Disclaimer: Obviously not mine. :)
Warnings: Blood, violence and character death!
AN: Thank you all so much for reading and reviewing! I'm currently spending a lot of time hunched over academic books, and am always happy for a review to trickle in just to look at something nice for a minute. :) But now, on with the show!
Altered Fates
III
His eyes find Bofur. Hat askew he is swinging his axe, the movements smooth, powerful and deadly – the ground around him is littered with goblin corpses. But as calm as Bofur seems, Bilbo can't see any other dwarf (or man or elf) nearby. Bofur is a lonely island in a sea of enemies, and Bilbo's breath catches.
He is not made for battle. His swordsmanship has hardly improved since he tackled the Pale Orc's executioner.
But he is not going to stand by and watch Bofur die.
So Bilbo stops thinking, swings from the wall and jumps into the fray. He ducks under one blade, stumbles into a goblin – shoving it onto the blade of another – and if his heart is racing, it is lost under the roar of the battle. His world descends into a blur of rust-stained steel, flesh, earth and innards.
An elf horn sounds (somewhere far in the distance, yet all is dark and even the fires produce more obscuring smoke than light), but near Bilbo an orc screeches even louder. It raises a menacing war hammer above a fallen opponent (a small man? A dwarf? His face is hidden from Bilbo, but it doesn't matter – and on the chance it's a familiar face he doesn't even want to know), and Bilbo drives Sting through the orc's knee – and then has to jump back as the monster crumbles.
His heart is racing, and he almost stumbles about a flung-out arm (the hand is human, but he won't look for the face, not when the flesh is white and the ground underneath his feet is blood-soaked), then catches his breath – he needs to go further to the left, that was where he last saw Bofur.
Next to him a body hits the ground, an axe buried in its chest. Bilbo swallows, clutches Sting tighter in sweaty hands, ducks his head and stumbles forward. Invisibility is a blessing as he trudges through throngs of orcs and goblins (are they fighting among themselves, too?), then he gets pushed, and one particular close escape tears the fabric of the coat on his back.
His foot catches on something (he doesn't want to know what), he falls, and lands, his knee burying into something soft and fleshy. The odd squelching sound twists his stomach, and Bilbo pushes away in icy horror – yet a strange warmth on his knee lingers.
He doesn't look down, but he is swaying when he finds his feet again. Swaying and gasping, and finally, finally (this is madness, he should not be here, what was he thinking, how could he ever think he could actually help on a battlefield?) he sees Bofur.
And behind Bofur, directly in front of Bilbo, is particularly hideous orc raising a crossbow.
His minds blanks out – and with a roar Bilbo tackles the orc. They both go down, though Bilbo never realizes they hit the ground. The crossbow goes flying – there's surprised shouting in the background - and all Bilbo can think is killkillkill. He brings Sting down with all the rage boiling in his stomach, hacking away, until the beast stops moving (and even then his blood races on).
Bofur hasn't even noticed the danger he'd been in. The dwarf is still slaying orcs and goblins left and right, and Bilbo stumbles up to him, breathless, ducks under his guard and cuts off the sword arm of a goblin behind Bofur.
Blood splatters his face, the goblin howls, and Bilbo thinks this pain is no less than deserved (he'd gladly hack it to pieces), and there's momentary shift in the air – Bofur has seen the arm fly from the corner of his eye, the other goblins only saw the empty air turn vicious.
"Bofur, it's …" Bilbo gasps, before the dwarf glances over his shoulder, wide-eyed.
"Mr. Baggins? What are you…?" he shakes his head abruptly, "Get out!"
"Wha…?" A hum of air is all the warning Bilbo gets – he sees metal flashing, but he can't duck, because then he'll expose Bofur's side, and the blade's at the height of his throat, so Bilbo brings up Sting at the very last moment, and the metal meets metal with a loud ring.
The blow's deflected, the blade passes over his head, but his arms ache fiercely (and his knees are pudding), and the goblin's too close and raising his blade again – and then an axe takes its head off the shoulders. Bilbo feels Bofur's breath ghosting over his left ear and a hand grasps his shoulder (a little too tight, but then Bofur can't see Bilbo, and would never find him again should he let go).
"This way," hisses Bofur.
Bilbo stumbles after him – the grip will bruise, and he can hardly find his feet, but Bofur easily clears a path through the combatants, wielding his axe in one hand. The ground is strewn with dismembered bodies and limbs – though many are still fighting. Bofur ducks a mace and slices off a goblin's legs, pulling Bilbo after him.
One blade whistles through the air just past Bilbo's head, and suddenly Bofur is calling for Bifur.
