-AN-

This is quite a long chapter, so I hope you're comfortable haha

Also, remember, anything "written like this" (bold and italics) is Black Speech.

Happy reading!


The bell rang out across Laketown, the tolling acting to warn the townspeople. "Flee!" It chimed, "run!" All the eyes in the town looked towards the mountain, and the orange light of fire that glowed there. The people knew what that meant; the dragon had awoken. And the distant roar carried on the wind and the shadow which moved above the clouds, let them know that it was coming. For their town. For them. Panic gripped every inhabitant as they filled their boats with valuables, screaming in their terror. A shadow past over the town, the wind whistled, a low whir as a winged shape swooped down and emerged from the clouds and mist. The townspeople screamed at the sight of the dragon, of his huge wings and sharp teeth, the way the roof-tiles rattled and his belly began to glow. A deep growl resonated from his chest before he spat fire down onto Laketown, the houses and people within it being engulfed by hungry orange flame.

Bard could feel the heat of the dragon's flames as he crashed through the door of the armory. He knew this would happen, he knew the dwarves would bring nothing but ruin to his town. He growled to himself, at the Master, at the people of Laketown for helping Thorin and his troupe. He reached and grabbed a bow, weighing it in his hands, before slinging a quiver of arrows over his back. He looked out of the window as the dragon swooped down with a snarl. He needed to get high, it would not do to be in the streets. Bard gazed up at the week beams and roof tiles above, they were shaking and rattling. He dragged up a table and climbed upon it, reaching up, he broke through the tiles, smokey air flooding in. The bowman saw the town ablaze, could hear the terrified screams and the splintering and cracking of burning wood. Smaug swooped again and Bard crouched low to the rooftops as he moved. He needed to reach the bell tower.


The tolling of the bell, the distant sounds of screams, could be heard from the mountainside, where the Company watched the scene before them unfold with dispare. Guilt pulled at their guts. This was their fault, they all knew it.

"Poor souls." Balin said with a sad shake of his head. Those were the only words that had been spoken, breaking through the bitter cold silence that had enveloped the company. Some members had averted their eyes from the scene, other held their hands over their ears to block out the screams that were carried on the wind. Nori placed a hand on his youngest brother's shoulder, whose eyes were sad and unblinking.

But one member stood apart from the others. Thorin stood looking down at the main gates of Erebor which had been carved into the face of the mountain centuries ago. There was a hungry longing in his gut, it burnt fiercely. This was his kingdom. Bilbo had turned away from the sight on the Lake, his heart unable to watch as the town that had been so kind to them was scorched into the water. And now he looked upon Thorin, who seemed oblivious - or chose to ignore - the suffering of the people of Laketown. As he stood, regarding Thorin with a strange, heavy feeling in his stomach, Bilbo heard footsteps stop beside him. It was Fili, his face pale and eyes full of sorrow. They looked at on another and then at Thorin. Both sighing with worry.


Bard lept onto a neighboring rooftop, feet sliding slightly upon landing. But he kept his footing and pressed on. The dragon continued to spout his flames upon the town, more and more of it being set ablaze with each fiery breath. He approached the bell tower, still standing among the burning homes, and climbed the stairs. His lungs were beginning to burn from the smoke, and by the time he reached the top he panted heavily, trying to drag in fresh breath. But the air was not fresh, not even at that height. Even at the highest point of the town the air was heavy with smoke.

He did not allow a moment to compose himself before he pulled an arrow from the quiver on his fixed it to the bow, took his aim and let it fly. He almost lost sight of it in the smoke as he watched it soar through the air and hit the dragon as he flew. But it did nothing, but bounce off and fall, splintered. Bard may as well have aimed the arrow at rock or metal. The bell continued to ring above his head. With an irritated growl he cut the rope and it fell silent. He loosed another arrow but once again it simply bounced away. As did the next, and the next and the next. Until there was only on arrow left. Bard hesitated, knowing the importance of this final shot. This was his final chance. He fired it, it flew silently through the air. And bounced as soon as it met its target. Bard cursed under his breath. He had no arrows left. No more chances. He did not hear the footsteps approach.

"Dad!" Bain appeared up the steps.

"Bain!" Bard cried, dropping to his knees. "What are you doing? Why didn't you leave? You were supposed to leave." His children were supposed to have fled, they were supposed to be safe. If Bain was here, where were his sisters?

"I came to help."

"No, nothing can stop it now." The bowman said with dismay, hearing his town burn around him.

