's hands. 

"These are rice balls from the Uttermost East," answered the cook, showing her the small, sticky white grains in the pot. "They keep well, once soaked in vinegar, and are useful for travelers."

"Travelers have come from that far away?"

"Oh, yes. Many come to seek Lord Elrond's counsel, and the safety of his home." 

"I don't blame them!" Primrose watched the cook work a little more. "...May I have one?"

"Of course," said the cook, wrapping a sort of green paper around the bottom of the oddly-triangular ball. "Here you are."

"Thank you very much!" The taste of vinegar took some getting used to, as did the edible "paper" (actually seaweed), but the rice ball was delicious in a savory sort of way, pleasantly different from Shire fare.     

Eventually, not wanting to disturb the work being done, Primrose scurried off, enjoying the light, fluffy sweetness of Rivendell's tea cakes. 

It was then⏤when Primrose perched on one of the many marble steps leading to the wine cellars, humming with joy over good food and being out of the rain⏤that some curious chance snuck with Elvish tread into our tale. 

Out of the shadows and holding a bottle of pale wine came not just an Elf, but a very tall Elf, which is saying something. A little over six feet tall, he was dressed in what looked like deep green silk with golden trim, blending in perfectly with the comfortable darkness that surrounded him. His long golden hair swayed as he walked, seeming to shoo away any gloom from his person, and his smile did the rest.

"Goo' day," said Primrose, and hastily swallowed another bite of tea cake. A curtsy was a dangerous undertaking in front of stairs, but she managed. 

"Good day," replied the very tall Elf, his striking, dark brows slightly raised in surprise. "You must be a new arrival."

"I'm Primrose Took, a Hobbit from the Shire, and these tea cakes are delicious."

"Are they indeed?" said the very tall Elf, laughing softly. "I'll have to acquire some⏤later. In the meantime," and he swept some dust off the step and sat down beside her, his feet resting two steps ahead of hers, "my name is Glodhren."

"A pleasure to meet you, Glodhren." She caught his lips twitching into a wider smile and peered at him curiously. "Did I pronounce it wrong?"

"Not to my knowledge." Glodhren looked at the wine bottle and eyed her remaining tea cakes. "I forgot the glasses downstairs. Would you care to accompany me?"

Unfortunately for him, Primrose's mother was very wise in the ways of scoundrels, and taught her daughter well. "I'd prefer somewhere with more people about, Mister Glodhren," Primrose said with a touch of frost that charmed her would-be charmer greatly.

"Indeed! Merrymaking is more pleasant with company." Glodhren rose to his feet, still smiling⏤Oh, I must be mispronouncing it, thought Primrose glumly⏤and offered her a hand up.

Still, she took his hand and let herself be lifted with enviable ease.

Together they headed in search of company; some looked at them curiously, others smiled at some private joke, and still more seemed eager to stay out of Glodhren's way, as if his glance would turn them to stone. But that seemed impossible. While all Elves had a certain jolliness to them that reminded Primrose of The Green Dragon's customers, this one had an air of revelry that was impossible to resist. When he idly snatched two wooden cups from a passing server, the server laughed with him instead of demanding them back. 

As they reached one of Rivendell's many gardens, Primrose stopped to admire the scenery. Hobbit gardens were designed with growing foodstuffs in mind, but here the aim was different: it felt like walking into another world, one vibrant with fresh verdure and green beauty. The flowers especially seemed to carry some enchantment beyond her understanding, but pleasantly so. 

Glodhren said, his voice unexpectedly grand, "You know, it's quite strange. Even though Halflings are rare in my lands, and never met you, Primrose Took, you've been slipping into my thoughts uninvited for the past few weeks."

The uninvited guest in question looked at him with a wary but curious eye. "Is that so?"

"You sound unconvinced! As am I, in truth. Only one other Halfling has made my acquaintance, and quite by accident. I much prefer meeting someone on purpose, on my own time."

"I suppose I do too."

Glodhren sat down on a stone bench and set the cups at a reasonable space between them. With slender, dexterous fingers, he uncorked the wine bottle and poured a reasonable amount for their respective sizes. (Primrose could have watched him do this all day, but didn't dare say so.)

"There is an Elf I've been, er, preoccupied with," she said, shyly taking a sip of wine. It was good stuff, carrying the sweetness of honey and the scent of countless flowers.

Glodhren paused in the middle of his own drink. "Oh?" His look turned playful yet somber.

"Yes. I don't know if it's rude or not, or possible, but...of all the Elves, I want to see the Elvenking the most." Then Primrose ducked her head and revived (or addled) her wits with another mouthful of wine.                  

When she swallowed and turned back to look at Glodhren, she found him looking unusually despondent. Even the hand holding his wine seemed to droop like a wilting flower. 

"Oh, no! What's the matter?" 

"I'm afraid he's quite dreary, your Elvenking. His wife's death has soured him to the core, and he's only recently bothered stepping foot outside." Glodhren sighed and poured himself more wine. "Were you to see him now, I worry you would be disappointed you bothered to come so far for nothing."

They drank together in silence for a few moments, while above and around them the well-tended garden shone resplendently in the sun, as if made of emeralds and white gems.

"I don't think so," Primrose answered at last, handing him a tea cake to cheer him up. "If I may...I think I understand how he feels."

"How so?"

It took some time for Primrose to gather herself. Then, with a heavy sigh of her own, she said: 

"My uncles must have died somewhere Across the Water. Everyone acts as though they never existed, like I imagined them when I was young and now need to grow up. But I heard their laughter in the halls, exchanged presents on their birthdays. They have to have been real, because it tore at my heart to live where they once did and half-expect them around every corner. And it hurt worse to hear the gossips whisper and lie, yet look at me like I was the lunatic if I dared stand up for them."

Silence reigned again. It was a bit embarrassing, revealing all this to someone she barely knew; yet Primrose felt that if anyone besides Gandalf could understand, it was the Elf sitting beside her, shielding his neck from the burning sun with a hand.

"Maybe I didn't just leave for an adventure," she muttered, "I had to escape."

Glodhren poured her more wine. "That, too, shows that your uncles were real." His voice, usually an endless well of good cheer, now sounded remorseful and dreary.

After a bit more thought, Primrose took the cup and raised it in a toast. "To my uncles."

"To your uncles." The wood knocked softly together. 

---

After that, things livened up between them, even as Primrose began to guess who "Glodhren" actually was.

For one, it was deeply suspicious that no-one had shooed them out of the garden yet, and for another her companion seemed to be in a league of his own compared to the Elves she'd met. Most didn't seem as inclined to lounge, with their long legs crossed and their back resting luxuriously against the trunk of a tree. Nor to let her laugh drunkenly against their arms, her curls brushing their bell-like sleeves. And to rest their flushed heads on her lap, their unfocused eyes carrying hints of bottled starlight? Unthinkable.

"...And then," he was saying, laughing softly as she brushed strands of golden hair out of his bewitching eyes, "I had a most wonderful idea: rather than let those strange visions run amok in my head, I would look into your character myself and seek Elrond's advice simultaneously. And if that amounted to nothing, I would invite myself to Bilbo Baggins' house for tea."

"Cousin Bilbo? So that's where he vanished to."

"He snubbed me, you know. But no doubt he yearned for the comforts of home, as I do."

"Is that so?" she murmured. "What about your home?"

"My son is looking after it in my absence. It will be good for him."

"Oho, so one of the rumors was true after all."

"...Rumors?"

"Yes," Primrose said, feeling ever more correct in her guess. "I heard the Elvenking of Mirkwood was off galavanting, and that gave me a signpost to head toward." 

The Elf claiming to be Glodhren looked at her with a hint of disappointment. After letting out a long sigh, he rolled his shoulders in an elegant shrug. "Yes, I admit it. Thranduil, the Elvenking of Mirkwood, is long out of practice when it comes to mischief. More wine?"

"Not just yet," Primrose said. She'd finally remembered something important. "Radagast left Mirkwood to keep its spiders from infesting other places. Before we came here, we found some⏤"

Drunken ease began to fade from Thranduil's face. "Where?"

"In a castle along the Lone-lands," she hastened to explain, while he raised himself into a sitting position with deep concern knitting his brow. "We got rid of them, but there could be more."

"Indeed. Oh, if only my holiday could have lasted a little longer." Thranduil fixed his clothes with a flick of his wrists, a very kingly maneuver by her reckoning.

"I'm sorry."

"Worry not! There's still hope. Radagast, as you call him, is a pleasant breeze compared to Mithrandir's alarmist gales, and I know how to do business with him."

"'Mith'...?"  

Sliding to his full height, Thranduil seemed to shake off the last remnants of drink and took Primrose by the hand, already striding toward the exit. "Come, Primrose Took! We have a wizard to question."

Chapter Text

Primrose instinctively wanted to apologize as soon as Thranduil cornered Radagast at one of the white stone arbors. Literally, pressing the poor fellow into the tightest corner and making the act of bending slightly downward to meet eye-to-eye feel somewhere between a straightforward threat and an act of divine benevolence. 

"There you are, Aiwendil," he said, cocking his head to one side like a raven ready to peck at a rabbit to check if it's alive or dead. "It seems we have much to speak about."

Radagast nibbled fretfully at some last bite of food before squeaking "Lord Elvenking! Um, er, oh dear I'm so confused. How did you get here?"

"By traveling, and that is all you need to know. I should like to know your business here."

"Certainly, my lord," said Radagast, peering behind Thranduil. "I see you've met Primrose! Wonderful, wonderful."

Thranduil looked down and lifted his sleeve, where Primrose was resolutely dangling. Setting her back down to earth, he returned to the matter at hand.

"She told me of the spiders. When was the Elvenking going to hear of this ill news?" 

There was an eerie gleam in Radagast's blue eyes. "When we last talked, you put your faith in me, my lord. Does that still stand?"

Thranduil nodded. 

Before he could continue talking, however, Radagast said cheerily "Splendid! Goodbye" and vanished into thin air.

"Splendid indeed! He does know magic after all." Primrose looked this way and that to no avail. "But why did he leave when he could have finished his business early?"

"He didn't," said Thranduil with eerie calm. His long arm shot down into the bushes and pulled something translucent and yet rippling with the garden's many shades of green back into the arbor. 

Radagast returned to his usual form, fuming like a teakettle and as squeakily irate. "Let go let go let go!"

"Only if you finish your report."

"He'd be more willing if you stopped pulling his hair, my Lord," Primrose suggested, wincing.

With obvious reluctance Thranduil let go, and just in time: for even the smallest violence could occur in Rivendell without its master knowing.

At least, Primrose assumed the man striding toward them was the master of the house. A circlet of silver gleamed on his brow like a star, and his grey eyes looked on her with solemn kindness. He was clearly less pleased with Thranduil, though. There was an odd sense of difference in their eyes, but it was beyond a Hobbit to know for sure. 

Then the Elf spoke, his voice deep and rich like the valley itself. "Primrose Took may not know the laws of Rivendell, but you do, Elvenking Thranduil. No doubt you injured your fellow guest in order to bring me here. A foolish ploy." 

Thranduil rolled his eyes in an appallingly un-royal way. To Primrose's relief, however, he straightened himself out and met his fellow Elf on polite (enough) terms. "May Aiwendil's beard be free from harm henceforth! I apologize, Lord Elrond, the wine was very potent."

"As was showing off too, no doubt," Radagast muttered into his now-blessed beard, though he still looked fondly at Primrose.

"Apology accepted." Elrond looked on Thranduil with unexpected kindness. "I understand fearing for your home. Come, Aiwendil! We three shall speak of this together."

Primrose raised her hand, feeling terribly awkward. "I beg your pardon, Lord Elrond, but is there anything I can do?"

Lord Elrond smiled down at her. "I would suggest visiting the library until I return your friends to your side. There you may learn much."

"Thank you!" Primrose craned her neck to see Thranduil's face. "Is it alright if I call you 'friend', O Elvenking?"

But Thranduil didn't answer; he was busy lobbing questions at Radagast with all the constancy of a well-maintained trebuchet.

---

As it turned out, there was much to do in Rivendell with or without company. Whether listening to songs and tales beside the cheering hearth fires, or eating foods from lands near and far, or poring over maps by candlelight, or reading books in comfortable silence, Primrose could have stayed in the Homely House forever. And yet each day seemed to light a new spark of adventure inside her, coaxing her onward to the next stage of her journey, wherever that could be. 

She also had time to practice with her bow. It was a bit embarrassing, since many Elves stopped by to watch such a novel sight, and she spent many a frustrating hour missing the wooden practice dummies by miles while fielding advice from all corners. The worst and best were the rare occasions when Elrond came by, because someone or other would silently move the dummies closer when her back was turned. But it was well worth it, as you will see.  

Her friends (Elrond and Thranduil hopefully included) spent a day or two locked in secret rooms, making their plans, and graciously dealt with Primrose pestering them as soon as she heard their footsteps on the smooth stone tiles.

