Ori's fingers twitched. He needed ink and parchment. His journal was safe, well hidden among his clothes, which was a good thing; if it had been found, these Elves would know everything. Then again, maybe not; it was, after all written in Khuzdul, the Dwarves' own language which was kept secret.

Still, he fretted. Nori had been utterly mad at one point, throwing himself against the bars, trying desperately to escape and failing. His hands were horribly mangled, bloody and torn, and Ori hurt just looking at them.

And then Bofur began to sing. The miner had a talent for bringing them out of dark places, it seemed, but none so much as Nori. The thief began to settle almost immediately and Ori stared. No one had ever been able to reach Nori when he got like that, not even his brothers. That he would listen to Bofur was simply amazing.

The music was soothing, though, Ori had to admit. The lullaby was familiar, and Bofur sang it well; it began to lull him as well as the others.

Finally they were all quiet again. Ori remained next to his door, hoping to catch a glimpse of Dwalin across the way. They hadn't been able to talk since they'd been imprisoned; it wasn't their way to shout things across the hall. But Ori had finally tumbled to a possibility.

Dwarves knew iglishmek, their own sign language, for times like this when verbal communication wasn't wise for whatever reason. And it had the added attractiveness of being incomprehensible to the Elves. Iglishmek was even more secret than Khuzdul.

He tapped the bars lightly, just twice, in order to get Dwalin's attention. None of the others were in direct sight, though he could see Nori's cell clearly. Nori, however, was looking down the passageway toward where Ori could only assume Bofur was. Then all other thoughts fled when Dwalin turned his way.

His sense of relief was huge within him. The warrior merely watched him for a moment, saying nothing, and then his hands went to the bars, simply holding while he watched the scribe. Ori let his fingers flutter a bit.

::Are you all right?::

He saw the slight widening of Dwalin's eyes and then the gleam of approval as he signed as well. ::Well enough. Are you hurt?::

::No. But I'm afraid.:: It cost Ori nothing to admit it, and it might give Dwalin something to focus on other than their captivity. ::I'm afraid we'll never get out.:: So much he wanted to say, and still wasn't sure he could. Others would read the iglishmek, if they looked. How was he to say he was afraid that they'd never be together again? That he'd never feel those strong arms hold him and make him feel safe?

::We'll find a way.:: Dwalin gave him a scorching look. He knew what Ori was thinking; he'd thought the same. To never feel his scribe in his arms was unthinkable. There had to be a way out, and Thorin was entirely too calm for there to be no hope. ::Thorin knows something. He's quiet.::

Ori nodded. He'd heard nothing from their King since he'd been brought in, not after he and Balin had spoken. If Thorin was calm, did that mean all wasn't lost? But he was more worried about Dwalin, to be honest. It had to be enormously infuriating for him to be confined, and suddenly Ori thought he might understand Nori a bit better as well. If it was hard for him to be held, how much more so for the others who were used to being active? ::How do you stand it?::

::Not easy.:: Dwalin's face was hard. ::But I can manage. Thorin knows something.:: He repeated the signs, hoping Ori would understand. As long as Thorin was calm, there was hope. ::Don't give up, lad. We'll get out of here.::

Before Ori could respond, Kíli's voice rose in the stillness. He was trading words with the guard captain, Tauriel. They spoke of Kíli's runestone, of the festival going on above them, the Feast of Starlight. Then all was silent again for a time while Tauriel went on her rounds, leaving them alone in captivity.

Finally Bofur spoke, his voice filled with weary resignation. "I'll wager the sun is on the rise. It must be nearly dawn."

Ori couldn't resist answering him. All his disquiet, his fear, his despair was in his words. "We're never going to reach the mountain, are we?"

There was silence for a long moment as the others contemplated what to answer, and then an unexpected voice sounded from the end of the corridor and there was the clanking of keys. "Not stuck in here you're not."

There was a babble of sound as Thorin threw himself forward to wrap his hands around the bars. Bilbo started working the keys. "Quiet!" he hissed. "There are guards nearby!" A searing look passed between Thorin and the Hobbit before Bilbo began freeing the others.

Bilbo led them downward, into the very basements of the palace. Kíli snarled about being in the cellars and Bofur was equally angry. "You're supposed to be leading us out, not further in!" he snapped quietly.

"I know what I'm doing!" Bilbo replied only to be shushed by the miner. He rolled his eyes as the Dwarves moved further into the room, examining the barrels that lay waiting to be returned to Esgaroth. "Into the barrels!" he urged them.

"Are you mad?" Dwalin spat. "They'll find us!"

"No, no, they won't, I promise you, please, you MUST trust me!" Bilbo urged. But it was Thorin who made the final decision, again feeling what his burglar felt and knowing the certainty Bilbo held.

"Do as he says," he hissed as he dropped down beside them. He had known Bilbo was alive, had known the Hobbit was free, thanks to their bond. He had felt the Halfling's determination, had felt his elation when his plan began to form. It had kept him sane and halfway calm, which had calmed his company, and for that he was extremely grateful, and would tell his Bilbo that as soon as he could.

There was a mad scramble as everyone fitted themselves into the barrels and then thirteen heads popped out, regarding the little Hobbit with some concern. "What now?" Bofur demanded.

