Disclaimer: The Hobbit belongs to J.R.R Tolkien, WB, MGM. This is a fanfiction, a non-commercial derivative work. I own nothing but Adelaide. 

As I limped through Lord Elrond's home in my grubby clothes, I felt distinctly out of place in the sprawling villa.

Rivendell's architecture had a lot in common with the old Roman empire. It was like stepping back in time to another age. I half-expected to see Julius Caesar holding court or the infamous Marc Antony striding powerfully down these halls with the aura of a conqueror, the sharply intelligent Cleopatra on his arm.

Long covered colonnades were supported by graceful, fluted columns, many of which opened into lush gardens each more beautiful than the last. Fountains with magnificent sculptures dotted the landscape, the veils of water falling as gently as a lullaby into deep round pools.

The set of my shoulders relaxed even further as Aeriel helped me through the branching corridors until we entered a courtyard and stopped before an arched doorway of a bedroom. Soon as I found my balance the elf-maiden stepped away from me and clasped her hands genteelly at her waist. "If you wish, I can prepare a bath."

A slight smile tugged at my lips.

I suppose that was polite elf-speak for 'you stink'. Not that I could fault her. After a week without any sort of bath, I smelled nearly as bad as some of the dwarves, who did not share my penchant for personal hygiene, save Thorin and his nephews who at least made an effort to stay clean.

"A bath would be wonderful." I told her sincerely.

Aeriel smiled.

While Aeriel went into the bathroom to run my bath (thank god the elves had plumbing) I drank in my surroundings.

The bedroom was bright and airy with high arched ceilings and delicate floral murals painted on the walls. A princess style bed sat in the middle of the room, sheer drapes creating an elegant sleeping bower. In the far-right corner, a writing desk sat against the wall, fresh parchment stacked neatly on the surface beside an inkwell and quill pen.

Aeriel floated serenely out of the bathroom and pushed open the balcony doors to let in fresh air. "Your bath is ready. I'll lay out a fresh chance of clothing and have one of the healers come up and look at your ankle."

I sat my traveling pack on a vacant chair. "Thank you, my lady. Your help is very much appreciated."

The she-elf paused in the doorway. "I will have a tray of food sent as well." She said, then glided away.

In the bathroom, I stripped off my clothes and sank into the deep garden-style tub with a moan of pleasure as the hot water seeped into my aching body. Scrubbing at my hair with elf-style shampoo I vaguely wondered if the dwarves were getting such good treatment.

Probably. Lord Elrond was supposed to be famous for his hospitality. I rinsed my hair and attacked the sopping strands again with another thorough soaping, ending with a lavender smelling conditioner.

I scrubbed my body until my skin turned pink, the water soon becoming murky. Cringing slightly, I figured out how to empty the tub and refill it with fresh water so I might soak awhile.

Thorin better not mess this up with his anti-elf bigotry.

Now that I was finally somewhere safe, I wanted to relax and enjoy myself for once. I had no desire to be kicked out because Thorin offended our host.

I sympathized with him; I really did. Thorin was a good man who had been done wrong in life.

Thranduil was a dick and a disgrace to elves everywhere. But as a dwarf-who-would-be-king Thorin needed to show more tact in dealing with others. A leader needed to lead by example and if he ever hoped to revive his kingdom, he required allies. Lord Elrond would be a good one to have.

I propped my arms on the ledge of the tub and gazed up at the ceiling. Maybe I was asking for a miracle. Thorin had as much stupid pride as the next man. I rolled my eyes. Men and their fragile egos.

Climbing out of the tub I wrapped a towel around my body, running another over my hair. In a way it was a relief to be away from the company for a while and have some time to myself without tripping over a dwarf or a wizard every second of the day.

There is only so long I could slap a smile on and pretend to be happy about traveling with a group of people who barely tolerated me. Being a woman in a male dominated world wasn't easy. Women's lib was a foreign concept to much of Middle Earth.

