They reached the wine cellars soon after.
Rows of massive barrels lined the hall, the air thick with the sharp, sweet smell of fermented wine.
Several guards were sprawled across the floor, completely passed out—empty mugs rolling near their hands, armor discarded wherever they'd collapsed.
Luke glanced at them once. "Lightweights."
Nearby, Bilbo was tapping carefully along the wooden floor, listening closely as he searched for the hidden door. When he looked up and saw Luke standing there casually sipping from a bottle, he froze.
For a second, the two stared at each other.
Bilbo took an instinctive step back.
Crack.
The wooden panel beneath his foot gave way, and he vanished straight down with a yelp.
Wanda blinked. "…Well. That's one way to go."
Luke leaned over the opening, peering down. "Efficient, at least."
He took another sip, then casually grabbed two more bottles and tucked them away. "Can't waste good wine."
Before anything else could happen, shouts echoed through the halls.
"Prisoners have escaped!"
Boots pounded against stone. Alarms rang out as Elves rushed through the corridors, voices overlapping in sharp commands.
Luke straightened, corking the bottle. "Right. Show's over."
Wanda's hands glowed faintly, Natasha shifting her stance beside her as the noise spread through the Woodland Realm—shouts, boots, the sharp ring of alarms bouncing off stone and wood.
Luke glanced around once and shook his head.
"Umm—no fighting," he said casually. "We didn't come here to start a war. We're the invaders, remember?"
Before either of them could reply, movement flashed at the far end of the hall.
Tauriel appeared with her bow already drawn, several Elves fanning out behind her in practiced formation. Their eyes locked onto the three of them at once.
Luke raised a hand in a lazy wave.
"Bye-bye."
He grabbed Natasha's and Wanda's hands.
The world folded.
One moment they were standing and next, the space they'd occupied was empty.
Only disturbed air remained.
Tauriel lowered her bow slowly, eyes narrowing.
"…Magic," she said under her breath.
She turned sharply to the others. "Check the waterways. Seal the gates. No one leaves the forest."
***
The next moment, they reappeared beside the rushing waterway, hidden among roots and stone.
Below them, the river churned violently as barrels bobbed and spun downstream—dwarves trapped inside, shouting muffled curses as they were carried toward the falls.
A deep horn sounded.
At the far end of the channel, the Elves at the water gate reacted instantly. Mechanisms groaned as iron bars began to slide shut, trying to cut off the flow before the barrels could escape.
Too late.
A sharp whistle cut through the air.
Arrows rained down, striking the Elves at the gate. Shouts followed—harsh, guttural, full of hate.
From the riverbanks and tree line, Orcs surged out, riding wargs, blades raised high. Their armor was crude, their faces twisted and brutal, eyes burning with malice as they pointed toward the water.
"Kill every dwarf!" one of them snarled, shouting in their foul tongue as he raised his sword toward the barrels.
Wanda grimaced, instinctively stepping closer to Luke.
"Gross," she muttered. "I really don't like the look of them."
Natasha's eyes tracked the riders.
"What kind of creatures are those?"
Luke watched the scene with a flat expression.
"Orcs," he said. "And they're exactly as bad as they look. Smell worse, too. They eat anything, kill for sport, and think with nothing but hunger and cruelty."
The iron bar gates slammed shut, cutting off the flow in an instant.
The barrels crashed together, piling up against the gate as the river roared around them. Water churned violently, spinning the trapped barrels in place. Thorin braced himself inside, gripping the rim.
"No—no!" he shouted, his voice raw with frustration.
The Orcs didn't hesitate.
Snarling, they jumped straight into the water, landing on the barrels with splashes, blades raised. One Orc tried to stab downward into a barrel. Another laughed as he reached for a dwarf's beard.
That was their mistake.
Dwalin surged up first, water streaming from his armor. He grabbed an Orc by the ankle and yanked, smashing it face-first into the iron bars.
Another Orc leapt for him—Dwalin drove a knee straight up, folding it with a sharp crack before hurling it back into the river.
Balin hauled himself out of a barrel, seized an Orc by the throat, and headbutted it hard enough to knock it senseless. He shoved the body aside and ripped a sword from its grasp.
Fíli and Kíli fought side by side in the water, backs to the gate. One hooked an Orc's leg and pulled it under, while the other brought his blade down in a clean, brutal strike. The current carried the body away.
Thorin forced himself upright in his barrel, sword flashing. An Orc jumped at him—Thorin caught it mid-lunge, slammed it into the gate, and kicked it off.
The river became chaos—splashes, steel, snarls, and furious dwarves fighting knee-deep in rushing water.
Orcs slipped, were dragged under by the current, or beaten back by dwarves who refused to fall.
Thorin roared back, voice cutting through the clash.
"Someone open the gates!"
Some dumb Orc spotted Wanda, Natasha, and Luke and broke into a crooked grin before lunging straight at Luke, clearly thinking he'd found an easy kill.
He didn't get close.
Natasha moved first.
Her sword left her hand in a sharp blur, piercing straight through the Orc's head. The body dropped instantly. With a small flick of her fingers, the blade tore free and flew back into her palm, perfectly balanced.
Another Orc rushed in from the side.
Wanda lifted her hand.
The ground groaned. A heavy boulder ripped itself loose and smashed down, crushing the Orc beneath it with a dull, final crack.
Luke glanced at the chaos unfolding by the river.
"Well," he said lightly, "I should help with the gate."
He waved his hand.
The iron bars jerked open, water surging forward as the barrels broke free. The current seized them, dragging them downstream while the dwarves inside shouted, cursed, and cheered, vanishing toward the falls.
The Orcs roared in rage.
"CHASE THEM!" one screamed. "DON'T LET A SINGLE DWARF LEAVE ALIVE!"
Before they could regroup, Elves poured in, arrows cutting through the air. The riverbank turned into chaos.
In the middle of it all, Tauriel turned her head.
For a brief moment, her eyes met Luke's.
Then he was gone—vanished, along with the two women beside him—leaving only rushing water, fallen Orcs, and unanswered questions behind.