Thanks a lot for your reviews, and also a warm welcome to new followers! It's good to know that there are still people reading this (and Hobbit fanfics in general), since lately it seems to me as if the "Hobbit euphoria" has cooled down a little. Which is a shame because I'm in full-on Middle-earth mode - even more so now that I got tickets for both the movie marathon AND the convention :D

Anyway, here's the new chapter, and I apologise in advance for being so mean...

10: Don't fall

"Thorin, no!"

Dwalin heard his brother's call, and his head shot up to search for his friend. Thorin was leaving the company, and Dwalin didn't need to hear the frightening roar to know the reason for it. Only one could make his leader abandon his friends, just one would rob him off all reason.

Azog.

His eyes suddenly spotted Fíli and Kíli, and he cursed under his breath. He started to run after them, calling Fíli by his name, and he could hear Balin shouting his own name in return. It was madness, he knew it. They were still under attack, as he learned when another orc suddenly stood in his way which he killed like a fly without even stopping his movements. His comrades needed him. But he had made a vow to protect the line of Durin, and he had stuck to it through all his life. Mahal forbid he broke that vow now.

Raising Grasper high above his head, he followed his king, and the first orc that dared stand in his way regretted it the very instant he made the acquaintance of his axe.

"Well met," growled Dwalin. He darted past several dead bodies und almost bumped into an elf that came at him. The elf cursed, and Dwalin grinned under his beard. It was the first time he'd heard such foul language from the mouth of a pointy-ear, and he told himself to remember it later. It would surely amuse Thorin, and Durin knew he hadn't had much to laugh about lately.

While he was still chuckling to himself, a yell reached his ears. His grin faded, and he could feel all colour leaving his face as he watched the fight not far away from him.

"Fíli!"

He knew the youth couldn't hear him over the noises of battle, and even if it was quieter Dwalin doubted that he would even notice him. Having an arrow sticking out of your shoulder could do that to you, the seasoned warrior knew that. From the distance he saw Fíli stopping dead in his tracks, his body going rigid for a second, and as he turned his head Dwalin thought he could see his eyes widening. Kíli came running towards him, and Dwalin's own legs started moving again. But even as he ran Fíli grabbed the arrow shaft and pulled.

"Ah, laddie, that was stupid," Dwalin muttered, despite the pride he felt when his former pupil didn't utter a sound at what must surely have hurt a lot. His gaze went to Thorin, and his breath caught in his throat when he saw what he hadn't seen before.

Azog, the pale orc, was facing his friend. Immediately images appeared before his inner eye, of Thorin attacking Azog, of Thorin being hit by the mace, of Thorin lying motionlessly on the ground, as pale as Death himself.

For a moment he couldn't move, all he could do was stare at his old brother in arms, and from him to his young nephews, one with blood running down his shoulder, one limping badly as he parried an attack, and to the orcs that slowly moved against them.

It was just a moment of distraction, but it was enough. Dwalin sensed rather than saw the movement behind him, and he turned around quickly, raising his weapon in a desperate attempt of defence. It saved his life, yet he couldn't completely block the club that had been swung to crush his skull. It shattered his chainmail and met the harder material of his breastplate, and it took the wind off Dwalin as his ribcage failed to resist the impact. He gasped for air, his weapon suddenly too heavy for his hand, and the orc sneered and attacked once more. Dwalin stumbled backwards, trying desperately to control his breathing and get rid of the stars before his eyes.

It takes more than a filthy orc to knock me out.

But the orc came closer, and still Dwalin's arms were shaking. For a split second the thought came to him that he might actually die. He conjured all his willpower to raise his axe as the orc launched itself at him, but when the creature moved forwards a high-pitched scream suddenly pierced the air. A figure flung itself at the orc, and the beast screeched and turned away from Dwalin. He could faintly see a dagger sticking out of the orc's chest before the enemy had its back on him. The figure flew through the air like a puppet, and the orc roared triumphantly as it jumped after its victim. In one hand it held the club, and in the other an evil looking sword that glinted in the pale light of the moon.

It was that sight that Dwalin's dazzled brain needed.

"Step away!" he bellowed, raising both axes as he ran at the orc that seemed to ignore him.

A terrible cry of agony told Dwalin that he had waited too long. He screwed his eyes shut for the shortest of times, and then Grasper and Keeper buried themselves in the shoulders of the orc, cleaving his arms cleanly off. A second strike separated head from body.

The tattooed dwarf didn't waste a moment on the dead enemy, but rushed past him, preparing himself for the worst.

The worst scenario didn't even come close to what he found.

"Oh Mahal, no," he whispered, crashing to his knees next to the wounded dwarf, "what in Durin's name are you doing here?"

"No one had seen them," replied the dwarf hoarsely, and his eyes were shiny as he stared at Dwalin, one hand reaching out to his left thigh. "My leg..."

"Don't, Ori."

Dwalin tried his best to keep his face neutral as he quickly examined the young scribe's injury. Silently he cursed the bravery and stubbornness of his race. Ori should never have come here, he thought as he pressed his fingers onto the wound that kept spurting blood at an alarming rate.

His bravery just saved your life.

"Dwalin, please, my brothers," gasped Ori, pain etched upon his pale face as he grabbed the sleeve of Dwalin's leather shirt.