"This might." And Bain revealed the Black arrow which his father had hidden in his boat some nights before, fearing that this very disaster may befall Laketown. Bard stared at it, at its twisting point. He gripped it with a smile.

"Bain, you go back," he placed his free hand on the side of his son's face, "you get out of here now." But there came a snarl, and Bain barely had time to cry out before the top of the bell tower shattered as Smaug's sharp claws cut through the wood. The heavy bell sent into the water below. Bard shook the debris and dust from him, looking to see which direction the dragon flew. But his attention was caught by a yell. Bain was danging from the edge of the tower, one hand still wrapped around the black arrow, the other beginning to lose it's grip on the splintered wood. The boy looked at the flames below him. It was as though they were reaching up to grab him. But his father grabbed him first, balling his fist into the collar of Bain's jacket and pulling him up. Bain panted, shaking, still feeling the heat of the fire.

Smaug landed, shattering the burning buildings beneath his feet. He growled at turned his head to the bell tower.

"Who are you that would challenge me?" He demanded, orange eyes flashing. Bard reached down to free his stolen bow from the rubble. His heart dropping to see that it was broken, the limb snapped in two, each half dangling uselessly from the string. Smaug sneered. "Now that is a pity. What will you do now, bowman?" He began to stalk across the town triumphantly, each building giving way beneath him as though they were made of twigs. "You are forsaken. No help will come." The dragon's orange eyes shifted to look at Bian, crouched among the broken and splintered wood. "Is that you child? You cannot save him. He will burn." Bard glared at him and planted each half of the bow limb into broken beams of the tower and fixed the black arrow to the string, using Bain's shoulder as the bow's shelf.

"Stay still, son. Stay still." Bard instructed softly. Bain gulped but did not move. He trusted his father.

"Tell me, wretch, how now will you challenge me?" Smaug asked. Bard could see him approaching from behind Bain's shoulder. "You have nothing left..." Bard's eyes widened as he spotted a missing scale on the beast's chest, the one knocked lose by his ancestor, Girion. I wouldn't be so sure, Bard thought, the corners of his mouth turning upwards. "...But your death." Smaug let out a great roar. Bain turned his head to see the quickly approaching dragon.

"Bain, look at me. You look at me. A little to your left." Bain shifted. "That's it." Smaug's belly began to glow. Bard pulled the string, hearing it creak and feel it tighten, with an exhale he released the black arrow. He and Bain watched it fly. Watched it hit its mark. Smaug growled, the orange glow in the his gut disappearing, as he knocked the bell tower form its stand. "Bain hold on!" Bard held his son tight as the structure swayed and splintered and collapsed down into the water with a great splash.

Smaug crashed to the ground, his momentum sending him through streets and buildings. Homes were flattened beneath him. He tried to fly upwards, his great wings struggling to lift him. He screeched and growled and hissed. Before his wings stopped flapping and he seemed to freeze in mid air, silent and still, as though his own smoke clouds had turned him to stone. And then he fell, down, down, down, into the icy lake, the Master and his boat full of treasure being pulled down into the water with him. And then the town was silent, save for the crackling of flames and the sound of falling timbers. There was nor deafening roars, or the deep beating of wings.


"What was that? What happened?" Ori asked, raising his head and looking about him. All eyes on the mountainside went to Laketown as the Company rose to their feet.

"It fell, I saw it." Bilbo said. He felt his heart jump and narrowed his eyes. No dark shadow swooped between the smoke clouds, and there was no more blazing fireballs. The corners of the hobbit's mouth turned upwards. "It's dead, Smaug is dead." He let out a laugh.

"By my beard, I think he's right!" Gloin exclaimed. A sound caught the dwarf's attention, and his cast his eyes upwards. "Look there!" He pointed. The others looked towards the pink sky and at the dipping and soaring of birds who seemed to have appeared from nowhere. The creatures called out, their caws breaking the silence of the mountain. "The ravens of Erebor are returning to the mountain!"

"Aye," nodded Balin, "word will spread, and soon every soul will know that the dragon is dead!" The company cheered at this. They laughed and punched the air, stomachs bubbling with excitement and celebration. But, a shadow fell over Thorin's face, Balin's words rattling in his brain. Yes, everyone would soon know that the Smaug was dead, and they would come to take Erebor's gold, his gold, his kingdom, for their own. He needed to find the Arkenstone, he needed to protect his kingdom. Be it from orc or man or elf or necromancer. He would not allow it to taken from him again. He began to climb down the stone steps to the gates of Erebor, leaving the cheering behind.