"Were there more spider sightings in the Lone-Lands, Gandalf?"

"A few, yes. The Rangers will make short work of them."

"Radagast, are those your bird friends flying to and fro?"

"Why yes, Primrose! I'm glad you noticed them. They're delivering messages to the Rangers."

And so on. In truth, the whole spider business seemed to be tidying up disappointingly fast by her standards for adventure, but she knew it was for the best. The spiders were dangerous, and she would hate for unsuspecting travelers to run afoul of their horrible snares and fangs. Better to have the roads with regular-sized spiders instead.

"Still," she thought to herself, watching the waterfalls churn and froth from her room window, "I was hoping for something to do."

"Oh, did you?" asked Gandalf, poking his head in through the low window opposite, beard and all, with an expectant smile. "Very good! I'd hoped as much."

"I'm glad. Then where are we going next, Gandalf?"

"Well," Gandalf said, a light of mischief in his eye, "after checking on the goblins' Front Porch to ensure that giant properly plugged it up for me, we have the Elvenking's permission to visit his Halls in Mirkwood."

"Wonderful⏤"

"There is a curious catch, however," Gandalf interrupted. "I thought you should know it before agreeing to anything."

"You're always so cautious! But alright, what is it?"

"The Elvenking wants to escort you himself. Now don't jump for it like a jack-in-the-box, Primrose Took! You haven't bothered to ask why the Elvenking of all people would extend such a boon, which is odd for you and concerning to me."  

"You have a point." Primrose hopped up and paced about, evading chairs and stacks of books as she went. "It's not for my safety, or he would let you keep chaperoning me."

"Perhaps. Or perhaps he thinks my fretting would rub off on you. I see no reason why they would, and that could be a good thing. As a Wizard, it's my job to do the meddling and worrying over the world, not Hobbits."

"Then what is my job?" Primrose wondered aloud, stopping a foot from Gandalf's shadow. It stretched long over the floor and hall, but not in an unwelcome way, while hers only stretched to a certain point. "I'm not a wizard, or a warrior, or even a burglar..." 

"I believe," said Gandalf, after a thoughtful pause, "your role is yet to be decided. And that can be a great comfort, believe it or not."

"I'll believe it for now. Then did you agree to the Elvenking's terms, Gandalf?"

"Certainly not! Not without a great deal of arguing, anyway; if I may say, there are few things more relieving than winning an argument against the Elvenking, save for perhaps escaping dire peril."

"You, in danger?" 

Gandalf raised a bushy brow and harrumphed. "What cheek! I'm a ragbag old man, you know, all skin and bones (not to mention only one hat, and I quite like this one)."

Her heart sunk at the thought. "I apologize, Gandalf. The thought of you being hurt...it's terrible."

Gandalf's expression softened, perhaps due to the novelty of being worried about. "At any rate, I arranged for us to cross the Misty Mountains together for a time, perils permitting. So chin up!"

She gladly did so, but... "Only a time?"

"My good lady, what fun would an adventure be if you had an Elvenking and two wizards to get you out of trouble? That's entirely too much good fortune." 

"True, true."

"Oh, thank goodness, you're both here," squeaked Radagast as he bustled over. "Come quick if you don't wish to miss our farewell feast!"

---

If this was meant to be a "farewell" feast, Primrose almost didn't mind leaving Rivendell at all. The songs and stories were enchanting, her plate and cup never empty for long, and best of all nobody bothered her for a speech. 

That was rightfully left to King Thranduil, who was as skilled as you would expect (even if Primrose couldn't quite follow the Elvish pleasantries). He looked splendid at the high table in robes of black and gold, and a crown of wild flowers on his fair brow. He was also getting merry with drink, his cheeks turning pink as spring apples. Nobody at the gathering save Gandalf laughed harder at Primrose's jokes. 

"You will be well at home in my Realm, though I worry about our larder," said Thranduil, as Primrose finished off another slice of apple cake.

"We Hobbits take meals very seriously," Primrose warned, and Thranduil raised his cup in (mostly) solemn acknowledgement.

Elrond, as the master of the Last Homely House, sat clad in starry silver at the head of the high table and missed none of this.   

Radagast, being the shy and retiring sort, needed "to take some air" midway through the festivities. At the same time, a little brown owl began swooping about in the starlight, hooting joyously to his fellows. 

"I had hoped he'd join us for a little while longer, so we can plan out our course a little more," said Gandalf, beside Primrose. "The goblins of the Misty Mountains may be in hiding now, but there's plenty of nastiness that you could run into."

"Like what?" Primrose asked excitedly.

"Oh, all sorts: huge pale fish old as the mountains, with eyes that grew and grew until they could understand the darkness they'd swam into and couldn't escape, slimy creatures made to feel their way toward unsuspecting prey, Wargs that would put your Shire-wolves to shame...oh, and storms, of course. Mind you don't blow off!"

"You seem excited too, Gandalf."

"Do I? Oh dear. I was aiming to give you a bit more wariness."

Suddenly Elrond gestured for Primrose to stand before him on the great dais. Feeling a bit shy⏤after all, he was a very storied person⏤she crept up to him with much skirt-brushing and hoping she looked presentable. 

"I admit, Primrose Took," Elrond began, "most adventurers who pass through my doors are warriors, whether renowned or not, and I was at a loss on what to give you ere you left. Were that my daughter were here to give counsel!"

Primrose heard someone stirring amid the tables, but she was too conscious of everyone's eyes to dare turn and look. 

"Alas," continued Elrond, "I must work with the knowledge of you I've gained over your stay. Fortunately, it is extensive."

This was somewhat worrying to Primrose, who had seen very little of this Elf who had seen so much of her. She hoped he didn't mind the smell of tobacco. Forcing her mind to focus, she listened intently to Elrond's next words.  

"After much thought⏤and, admittedly, a good word or ten from certain members of my household⏤I've decided the best gift I may offer you is grace: you are ever welcome to stay or return here, if that is what you wish."

Primrose's thoughts froze like a river in winter at such generosity. 

Thankfully, whatever expression she had on her face seemed answer enough, as Elrond added with a smile "I suggest you give our larders time to restock, however."

"Of course," she said, laughing in relief.

---

The next morning, she, Thranduil, and his small entourage of retainers waited for the fog to recede from the path toward the Misty Mountains. Thranduil was seated on a mighty stag, which Primrose's pony found worth a curious sniff. Primrose herself was adjusting how her bow and arrows slung over her back; the fletching was poking at her head most annoyingly. 

"Be prepared for a treacherous way onward," Thranduil warned, leaning down from his saddle to stare intensely at her. "And keep your eyes peeled for spiders, and places to camp!" 

"Y-Yes. And what will you be doing, Lord Elvenking?"

"Doing the same, but from my lofty perch. The Misty Mountains are a place of deceptions and bad ends, as usual, and my aim is to go straight through them all toward home with no delays."

Primrose had a sinking suspicion he shouldn't have said that.

Chapter Text

Of course, Primrose should have known that Thranduil Elvenking of Mirkwood had the stubborn will of old, gnarled tree roots: if he wished to travel somewhere without inconvenience, any inconveniences had better clear the way before he dealt with them personally. 

Which isn't to say that the early trek through the Misty Mountains was without incident. The High Pass was aptly named, jagged and treacherous amid the ominous grey silence of the mountains. Somewhere deep within the imposing rock around them, she knew from Rivendell's tales, goblins, trolls and creatures that none could name burrowed into the stone roots. Now she only had to avoid them.

The boulders were the most immediate and horrifying threat. Primrose could never tell where on the mountainsides they'd come from, and if someone else's hand guided them. But there they were more often than she'd like, barreling and rumbling overhead and spooking even Thranduil's elk. Then they disappeared into the mist below, which was little comfort. What if they hit Rivendell and its peaceful halls?

Though they had only left the Last Homely House a few days before, Primrose felt an unexpected pang of longing for it. (It helped that the road there was boulder-less and didn't go up and up seemingly without end.)  

"I wish we could sing a little," she thought to herself. "How I miss everyone's laughter!"

But that felt unwise: the mountains hated any sound not their own, and their silence carried a heavy weight of judgement. She began to wonder if the mountains could feel their presence, like flies crawling on their stone skin.

---

Thranduil was less daunted by such foreboding. His scouts, Primrose included, had keen eyes for resting places. When an opportunity came to do just that, he made certain they had a summer-green pavilion to sit under, a fire to warm their cold hands and feet (even in milder weather the mountains' wind bit through their clothes), and hearty traveling fare courtesy of Rivendell's cooks. Though their meals had to be smaller than what Hobbits prefer, even Primrose went to her cot satisfied. 

Unsurprisingly, Gandalf looked at this business with the wary eye of a seasoned traveler. "We mustn't stand out like daisies on a cliffside, Lord Elvenking," he grumbled often. "If you truly do plan to reach your home uninterrupted, for goodness sake don't draw attention!"

This was reasonable but miserable advice to Primrose, who quite liked sleeping under a palanquin instead of on unforgiving rock. She yearned to argue, but then another boulder came rumbling and cracking down from above, missing her pony by terrible inches.  

Now Thranduil may have been gregarious, but he was also wise in the shadowy woodland manner of Mirkwood. He knew sound advice when he heard it. With a reluctant sigh, he agreed...to a point. 

"We shall make up for the shorter respites with merrier feasts at home," he declared, lightening everyone's hearts (save perhaps Gandalf, who was busy staring like a bird of prey at the road ahead).

--- 

One particular evening, when the wind was beginning to howl like a furious banshee in the dark, it was that same warmth and good cheer that brought the giant.

The giant was named Glaumr, and he hated smaller folk being warm and fed as much as he loved being comfortable and with a full belly of smaller folk. "Huh!" he huffed in distaste. "How dare they look so high and mighty, without giving me my proper payment!"

You may well ask, "Proper payment for what?" To Glaumr, the answer was simple: existing. He fancied himself a god, which is perhaps understandable when the Misty Mountains serve as your pantry. 

Meanwhile, Primrose and her party were too busy wondering where the wizards went to even think of giants. Yes! Believe it or not, Gandalf and Radagast had went ahead of everyone else by some miles, so as to check on the Goblins' Front Porch that had caused Thorin and Company no end of trouble. They hadn't said a word about it, because to them this was obviously important and they would be back before anyone noticed.

"Well," said Thranduil, glaring into his cup of wine, "if they dare complain about missing dinner, they'll have to go without."

Primrose, being a Hobbit, thought that quite cruel, and bravely sacrificed the rest of her dried fruit for the wizards' inevitable return.

She was just about to crawl under her sleeping bag and get some rest when she noticed something odd: a second moon between the mountains, huge and pale and glowing. Then the moons vanished, as if behind a cloud. "Er, Lord Elvenking? I have a question."

Thranduil's countenance softened a little. "Speak." 

"Are the stars different up here? I thought I saw an extra moon, just now." 

Thranduil set down his cup. On soundless feet, he crept over and crouched beside her. "Show me."

"Just there," Primrose said, pointing to the shadowy gap between the mountains. 

Suddenly, the "moons" returned, now very much attached to Glaumr, who was himself crouching down and peering at them with a terrible scowl.

More dreadful still was his hand. Huge and silent like a great bat it traveled, carrying one of the Elves' horses and the poor doomed creature's provisions. The horse struggled desperately, legs kicking blindly at the night air. This was the second unlucky steed he'd nabbed without anyone noticing. The wind's howls smothered their cries, when the giant's massive fingers could not.

"At this rate all our animals will be stolen!" Primrose whispered, horrified. 

"And our provisions." Thranduil seemed intrigued by her priorities. "Can your arrows reach him?"

Primrose gauged the distance and shook her head. "The wind would divert them. What should we do?"

Thranduil said nothing. His hand rested on her shoulder for a moment, then retreated to slowly, silently free his twin swords from their scabbards.

The giant's hand returned yet again, this time greedy for Primrose's pony. No sooner had his fingertip reached the cliff than did Thranduil's swords prick at it with hornet-fierceness. 

How Glaumr howled! The wind could never hide him now. Snatching his hand back, he snarled "How dare you! First you don't pay the toll, then you set hornets on me, Glaumr the Greatest. Horrible, wretched persons!"

"Since when has there been a toll in this part of the Misty Mountains?" called Thranduil.

"Since me," Glaumr replied sulkily. Then he remembered the horses wriggling in his coat pocket and smiled. Had the night not been dark as ink on black paper, Primrose would have seen that smile in all her nightmares after. "Well, you nasty little things have mostly paid your toll. But that elk near the fire⏤yes, it'll taste very fine. Roast and hand it over. Unless you want to be smashed to bits?"

Primrose couldn't believe her ears. "What? Never!"

"Wait, Primrose," Thranduil said softly. Then, loud enough for the giant to hear, he called "Our 'hornets' are still out, and very enraged. If you bring your hand over here again..." He let the threat hang in the cold air. 

