Lirel dropped down from the bridge, her form blending with the shadows as she landed with practiced ease, her movements fluid and precise. Just as she touched the ground, a wave of orcs surged forward across the broad expanse, their grotesque forms charging with brutal force. Her eyes glinted in the dim light, a fierce determination settling within her as an arrow whizzed past, narrowly missing her arm—its shaft bending unnaturally from the sheer force of its flight.

With a growl of frustration, Lirel shifted, the air around her humming with a cold, deadly energy. She moved like a blur, her blade flashing in the dark as she tore through the orcs with precision, each strike fatal, almost instinctual. The creatures fell one by one, their lives snuffed out without mercy, her movements as lethal as they were graceful. She was a force of nature—swift, unyielding, and deadly.

But then, amidst the chaos, a cry reached her ears—a sharp, painful cry that seemed to cut through the din of battle. Lirel's heart lurched as her eyes locked onto the source of the sound. Kili, the dwarf she had so often found herself at odds with, now lay crumpled on the ground, his body twisted in an unnatural way. He was unconscious, his chest rising and falling unevenly, his breathing shallow, and there was a dark stain spreading from his side.

No, Kili, she thought, a wave of panic crashing through her. Her focus faltered for only a moment, but it was enough. She could feel the tension of the moment, the gravity of it threatening to pull her into despair. But there was no time for hesitation, no time for doubt. Not now.

Lirel's muscles tensed as she leapt over the fallen bodies, her movement fluid and fast, driven by a single purpose. She barely registered the chaos around her—the clash of steel, the screams, the roar of battle. Her focus was on one thing only: Kili. Her fingers locked around Thorin's cloak for a brief moment, ensuring he was safe, before she turned her attention back to the battlefield. The others could barely catch a glimpse of her, a shadow moving through the carnage.

With a surge of deadly precision, Lirel drew her silver sword, the blade gleaming like a streak of moonlight through the gloom. She slashed through the orcs with unrelenting fury, each strike a silent promise of death. The orcs fell in her wake, their blood splattering across the ground like dark blossoms. Her sword rang through the air, its sharpness cutting through their defenses with a terrifying grace.

But even in the madness, her gaze remained fixed on Kili, his form half-limping, half-collapsing beneath the weight of his injury. There was no hesitation in her action. With one swift motion, she grabbed Kili, lifting him effortlessly and throwing him over her shoulder, his body a dead weight in her grip.

In the blink of an eye, Lirel transformed. Her form shifted, growing larger, her body spreading feathers as her wings unfurled in a display of pure power. She was a white eagle now, her talons gripping the air as she soared upward, just beyond the reach of the arrows that filled the sky below.

"Don't worry about me!" she shouted behind her, her voice a sharp command cutting through the wind. She ducked under a branch, her wings beating furiously as she soared high, her speed unmatched by anything that could pursue her. Kili, though barely holding onto consciousness, clung to her leg, his body trembling with the strain of his poisoned wound. His grip faltered, weakened by the venom that slowly drained him of life.

"Don't worry, Kili," Lirel reassured him, her voice softer now, filled with determination. "I'll get the arrow out of you and save you."

The wind whipped past her as she dove low, skimming just above the treetops, until she saw a safe place ahead—a rocky shore, untouched by the orc forces. It was quiet, desolate, the perfect place for her to land and tend to Kili. Her wings beat once, then twice, before she gently landed on the stones, her talons clicking against the rocky ground as she set Kili down with careful precision.

He twisted in her grip, his body wracked with pain, but she was quick—her hands steady despite the urgency of the moment. The poison in his veins was a slow killer, but Lirel had fought too long to let death claim him now. She would fight, as she always did, with every ounce of her being.

SCENEBREAK

As the last light of day slipped away, the sky darkening to a deep, velvety blue, the others arrived at the rocky shore. Thorin led the way, his eyes sharp, scanning the terrain for any sign of danger. The chaos of battle was still fresh in his mind, but the sight that greeted him here, at the edge of the quiet waters, was far more startling.