The walls of Dol Guldur no longer rattled with the footsteps of the orc army, but rather seemed to creak and moan, as if it were a living thing. The grayness of the place seemed to engulf gandalf in a cloud, a low humming in his ears and a fogginess to his sight. The bitter cold reaching straight to his bones withth each ragged breath. But then a voice floated in the air, soft and melodic, like a song.

You are not alone, Mithradir.

It said. He could not mistake it, and like a rainbow after a storm, it gave him hope.


Survivors of the Laketown attack began to spill out of their boats, glad to feel the hard ground beneath their feet. The cries of townsmen and women as they clung to one another , injured and scared, as they clambered over scorched and drowned bodies, rang out. Those that could walk ran into the water to aid the new arrivals, praying to see the faces of loved ones. A woman, her brown hair wet and smokey, passed out dry blankets.

"Oi! Give me one of them!" Came a loud, demanding voice. Alfrid, waded from the water's edge and stalked after her. "I'll catch my death in this cold." He hissed. The woman rolled her eyes, passing a blanket to a grey haired man sat shivering on the ground. He took it with a smile.

"Oh, get your own!" She spat at Alfrid, "you're not in charge now, Alfrid Lickspittle." Nobody would miss the whines of the Master's greasy right-hand man. Alfird scoffed.

"That is where you are wrong," he said, pompously. "In the absence of the Master, the powers cedes to his deputy, which, in this instance, is me." He reached forward and grabbed the blanket in the woman's hand, trying to snatch it away. But she yanked it back, the pair tugging at the fabric.

"Master's deputy," she scoffed, "don't make me laugh. You're a sneak-theif, more like." She pulled the blanket from Alfrid's hands and hit him with its edge, like a lash, and turned away. "I'll be dead before I answer to the likes of you." Alfrid growled and wrapped a rough hand around her shoulder and span her around.

"Maybe that can be arranged." He raised his fist, the woman recoiling. But before he could bring his arm down, a hand wrapped around his wrist.

"I wouldn't turn on your own, Alfrid," Bard hissed into his ear, "not now." He shoved the man away, Alfrid being tripped to the ground by Bain, who smiled. He'd always wanted to fo that.

"Da! Da!" Singrid and Tilda rushed from the crowd that had begun to encircle Bard and Alfrid. The bowman felt relief rush through him as he wrapped his arms around his girls. Their hair smelt of smoke and there was ash on their clothes. But they were unscathed. He had worried about them, but something deep down told him that they would have fled to safety. They were smart girls, like their mother. Bard smiled.

"It was Bard!" Came a voice from the crowd. "He killed the dragon!" It stated. A wispy haired man pushed to the front of the congregation, pointing a finger at Bard, who had straightened up. "I saw it with me own eyes! He brought the beast down, shot him dead with a black arrow!" Bard could feel all eyes on him. He shifted uncomfortably. The people around him began to cheer and clap.

"Thank you Bard!" They cried. "You've saved us!" "Bless you!"

Alfrid jumped to his feet and brushed himself down, before lifting Bard's hand into the air with an odd, triumphant smile.

"All hail the dragon slayer!" He declared. But the people fell silent, staring at him, unmoved by his words. "All hail King Bard!" Still the crowd was silent. Bard wrenched his had away with a glare. "I have said it many times, this is a son of noble stock. A born leader!"

"Do not call me that," Bard hissed, "I am not the Master." He looked about him, at the people in the crowd. For the greedy man who controlled their town. "Where is he?" He demanded, "where is the Master?" The townspeople looked around them. The woman with the blankets grunted.

"Halfway down the Anduin with all our coin, I don't doubt." The people nodded, it wouldn't surprise them. The woman pointed an accusing finger at Alfrid. "You would know, you helped him empty the treasury!" The little man looked offended at this.

"No," he said, "I tried to stop him." He wasn't fooling anyone. The crowd began to descend, cursing. Liar. Cheat. Mongrel. "I begged, I pleaded." Let's do away with him! Tar him! Alfrid swallowed. He tried to back away but there was nowhere to go. The townsfolk were tired of his lies and deception, he wouldn't wriggle out of this one, now that there was no Master or guards to save him. They began to grab at him like a pack of ravenous dogs. He let out a yelp.

