A.N.: Hello, dearest readers, things are getting less chaotic (for me) and more dangerous (for our beloved fools). Thank you once more for your patience!
Mizz Alec Volturi, elves, especially those of other ages, are more sensible to what the trees have to say. The son of Oropher is not a youngling…
Soccerchamp13, welcome on board and enjoy the ride!

=^.^=

No Turning Back

"We're close to Dol Guldur. Too close."

Legolas' whisper confirmed what Kíli guessed. The orcs were too excited for anything good to come out of it, urging them forward even harsher than before.

"We must stay strong."

His resoluteness was back, the soft whisper of his elleth's otherworldly voice a reminder that his soul had been forged by Mahal, and it was unbreakable.

"We will."

Tilda's voice was but a wisp, but the shine in her eyes was not. It was dangerous, despite how weak her body was.

The elf could only agree.

"We will."

=^.^=

"We could use more speed."

Thorin muttered under his breath, knowing the chances of finding his sister-son alive got thinner the closer they were to Dold Guldur. Bilbo snorted, despite agreeing.

"More speed to get ourselves lost in the forest, like ten years ago? I don't think so."

"The tracks are fresh. Only a moron could get lost following those tracks."

The hobbit rolled his eyes.

"If you say so…"

=^.^=

Thranduil hated spiders and everything they implied. First of all, that his realm had been invaded and he wasn't able to repel that invasion. Second, how fast those creatures were able to rebuild their nests, when it took so much to destroy them. Third and a long list following it, the names of all his subjects who died stuck in their nets. Last but not least, that it was because of one or more of them that his son had been kidnapped, according to evidences.

If he only had been able to destroy and finish them all before…

If he only had sent an escort, as would be fair, to accompany his son on that accursed diplomatic mission…

It wouldn't hurt, would it? To acknowledge that battle's jubilee. It was a victory, despite bitter. Bitterer to him and his people, because all those fallen should be still alive and for centuries yet. For those mortals, well, they would die sooner or later, so at least they died in honour. It should suffice them. But his own people?

The king dismissed the thought with a grimace, urging his steed to move faster. Not an easy deed, considering the thickness of the woods and the wideness of the giant elk's antlers. But the beast obeyed, finding paths where none would, driven by the urge of his rider, confidence built over decades of daily rides. One could accuse elves of many things, and Thranduil for even more things, but to mistreat an animal was not one of them.

He cut through the webs with a mixture of rage and grace, both swords singing the song they were forged to, Thranduil despising the very substance his blades cut. He could play this game all day, if it weren't for the gross tracks that led away from the spider's den.

If something had been carried away from there, his son was amongst it.

And whoever did this deed, they would regret it for a short while. Only time enough to know Thranduil's wrath.

=^.^=

"Halt!"

Dunwine shout what Bard just asked him, by now acknowledged as the factual leader of the riders, be they rohirrim or laketowners. Bard's health was not what it had been once, and Bain was too inexperienced to do better than his brother-in-law. The dwarrow followed with grace, just avoiding to counter any mulishness from their king, or his sister. And, actually, from their pet hobbit, not that anyone would openly call him so or avow Bilbo was anything different from a good, good friend from the land of the Halflings.

Bard approached Dunwine, his stance demanding answers when he was obviously eager to find his daughter as soon as possible.

"Where are we going to? I mean, actually, not just seeking my daughter."

"I'm a man of plains, not of woods, my good sire. If we were talking about any place in Rohan and even some of Gondor, I could tell you, but this forest is not my division."

Thorin approached them on his pony, for once able to tell more than the big people were able to realize.

"We're south of the Old Dwarrow Road, too south and too far west for my likings."

"Why is this so?" Bain had no qualms about questioning things, eager to learn by word all he could to be a better king to his people, hopefully not very soon at all. Reading was not his first choice of learning, unlike his sisters.

Thorin regarded the young man with the patience one has to someone who never took a look at a map.

"We're not far from Dol Guldur. That is an accursed place." The dwarf king bit his lower lip to avoid saying that, if Gandalf is to be taken seriously, it was also the tomb of his father. "Wizards and elves talk much, but never did anything to put that damned

fortress down. If any evil is to reach our lands, it will be due to that fort."

"And the tracks lead that way, or I'm a groundhog."

"Let us haste, then."

=^.^=

"Kíli!"

It was all Tilda could shout while being carried away, disappearing under a dark archway, foul hands grabbing her unexpectedly and ripping her from the company of both dwarf and elf. How their chains were severed so fast none of them could fathom, but it took just some jolts, shouts and dark fumes – the Powers only knew where from – and the three captives were aparted, each to a different corridor, grabbed by different but equally filthy claws.

"Tilda!"

It wasn't just a shout, it was a promise. That he would reach her whatever the cost, even if it were to die together. But if he were to have any say in it, it would be to free her and escape, and he could even swear fealty to Thorin again and obey his uncle's demands if it were to see Tilda alive and happy.

Legolas writhed with another seizure.