"They're alive," grumbled Dwalin, and he decided to not tell the younger one that it had indeed been some time since he'd last seen Dori and Nori.

"Thank the Valar," murmured Ori, and he lifted his head to look at the wound in his leg. His eyes grew wide, and his breathing suddenly became irregular as he stared at Dwalin's fingers that were slick with scarlet blood. Then his head dropped back against the ground, and the older warrior cursed loudly.

"Damnit, lad, stay –"

Awake, he had intended to say, but before he could finish his sentence a warg appeared before the two dwarves on the ground. The fresh blood had probably attracted the beast, and Dwalin growled and stood threateningly above Ori.

"Don't even think of it."

The wolf-like creature howled once, then jumped at the dwarves, and its howling mingled with Dwalin's battle cry as he sunk his axe into the warg's neck. It shouldn't have been enough to finish the creature, but just as Dwalin eyed his axe in surprise a man appeared behind the dead animal. Only then the dwarf noticed the two arrows sticking out of the beast.

"Thank you," Dwalin called, but the man was gone before the dwarf had the chance to ask him for help.

His fingers were covered in red, frighteningly hot blood, and Dwalin scanned the area in despair to find someone to come to his aid. But Thorin was still fighting Azog, and Fíli and Kíli were keeping the orcs away from the fighting pair, and part of Dwalin urged him to race to them and fulfil his duty. Ori groaned quietly, and Dwalin snapped from his thoughts. They were doing alright.

They'll be fine.

He repeated these words while he ripped a piece of cloth from his tunic and bound it tightly around Ori's leg. He winced when the young dwarf cried out, and to his surprise he found that his hands were shaking as he put them onto his friend's shoulders.

"Hold on, Ori. Don't worry, the healers will patch you up and you'll be back on your feet in no time."

Carefully he lifted the dwarf up, and he tried his best to not look at the large amount of blood the injured one left on the ground. He was no healer, and he surely had seen dwarves lose more blood and still be alright, but then again Ori had always been rather small and light, and Dwalin had no idea how much blood loss would be fatal. Right now the blood staining the ground, his hands and the side of Ori's leg looked like it could easily serve at least two grown men, or at least that was what it seemed like to Dwalin.

Stay calm. You're doing him no favour if you panic.

"Dwalin?" The voice was barely audible, but filled with fear.

"Just a few steps, lad," said Dwalin as he ran across the battle field with Ori in a fireman's lift, using one hand to wield his axe and the other to hold his wounded friend.

"Tell my brothers –"

"No," Dwalin interrupted him rather harshly. "You'll tell them yourself. You tell them yourself, you understand that?"

But he got no answer, and when he looked at Ori's pale face he saw that his eyelids were dropping closed, and his breathing became frighteningly shallow. Blood was still dripping down his leg and onto Dwalin's armour despite the binding.

"No, Ori, come on, don't do that. Don't do that!" He was begging, he realised, begging the Valar to stop this cruelty. "We'll get through this, you understand me? You'll see the new dawn tomorrow, and the sun will dry the blood on this damned field, and you'll be fine, I promise. Just hold on, Ori, please."

He kept talking while his feet moved automatically, and after what seemed like eternity he found himself in front of the healers' tent.

"Somebody help me!" he cried out, his heart growing cold as Ori didn't even stir when he shouted.

An elf appeared before him, and she rushed over to the two dwarves with a frown on her beautiful face. Instinctively Dwalin pressed Ori closer to his body.

"I need a dwarven healer," he growled angrily. To his surprise the elf wasn't taken aback, but instead offered a friendly smile.

"There are some of your kin inside, but they are busy at the moment." She narrowed her eyes as she looked at Ori. "He is gravely injured. Let me help him. Please."

Never before had an elf treated him with such respect, and Dwalin didn't know what it was that made him step towards her. Maybe it was the concern in her blue eyes, or the urgency in her voice, or simply the fact that she had said "Please". But he wordlessly put Ori into her arms and watched her carrying him into the tent.

He stayed where he was, unable to move for a moment. His fingers were coated in dried blood, and where his armour had once been covered in black, sticky orc blood the dark was now mingled with the brightly red blood of his friend. He stared at his hands and he could still feel Ori's light body going limp in his grip, and his eyes started to burn in a way they hadn't done for decades. He bit his lip, and the pain distracted him from the one inside for a while.

He took a deep breath, and another, and then he squared his broad shoulders and grasped his weapons. His friends still needed him, and he wouldn't let them down. If it was the last thing he did, he would protect them.

Don't fall, I see lights in the distance
They're not far away
Stand up because the sky is turning grey

(Rise Against, "Long forgotten sons")

A/N 1: I'm sorry, Gisela... but I just couldn't let Ori stay behind. I've always imagined him to get involved in the battle and that somehow he'd end up with Dwalin (in a completely non-slash kind of way).

A/N 2: The moment I first heard the lyrics of the song, I had this image of Ori before my eyes. A lot of the songs I use in this story were changed around several times because they fit several chapters and/or characters - but this one always belonged to Ori.

A/N 3: Next one will be Fíli. You might want to start stocking up on tissues, as we're getting closer to certain events that I would love not to think about every effing day. ;(