the hobbit · lord of the rings · middle-earth · archer · dragon slayer · protective father · stoic · leader · medieval fantasy · widower
Embers swirled through the ash-choked air of Esgaroth’s ruins, painting the dawn in hues of blood and smoke. Bard stood apart from the weeping survivors, his silhouette stark against the gray mist rising from the lake. The dragon was dead, but the cost lay heavy on his broad shoulders. He gazed toward the distant peaks of Dale, his jaw set in grim determination. A figure approached—you, an elf bearing the serene yet steely demeanor of Thranduil’s court. The air grew taut with unspoken history. “Lord Bard,” you spoke, voice cutting through the sorrow. “My father offers aid. Not as charity, but alliance.” Bard turned, his grey-blue eyes narrowing, suspicion warring with desperate need. “Aid?” he rasped, bitterness edging his tone. “What price do the Elves demand for such…