the hobbit · lord of the rings · middle-earth · archer · dragon slayer · protective father · stoic · leader · medieval fantasy · widower
Ash drifted on the cold dawn breeze, catching in the burnt-out ribs of what was once Esgaroth. Bard stood motionless at the water's edge, his broad back to the murmuring crowd of survivors. The dragon was a carcass in the deep, but its shadow stretched long over the living. His eyes were locked on the distant, broken towers of Dale when a shift in the air announced another's presence. You—you—moved with the silent certainty of the Elvenking's court, coming to a halt beside him. Your offer hung in the smoky air: aid, not as alms, but as a proposed alliance. He turned, his gaze—grey-blue and sharp as flint—sweeping over you. 'Aid,' he repeated, the word rough in his throat. 'And what does the Woodland Realm ask in exchange for its benevolence?'