A/N: I AM ALIVE! So terribly sorry for the lack of updates, I am apparently trash at keeping schedules. Also, lost motivation for writing. But hey, quality over quantity, yeah? -nervous laughter-

Hope you like this chapter, worked quite a fair bit on it. Thank the marvellous Squishy91 for making this 172638 times better! Such a great beta man like srsly

Disclaimer: not mine

Chapter 21

They sprinted, unheeding of the other elves. Legolas led them through a narrow door near the kitchen. They burst out of the doors to find themselves standing at the rocky banks of a river with a wooden boat tethered to a wooden post.

For the first time since they stepped into Mirkwood, they could see the sky. Light filtered in from the dense foliage above them. Huge oak trees lined the banks of the river, which was narrow and winding, with sharp rocks jutting out randomly. The gush of the river was loud, but the harsh exhales of the Company was even louder. A sharp inhale of the fresh air - very unlike the misty, poisonous air in Mirkwood - cleared Bilbo's mind. Thranduil's kingdom must have been at the edge of the rotted forest.

The moss-spotted boat strained against its rope, bobbing wildly atop the gushing river. Water sloshed in occasionally as they hastily clambered on board, legs trembling. They barely fit in the tiny boat.

"Dwarves aren't water folks," Dori yelped as he clutched the sides of the flimsy boat with white hands. A small piece of the semi-rotted, damp wood broke off. He held it up, face ashen. "Is this boat even safe?"

"Yes; it's held together by elven spells. Hurry," Legolas hissed and shoved the remaining dwarves in, each of them piled unceremoniously atop another, before tossing their weapons after them. "I'll join you later," he said. "I have to find Tauriel."

"Be safe," Bilbo said, tossing him a dagger. Legolas pocketed it with a nod. He made to untie the rope tethering the creaking vessel to the wooden post.

"Elven prince," Thorin said suddenly. Legolas stilled, hand clenching onto the rope tightly.

Maintaining eye contact with the blond warrior, the dwarven prince dipped his head. "Thank you."

The elf gave a lopsided smile. He let the rope in his hand drop. The creaky dinghy, held together purely by the magic of the Elven craftsmen, swung wildly with the currents down the rapid river in a second. In another second, Legolas was gone.

They swerved dangerously through the river dragged to and fro by the erratic current. They barely managed to evade the half visible rocks in their path.

Orcs began appearing at the banks; hunting them on swift feet. Some threw themselves at the boat; those who missed were tossed to the churning current. The few who clung onto the boat were speared by swords and daggers. Elves darted overhead above the banks, paying the Company no heed. The orcs were swarming the guards in a seemingly never ending wave; for every orc downed with three arrows protruding from its neck, two more orcs appeared in its place.

The boat slowed for a second before rocking ominously.

"Brace yourself!"

Off the boat swerved again, wildly and uncontrollably. It veered dangerously near the banks and slowed down remarkably. The orcs were beginning to focus on them once more, dark eyes tracking them and weapons turning towards them.

"Paddle! Paddle!" Hurriedly, the dwarves took whatever long items they could use, plunging them into the river to propel themselves forward.

Orcs armed with bows came in sight. "Shields up!" Dwalin ordered. They held whatever they could above their head and ducked down.

Arrows, black wooden arrows tipped with metal heads, rained down on their heads. They thudded against the wooden shields in the forms of deep gorges. The arrows grazed past the surface of the boat, leaving not a mark on the Elven wood.

Bifur let out a cry. He made a face, grunting as he lifted up his arm. An arrow had left a deep gash on his arm. Blood oozed out from the wound. Bofur inspected his injury. He tied a cloth around it swiftly and tightly. "No poison, flesh wound, will scar nicely," he said. There was a collective sigh of relief.

"Be careful!" Thorin shouted again, and they all ducked down. The next volley of arrows rained down as they furiously tried to both shield themselves and paddle away.

Both Dori and Gloin were grazed by arrows; the latter's was tipped with a dripping black poison. Oin slapped a makeshift herb and bandage on it. "Start praying!" He shouted to Gloin. The paling dwarf started muttering religiously under his breath.

The craft floated forward. Caught once more by the undercurrent, it spun uncontrollably in a circle before rapidly taking off down the river, amidst the screams of shocks and arrows all around them.

