Chapter 13: Escape

Daeron guessed it had been at least three days since they had been captured by the Mirkwood elves. His guess was based solely on the fact that this was the third time Tauriel had brought him back to the outcrop, his small sliver of escape from the damp, cold cell he shared with the others. Daeron had hoped Balin could talk some sense into Thorin, perhaps convincing him to compromise with Thranduil, but the legend of dwarvish stubbornness, in this instance, was unfortunate. There was also the matter of Bilbo Baggins. Since their perilous encounter with the spiders, there had been no news of their hobbit companion, which, to Daeron, was a double-edged sword. On one side, there was a chance Bilbo might save them again—undoubtedly, Gandalf's choice to include Bilbo in the company had already proven wise. The hobbit had escaped the horrors of the Misty Mountains, survived a warg raid, and even killed one, and freed them all from becoming arachnid dinner. On the other side, Bilbo could be lost or, worse, dead in the dark forest.

"Daeron?" Tauriel's voice broke his thoughts. He turned, his face flushing slightly.

"Sorry," Daeron replied, giving her a puzzled look. She sat, as she always did, on that stone bench, gazing at the trees around them and occasionally stealing glances in his direction. He couldn't quite figure her out. On one hand, she was obviously a skilled warrior—after all, she had saved his life, making short work of the spiders. On the other hand, it seemed strange that someone with her skills would be assigned to guard, not entertain, him. That very detail bugged him. Tauriel smiled at him, a look that always seemed to want to break down his guarded shell.

"I was curious to know who taught you how to fight. I saw you battling the spiders before I intervened," she asked again.

Daeron nodded. "Ah, yes. That would be a bunch of different people. Let's see," he held up his hand, slowly opening his fingers as he counted off names, "There was Linnon when I stayed in Rivendell, my two brothers Elladan and Elrohir, Nolin, and Calista. They all have their own forms, techniques, and styles of fighting, from which I've created my own—a composition of everything I've learned."

"That is quite wise," she said, nodding. "In my experience, there isn't one technique that fits all. One must be able to adapt to their surroundings, pivot at a moment's notice."

"What about you?" Daeron asked curiously. "What made you want to join the guard?"

"I was trained by Andor, a fine marksman who spent centuries keeping our woods safe. He taught me how to track enemies and move swiftly through the forest trees. There was also Legolas…" Her words trailed off, as if the name itself had taken her away into thought. Daeron stiffened slightly, remembering the elven prince who had rudely offended Gloin's picture of his wife and child. There was something about him Daeron didn't quite like. Perhaps it was his harshness, his accusations against the dwarves instead of treating them as people first. Or maybe it was something else entirely.

"My parents were killed when I was young," Tauriel continued, her voice barely a whisper now. "They were out on patrol when they ambushed an orc pack that had strayed within our borders. They should've won, but when the enemy retreated, they pursued, only to be led into an ambush. A larger orc pack fired a barrage of arrows. They didn't stand a chance." Tauriel's normally calm and steady voice trembled. Daeron listened, his eyes wide as she recounted the events.

"Afterward, Thranduil took me in as a ward. I thought about my parents often. They shouldn't have died that day. The orcs take everything good and destroy it, leaving death, chaos, and destruction in their wake. I swore I'd do whatever I could to protect what my parents fought for. So, I joined the guard and eventually became a captain after decades of fighting. We try to keep the spiders clear of our territory, destroying their nests before they can spread their poison deeper into the Greenwood. But they're growing bolder with each passing day. More of them venture into our lands. No matter how many we kill, they seem to return in larger numbers." She paused, fidgeting with the two long daggers at her waist.

