The wargs and orcs were soon upon us; they swept across the ground like a hurricane- unstoppable and monumental. Their eyes gleamed green in the moonlight whilst their riders were a limpid black. All around me, dwarves were scampering up the pines and I did not delay to follow suite. The tree's bark bit into my skin, scraping my palms as I swung up one branch to the other- ignoring the protests of my own wounds- as I sought to escape the snapping maws of the wargs beneath me. A cold trail of sweat clung to the length of my spine as I settled amidst the high limbs.
"Gundabad Wargs never venture this far south- unless set loose," I mumbled, recalling the strict border patrol the Rangers of the North performed to keep the foul beasts at bay. I could have earthbent the ground beneath our pursuer's feet; I could have airbent them off the very cliff side; I could have done so much…had I regained my bending. I was pulled from my thoughts by the limbs beneath me being ripped away by the ravenous wargs that all but smelt blood in the summer-night air. I could feel the tree groaning beneath the brutal assault.
"Do you smell it? The scent of fear? I remember your father reeked of it, Thorin son of Thrain," Azog's haunting brogue cut through the air, and I shuddered at the fate that had befallen Thrain.
"It cannot be," Thorin groaned, eyes rooted upon the Pale Orc.
"Those two are mine," Azog ordered, aiming his mace at Thorin and then sweeping it to me, "She has interfered too long, the Master wants to her head."
"The trees are giving way!" I called out frantically, "Make ready to jump!"
In a broken domino effect, the pine trees fell one after the other- making everyone scramble to find their feet, only to have to jump onto the next upright tree until we were all clustered in one pine that lay on the edge of the cliff.
Gandalf reached out for one of the pinecones and set it ablaze. The clever wizard hurled it down upon a warg- setting its pelt aflame. And that was only the beginning of the firestorm Gandalf conjured; flames of blue, red, green, and silver burst into sparks at the orcs and wargs below. The dwarves cheered in triumph at the victory over their hunters, but the sensation was untimely ripped from us. The lone pine tree could not bear the weight of our entire company, nor could it endure the greedy flames that hungrily lapped at its roots. With a might shudder, the tree fell until it was parallel with the ground far below us.
I cried out as the branch I was perched on broke off, and would have fallen had it not been for Thorin. He hauled me onto the base of the tree on the side opposite him; our hands gripped the other's forearms fiercely. The dwarf-prince looked around at his kin and comrades, and then slowly looked upon me. A strange light had taken hold in his flint-azure eyes, and that light scared me. "Thorin," I began hesitantly, only to grow panicked when he narrowed his eyes on Azog, "Thorin- Thorin! Look at me!" I lurched awkwardly forward to lean over the tree, and clumsily cupped the side of his face with a trembling hand.
Thorin tore away from my grasp, and determinedly rose to his feet. He looked Azog the Defiler in the eye without fear as he stepped off the tree onto solid ground. He grimaced as he raised Orcrist and held his legendary oak branch shield aloft, and then charged into battle. He sprinted through the fire that feasted all about him- having eyes only for the Pale Orc that awaited him. Something was horribly wrong- Azog did not move- he seemed to be patiently waiting. Just before Thorin was upon them, Azog spurred his mount into action.
Thorin was knocked flat to the ground by the warg as it leapt through the air. My fingers dug into the bark, desperate to find solid grip, and tried to heave myself onto the tree. It was futile. Azog turned about just as Thorin staggered back onto his feet; Thorin raised his shield in preparation for the oncoming strike, but he held it too low- it left his head brutally exposed. With a might swing and shuddering roar, Azog struck Thorin with his crude mace and brought the dwarf-prince once more to the ground.
My heart thundered in its resting place- desperate to escape the confines of my suddenly fragile chest- when I saw the warg bear down upon Thorin. My blood chilled and curdled at Thorin's cry as the beast's maw clamped down on him. Bilbo stood motionless at the base of the tree, eyes wide in horror.
"Go!" I urged the hobbit, and struggled to get on my feet. I grunted behind clenched teeth, and let out an incoherent cry when my grip began to slip.
Thorin brought the butt of Orcrist down on the warg's snout, causing the beast to fling him into a distant boulder. "Bring me the Dwarf's head," Azog said idly over his shoulder to one of his cretins. The latter dismounted and approached Thorin, who was struggling to take hold of his fallen blade. Just as the orc raised its blade from Thorin's neck- I realised a mighty truth.
The dwarf-prince that I always had a way of coming back to through times of peace and war, Thorin Oakenshield, was my anchor. The sensation that rocked through my shuddering chest was akin to when Thraa nearly brought down the mountain side years ago. A mighty gale whipped my hair about my head as I lifted myself away from the tree and onto the ground. Rava thrummed within me, causing that tell-tale glow from the Avatar State. I strode through the fray of dwarves, wargs, and orcs until I was between Azog and Thorin- the only feature giving away my calm countenance was the violent zephyr that whipped around me.
"My Master thought he had rid himself of you."
"You will not touch him," I whispered, a cacophonous myriad of voices from my past lives.