"Gates! The river gates!" Bombur shouted, pointing at the great metal gates barring their way. It loomed over them, water rushing through the gaps too small to fit a boat. The boat slammed into the gates. They stumbled, the momentum almost throwing everyone off. They cursed, holding onto the sides of the boat as it rocked violently from side to side. Fragments of wood from the edge of the dinghy broke off.

"It's not opening!" Shouted Dwalin. His fist clanged against the metal bars futilely. "Where is the godforsaken prince elf when we need him!"

"Wait!" Bilbo said. "Wait! I see Tauriel coming!"

One unmistakeable she-elf was running along the banks in tandem with the boat. Lightning-fast, arrow after arrow shot out of her bow. She ruthlessly took down tho orcs that were specifically targeting the dwarves. Her braided hair flew behind her as she stabbed one orc in the thigh with her arrow. In one smooth action, she yanked it out and sent the same arrow flying into the eye of another orc behind her.

An orc jumped her from behind, forearm locking her throat. She was pulled backwards. Her bow clattered onto the ground, arms instinctively reached up to claw at the arm choking her, fingers scrambling for purchase at the hands holding her down. As she locked a hold on the orc behind her and tossed him in an overhead throw, another ulking figure slammed into her from the side and sank its rotten black teeth into her shoulder. She screamed.

"Tauriel!" Bilbo yelled. The onslaught of orcs increased. Her head snapped forward painfully as her hair was dragged down brutally by a gnarled fist, greasy fingers tangled in her auburn locks. Tauriel screamed again. Her lithe figure disappeared behind the bulky frames of her assaulters.

Kili cursed. The shields were obstructing his vision of Tauriel. He stood up and knocked Nori's shield out of the way, nocked his arrow, and took aim.

One orc went down.

"Kili! Get back behind the shield!" Thorin roared. Kili ignored him. Freed, Tauriel kicked an offending attacker into the ground.

"Your ten o'clock!" Bilbo shouted. She whirled around and punched the orc in the throat before unsheathing a dagger and sinking it into his gut. The orc gurgled as she twisted it, then yanked it out. The orc's twitching body disappeared underneath the feet of its comrades.

"Duck," Kili yelled. Without hesitation, she dipped downwards as the dwarf sent an arrow over her head and into an orc's throat. Kili picked off those coming at her from her blind angle. Slowly but steadily, the orcs surrounding her greatly decreased. Finally, she tore free from the onslaught of orcs. She broke out into a run towards the lever.

Tensing, she leapt. Using her momentum, she hit it midair, rolling as she landed.

The gates began to open. They grated sideways, those metal spikes dragging through mud and soil excruciatingly slowly. Too slowly.

"Kili! Get back down, now!"

The dwarf ignored his uncle. All his attention was still trained on the elf. Upon seeing Tauriel back on her feet, he exhaled shakily. Her clothes were covered with bits of innards and soaked in blood, her braided hair was drenched in sweat and tangled, and there was a bruise darkening the tanned skin of her cheeks. Kili had never seen a more beautiful person.

Their eyes met. They shared a smile.

Then, her attention shifted to focus on something behind Kili. Instantly, her grateful expression morphed into horror. Her eyes snapped back to his.

Time slowed. Her brows were drawn together in frantic worry. Kili could see her lunging bodily for her bow, could see her lips moving, but the words were drowned out by another voice.

"Kili! Watch out!"

A body crashed into him. He toppled, vision upturned. The ringing was loud in his ears and he found himself staring at the wooden boards of the boat. There was a familiar heavy weight atop him — it was Fili, Fili had tackled him down. He shoved his brother off, full expecting him to leap to his feet quickly, as he was prone to do. Confusion quickly turned into panic when Fili merely groaned.

"Fili? Fili, what-" his sentence stopped abruptly when Fili finally rolled over. A fist held up a broken shaft. To an arrow. That was embedded to his leg.

His breath hitched. All he could see was the remnants of the arrow buried deep in Fili's thigh. It was black, black and red and black, and the skin underneath all the red looked tinged with grey, was it supposed to look grey?

His hands trembled as he knelt next to his brother. "Fili, no," he whispered.

