Author's note:
Thank you for your patience my lovelies. thanks for the reviews: Haku's Lover, Jampaqd, Mfaerie32, Tuonora, Celebreswith, kasmira36, amber85, margaritasc.
Here we go. Tissue alert.
AW
Thranduil glared at the newly arriving, squat, fierce dwarf warriors with renewed fire. These dwarves from the east meant trouble. Every one of them was a fully outfitted a warrior, and their leader, who was a tall, red bearded, horn adorned wide hulk of a dwarf, looked even more stubborn than Thorin. Thranduil surmised he could stand to lose many of his elves in this fight. What before was smoke and mirrors, a flexing of elvish muscle to show the belligerent King under the Mountain that he stood no chance of winning this confrontation had now become a very real, very delicate, very dangerous situation. The elf king turned to Bard, who was sitting astride his horse besides him, flabbergasted. Bard looked back at him.
"Come." He bade, in a low voice, as he turned his elk and rode swiftly to the eastern flank of his forces. The elf army reconfigured and turned in Thranduil's wake, an efficient wave like blanket of motion following their leader's flowing cape. Thanduil slowed and turned, standing solidly to face the forces that had arrived.
Dain rode the large boar on ahead of his forces, down the hill, but finally came to a noisy, metal clanking, full stop upon an outcropping. The entire dwarf army halted and settled down in neat rows behind him, weapons still brandished. Slowly, just Bard and Thranduil rode on ahead to speak with Dain.
"Well now…" the large, somewhat cocky dwarf bellowed, in a loud, gruff voice. "It is this fine break of day I come to visit my kin." He said, as he looked towards Erebor. "But look what I have found in me way." He added pompously. "Foes, knocking on my cousin's door."
"Foes we do not intend to make of him or you." Bard said. "But we have unfinished business with Thorin Oakenshield and his company."
"This has nothing to do with you or the dwarfs of the Iron Hills." Thranduil spat, glaring at Dain. Dain laughed loudly.
"Whatever business you have with my kin" he shouted, his face becoming seriously menacing "…is business with me." Dain growled, baring his teeth. The air was thick with discord and confrontation. Thranduil's glare at the large dwarf darkened.
"Dain, son of Nain…Lord of the Iron Hills!" A low pitched, gravelly voice suddenly interrupted. The Maiar strode forward from in between the solid rows of elves and men to the hallowed space in between the sparring leaders. Dain looked down at the approaching wizard with a feigned smile and sighed loudly.
"Gandalf…" Dain said, patronizingly. "The Grey Wizard…I should have known you would not be far away from such disagreement in these lands." He continued. "Keeping company with tree sprites, are we now?"
Thranduil, who had been perfectly still, shifted in his seat upon the elk with a grin, his face a painted mask of distain. Gandalf looked back at the elf king, then back at Dain.
"There is no need for this confrontation, my Lord Dain." Gandalf said, placing his hand on his chest. "Such matters can be settled with discussion among civil folk." Gandalf insisted.
"There were agreements in honor bound, and settlements to be paid." Bard said loudly. "All we all want is what we are owed." He said. Dain sat up on his ride and leaned one way, as he glanced towards Erebor.
"Hmmm." He said, rubbing his beard. "You did not come to the door of Erebor with an army such as this for a civil visit. I do believe there is some disagreement with your agreement. The dwarves there in Erebor obviously say… Nay to your bequest." Dain barked. "So…you best be on your way…or else a fight will you will have." He warned.
"We will go only after we have been given that which is ours." Thranduil said loudly, approaching Dain slowly. Teeth bared and eyes sharpened…
Gandalf looked away briefly, staring to the south, where a barely discernable haze was rising over the southern rim of the mountain. He turned back around to see the leaders squabbling, the elf and man army brandishing weapons, and the dwarves raising their mattocks. Gandalf had had enough. He raised his staff and smashed it upon the rocky ground. Lightning sprung forth, and a wave of force set out from him that pushed all those surrounding him, unsettling the leaders on their mounts, knocking over some of the nearby soldiers. They all turned to him, awestruck.
