The charge shouldn't have taken the orcs by surprise, but for whatever reason they fell back before the line of Durin and their followers. Fíli heard Morwinyon laugh, high and wild, but he couldn't look now. Ahead of him Thorin barreled into the first orc to stand its ground. It fell quickly, but the three after stood too and one knocked Orcrist aside. It didn't have time to do more than laugh and raise its weapon before Fíli removed its hand at the wrist and kicked it backwards.

Morwinyon outpaced him and slammed into another, raking the ever-so-slightly pointed pommel of her sword across the orc's eyes so it gave ground. She promptly ran it through. Behind her one of the elves hacked at the next orc to come too close to Fíli, and Kíli shot the next near Morwinyon.

Fíli hadn't seen Morwinyon fight anything more than Smaug (anything more, he scoffed to himself as he shifted so a blow glanced off his pauldron instead of his head), and she had been good. That had been with a bow, though, and maybe that made the difference: now she was something aside from good. It wasn't her skill that surprised him – it only made sense that she was good with a sword, she was a woman with an interest in the arts of war and had had more than a century to practice. He just hadn't expected her to be quite so vicious.

Morwinyon spilled blood nearly every time she struck, even if it was just to rake her nails down the face of an orc who hadn't bothered with a helmet, even if it was a jagged shallow scrape with the hilt of her sword. She didn't always aim for lethal blows, either – she took what openings there were and exploited them ruthlessly. She stamped on feet. She elbowed throats. She grabbed hair and slit throats and was splashed all over with blood.

Dwalin, when Fíli managed a glance in his direction, jerked his head at Morwinyon, made a face of grudging approval, and went back to hacking with his axe. Morwinyon forged farther ahead, one of the elves tailing her along with some of Dain's dwarves, Bofur, and Oin.

A streak of gleaming silver swung over Fíli's head and the orc about to bring a maul up into his face fell, face split in half crosswise.

"Pay attention, lordling," the other elf who had accompanied his wife admonished, accent thick. Fíli couldn't tell if they were male or female, but maybe that didn't matter to elves the way it did to humans. He'd have Kíli find out so no one caused a diplomatic incident later.

Fíli realized he'd drifted from Thorin in the battle. His uncle was not alone in a sea of orcs, but he wasn't well-backed either, so Fíli shouted for the elf to follow him and began carving a path back to his uncle, ignoring the niggling thought that it might be easier if Thorin died here with honor – or if Fíli did.

"Ravenscar," Thorin shouted at him when he drew close. Kíli arrived moments later, Dwalin with him. Fíli turned to search for Morwinyon and jostled the elf guard's elbow.

"Now," Thorin snapped, so Fíli gritted his teeth and followed without locating his wife.

Battle was exhausting. Morwinyon would have reflected further on the theme if she had not had to defend herself immediately after she downed another orc. She had lost Wilyar to a troll sometime after they were separated from the bulk of the dwarven forces. Bofur fell into his place with barely a pause, keeping her from being spitted on a javelin. In return she swept Delu over his head and decapitated the orc about to bring a rusted morningstar down on him.

"Where are they going?" Oin demanded, bashing an unfortunate orc's knees. The orc shrieked and fell, knees bent at odd angles. Oin dispatched him as Morwinyon stole a glance in the direction he had indicated: Thorin, Fíli, Kíli, and Orvaië were moving away.

"Azog's on Ravenscar," Bofur said as he used his lower center of balance to stop an orc in its tracks. One of Dain's people bashed the orc in the head with a shield. "They're going there."

"I am going there," Morwinyon said, and darted after the sons of Durin.

"Bother," Oin said.

Orvaië kept pace with them easily on the way up the mountain. Fíli was not surprised. He was also not surprised that she ignored Thorin entirely, though he wished she wouldn't.

"Thorin is in charge here," he told her the sixth time she looked back at Fíli before following Thorin's very sensible directions.

"I serve the children of Fëanor," Orvaië said. "Thorin is not in charge of me."

Kíli made a face. Fíli didn't blame him.

"I'm not a child of Fëanor," Fíli muttered.

"You are the closest thing I have to one at this moment," Orvaië said, looking down her nose at him, chin raised higher than he thought it normally would be.

Well then. Story of his life. Closest thing to a child of Fëanor when one wasn't available, closest thing to a king when Thorin wasn't available, and closest thing to a son when Thorin didn't have one.

That last wasn't fair, and neither was the closest thing to a king. Dwalin and Kíli still snuck glances at him as if to reassure themselves that he was still following Thorin, and Thorin knew it. Fíli could tell his uncle was trying not to be angry.

Once again Fíli considered how much easier it might be, politically speaking, if he died here. His mother would be upset though, and Morwinyon and Kíli and probably Dwalin. Thorin would be too, he knew, but he wasn't quite ready to consider Thorin's feelings on the matter.

There wouldn't be these looks, though. There wouldn't be this confusion. Everyone would know who to look to, and maybe Thorin wouldn't go haring off into the wilds. Thorin would have to at least make sure Kíli knew what he was doing before he went.

Kíli would be miserable, but Kíli was adaptable. He'd figure it out. Dis would go on as she always had no matter how sad she was – the reliable one, the survivor, the only one of three children to continue the direct line of Kings Under the Mountain. Kíli could deal with that responsibility too, Fíli thought uncharitably. It was easier than the ruling part, anyway, and Morwinyon – maybe Morwinyon would help with the ruling part. Maybe she'd stay.

Of course, if Morwinyon stayed Orvaië probably would too. That seemed like a bad idea.

An arrow shattered against the path, right at Thorin's feet. Orvaië flicked a knife, almost dismissively: it lodged neatly in the eye of the enemy archer as the small party of orcs around it jeered. Fíli decided to stop considering what ifs until there were fewer orcs to deal with.

"Do you know," Morwinyon asked the mountain as she scrabbled up the same part she had seen Fíli and the others walk up easily not that long ago, "I think you might be doing this on purpose."

Her foot slipped, sending her sliding down to only slightly higher than she had been. She gritted her teeth. "Which makes no sense," she continued after she caught her balance. "Do you still think I will go away if you make my life difficult? If so you are mistaken."

The previously solid-looking stone she planted her foot on as she spoke crumbled.

"I am not leaving, you stupid lump of rock," Morwinyon snarled. "If Fíli is here, then I will be here." She dug in her heels so she did not slide even farther down. "You can help me or you can get out of my way."

However little sense that made, she felt better for having said it. She took a step forward, tested, and settled her whole weight on the spot. It held. She huffed and took another step, and another. By the fifth she stopped to look suspiciously around.

She was on a path. It looked as if it went for a short while and then hatchbacked up the mountain.

Morwinyon narrowed her eyes. "And of course this happening earlier was out of the question."

The edge near her foot crumbled slightly.

"Yes, thank you," Morwinyon said hastily, and began to follow the path.