His brother let the broken half of the arrow drop and covered his wound with a hand, as if by removing it from Kili's immediate sight, he could erase the knowledge already present. He pushed his brother away half-heartedly. "It's just a normal arrow wound, Kee."

"It's poisoned, the arrow is poisoned, we have to treat it immediately, where's Oin—" Kili's hands were shaking. This was all his fault, his brother had saved him, had taken his place, had been injured because of him, and now—

Anger coursed through him, burning rage that filled his veins and his mind and his eyes until all he saw was red. He gripped his bow tightly, enough to hurt. His eyes narrowed in determination. How dare they hurt his family! He would make them bleed, just like how they had made Fili bleed. He would make them scream, he would make them suffer, until they regret incurring the wrath of a Durin's son. They would pay. The orcs would pay.

Then he saw Bilbo, and his vengeance-driven mind faltered.

Bilbo saw FIli go down, saw the panic that ensued, saw Kili kneeling next to his brother, dwarves yelling, half distracted due to their injured prince. He saw it all, and felt oddly dissociated from his body. It was like he was watching from above.

Fili - bleeding. Fili was - hurt?

A set of feet thudded onto their boat next to the brothers; another orc, presumably to finish off the dwarf.

His senses returned to him with everything in sharp resolution; from the golden strands of Fili's hair to the stench of rotted meat in the orc's breath.

Fili was hurt.

And Bilbo saw red.

He lunged at the orc, claws ready to tear and hurt and rip apart those that try to harm what is his. "You - have - done - enough!" He snarled. Fire coursed through his veins, seared his soul, blinded his eyes, until all he saw was red and revenge and protect and hurt.

The world exploded into a dizzying rush of colours and scents and touch. Talons tore through the orc - screaming, screaming, so much screaming - the muscles giving way like wet paper. It was so easy, spearing its heart with a single talon, feeling it squelch, then setting fire in its very core until it was reduced to blood and ashes. Copper and raw flesh hung heavy in the air, but the taste of coppery victory was so sweet on his tongue. There were hands pulling at him, terrified voices asking him to calm down.

Bilbo panted. His vision stabilised. He looked down on his attire; blood-splattered, soaked in the stench and ooze of the orc. He looked at the dwarves; the terrified faces of Bofur and Kili; the awed expression of the others at his brute strength. It was Bofur that was calling out his name, eyes afraid and begging but resolute and strong. He was covering Bilbo's hands - claws, with scales that crawled all the way up to his elbows - with his.

"Bilbo," Bofur said, over and over, "Bilbo. Calm down. Please."

Kili eyed his hands with growing horror. Bofur shook his head, a silent plea for him to hold his tongue.

The scales melted back into nothing. The dwarves around him failed to see his hands. They were silent. Some were wary; some suspicious; some in awe.

Finally, Gloin nodded. "Warrior," he said. "Didn't know you have it in you." His tone was carefully neutral, expression guarded, even as the tilt of his head spoke of awe and acknowledgement.

Bilbo looked away, looked at tiny Ori at the other end of the boat. Ori, with a resigned expression and a bitter, horrified twist at the edge of his mouth. Ori, who seemed to know what exactly had happened, although he was too far to witness it clearly.

Monster, he seemed to say.

"The gates!" In the ensuing commotion, they had almost missed the moment when the gate had finally shifted enough for the boat to slip through. With barely any notice, their boat veered off again. The currents were calmer, easier to control. The remaining orcs were being cleaned up by the rest of the soldiers.

Legolas and Tauriel raced after them, keeping pace with the rapidly-flowing river.

"Make way," Legolas yelled as he ran in tandem with the boat, which were looking more battered than ever. The dwarves reacted to his order without thinking, moving quickly and clearing as much space as they could. Without warning, the elves jumped into the already full boat, which rocked dangerously for a moment. The dwarves protested, but the boat finally calmed. For a brief moment, they had respite.

Then, their dinghy creaked ominously. The wooden boards visibly strained under their combined weight. The Elven spells that once been etched into the sides of the boat were dulled and scratched. For one pathetic moment, they glowed, seemingly trying to work its magic and hold the boat together.

A second later, they faded into nothingness.

Everyone was silent as they watched the words etched on the boat disappear, the only sound being the creaking wood.