"Goheno. My parents were killed when I was a child as well," Daeron said softly. "My father wanted me and my mother to be safe, so they… they were seeking the safety of Rivendell when orcs attacked the caravan. My mother hid me, told me to be quiet, and ran off to help my father. I saw them die. I wanted to rush out, to be with them, but I sat frozen. Then I saw Lord Elrond and others gallop in on horseback and make short work of the orcs. By then, it was too late. My mother died beside my father." Daeron looked away, the emotion of it all hitting him again. The memory was still fresh in his mind. If he let it linger, it felt as if he could smell the blood of that day. He closed his eyes, pushing the thought back into the recesses of his mind. A hand on his shoulder caused him to look up. Tauriel's gentle hand clasped his shoulder.

"That is something no one should have to see," she said, her voice so soft and gentle it felt reassuring. He nodded.

"Indeed, it's something neither of us should've endured," he said, giving her a small smile. She smiled back, her lips curling slightly—a look that made her more magnificent.

"Is there any chance Thranduil will let my companions and me leave?" Daeron asked.

Her smile faded. "No. Thranduil can be as stubborn as the dwarves. He won't even let me pursue the spiders, to attack them at their lair. All I do is clear nest after nest. But what then? The spiders will leave us alone and spread their poison elsewhere. The only way I see an end is if the Valar intervene or Thorin gives in. But as for you, when the news returns confirming your claim, you will be released."

She rose to her feet and motioned for Daeron to follow. Their time was up. As Daeron descended the stairs, he paused, his keen ears picking up a faint sound. He glanced around. Nothing, Daeron thought, and continued following Tauriel back to his cell. When she left, Daeron glanced at Kili.

"Any progress since I've been gone?"

"Besides you spending time with the elf maiden?" Kili smirked, a cheeky grin crossing his face. Daeron rolled his eyes. "I'm only teasing," Kili said, raising his hands in mock surrender, laughing softly before shaking his head. "Uncle Thorin is stubborn as always. Honestly, I don't see another way out. Balin's right—every moment we're stuck in this fortress makes our journey more impossible. We don't have forever."

"What's a few white gemstones to Thorin?" Daeron asked. "If even a fraction of the treasure is as vast as the tales say, there's still plenty of wealth left. I don't see—"

"It's the principle," Kili interrupted. "When Smaug the Defiler swept through Erebor, destroying Dale and the Lonely Mountain, the Elves had mustered their forces. Instead of aiding Thorin, they turned their backs. It was as if our alliance meant nothing. If Thorin gives in now, what's to stop the Elves from betraying us again?"

Daeron had to admit it was a valid point, but Thranduil's words echoed in his mind: 'I too have seen dragon fire.'Thranduil had been scared, perhaps making him more wary of meddling with dragons. Why subject your own people to such a fate? Whatever Thranduil's reasons, Daeron realized this wasn't a simple issue. It was messy. Both sides believed they were right. It seemed hopeless—they were stuck between two equally stubborn leaders.

"Then it's rather hopeless," Daeron muttered, sitting on the floor and bowing his head in thought.

"Not yet." An all-too-familiar voice said, stepping around the corner. Dirt covered his face, and dark, heavy bags hung under his eyes.

"Mr. Baggins!" Thorin's voice boomed before he lowered it again. "Full of surprises, aren't you?"

Everyone clambered up, their bodies pressing against the edges of their cells.

"Durin's beard!" Balin cried.

"Seems like Gandalf really did pick the best burglar," Nori called.

"Quiet!" Bilbo hissed. "You'll alert the guards." He walked cautiously toward their cells, his feet barely making a sound on the stone floor. "It's been a nightmare. This place is enormous. I got lost a few times, and had to nick some food lying around. Haven't slept properly, too scared someone would catch me."

"How have you avoided being caught?" Daeron asked curiously, staring at the hobbit. He knew Shire folk were quiet when they wanted to be, but in a place this confined, it seemed next to impossible not to get caught. And yet—here Bilbo stood.

