When Bilbo finally burst from Erebor, it was with terror painted over his face, and his hands shook madly. I understood immediately what had happened, before the words even slipped from his wavering lips; the dragon had awoken despite his light feet and his ring. I wondered how it could possibly move through the mountain kingdom so silently only moments before I heard its enraged roar, my body moving towards Bilbo without the consent of my mind to take him in my arms. He threw his own around me as well, face pressing light against my chest for but a moment before his fear seemed to settle deep within him, and he stepped away.
"We mustn't let it leave the mountain," he said, "We haven't any idea whether Laketown has been fully evacuated yet." All but one of my guards stared at him as if they thought him a fool, but the dwarves, all of them appearing suddenly as cold and expressionless as the stone they worked, only nodded.
"You've sharp eyes, Bilbo; did you see any weakness to it?" Oakenshield asked, voice deep and strong as he stepped a little nearer to us, and Bilbo made a noise that sounded as if he had.
"He's missing a scale," he said, "Very near his heart, if I were to guess." I recalled a story very suddenly, one of the dragon's original assault on the castle. There had been a certain sort of arrow, very large and very sharp, that someone had fired towards the creature's chest. Most thought it had missed its mark. Perhaps, however, it had not. I wondered if that town of men had kept the other arrows, and with that question, told the others the tale.
My elves did not recognize it, nor did the majority of the dwarves, but Bilbo, and those dwarves who seemed to be of common blood had heard it told before, if a bit more extravagantly than I recalled it.
"We need those arrows," I heard Oakenshield say, authority booming in his voice. His kingdom so near, he sounded more a king than I'd ever heard him; perhaps it was a sign of success, or perhaps I had simply become as much a fool as the dwarves. I looked to my guards, and they, of course, caught my meaning quickly. A few began gathering their things for the trek down the mountain, yet Oakenshield stopped them before they could go, sounding somehow so powerful that even they were unwilling to go so directly against him. A spark of annoyance hit me at the way he so easily trod over my own strength, as if he had a right to command my men, and what he said next angered me even further. "You go, Thranduil, not your guards."
I felt an old rage burn in me, one I'd thought gone with winters passed, and I'm under no illusions that I could've resisted acting on it if not for Bilbo, who touched my arm lightly and drew me down for a quick, sweet kiss I barely felt before he pulled away.
"He's right, Thranduil. We've plenty here who fight with swords and axes, and only one who uses a bow. We need your guards, Thranduil, all of them; I'd like to have you as well, of course, but you're fleet-footed and wise. I trust you more than anyone to find these arrows, or at least to find someone else who knows where they are, just as I trust you most to have a shot true enough to hit so small a target, should it come to that." I almost thought to ask him to go with me, to keep him at my side and keep him safe, but I knew he'd refuse; he was too stubborn, too proud, too brave, and I knew well enough that he'd think only that I was doing so just because I thought that he could not care for himself. Still, I swallowed stiffly and nodded, taking a kiss of my own, the first I'd begun, before I stepped away.
"Be safe, Bilbo, please." He laughed, quiet and fearful but still so very determined, and I hoped that I would be able to return and scold him for trying too hard to prove himself when he'd already been proven.
"I will do my best, Thranduil, and ask that you do the same," he said, reaching out and squeezing my hand once before he, the dwarves, and my guards all entered the mountain. The moment the shadows took them, I turned on my heels and began to run as quickly as I was able, and though I was not able to move as surely as I was able in my own woods, I still managed to make good time down the mountain and into Laketown, most especially after I was able to fetch Arasson, for he was far more certain over the strange earth than I.
I found but one man left in Laketown, clustered with the elves I'd left; he was somber-faced and tall, dressed in peasant's clothes, and in his white-knuckled grip he held a long, thick black arrow that he let none of my elves touch. He watched my approach with an animal's wary gaze, as if he wished me to fear being bitten, and I nodded politely to my guards as I dismounted Arasson again.
"That is the arrow that will slay Smaug?" I asked, and the man nodded once, gaze still suspicious, and I knew well enough that he only resisted a more violent, fearful response simply because my guards did not react to my presence. "I'll have it, then; the dragon stirs, and if those within the mountain fail, it will fall upon me to slay it." He clutched the arrow more tightly, taking a half-step back; his jaw tensed and his dark gaze darkened further as he looked upon me.
"I will not give it over to you. It is my family's right," he said, and there was a nobility to his voice I hadn't expected from one the Master had been so eager to be rid of. Even still, this was all I was then able to do to help Bilbo, and I would do it no matter what this man thought or desired; after all, I knew not when or if the dragon would free itself from the mountain, and I wanted to be where I could fire the arrow the moment it became necessary. I would not fail in this, I swore to myself one more time, and my mind flashed with pictures of my wife, of the last battle she'd fought. Ice tightened around the base of my spine again, serving only to make me more certain of what must be done.
