A/N: Here it is, part two of my AU story involving Dwarves, Fëanorians, a Slimaril and many other interesting things. Reading the following chapters will not make sense without reading "Never trust an Elf" first.

1.

The Company of Thorin Oakenshield left Rivendell on a glorious midsummer morning. With them went the wizard Gandalf and one very unhappy Hobbit, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire.

Fourteen glossy ponies had been packed for the journey and they stomped about in the courtyard, impatient to be gone. By the gate, eight tall Elves stood silently, wrapped in their grey cloaks. Three of them bore longbows on their backs and each had a traveling pack at his feet. Unlike Gandalf, they had no mounts prepared and they would go with the company on foot.

Lord Elrond and his household had come to bid their guests a fond farewell and give them their best wishes for the road ahead. They spoke with Gandalf and Thorin while Bilbo waited by his pony, his shoulders slumped and not merely due to the weight of his pack.

Bowing before the Lord of Imladris one last time, Thorin mounted his pony and signaled his company to set out. Bilbo steered his mount toward the ornate gates as they rode out in single file. Thorin at the fore and Gandalf immediately behind, they passed by Fëanor and his sons. Bilbo saw the Elves bid Lord Elrond a silent farewell, heads bowed and hands against their hearts. Then, they walked after the company, leaving behind the comforts of the Last Homely House.

For a short while, their road curved southward along the same path they had come almost a month before. It would branch eastward and out of the valley, taking the company high above the eastern branch of the Bruinen before turning north.

The Last Homely House lay far behind him when Bilbo turned his head for one last glimpse. It was a miniature of silver and gold and emerald and waterfalls once more, calling him back. Bilbo halted his pony and stared back at the enchanted valley with great longing.

Although they had to steer past the Hobbit with some difficulty, none of his companions gave him any grief about it.

"Don't worry, Bilbo, we'll be back here before you know it," Fili gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze, sparing the Elven dwelling a wistful glance himself.

Bilbo nodded absently and paid no attention to the cloaked figures walking past him, not until the last of them stopped and Caranthir eyed him curiously.

"It's not a place anyone would want to leave, is it?" he said.

Bilbo blinked, trying to clear his head.

"What if...what if I don't want to leave? What if I just turn around now and head back? Would you allow it?" he asked the Elf.

"I would. But ask yourself, Bilbo Baggins, do you really want to do that?" Caranthir gave him a sharp and pointed look.

"No," Bilbo sighed, biting back the enormous 'yes' he truly felt like shouting from the top of his lungs.

"WHAT DID YOU FORGET THIS TIME, BILBO BAGGINS?!" Thorin boomed from around the bend in the path, the echo of his voice running trough the valley.

With a smirk, Caranthir took the reins from Bilbo's hands, pulling both pony and unwilling rider after him.

…

For four days the company traveled without incident along the ridge, their path leading north and slightly eastward. The jagged peaks of the Misty Mountains rose higher and closer each day, blocking the eastern horizon with everlasting snow. A brisk, chill wind swept down from the heights, reminding the company that they had stepped back into the time and the weather of the world.

It would have been a journey not unlike the one from Bree to Rivendell, with the Elves up ahead and in charge of camping business, if Thorin had not insisted that shared company meant shared chores. He refused to have the Elves wait on him hand and foot, but still, they were gone for most of the day, searching the lands for suitable resting spots and game. Fili and Kili often went with the youngest of Fëanor's sons and when they all settled for the night, Bilbo would often hear them talk and laugh together. Fëanor alone remained with the company and hardly left Thorin's side, the two of them and Gandalf often taking counsel together.

As much as he wanted to share the general anticipation and his friends' good cheer, Bilbo barely managed. It did not help him to be the subject of intense scrutiny from time to time and even accosted once with a sneering observation of "Mr. Baggins, you're not trying hard enough!" The occasional grumble aside, all the Dwarves seemed to have accepted the company of Elves and acknowledged their usefulness, gradually becoming accustomed to their sharp tongues and their bawdy humor. If Bilbo hadn't known better, he would have been the first to cheer.

The late afternoon of July the fifth found the company setting camp near a little stream that tumbled down into the Bruinen some miles away. Bilbo picked up a big kettle and headed toward the stream, meaning to fill it up for some tea. He saw Oin already there, crouched on the stony bank and rinsing their cooking gear.

A rustle in the bushes that lined the opposite bank drew the Hobbit's attention. His eyes widened when he saw the thorny undergrowth part before a huge animal that charged toward Oin. The Dwarf paid it no mind, occupied as he was and singing softly. Bilbo opened his mouth to shout, terrified by the lumbering beast and the huge tusks that protruded out of a frothing snout.

"WATCH OUT!" he yelled, but it was already too late. The wild boar had jumped into the water with a deep grunt and one more leap would bring it upon the unsuspecting Dwarf.

Oin looked up at the very last moment and raised the frying pan he still held in his left hand. It would have served him little, if he hadn't been crashed into and rolled out of the way. With a terrific shout, one of the Elves sprang before Oin, grabbing him and propelling the both of them into the bubbling stream. But it was a moment too late and the boar's snout crashed into the Elf's back, the sharp tusks digging in deep.

