It all went down hill from there. Gandalf arrived just in time to save the dwarves from being brutally murdered to drag them through goblin tunnels, fighting for their lives. Thorin lost track of his nephews a time or two, but when they finally ran out into the sunlight, he made sure they stayed right in front of him, where he could see them and make sure they were safe. The lot skidded to a stop once they were a safe distance away, family quickly gathering together and checking each other over. Thorin pulled Fili and Kili into a hug, closing his eyes for a moment, "Are you alright?"

"Yes, Uncle," Fili gripped Thorin's coat tightly in his hands, burying his head in Thorin's shoulder.

"Now I am," Kili was clinging to both of him, head under Fili's chin somehow. Thorin breathed a sigh of relief before looking over his company. Everyone seemed fine, everyone was there(but Bilbo). Thorin shoved that thought out of his head, focusing on Gandalf.

"We need to move."

"Agreed and we must move quickly. I fear that it will be quite a few days before we can say we are safe," Gandalf looked worried. "The Goblin King's words do not bode well for us."

"He lies," Thorin spat out. "The Defiler is dead."

At that moment, a warg howl ripped through the air. Gandalf gripped his sword tightly, "Out of the pan."

"And into the fire. Run!" Thorin roared as he pushed the boys ahead of them. They raced down the mountain, madly dashing as fast as they could. Thorin heard the snarls of the wargs behind them.

"Up, into the trees!" Gandalf yelled and the dwarves quickly obeyed. Thorin had just gotten up into the tree before the wargs appeared, snarling down below. Coming towards them slower were orcs on wargs and a very familiar one sat in the center.

"No," Thorin whispered. "It cannot be."

There, on his white warg, was Azog the Defiler. The arm Thorin had removed in the battle for Moria had been replaced by a metal hook. The orc looked positively joyful, smiling darkly up at the dwarves. He spoke in his dark language, but Thorin caught his name and his father's. He growled, but there was nothing he could do to stop the wargs from attacking the trees except jumping as most of the pines fell till there was only the one standing on the edge of the cliff. Thorin could not believe his luck. In just a day he had lost his One and now his enemy, thought dead, was now laughing at him as the sky turned dark. Thorin didn't have long to ponder his predicament because soon the others were throwing burning pinecones down at the wargs, scaring them off. It was a small victory, however, for Thorin felt the tree shift as the others cheered and got a firm grip on his branch just as there was a loud snap. The tree fell backwards, holding onto the cliff by a few roots. All around them was fire and shouting, but all Thorin could see was Azog. That smirking orc sitting on his warg, smug, cruel. He'd taken Thorin's grandfather, Thorin's father, Thorin's brother and now he wanted to take Thorin's company, Thorin's new family. Thorin had already lost too much on this quest. He wasn't going to lose them.

Standing tall on the tree, Thorin drew his sword, striding forward as he readjusted his grip on his oaken shield. He heard the others yelling, but it was a distant sound. He saw Azog's smile darken as the orc drew his own sword, leaning forward as Thorin started to run once his feet hit solid ground. His blood was up, his mind was clear. He'd lost his home, he'd lost bits of his family, he'd lost comfort and his joy. He'd let it all take hold, making him bitter. Then Bilbo had come and reminded him about living, about how to see beauty again. He saw how he was so hard on his nephews, how he had been pushing Balin and Dwalin away. How he had been hurting any sort of relationship he could be forming with the others. He'd changed, but now his One was gone. Thorin wasn't going to let Bilbo's death be for nothing. No, he was going to kill this orc once and for all. Thorin let out a battle cry, sword up and ready as he raced down the hall created by the burning trees around him. Orcist glinted in the fire light, reflecting Thorin's grim, dirty face back at him. This, this was the mighty King under the Mountain. Thorin Oakenshield, Son of Thrain, son of Thror. Uncle to Fili and Kili. Brother to Dis. Shield-brother to Dwalin. Protector of the people of Erebor, the lost city of the dwarves. Gone was the prince who had led his people to a new home.

Azog didn't see any of the changes, only one of the line of Durin, the cursed dwarves who had slayed his family for years. He saw his chance to make the orcs a mighty race, to be feared and served. He saw his chance to create Middle Earth anew under his mighty hand. He heard Thorin's battle cry and matched it with one of his own. He shouted to his ancestors for strength as he urged his warg forward, sword ready. He saw the realization in Thorin's eyes as the might white warg bore down on him. He saw the fear chase the dwarf's courage away, snuffing out any hope. He saw victory in that fear. He saw his empire born. He felt it get ripped to shreds as something heavy and thick slam into his side, sending him flying, away from the dwarf. He saw Thorin skid to a stop as he slammed into the unforgiving earth. He saw huge black claws sink into the tree holding the dwarves as his white warg slammed into him, dead. He watched as a mighty beast set the tree on solid ground. He saw black limbs snack out, throwing his wargs and orcs around like dolls.

The last thing Azog the Defiler saw before Thorin Oakenshield sliced his head from his body was one single, shining black eye as the massive head of a dragon opened wide to burn his orc pack from existence.

Azog and Thorin had counted on one of them dying that night. Neither had counted on one angry, flustered and injured Bilbo Baggins to show up.