Warnings: Blood and violence. Gore.
The goblins were regrouping in the valley, and the dwarves' strength was being sorely tested. Bard and his archers had called the rest of the men and the rest of Tauriel's host to them and were forming a line against the Mountain, but it was weak, and Bard must have known it; his face, always grim, looked like thunder. The bats were sinking lower in the sky. For a moment, Tauriel hesitated. Her head was spinning – the enemy was coming from so many sides, and she had so few soldiers. Her first instinct was to assist Bard; his host was far smaller than that of the dwarves. But if the bottleneck the dwarves were holding was unstopped, they would be overwhelmed in minutes.
Tauriel looked to the dwarves, to the men, and back again. Most of her troops were already well amongst the fighting, and to call them to her now and redistribute would only cause confusion and panic. It could be mistaken for a retreat; if the men or dwarves believed she was abandoning them, they would pull back, and all would be lost.
Tauriel's boots skidded on the blood of the soldier with the arrow through her neck, but she pressed on, leaving footprints on the rocks as she made for the cliff sides and began to climb them. The orcs hadn't yet turned their attention to them, and she encountered no-one.
She was looking for Bolg. Part of her knew it was the right thing to do – let the bulk of the soldiers keep the orcs at bay whilst she looked for the leader behind the rabble. Part of her was doing it for Legolas. She would stick the orc in his ankles, and then she would behead him. Her heart felt a little steadier when she thought of it.
The sides grew steeper. Soon Tauriel was hanging by her hands on the rocks, knuckles white with the effort and her toes scrabbling for purchase. The wind was rising. The bats hadn't yet spotted her, but if they did she had no doubt they would attack and send her plummeting down. Even if she survived the fall, she'd find herself right in the middle of the orcish ranks. She twisted her head, flicking her hair out of her eyes, and quickly scanned the army below. Bolg would be surrounded by his guards; she was hoping he was easy to see.
He wasn't. Either he hadn't yet joined the fray, or he was going without the usual circle of guards.
The bats were circling lower. Tauriel reluctantly began to scramble down the rocks; staying so high up for any longer would be more than stupid. She would return to Bard and help him fight the orcs on the Mountain, and hope Bolg was amongst them instead.
There was a flash of white. Tauriel froze in position, watching as a fresh host of orcs and wargs burst into the fray, baying like wounded bears. Riding in the centre was what could only be Azog, seated upon his white warg and with is mouth open in a cry that was drowned by the wind. Tauriel almost lost her hold; he was larger than any orc she had seen before. His warg streaked through the masses of both armies and burst into the valley unhindered, charging to the Mountain.
He will head straight for wherever Thorin Oakenshield is.
Tauriel began to slide down the wall so fast she left burns on her palms, desperate to reach Bard before Azog did and knowing all the time the task was hopeless; from her height, she couldn't even should a warning, the chances of it being heard were so impossible. And even if someone did hear, the orcs would reach her before her own side did. Her foot slipped, her elbow jerked and she dropped five feet before her knife found purchase in a crack in the rocks and she was brought to a halt with a gut-churning jerk. At the same moment, there was an almighty crash.
The rocks that barricaded the entrance to the Mountain had collapsed, not inward, but out, into the pool, which was still rippling from the force. Thorin was first over the rubble, armour glinting in the last of the light and his axe scything through goblins and orcs without discrimination. In that moment, nothing could touch him. Azog saw it, and he let out a scream of fury that made the rocks ring.
The two of them came together in a clash of steel, and Tauriel tore herself away from the scene. The encounter was too far away for her to reach; she could only hope Thorin was victorious, and Bard careful not to let himself get killed. The Lake-people would need him after this was over. If the numbers of bodies were anything to go by, there would be a lot of fatherless children by morning.
No time to think about it. Tauriel continued to make her decent, breath hot against her face as she pressed her face to the rocks and began to work her way sideways, so she could drop into her own ranks, rather than straight into the enemy.
As she shifted backward, the bend in the bottleneck came into sight, and something caught her eye. A circle. A circle of orcs with curved swords the size of young trees and, in the middle, what could only be Bolg.
Thorin had Azog. If Tauriel could get to Bolg, their chances of winning the battle would improve. But this wasn't about the battle. It was about Legolas.
Bolg was keeping a little back from his troops, well-protected, not only by his guards, but by the sheer numbers of his army which blocked any route to him. Any route except for the cliffs Tauriel was clinging to.
