Lonely Dragon {Legolas x Reader}

Bard

The river slowed to a gentle crawl, the once powerful current now a mere trickle as the barrels drifted lazily through the murky waters. The dwarves, battered and exhausted, slumped within their makeshift vessels, their bodies aching from the constant struggle.

Thorin Oakenshield scanned the horizon, his sharp eyes ever watchful for signs of pursuit. "Anything behind us?" he asked, his voice hoarse from shouting orders over the roar of the river.

Balin, perched on his barrel, squinted back the way they had come. "Not that I can see."

Bofur, catching his breath, let out a weary laugh. "I think we've outrun the orcs!"

Dwalin, always cautious, wasn't convinced. He scanned the shoreline with furrowed brows, his hands gripping the edges of his barrel as if expecting an ambush at any moment.

Thorin's jaw tightened. "Not for long—we've lost the current!" he growled, his frustration mounting as the barrels drifted slower and slower, leaving them vulnerable.

"And Bombur's half-drowned," Dwalin added, glancing at the rotund dwarf who was slumped over his barrel, coughing up water and gasping for air.

"Make for the shore!" Thorin commanded.

The dwarves scrambled into action, their exhaustion momentarily forgotten as they paddled furiously toward the rocky shoreline. They used whatever they could find—broken tree branches, their own hands, even their feet—to steer their barrels. Bilbo, half-submerged and shivering, struggled alongside them, pushing himself to the limit.

When they finally reached the shore, they collapsed onto the wet ground, their bodies heaving with exhaustion. A bedraggled Kili sat apart from the others, leaning heavily on a large rock. Blood seeped through his fingers, which were pressed tightly against the orc wound on his thigh. His face was pale, the pain barely hidden behind his stubborn mask.

Bofur approached, concern etched on his face as he offered Kili a rag to bind the wound. "Here, lad, you're bleeding like a stuck pig."

Kili waved him off. "I'm fine—it's nothing," he muttered, though the pained look in his eyes said otherwise. Bofur and Fili exchanged worried glances, but neither pressed him further.

Thorin's voice broke the silence. "On your feet!" he barked, casting a stern look at his nephew.

Fili stood protectively between Thorin and Kili. "Kili's wounded. His leg needs binding, or he'll bleed out."

Thorin's face hardened. "There's an orc pack on our tail. We keep moving. Now."

Balin, ever the voice of reason, stepped forward. "To where?"

Bilbo, still panting from the effort of paddling, looked up, his expression hopeful despite the dire situation. "To the Mountain—we're so close."

Balin shook his head grimly. "A lake lies between us and that mountain, and we've no way to cross it."

Bilbo, not one to give up easily, offered a solution. "So... we go around."

Dwalin scoffed at the suggestion. "The orcs will run us down, sure as daylight."

Turning to Thorin, he added, "And we've no weapons to defend ourselves."

Thorin paused, considering their bleak options. He knew they couldn't stop now, not when they were so close. "Bind his leg," he said to Fili, nodding toward Kili. "Quickly."

He turned to Balin, his voice low and urgent. "You have two minutes."

As Fili knelt beside his brother, hastily wrapping the wound with whatever they could find, Ori sat nearby, emptying water from his boots. His hands stilled as his eyes widened in surprise. "Someone's here."