Disclaimer: Do not own.

Rivendell,

After the War of the Ring,

Bilbo stuck his pipe into his mouth and grabbed his book, sticking it under his arm. He muttered to himself around the pipe in his mouth.

"Quill, inkpot… yes, yes, all good, very good," He murmured. "What have we forgotten? Oh, yes."

He put down the things in his arms, and then took out the ashes from his pipe. Then he added the smoke weed into his pipe before lighting it. As soon as it lit, he placed his pipe back into his mouth and breathed in.

"Ah, good stuff. Good stuff."

Picking up his book, quill and inkpot, he padded out of his room to the terrace.

Nobody here liked his weed, Bilbo thought, humming contently to himself. Elves found it hard to breathe in all his smoke, so he took out his pipe to smoke in the open air, where it would drift away in a while. He turned his head, looking for a suitable place to sit and write some more of his book. He spotted one, a bench nestled in between two statues of alert warriors overlooking the gardens. It would present him a lovely view of the trees with bent branches and leaves skimming the river's surface.

"That will do, that will do."

Age did seem to catch up to him. His hands shook a little as he placed the book, quill and inkpot on the bench and he sat down on the bench with an obvious delight. His wrinkling hands rubbed his knees that ached a little even in this short walk. Elrond suggested making a wooden cane to help him walk but he waved the offer away.

"Not yet, not yet." Bilbo rambled away. "There is much time for holding the cane and tapping it about! I can walk about still. My feet carried me to the Lonely Mountain and back, after all."

It was not entirely true, for Bilbo had help of ponies along the way, and Elrond knew it. Bilbo suspected that the Elven Lord has already prepared a cane for him if he needed. He only needed to ask.

His hair was turning snow white, Bilbo noticed idly as he pushed his curly locks back from his eyes. He pulled out the pipe from his mouth to ease his muscles, and then placed it back in his mouth. He settled more comfortably on his cosy bench, reaching for the quill and opening the book at an empty page. He hummed slightly as he dipped his quill into the inkpot and then placed his quill just above the parchment.

"Now, let's see…"

He wrote comfortably. He placed great thought before each word and letter, making sure and trying his hardest not to make a mistake. His pipe in his mouth started to go lax in his concentration, as was his habit when he put his attention to his writing or poetry.

He was so deep into writing, in fact, that he did not notice the shadow hovering behind him.

"Why! Is this the burglar I once knew?"

Bilbo jumped, his dangling feet making contact with the ground. The book in his lap flew out and his quill dropped to the ground. The speaker lunged after the book, grabbing it clean from the air before falling into the damp soil that would have surely ruined it. He turned and held it out for the Halfling to grab.

"Here you go, Master Baggins!" He said smoothly. "It is unharmed, and I hope the wet ink did not smudge."

Bilbo recovered his shock and peered up at the stranger.

He was tall, but they all seemed tall to Halflings. Why, even dwarves were taller than them, you see. But old Bilbo could tell he would be tall even in his kind. There was a glow of health about him as was the norm of the elves. His hair was fair and straight, freely flowing over his shoulders. His red cloak was pushed back and the mail-shirt was visible to him. Even without his crown, Bilbo knew him.

"My word!" Bilbo said, getting up jerkily. He forgot his book that the stranger patiently held out for him. "What a meeting! Forgive my appearance, good king, it has been a while. If I had known that I might be meeting you, I would have been more presentable. Probably got you some cakes too-"

"Bilbo," the speaker interrupted, amusement evident in his voice. His arm was still stretched out, offering the red-covered book, "Your book."

"Oh, yes." Bilbo said, his ears turning red in embarrassment. "Sorry."

He took the book from Thranduil, who only smiled at the hobbit's embarrassment. "May I sit, Master Baggins?"

"Hm? Of course, of course."

Thranduil raised his cloak as he sat on the bench, letting it drape over the back of the bench. He adjust the brooch fastening his cloak so that it would not tug at his neck and breathed in deeply before turning an amused glance at the hobbit.

"I see you still have the love for that infernal weed, Master Baggins." He stated.

"Hm?" Bilbo hummed, and then realized that his pipe was still in his mouth. He had developed the talent of speaking right around the pipe while he smoked in all events of quiet, surprise and laughter. Realizing it was not proper to smoke in the company of an elf, especially that of the king, he immediately pulled it out of his mouth and snuffed it.

Thranduil merely looked back at the scenery before him.