"Well now what?" complained Glaumr. "I want that elk!"

Primrose didn't answer; she was busy hatching a scheme. It was risky, not to mention hasty, but in the moment it was better than bandying words with an irate giant without any wizards at hand. 

"Oh, Mister Glaumr the Greatest, I'd love to be smashed to bits," she called as sweetly as she could. 

"What?" said Glaumr and Thranduil. 

"It's true," Primrose lied, trying her best not to elbow the Elvenking like she would another Hobbit. "But if I'm going to be all in pieces from your massive, mighty hands, I'd like my last moments be more, um...scenic."

To Thranduil's credit, he was clearly appalled but doing his best to play along. "These mountains are far too calm for such violence. I know!" he said, as if he'd just thought of it. "We are heading toward the Grey Mountains to the North; with your great stride you will reach them days before us."

"Hours," Glaumr corrected with great pride, but he was still suspicious. "Will you be bringing your hornets?"

"Most certainly," said Thranduil with ominous cheer. 

"Oh," said Glaumr, beginning to think this was all a huge waste of his very important time. The praise was nice enough (considering he usually had to make it up himself), but all this enthusiasm for something that usually inspired fear was uncommonly creepy.

He had a self-made reputation of godhood to maintain, however, so he said "Well, I have better things to do than mince words with you people. Begone!" 

Now this was hardly what Primrose had intended. It was still night, after all, and she had hoped to get some sleep before another long trek tomorrow. Still, it was better than parting with Thranduil's elk. But what about their poor horses? 

"Wait," called Thranduil, his voice echoing dangerously. 

Glaumr stomped in annoyance, uprooting some trees hundreds of miles below. "Oh go away!"

"Give us back our horses, and we will go," said Thranduil, determined to get the parting shot. "Or do you want to mince words with us all night?"

Glaumr fumed and muttered mutinously to himself. "One horse!"

"Two!"

Finally, after more complaints and haggling, Glaumr asked "How about these minuscule sack things? They're useless."

"All the more reason to give them back," called Primrose.  

There was a surreal, thunderous sucking sound of Glaumr nursing his wounded fingertip. Then he tossed the bags of provisions neatly into the camp, away from the fire (you see, he had some skills after all) and trudged off with unusual speed for one of his size. His towering form eclipsed the moon, and it took an ominously long time for it to reappear again.

Shortly after, Gandalf and Radagast returned in high spirits until they saw Primrose's rabbit eyes shining fearfully in the firelight.

"Had some inconvenience, did you?" Radagast asked kindly, until he counted the horses. "Oh dear, oh dear. It's a terrible night for giants. I'm sorry you had to see that, Primrose."

"We handled it, I think," she said, shivering in her blanket.

"Hmm. Radagast and I will stay close, just in case," said Gandalf, taking a seat by the fire. "Get some sleep while you can."    

Chapter Text

A few days after the Glaumr incident, the weather became grey and dreary again.  In truth, encountering a giant in person rather than hearing about it was more frightening than Primrose had expected, and now the bad weather only made her feel worse. She began to miss not only Rivendell, but even the little Hobbit hole in the Shire she'd barely used. 

"How the wind shrieks up here, worse than ghosts!" she thought miserably, as wind whipped across her face and rain lashed at her clothes. "Maybe I was wrong to leave. I could be in the Hall of Fire right now, enjoying a mug of hot milk after a second breakfast."

As you can see, of the two options she missed Rivendell more. Her neighbors would be annoyed at how predictable she was.  

And yet she trudged on, looking ahead for any sign of the mountains sloping downward toward a refreshing green valley or the like. It helped that her companions were doing the same⏤even Gandalf, whose beard looked like a bedraggled storm cloud. Radagast was the only one who looked even remotely cheerful, practically luxuriating in the fresh rainfall. His raggedy cloak flapped about like a duck's wings as he capered in the puddles.

"Ah, so clear and sweet!" he cried. "Primrose, come walk with me a little. I want to help you talk with my friends!"

So in that regard, the middle of the Misty Mountains journey had some upsides. Radagast was more than eager to explain to her how to speak with birds and animals, and the High Pass had its fair share of each. Whenever they camped, their companions would find teacher and student sitting in front of holes, or in front of the elk and horses, speaking slow and carefully while their intended conversation partners blinked at them with wary patience. Primrose seemed to have better skill at understanding the four-legged creatures rather than birds or lizards, though she was still "learning her letters" as it were and unable to carry on a true conversation. It was fun despite the weather, and that was what counted. 

Unfortunately for her, it wasn't to last. One especially soaking wet day decided it needing a little something extra, and that something was a shrieking gale.

It began before dawn, startling Primrose awake, and continued through her unenthusiastic breakfast and equally ho-hum climb atop her pony. Everyone's spirits were low at this point. Even Radagast, who seemed to find joy in the smallest of things, was swaying gloomily in his saddle. The only comfort on offer was that Primrose remembered her umbrella. It offered no comfort to everyone else, as they were bigger than she, but it was something.

They had just turned what felt like the thousandth corner in the winding road when disaster struck.

One of the abominable boulders rolled down, crash! Right into the center of the travelers. Spooked, Primrose's pony reared and sent her sailing through the air, umbrella and all.

And the gale snatched her up like a great invisible hand, heedless of her screams.

In milder weather, she would have screamed with joy instead. What a turn of speed! How marvelous! In the moment, however, traveling by umbrella was pure heart-quaking terror. The world lurched and spun like a demented merry-go-round as the icy winds lashed mercilessly at her skin and sent her spinning further and further away from her companions. 

Her one consolation was that they were trying to help. Gandalf and Radagast's hoarse voices rose in forbidding song, desperate to guide her back, but too far away to catch her. Her pony was a smudge of white, fleeing back to Rivendell. Through the driving rain she could barely make out Thranduil riding after her.     

"Gandalf!" she screamed into the smothering storm. "Radagast! Lord Elvenking! Someone, help me!"

But it was no use. Her bow and quiver slammed hard against her back, winding her when she needed air most. She was far ahead of her companions now, her hands frozen to the handle of her umbrella, with Gandalf's warning "Mind you don't get blown off" ringing uselessly in her ears.      

Chapter Text

Primrose woke in a bedraggled tangle, and considerably higher off the ground than she preferred. To Big People it was a perfectly climbable tree, but as "mad" as she was by Hobbit standards this one needed some careful planning. At least the leaves were thick and numerous like those around her, sheltering her from the rain. And the wind had died down.

The wind!

She jolted upright, wincing as branches poked and slapped her face. How could she have forgotten? The confounded boulder, her frightened pony, the gale winds snatching her and her umbrella like a plaything... "Where am I now?" she wondered fearfully, trying to get a lay of the land.

She was still in the Misty Mountains, just a bit higher up, which was small comfort indeed. A great fog crept its bone-pale fingers through the trees around her, seeking the valleys far below. How far ahead was she from her companions? Would she ever find them again? Shivering, she cautiously turned to look ahead, and that proved of a bit more use. In the distance, lush and swollen with rain, snaked The River Running, and beyond that⏤well, she didn't know for certain, but there were more trees. They might even belong to Mirkwood.

But what about getting down? That felt most important.

She risked stretching out a leg toward the branch below. It was too far; her hip and knee screamed in pain, and she pulled back hastily.

"Drat! Confound that wind and the mountains and that giant and, and, ooh!" she whispered angrily to herself, shaking her fist. "Ooh!" she said again, louder, because it felt good.

Good as it may have felt at the time, she quickly came to regret it. Mostly. 

Down below, the scragged bushes rustled, as if ears pricked that shouldn't have been listening. Primrose had only just noticed it when suddenly there were goblins in the undergrowth, driving one of their own ahead of them with nasty laughter and long, cruel spears.

Judging by the floppy doglike ears, button nose and grey, folded skin like a frog, the unfortunate goblin was of the smaller, hobgoblin sort. Primrose saw them now and then coming through the Shire, selling foodstuffs like delicious baked potatoes wrapped in a special foil that ensured your hands never burned but your meal stayed warm. They wanted no trouble, and never brought any. They were decent folk, and it seemed that made them great sport for their bigger fellows. 

"There's vittles somewhere up in those trees, Sloom," said one of the spear-wielding goblins, prodding the weeping owner of that name. "Get up there, you dozy old girl, or do you want those little maggots of yours out here instead?"

"Not my babies," Sloom begged, turning over on the ground where she lay. "Do as you like with me, but please⏤"

Another goblin pretended to jab at her belly, and the horrible gang roared with laughter as she shrieked and shielded it with her arms.

"Got another one in there, do you? You should've thought of that before refusing such distinguished guests as ourselves food and board!"

"'Do as you like, do as you like'," others chanted mockingly.   

Primrose could stand these bullies no longer. Using their laughter as a shield, she silently pulled out her bow and drew an arrow from her quiver. Setting her jaw, she knocked the fletching into place, drew the bowstring and loosed.

The arrow aimed true! The goblins howled with dismay as their leader dropped like a stone, dead.

"Elves," one cried, already scrambling away. 

Another scoffed and made for Sloom⏤and Primrose ensured that was the last mistake he ever made.   

That set them all off, shouting and scattering like cowardly leaves on the wind. Poor Sloom was left behind, of course. But as the saying goes, "even a worm will turn", and she got her own parting shot with a well-thrown rock. It was little comfort. She continued to weep, stroking her belly as if to soothe the babe within. 

Then she looked up, her yellow eyes still red-rimmed with tears, and managed a smile. "Thank you, whoever you are. I won't cause you any more trouble."          

Bark scraped like sandpaper against Primrose's soles. "But Lady Sloom..."

"Lady? What a burden! I'm just Sloom."

"Sorry, Sloom. Anyway, I wanted to help you." Her stomach roiled with misery at having killed someone, even a goblin, but seeing Sloom's froggy smile was comforting.   

"There really are Elves about, you know," warned Sloom after a phlegmy sniffle. She rummaged in her pockets and sighed. "To think, I've nothing to give you but advice! Oh well. Keep hidden, mind you don't go rescuing every fool you meet, and drink the rainwater while you have it."

"Thank you very much, Sloom," said Primrose fondly. "You're very wise, and kind."

"Yes, yes, now keep hidden," Sloom grunted, pushing to her feet. After nabbing an abandoned spear and shaking rainwater out of her ears, she waddled off with surprising speed for an expectant mother. 

For her part, Sloom had no idea what Primrose was, and her leaving was as much an act of pragmatism as it was a simple need to return home. The Big People rarely bothered to distinguish one goblin from another, Elves most of all. If they were searching for their missing companion, it was wise to stay out of the way until they sorted out their business. Besides, she could smell home on the wind, and was determined to help her husband and little hobgoblins with repairing the mess. 

As Sloom crept into her cave, relieved to hear her loved ones' voices, Primrose stayed in her tree and let rain fall into her open mouth like a baby bird. Time seemed to pass in an agonizing crawl, and soon her eyelids threatened to droop. Dozing in a tree was a precarious business, though, so she clung to it as firmly as she dared.

---

When next Primrose woke, it was to the terrifying bugle of an elk right beneath her tree. "Bless my soul!" she squeaked, quite forgetting herself.

"Indeed, it must be blessed," said Thranduil, smiling up at her in the golden glow of dusk. He looked more than a little rain-wrung himself, with a few scrapes here and there, but otherwise unharmed. 

"Lord Elvenking! Oh, I'm so glad to see you're alright." She decided not to mention rescuing Sloom. 

"And I you. I dreaded you were dashed against the rocks. But no! Here you are playing at being a bird."

"Yes, well, I'm sick to death of it," Primrose said, shifting her weight on the branch. "If it isn't too much trouble, please help me down?"

"Of course," said Thranduil. Still smiling, he held out his lithe but strong arms expectantly as he would to a child, or perhaps a fair Elf maiden.

It was troublesome for Primrose to look at directly, so she turned her head and picked her way down first one branch, then another, the bark scraping like tiny daggers against her palms and feet. "I'm sorry for causing so much trouble, Lord Elvenking. Where are the others?"

"Cursing my name, like as not," said Thranduil airily, though there was an undercurrent of regret. "I forged on ahead to find you, assuming that they would join us again in time."

Primrose poked her head around the trunk of the tree, appalled. "What? Why? You said you planned to avoid any inconveniences!"

"A rotten branch is under your right foot, Primrose."

"Thank you," she said distractedly (which was Thranduil's plan).

After she made a few more awkward turns about the trunk, he deigned to answer her question. "You are a guest of the Elvenking, Primrose Took. What manner of host would I be to leave you tossed about in a storm?"

"Oh! True, you have a reputation and all that."

"Furthermore," said Thranduil, "watching you avoid my gaze is quite amusing." A very different note entered his voice that Primrose had no way of placing. "What do you see there, I wonder?"   