The Elf cried out and Bilbo recognized Maglor's voice. Rooted to the spot, he saw Maglor trying to twist himself free. The boar shook its head violently and would have bitten savagely into the Elf's back if an iron-capped boot had not caught it in the soft underside of its snout. The beast pulled back a fraction, enough to let Maglor roll away, still holding onto a confused and sputtering Oin. He lost his footing on the slippery bedrock and fell into the stream. But the Dwarf quickly caught onto their peril and righted himself, groping for a weapon. His hands would have to do and Bilbo gave another shout, when the boar charged them again.

The Hobbit threw down his kettle and picked up a rock. He threw it at the enraged beast, hitting its ugly head. He heard the crunch and saw how well he'd aimed, but the boar hesitated only for a second. With a hair-raising roar, it was upon Oin again, but the Dwarf sprang out of the way, where Maglor had landed but a moment before. The Elf was on his feet, hunting knife in hand and ready to jump the beast, but a loud twang stopped him. Then another and another, arrows flying from behind Bilbo and hitting the animal dead-on. It stumbled, pierced in the throat and twice between its ribs, the foam at its mouth turning red.

But the beast reared itself to charge all the same, shrieking horribly and plunging toward the closest target. Once more, Oin sprang out of the way, cursing violently for lack of a weapon and yelling at Maglor to stab it. Finally, the Elf did so and not a moment too soon. But the dying animal thrashed beneath him, trying to throw the attacker off.

Celegorm rushed past Bilbo, throwing down his bow and pulling out his knife. He ran toward his struggling brother and gave the wild boar a finishing blow, yanking the beast away from Maglor and bearing upon it with all his weight.

Maglor dropped to one knee in the shallow stream, his face and the front of his clothes soaked in blood. Behind him, wet and disgruntled, Oin stared at the dying beast. But his eyes soon turned to Maglor, widening at the sight of his wounds.

"You're hurt, lad," the Dwarf said, gingerly touching Maglor's shoulder.

Celegorm released the dead animal, Elvish knives and arrows embedded in its massive body. He went to his brother's side, face turning ashen when he saw the state of Maglor's back.

"Káno! Hold on," he grabbed a very pale and tottering Maglor, flinching when the other Elf coughed and blood bubbled from his lips. Celegorm shouted for help, calling after his father loud enough to be heard on the other side of the Misty Mountains.

…

"The animal was sick, father," Celegorm knelt by Fëanor's side, taking the bloodied washcloth from his hand and rinsing it in a pot of scalding water.

The entire company crowded around Maglor, who lay on his stomach, fast asleep on a combination of alcohol and milk-of-the-poppy. His kinsmen had stripped him of his sodden garments and laid him on a pile of blankets.

Bilbo flinched when he heard what Celegorm had said. Maglor's whole back was a bruised mess, two deep wounds still bleeding and if the boar had been sick, what worse fate awaited the Elf? He had at least one punctured lung and would have to be turned on his back soon, but his wounds needed cleaning and stitching first. Until then, Maedhros held his head in as comfortable a position for breathing as possible, petting his brother's damp hair soothingly.

"I hope you haven't been bitten, Master Oin," Celegorm said, perusing the old Dwarf who sat nearby, rummaging through his herb-pouch.

"No, not a scratch, lad."

"Good. The boar was rabid. It would not have charged our camp otherwise. We should burn the carcass quickly, before carrion birds spread the disease."

"But… what about him?" Oin gave Maglor a worried look. "He's been bitten badly."

"I don't think he's going to turn anymore rabid than he already is," Celegorm tried to joke, but no one around him laughed. "He'll be alright. Just needs to stop bleeding so we can have these stitched and the he'll be fine."

"Here, try this," Oin produced a small vial from his pouch and uncorked it. "Dab a little bit on the cloth and press it into the wounds. It's gonna hurt badly, but I hope he's under enough…"

Celegorm sniffed the contents of the vial and frowned. But the blood still trickling on from his brother's wounds decided for him. He cringed when Maglor's body grew taut and he let out a soft yelp, but the Dwarvish medicine seemed to help and after a little while, the bleeding ceased.

Bilbo saw a very pale Fëanor sticking his hands into the cauldron of hot water at his side, jaw clenched against the unbearable heat. He sucked in a deep breath and picked up a needle that Curufin had given him. But the thread would not go through on the first or the second attempt.

"Here, let me," Oin walked over to him and put a hand on the Elf's arm. "It's the least I can do for the lad. It'd be me down there if not for him… or worse."

Fëanor swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded slowly. He let the Dwarf take needle and thread from his hands, sitting back on his haunches and letting go of a ragged breath.

"Come on, you don't have to watch this. Let us give them some room to breathe," Thorin said. He motioned Fëanor to walk with him, drawing the unwilling Elf to the side and pushing a drink into his hands.

Bilbo did not wish to watch Oin at work either. Feeling quite faint, he busied himself with making some tea. More than one person would need it after they were done patching Maglor up and Bilbo wondered if he should not mix some of the Dwarves' strong liquor into the brew.

"I didn't know I've been reborn so squeamish," he heard Fëanor saying. "He'll be as good as new in a few days, our bodies are young and quick to heal, but… "he paused and let out a sigh. "Eru knows, I've patched them up and mended all seven of them more times than I care to remember…"

"But it never gets any easier," Thorin said. Bilbo saw him sit at the Elf's side, but his eyes were on his nephews and the tenderness in them put a soft smile on Bilbo's face.

"No, it never gets any easier," Fëanor nodded, taking a sip of his drink. "I'd be a piss-poor father if it did."