Years had passed since the incident of the dragon (as Gandalf called it in simple words). Years had passed since Thorin was laid to rest at the foot of the Lonely Mountain. And here they sat, the king and the burglar. The king who had taken a part in the lives of the Company, and the burglar who had managed to escape his halls with the entire Company!

And for that reason, Bilbo was very uncomfortable. He remembered how he snuck off with bread and wine from the King's Kitchens. He remembered how he slept in nooks and crannies with the ring on. He also remembered how he had bested the king in his very own stronghold, and how Thranduil was left without twelve dwarves all because of him!

So he fidgeted and twiddled his thumbs, like a naughty child caught after making off with a tray full of mother's freshly baked tarts. Thranduil, on the other hand, sat comfortably on the bench, seemingly oblivious to his companion's unease as he rested his arms on top of back of the bench.

"They have different birds here." Thranduil said, breaking the silence. "They sing merry songs, not like the beautiful, haunting songs of the birds of my forest." Bilbo merely let out a squeak in reply. He flushed. This was absolutely ridiculous! Here he was an elder of his kind, almost coming the age of Old Took, and he was squeaking and mewling like a hobbit child in front of the king!

Thranduil tilted his head to look at the Halfling, as if he was noting him for the first time. "Tell me, my friend." Thranduil said. "You have not come to visit my forest in a long while. Has something come up?"

"Age, it seems." Bilbo answered, shifting again in his seat. "I wanted to go back. Revisit Lake-town, visit my old friends, and even come to Mirkwood to see its wonders." Thranduil smiled at that. Bilbo coughed and wheezed. "But age decided it had to come a-meeting."

"I understand." Thranduil said. "Although if you truly wish to come to my forest in all comfort, I can provide it to you. My people can look after you in your journey to my forest."

It was a tempting offer. But Bilbo was far too comfortable here in Rivendell. But he did not wish to insult the king. fortunately, Thranduil offered him a way out.

"I understand completely if you cannot come. Years in Arda play a heavy toll upon you mortals."

Bilbo took the excuse gratefully.

"Yes, yes. It does indeed. Still, Mirkwood's power is something to be wondered at. It has stood against darkness for so long." Bilbo coughed heavily. Then he turned his gaze towards the Elven-king, who seemed older and graver than he saw him last. "Still," Bilbo's voice was low. "It seems to have an extra toll on you and your people."

Thranduil's eyes fluttered close. "It was not an easy battle. And we have lost many." He opened his eyes and fixed them upon on the Halfling. "Our freedom was hard-won, Master Hobbit."

The two sat in a companionable silence now, Bilbo forgetting all about the time of the dragon. Instead, old Bilbo pondered fiercely upon the Elven Race. Age may have hindered his steps and fumbled his speech but his mind was still keen.

"You should have been one of the Three." He said suddenly.

The quizzical look on the King's face made Bilbo flush. He had not meant to open his mouth and stick his foot in it! But there was no turning back, for this was none other than the King of the Woodland Realm. He was stubborn on finding out what he desired.

"What do you mean?" Thranduil's words were polite but prodding him to answer. Not knowing what to say, Bilbo plunged in.

"The Three Ring-Bearers, I mean. You should have been one of them. Alone to protect the Woodland Realm and your people, you see. That is much more a noble cause than many. With Lady Galadriel wanting to preserve her land into something like the Undying Lands…. Not-not that I mean that her cause is not noble. What I mean is- I am not trying to undermine anybody, mind you. do not pull me into these problems between realms, you see, but I think that, that is, I wonder that… I mean-"

Thranduil's soft laughter broke into his rambling and he looked at the King only to find his shoulders shaking in mirth.

"I know what you mean, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire." Thranduil said. His smile was still on his face. Bilbo wondered on it silently. It was carefree, the bent shoulders of the royal no longer present as the weight of danger lurking his borders were lifted from the king's mind. then Thranduil's smile slowly lessened. "I once thought the same too." Thranduil whispered. "But the very thoughts would have been the ruin of me and my people needed me at the great hour of need. I needed to be there, and so I left all thoughts of the rings behind and fought. I have been fighting for so long." Thranduil lifted his arms from the back of the bench and brought his hands in front of him. He gazed at them as if he was looking at them for the first time. "It has been so very long." He whispered to himself, forgetting Bilbo's presence for the moment.

He jerked out of his thoughts when he felt Bilbo's hand on his arm.