"I'm a professional burglar," Bilbo replied, shrugging nonchalantly, though his eyes avoided meeting Daeron's. Shifting his weight between his feet, he kept glancing around. "I've got a plan to escape. Tonight, there's going to be a festival." His eyes gleamed with excitement. "The elves are celebrating something to do with starlight." He shook his head quickly. "Not important. What matters is that most of the elves will be attending, which means fewer guards. And fewer guards mean less chance of getting caught. I overheard the jailer mentioning a private party for themselves too. Once they've had too much to drink, we'll slip out."

"Slip out how?" Thorin asked, his voice gruff. "Even with the festival, leaving this fortress will be near impossible."

"Almost," Bilbo grinned. "Just a little longer, and we'll be back on track. Be ready to move at a moment's notice." With that, he hurried off.

The dwarves immediately began whispering amongst themselves. Daeron glanced at Kili, who looked hopeful. The prospect of freedom was close, but it stirred an uneasy feeling in Daeron's chest. Tauriel had been honest with him, open even. She had treated him with respect, and now he was about to betray her trust. He just hoped she wouldn't suffer any consequences for it.

—

Above them, Daeron could hear laughter, singing, and the occasional joyous shout. Some party, he thought, wondering what a festival of starlight looked like. Was it similar to Yule in Rivendell, where families ventured out at night, stalls sold all manner of treats and festive foods, and lanterns glowed as songs were sung late into the night? He had heard that the Mirkwood elves held a great respect for starlight, and no doubt Tauriel shared that passion. He made a mental note to ask her at their next meeting. A frown tugged at his lips. Next meeting was right—because if everything went according to plan, they would soon be free and closer than ever to the Lonely Mountain.

Around him, the dwarves whispered, muttering in their small groups. Daeron glanced at Kili, who sat staring absently. What seemed like an eternity later, Bilbo rounded the corner, a wide grin on his face. In his hand, a ring of keys jingled slightly.

It took Bilbo less than a minute to unlock each cell.

"Well done, Master Baggins," Thorin chuckled, ruffling Bilbo's hair. "I wish I could watch that woodland sprite's face when he realizes we've escaped his kingdom."

"What's the plan?" Dwalin asked, glancing around nervously as the sounds of laughter and cheers echoed from above. Daeron nodded in agreement. What was the plan? They were weaponless and trapped in the middle of an elven stronghold.

"Follow me, and keep quiet," Bilbo hissed, taking off.

Thorin followed first, his boots making a slight ringing sound as they hit the stone floor. The others fell in single file, with Kili and Daeron bringing up the rear. They moved through the fortress as quietly as a company their size could manage. Just as Bilbo had predicted, they encountered no one; everyone was undoubtedly at the festivities.

Eventually, they rounded a bend, and Bilbo led them down a steep staircase. Around them, Daeron spotted a crane and a large number of barrels stacked along the walls. Some kind of storage cellar, he guessed. Not his first choice of escape routes, but he had to trust Bilbo. The hobbit had managed to roam the stronghold undetected, secure the keys, and free them. There was truly something remarkable about hobbits.

Daeron had never traveled through the Shire. He'd skirted around it, seeing no need to venture through their lands, as the Shire was a peaceful place. His path often led through Bree, though his heart longed to see the Blue Mountains and the older Elven towns scattered in the region. In his youth, he'd dreamed of finding the ancient ruins of Gondolin, where legends had once been made.

At the bottom of the stairs, they came to a wooden platform where fifteen large barrels lay. Judging by their size and build, Daeron guessed they were used for wine or ale.

"Alright, everyone," Bilbo said softly. "Into the barrels."

"The barrels?" Nori asked, eyeing them suspiciously.

"Yes, the barrels!" Bilbo replied, exasperated. "There's a river below us. I overheard the elves talking about a place called Lake-town. If we get into the barrels, we can slip out of the fortress unnoticed. The elves won't bother guarding empty barrels, will they?"

The dwarves began murmuring amongst themselves, as if debating whether this truly was the best—and only—option. Behind them, shouts echoed through the hallways, this time not the joyous kind.