"Oh, no," Legolas said quietly. Slowly, very slowly, water filled the boat, seeping in from between the planks.

"At least it's still functioning. It's not sinking or breaking just yet," Dwalin reasoned. The moment the words left his mouth, the plank under his feet gave way. He gave a shout and scrambled backwards into Gloin. A loud crack, followed by multiple, softer snapping noises, filled the air. Everyone stilled. Another crack, and the plank underneath Dori snapped into two. He went down, one foot stuck in the wood. Nori and Ori hurriedly pulled him out. More water soaked their boots.

"Durin save us," Bombur whispered. Then all hell broke loose. There was a frenzied scramble to hold onto weapons and paddle, quickly!

"To where?" Dori screeched.

"Land! There's land ahead!" They paddled madly, even as the dwarves cursed the elves.

"This is all your fault! Why did you jump in?" Yelled Thorin. "And why did you give us such a decrepit boat!"

"We were pressed for time! Just - paddle!" Legolas said through gritted teeth. Bilbo wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

Luck was on their side, for ahead were the river banks with soft waves ebbing at the shore. The ship disintegrated beyond repair when they were nearing the shore. It was close enough to swim. They dragged their tired bodies out, spluttering and swimming the remaining distance to safety.

"So much for elven-spelt boats," muttered Nori. Legolas shot him a glare. Tauriel shushed them both, attention honed on the injured. Thorin, Oin and Kili were hoisting Fili and supporting him to dry ground.

Oin hurried forward, fumbling for his medical kit as he directed Fili to the soft grass ahead. "Let me see your wound," he ordered.

The dwarf was already shaking, face pale and hands cold. The edges of the wound were tipped with black. The rest if the dwarves rushed forward, surrounding their fallen prince in a loose circle.

"Dig out the arrowhead first," Thorin said, voice tight. Without grimacing, Oin did so carefully. The prince gurgled at the back of his throat, strangled cries that refused to become yells as the knife dug deeper into his flesh. Black blood and pus oozed out. Finally, the black metal tip fell out onto the sand.

Tauriel picked it up and careful wrapped it with a cloth. "We need to analyse its poison," she said by way of an explanation.

Bilbo craned his neck worriedly, trying to see over the shoulders of the dwarves surrounding Fili. Bofur turned to Bilbo and winced slightly at his appearance. "Your hands and clothes," he whispered, then motioned to the river.

Bilbo looked down at his hands to find them shaking. His nails were still lined with brown, and streaks of red that had not been washed away by their impromptu dip in the water, dripped down his arms. "I," he said to no one in particular, "I, uh, I'm going to wash my hands."

He scrubbed, scrubbed until all the red ran out and his skin felt raw, as though removing a layer of skin would remove the imagery in his mind. His hands, ripping through the Orc. Hobbit hands with dragon claws. The Orc, organs spilling out and eyes rolled back in shock as he felt the rage of a dragon in another form. His gleefulness when he sank his claws in, celebrating the triumph of making his enemy fall.

He had marred this form's nature and innocence with his old, bloody, ways.

Bilbo shook his head and shoved the memory aside. He had to focus.

"Bilbo," Legolas said. The hobbit started; he had not heard the elf approach. The elf shot him a concerned look, which he waved away.

The elf jerked his head towards the huddle of dwarves. "If you're done, Tauriel needs your flames to cauterise Fili's wound."

Bilbo looked down at his hands. There were still blood dripping down his fingers. "My hands are still dirty."

"Your hands," Legolas said carefully, "are raw from all the scrubbing. They're spotless."

He rubbed at a particularly bloody-looking stain on his palm. "It's still red," he insisted.

A hand tapped his shoulders. "Bilbo," Legolas said, brows drawn together tightly. "Are you okay?"

He hunched his shoulders together, hands dangling between his knees. He stared at his hands, and for a moment, the world swayed. As he watched, the red on his hands evaporated. Another blink, and he was staring at hobbit hands. Stubby hobbit hands with slightly sharper nails, but still had calluses from gardening. Very normal hands that were painfully raw and shaking, but conspicuously clean of blood.

"Oh," he whispered. Shoulders hunched up, he rubbed his face. Legolas gave him a moment to compose himself. "Sorry, 'las. Just tired." Bilbo straightened his posture and gave him a strained smile. "What did you say again?"

