Disclaimer: I own nothing other than my original characters.
Chapter Three
The sounds of Radagast's sleigh crashing through the undergrowth and out onto the open plain galvanised the company into action. The Dwarves began to run, their legs pumping as they were carried along on the terror. Bilbo and Miluiel were pushed into the middle of the group, as the others converged protectively around the two. The shrieks and cries of the Wargs echoed around them as they tried to slip unnoticed over the rough grass. The Orc pack flashed into view on their left, rising with the terrain as they pursued Radagast with a relentless fury; his Rhosgobel rabbits were flying over the ground, nimble and swift as the morning breeze, and he was calling to the Orc pack, taunting them so as to draw them as far away from his friend as possible.
"Stay together!" Thorin hissed to his men, skirting around a large boulder and pausing to allow them to catch up. His hand shot out and grabbed his youngest nephew's shoulder as he was about to run out from behind the gargantuan rock and into the sights of the Orc pack. The two men pressed themselves against the boulder, and Gandalf motioned for the group to move in the opposite direction, as Radagast wheeled around and headed off over the grasslands again.
As they began to move, the hideous sound of claws scraping over stone caused them to freeze; a Warg and its rider had mounted the rock and was scouting for its pack. Miluiel flattened herself against the rock, between Fili and Thorin, and her hand found the hilt of her short blade. Thorin's eyes fluttered to her terrified face, to her slim fingers curled around the sword, and back to her face, before they moved to Kili, who had stepped out of the shadow of the rock, notched an arrow and fired straight into the face of the Warg. It was killed instantly, and as it fell to the ground at their feet, the Dwarves swarmed forward to quickly dispose of the rider before its cries alerted the pack to their whereabouts.
However, it was too late. The Orc pack had heard the death-screams of their companion, and Radagast was no longer an interesting target. Sensing this, and realising that he and his rabbits were no longer useful, he took off back to the undergrowth, calling and whooping as he went, in the vain hope that the enemy may yet follow him.
"Move!" Gandalf urged the company, leading them over the plains and changing direction so many times that the Dwarves could not have found their way back to the troll hoard if they had so wished. The Wargs and their riders were hideous and terrible, with no weakening or tiring; they would not stop hunting the Dwarf Company until they were successful in ensuring their deaths.
Miluiel, not being used to such escapades, was running near the back of the company with Bilbo, her muscles burning and her lungs aching as she tried to keep pace with the rest of the group. She let out a frightened yelp as the Orc pack wheeled about and began to head towards them over the coarse ground, and she grabbed the Hobbit's hand in her own, dragging him behind her as she changed direction along with the Dwarves. Suddenly, as she looked about her, she realised that the wizard had led them into a valley, out of which there was no escape. Her heart pounded in her ears as she was backed against the muscled shoulders of a Dwarf, and she held tightly to Bilbo's hand. In her other, she had drawn her short blade, and held it out in front of her in a shaking but firm grasp. It was a terrible moment, in which she was convinced that she was going to die; however, she could faintly hear a scraping sound, and then a commanding voice sounded from behind the group.
"This way, you fools!" Gandalf cried, poking his head above a stony outcrop. His eyes were wide as he watched them stumble as quickly as they could over to him, Kili loosing arrows and Ori flipping stones from his slingshot as they moved. Thorin swung his axe down on the neck of a fallen Orc, and followed the group to the apparent safety of Gandalf's position. The wizard directed the group down a crevice behind the rock, and as the group disappeared one by one, a horn sounded from a short distance away, and thundering hooves followed. Miluiel threw herself down the stone chute after Bilbo, landing with a soft thump on her back, and rolled to the side so as to narrowly avoid being landed on by an Orc, which was pierced with pale arrows. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of the creature, and moved to stand, trying to ensure that she was not in the way of any of the descending company. Thorin and Kili were the last to slide down into the dark stone chamber, and it was with disgust that the Dwarven king pulled one of the arrows from the Orc's carcass.
"Elves," he growled with a curl of his lip. Miluiel shrank slightly at his gravelly tone, and ducked behind Fili, who looked at her in concern. He touched her arm and she raised her eyes to his, before moving to Bilbo, who had landed heavily on his wrist. She cradled his hand and pulled the borrowed handkerchief from his pocket, before wrapping his hand so as to give it some support. He hissed through his teeth at the sharp pain that enveloped itself around his joint, but he smiled as she pulled away apologetically, and he thanked her softly with a bob of his curly head.
Dwalin appeared from the curve of a tunnel leading from the cavern they stood in, "I cannot see where the pathway leads; do we follow it?" The Dwarves converged on him as Bofur voiced the thoughts of the company - "Follow, of course!"
The company made their way along the path, Dwalin and Thorin in the lead, and Miluiel and Bilbo bringing up the rear. They were exhausted from their flight over uneven ground, and Miluiel felt the beginning of an insistent throb in her ankle, which had been subjected to more than a few twists and turns as they had made their escape. The pathway began to lead down in a slow descent, and the walls of the cavern began to close in on the company; before long, they were forced to side-step so as to pass through the gap safely.
At last, they made their way out onto a ledge where sunlight split over the gleaming pale surfaces like a cup overflowing with molten gold. Their voices were quieted and there were no sounds other than the laboured breaths of the Hobbit and the awed gasp from Miluiel as she gazed down upon the white city. A waterfall gurgled and splashed down in the valley, and beautiful green trees twisted upward to meet the sun. The magic and majesty of the place swept over them, as if bewitching their senses; they were powerless to resist. Thorin glanced around his company, taking in the awed expressions and the unusual silence, and he turned on Gandalf.
"This is where you were leading us?" he hissed, his voice laced with venom. The wizard only stared at the Dwarf king evenly, before their interaction was interrupted by a small voice.
"Rivendell," Bilbo gasped.