"Listen to Bilbo!" Thorin hissed, scrambling into one of the barrels. Seeing their leader take action, the rest followed. Within moments, all of them were secured inside. Bilbo pulled the lever, and Daeron felt a rush of wind as the floor gave way beneath them.

Splash! They landed in a small stream, vertical cliffs of stone rising on either side. Thorin was at the front, a grin spread across his face as the current pushed them along. Bright light ahead pierced through the gap in the cavern, and for a moment, Daeron was blinded. He blinked rapidly, adjusting to the setting sun. The fresh air was invigorating—so different from the damp, stale air of his cell. For the first time in days, he wasn't under guard or confined.

Without Tauriel, he thought, before pushing the notion aside. He needed to stay focused. Far off in the distance, he could see mountains—their path toward the Lonely Mountain was finally clear, and hope began to rise in him.

That hope was short-lived. A horn blasted from behind them, shattering the fragile sense of relief.

"Close the gate!" someone shouted. Ahead, elves in full armor rushed to the river's edge. One of them pulled a lever, and with a heavy clunk, a gate began to close in front of them.

"NO!" Thorin bellowed as his barrel slammed into the thick metal bars. Barrel after barrel collided, the flow pushing against them, but the gate held firm. Elves advanced, weapons drawn. Daeron knew they were trapped—unarmed and defenseless.

A shrill cry pierced the air, and Daeron looked up to see several elves fall, arrows protruding from their chests.

"Kill them all!" an orc shouted as a wave of orcs charged the elves.

"We can't stay here!" Balin yelled over the clamor.

"We've got to get the gate open!"

Daeron glanced at the lever, then at the dwarves. Taking a deep breath, he scrambled out of his barrel and bolted toward the lever. Behind him, the clash of metal and the snarls of orcs filled the air. An orc rushed at him, blade raised high. Daeron halted, pivoted, and barely dodged the swing. The orc sneered and advanced, two more orcs flanking him. For a moment, Daeron wondered if this was it—his end. He had always imagined dying in battle, sword in hand, drenched in orc blood. Not defenseless like this.

The orc took another step before collapsing, an arrow lodged in its neck. Its companions fell just as quickly. Daeron turned and saw a familiar figure—Tauriel, her bow drawn, running toward him. He grabbed the fallen orc's blade and charged for the lever. Another orc tried to block him, but he parried its attack and quickly dispatched it. Just as he reached out for the lever, a searing pain shot through his shoulder. Another followed, this time in his thigh. He collapsed, two arrows sticking out of him.

"DAERON!" Bilbo shouted, struggling to get out of his barrel, but two dwarves held him back. Daeron thought he heard another voice scream his name, but the world was becoming blurry. Pain clouded his mind.

Have to get up, he urged himself. Have to help Thorin. Summoning every ounce of strength, he pushed himself up and grabbed the lever. The movement sent fresh waves of pain coursing through his body, and he collapsed again. He looked up just in time to see Thorin's barrel pass through the gate. Thorin nodded solemnly, his face pained as he disappeared over the edge.

"Daeron, hurry!" Fili shouted, clinging to the wall's edge along with Kili. They were holding onto Daeron's empty barrel.

Daeron rose unsteadily and hobbled over. His eyes briefly met Tauriel's before he fell into the barrel, snapping the arrow in his thigh. He howled in pain as his barrel plummeted over the edge.

—

Tauriel POV

Tauriel watched in horror as Daeron was struck by two large arrows—one piercing his right shoulder, the other embedding itself in his thigh. She saw the ranger collapse onto the ground. Without hesitation, she rushed toward him, but several orcs charged, cutting off her path. She dispatched them quickly, twirling her long daggers as she parried their attacks, landing several deadly blows. Around her, the sounds of orcs and elves shouting and screaming filled the air. To her right, she saw Legolas leading a group of elves, his bow singing as he loosed arrow after arrow, each one killing an orc within range.