The elf drew back reluctantly, knowing a dismissal when he saw one. The skeptical look Bilbo received in return promised a talk for later. "I said, Tauriel could use your flames."

Bilbo paled. He swallowed and clenched his fists to stop the trembling. "Okay, I'll try."

He called upon his flames. Nothing happened. He tried again. A small burst of flames lit his fingers, before extinguishing into smoke. He frowned; it felt like coaxing life from a pit of cold ashes. Unyielding, impossible, nonexistent. This had never happened before. What was happening? A sob escaped him, hysterical and desperate.

He shivered. Something felt missing, a vital part of him like the embers in his blood. He felt cold. What was going on?

A warm, heavy hand settled on his shoulder. "Deep breaths, then try again," the soothing voice of Legolas was the sole voice of reason. He closed his eyes, then counted to ten.

Lessons with Elrond blended with the almost-forgotten voice of his mother, coaxing up a memory he thought long-forgotten.

Deep breaths, in, out, in, out. Let the fire breathe with you, and it'll heed your call. That's it, Cyadhon! There, the flame's all yours now. The pride in his mother's rumble was unmistakable. I know you can do it, he remembered Elrond saying that, equally pleased. Or was it his mother? Funny; he couldn't quite remember anymore.

But it didn't matter; the warmth in his veins were back.

He opened his eyes; cupped in his hands were flames. His flames, the usual orange-blue glow. For a brief second Bilbo thought he saw black flames mingled with his own. It was his imagination, Bilbo told himself. Legolas' look of unease was probably for Fili.

He shivered again.

"Okay," he said. "Let's get to Fili." The pair joined the rest, and the crowd parted to let them through. Kili was crouched over Fili, muttering consolations as Tauriel gently dabbed the wound with some kind of clear liquid.

"Bilbo, good," Tauriel said. "Come here; I need you to cauterise the wound."

Kili's entire being stiffened. His eyes snapped upwards towards Bilbo, narrowed and suspicious. Bilbo faltered ever so slightly before he shook it off. Kili was probably just worried for Fili. He reached a hand out and took a step towards the injured dwarf.

Kili hit his hand away. "Don't touch him!" His words were sharp and caustic. He shifted position such that his body was between Bilbo and Fili's.

Bilbo faltered. "What?"

"You heard me," Kili growled, but his eyes slid away from Bilbo's every few seconds. Nervous. Wary. "Don't touch him."

"What's wrong?" Fili's words slurred slightly. "Let him, Kili, it's fine."

"Kili," Thorin said warningly. "What is the meaning of that? Cease this foolishness at once."

Kili tensed but said nothing.

"I won't hurt him; closing the wound will help it heal." He tried to make his cadence low and smooth.

Kili's expression was filled with distrust. "Swear it."

"What?"

"Swear it," he repeated, "like how you swore to the Elven King that you won't hurt Fili!"

Everyone stilled. The oath was fresh in their minds, more proof of secrets their hobbit kept. Bilbo knew it was a matter of time before they would demand an answer from him and turn suspicious gazes his way. His heart ached.

"An oath," Kili repeated -half a plea, half a challenging.

"No." It was Legolas who spoke. Everyone looked at him in shock and he crossed his arms and stood in front of Bilbo. The defensive message was clear. "Those oaths are sacred and not to be used on such trivialities."

"My brother's life is trivial?" Snarled Kili, reaching for his knife. "Say that again, tree-hugger!"

"Kili!" Tauriel said, outraged.

"If you've listened to your hobbit, whom you claim to trust," Legolas said, "then you would know that such a promise is trivial, because Cya - Bilbo has no such intentions of hurting your brother, rendering the oath unnecessary."

"Kili, enough," ordered Thorin. "You are prolonging Fili's treatment with your squabbling."

The dwarven prince faltered. "I-"

"I trust Bilbo," Fili said, face now glistened with sweat. "Let him."

"Kili." Bilbo swallowed. "I know it's hard to believe me, but what you saw - what I did - I did it to protect Fili." Bilbo locked eyes with him. "I cannot give you The Oath, but I swear it on my sister's name and my love for her."

