The Trouble with Dragons

Title: The Trouble with Dragons
Author: Ash
Rating: R
Warning(s): implied slash, violence, slight spoilers for The Hobbit
A/N: Follows ‘A Healing Touch’ series. Please note that ‘A Healing Touch’ is NOT a happy fic, and is not intended for children or people who are squeamish. WIP (work in progress)
Summary: In the heat of Battle of Five Armies, Legolas finds an unexpected source of help from an old friend.

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Prologue:

It was difficult to concentrate on the individual warriors of Mirkwood as they battled against the dark foes of Dol Guldor, so distracted was he with defending himself against the wicked creatures. They swarmed around him like a plague, and he was not certain for how much longer he could hold out on his own.

Legolas had been separated from his fellow warriors in the turmoil in the valley of Erebor, and he could do naught but abandon the group as he was pushed back, forced to defend himself and keep focused.

Goblins and the wild Wolves were attacking from all sides of them, and the son of Thranduil held his white-handled long knives before him in a defensive pose, his Elven reflexes reacting swiftly, quickly felling any beast that came within reach. He would not be brought down so easily.

Confound his father’s greed! If it were not for Thranduil’s great love of treasure, they’d hardly be in this predicament in the first place. The hoard of the Fire-drake, Smaug, was great, indeed, (or so he heard) collected from the Dwarven Kingdom of the Lonely Mountain many a year ago, and after the destruction those meddlesome Dwarves had caused, the Elven Lord was adamant to obtain a fare share of it in reimbursement. But was the great cache truly worth their lives?

And who was to say they would even be permitted to collect such riches in the first place? The stout beings had already made their dislike of the Wood Elves quite clear. They had terrorized their feast, roused the giant spiders from their nests, had shown Thranduil, himself, disrespect, and in retaliation the King had lost his temper and imprisoned them. Even within his own dungeons, the Dwarves had shown ignorance, insulting the guard, as well as poor old Galion, the palace butler.

Thranduil had been a little harsh with the Dwarves in his sentencing, this was true, however they had not been too cooperative themselves. The son of Oropher was very short tempered, this all his subjects were aware of, as was his father before him. The family temper bred true, for even Legolas’ brothers shared it. He of course, was taught long ago by Lords Elrond and Glorfindel how to rein his anger, though that did not always mean he could restrain it. Like in the dungeons, for instance…

He had trekked his way down into the dingy jail to discuss matters with his brother, whom was currently guarding the group of Dwarves. His back leaned against the stone wall, his arms crossed firmly in front of him, and his eyes pinched together as the grating sound of rattling bars and shouts of protest were issued within the cell.

“Silence!” the elder Prince demanded with a jerk of his head, but the stout creatures continued their ruckus.

“You can hear them all the way out in the courtyard,” Legolas commented as he rounded the corner.

“muindor,” Tallen said in surprise. With all the clattering the little bearded men were making, he had not heard the younger Elf enter. “May I help you with something?”

“I wished to see our prisoners for myself. Our sire was quite angered by the commotion they managed to stir up, I hear.”

“Indeed. For I was in court when he confronted them. They are quite stubborn.”

“We are not the stubborn ones!” One of the Dwarves cried. Both princes turned their gazes to the prisoner, and while one’s was filled with silent curiosity, the other’s was filled with loathing. “Your King is arrogant and nosey!”

“You dare speak ill of our lord??” The elder brother sneered.

“As I recall,” Legolas started calmly, “you were the ones whom were trespassing onto our land. It was you whom interrupted our festivities and harassed us. You also roused the spiders from their nests! Have you any idea how many of my people could have been overwhelmed by them? You’ve quite the nerve to make accusations, Dwarf.”

“You exaggerate by far! We were lost in the woods and starving! All we wanted was a bit of food. What would you have done?”

“I certainly wouldn’t have emulated your course of action.”

“And what would your king have done if we were to simply walk up to his doorstep and ask for food?” At the young prince’s hesitation, the Dwarf grunted. “I thought as much. There’s no guarantee that he would not have locked us up, anyway.”