I padded back into the bedroom finding a white, dolman-style nightgown on the edge of the bed. Holding it up to the light, I admired the delicate crystal beading along the neckline, my thoughts still lingering on the company leader. Perhaps, that's why Thorin bugged me so much. He ran as hot and cold as faulty plumbing. I never knew where I stood with him.

I slipped into the nightgown, smoothing the heavy folds around my body. True, I'd done little to alter his perception on our journey, but would a little common courtesy kill him?

These dwarves were tough nuts to crack. I would know. Many times, during our travels I'd fantasized about taking a nutcracker to their nuts. Thinking of Fili and Kili I sighed. Shaft Killer. Really? I'd rather be called the Nutcracker.

Sitting on the bed, I contemplated the writing desk. A powerful craving filled me to hold a pen in my hand. When was the last time I wrote something for myself?

It seemed so foolish now when I think back about my writing woes. Worrying about writing something perfectly. Reading piles upon piles of writing advice and wondering how to implement everything I read about or whether the advice was B.S. About whether I would ever fulfill my dream of becoming a writer? Or if I was just a hack.

Someone knocked gently on the door, drawing me out of my jumbled thoughts. A fair-haired elf in an emerald green robe carried a tray with medical supplies. "Lady Aeriel sent me to tend to your injury." His voice was like windchimes on a breezy summer day.

I lifted the hem of my nightgown a few inches exposing my ankle. "Thank you. I really appreciate this. By the way, what is your name?"

He pressed a hand to his chest and inclined his head regally. "Aelfric."

"Nice to meet you, my lord. I'm Adelaide." Then I glanced down at my ankle for the first time since our flight from the orcs and immediately wished I hadn't. My ankle was a vicious purple and swelled four times its normal size.

The healer looked at my ankle without comment, his face giving nothing away. Aelfric picked through the bottles and jars on his tray. He selected a jar of salve and applied a thick layer to my skin. "This will help take the swelling down."

The healer carefully wrapped my ankle then propped my foot up on a small pile of pillows.

Aelfric poured a thick syrupy liquid into a small glass and handed it to me. "This will dull the pain."

The sickening sweetness of the potion made me gag. I fumbled for the pitcher of water on the nightstand and poured a glass gulping it down.

As I poured another glass, the healer's penetrating gaze fixated on my blistered hand. "Warg blood."

I blinked, amazed. "You could tell that just by looking?"

"I have seen similar injuries before." Aelfric replied in a calm voice and popped the cork on a slender vial. "This salve is excellent for burns."

Once my hand was bandaged, Aelfric reassembled his makeshift healer's kit and bowed a polite farewell, instructing me to remain in bed for the rest of the evening. "Also, I must offer a warning. The potion you drank will make you drift off to sleep before long."

Turns out, sleep was a great idea. I settled back against the pillows and closed my eyes.

The gentle plucking of harp strings drifted in from the open window, the music carrying with it the scent of night blooming jasmine and soon lulled me to sleep.

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After the dubious welcome at the front gate, Thorin remained wary of his elven host and less than pleased to share a dinner table with him. Lord Elrond's manners were flawless. He did everything to present the façade of a gracious host to the dwarves.

Over the appalling meal of greens, Thorin watched Lord Elrond carefully, searching for any chink in his armor. Eventually, the discussion fell to the company's travels and his hands bunched into fists, waiting for the hammer to drop.

No one would interfere with the reclamation of Erebor. Especially, not a thrice-cursed elf!

Lord Elrond was especially intrigued by what they discovered in the troll hoard. He gestured with an elegant hand. "May I see your sword?"

Thorin bristled at the question but after receiving an icy glare from Gandalf he reluctantly passed the weapon over to the elf lord.

Lord Elrond reverently drew the elven blade from its sheath, his face bright with wonder. "The Goblin-Cleaver." He murmured thoughtfully. "Forged in Gondolin in the First Age."

The name of the ancient elven kingdom stirred something in the elf lord. He carefully returned Thorin's sword to its sheath and offered it back to him before asking to examine Gandalf's weapon.