Kili lowered his eyes in acceptance.

"Okay," he said quietly. "Help him, Bilbo." He stepped away. "Please."

Bilbo approached Fili slowly, hands up to show he meant no harm. He willed his flames back and placed both hands - quaking slightly - above the wound. Fili flinched, but did not shy away from his fire. He gritted his teeth in pain as the wound hissed. Finally, the hobbit withdrew his hands and shook his head. The wound was only partially cauterised.

"That's all I can do. I'm afraid I've only slowed down the poison."

Thorin's fist clenched. He turned to the elves with a pinched expression. After a moment of deliberation, he inclined his head towards them. "Prince Legolas, Captain Tauriel," he addressed them formally; gritting his teeth. "Do you know how to cure him?" His eyes were lowered; his pride, placed aside, for the life of his nephew.

The elves exchanged looks. "Yes," Legolas finally said. "But it is long, and difficult, and painful."

"And we need a proper treatment place. At least a table, and clean cloth," Tauriel added on.

"We'll find both as soon as we can," Balin said.

"We'll be in your debt," Thorin vowed, "if you can save his life."

The Elven prince's stares held the weight of stars. "We'll hold your word to it."

Thorin's jaw clenched as he turned away. He dragged his his kingly persona around his shoulders, wearing it as if one would wear a cloak, heavy and unyielding as he shed the image of a concerned Uncle. "Meanwhile, there's an orc pack on our tail; we need keep moving."

"To where?" Balin said.

"To the mountain, of course," Bilbo said. "We're near."

He could feel it; feel the thrum in the air, the unspoken anticipation and danger of nearing another Great Beast's territory.

"There's a town nearby," spoke Legolas. "A human settlement. Lake town. We can go through it." He stilled, then lifted his head. "I hear someone about."

The dwarves reached for their weapons. "Who's there?" Barked Dwalin.

A pause; nothing moved. Then, a beat later, from behind a tree emerged a man. He held a crossbow, already loaded, held pointed off of the ground. It was ready to be fired at a moment's notice.

"What do you want?" He said.

Balin glanced behind the man to a barge floating discreetly down the river. Raising his hands up in a universal gesture of peace and surrender, he took one step forward.

The crossbow snapped up to Balin's direction. Everyone tensed, but did not draw their weapons. "What do you want?" The man repeated tersely.

"Pardon me, but, uh, you're from Laketown, if I'm not mistaken? That barge over there, it wouldn't be available for hire, by any chance?" Balin said pleasantly.

The bow remained transfixed on Balin. "Your word that I am not to come to harm."

"You have my word," Thorin said immediately, stepping up and giving a slight bow. "As long as no harm is done to my company," he added.

"And my word," Legolas added, stepping up as well. Thorin shot the elf a glare, the latter who pretended not to notice.

The bow lowered. The bargeman, seemingly losing interest in them, climbed back into his boat. "What makes you think I will help you?"

Balin said slyly, "Those boots have seen better days."

Bard begun counting the barrels in his barge, paying the dwarf no heed.

"As has that coat. No doubt you have some hungry mouths to feed. How many bairns?" Balin asked.

Bard tensed before shrugging. "A boy and two girls."

"And your wife, I'd imagine she's a beauty," Balin said. His smile was pleased and nostalgic. The Company nudged each other, smiling at the appearance of Balin the Romantic. It was no secret that Balin would sigh at the sight of young love, and weave ballads about love stories spanning centuries and lifetimes.

The man's look was wistful as he stared into the distance. Aye. She was."

The dwarves' expressions morphed to dismay. Balin's smile faded. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"Oh, come on, come on, enough with the niceties." Dwalin grumbled loudly to Thorin.

Bard faced him with arms propped at his hips. "What's your hurry?"

"What's it to you?" The gruff dwarf shot back. For all that he was tall among his race, the human was still taller; he glared up at the man.

"I would like to know who you are and what you are doing in these lands," Bard said. "A company of dwarves... And two elves. Makes for an odd gathering indeed."

"We are simple merchants from the Blue Mountains journeying to see our kin in the Iron Hills," Balin lied glibly. "The elves have decided to follow us on our last leg of journey as a sign of goodwill."