Moments later the thick wall of orcs and goblins around them breaks to reveal Bifur, a blood-splattered Dwalin and a number of battle-ready dwarves Bilbo has never seen. They proceed to slaughter the orcs that remain, while Bifur claps Bofur's shoulder (that's relief on his expression as far as Bilbo can tell) and says something Bilbo can't even hear (much less understand).
His ears are ringing, and only when Bofur gives him a shake a notices Dwalin talking.
"… to Dain – his troops are just behind the hill, he'll be safe there."
Bilbo realizes they're talking about him, and his heart skips a beat.
"No," he shouts before he can think twice and pulls the ring off. Some dwarves jump in surprise, and even Dwalin blinks.
"I, I mean I'll go back later, anyway," says Bilbo (because no matter what happens on the battlefield he's still determined to accept whatever judgment Thorin bestows on him), "I just couldn't…"
"Nobody doubts your courage," interrupts Bofur abruptly, rougher than usual, "This just isn't a place for you. At least stay somewhere safe!"
"This isn't your fight," adds Dwalin gravely.
Bilbo blinks. He's not here for any political reasons – he's here for his friends, but Dwalin seems to know this, because there's no disdain on his face, only honest concern under all this grime. He opens his mouth to say something, and abruptly a mace smashes the head of the dwarf behind Bofur.
"Retreat!" a voice yells, while Bifur throws himself at the offending goblin with a mighty roar. Bofur wipes blood and a thicker substance from his face, as Dawlin glances around and Bilbo feels dizzy.
"Where are the others?" asks Dwalin.
Bofur shrugs, "Last I know Ori and Dori were with Dain, and Balin ought to be where Gandalf is."
(Gandalf's name caused Bilbo to shudder in relief. Gandalf may yet help them win this.)
"Thorin went north; I believe Fili and Kili are with him. Where the others are, I don't know," says Bofur.
Dwalin nods; another dwarf shouts "back! Back!" and Bifur dispatches the first goblin that breaks through their ranks without any effort. But others are pressing after it, Bilbo's heart drops – his knees are weak, his fingers tremble – and then Dwalin tosses himself into the fray with a mighty roar.
Bofur raises his axe, but turns back to Bilbo one last time. "Over the hill! Hurry! And make sure you remain unseen! Hurry!"
All Bilbo can do is nod, and then Bofur has turned his back, swings his axe and the roar of the battle envelopes him. A part of Bilbo wonders if this is the last he will see of them – back turned, weapons heroically raised – then a blade grazes his arm, he stumbles and ducks out of the way.
Numbly he makes his feet move – up the hill (though if it's the right hill, he doesn't know. It's dark, but for the glow of fires, and the smoke burns in his throat. There's less fighting here, but the dead are more numerous. Goblins, orcs, dwarves, men and elves. Some groan, some move, some miss their limbs and some have been torn up beyond recognition.
For a moment Bilbo thinks that this is far worse than the battle itself. Then an arrow whistles past his head and Bilbo hears something choke behind him, and a heavy body hits the ground. Bilbo blinks dumbfounded toward a small group of four elves (he isn't wearing the ring, he realizes, which is stupid, but he's alive and his heart is racing), then scrambles into their direction.
He's never seen any of them, but apparently they recognize him, for one (tall, fair-haired) crouches down and examines him critically. "Are you injured?"
Bilbo shakes his head, gasping for breath. "Very well," the leader says, "Stay with us."
The calm of this group is as reassuring as it is frightening to Bilbo. Not a hair seems out of place on the elven bowmens' heads, their armors gleaming in the firelight, while Bilbo is covered in mud and blood.
"Over there," says another elf, and the leader turns to glance over the battlefield.
It is sheer luck that Bilbo catches the indicated direction – there's another elf, this one fighting alone in a ring of orcs, his blond hair bright in the darkness. Bilbo is reminded of Thranduil, but he doubts the elven King would be in the thick of the battle.
Somehow Bilbo follows the elven group as they make their way across the field –and this time he doesn't even feel the wind of a missed blow caress his face. The elves tread lightly, yet the trail of blood and dead bodies is unmistakable. Where Bofur, and Bifur and Dwalin have thrown themselves at the enemy with a mighty roar, the elves wield their swords and bows easily, without discernible emotion.
It's all straight, clean kills, and Bilbo shivers.
They're close to their goal when a goblin sneaks up on the lonely elf (he's a very skilled fighter, deadly and elegant and everything Bilbo knows he'll never be) from behind. One of the elves from Bilbo's group yells out a "Prince Legolas!", but they're on the wrong side.
When Legolas turns to look at their group, the goblin behind him raises a battle axe, and Bilbo wants to scream out a warning. However before any sound leaves his lips, an arrow whistles through their and buries itself cleanly in the goblin's throat.
Bilbo, Legolas and the other elves glance upward.