This can't be happening, Tauriel thought, pushing forward toward Daeron. Orcs never venture this close to our home.Where were the guards? The outer sentries? She muttered a curse under her breath just as a large orc carrying a shield slammed into her, knocking her off her feet. She scrambled for her dagger, which lay just out of reach. The orc swung its blade, aiming for her chest—when it suddenly collapsed, an arrow embedded between its armor. She glanced up and caught a concerned look flash across Legolas's face as he continued to dispatch orcs in pursuit of the dwarves.

Her eyes darted back to Daeron. To her surprise, he had managed to open the dam's gate and was now hobbling toward two dwarves who struggled against the current threatening to sweep them away. Their eyes met for a moment, and she saw the pain etched in his face as he collapsed into the barrel. When one of the arrows in his leg snapped, she winced at his cry of agony. She tried to reach him, but the dwarves had already given in to the river's pull. Helplessly, she watched as they plummeted over the edge, swept away by the current.

Tauriel chased after them, marveling as Legolas made short work of several orcs. She hadn't expected him to pursue the dwarves so relentlessly. She assumed he would break off the chase, leaving the dwarves to their fate, but his unwavering determination caused her to doubt. Perhaps he isn't as heartless as I thought, perhaps he does care. The terrain grew more rugged, forcing them to halt. From a distance, she caught sight of the dwarven leader smirking at them before disappearing around a bend, the remaining orcs following the riverbank in pursuit.

"We should go after them!" Tauriel said, scanning the barrels, trying desperately to spot Daeron among them, but it was no use.

"No, Tauriel," Legolas said, turning his attention to a wounded orc. "We need answers." His voice was firm as two elven guards bound the orc and began dragging it back to the fortress.

Tauriel opened her mouth to retort but thought better of it, swallowing her words. Her mind was still consumed by the image of Daeron's pain-stricken face. Reluctantly, she followed the remaining elves back to the fortress.

They wasted no time presenting the orc before Lord Thranduil, who stood oddly calm.

"Tell me, orc. Why did you attack our fortress? What do you want with the dwarf Thorin Oakenshield?" Thranduil's voice was cold, commanding.

The orc sneered, spitting blood as he grinned, saying nothing. Tauriel felt her anger rising, fists clenched tightly at her sides.

"Speak!" Thranduil's voice rang with authority. "Tell me what I want, and I'll release you."

The orc hesitated, then finally spoke in a rough, sneering tone. "There's a price on Thorin's head. Oh, we have great plans. Shame we couldn't get him, but the ranger…" At the mention of the ranger, Tauriel's heart raced, and her focus sharpened.

"The ranger's as good as dead," the orc chuckled darkly. "I stuck him with some nasty poison. He won't last long."

Before she could think, Tauriel lunged at the orc, her dagger drawn, aimed straight for his throat. A hand caught her wrist. It was Legolas, his eyes filled with concern, confusion, and worry. Unable to meet his gaze, she looked away.

"If you can't control yourself, leave," Thranduil warned, his eyes cold and unforgiving as they bore into her.

Tauriel nodded, bowing her head. "Forgive me, your grace." She stormed out of the hall, her mind racing. If the orc spoke the truth, there isn't much time left.

She rushed to her quarters, stuffing supplies and essentials into a satchel before heading to the kitchens, grabbing some food for the journey. Without another word, she bolted toward the fortress entrance.

"Captain Tauriel?" a sentry asked, his voice filled with concern. "Is everything alright?"

She hesitated for a moment, locking eyes with him. "Yes," she lied smoothly. "I'm just making sure the surrounding area is secure."

The sentry saluted her, and Tauriel rushed out into the night, her heart pounding in her chest. She didn't fully understand why she felt such urgency to save Daeron. They had only met a few days ago, but there was something about him, something she couldn't quite explain. Maybe it's because he's in my charge, she reasoned. Or perhaps it was the knowledge that he was the adopted son of Lord Elrond, and his death could lead to serious repercussions. But deep down, she knew the truth. If he dies, I'll never forgive myself.

Goheno = Sorry