"For-forgive my intrusion," the hobbit said. "But how long has it been?"

Thranduil smiled at the short figure and then looked back at his hands. "How long?" The king asked, his tone normal. "I do not know. Long enough to feel strange to be free, it seems." Then the elf straightened. "It is not why I am here, though."

"Not because of that? Then why?"

"To speak to Elrond of sending my only son and heir to a hopeless quest," There was ice in the king's voice that Bilbo knew. Then Thranduil laughed merrily. "But I cannot cut off his head, for the quest was not hopeless, and my son is alive, or so I hear. But my real reason for a visit was to speak to Elrond of what he intends to do now that his ring no longer holds any power."

"Ah yes," Bilbo frowned. It never did occur to him that Elrond would do anything. "Did you find your answer?"

"I did." Thranduil answered. A fresh stream of sunlight broke through the clouds and the elf tilted his face up, enjoying the warmth. "He said he would set sail, for after Arwen's wedding, there will be nothing here for him." Then Thranduil's piercing grey eyes met Bilbo's light brown ones. "So tell me, Master Baggins. What do you intend to do now that your story ends here?"

"They say I should set sail." Bilbo said. "I was a ring-bearer after all."

"It is indeed true. And you will be welcomed in the Undying Lands. But be warned," Thranduil said. "Valinor can heal great hurts but it cannot stop death from reaching mortals. Your fate will not change."

"Perhaps," Bilbo said softly. "But I am ready for another adventure."

This time there was a broad, kind smile on the King's face. he got up, lightly dusting his cloak before facing Bilbo.

"They call you 'old Bilbo Baggins'." Thranduil said. "But I see the same burglar in my eyes that had dared to best my spells and enchantments over my stronghold and led a merry troop of dwarves right out of the cellar using a drunken guard's keys! You may have changed in looks but not so in spirit. And after stealing from my kitchens and outwitting me, you actually came back and present me a necklace that was a gift from the dwarves!"

Bilbo felt his cheeks grow warm.

"I am so sorry," he apologized. "That was a nasty business, all of it, I think. I did what I had to. I am a burglar, I understand but I tried to be an 'honest' burglar. Mind you, there is nothing honest about burglary…"

"It is forgiven and forgotten." Thranduil interrupted. "Do not mistake me, Master Hobbit! I did not remember our brief meetings just to make you uncomfortable but rather for memory’s sake. I do not hold you accountable. /the matters of a wizard can be like a spider’s web when we are caught into it.” Thranduil tapped his sword in silent displeasure when he said the word ‘wizard’. “I mean to have a few words with him when he returns.” Thranduil added. Bilbo did not need to ask who.

“I stood at the battlefield with your people.” Bilbo said, suddenly remembering. “I thought I was going to die. And I wanted to die protecting you, like your people did.”

Thranduil lowered himself on one knee so that he could make eye contact with the Hobbit. His smile was kind, not mocking but full of genuine gratitude.

“That is great loyalty.” Thranduil said quietly. “Especially from someone who I had only just briefly met at the time. It means much to me. I thank you for it.”

“How did you stand against the shadows for so long?” Bilbo asked finally. “It must have been too much, for years and years!”

“Ah, but you answered your own question.” Thranduil said. “My people’s loyalty and devotion to me, Master Baggins. These are two powerful contents for protecting a realm. Without it, I doubt I could have lasted long against the evil.” He studied the hobbit’s face for a moment and then reached out to take the hobbit’s gnarled hands in his smooth ones. “Farewell, Master Baggins. I do not think we will meet again on these shores or the ones beyond the Sea.”

“What!” Bilbo said, thoroughly discomfited. “Will you not set sail?”

“I will,” Thranduil said smiling. “But perhaps by the time I do, it may be too late.”

“Ah,” Bilbo said.

“And it is Eryn Lasgalen.” Thranduil added.

“Hm?”

“Mirkwood,” Thranduil explained. “It has been given a new name. It is called Eryn Lasgalen.”

“The Forest of Green Leaves,” Bilbo mused. “It is a good name. Farewell, King! I have never met anyone like you, nor will I ever do, I suppose.”

Thranduil nodded and turned away, Bilbo watched the figure slowly make his way back to the House. He noted the sway of the cloak falling from proud shoulders and the strong grip of a hand around the sword’s hilt.

Bilbo never met him after that, but it was a meeting neither had forgotten.