"Enough, let him go!" Bard's voice boomed. "Have you not had your fill of death?" The crowd fell silent. "Look around you! Winter is upon us. We must look to our own, to the sick and the helpless." Bard straightened his shoulders, and dragged in a breath. They could not crumble now. "Those who can stand, tend to the wounded. And those who have strength follow me; we must salvage what we can."

"And what then?"

"We find shelter?" The crowd looked at one another, and dispersed, happy to follow the command of the dragon slayer.


The company shifted through the treasure horde, picking through coins and gems and trinkets. They were to find the Arkenstone, "the Arkenstone is in these halls, find it!" Thorin had commanded, growing impatient and desperate, "no one rests until it is found!" And rest seemed far away. One jewel among thousands, it was like looking for a needle in a haystack. Fili searched halfheartedly, disinterested. He thought perhaps finding the stone would bring his uncle back to his senses, bring back the uncle he knew. But a little voice inside him told him that it would only get worse. Fili tilted his head upwards to see his uncle pacing upon a high balcony, overlooking the vast sea of gold. If you're so desperate, Fili though bitterly, why aren't you down here looking? He huffed. A part of him pittied his uncle, of what the dragon sickness was doing to him. It had changed him, made him almost unfeeling. "Gold beyond measure, beyond sorrow and grief," Thorin had said. His desire had overruled any sadness for the loss of Kili that he may have felt. Fili wondered if Thorin was starting to fall for his own lie, that he had only ever had one nephew. The blonde turned away and walked, gold clinking under his heavy boots, out of Thorin's view, where he could sit in the silence of these empty halls.

Bilbo walked along the balcony which sat above the main gate, pacing back and forth, back and forth. His stomach heavy. He sighed and sat upon a broken piece of stone, knocked loose when Smaug had burst forth from the mountain. He could hear Thorin's shouts echoing through the hallways, commanding the company to continue their search. He sighed again and looked about him, to make sure that nobody was watching and pulled an object from hin inside pocket. It was heavy and glistened like starlight. The Arkenstone. Bilbo could see why Thorin craved it so much, it was beautiful and glowed. He could almost hear it shimmer. Bilbo had taken it ages ago, "I am almost tempted to let you take it. If only to see Oakenshield suffer, watch it destroy him. Watch it corrupt his heart and drive him mad." That is what Smaug had said. Thorin was already going mad, Bilbo could see that. The way his blue eyes darkened and his voice became gruffer, what patience he had dwindling to nothing. He dared not think what Thorin may do if he caught him with it. His anger would rival that of the dragon, he was sure. He needed to keep it hidden. Nobody could know. He needed to come up with a plan.


Bard strode through the mass of townspeople, busying themselves collecting what they were able to recover, take only what you need, he had said. As he walked, he despaired over the number of wounded, and even more so at the number of dead, whose bodies continued to wash up on the shore. They pulled them from the water and covered as many as they could, vowing to return to bury them.

"Where will we go, da?" Bain asked, the boy trying to keep his eyes away from the bodies as he past them.

"There is only one place." Bard said, looking towards the mountain, protruding jaggedly from the landscape. There they would take refuge, and take what of the cursed gold was promised to them. Enough to rebuild their lives and nothing more.

"Everyone will know that the dragon is dead soon, won't they?"

"Aye," Bard nodded. He knew that the news would spread and eyes would turn to Erebor for it's wealth, some greedy few would attempt to take the treasure for their own, take the kingdom. The thought made the bowman fearful, made his gut twist, though he did not know why. But he could not shake the feeling that something else was coming.


The orc army marched with surprising uniformity through a baron and rocky land, their weapons clamoring as they went, the sun glinting off the metal of their swords and armor. Ahead of them, the shape of the Lonely Mountain loomed from the distance. Up ahead, on the back of his fierce white warg, Azog grinned as the peak grew ever closer, the shape of it reflecting in his icy blue eyes. He turned to Bolg, riding beside him.

"Go to Gundabad." He said, "Let the legions come forth." Bolg nodded, his scarred face twisting in a sneer, before kicking on his warg. It ran forward with a growl.


Gandalf pressed his forehead against the metal bars of the cage, feeling the cold of the twisted iron in the bone of his skull. A low muttering of elvish passed his pale, cracked lips, the words drifting on the air.

"Spells will not help you, old man, not against me." Gandalf raised his head to see Sauron stood before him, orcish armor dull in the dim light of the fortress. The wizard dragged in a rattling breath.

"Shouldn't you be with your army?" He asked sourly, trying to disguise the weariness in his voice. But the effort was wasted on the person in front of him. Black eyes glinted.

