Lonely Dragon {Legolas x Reader}

Fish!

The dwarves and Bilbo sat huddled together in the front of the barge, drifting silently through the milky pre-dawn light. Empty elvish barrels, now drained of their cargo, were stacked on the deck, reminders of their daring escape from Thranduil's realm. The cold fog clung to the water, making the journey feel eerily quiet and tense.

Suddenly, Bofur's voice pierced the silence.

"Watch out!"

A huge, dark form loomed through the fog, and instinctively, Bilbo and the dwarves ducked in surprise. Yet Bard, the grim-faced bargeman steering the vessel, remained calm, his hands steady on the tiller. He navigated the dark waters as though guided by instinct alone, his eyes fixed on the path ahead.

The dwarves exchanged uneasy glances as the barge passed under an ancient stone archway, rising ominously from the water. The barge tilted dangerously to one side, the sudden shift sending Thorin toward the front, his temper flaring.

Thorin stormed up to Bard. "What are you trying to do? Drown us?"

Without missing a beat, Bard replied calmly, "I was born and bred on these waters, Master Dwarf. If I wanted to drown you, I wouldn't do it here."

Dwalin muttered under his breath, glancing at his companions. "I've had enough of this lippy lakeman. I say we toss him over the side and be done with it."

Bilbo, sensing the rising tension, quickly intervened. "Bard."

The dwarves turned to Bilbo, puzzled.

"His name is Bard," Bilbo explained simply.

Bofur furrowed his brow. "How do you know?"

"I asked him," Bilbo replied with a shrug.

Dwalin spat to the side, still glaring at Bard. "I don't care what he calls himself, I don't like him."

Several of the other dwarves grumbled in agreement. Balin, ever the voice of reason, spoke up while counting the coins in his hand. "We don't have to like him. We just have to pay him. Come on now, lads, turn out your pockets."

Dwalin's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "How do we know he won't betray us?"

Gloin huffed. "We don't."

Balin cleared his throat loudly, nudging Thorin discreetly. "There's a wee problem, Thorin... we're ten coins short."

The dwarves muttered in frustration, rummaging through their sodden clothing, searching for anything of value. Thorin turned to Gloin expectantly.

"Gloin, give us what you have."

"Don't look at me!" Gloin snapped, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "I've been bled dry by this venture. And what do I have to show for it? Naught but misery and grief!"

Thorin didn't respond, his attention suddenly drawn to the northwest. Slowly, one by one, the dwarves fell silent, their gazes following his. Far in the distance, rising above the thin wisps of cloud, the peak of the Lonely Mountain loomed. Its jagged silhouette stood stark against the first light of dawn, the very sight of it pulling at their hearts with awe and longing.

Gloin, filled with renewed resolve, stuffed a small leather purse bulging with coins into Thorin's hand. "Take it. Take all of it."

Before Thorin could respond, a small bag dropped in front of the group. The unmistakable sound of jingling coins echoed in the still air. They looked up to see (Y/n), the Dragon Queen, smiling at them. Her gaze then shifted towards the mountain, her expression hardening with purpose.