None but an elf could have scaled them, and none but a wood-elf could have kept their hold for so long, but Tauriel had spent her whole life in the trees, and she knew how to move through heights. It was just the same, she told herself, clawing her way across the vertical rock face, slipping every other step but always finding a hold to catch herself. She was thankful her hair and skin were both caked in dirt; even in the dim light, it was possible she could be seen. But she was lucky. The battle raged on, the horns blew, the wolves howled, men screamed, and Tauriel kept making her way through the valley, inch by agonising inch, until she was adjacent with Bolg and his guard, but still well above them.
Climbing down was easy; she moved fast, taking stock of the orc's positions as she slid down stone, grazed her heels upon landing, and began to run.
If she'd been Thranduil Bolg would have recognised her – she had seen the king's armour, and it was far from discreet – but she was a simple soldier, a silven elf in plain clothes, and that made him careless. The guards saw her coming and looked at each other in surprise, and then amusement, to see a single elf charging a host of orcs. One or two seemed to laugh, although they didn't lower their weapons for an instant. They expected her to go straight for their leader. And she would. But not yet.
From the heights, she had seen someone else; someone approaching at a loping speed that was so silent the orcs had not heard it coming. All their attention was fixed on Tauriel. They expected to cut her to pieces. They did not expect to be set on from behind by a giant black bear, his jaws open, eyes bright, crushing two of the guards in his grip. Tauriel skidded to the left whist the orcs were distracted, brought her knives up and jumped, hammering both blades home, each in a separate guard's neck. They shuddered and began to collapse; Tauriel ripped at the knife handles, yanking one free. The other refused to come loose, so she left it, taking advantage of the height of the orcs before they fell and flinging herself forward a second time. She only needed one knife to kill Bolg, and it would have slammed into the back of his neck, just as it had the guards, if he hadn't happened to turn at the last moment. Beorn – Tauriel knew it must be him, although she had never met him – was preoccupied ripping the last of the guards to pieces, and Bolg seemed to have taken the chance to flee. His movement put him at the wrong angle.
Tauriel's knife slid into his shoulder and stayed there, grinding on bone as he roared in pain, spinning around in an attempt to reach her. Tauriel dug her fingernails into his thick skin and hung on grimly. It was easier than she had expected; Bolg's armour was rough and full of spikes that were easy to hold onto, even if they did almost take her eye out.
She knew she didn't have long before Bolg was able to get a firm grip on her. She needed her knife back. There was surprisingly little blood coming from the wound – the blade was blocking it – and if she could pull it out it would have the nice advantage of increasing bloodloss. Her hand fastened round the handle, and she yanked, hard. Bolg growled as the knife shifted, slid a little, and stuck again. Tauriel was about to make a second attempt when Bolg stopped making furious attempts to reach her, and started to use his head instead.
Deep down, she had known he must be clever – anyone who had managed to injure Legolas had to be more than just lucky. But, in the heat of the moment, it had been easy to forget. It came as a great surprise to her when Bolg suddenly let himself go limp; she had no time to react before he slammed into the ground, breaking his fall on her and driving the handle of the knife into her palm as her hand hit the floor. Tauriel heard herself scream, heard it trail off into a choking wheeze as Bolg's spine ground into her chest. She had turned her head at the last moment, and the spikes on his armour had missed her eyes, but her cheek was leaking blood into the ground. Her hand wasn't bleeding, but she could feel bones shift when she tried to move her fingers. The knife handle had cracked something. Pain slid up her arm and into her neck as she tried to move, and found she couldn't.
The fact that the wet ground had been slightly churned by the panicked last struggles of Bolg's guards had probably saved her life; although Bolg had bruised and winded her, he hadn't crushed her ribs. He was already on his feet. He had his back to her. Tauriel realised that there was an awful lot of blood coming from her cheek, and more from her temple; it was running into her ears. No doubt, she looked dead. She stayed still, remembering to breathe and trying desperately not to move her chest as she did. Pain was making her vision sharp, and she could see the individual hairs around Beorn's eyes as he made a charge.
The two clashed together in a roar of gnashing teeth, steel and claw. Beorn was attempting to reach his arms around Bolg and grasp him in a fatal hug, but Bolg wasn't letting himself be drawn into it; he kept retreating, slashing at every step. Beorn's paws were leaking blood, and his tongue dripped saliva. Bolg was a skilled fighter, and unless he was distracted Beorn would come out of the encounter poorly, despite his great size.
Slowly, Tauriel raised herself onto one elbow. Neither of the fighters looked to her; Bolg thought she was dead, and Beorn clearly wasn't interested. They were focused on each other. Good. Her right hand was heavy and soft, like rotting wood, but the other was functional.
