Just a random little plot bunny that came to me. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own The Hobbit or Narnia. It all belongs to J. R. R. Tolkien and C. S. Lewis.

Comfort in a Lion's Mane

Chapter One: Not Forsaken

Year: T. A. 2935

Fíli: age 76

Kíli: age 71

They were going to die.

Of that, Fíli had been sure.

The small party of nine orcs had come out of nowhere, swarming through the trees, zeroing in on the two young princes. The dwarven brothers fought bravely, Fíli with his twin blades, Kíli briefly with his bow, but moving on to his sword once the fighting turned close-quarters. Slowly, the young Heirs of Durin tired; it was only a matter of time before they fell.

Well, this certainly didn't end the way I thought it would, Fíli bitterly thought. He was lying on his side, and Kíli was still fighting a couple of feet in front of him. Along with numerous cuts and bruises, a deep gash, bleeding heavily, adorned his right thigh. A crude arrow was stuck in his upper arm, and another had gone through his light armour and pierced his side. Judging from the pain that came with every breath he drew and the taste of blood in his mouth, it had probably struck his lung.

Kíli was still holding his own, but barely. A gash above his left eye bled profusely, and he was keeping his weight off his left leg, which was most likely injured in some manner.

Soon enough, one of the three remaining orcs saw an opening and swung his ill-crafted sword across the dark-haired dwarf's gut. The younger prince's cry of pain resounded through the evergreen trees, echoing off the surrounding mountains. He dropped his sword and fell beside his brother with a thud, clutching his stomach.

"K-Kee?" whispered the blond prince. Brown eyes met blue, and the young dwarves clasped hands. If they were going to die, at least they would die together, as brothers and best friends. Still, Fíli could not help but be sad. He had just come of age a year ago, for Durin's sake! He and Kíli should have had long, full lives, should have seen many more battles, been uncles to each other's children. But no. No, they would be killed in this lonely clearing, to be found by beasts, or perhaps Thorin. Mother would grieve, and so would Uncle, in his angry, brooding way.

"Say good night, dwarf scum." The elder prince was interrupted from his regretful thoughts when a particularly tall orc with half of his nose missing appeared above them. He was holding a bloodstained blade above him, ready to slit the brothers' throats. Fíli resisted the urge to shut his eyes. He would die as any worthy dwarf of Durin's Line should: stubborn and defiant to the end.

He waited for the ring of the sword, of the sound of it whistling through the air. He never heard it.

Instead, a great, powerful roar resonated through the clearing. A gigantic golden mass plowed through the orcs, silencing their squeals quickly. Soon, the foul creatures were dead. The elder Heir of Durin dared a glance to get a better look.

It was a lion.

Yes, Fíli had heard of the great cats that dwelled to the far south. He had even once seen the skin of one while passing through a village of Men. However, seeing one alive and not seven feet away from him was a far more different experience.

For one thing, it was huge! At least the size of a draft horse! It's smooth coat gleamed gold in the dappled forest light, the long mane blowing in the slight breeze. Luminous eyes gazed upon the two dwarves, brimming with fierce intelligence and . . . something else. Kindness? No, it was just a dumb beast. Wasn't it?

Even as the blond prince was thinking these thoughts, the great cat was slowly, silently padding toward them. Kíli's breathing quickened, and he started, rather unsuccessfully, trying to worm away. The brunette prince hissed in pain as his wounds were aggravated. "Fíli!" he whimpered, fear setting into his heart.

The lion was now right in front of the pair of dwarves, staring at them intently. It lowered its large head, and Fíli braced himself for the feeling of those strong jaws clamping down on his throat.

Instead, he felt warm, sweet-smelling breath wash over his face.

Immediately, the Heirs of Durin began to drift off, the promise of a blissful, healing sleep awaiting them. However, as the elder prince's vision began to darken, a deep, comforting voice, full of paternal care and gentleness, registered in his mind.

"Rest your mind, Child of Aulë. I will not leave you nor forsake you*."

- /loyalty/ -

Thorin Oakenshield was worried.

His nephews, Fíli and Kíli, had gone on a hunting trip that was supposed to have lasted three days at the most. It had now been five.

Due to the heavy rain that had struck the night of their estimated return, the King of Durin's Folk had told himself that the young princes had most likely taken shelter for the night. However, after waiting one more day, he could stand it no more.

The King-in-exile sighed wearily and ran a hand through his hair. He and his two companions, Dwalin and Balin, had just packed up last night's camp and were making their way through the woods, to Fíli and Kíli's usual hunting grounds. Thorin was glad it was early summer; ploughing through three feet of snow in the dead of winter would not have been his favourite method of travel.

The King was still thinking when Dwalin's shout brought him back to reality.

"Thorin!"

He looked up. The three dwarves were standing in a large clearing. It dipped into a shallow bowl-like shape. That was not what drew the King-in-exile's attention, though.

A battle had been fought, recently too. The bodies of at least nine orcs littered the ground. Most of them had sword wounds or arrows sticking out of their backs. Very familiar, yellow-fletched arrows . . .

"They were here!" the King exclaimed.

"So was something else," said Balin. He was leaning over one of the other corpses. Thorin walked over to see.

The foul creature had been mauled, its throat torn out. Long gashes raked its body, as if knives had shredded its flesh.

What sort of beast did this? thought the King. He checked the ground for Warg tracks, and found none, so the possibility of a rogue was unlikely.

However, the prints of what appeared to be a giant cat stood out in sharp relief to him. Not only that, but the clear signs of something heavy being dragged away. . .

"Balin, Dwalin! This way!" shouted the king, following the trail left by the beast.

Mahal, please, let my nephews still be alive. Please, let their hearts still be beating.

- /honour /-

*Based on Hebrews 13:5 from the Bible, King James Version.

A/N: Okay, so this is my first crossover, and it's going to be a twoshot, to leave you guys with a nice cliffhanger. ;)

Please review! It will get me to post the next chapter faster!

P.S: I will be posting a poll on my page with some ideas for stories I want to write. I would REALLY appreciate it if you would vote. :)

Farewell for now!