Bilbo took a deep breath of his own. "Hold your breath." And as the others muttered and gasped, he drew back the lever that would drop the barrels into the river below.

They disappeared and the floor ramp sealed itself again. Bilbo was quite satisfied with himself until he realized he was still inside the palace – with no apparent way out. He could hear the jailor stirring behind him, could hear Tauriel approaching, and started to panic. Confidence flowed to him through his bond with Thorin and it calmed him, settled him just enough that he slipped backward on the ramp enough for it to be triggered and slide him backward until he dropped into the water below.

Nori grabbed him and pulled him close to his barrel while Thorin looked on. "Well done, Master Baggins," Thorin said simply as he gestured outward. "Move! Come on, let's go!"

They were hoping to get well down the river before the escape was discovered, but it wasn't to be. An alarm was sounded and it looked like they would be trapped against a gate across the very river, a gate defended by fierce Elves.

The barrels bumped to a halt under the bridge against the gate and Thorin roared in frustration. Bilbo clung to Nori's barrel, and all the Dwarves were readying themselves for a losing battle when Orcs began to pour over the borders, engaging the Elves and drawing their attention.

The Orcs weren't helping them, however. They began to kill indiscriminately and Kíli suddenly saw an opening. He leaped from his barrel, dodging combatants, and headed for the lever that opened the gate.

He fought well, cutting his way through the Orcs with a stolen blade, and nearly made it. He was almost within reach when an arrow from the Orc leader's bow pierced his leg, just above the knee. He had his hand on the lever, but couldn't pull it and fell.

Fíli's voice rose above the cacophony of battle, calling desperately for his brother. Thorin's was barely a breath behind.

Kíli lay still for a moment, stifling his cries of pain, and then raised his head when more Orcs approached. It seemed they would overwhelm him, but suddenly Tauriel was there, shooting and hacking and protecting him.

She went about her killing with deadly grace and no more Orcs came near him. Kíli forced himself upward with a strangled snarl of pain and finally was able to move the lever.

The gates came open and the Dwarves were free once more to move down the river. Kíli managed to get himself to the edge and drop down into the empty barrel, snapping the shaft of the arrow off close to the skin. A groan was forced from him and then they were again speeding down the water, desperately trying to fight free, and Tauriel and the blond elf were following, cleaving through the Orcs as they went.

They lost sight of the Elves after a time, though it had been a close battle. The Orcs had been outrun. Kíli hoped for a bare moment that Tauriel had outrun them as well; but the last sight of her and her companion had been in the thick of battle with them and then he had no more thought to spare for her.

Pain speared through him with every breath. His leg was ruined, he could feel it, but he would go on. Thorin expected it of him, after all, and he would have Fíli beside him to help. Always he had his brother.

Finally the barrels came to a calm spot in the river and they made for the bank. Stony beach met them, and they all clambered out carefully, bruised and battered but free. Kíli immediately went down again and looked up to see Bofur regarding him with gentle concern. "I'm fine," he growled as he pressed a rag against the wound, applying pressure and stifling the snarl of pain.

Immediately Fíli was by his side. Thorin was trying to get them moving and he shook his head. "Kíli's wounded. His leg needs binding."

"There's an Orc pack on our trail. We keep moving." Thorin was watching around them carefully, his head swiveling, pacing impatiently, and Bilbo picked up on his distress. There seemed to be much more than simple fear of the Orcs, but he couldn't place the feeling. Oh, and of course he was afraid for Kíli but he would say nothing of it. It wasn't his way.

There was some discussion of what to do next and finally it was decided they would take a few short moments to bind up Kíli's leg and Ori stole down to the water to drain his boots, Dwalin close behind. For the moment, Thorin was safe, and Dwalin would protect his One.

A shadow stole over them and Ori looked up, concerned, to find a Man looming over them with raised bow. Dwalin leapt to his feet, getting between them, and an arrow thudded home in the branch he'd grabbed to wield. Another lightning-fast shot knocked the stone from Kíli's hand before he could throw. "Do it again, and you're dead," the Man growled.

Balin began to speak, using his gift with words to calm the situation and try to find them some help. The bargeman simply ran a hand over one of the barrels with a sardonic expression. "I know where these barrels came from," he said slowly.

"What of it?" Thorin demanded. Bilbo wanted to roll his eyes at the distrust he could feel pulsing from the Dwarf but he controlled the impulse and concentrated on thinking soothing thoughts to calm himself... and perhaps by extension Thorin.

"I don't know what business you had with the Elves," the bargeman began slowly with a curious expression that turned quickly to a half smirk, which also faded to a grim expression. "But I don't think it ended well." A brief pause. "No one enters Laketown but by leave of the Master. All his wealth comes from trade with the Woodland Realm. He would see you in irons before risking the wrath of King Thranduil." He was beginning to cast off, untying the lines holding the craft steady.

Balin glanced to Thorin who gave him a quick nod. "I'll wager there are ways to enter that town unseen."

The bargeman gave a tiny smile as he moved his weapons to the fore of the boat. Perhaps he would be able to feed his family after all. "Aye," he said simply. "But for that, you would need a smuggler."

Balin was suddenly right next to him as he turned his head. "And for that, we would pay. Double."