She took it at a run, cradling her right arm to her chest and raising the left, knowing that she would only have one chance, and that Beorn would not spare her if she got in the way. The grass shuddered under her feet as she skidded to a halt behind Bolg, ducked to avoid the swing of his massive arm, reached up and yanked the handle of the protruding knife down.
Even the howl of pain wasn't enough to cover the sound of crunching bone. The wound was far from fatal, but that hadn't been the point. As Tauriel skittered backwards, well out of the reach of Bolg's sword, Beorn's massive arms encircled Bolg. Bone crunched a second time. Bolg clung to life, kicking and growling and stabbing at the paws as best he could with his semi-pinned sword, but Beorn continued to crush and crush until the orc's eyes were popping out of his head and the bones of his shoulders burst through the skin.
Tauriel watched the whole thing without flinching, without feeling guilty for the savage sense of glee that was filling her from head to toe, wiping out the pain in her hand, wiping out the memory of Legolas stumbling on the jetty, of Thranduil letting the family portrait slip from between his fingers, of the soldier with the arrow through her neck. There was only Bolg, and Bolg was dying. She was not going to pretend he didn't deserve it, and look away.
Beorn let the body drop and raised on his hind legs; his body seemed to shrink and thin, bulk disappearing to be replaced with a blood-spattered, naked man with a mane of brown hair and the same, fierce eyes of the bear.
Tauriel bowed a little at the waist. As she did, what was left of Bolg came into her view; her knife had been bent by the force of Beorn's arms. She would have to get a new one. "We have not met, Beorn, but I would thank you for your service to our cause."
Beorn said nothing at first; when he spoke, his voice was thick and rich. "You enjoyed that."
Tauriel blinked, and raised her head, straightening her back and holding it straight, even though her legs were throbbing from exertion. There would be more fighting yet. She could not allow them to hurt. "Yes." There was no point in denying it. He was not questioning her. "Didn't you?"
"No." Beorn's voice rumbled in his throat and bounced off Tauriel's chest, making her ribs shake. "I hate orcs, but I do not enjoy killing. You do. Even for an elf."
"Do not pretend you do not hate them too," Tauriel said, unable to prevent her jaw clenching. The chains on Beorn's wrists kept drawing her eye, but she forced herself not to look. "I helped you."
"Do you expect my gratitude? You are a foolish elf; you have lost your knives and your hand."
Tauriel said nothing, but she straightened her spine until she felt like it might burst through the nape of her neck.
Beorn looked like he might have smiled, but his face was too sad to maintain it. "I will help you as best I can, though I do not think it will do much good. This battle is already lost."
Tauriel looked at the tides of orcs still fighting; perhaps Thorin had fared badly against Azog, or perhaps they hadn't yet realised they were leaderless, but they were showing no signs of retreat. She glanced at the rock face she had climbed across, and down at her hand. She would not be able to climb back to join the fray, and fighting through it with only one knife was worse than stupid. It would take an hour to run around the back of the Mountain, and even then she would have to find a way down in secret. She could not make it back. She would not see the end of the battle, and she was not sure she wanted to. The orcs were too many. They would lose.
Beorn was watching her; she wondered if he could see defeat creeping into her body. "Escape now. Go back to your kin, raise another army; we will need a counter-attack when this is done."
"I cannot abandon my soldiers. If we are defeated, the ravens will bring the news to Greenwood." To a council without a king, a depleted army with no leader. The bleakness of it left a sour taste in her mouth. She wondered if she should go – go and be a leader. But there was no use in it; she had bargained fiercely to be allowed to come to the Mountain, and even if she did return a coward the council would push her away. What little she could do, she would do here. "They will do what they can."
Beorn did not call her foolish a second time. He didn't need to – she knew she was living up to the word as she spoke. He only shook his head. "Follow me closely; I will cut a path through the orcs, but it will not stay open for long. Get your other knife."
Tauriel nodded, turned and walked toward the pile of bodies, searching for the orc it was buried in. As she pulled it out, a howling went up. By the time she whipped around Beorn was well into the orcs, cutting, as he'd promised a line through them. A line without her; a line that closed so quickly she had no time to get to her feet before the opening was gone. Beorn was, silently, telling her to go back. Forcing her. As she looked at the rock face, she knew she could not climb it. She could not attack the orcs from behind alone. She was trapped. Her only option was to turn back.
She waited a moment, breathing in the smell of blood and dust, and, without contemplating turning back, wondering how she could reach the front lines again.
She was still wondering when a shadow passed over her face, and the eagles swept into view.
So I am very much playing with the book here, due to the fact the films introduced a number of characters who weren't in the final army, like Azog.
Thanks for reading, feedback welcome!
To be continued.