At which point she slipped, her breath leaving her in a terrified gasp⏤but the Elvenking caught her regardless. They stared at each other in silence: Thranduil taking in the heat stealing over Primrose's face, and Primrose struck dumb at the contrast of his star-silver eyes and smile as inviting as a hearth fire. (His body heat was seeping through her drenched clothes as well, which both helped and hindered.)

"L-Lord Elvenking," she whispered, a chill stealing over her. Especially over her nose, which was an ill omen if there ever was one. 

"What was that?" He leaned closer to hear better, which only made her thoughts further muddled.

"I'm going to sneeze," she managed at last.

"What⏤" 

There was no time to explain. To her relief, he jerked his head back just in time for her to sneeze explosively into her sleeve rather than his royal ear. When she looked back at him, his eyes were wide with shock and a smidge of kingly offense. After another sneeze into her sleeve, she recalled from Rivendell's histories that Elves were immune to sickness. "This must be his first time seeing someone ill," she thought in wonder.

Thranduil was muttering to himself, wrapping her further in his robe and covering her head with the attached cowl. "We will find the warmest, driest place to rest," he declared, "and then you will explain what I must do."

"Thank you very much." Primrose winced at the way air scraped her throat, a sure sign of a cold.

Undeterred, Thranduil led his elk back to the mountains. While his trusty steed gracefully leaped from rock to rock until they found a proper path, he turned his head from side to side, staring with the intenseness of an owl. Primrose tried her best to help, but it was no good: the gentle rocking and warmth stole over her like a warm blanket, ushering her into an uneasy half-sleep, startling awake when the elk grunted, something rumbled overhead or she coughed or sneezed. The latter two happened more and more as their careful search went on.     

At last she felt reassuring sensations⏤the sound of flint striking tinder and the earthy smell of damp stone. She could just make out the shape of Thranduil, haloed in red by the fire. The elk was standing guard by the cave entrance, velvety ears perked for any odd noise, while also enjoying a well-deserved feedbag.

"Ah, Tauriel, my valiant Captain," Thranduil said, faint pain in his voice, "would that your healing arts were here! I must make do with my knowledge, and that feels trifling." 

Primrose shifted in her bedding. It was Thranduil's bedroll, a veritable lake of warm fabric for her to swim in. "Thank you," she rasped, and coughed again. This time it was an ugly, phlegmy sound that struck her head like a smith's hammer, felling her.

"Sleep," ordered Thranduil. "That will be a better use of your time."

"But what about you?" Primrose wondered.

Even so, she turned over and pulled the blankets over her head. They were quite comfortable, cocooning her with ease. She listened to the crackling of the fire and the sound of something cooking until it all faded away into a weighty blur. She had never been this ill; it felt uncomfortably new. After the coughs came a sweaty, nauseating fever that made her kick the blankets aside, and a terrible chill that clutched her body with icy hands, forcing her to drag the blankets back again.

Distantly, she could hear hooves clopping over to her. Something furry was settling down beside the bedroll, pushing back the alternating heat and cold into something more balanced. It was easier to sleep then⏤real sleep, deep and dreamless and healing.

---

The days that followed were hard to keep count of, on account of the fever. But every hazy morning found the elk and Thranduil beside her, and that made things more bearable. They took turns, one keeping watch while the other ensured she sweated the fever out. Under most circumstances she would have been quite flustered by the Elvenking's closeness; the royals in stories would have cleared off long ago.   

As it was, she spent most of her time unconscious, until one day she opened her eyes and smiled blearily at her protectors.  

She did not know it, but Thranduil had acquired a certain respect for his Hobbit guest while she battled her fever. "Such endurance for one so small," he thought. "Did Bilbo Baggins suffer in such silence as well? I must ensure it never happens again." A naive wish, perhaps, but one full of good intentions.

Primrose would have hid in the blankets had she known. Instead she asked "I beg your pardon, but when is breakfast?" 

"Now," said Thranduil, helping her sit upright. His large and slender hand warmed her back. Were she not ravenous, she would have lingered on it more. "You need to drink, and often, which means you had better be hungry for water and porridge." 

"Yes please," Primrose said eagerly, taking the proffered bowl and spoon. It was simple but hearty stuff, made with rice and various herbs Thranduil had gathered, and she ate and ate until she felt she could roll down the rest of the High Pass without issue. 

When she told Thranduil that, he laughed in relief. "A worthy revenge against that boulder! Thank the stars, you seem on the mend."

"I think so. Let's see." She stretched and staggered to her feet, slowly pacing from one end of the cave to the other. "...Yes, I do feel better." The elk grunted, and it sounded close enough to "congratulations" that she thanked him in return. 

"Today, we ride," Thranduil said, also sounding pleased.

After they packed their things and Primrose was seated in front of him on the elk, they continued on the High Pass. Thank heavens they could see the sun today! Summer seemed to be on the horizon despite the mountains' snowy peaks: the sky was a marvelous blue that made Primrose dizzy if she looked at it for too long, the air was clear and invigorating, and every now and then she spotted wildflowers peeping up from the snow. In the distance, she could see what she assumed was Mirkwood clearer than ever, the trees swaying like celebratory crowds at a feast. Not even the boulders could dampen her mood.  

"Lord Elvenking, are we ahead of Gandalf and the others, or behind?"

"I'm uncertain. We may be somewhere in the middle."

"Well, as long as we meet them soon, I'll be happy," Primrose thought, and refused to say so aloud just in case trouble reared its ugly head again. 

---

As it turned out, Primrose had gotten herself very lost indeed during that gale, and before she and Thranduil could reach the end of The Misty Mountains, they needed to pass through The Giants' Bowl. Even Thranduil's elk was less than pleased as they traveled into the monumental snowy bowl between the mountain peaks. Summer did not matter here. The sun could do very little against such bitter cold, and whether it snowed or not they felt very exposed. 

It was not all bad, however. After some time crunching through the snow, Primrose caught sight of a curious stone spire that poked out of the ground like a massive nose. (She prayed no face was attached to it.)

"What is that, Lord Elvenking?" she asked, pointing.

"No-one knows its purpose, unless they're giants, and they refuse to tell us," Thranduil answered after a single glance. 

"Can we climb it?"

"Whatever for?"

"We might be able to see Gandalf and the others from there, and send a signal."

"We could do that from less guarded places as well."

Primrose was just about to ask what that meant when she saw the distant heads of giants, lots of giants, giants that would put Glaumr and all his terrifying pettiness to shame. She took the hint and said nothing more about it.  

They camped near a slab of rock where they managed a small feast of rice balls and dried jerky. It proved a worthy table, even if it was stone. And no giant stomped by to tell them off, which was a relief. Still, the elk refused to settle, his ears attuned for the slightest sound. 

For Primrose, eating was just as important as watching, and she handed Thranduil another rice ball. "Why do giants live here?"

Thranduil's smile held a hint of wryness as he took the gift. "'Big game'," he answered, chewing delicately. "Mm, still good...that cretin who stole our horses could have all the meals he wished without issue just by strolling about his land."

"That might have been the problem," Primrose suggested, wriggling her wooly toes in the snow. It was faint, but she could feel a rumble beneath them.

"Perhaps."

They continued eating their meal. It was an increasingly tense one, as mounds of snow slid and rumbled past them toward the middle of the bowl. 

"The spiders would not choose this path," Thranduil said, trailing his hands in the snow. "It is rarely quiet."

"Like now?" Primrose asked, growing sick with fear. 

Thranduil nodded. They packed their things in expectant silence, listening to the cold whisper of snow on snow. 

The elk stirred nervously beside them, champing his teeth.

Rising to his feet as though ready for a post-meal stroll, Thranduil nabbed Primrose by the collar and plopped her back on the elk's saddle. He gracefully followed suit with a soundless swing.

"Another boulder?" Primrose asked, noting with a sickening lurch that the snow was sliding faster and visibly trembling.

"Far worse," Thranduil replied grimly, checking the elk into a gallop. When Primrose tried to look behind them, he gently pushed her head forward instead.

The elk was a hardy beast, strong enough to churn up snow and duck past fir trees as if they were nothing. He was so fast that the ground rumbling seemed a distant memory, a problem they had easily bypassed. They had not.

Then there came a gap between the trees, and Primrose was overcome by awe and terror at what she saw.

You and I have some knowledge of mammoths: pictures and recreations and what scant knowledge we have uncovered about them. Primrose had no such luck. She could barely comprehend the massive, shaggy beasts hundreds of times her size stampeding toward the trees. They reminded her of oliphants, but the fireside riddle never mentioned so much hair, such menacing tusks, such frightful noise!   

Shouting giants ran close behind the mammoths, wielding spears the length of twelve Men⏤but they seemed little more than children by comparison to their prey. Primrose was more frightened of being squashed like a bug underfoot by those hairy feet that charged ever-closer. 

"Thank goodness Rivendell is on the other side of the mountains. If only we were there!" were her only coherent thoughts.

Thranduil said something in Elvish to his elk. Perhaps it was a spell of swiftness: the diligent steed gathered all his strength for one last mad dash across the great bowl, scrambling up the sides, and leaping over a bear mid-lunge. In the space of a breath they narrowly avoided colliding with a huge fortress carved from the mountain rock. 

"Go back, go back!" Primrose wanted to beg. The fortress was remarkably intact, and so mysterious from its slitted windows⏤but then she felt the ground shuddering wildly beneath the elk's feet and kept quiet. No doubt giants were on guard there as well. 

"Nearly there," said Thranduil, his free arm holding Primrose close.

With one last great leap, they reached their goal: the sun-warmed south of the Misty Mountains, where the fir trees grew more abundant and the air carried a hint of valley sweetness. 

Once they reached the familiar path again, Thranduil checked the panting elk to a stop. "Rest, my friend," he muttered, along with Elvish words that to Primrose's ears sounded soothing and filled with gratitude.

"I'm ever so grateful to you both," she said once she'd gathered her wits. "I would have been squashed into jelly, and that would be the end of my adventure."

"And what of your life?" asked Thranduil, but he smiled good-naturedly as he said so. 

Primrose found she had no answer to his question. While she rode along pondering it with idle curiosity, the Elvenking turned inward, troubled and delighted by her silence on the matter in a dangerous, wood elf way.  

Chapter Text

By the time Thranduil and Primrose reached the valley at the end of the Misty Mountains, it was the wolves' hour. The cold night air echoed with their howls, and Primrose clung to the elk's neck ready for a frantic flight.

"They are far from us," Thranduil assured them, though he stroked the elk thoughtfully. "We must travel with care. The land is flat and open for miles, and they could spot sparks from flint before we have a fire going. It would be best not to risk it."

Traveling at night was like charting the line between dreams and waking. Only the stars above lit the world below, turning it the color of frozen silver. Primrose could make out the occasional tree and (more disturbingly) the brief flash of wolf eyes that vanished as soon as she spotted them, but that was all. Every now and then Thranduil pushed the elk into a gallop, having seen something troubling in the gloom⏤but before she could ask, the elk was back to a brisk trot or even a canter. Whatever he had seen, Thranduil did not speak of it. 

The night was not all terrors, however: eventually Primrose spotted a familiar-looking owl winging through the dark trees, hooting with joy. "Look, Lord Elvenking," she whispered excitedly. "Is that Radagast?"

Thranduil drew his elk to a stop, tilting his head curiously. Soon the owl flew over to them, and "changed its skin" (as Radagast put it) into the Brown Wizard, and the three merrily reunited under the light of the moon. 

"Oh, thank goodness, we were worried sick! Come, come, we have a camp waiting for you at The Great River."

Thranduil and Radagast knew reliable shortcuts. It only took a mile or so before Primrose spotted the fire, Thranduil's attendants, and good old Gandalf pacing back and forth along the riverbank and smoking like a fretful chimney. When he spotted Radagast capering merrily ahead of the more cautious elk, Primrose could see his whole demeanor change into that comforting joy she'd yearned to see again. Reaching the camp felt like it took years instead of minutes.

"Bless my soul!" Gandalf said, lifting Primrose from the elk's saddle with a delighted smile, "So you've found us again after all. Very good! Both of you have been sorely missed⏤and I must say, you are in far better shape than I feared. Where did you end up? And how did you find each other?"

Primrose expected Thranduil to refuse to answer, after so much travel. His graceful dismount carried more than a little weariness. Instead, he gratefully accepted a stick of roast fish and gestured with it for Primrose to begin the tale.

Together, they told Gandalf and company about of the tree Thranduil found her in (she could tell Gandalf about poor Sloom in private) and how she became ill (Gandalf immediately began fussing over her), and finally of the mammoth stampede in the Giants' Bowl. They were an excellent audience. The only thing amiss was that Primrose was exhausted, and her words began to trail off into half-asleep gibberish. 

"There are some miles left to go before we reach Mirkwood," Gandalf said as her eyes drooped shut at last. "The two of you've certainly earned a good night's sleep!"

---

The next morning, Primrose and her companions entered the next leg of their journey. Luck finally smiled on her; this form of travel was refreshingly familiar to a Took. 