"Halt! Halt I say!" He shouted, in a powerful, voice as if spoken by a person several times his stature, one that shook deep in the chest of everyone around. "Dread has come upon us all!" He said as he pointed the staff to the southernmost rim, where a sea of black ork soldiers, marching row by row over the hill, were readily seen. They carried staffs and banners and were rolling heavy weapons; rapidly spilling over into the valley. Wide eyed, Gandalf marched back towards the three leaders. "Now, my good peoples of Middle Earth…You must put aside your petty differences. The forces of evil are upon you!" Gandalf shouted, eyes blazing, face in fearsome concern. "You have but one question to answer." He entreated. "How shall this day end?"
Even as Gandalf spoke, the black forces amassing in the distance grew more numerous, like bulky ants spreading over the hills and knolls. Bard, Thranduil and Dain, as well as the contingent on the terrace of Erebor all looked on in awe as the deadly black sea of beasts approached. The three leaders on the plain encircled each other.
"We must all stand together against a common enemy to have even a chance." Bard said, looking between Dain and Thranduil, who glanced at each other. They both nodded sharply in the affirmative.
"May the gods protect us all." Gandalf said, who had come into their midst, witnessing the accord.
What happened next occurred as quick as lightning; the leaders held council briefly, even as the wide ocean of the ork army took shape before them. The Elven army split to a flanking position, stationing its forces on either side of the dwarf contingent, who now rolled weapons in and amassed centrally before Erebor, the horde of men aligned alongside the elves on the western side, closer to Dale.
Gandalf wound his way through the soldiers and found Bilbo, fully intending to run with the Hobbit towards the supposed safety of Dale. But he black plague insinuated itself into the valley, a visible arm spreading between them and Dale, a large contingent climbing the southern face of Raven Hill. Gandalf gasped when he saw the leader, marching up to the top of Raven Hill upon a white warg. It was Azog, the Pale Ork.
"Gandalf, is this really a good place to stand?" Bilbo said, after nearly falling after banging into Gandalf as the wizard came to a sudden full stop. He peeked around Gandalf, and looked where he was glancing. Bilbo too gasped at the black sea.
"My dear Bilbo…there is no good place to stand." Gandalf said, mortified.
"These are dark days…" Bilbo worried, as his eyes flowed over the landscape, and nothing he saw was good. Bilbo looked back towards Erebor, with deep dread and sadness… "When faced with death, what can anyone do?" He lamented. A solid hand on his shoulder shook him from his despair.
Gandalf stepped away him, staff in one hand, and sword in the other.
"We fight, Bilbo. We fight." He said. Bilbo nodded and looked down at his short sword, Sting, now glowing in the presence of such creatures. Bilbo blinked at the glowing blade, and stood tall, a confidence bubbling up within him, the Took within him refusing to give up without a fight. He held the sword aloft, strong, clenching his jaw.
"We fight." Bilbo growled.
All heads turned when a loud horn sounded from the top of Raven Hill.
The hooves of the horse were barely touching the ground as the two elves rode hard back towards the direction of the Lonely Mountain and Dale. Tauriel was astride the horse behind Legolas, holding him securely around his muscular body as he expertly maneuvered the horse around the boulder strewn, hilly landscape. They had covered much ground but there was still much space between them and their destination.
"What were those things, flying like a swarm?" Tauriel shouted. The air was rushing fast past them, so that she had to yell to be heard.
"Those were bats; from the same forsaken caldron as the orcs…and like them, they were made for one thing…" Legolas growled. "War."
"There are so many of them…" Tauriel gasped.
"And more come from the south." Legolas added, his jaw clenching.
"How long do you think it will be before they get there?" Tauriel shouted as loud as she could. Legolas pushed the horse to run a bit faster, yet turned his head to speak again.
"I hope long enough for us to warn everyone before this army arrives." Legolas shouted back.