On a rocky outcropping not too far from them stands a familiar form – barely more than a dark silhouette against the night sky – , and for a moment Bilbo think the elves freeze. Then Legolas inclines his head gratefully, and maybe it's Bilbo's overactive mind imagining things, but he believes Kili grins in return.
Next he knows the helpful archer has disappeared and Legolas is surrounded by the other elves, urging him to leave. All Bilbo catches is that Legolas is too important to fight on the front lines, to risk his life in this battle, and won't he rather return to Thranduil's side. (Prince Legolas, Bilbo recalls, so he may be related to Thranduil).
Yet all that is not important to Bilbo. Now that he has seen Kili he supposes Fili and Thorin may not be far. And while he knows he's not an effective fighter or able to do much in battle, for some reason he wants to be where they are.
So instead of retreating with the elves, he slips the ring on his finger once more and ducks back into the fray.
Bilbo is half-way up a hill, when he turns around. His sense of orientation is almost completely gone. He can't tell where Erebor's entrance is, lest where the different hosts are stationed – to his feet lies a plain that is a mass of flickering flames and gleaming steel.
The fighting is still going strong. Only on the fringes there are quieter patches – full of fire, blood and bodies.
He swallows, and somehow misses the orc behind him. It doesn't see Bilbo – but as it swings its blade down in the direction of a man (dressed in colors so dark Bilbo hadn't seen him), the blade catches Bilbo across the chest and his left arm.
He blinks in surprise – the area is numb, but when he raises his hand to touch the injury his fingers come away stained red. His heart is thundering in his chest – he barely manages to stumble out of the path of the fighting – and his left arm moves sluggishly, and for a moment he wonders if this is it.
Then he bites down on his lower lip, glances down and determines that this cut won't be fatal. It's not that deep – and the burn is low, subdued, inconsequential.
Bilbo grasps Sting tighter as a roar goes up overhead. He hears a familiar call, a rustle of feathers and wings, and gigantic shadows descend over the battlefield.
A scream goes up. "The Eagles! The Eagles have come!"
But all Bilbo sees down on the field are death and destruction, as the majestic birds forge tracks empty of living beings into the middle. There's cheering, down there and on the hillsides – victory is close, perhaps, but the next body that falls in front of Bilbo is an elf's, and the goblin wielding a hammer cackles madly.
It's probably a reflex that makes Bilbo drive Sting into its stomach.
Wielding the blade in one hand is cumbersome – he forces his tingling left hand to close around the hilt, jerks it back and grits his teeth. Without a second glance Bilbo steps over the goblin's cadaver – now he can hear fighting beyond the outcropping.
The rocks are slippery with blood and entrails. There's even a leg sticking out – in the darkness Bilbo can't tell if it's still attached to a body. His chest is heaving once he's up (maybe exertion, maybe excitement, maybe something else), but when he sees Thorin the world goes numb.
The skirmishes Bilbo has seen Thorin fight have not done the King under the Mountain justice. Where the elven prince seemed to be dancing, Thorin is steady, parrying blows instead of dodging, and Orcrist is a silver flash in the darkness. For a moment Bilbo forgets to breathe.
Fili has his back, but there's no need – Thorin calmly, decisively dispatches all enemies no matter from where they chose to approach him. Already there are circles cleared around both Thorin and Fili, littered with cadavers. The blond prince looks just as collected as his uncle does, though blood tricks down the side of his head.
It takes Bilbo longer to spot Kili. The young archer has his back to a large boulder, and is almost invisible in its shadow – his arrows, however, all are true.
Even if they're cut off from reinforcements, Bilbo thinks, it's going well. Neither of the three appears tired, not one stumbles or hesitates. Instead there's a deadly, beautiful precision to each strike, and Bilbo's heart is thundering in his chest.
Thorin takes off a goblin's head, an arrow dispatches an orc behind his back and Fili takes down two goblins in a whirl. Bilbo is frozen to the spot, even as one goblin brushes past him and sends him stumbling. Something sharp brushes his ankle, but Bilbo pulls himself up, and Sting cleanly detaches a second goblin from his right foot.
Its sharp howl is lost in the roar of battle, as it tumbles back down the rocks. Bilbo takes a sharp breath, and looks up to find Fili and Thorin have changed positions and Kili has left his cover.
They are actually advancing on the mass of orcs and goblins.
Bilbo senses a movement behind him. And this time, standing on higher ground, Sting takes off the orc's head, and sends his body tumbling down, taking two others along the way. His hands are numb around Sting's hilt, and he's long lost any idea of what he's actually feeling.
But for a minuscule moment there's hope in his heart.
Maybe they can win this.
Maybe there will be a good ending.
Maybe he this will, one day, nothing but a distant memory.
The Bilbo turns and there's a spear protruding from Kili's chest.
tbc
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