"Boats!" she cried in delight, as one bearing barrels and Men punted by through the churning water.

There were rafts too, and the occasional barge, each managing to stay out of harm's way. The Great River was indeed great, seeming to stretch on to the far-off Grey Mountains like a clear yet treacherous rope uncoiled to its full length. Fish jumped every so often, looking like flashes of light in the sun. (They also looked delicious, but alas! Elves did not believe in second breakfasts yet.)

"It feels like ages since I've been on the water," Primrose continued. "But how will we all cross, Gandalf?"

Gandalf chewed on the stem of his pipe as he thought. "We may have to split into groups, the better to ensure someone is willing to help our merry band." 

Thranduil was busy staring out at the river, waiting for something or someone. Suddenly he smiled and raised a commanding hand, and two Elvish boats came floating by, the rowers waving excitedly at their king. Of course they would willingly accept Lord Elvenking and his companions crowding into their crafts, while his elk waded majestically alongside them as an honor guard.

Primrose remembered his comment back in Rivendell about "refusing to be inconvenienced" and smiled.

Thranduil leveled an imposing stare at her. "Does something amuse you?" 

"I would like to reach your home as well," Primrose answered as diplomatically as possible. 

It seemed the right one; Thranduil's smile returned, and he assisted Primrose in boarding the first boat. The two wizards joined them, along with their smattering of healers, and Thranduil's warriors boarded the second boat ready to do their share of work.  

The current of The Great River was swift, and it carried a strange melody unlike any Primrose had ever heard on the Brandywine. No matter whether she was steadily floating along on the boat or helping to row or sleeping with the others on the soft green grass, the river's song lingered in her ears. Nobody said anything, not even the wizards, which made her suspicions stronger.

One evening, when the moon was wreathed in clouds, she asked Gandalf about it. "Is the river enchanted?" 

"Perhaps, or perhaps not," Gandalf replied, his gnarled murmuring a strangely pleasant accompaniment to the river. He looked at Primrose from beneath his bushy brows. "Does it enchant you?"

"I think so," she admitted, feeling embarrassed about being worried in the first place.  

"Hum!" said Gandalf, lighting his pipe and offering to light hers. They smoked together in the soft dark for some time, while the Elves' merrymaking went on and on a short distance away. 

"Could it be dangerous, Gandalf? ...Please don't say 'perhaps, or perhaps not' again."

The wizard stared at her with majestic offense. "I was going to say 'If you feel a sudden urge to fall into the current, do tell me so I may fish you out'. Now I shall only say 'Hum' again, and leave you to stew in this predicament."

Primrose nearly choked on her pipe. "You can't be serious," she said, laughing.

But it seemed Gandalf took jokes very seriously sometimes. He was already striding toward the fire and wine without her, though he took his time to ensure her shorter legs could catch up. After so much time with Thranduil, she had almost forgotten what wizards considered "rude".  

Just before the fire faded to embers and everyone began falling asleep, Gandalf muttered to Primrose "Not all enchantments are evil. Even so, we had best keep an eye on it. You never know what it might lead to."

---

The next three days were suspiciously uneventful. On the fourth, Primrose would have felt proud of being suspicious had she not been so busy. 

The night before, rainfall had fed the currents of The Great River a luxurious feast, and it had swollen impressively as a result, nearly threatening to overflow its banks. Traveling by boat suddenly became far more dangerous, and the journey came to a standstill. There were few places to camp that were dry, so it was up to the lightest member of the companions to climb ashore and investigate through the terrain. 

"Well, if you insist," said Primrose as soon as this was suggested, ready to swing a leg over the side of the beached boat. 

"At least bring a wizard along," Radagast fussed.

"Oh! Yes, that would be helpful."

"Wonderful! We will bring back firewood, if nothing else." He promptly transformed into a curious animal Primrose had never seen before: large and covered in chestnut-colored fur, with a flat, round tail like a leather paddle and impressive buck teeth.

Now ready, Hobbit and wizard ambled off, practicing their animal speech as they did so. Talking to this creature was more difficult than to a bird. It was a curious chuckling, groaning sort of talk, yet still charming. Sometimes they needed to cross swampy, soupy areas, and for those Radagast's form proved most useful: with Primrose clinging to his soft, sturdy back, he paddled gracefully through the water, bearing her swiftly to the other side. 

"Thank you, Radagast," Primrose would say, and Radagast would chortle merrily in return. All was well so far.

However, it was that same feeling, "All was well", that gave Radagast pause. Though not a "great" wizard by the measure of the head of the Wise Council, he had a sense or two for enchantments, and there was a whiff of it in the bitter air. Like a squirrel with a nut from an unknown tree, he examined the facts: he had not intended to travel this far from the Great River and their companions, and for a horrible moment he couldn't remember why he and Primrose had traveled at all. There were fragmented thoughts of firewood and dry land, but layered atop those like a fresh coat of paint was the childishly simple thought "Just a little farther. We may find some fun yet". To a Took like Primrose, that was understandable; to a seasoned wizard, even a naturally curious one like Radagast, that was suspect. 

Being a beaver at the moment limited his vocabulary, but there were other ways to get his worries across.  

Near the bank of a particular swamp, Radagast stopped short, his small ears twitching worriedly. As well he should have: this marsh looked different from the others, full of reeking grey-green muck and littered with looming trees as dark as shadow yet grey as mold. In the distance stood a waterfall, which should have been comforting. Instead, it brought to mind a massive drooling mouth. 

Primrose stopped too, staring at the grotesque scenery. Why did they remind her of fireside tales? Something about "a moldy valley where the trees are grey", "through the spider-shadows"...

"Radagast," she whispered⏤even that seemed too loud in this stagnant silence⏤"should we disturb the water? That might scare off any hungry animals."

Radagast became his wizard self once more, his blue eyes unnaturally bright in the semi-darkness. "Animals? Oh, yes." His voice deepened, ominous and forboding. "But it isn't just animals who hunger, you know."

"I-I certainly do," said Primrose, looking about here-there-everywhere and seeing nothing unusual, which was the worst thing of all. She turned her back to the marsh and rubbed her shaking arms. 

"We should go back," said Radagast.

Primrose shook his marsh-drenched hand off her shoulder in mock-offense. "You needn't spook someone into agreeing with you, you know!"

"I didn't," said Radagast, with such measured calm that every hair on her body prickled in warning. 

An icy wind-that-wasn't fell upon her back, stinking of rotted leaves and raw meat. Radagast seemed so very far away from her now, even as he fussed with his staff.  

"Primrose, listen to me," said Radagast. "Whatever you do, do not look behind you. Would you like to hear some birdsong?"

"Is this really the time?" 

"Absolutely," was the irrepressible wizard's reply. "Stand a bit closer, would you? Another step toward the edge, and your Elvenking will insist you stay downwind for awhile."

Her laughter frigid with nerves, Primrose eagerly made for Radagast, her ears picking up all sorts of noise she never wanted to hear again. Large feet squished against the marsh's bank, and overlong toenails scraped against her ankles once before she outpaced it. And then she heard the waters churning, and more feet on the bank, and the incongruous melody of Radagast's cheery whistle ringing out above it all. Sensing magic was afoot, and goodness only knew the size of it, she dove behind Radagast's back and prepared for the worst.

And just in time, too; for a great flock of birds flew through the trees, shrieking and cackling. There were even herons among them, with long powerful beaks, and they put them to good use indeed. With their assault came a hideous gurgling and croaking from their would-be predators, like frogs drowning in quicksand. Something about that noise, combined with the eerie breath, set off an alarm in Primrose's head. Now she knew what they were facing, and wished she didn't. 

"Radagast," she cried in horror, "they're Mewlips."

"I beg your pardon?" Which was a fair response when in the middle of such horrid racket.

"We have to run!" Primrose answered instead, hitching up her skirts and running for the nearest gap in the trees.

Luckily Radagast was more than willing to heed that suggestion. Together they bolted like deer through the boggy areas they came through previously, making sure not to touch the waters. The birds followed after them, winging back to their usual haunts now that their dear friend Radagast and his companion was safe. They were not.

The Mewlips were more than just hungry, now. They were furious. And that fury stoked their hunger, driving them to stalk their prey through the rain and the marshes they called home; and then through the patch of thin grey light Radagast and Primrose had escaped into. The rain smothered the fleshy squelch of their feet on the riverbank, and the tree-shadows hid them as easily as a Hobbit. This, among other things like their preference for raw meat seasoned by fear, was why Mewlips had crawled their "long and lonely way" into Hobbit verse.

They had not tasted Hobbit in a bog's age, and they had no intention of letting Primrose escape their grimy sacks of bone.

Chapter Text

It was all to the good that Primrose had long had nightmares about Mewlips; having now met them in person, she kept her ears and eyes peeled for the slightest squelching shadow. This solution had its blind spots, of course. The rain muffled what the Great River's rapids could not drown out, and she was wearier than she had expected. It was all she could do not to collapse on the riverbank and sleep.

"This won't do, not at all," Radagast chunnered to himself, hauling her upright. Then he looked in the distance and caught the glow of a familiar light. "Look, here comes Gandalf now! Good gracious, we must have worried him again."

"Indeed you have, confusticate you both," called Gandalf, who marched over to them so quickly there was no time to be impressed.

"I'm terribly sorry," Primrose and Radagast said at once, feeling equally ashamed. 

"Oh?" rumbled Gandalf, who drew up short to regard this curious anomaly. "I dearly hope you aren't afraid of me." He would much rather only the wicked fear his temper, not his friends.

"No, not at all!" Radagast gestured in a birdlike way toward the trees, and Gandalf's gaze followed. "You see, we were enchanted. Before we knew it, we were walking into the hunting grounds of creatures called⏤er, what were they called again, Primrose?"

"Mewlips," she replied with an irrepressible shudder. "They hide in marshes and old, abandoned places, where treasure is said to lurk. They feed on any who come near; as the songs say, 'You go to find the Mewlips, and the Mewlips feed'."

"Do they, indeed?" said Gandalf. He stared hard at the dark outline of trees that ran like ink behind Radagast and Primrose's backs. "The Elvenking will be most interested in those songs, Primrose. Now come along! You've had one illness already, and I refuse to let you have another under my watch."

While Primrose merrily accepted and followed Gandalf's footsteps back to camp, Gandalf and Radagast stayed a few steps behind to cover their tracks. And to acquire firewood, for which Primrose was even more grateful. It stung more than a little to be unable to keep a promise. 

Primrose guiltily recounted her being enchanted to the party, but Thranduil the Elvenking would hear none of it. "From what you have told of these Mewlips so far, Halflings such as yourself are particularly susceptible. Do we chide flies for being caught by spiders? I am pleased you returned to us safely, and trust you will keep your wits about you next time."

"Yes, Lord Elvenking," Primrose replied. She suddenly felt very tired. "I'll sleep better now."

"Then do so," Thranduil said, his voice unexpectedly gentle. "All we can do now is wait for the river to settle." 

This was welcome news indeed. No sooner had Primrose unpacked dry clothes and settled into her bedroll than did she collapse into sleep. Her dreams were uncomfortable, but not frightening; considering the days' events they were almost pleasant. Eventually her mind crawled out of the fog of slumber with a strong pang of hunger. Yawning and smacking her lips, she stumbled upright and reached for her pack. There was some of Rivendell's journey bread left in there, soon to be in her belly.

While she set to demolishing it, her cheeks puffed out like a squirrel's, she also listened with a Hobbit's keen ears to any unusual noises. There was the river, churning away in the moonlit night. There were the bats squeaking to each other among the stars, catching gnats and other infuriating bugs. As Primrose listened and ate, she found herself counting each of her companions by their breathing; "There's Thranduil, and that one is Gandalf," and so on. Thank goodness no-one snored⏤of course, that could mean she was the one snoring.

Eventually Primrose had another "need" to divest of. It wasn't enough to ensure she forgot herself: she took a heavy stick from the woodpile near the fire before she crept off to the nearest bush, took care of her business while worriedly looking this way and that, and nearly brained an underserving toad who had only been searching for a mate.

"I'm sorry," she murmured at it. 

Unfortunately, her grasp of toad-language didn't pass muster. The toad let out an offended croak, kicked up dirt at her, and hopped away. 

Sufficiently unmolested and with a decent tale to tell at breakfast, Primrose began the short trek back.   

But then, beneath the sleeping breaths and the sounds of crickets, something else caught her attention. It was a low, wheezing gurgle soft as the night, and as chilling. With her head on a swivel again, Primrose tapped her stick against her palm in warning. The gurgling stopped so suddenly she half-wondered if she had heard it at all. Still, she crept back to her bedroll with more speed than before, easily sidestepping blanketed lumps without causing a stir. 

Just before she reached her bed, she spotted Gandalf sitting up like a statue carved long ago, watching the river once again. She changed course to sit by him. "What do you see?" she whispered in his ear. 