"By all the gods…" Tauriel pursed her lips and let her body mold against his, leaning her frame into him so as to make it easier for them to ride even faster.
The small group of scouts that they had seen from the outpost at Ravenhill had been easy to best. Then Legolas had captured and questioned one. It spoke of an endless sea of dark beasts that were to follow him, before he died, laughing at them madly. Legolas was able to track them, follow their trail from whence they came. It was at the top of a mountain, an overlook where they finally saw the legions of black clad creatures, bearing tall staffs marching towards them, still way off in the distance, but definitely heading their direction. The elves took note of the grave situation and doubled back with speed.
Tauriel shut her eyes tightly as the worry filled her chest, as they rode on. Was the fact that the elves and men were going up against a dwarf contingent too proud, too stubborn to quit when they were grossly outnumbered not enough? Why must there also be now two armies of orks bearing down upon them all? And this army was not the fragile orcs they usually fought; this army from the north, from Gundabad, consisted of large, resilient orc fighters. Each one of them was a challenge on their own to any elf, man or dwarf fighter…but now they would be beset by droves.
On the way back, Legolas tried to convince Tauriel to join him again, as protectors of their people, in whatever melee they would leap into. How many of the elves would accept her in their midst yet again? Fight by her prince's side she would, but at one point, she knew she would have to find Kili. If it all would transpire as the catastrophic battle they suspected was brewing, the things she had done in the recent past would no doubt, cease to matter, after the dust settled. But maybe not everything…
The vague worry still brewed in Tauriel's heart; she was now married to a dwarf; a part of the clan that was the instigator of the conflict brewing on the plains before Erebor. That dwarf now stood with his people, against her people. But she felt she belonged with him now. Their entanglement, no elf would condone or understand. She barely did, if she was truthful. But she knew how she felt. The only clarity of the situation, the only time that bizarre fact, the fact that an elf and a dwarf promised themselves to each other, made sense was when she was in Kili's presence.
They rode in on from the north, rounding low on the western spur of the Lonely Mountain, where the Raven Hill outpost rose up as they rounded a hill. A pack of large orks with heavy weapons and banners came into view suddenly, so Legolas had to take quick evasive action, and hide behind a boulder, dropping rapidly off the horse with Tauriel in tow. They recovered quickly despite the rapid descent. They crawled back up to look to the top of the ruins.
A large, white orc was astride a pale warg behind tall banners to the top of Raven Hill. He had the look of a general, scar-carved hide and fierce mug, with a curved blade as an arm, topped by a determined scowl. All around him dozens of orks skittered by. They could not believe what their eyes saw. Legolas and Tauriel looked at each other, incredulous.
The loud drone of a war horn rang out, echoing across the valley.
The dwarves on the top of the gate of Erebor at first reveled in the fact that their kinsman from the east had arrived. The company yelled out and clanged their swords against their shields as the tension visibly increased in the two armies. They watched as the confrontation between Thranduil, Dain, Bard and Gandalf played out.
But then, they all fell into dumfounded silence as they noticed the sea of orks coming in from the south. No one could utter a word, and they could only watch in horror as the armies before them, once facing each other, now faced the oncoming wall of evil together. The horn sounded off from the top of Raven Hill and all eyes shifted to look towards the Westernmost rim of the mountain's long arms.
"Azog…" Thorin growled loudly, easily recognizing the tall, large pale ork in the distance, his anger making his sight focused and keen… "You!" he shouted, lunging forth.
Then the cries of battle erupted before them and drew everyone's attention away from the outpost to look on the horrific ruckus in the lands below.
That is, all except for Kili, who continued to look up at Raven Hill, breathing hard, his concern for his red haired elf forming a blooming ache in his chest. A strong hand on his shoulder caught his attention, pulling him away from the stone terrace rail. He whipped his head around to find Fili's hazel eyes hard upon him, as he looked into his shocked ones.