"I have come to deal with you first." Sauron tilted his head to the side, and again Gandalf was reminded of a bird of prey. "You seem tired, wizard." He smirked. Sauron took a deep inhale of the cold air. "But don't fret, I will reach my legions before the first drop of blood is spilt. It is somewhat of a shame," he said, sighing dramatically, "that you wont be here to witness the dawning of a new age, of my new age. I could keep you as a toy, but you are too meddlesome. So ..." he grinned dangerously, a cruel sneer twisting his features "...you have to die." With a lazy flick of his wrist, Sauron sent the Wizard cage falling to the ground. The metal crashing and rattling. The door burst open with a crack.

But Sauron did not notice the pale hand, white almost as cream, wrap itself around the metal gate behind him. The figure had passed into the fortress as quiet as night, barefooted with her hair and dress sparking like starlight. A breeze washed through the crumbling walls picking up the edge of her gown, the soft fabric flapping ever so slightly. But it was enough for sharp-eared Sauron to hear. He turned his head and looked, with slight bewilderment, at the elf. The Lady Galadriel watched him as he did her.

"Three rings for the Elves under the sky. Seven for the Dwarf lords in their halls of stone." He said, quoting the old poem, Black Speech rolling harshly over Kili's tongue.

"Nine for the mortal men doomed to die." Galadriel finished. She had no time to speak another word before he raised his arms to his side and nine ethereal figures emerged from the stone. A chill ran up her spine as she watched them advance closer. Their ghostly cloaks waved behind them, their dead weapons still glinting menacingly in the silver moonlight. Broken crowns atop their heads. Galadriel knew them. The nine kings. Nine Ringwraiths.

"You cannont fight the shadows." Sauron hissed. "Even here you fade. One light alone in the darkness."

"I am not alone." The elf smiled. At this, Sauron's head snapped to the side. His lips curled back in a snarl as the Elven lord Elrond appear from the shadows, golden armor shining, a fine blade in hand. More footsteps came from Sauron's other side. A beacon of white came forwards, Saruman's robes waving.

"Are in need of assistance, my lady?" He asked. Sauron growled and sent his spectral servants forward with an angry flick of his wrists. They advanced silently, swinging their glassy weapons. Dead faces snarling.

"You should have stayed dead." Elrond seethed, tightening his hold on the grip of his sword. He advanced on the wraiths as they did him, bringing the weapon down in a great arch, the gleaming metal catching the dim moonlight. The blade almost seem to spark as it made contact with one of the dead kings. Across from him, the tip of Saruman's staff flashed like a sudden burst of lightening, sending a second hissing specter spiraling. The broken halls of the Fortress flashed and cracked like a thunder storm, rocks and dust falling from above. The black eyes of Sauron's stolen body narrowed with intrigue and irritation, as he watched the Elven lord and the white wizard battled his wraiths.

Galadriel moved forward whilst Sauron's attention lay elsewhere and crouched over Gadalf, his cloak as grey as the stone around him. He raised himself up on shaking elbows, head spinning, sight hazy. Galadriel lay a soft hand upon his shoulder.

"Mithradir," she spoke with the same soft, melodic voice which had floated through the empty air.

"It is him." He said, nodding his head towards the figure before them, whose eyes were still glued on the fighting in front him.

"Yes, the darkness has returned."

"We must save the boy." Galardiel flicked her blue eyes in the direction of the Wizards pointed finger and looked towards Kili. She exhaled.

"If we can," she said uncertainly.

The walls of Dol Guldur still echoed with the moans of the specters and the cracks as the living sent the dead against the rocks. But then there came a sound that did not belong, a soft, rapid patter and prolonged scraping, like wood on rock. Gandalf and Galadriel rose their eyes as a familiar figure came to a sudden stop before them. The Brown Wizard, Radagast, and his Rhosgobel Rabbits, drumming their large feet on the stone. They sniffed the foul air, noses and ears twitching.

"Gandalf," The Wizard cried, hopping from his sledge, "Climb on." He reached a hand down but Gandalf batted it away.

"No, we must bannish Sauron and save the boy." He looked pleadingly towards Galadriel.

Around them, the fortress had grown silent once more. The Nine had fallen back into the shadows, but Sauron did not look defeated. Instead he simply grinned.