"Part of what we came here for," he replied, quiet and grim. He pointed to the water with a gnarled finger. 

With the cold light of the stars, Primrose could just make out what he meant. It seemed impossible, yet there it was, horrifyingly practical: Mirkwood's spiders could float! There one was, bobbing on the water like a grotesque buoy, its many eyes catching the starlight and giving it away to those who knew what to look for. When the rapids looked ready to push it off course, it could paddle with its front legs, dashing Primrose's hopes for good.  

Its crossing happened without a sound. Once it beached a few feet away (far too close for Primrose's comfort), the giant spider crawled for a drier patch of land and seemed to settle in to rest.

"Not all of Mirkwood's spiders can do that," Gandalf reassured her, though Primrose noted a hint of wariness in his eyes. "Now we know how some reached the other side of the Great River. Perhaps they traveled through the Misty Mountains with the help of goblins. But how do we prevent more from coming? That is our next question."

Gandalf and Primrose weren't the only ones awake. Primrose could see the dim shape of Thranduil slipping out of his blankets, unsheathing his blades as silent as death. She watched in silence as he made for the spider on soundless feet, wondering if that would be enough.

It was not. Ordinary spiders have the benefit of eight legs, and with them an excellent sense of vibration whether in their webs or off. Even an elf such as Thranduil can't keep from emitting some sense of their weight onto the ground, and the giant spider felt the slightest tremor beneath its large wet legs. For an ordinary spider, that tremor would be a call to turn and run, "for he who runs away can catch flies another day" rather than be within squishing range of some screaming giant who was an art critic to boot. (Spiders are rightfully proud of their webs, you see.)

Unfortunately, Mirkwood's spiders were both artistically barren and thrice as dangerous as their ordinary cousins. And to this spider, the tremor of Thranduil's foot on earth meant a call to violence.

Fortunately, Thranduil anticipated this. Driven by instinct, he blocked the spider's fanged onslaught with one sword while the other searched for its belly. The spider backed away, scuffing the ground with rage. Like duelists at dawn elf and spider sidled back and forth, their clever eyes searching each other for weaknesses.

"Should we help him?" Primrose asked Gandalf worriedly.

"Not yet." 

The giant spider struck again, narrowly grazing Thranduil with its front legs. Thranduil ducked just in time, left with only a nasty-looking scratch atop his fair head. That scratch was a warning, and he took it. Gone was the faint sense of fair play and theatrics: now he was a whirl of steel, slicing and cleaving like a maelstrom made flesh, and it subsided as quickly as it started. Only a curled-up spider carcass lay in his wake.

Primrose and Gandalf met Thranduil at the edge of camp. Primrose in particular was unable to keep from staring at the spider's handiwork. "Does it hurt at all, Lord Elvenking?"

Thranduil lifted a hand to his head and paused. "It...I believe the term is 'itches'."

Gandalf used his staff to illuminate the damage (if any), and what he found darkened his face. "Don't touch it," he warned. "It may be poisoned, but then it may not be; all the same, I insist you tell Radagast or myself of any unpleasantness and that we set out for your realm immediately."

"I have no objections, Mithrandir," Thranduil said, already looking white as bone. Primrose could see his jaw clench. "Only speak of this to no-one."

"And then what, if I may ask? Die with honor?" Gandalf countered, and muttered something about "kings and their noble suffering" in relatable exasperation. 

Gandalf got his way in the end, after the healers among the Elvenking's entourage voiced their own similar complaints and went to work. Elves' manner of sleeping is different from our own, and of course they wished to keep their king in good health. Thranduil "endured" the attention only as long as everyone else packed their things and prepared to set off.

"If I may make a suggestion," Radagast said, lifting his hand nervously.

"Speak," said the Elvenking, a pinch of annoyance in his brow. 

"I don't mean to offend, my Lord, but your Kingdom is many leagues off, and who knows how long your wound will take to heal? I respectfully suggest we stop at my home first."

"Rhosgobel?" Gandalf said this mostly for Primrose's benefit. "That appears sensible enough. But there are more of those spiders that way, and possibly Mewlips too. We'd best be careful. Still," and here he turned to Thranduil, who was eying Primrose like she was the injured party and not he, "let the Elvenking decide."

His answer was a long time coming, as he questioned his healers and took his own council. Finally, he said "The Halfling will stay with Radagast and myself. Gandalf and my men will patrol the surrounding area and bring back whatever herbs you lack." 

"That's fair," said Primrose, who tried not to look too excited about visiting a wizard's house lest someone get the wrong idea. 

As usual, Radagast cared not a whit for things of that nature and just looked relieved and excited. "Your elk will be among friends as well, my Lord!" 

Thranduil managed a tight smile, though it felt sincere. "I thank you, Aiwendil."

By the time they set off, their oars dipping and lifting quietly in the dawn-tinged waters, Thranduil sat as impassably as ever astride his elk, with Primrose determined to "keep an eye on him" from Gandalf's boat. At first, this seemed like a fool's errand. It was not.

With eerie suddenness, she spotted a greasy-green shadow that blended a little too well with the surrounding mossy rocks. "Gandalf," she whispered, pointing, "that rock has eyes!"

"So it does," Gandalf whispered back. Raising his voice to a thunderous rumble, he called "Lord Elvenking! Can your elk clear the river?"

"Of course," said Thranduil, testy with pain.

Undeterred, Gandalf pointed to the Mewlip gliding just beneath the surface toward his boat. "Then do so, right there!"

Luckily Thranduil had his wits about him. With a twitch of the lead he sent his elk bounding with balletic grace from one side of the bank to another, casting a long, inky shadow over the water.

The Mewlip had expected nothing of the sort. The shouting and shadow may have spooked it, but it still had a predator's consuming hunger. It burst up through the water to its full height, grasping for the elk with quick and dangerous fingers⏤and missed by a hair!

Now Gandalf had something to aim for. Fire wouldn't do against something so wet, of course; this was a job for a sword. He unsheathed Glamdring just in time, for the other Mewlips lying in ambush had heard Primrose's voice and made for her like wolves to a wounded doe. They surged out of the water in a massive wave, clawing at the boat, the oars, anything that could pull Primrose under with them. 

Primrose's companions refused to sit idly by, though. They fought back: launching their boats forward to ram into the Mewlips, stunning them with their oars (Primrose gave one or two bumps to remember), loosing arrows at every weak point, and Radagast even called on otters and leeches to add to the chaos. Still the Mewlips came on, scrambling over their fallen like mere garbage, their bulbous eyes ever on their prey.

Suddenly the boat left the water, overloaded by too many bodies, and Primrose shot into the air like a cork! There was no time to reach for her bow. Screaming and flailing for purchase⏤for what else could she do?⏤she watched those countless grey-green hands reach for her through the slow malaise of a waking nightmare.

Strangely enough, hope arrived in the form of those many hands. The Mewlips were too exhausted and overeager to aim properly. The one in the lead did not grab her. Instead, it slapped her like we would a horsefly or a ball, smack! and sent her hurtling to the Mirkwood bank and clean over the elk's head.

There she ingloriously bounced and rolled from mud to grass, through briars and into green shadow. She had entered Mirkwood at last! 

Chapter Text

When Primrose got her bearings (now thoroughly sick of going up in the air without prior planning), she found herself surrounded on all sides by sun-brightened webs. Not the gloomy, dreaded webs Radagast had been snared in, but certainly not the kind she wanted to see. Odder still, she wasn't bound up in any web at all. Instead, she was lying on a bed of moss and moldy leaves, reeking of pine pitch and mud.

"Oh, dear," she complained, stiffly sitting up with a groan, "now what have I gotten myself into?" She couldn't keep her natural adventurous spirit away for long, but she felt qualified to a little whine first. 

After checking herself for any serious injuries and finding only a bad smell and the occasional bump, she rolled out of the makeshift bed and set to finding a way past the webs. The first thing she noticed was that they weren't even Hobbit-sized. In fact, they looked like hammocks, filled with nothing so unusual as egg sacks. This was reassuring, if also odd. She made sure to not disturb them, wriggling onto her belly and crawling between the gaps. 

Once safely on the other side, she straightened up and took a closer look about.  There was sunlight filtering in everywhere, quite the opposite of Mirkwood's name. "This must be what it used to be like," she muttered to herself. 

Scrambling up a rock proved that she was in sight of a deer path, leading through darker patches to lighter ones. It seemed likely that the open areas would bring her back to the river, so she made her way there through the underbrush, poking her head up every now and then to listen for bears scratching at the trees or goblins on the hunt. It was hardly a painless trek, of course. The mud and pitch ensured leaves and other itchy debris clung to her like glue, and branches would whip her across the face when she least expected it.

"How the Elvenking would laugh!" she thought in fond exasperation. "At this rate we'll both be complaining in Radagast's sickroom together."

Her heart felt a terrible pang of missing Thranduil and her wizard friends. If only she hadn't fallen prey to the Mewlips' spell! Then their trip downriver would have been perfectly pleasant, at least until some other danger appeared.

That last thought cleared her head. "Of course there will be dangers, you ninny," she thought, "that's what you wanted an adventure for. And the pleasant respite that comes after." In this regard she was an ordinary Hobbit after all. 

Not that she let herself think of rest and good food for long. She had no food left, and her canteen was dangerously close to being empty. It was better to follow the deer path as planned, and see what she could find on the other side.

Compared to the Misty Mountains, there was less of a sense of distance here. Everywhere she looked was a confusing haze of green, if also lush; and where there wasn't green there were unusual colors splashed where they didn't belong, as if by an enraged painter or a god gone mad. Even the mushrooms were strange, speckled by some mocking hand with the color of the sky or rotten food. Just as she bent down to get a closer look, a rumbling voice to her left split the air like lighting. 

"Primrose Took! If you so much as touch those, the lecture I'll⏤oh, ahem, never mind," Gandalf concluded sheepishly as Primrose dashed for him instead.  

"Gandalf, you're safe!"

Gandalf heaved a sigh. "Great Elephants! My good woman, I am beginning to understand what your aunt meant by 'a regular troll's purse'. You weren't the only one who sailed off just now!"

"May I ask what happened?"  

"Whatever do you think happened?" Gandalf grouched, returning to his previous business of detangling his immense beard from a bush. In a softer tone, for Primrose had joined his battle, he said "Still, I am pleased to see you alive and well again. Welcome to Mirkwood, my friend."

The enormity of it sunk in at last. "Yes," Primrose said, half in a daze, "I made it after all."

A hedgehog trundled over her foot and looked up at her with bright, curious eyes. It reminded her of Radagast, and she crouched down to look at it better. 

"Hello there," she said, soft as down⏤even in this part of the forest, it felt wise not to shout. Unless the one shouting was Gandalf, of course.

Gandalf looked up from his beard and peered at the creature. "Ah, that's Percival, one of Radagast's friends. My good fellow," he said in hedgehog, "would you kindly show my friend the way to Radagast's den?" 

The hedgehog squeaked an affirmative and trundled off.

"I'll be just behind you," Gandalf assured Primrose. "Off you go!"

And off Primrose went, following her guide over roots and through sun-warmed glades. When the hedgehog felt that she was lagging behind (which was often), it would rustle nearby bushes and plants to get her attention. Once she reached that spot, it would rest for a moment then continue on, grumbling and squeaking as it went. She understood why; she was not a familiar sight the way Radagast was, and the whole forest seemed to be watching her warily. After awhile, the hedgehog led her to a mouse, who led her to a rabbit, who led her to a deer, and then...well, her last guide was more unusual than even those animals. 

It was a spider that came up to Primrose's waist, brown and fuzzy and without the wicked hunger of its giant fellows. "You ran away," it sulked. She didn't dare look at its mandibles while it talked, it was too uncomfortable. "Radagast asked all his friends to help the Halfling. All." 

"I-I'm terribly sorry," Primrose replied, performing a curtsy. "May I ask your name?"

The spider paused for a moment. "Radagast calls me 'Hazel'. You may call me that." 

"Thank you very much, Hazel," Primrose said with a smile. "Was the egg sack yours?"

"My sister's," said Hazel, very proud as if they were her own brood. "I must return to them soon, and there's a quick way to do both." She turned around and placed the biggest part of her body in front of Primrose. "Climb on."

Primrose hesitated. You or I certainly would, for fear of rashes or squishing the poor creature under our weight. Then she thought of Hazel's sister relying on her to protect her little ones. Perhaps it was only a Hobbit worry, or perhaps kindness for a fellow living thing. Regardless, something deep inside told her that it would be best to follow Hazel's instructions. 

With a "Pardon me" she sat atop Hazel as she would a horse, clinging to her middle as painlessly as she could.

Then something extraordinary happened. Hazel could jump!

It was so fast Primrose almost wondered if she had dreamed up the sensation of soaring through the air one moment and a delicate landing the next. Then it happened again, sending a brief gust of wind through her curls. Hazel could not reach the treetops, but then she didn't intend to. What her jumps could do was clear long distances like the finest acrobat. 