"She was up there…" Kili groaned. Fili pursed his lips, and looked back up at the outpost, then back at his brother. Fili seemed to understand, and join in his worry.
"She is a warrior, Kili...a great fighter." Fili whispered. "Keep your faith." Kili grimaced and swallowed, nodding, trying to find some solace in his brother's suggestion. Fili's glance shifted to the plain before them. "Kili… this…it is bigger than us all." Fili groaned, in a low voice. Slowly, the two prices joined the other dwarves.
From their vantage, they could see the armies before them, laid out in the valley below. With deafening yells and clashes of metal, an epic battle ensued. All of the dwarves looked on in shock as the forces clashed, and bodies fell. Blood spilled, that they could see, and it was not only the black blood of the orcs that bathed the sandy color of the plain. The ones who had never seen this before had their mouths wide open in fear and despair upon first sight. The dwarves who had witnessed the horrors of war before stood silent, jaws clenched as memories of fallen brothers burned with pain anew.
"Azog did not do this on his own…there has to be a greater power behind this." Balin said, shaking his head.
"It is a slaughter…" Ori said softly, as he looked out on the plain. "We are outnumbered…" he said, looking back at the other dwarves.
"We cannot win this fight." Balin murmured to himself. A solemn wave washed over all the dwarves.
"Then we die trying." A clear voice shattered the heavy despondency. It was Fili, standing tall and brave; his eyes intense, his stance sure. "We are fighters, all. They…they are our kin." Fili continued, pointing out over the plain, then back at Erebor. "And this…is our home."
"And we must defend it." Dwalin, the battle etched dwarf agreed. He stood up and yelled, brandishing his weapons. "Well…what are we waiting for? We must fight, side by side with…"
"Stand down…" A low command arose from the top of the stairs, silencing everyone. Everyone turned around, incredulous murmurs echoing throughout the group of dwarves. Thorin stood, as a cold, dark figure behind them.
"What?" Dwalin said, shock permeating his features. Thorin turned around, hunched, like a pain was upon his chest, a darkness spreading across his face.
"I said…Stand. Down." he growled. Dwalin shook his head slowly…Kili stepped forward, shaking his head.
"That is madness, Thorin… dwarves are dying out there." Kili said, exasperated. Thorin raged at him.
"Am I not the King?" He shouted loudly, staring at every dwarf with piercing glances. "We …we have to protect the gold…yes…we could gather it together, take it down, all of it into the mines…" He continued, his eyes widening madly.
Thorin continued on down the stairs muttering almost unintelligibly, and walked swiftly into the depths of Erebor. The rest of the company stood agape, paralyzed and heartbroken by what they were witnessing.
Out on the field, the battle of armies continued in earnest. The sea of black clashed with the metal of the three allied forces. The elves were first to strike. They launched a rain of death, scores of sharp-tipped arrows were propelled into the masses of orks with deadly results. The orks charged, and were only minimally hindered by another deadly volley, before the elf foot soldiers and the dwarves with lighter armor bearing spears and shields rammed their way through the sea of black orks, the soldiers with mattocks fighting on either side of the dwarf battering ram. They made quite the dent but the black battalions kept on coming and coming. The elves, men and dwarves held up much better than the orks in hand to hand battle for some time, but the sheer numbers of orks began to sway the odds, as the black army kept on pouring over the southern rim. Some defenders began to fall among the black bodies, red blood mingling with black, turning into sticky burgundy upon the rocky, dry earth.
Thranduil commanded from the Western side, looking out on their innumerable foes with disgust and rage, as his beloved elves lay dying. He stole a glance at Raven Hill. The pale ork Azog stood upon the tallest terrace in the fort outpost. He maneuvered his troops by changes in the flag and blasts from the battle horn. The low drone belched out again. Immediately, a whole company of beasts turned on their heel and headed backwards, towards Dale.
"They are heading to the city! They will cut us off! Fall back! Head back to Dale!" Bard shouted in the distance. The contingent of man broke ranks and started towards Dale, doubletime.