“If you would simply tell us where you were headed and—” The golden haired Elf was interrupted by the gruff voice.

“It is no concern of yours, you pointy-eared elven brat!”

“Gloin, calm down,” One of the older Dwarves muttered from his own cell.

“I’ll not calm down! These Wood-elves are haughty and overly paranoid. We meant no harm, and we’ve tried to explain that. If they find that so difficult to believe, then very well. I’ll say no more.”

“Then I am afraid I cannot help you.” Legolas sighed and turned on his heel. He was a diplomat after all, and it would not do good to allow his frustration to overwhelm him. He had tried.

“Don’t you walk away from me, boy!”

At that the prince halted, his head turning slightly so that he could gaze at the little man through the corner of his eye. “I hardly think you are in a position to make demands. And I am no boy.”

“Elves... this one is just as insolent as the rest of them.” He heard the Dwarf mutter. In fact, it was hardly muttered at all. The comment was meant to be heard by Elven ears. Either these people had a death wish, or indeed lacked manners. The nerve of them.

“I would show a little more courtesy in these halls if I were you,” the prince began firmly. “We have been gracious enough to give you food and drink, and believe me when I say we could have been far more harsh in our handlings of you. Prisoners in most jails would suffer far worse than you have, so I suggest you be a little more grateful.”

“Do not attempt to threaten me!” the little man bellowed. “I do not fear you or your daftly king! Once I escape here you’ll wish you’d never crossed paths with us. A plague upon you all, and may your entire line, your forebears, your king and his subjects, rot in the deepest levels of Udun!”

“That’s enough, Gloin!” shouted the same Dwarf whom had spoken earlier.

But the short man’s cursing had taken hold of Legolas’ emotions, igniting the flare within his veins, and before he could control himself he had lunged forward, grabbing the collar of the Dwarf’s cloak through the steel bars. His eyes were dilated, and his nostrils flared in anger, and for the first time in their short conversation, the young prince saw apprehension flicker within the smaller being’s beady eyes.

“Legolas…” Tallen said in a warning voice as he approached his younger brother.

“Never,” the young Sylven Elf breathed in a menacing whisper, “speak ill of my kin in my presence.”

“Muindor,” the elder prince spoke firmly, leaving no room for argument, “release him. These Dwarves are not worth the effort.”

A hand was placed on Legolas’ shoulder, and with a last hard glare at the captive, he slowly removed his hand before taking several steps backwards and turning around to trudge up the stairs, so infuriated at the moment he barely noticed Galion heading down as he stalked past him…

The prince quickly jolted backwards as large fangs snapped shut, barely grazing his left arm and leaving a gaping hole in his sleeve. Snapping his attention to the side of him, he leapt forward before swiping the Warg’s throat with his blade. The wound did not instantly kill the beast however, as Legolas had hoped. It snarled in anger, before leaping forward and enclosing its teeth on the Elf’s upper arm.

A strangled wail escaped the prince’s throat as he sank to the ground in agony, the knife involuntarily falling from his restrained limb, completely unprepared for the wolf’s attack. The pain nearly drove him to unconsciousness as he was shaken like a rag-doll by his damaged appendage in the creature’s massive incisors, and he barely had enough sense of mind to keep a grasp on the handle of his other blade, before gaining enough strength and sinking its gleaming edge into the beast’s chest.

The final blow put an end to the wretched monster’s life, and its jaw finally released its hold as the large wolf fell limply to the earth. Legolas dropped to his knees along with it, panting harshly as he attempted to stem the bleeding from his heavily wounded arm. The dark liquid oozed down his limb, bloodying the Elf’s garments and creating a puddle before him.

A great bellow in the sky attracted his attention, and he looked up only to greet the sight of a massive form swooping overhead. The dragons had been unleashed.

His vision began to swarm, and the last thing he was aware of as he drifted into unconsciousness was a large pair of talons descending upon him.

To be continued…

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Muindor: brother

Udun: hell

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(A/N): Please note that it has been a LONG time since I last read The Hobbit, so please excuse any inconsistencies. Constructional criticism welcome.