"Amazing, wonderful! How do you do it, Hazel?"

"What an odd question," Hazel answered while bunching all eight of her legs for the next jump, this time over a fallen oak long covered by a carpet of moss. "How do you jump, Halfling?"

"Fair point." 

A few leaps more, and Primrose saw a curious treehouse close by. Not atop the tree, but part of it, as if a certain wizard had dropped an acorn in his kitchen and let it grow, by and by, until it became both shelter and fellow resident. The roof was thatched with reeds and hay, and thanks to the tree the uppermost stories sat charmingly crooked in the sun. "That must be Rhosgobel! Oh, thank you so much, Hazel!" 

"'Welcome," said Hazel rather gruffly. Primrose hastily disembarked, smoothing Hazel's hairy back, which seemed to improve her mood. Gruff as she was, she still waited until Primrose had the stone stoop beneath her feet before turning away, scuttling off to her more pressing duty.

"I wonder if I'll see her again," Primrose thought to herself, before rapping on the crooked front door.

No sooner had she done so than the door burst open, revealing Radagast and a very ashen-looking Thranduil on a cot behind him. "Primrose, oh thank goodness you've arrived! And Gandalf too, good, good."

"Thank you for the guides, old friend," said Gandalf, striding up the steps. "Now then, what have we missed?"

Radagast helped them inside, saying cheerily "Oh, very little, I think. The Elvenking's men and healers went back to the Woodland Realm on his orders, and..." He sidled in front of Primrose before she could go any further, his eyes wide with concern. "My dear, please listen to me. Thranduil Elvenking had an enchantment over his face for the sake of his people, and it's vanished for now. He would not want you to see it."

"But I want to see him, no matter what he looks like," Primrose protested. "Please, Radagast?"

"Not yet," Radagast replied, looking to Gandalf concernedly. "Oh, this is impossible. Gandalf, please help me make her understand!"

Gandalf stroked his beard, which still had a burr in it. "Hum! You may be asking the impossible too, my old friend." When Primrose tried to duck under Radagast's sleeve, Gandalf pulled her aside, pressing her cheek to his worn cloak. "I'm terribly sorry, Primrose, but we'll need to find something else to do while Radagast works."

"I've got it!" Radagast chirped, back to pawing through curious bottles and dried herbs. "Primrose, bring me some more Kingsfoil. It's dangerous to wander alone, though, so Gandalf can accompany you."

Primrose hadn't the slightest idea how a weed of all things would help Thranduil, but it was a way to help, and she took it. She and Gandalf spent the rest of the day wandering through the forest, searching for the long-leaved weed, then drying and crushing it per Radagast's instructions. Despite the simplicity of the task, it was nerve-racking: as the sun began to sink, Primrose kept spotting eyes in the most unassuming shadow, blood-red or pale and bulbous, and always too close for comfort. Gandalf was a splendid lookout man, though, and spooked any who seemed ready to leap out with his long staff.

"Are the Mewlips still after me, Gandalf?"

"Certainly not! Last I saw, Lord Thranduil's men chased them off toward their swamp. There are still dangers here, and you must be careful. But never fear! Rhosgobel has protections of its own."

"Still," thought Primrose worriedly, as darkness fell on Mirkwood at last and turned the world into one massive shadow, "I never expected to be watched so intently after leaving the Shire. At least my nosy neighbors weren't willing to eat me!"

When Primrose and Gandalf returned with the last basket of Kingsfoil, Radagast crushed and tossed it into a boiling pot as soon as he confirmed its legitimacy. Primrose peeked over the rim on tiptoe, fascinated by the scent bubbling from the water's depths. It smelled of pipeweed, fresh verdure ready to grow spring vegetables, and the sweet valley air of Rivendell. Rivendell! Her heart ached for it once again, even though she was excited to explore Thranduil's home once he was better. 

"It's meant to soothe to soul, you know, so it smells different for everyone," Radagast explained as he stirred with a long ladle. "I smell animal fur and my beloved Greenwood." 

"I wonder how it smells to the Elvenking," Primrose said aloud.

She sat on a stool to cool her heels, listening to Thranduil's breathing as it slowed into the evenness of a peaceful sleep⏤and soon followed him, though her dreams were uncomfortable despite the Kingsfoil. In her dreams, the Elvenking's fair face kept transforming before her eyes into some grotesque combination of flesh and spider parts, with her helpless to provide any healing or even comfort. Each time she woke, she found Thranduil blocked from view by Gandalf and Radagast's bustling forms. It was comforting, yes, but the stress dreams came on regardless.

After all, what could wizards not want her to see?

---

Early the next morning, when Radagast and Gandalf were out gathering Kingsfoil, Primrose could stand the suspense no longer. She crept to the corner of the house where Thranduil lay wrapped in wool blankets, still breathing steadily, and whispered "Lord Elvenking, may I see your face?"

Thranduil's breath hitched, and exhaled raggedly. "Primrose," he rasped, his shoulders hunching at the pain ravaging him. "You mustn't look!"

"Whyever not?"

"I'm...it's...hideous. If you looked on your Elvenking now, you'd surely⏤"  

With a cry of distress and frustration, Primrose rushed to Thranduil's side. "Nonsense! What do you think I am?" Kneeling, she sought his hand beneath the blankets and tenderly took it in hers, worriedly noting the chill in his fingers. "If you continue hiding away like a squirrel, I'll...I'll turn around and go straight to Rivendell!"

Through a gap in the blankets, Thranduil's intimidating eye flashed like a storm cloud. "A squirrel?"

Primrose had to admit, that was a bad comparison to make. But it was too late to back out now. Besides, she was getting him to talk. "Indeed, Lord Elvenking," she soldiered on, despite shaking like a leaf. "I would hate to do it; in fact I'd never forgive myself. But I would, if 'my Elvenking' trusted my judgement so little." 

"But you're frightened, Primrose Took."

"I am," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I keep imagining what the poison is doing to you, the pain you're in." To her horror, hot tears began trailing down her cheeks. She knuckled them away with her free hand, but they kept coming, a self-induced rain shower. 

There was a long, oppressive silence. It was so grim and terrible that Primrose almost dropped Thranduil's hand like it was ablaze. Still she held on, hoping he would understand. Then the blankets shifted and fell away like the tide, and there was the face Thranduil had endeavored to hide from her.

To the end of her days, Primrose would remember that face: the sunken-in scarring over Thranduil's cheek, the holes like watermelon pips where muscle held the jaw in place, the milky sightless white of his eye. But most of all she remembered his expression. He awaited her terror and rejection as if it were his doom, yet at the same time he looked on her with the same kindness he always showed her. The scars could never take away his true self. 

"This ruin is not the poison's work, Primrose," he said, and turned his face away. "This is the end result of facing the Fire-Drakes to the North, many years ago." 

"I hope it doesn't hurt."

"It is the least of our worries," Thranduil said, and fell back among the pillows with a grunt. Through her tear-cloaked vision, she could make out his scars coursing like grotesque rivers over the "ruin" side of his face. "You may look away now."

Primrose sniffled, trying and failing to not sound wretched. "But it's your face, Lord Elvenking!"

"...What?" 

"I-I can't explain. I'm sorry. Sorry that I'm...I'm such a coward, Lord Elvenking...!"  

To Primrose, she was making a pathetic scene. But Thranduil must have felt differently; within the space of a moment his arms were about her, holding her to his breast half-in, half-out of his sickbed. Sleep and overexertion swept over him, and his eyes slid closed just as a smile crept shyly over his lips. "Mithrandir's fascination with halflings no longer surprises me," he murmured. "I forbid you to tell him that."

Primrose laughed wetly and rested there awhile.  

As her tears dried on his shoulder and her emotions cooled somewhat, she realized that Radagast and Gandalf were due to return soon. How to explain this awkward scene? "Better to simply get out of it," she thought primly, and set about extricating herself from Thranduil's arms.

It was a tricky business. Elves were not the sort to fall ill, and not even poison could quell Thranduil's innate stubbornness. Deep in slumber though he was, his embrace remained just tight enough that Primrose simply couldn't squirm free. She pushed gently at first, then less so, and by the time the wizards returned one arm was drooped about her head and shoulders like a feather boa, while the other still held her in undeniable intimacy.

"Great Elephants!" said Gandalf (laughing quietly so as to not to wake the patient). "I see we worried about you for nothing, my friend."

"Well I think you should worry," Primrose grunted in return.

Radagast chortled and added fresh Kingsfoil to the pot. "I'm mostly relieved, Primrose. The Elvenking was convinced you'd run away screaming! Yet there you are."

"And there she'll stay," Thranduil muttered unexpectedly, and slipped back into unconsciousness before Primrose could retort.

"When he wakes fully, stay close to him and talk, as much as you are able," Gandalf said, already returning to the grim business at hand. "Radagast and I will draw out the poison."   

It was a tricky business. Whenever Thranduil returned to his senses⏤which happened more often as the wizards worked their magic⏤he would sit up and struggle free of the blankets, clearly intending to stand. Once or twice he seemed convinced that Primrose was still lost in Mirkwood; orders crawled sluggishly out of his mouth, demanding a search party set out to find her (with himself at the head, of course). But the poison was still in him, and he'd collapse like a puppet with cut strings. Sometimes it took both wizards to wrangle him back into bed.

"I'm right here, Lord Elvenking," Primrose would say each time, gripping his hand in an attempt to ground him. And each time, his eye would find her face, and he would smile in unexpected tenderness. 

"Do not let this foolish king hold you captive," he murmured near the end of the ordeal. 

"I'm not," Primrose grumbled, but she knew he was wandering through the waking sleep of recovery and hadn't a clue what he was doing.

--- 

When at last Thranduil recovered after three days of toil on Primrose and the wizards' part, the first thing he did was cast a fresh glamour over his scars. It could have been out of vanity, or perhaps Radagast had the right of it and it was to give his people courage. After some early morning dithering, Primrose decided to ask.

"Lord Elvenking, why do you enchant yourself when Elves live such a long time? Surely they know all about your battles."

Thranduil pondered this over their breakfast of forest nuts and dried apples. "Even my people have children," he finally answered, spearing a nut with his fork. "I do not wish to frighten them."

"...I see. Thank you, that seems sensible."

The second thing Thranduil did was attempt to repay his healers for their services. Primrose had never seen such gems! They tumbled from his saddlebags onto Radagast's humble table, green as spring shoots and white as snow. "I am in your debt," he said merrily, "and if you slither out of proper payment, I shall ambush you with these when next I see you!"

"Very well," said Gandalf, taking a handful. "These should fund my next journey."

It was then (while Radagast puzzled over what to do with his share) that Primrose remembered Gandalf had traveled farther with her than he had intended. "Does that mean you'll be leaving soon, Gandalf?" she asked sadly.

"I am, but not right this instant," Gandalf replied, taking out his pipe and tobacco. "I have time for a pipe, if you'll oblige me?"

"Of course," said Primrose with a sniffle.

They sat together on Rhosgobel's steps, sucking on their pipes and blowing smoke rings into the shafts of sunlight peeking through the trees. Radagast and Thranduil let them be; they had their own business to take care of. Gandalf happily (if also vaguely) answered as many questions as Primrose cared to ask.

"Will I see you again, Gandalf?"

"Hum! Of course you will, my young friend, though not when you expect me. Despite my age, I'm a busy fellow, you know; detours are well and good, but all the same I do need to reach my destination at some point."

"Where is that, Gandalf?"

"A great many places. Some may be to your liking but some may not. For example, Radagast and I must attend another Meeting of the Council that would have you climbing the walls. After that, hmm. I suppose I'll make some fireworks."

"Oh goodness! May I help?"

"No, no," Gandalf said, "it's far too dangerous for a Hobbit. My word," he added with a fond laugh, "I think Radagast would set his birds on me and the hedgehogs too if I let you near such explosives!"

"Not to mention," called Thranduil grimly, "I would have words with you, Mithrandir."

"No thank you, my Lord!" Gandalf said with another laugh, this one a bit less fond. 

Primrose blew another smoke ring, watching it float away down the path. "Thank you for traveling this far with me," she told Gandalf, hugging him without hesitation.

Gandalf hugged her back, and the fond warmth of companionship lit up inside her. "Thank you, my friend, for allowing me to come along. Now I shall stop acting like a mother hen and let you make your way in the world. But you'll see me again eventually."

"I hope so."

When Primrose let Gandalf go, it was not without tears; but when he turned near the edge of the clearing and waved farewell, she knew that wouldn't be the last she saw of him.    

The next, and perhaps last, leg of the journey was for her and Thranduil alone.

Chapter Text

Unsurprisingly, Thranduil insisted on continuing their journey shortly after breakfast. "I know secret paths from here," he said from the open door, his face tipped toward the sun like a flower. "We should reach my home in a matter of days."