"I care little for your family's right, Bard of Laketown. I will have the arrow." He only shook his head, so collected that I could scarce believe that he was related to any of the men I'd met before.
"No. If you worry over my skill with a bow, you need only ask your guards." One of them flushed lightly, hand fingering a tear in his shirt where, I assumed, an arrow had grazed.
"He is very skilled; more so than all of us, truly," he said, and the other nodded half-fearfully, as if he thought I would reprimand him for saying so. Perhaps I'd have argued further, but I knew we could have precious little time, and so I only nodded as if I would say nothing else even if I planned to argue more upon our arrival at the tower where the arrow could be fired.
"Come, then; I do not know when or if the dragon will emerge, and I would like to be prepared. I will come with you just in case something goes wrong," I said, and he nodded. I had my guards settle by two buildings on either side of the tower, bows drawn, in the hopes that they would be able to direct the dragon towards us if it managed to recognize that we posed a threat. He followed me to the top of the tower with the arrow still in hand. We stood there in silence for a time, and I wondered if the dragon would even leave if it killed them, or if it would simply stay in Erebor. If it did not return by nightfall, I decided, I would return myself, arrow with me, and stab it through the heart myself if I had to do so. The human watched me as if he had never seen an elf before, and I only rarely bothered to look back at him.
"I didn't know you elves cared so much for the plight of dwarves," he said, and I showed as little expression in response as I was able.
"We do not; I couldn't care less for those dwarves." He finally showed a trace of confusion rather than pure seriousness, expression curling a bit and making him look not as harsh as before.
"Then why are you here?" he asked, and I laughed.
"My heart travels at their side, and I am too weak to refuse him." He seemed unsure of whether to laugh along with me, instead only looking more confused until I explain. "They travel with a hobbit, and when they passed through my kingdom, I realized that I loved him. I came here with him, not with the dwarves, and it is he that I wish to protect, though he's rather stubborn about that. That is why I wished to make that shot; he offered me his trust, and I cannot be unworthy of that." His gaze softened, something warm flooding his face for a moment before he solidified his stare again.
"I understand that. My children, they fled the village, but I know that Smaug will still pass over them if he is allowed to go farther than this village. My own wife is already gone; I don't want the same fate to befall my children." I had never felt kinship with a human before that moment, and yet his words brought a sort of comfort to me; he and I were one and the same, at least in our motivations, and that I could respect. I nodded towards him; he returned it.
With that, we fell silent, both of our faces turned to the sky, to Erebor, until at last we saw it, the distant, awful shadow of Smaug, who flew directly towards us with death in his eyes and flames pluming from his mouth, burning in his chest. My scars ached miserably, pulsing in time with the beat of the dragon's wings, and both Bard and I ran to the contraption built for the arrow. He notched it as the dragon drew nearer, settling atop one building not too far from us and sending wave after wave of fire over the village. I thought of my guards for a time, praying that they had thought to find somewhere to hide and avoid the scorching flames, and then wiped it all from my conscious.
Smaug had not seen us yet, I knew that, but I could faintly see the place where the arrow needed to strike, small and nearly hidden by his wing, but yes, Bilbo had been right; it was right over his heart. If the arrow pierced that place, he would die. It jumped forward, one building nearer, and then, then, it saw us. Something like amusement twisted its face, and I spared a glance to Bard, Bard who fought for the same things as I, and said something I thought I never would.
"Together?" He nodded, bending down to aim the contraption whilst I helped to steady it on the target. "For Bilbo," I murmured, hoping that I had dedicated the act to a still living hobbit, and heard Bard mumble names I didn't recognize, again and again, like a mantra. Smaug grew so near that I could feel the heat of his fire. Bard loosed the arrow.
It flew straight and true, striking its target just as Smaug had opened his mouth and begun to spill flame again, and I watched it spiral up, up, up, towards the sea, and then saw its wings simply seize and cease functioning as it died, body tumbling into the water with a final, deafening splash. The city burned around the tower. Bard and ran to the ground as quickly as we could, running from the village to the foot of the mountain again.
We found Arasson, who must have fled upon the dragon's arrival, along with but one of my men whose expression told me well what had happened to the other. I bent my head for a moment; I had time enough only to hope his spirit was at rest before I started up the mountain again. I would have a better service for him upon my arrival back at Mirkwood; he would have a hero's service, at least, and his family would be cared for. At that moment, however, I had to see if Bilbo was well, or if he was hurt; I could only have moments to save him if something had happened, and I refused to waste any more time. I didn't even bother to see whether Bard or my guard followed me as I ran.