"It has began," he hissed, "the East will fall. So, shall the kingdom of Angmar rise." The wind about him whistled low, dead leaves rolled across the ground, their stiff edges scraping at the stone. The shadows seemed to slither across the walls, across the floor, like black serpents, towards Sauron, who had raised his arms to his sides, and began to wrap around him like a coil. In the same moment that the shadows seemed to engulf him, a wall of blazing flames seemed to encase him. The light and dark twisting, until Kili's form was wrapped completely in shadow, his shape seeming to elongate and alter until he appeared tall and horned, a wall of fire ablaze behind him. The Nine lined up beside him, hissing."The time of the elves is over, the age of the orc has come."

Galadriel released her gentle grip on Gandalf's shoulder and stood. But she did not look like the elegant Lady of Lothlórien, her hair did not glimmer like starlight, and her blue eyes were not soft as they always were. Her long gown was tattered and filthy and her smooth hair seemed soaked, as if she had been stood in the rain, and clung to her. She glowed a blue-silver light. The shadow of Sauron faced her and she rose her hand to it, her palm illuminating as though she held a fallen star in her loose grasp. The Nine vanished like smoke and Sauron began to twist and shudder, the flame beginning to pulse weakly and the shadows slithering back to the walls.

"You have no power here, servant of Morgoth." Galadriel said, her voice deep and echoing. Sauron growled and tried to lunge forward but found himself immovable. Blood dripped from his nose. "You a nameless. Faceless." Sauron fell to his knees, a screech coming from deep within. "Formless." He let out a pained sound and coughed black blood onto the stone, the substance staining his lips as he dug his nails into the ground, fingers curling like claws. His face began to blur and morph, eyes flashing from black to brown, black to brown. "Leave the boy's body and return to the void from whence you came!" Galadriel commanded. Kili's head fell back and his back arched, a scream passing over his lip, reverberating off the rocks all around. The orcish armor began to break apart and dissipate, like sand in a gust of wind, leaving the dwarvish tunic beneath. Black smoke expelled itself from his from his open mouth as he screamed, exploding upwards and spreading across the sky.

Kili felt like he was on fire, like there was molten metal coursing through his veins instead of blood, like every bone was being snapped and shattered, the metallic taste of blood on his lips. The smoke choked him as it climbed up his throat and into the air. Above him, it molded itself into the humanoid shape which had swallowed up the light and moved along the walls of the cavernous chamber when the Necromancer first revealed himself to him all those weeks ago. His pounding head began to swim and his body grew light. His eyes were able to focus long enough to see the shadow be propelled across the stormy sky, before his vision went black and he crumbled to the ground. A clap of thunder echoed across the land at the same moment his slack body hit the stone.

"My lady!" Elrond cried, catching the Lady Galadriel as she fell to the floor. "Are you alright?" She did not respond, simply lay panting and groaning in the other elf's arms. She felt all her energy, all her power gone. Elrond smoothed her hair, silky and glistening once more, and she opened her blue eyes a slit, smiling weakly.

"Kili! Kili!" Gandalf staggered towards the young dwarf and took him into his lap. "Kili?" He shook him, "come on, boy." Kili was ashen faced and deathly still and Gandalf felt a pain in his heart, had they been unable to save him? He appeared so lifeless that the Wizard feared he would return to Thorin with only a body. Gandalf's eyes fell closed, he felt sorrow begin to cling to him, twisting its cold, gnarled fingers into the fabric of his cloak.

But then came a shudder followed by a gasp. A cough and quick panting breaths.

And then Kili's eyes flicked open.

And they were brown, not black.


-AN-

Howdily doodily readerinos? (Told ya I was gonna use it XD)

A loooooooooong chapter. But hey, the last one was pretty short and I've been slow uploading, so why not? Plus I like the chapter title so I wanted to fit the first 30mins of the film into one part. *shrugs* ... Also I didn't have word count so ...

Another chapter of movie scenes, there's gonna be a lot of this coming up but some scenes will be tweaked to fit in with the story. I also realized after watching some of the third move again for the first time since I saw it in cinema (I couldn't bring myself to watch my babies die again, okay?) for dialogue and such that my plans for some of the upcoming chapters wont work because scenes happen later than I thought they did, so I'm gonna have to mess with the timeline a bit - have Gandalf (and Kili) arrive to Dale sooner than he did in the movie. For reasons which will become very clear. Plot reasons.

Our little prince is free! *happy dance.* But there is still a battle to be won.

I hoped you liked this chapter! If you did please give it a fave and a follow (if you haven't already) and leave a review to let me know what you thought, I LOVE hearing from you guys!