"That sounds wonderful," said Primrose, slipping new arrows into her quiver. She had carved the stone arrowheads herself, in an effort to match the ones she had. 

Radagast hummed noncommittally, focused on fletching arrows and not scraping the skin clean off his fingers. Little brown curls of wood sprawled over the table, bouncing onto the floor to become nest components for the birds and animals. According to Thranduil, he worked as quickly as any fletcher in his Halls, and Primrose could believe it.    

"Radagast, are you coming too?" 

"Before we reached Rhosgobel, I would have said yes." Radagast looked around his home and sighed fondly. "Oh, but I've missed it so! I'm very sorry, Primrose, I need to be a homebody for a bit."

"That's alright. It's a lovely home. I especially like the little holes for Percival and the rest of your friends."

"That's the benefit of having a tree in your house," said Radagast sagely, and handed her another arrow. 

Primrose held it close to her chest, as if it were an extension of the wizard who made it. "I'll miss you, too."

Radagast snuffled and glanced away, rubbing the tears on his coarse sleeve. "You had better promise to visit again, or I'll come nosing around for any signs of trouble!"

"That would be useful," said Thranduil, who rose to his feet to let a warren of rabbits pass into the house. "Thank you again for your hospitality, Aiwendil. May your roof never leak!"

Once all was ready, Primrose was surprised that Thranduil sent his elk on ahead with news of their arrival. "Wouldn't riding him be faster?"

"That is true. But," and Thranduil smiled at her, making her conscious of Elves and their charms, "he cannot climb trees."

Suddenly Thranduil was up the nearest tree like a squirrel, crouching on a hefty branch with one hand on the enormous trunk. After hugging Radagast (to his surprise and delight), Primrose climbed up after him. She remembered one of the books in Rivendell mentioning "tree-running", and if this was the trick in question she'd never keep pace. Unless, of course, Thranduil planned on carrying her, but she didn't dare count on that yet.

"Well done, considering we're both out of practice," said Thranduil, when Primrose sagged on the opposite side of the trunk, already breathing hard. "Climb on my back, and we'll make excellent time."

For the second time, Primrose found herself clinging to the Elvenking for dear life. This time was even stranger than the first, for Thranduil was treating tree limbs more like ramps, running from one to the other and often in midair. Sadly, the view was less impressive than with Hazel. Thranduil's beautiful hair kept beautifully, majestically billowing in her face. Learning how to spit out hairs in a respectful manner was quite time-consuming.

"How are you faring?" Thranduil asked over his shoulder.

"Good, I think," Primrose replied, somewhat muffled (his hair billowed into her mouth again).

---

Now and then, Thranduil paused to rest and get his bearings in a marvelous guard post. Not every tree housed these circular huts-on-platforms, which made them all the more fascinating. From what Primrose could tell (peeping cautiously through the slats of the balcony), they blended in perfectly with the tree branches. "Even the cleverest and nastiest of spiders would have a hard go of finding us here," she said, pleased.

"You think so, do you?" Thranduil said dryly from a table laden with maps. "Remain cautious." 

"Of course." Primrose felt a bit hurt. Still, if anyone besides Radagast knew the forest better than the Elvenking, no doubt they would share his opinion.

Throughout each guard post visit, Primrose gained new appreciation for Mirkwood. Some areas were shaded and chilly, and so dark her closed eyelids seemed bright as torches. Other times she could peer down from the balcony and see long trails of bone-white deer stepping delicately over roots and moss-decorated stones. Sometimes there were shredded cobwebs hanging like funeral veils in the stuffy air, and a distressing musky odor wafted up from the ground below. Dead and dying things were down there. She itched to leave those places as soon as they arrived.

Thranduil seemed to agree. He always made sure to ask how the scouts were doing first, and if there were any injured or dead. Often the answer was no; but sometimes it was "Yes". Then Thranduil descended into the depths of the great tree itself for a long while, and Primrose was barred from following.

On one such occasion, in a slightly sunnier part of Mirkwood, Primrose asked the scouts why she'd been left behind. "I understand if he doesn't want me in the way," she said, drinking a cool tea that tasted refreshingly bittersweet, "but is an injured Elf that unusual?"

The two scouts set to mind her glanced at each other, unsure how to answer. "Our King rarely lays his heart bare," one of them said, looking into his cup. "But it is bountiful and deep, and it pains him to see his people suffer. In this case..." He paused, biting his lip.

"It's...his lover?" Primrose asked, too casually.

The scout's dark head shot up, confused. "No, a family member. Captain Tauriel has kept her broken heart together as long as she could, but now our ancestors call her home."

A broken heart? At first, that seemed like a figure of speech. But then Primrose remembered how Thranduil spoke of his wife back in Rivendell, the grief he held back only through many years of practice. Grief may have been painful for Hobbits, but for Elves it was soul-rending enough that they needed the company of family. 

"And they'll comfort her...that sounds beautiful." Primrose wiped her eyes with a handkerchief, thinking sadly of her uncles' half-remembered smiles. "I hope that happens for Hobbits, too."

She didn't dare ask who Captain Tauriel lost, or if she could find them again. The possibilities frightened her. 

---

It was no surprise that Thranduil took even longer than usual to return. When he climbed back up the ladder, Primrose was fast asleep in a nest of blankets and the moon was traveling through the tree-shadows above her head, shining its cold light on her face.

Thranduil stood there, wearied from a grief he'd felt too long. It would sit in his heart and grow less heavy with each age, he knew. It was a cruel comfort. Part of him wanted to do with Tauriel's memory as he had with his wife's: drive it deep into his heart like a Morgul blade, poisoning himself little by little until no other pain could reach him. He stared at Primrose, imagining the inevitable state of her corpse, her bone dust falling through his fingers into the earth. It had helped before.

It did not help now.

Primrose stirred in her sleep, exposing the curve of a freckled shoulder. From the fog of illness, he remembered wrapping his arm around that shoulder, feeling her fleeting life in his hand and finding it as enchanting as a falling star. 

Quick and quiet, he made his way over to her. This mortal, this maiden of the earth had cried for him, had accepted him, had waited for him to return. She deserved warmth and tenderness. Tauriel and his wife would wish it so. He wished it so. 

That decision brought him contentment at last. Sitting down beside her, he fixed her blankets so she was cocooned in warmth (seeing her ill once was more than enough) and stared up at the stars.

"I wonder," he murmured, "do Halflings name the stars?"

"Yes, lots," grunted Primrose, rolling over to see him better. Her dreams had been full of Mewlips again, and talking with Thranduil would help chase them off.

"Did I wake you?"

"I'm glad you did." Primrose peered up at the far-off lights and wriggled an arm free. "That big clump there is...The Netted Stars, I think."

"Oh? Remmirath in our tongue means 'a group of jewels caught in a net'. Our names are closer than I expected." Thranduil pointed out a vibrant red star that reminded Primrose of a candle. "What of that one there?"

"Um...Borgil, I think? It's very faint, though."

"Most interesting. We call it Borgil too."

They sat in comfortable silence for a time. Then Thranduil asked "Which star is your favorite?"

To say this was an unexpected question is an understatement, though Primrose supposed she should have guessed it would come up. She puzzled over it as the moon continued to glow above them, no longer alone. Was it a trick question? A well-meaning one? Before Thranduil could apologize, she answered "The Blue Bee. It's that big fat one that you can always pick out, no matter where you are."

When Primrose looked back at Thranduil, she found him having some sort of queer fit. At least, that's what she thought. On closer inspection he was laughing silently, and so hard his eyes crinkled upwards like a cat's with the force of it.

"What's so funny?"

"A bee," Thranduil wheezed, wiping his tears on his sleeve. "Heavens! Why did my people not think of that first? To think..." He laughed again, tipping his head back toward the pale lights above. "...We merely called it blue! Ah, Helluin, you deserved better."

It took some time before Primrose got any sense out of him. Still, she couldn't help feeling relieved to have cheered him up.

---

With a fresh supply of travel rations and scouts forging ahead to send news of their coming, they left the guard post behind.

Mirkwood was lush with life now; despite the trees' oppressive shade below Primrose could still make out the scurryings of animals, the lively chatter of birds (and the occasional attacks of the same if she perched too near their nests), and even spotted the same black emperor butterflies Bilbo saw on his journey, though she didn't know it. It was still summer, so many of them were in glorious jade cocoons that gleamed in the sun like priceless jewels. 

"We are near," said Thranduil, drawing Primrose's attention to huge, tree-topped mountains in the distance. "Beyond the Mountains of Mirkwood lies my home."

"Mountains again," Primrose observed grimly.

"Not so oppressive, but dangerous in their own way," Thranduil admitted. He added with a Wood Elf's dangerous mischief "Would you rather go the long way? It's quite stuffy in this heat."

"No, no, by all means! Mountains it is!"

And mountains it was.

For now, we must leave Primrose and Thranduil to their trek up the mountains, and turn our attentions to what was happening downhill.  

---

Legolas, son of Thranduil Elvenking and leader of the Woodland Realm in his absence, was facing a diplomatic crisis.

The Elvenking's Halls were under a massive hill (part of the Mirkwood Mountains, in fact), undetectable by most things in Middle Earth by way of strong, old magic. Evil things could not leave it alive. Regrettably, this didn't stop anything good, evil, or otherwise from sitting atop said hill, and therein lay Legolas' chief problem.

Glaumr the giant, left to twiddle his thumbs in the Grey Mountains? "Preposterous!" he had thought. "Absurd!" And yet it happened anyway. Peevish at being unrightfully attacked by hornets, and having eaten the horses he'd stolen, he had sulked and griped his way past the Mewlips' mire (alerting them of a good meal on its way), stewed and fumed through the river, and stomped petulantly along the Grey Mountains waiting for Thranduil's elk to arrive. We know it was being held up by storms and the Mewlips, and further had no intention whatsoever of fulfilling its end of the bargain. Glaumr did not.

When Glaumr realized he, of all persons, had been tricked, he was shaken to his core. This had never happened before, at least as far as he could remember. How could things have gone so wrong for someone who was always right? So distressed was he that he shuffled his way from the Grey Mountains to Mirkwood, found himself a nice, sun-warmed hill, and flopped down with tree-splintering woe. "And I won't move," he concluded, "until I get what I want. So there!"

From Legolas' perspective, a very large Something had struck the Halls, and now it was his job to figure out what. That unto itself was not unusual: as his father's keenest-eyed scout he was quite good at finding out what was going on, and who was doing it, if not the why. A quick peep through one of the Halls' secret windows had certainly showed a most regrettable view of the "who" and "what" in question, but it had been clear from the cavernous and hairy nostrils that it was a giant. 

At first, he and the other Elves had assumed the worst, and prepared for battle. This was short-lived, however. Glaumr was too huge to risk open warfare on, for one, and for another he seemed too sullen to fight anybody. At present, this was the Woodland Realm's first accidental siege, and nobody knew what to do about it. 

"How fare our supplies?" Legolas asked a guard mid-report. 

"Well enough," replied the guard with a grimace. "That giant has figured out the barrels in the river are empty, but it could spot the traders any day now." 

"Has it attacked anyone?"

"Yes and no, my Prince. It rolled over in its sleep and narrowly missed a hunting party, and the hounds are still frightened."

"Bring them in. Guards, you are dismissed." 

"Yes, my Prince."

Once only Legolas and the hounds remained in the royal chamber, he sat among them as he did in his younger days and did his best to soothe them. "The creature may harm us, but then it may not," he murmured. "It may be waiting to strike, but then it may not. This reminds me of Father's lessons disguised as jests."

Logically speaking, as the heir apparent Legolas could fight the giant himself. He could almost hear Thranduil chastising him for putting himself at risk again. And so soon after nearly dying in battle, no less. "Not all problems can be solved with arrow and sword," he reminded himself.

One of the hounds scratched at its velvety ear, the flopping sound echoing through the grand halls.

"Ai, ai, If only it were that simple," Legolas lamented, while another hound rolled onto its belly. When he assented to petting, it rested its powerful arm on his shoulder, reminding him what lay beneath the soft, shaggy fur.

The Elvenking's hounds were not "dogs as we know them", but rather "dogs as they once were". They were Mirkwood born and raised, and as much Radagast's friends as they were the Wood Elves. But even they, in all their wildness and wisdom, knew giants were dangerous. Legolas and Thranduil could not, would not, send them to fight their battles.

Legolas paused mid-pet. The hounds had been content to play on the floor or lounge near him. Now they were all staring at him with their thoughtful, bright eyes, the torchlight giving them a fierceness he knew to acknowledge.

"I know you would go, for my sake," he said, pained, "but I can't risk it. You know that."

Above them, Legolas could hear Glaumr beginning to stir, shaking bits of stone and tree roots from the high ceiling. The hounds curled in on each other, their tails tucked between their legs in horror. 

"It didn't move so much before," he said, feeling like an ant at the bottom of a jar. "It must be growing hungry."