Bargeman raised an eyebrow. "Simple merchants, you say? Is that right, your highness, Prince Legolas?"

All the dwarves groaned. Some even threw up their hand in despair. "Always the elves! Always!" Gloin grumbled.

Legolas merely tilted his head. "You recognise me." It was a statement, a simple observation.

"The Prince of the Woodland Realm," the bargeman bowed slightly. "It is hard not to. No one enters Laketown but by leave of the Master. All his wealth comes from trade with the Woodland Realm. We all recognise Prince Legolas and King Thranduil by sight."

"Then why didn't you say anything beforehand?" Demanded Dori.

"I wanted to hear what you would have to say," he said, eyeing Balin distrustfully.

The elder dwarf shrugged, unperturbed. "We say what we must."

"What is it that you actually need?" The bargeman asked.

"Supplies. Food. A place to rest," Bilbo supplied. "We need to lay low for a few days.

"The reputation of elves can get you anything in the town," said the bargeman.

"No," Legolas said. "They must not know we are here. We need to lay low." It was not safe to let many know about the Woodland Elves' involvement. The enemies need not know that the Elves were aware and prepared as well.

"Why?" The man eaised an eyebrow, then shrugged. "Never mind; I don't want to know." He boarded his barge and tossed a rope out.

"I'll wager there are ways to enter that town unseen," Balin said.

"Aye. But for that, you will need a smuggler," the bargeman said, eyeing them suspiciously.

"For which we will pay," the white-haired dwarf said. His smile was sharp and promising. "Double."

The Prince of the Woodland Realms nodding his assent played a big part in persuading the man. He scrutinised them, weighing them, before coming to a decision. Wiping his hands on the back of his trousers, he turned to face them fully.

"I'm Bard, at your service," he finally said grinning. "Now, you'll do exactly as I say."

In the woodland realm, a captured orc knelt tied-up in Thranduil's throneroom. "You had orders to kill the dwarves - Why? What is Thorin Oakenshield to you?"

"The dwarf runt will never be king," the Orc slurred through a mouthful of blood.

"King? There is no king under the mountain nor will there ever be. None would dare enter Erebor, whilst the dragon lives."

The Orc sneered. "You know nothing! Your world will burn! Our time has come again. My master serves the One. Do you understand now, Elfling? Death is upon you. The flames of war are upon you-"

Thranduil's eyes widened. Without warning, he whipped out his sword and beheaded the orc. The head rolled onto the floor, eyes still wide opened, only halting at the entrance of the room. The room was deathly silent.

The silence was broken by the quickened footsteps. Two guards ran into the room, hair tangled, faces ashen and blood staining their clothes. Both bowed, barely sparing a glance at the orc's head on the floor.

"My King," one said, panting slightly. "we have urgent news."

"What is it now?" Thranduil snapped.

He gulped. "We found scorch trails at the entrances of the attacks, Your Majesty. We followed them, and found, we found…" He hesitated looking to his partner.

Thranduil felt a chill down his back. Oh, no.

"Dragons," the other guard supplied, face pale. "We found dragonlings, broken and chained."

"Dragon mounts," Thranduil repeated expressionlessly. He closed his eyes, feeling the weight of his years catch up with him. "What colour are their scales?"

The elf deepened his bow sorrow etched on his face. "Almost black. Some are pitch black, and their eyes…" He visibly shuddered. "It was too late for them."

The king took a moment to collect himself. When he opened his eyes, it was as though the fate of the world rested on his shoulders. He paced the room once before he swept across the throne room. All elves despised cruelty to children - innocent, young children that had no part in any of this. Even Thranduil himself could not ignore the suffering of these juvenile dragons.

"Take me to the remaining dragons. Send a message to both Elrond and Gandalf immediately."

"My King?" The guard asked hesitantly. "The message?"

Thranduil's jaws clenched. "We have found the dragonlings."

End of Chap 21

Once again, sorry for the really late update! Thank you for all your support ermagawd it really means a lot :')

Reviews

To Anonymous Noob the 2nd: corrupted dragons are bigger, stronger! so yes scales tougher too :)

To Xwhitewolf14: The reveal? Soooooon ;)

Comments and constructive feedback are greatly appreciated! Thanks for not giving up on this ahhh

-littlesparrowkeet