There she stood—Lirel, her figure towering and powerful in her wolf form. The massive, white wolf was breathtaking. Her fur gleamed like freshly fallen snow under the moonlight, and the strength in her posture was evident in every taut muscle, every fluid movement. There was no mistaking it now—this was no mere elf. She was something far beyond that, something ancient and untamed, a force of nature bound by no laws but her own.

Thorin's breath caught in his throat, and before he could take another step, Bilbo rushed past him, wide-eyed and filled with awe.

"Lirel!" Bilbo gasped, his voice a mixture of relief and amazement.

Lirel's wolf eyes locked onto him, deep and clear, their luminous glow intensifying in the dimming light. There was a timeless beauty in their depth, as if they held the secrets of forgotten ages, unguarded and raw. No blindfold veiled them in this form, and the sheer force of her gaze was both captivating and unnerving. Her eyes sparkled with an intensity that could not be ignored, a silent promise of power and mystery.

She looked down at Kili, her posture protective as she stood vigil over him, the beast within her still ever watchful. But then, with a quiet exhale, she began to shift, the air around her crackling with magic as she morphed back into her human form. Her body shrank, bones shifting and clothing reforming as she returned to her familiar, mortal shape.

"Hey," she said softly, her voice a smooth, melodic lilt, carrying a touch of exhaustion beneath the calm. She knelt beside Kili, her hands gentle as she checked his wound one final time. "Kili is stable," she added, her gaze lingering on the dwarf, his chest rising and falling unevenly. "But I can't use much more power. The orcs will find us if I do."

Her words were simple but heavy with the weight of their meaning. She had given everything to save him, but even now, her powers had limits. The battle was never truly over—not as long as the orcs were out there—and every moment spent lingering here came at a cost. The quiet urgency in her voice carried the unspoken truth: they had no time to waste.

A sudden whoosh of air broke the silence, and Lirel's instincts flared. Her body shifted, her muscles coiling like a predator ready to pounce. She lifted her gaze, her sharp, blue eyes locking onto the figure now standing before her—a man cloaked in a worn trench coat, an arrow nocked and aimed directly at her. The sound of the bowstring being drawn seemed to reverberate through the air, the tension thick and palpable.

"Do it again, and you're dead," the man warned, his voice cold and unwavering, though there was a hint of uncertainty beneath the surface. His stance was firm, but Lirel could see the hesitation in his eyes.

A soft chuckle escaped her lips, the sound light but carrying an undercurrent of something much darker. Her eyes sparkled with amusement, twinkling like the glow of stars reflected on water. "You've got guts, man. I admire that," she said, her tone teasing, almost playful, as if she weren't even the least bit concerned by the weapon trained on her. But as the words left her mouth, her demeanor shifted, the playful edge vanishing, replaced by something far more serious, far more dangerous. "But you'd do well to remember," she continued, her voice growing low and commanding, "you can't threaten me."

Before the man could react, Lirel moved faster than the eye could follow. The arrow that had once been aimed at her was suddenly knocked away, the bow no longer in his hands, and in the next heartbeat, he was pinned to the rocky shore. She stood above him, her presence suffocating, her breath barely a whisper from his face. Her eyes, glowing with a strange intensity, bore down on him like a hawk sizing up its prey.

Her head tilted slightly, curiosity mixed with disdain. "Your form lacks precision," she said, her voice dripping with disdain. "I recognize that stench." She sneered, the revulsion clear in her expression as she surveyed him. It wasn't just his form; it was something more, something she could sense—a scent that clung to him, a smell of desperation and deceit.

Stepping off him, she offered a hand, helping him back to his feet with an almost mocking gentleness. The man blinked in confusion, his body still trembling from the shock of his defeat. He didn't dare speak immediately, still reeling from the speed and power that had been unleashed on him in an instant. Balin stepped forward, his face stern, eyes narrowing with suspicion as he watched the stranger. The man met his gaze briefly, but when he saw the sword at his throat, he quickly averted his eyes, the realization of his vulnerability sinking in.