The conversation fell over Thorin like water. His hands clenched and unclenched in barely suppressed anger. Balin and Bilbo were both fascinated by the history surrounding the blades. To borrow a phrase from his scribe, Thorin could give two shits about elven history.

Unable to endure a moment longer in Lord Elrond's company, Thorin excused himself from the high table and retreated further along the terrace. He leaned against an ivy-covered sapling and pulled out his flask taking a generous sip of ale.

The elves floated serenely around the dining area, playing instruments with consummate skill. Thorin had always had an ear for music. Perfectly as the elves played there was very little life in the piece.

The funereal melody grated on his last nerve. The tune lacked buoyancy and joy, two crucial aspects of good music.

Give him the rowdy emotion-filled songs of his people any day over this travesty. A wistful longing filled him as he remembered the glory of Erebor on feast days. The abundance of food, the dancing, and most of all the merry music that wove everything together in a grand tapestry of joy.

Thorin would see those glory days restored once he acquired the Arkenstone and the throne.

An elf maid twirled by him. The sharp abrupt notes of her flute caused Thorin to cringe.

Even Men composed better music than this. Thorin thought, gazing out over the crowded tables. One member of his company was noticeably absent. His scribe had not been seen since she disappeared with the she-elf hours earlier.

Thorin took another swig from his flask. Lord Elrond had assured him Adelaide rested in a guest chamber, but he never trusted an elf at his word.

Much to the relief of the dwarves, Bofur leaped onto the table and broke out into a rousing tavern song. A few minutes later, a food fight broke out.

Thorin used the disruption to slip away from the dinner party to find his wayward scribe. He passed several elves roaming the halls but refused to ask any of them for directions.

Night fell like a veil over the valley before he found Adelaide's room. Located in the west wing off a central courtyard.

The same elf maid who escorted Adelaide away earlier slipped from the room, pulling up abruptly when she saw Thorin. "My lord, may I...assist you?"

"I simply wish to check on the health of Miss Adelaide." He replied in a barely civil tone.

"She is sleeping, and her injuries have been tended to by one of our healers, Lord Aelfric." The elf maid's eyes widened in understanding. "Forgive me. I did not realize the lady is your melamin." A soft smile curved her lips. "Then I shall excuse myself."

Before Thorin could correct the elf's assumption, she exited down the corridor. He had no way of calling her back without shouting and waking Adelaide up.

Thorin stepped inside the darkened bedchamber and crossed to the bed. A small flickering candle on the bedside table provided minimal light, revealing an untouched plate of bread and cheese.

Thorin gently lifted the candle, feeling unexpected relief to find her safely asleep.

The frivolous white garment the elves had dressed Adelaide in draped becomingly around her slender form in heavy folds. One arm lay across her middle, the other by her side. Skeins of red mahogany waves spilled across the pillow and her shoulders, framing her lovely face. Her long dark lashes formed half-moons on her cheeks.

Adelaide seemed so at peace. Thorin did not recall a time when she appeared this content. On the road she seemed restless and unhappy.

Thorin's musings unraveled when his gaze fell on her bandaged hand. When had that happened? He leaned down for a closer look and recoiled, recognizing the minty smell.

Earlier the healer had given Thorin and the others a salve to treat the burns on their skin caused by warg blood. He scrolled through memories of the fight, trying to pinpoint the exact moment Adelaide became injured. It was impossible to be certain, things happened far too quickly.

Guilt stabbed his conscious. She must have been caught in the backlash of one of the clashes. One of them must have caused her injury. Perhaps, even Thorin.

Replacing the candle, Thorin retreated slowly from the bed.

Let her have her rest. She had earned it.

A/N: I always love Rivendell scenes. The characters are allowed to take a break and I can work on developing some of their relationships (ThorinxAdelaide moments!) I'm so excited! I found it a bit too challenging with the plot so strictly structure to a journey type story and with a huge cast of characters. It's tough to juggle.

I want to dedicate this chapter to NJRBlackFeather, my first ever reader and commentor! She has a great Hobbit fanfic you should check out and if you enjoy reading this, comment, vote, and recommend this story to others!

P.S. Melamin=Love.