Lonely Dragon {Legolas x Reader}

The Black Arrow and the Dragon's Wrath

The cold wind swept through the narrow alleys of Lake-town as Bard and Bain moved swiftly, their breath rising in the chill air. The shadow of danger loomed overhead, the dread of Smaug's awakening palpable even from the distant Lonely Mountain. Bard clutched the Black Arrow tightly, wrapped in cloth to keep it hidden, as they paused at the corner of a narrow street. Ahead, the dim glow of the Master's Hall flickered, casting eerie shadows across the canal.

Bain's eyes darted nervously toward the cloth-wrapped arrow in his father's hands. "A Black Arrow?" he whispered. "Why did you never tell me?"

Bard's eyes remained fixed on the path ahead. "Because you did not need to know," he replied quietly, his voice filled with both regret and resolve.

The sound of footsteps echoed behind them—Braga and the Master's guards were closing in.

"Listen to me, carefully," Bard said, turning to Bain and gripping his son's shoulders. "I need you to distract the guards. Once I'm at the top of the tower, I'll set the arrow to the bow. Do you understand?"

Before Bain could answer, a shout rang out. "There he is! Stop him!" It was Braga.

Bard pushed Bain forward, urging him into the shadows. "Go!" he whispered fiercely, thrusting the Black Arrow into Bain's hands. "Keep it safe. Don't let anyone take it from you."

"But—" Bain began to protest, fear and confusion in his voice.

"I'll deal with them. Go!" Bard commanded.

Bain hesitated for only a moment before running off into the winding alleys, clutching the precious arrow close to his chest. Bard stepped back into the open, turning to face the approaching guards. Braga emerged from the shadows, his face twisted with malicious delight.

"You are under arrest," Braga announced smugly.

Bard straightened, his voice calm but edged with defiance. "On what charge?"

Braga's cruel smile widened. "Any charge the Master chooses."

With a sudden, swift motion, Bard swung his fist, catching Braga squarely across the jaw. The captain of the guard stumbled backward, momentarily dazed. Without missing a beat, Bard broke free and sprinted down the nearest canal, his boots echoing off the wooden planks as he leapt from boat to boat. The guards, struggling to keep up, tripped and fell into the icy water.

Bard glanced back, his heart pounding. He was losing them—until a sudden blow struck him from the shadows. Bard stumbled to the ground, gasping for breath as he looked up to see the Master of Lake-town standing over him, clutching a heavy lump of wood in his hand.

Meanwhile, deep within the halls of Erebor, Smaug's enormous form slithered through the chamber, his massive body coiling like a serpent. His voice, low and filled with menace, echoed off the walls.

"It's Oakenshield, that filthy, Dwarvish usurper! He sent you in here for the Arkenstone, didn't he?"

Bilbo trembled, hidden behind a massive stone pillar. "No, no—I told you who sent me!"

Smaug's eyes narrowed, glinting with cruel amusement. "Don't bother lying. I guessed his foul purpose some time ago. But it matters not... Oakenshield's quest will fail. A darkness is coming, and it will spread to every corner of the land."

Bilbo's heart raced as he crouched low, trying to shake off the dread that Smaug's words instilled in him. The dragon's voice slithered through the shadows, weaving doubts into his mind.

"You are being used, Thief in the Shadows," Smaug hissed, his voice taunting. "You were only ever a means to an end. The coward Oakenshield has weighed the value of your life and found it worth nothing."

Bilbo's grip tightened on the cold stone as he tried to push the thought away. "No... no... you're lying."

Smaug's voice rumbled through the chamber, mocking. "What did he promise you? A share of the treasure, as if it was his to give? I will not part with a single coin, not one piece of it!"

As Bilbo tried to edge toward the Arkenstone, the treasure shifted beneath Smaug's tail. The dragon flicked his massive tail, sending mounds of gold flying in all directions. Bilbo leapt toward the jewel, but it was flung out of reach, disappearing into a cascade of glittering treasure.

Smaug's great head reared back as he flexed his wings, his massive body rising up on his haunches in a terrifying display of power. His scales shimmered with the wealth of kingdoms, and his eyes blazed with a fire that could consume entire cities.

"My teeth are swords!" Smaug roared, his voice shaking the very foundations of the mountain. "My claws are spears! My wings are a hurricane!"

As Smaug moved, his massive bulk revealed a bare patch of skin under his left wing, unprotected by the gleaming scales. Bilbo's eyes widened as the stories of the Black Arrow flashed through his mind.

"So it is true," Bilbo whispered under his breath. "The Black Arrow found its mark."

Smaug's gaze snapped toward him, his eyes narrowing. "What did you say?"

Bilbo stammered, trying to cover his tracks. "I was just saying your reputation precedes you, O Smaug the Tyrannical! Truly, you have no equal on this earth!"

Smaug's gaze flicked down to something gleaming near Bilbo's feet. The hobbit followed the dragon's gaze and saw it—the Arkenstone, lying within reach.

"I am almost tempted to let you take it," Smaug purred, his voice low and dangerous. "If only to see Oakenshield suffer... to watch it destroy him, corrupt his heart, and drive him mad."

Bilbo froze, listening intently to the dragon's words, his mind racing. The treasure, the power, the madness that had once consumed Thorin's ancestors—it was all coming back, just as (Y/n) had warned.

Smaug's voice grew darker, more menacing. "But I think not. I think our little game ends here." His eyes gleamed with malice. "And no queen is here... so tell me, Thief, how do you choose to die?"

Without thinking, Bilbo jammed the Ring onto his finger and disappeared.

Smaug roared in fury, his massive tail sweeping through the treasure, sending waves of gold and jewels crashing against the walls. Flames erupted from his mouth, scorching the stone pillars and filling the chamber with withering heat. The dragon's enraged blasts of fire illuminated the halls of Erebor in a terrifying inferno.

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Far below the Lonely Mountain, the rooftops of Lake-town were alive with shadows. Bolg and his pack of hunter orcs moved stealthily across the wooden beams, their eyes scanning the streets below. Bolg halted, his nostrils flaring as he sniffed the air.

"The dwarf-rats are here somewhere..." he growled, his eyes narrowing. "I can smell them."