"Excuse me, but, uh, you're from Lake-town, if I'm not mistaken?" the man stammered, his voice cautious now, tinged with uncertainty. His gaze flickered toward the distant barge, and a glimmer of hope shone in his eyes. "That barge over there... would it be available for hire, by any chance?"

Lirel's eyes narrowed, her lips curling into a small, knowing smile as she watched him squirm under the pressure. The man's confidence had evaporated, replaced by a desperate need for answers, for escape.

He blinked, his mouth opening as if to protest, but the sharp tip of Lirel's blade pressed against his throat, and his words faltered. He could feel the cold steel, the weight of her presence, and the unspoken threat that hung in the air. "Why would I want to help you when I've got a sword at my throat?" he finally managed to ask, his voice strained.

Thorin's voice cut through the tension, firm and commanding, the sound carrying the weight of authority. "Because if you don't," he said, stepping forward with a calculating gaze, "Lirel here will slit it."

The man swallowed hard, his eyes darting nervously between the dwarves and Lirel, the reality of his situation sinking in. The cold steel at his throat, the unwavering confidence in Lirel's stance—it was clear. He had no choice but to comply.

The man's defiance crumbled in the face of Lirel's unwavering gaze, and after a long, tense moment, he nodded, his lips tight with reluctant acceptance. "I'll help you," he said, his voice low and resigned. The words seemed to echo in the stillness that followed, and for a brief moment, the tension in the air dissolved.

Balin's stern expression softened into a rare, approving smile. Thorin, ever the cautious leader, gave a single nod of acknowledgment, his sharp eyes never leaving the stranger. "We'll need food, supplies, weapons. Can you help us?" he asked, his voice carrying the weight of command.

The man—Bard, as Lirel now realized—studied the barrels scattered across the shore, his gaze thoughtful and calculating. His eyes swept over the various dents and nicks in the barrels, evidence of the vicious skirmish with the orcs that had unfolded just moments before. There was a quiet recognition in his expression, as if he were piecing together the fragments of a much larger puzzle.

Then, his gaze shifted to Kili. The dwarf could stand now, but it was clear he was still recovering, his leg stiff and painful, the poison lingering in his veins. He leaned heavily on Fili, the younger dwarf's arm wrapped around his waist for support. The concern in their faces was palpable, but Kili's usual fiery spirit remained intact, even if it was a little dimmed by the ordeal.

Bard glanced at Kili, then back to the barrels. "I know where these barrels came from," he said, his tone more assured now. There was a history in his words, a story that connected him to these people in ways Lirel could only guess. He turned his eyes to her next, his expression softening with a touch of recognition.

"And you, too," he continued, his voice a little more thoughtful. "I remember you." The weight of the words hung heavy in the air. Bard's eyes sharpened as if sifting through memories long buried. "I'm sorry that we had to meet like this again, Tharundil," he said, a name from the past that seemed to resonate in the moment. His gaze held hers for a moment longer, before he looked away, briefly. "And the shipment that traded with my own people..." His voice trailed off, lost in the recollection of a shared history. "I've heard great tales about you."

A small, rueful smile tugged at his lips, softening the sharp edges of his rugged features. It was a smile that spoke of understanding, of regret, and perhaps a fleeting moment of camaraderie. "I'm sorry, madam," he added, his voice now more respectful, more sincere. "I'll help you get aboard to Lake-town."

The sincerity in his words settled over Lirel like a cloak, though her mind spun with the implications of what he had just said. Bard had known of her—perhaps even more than she had expected. And the mention of Tharundil, her true name, felt like a distant echo, one that reached beyond the present, stirring the tangled web of secrets and promises she had woven over her long years.

She gave a slight nod, her gaze steady. "Then let's not waste time," she said, her voice calm yet carrying the weight of resolve. "We've much to do."

Balin's eyes flicked between them, a knowing glint in his gaze. He understood better than most how complicated and dangerous the paths they walked could be. But for now, he held his tongue, trusting that they had what they needed. The journey to Lake-town would be difficult, no doubt, but with Bard's help, they might just have a chance.