By the time Thranduil turned his gaze back upon the field, some large orc fighters had rushed through the ranks of his personal guard and were coming towards him. Thranduil brandished his glistening swords, the great elf warrior king responding to the shrieking beasts with swift, deadly steel and calculated strikes to put them to their ends. The sickening sound of the horn bellowed again. The enemy forces were soon joined by large trolls bearing catapults and spikes on their relatively small heads, and they proceeded to batter the walls of Dale.
Thranduil was then besieged by orks, and he rode his elk, slaying anything in his reach around him. He called for his troops to follow him to Dale; those that did hear him struggled to comply. A company of elf soldiers had been left at Dale; Thranduil was hoping to converge with those forces to defend the stone city now besieged. Attacks on his elk felled the great beast, heaving Thranduil into the air just as he arrived to one of the stone bridges. Thranduil looked back as his grand steed collapsed, set upon by more of the creatures. Thranduil raged and beheaded the entire line of orks surrounding the elk, before leaping into action on the bridge.
Even though enraged, the ancient elf king fought with elegance and precision; his deadly blows landing with certainty and efficiency upon his foes, dozens perishing with every rally. His hair flowed in waves behind him, his vestments following in the deadly dance; the only sign that betrayed his stress a slight grimace on his stony face and eyes that were wide and hardened. A large rock destroyed the stone wall adjacent to the gate before him. He had to scale the now destroyed wall to get over the gate, using his swords to somersault from one boulder to the next. He had to leap and flip to avoid a large projectile that destroyed a building within Dale, proper. He fell for about two stories before he landed like a cat upon his feet, deep in a crouch to absorb the fall. He looked up…
Thranduil was now a lone elf in the entry court of Dale…and he was surrounded by dozens of orks. The seething, limping, monstrous beasts growled and cackled. Thranduil stood in silence, breathing heavily from exertion and looked around at them all, his grip on the dragon tooth hilts tightening to whitened knuckles.
Then, swiftly and almost silently, two figures dropped from on high to either side before him. A blur of a brown vestment with blonde hair flowing appeared to his right, taking out several orks in a single swipe.
"Legolas…" Tranduil breathed out.
A blur of a green tunic with fire red hair spun into the cluster of orks to his left. He glanced intensely at the once exiled elf, graceful but deadly at his flank. Before he could comment, the orks right before him rushed him and he had to return to swift, deadly action. Even though Thranduil did not give any indication, the appearance of his best warriors by his side was appreciated. The three elf warriors were then beset upon by scores of orks.
But despite their differences in numbers, it became obvious by the amount of carcasses piling up who were the ones grossly outmatched….
Thorin rushed down the stairs to the middle of Erebor into the depths of the gold…their gold…his gold. He had to protect it, hide it from his foes outside. Nothing mattered but the gold…Thorin waded into the gold and gathered it up in his arms, looking around for the dwarves he expected to be following him from the gate.
"Where are you all?!" He shouted, looking behind him. Yet no one was there. No one else. Thorin growled and redoubled his efforts. "I cant move all this on my own…into the mines we must go!" he shouted.
By this time he was laden with jewels and gold and all manners of treasure; finding it hard to stand on the shifting mounds. He slipped and fell, sliding down the mountain of gold as an avalanche of coins followed behind him. As much as he tried to scream for help the gold kept on sliding, a huge pile of gold snow careening into him, making him roll further down….he eventually caught a grasp on a ledge and held on until the gold stopped sliding.
Thorin panted and tried to stand up, to turn, but he could not. The gold had insinuated itself within his armor, pinned down his cape…even filled the hollows of his crown. In a panic Thorin thrashed about yelling out for help. He grew silent as he saw something that reached into him and grabbed a hold of his heart.
The little rag doll he had before, the one he found when he walked into his baby sister's room, was far away over the treasure, half buried in shifting gold…almost lost beneath the mounds. Thorin's eyes opened wide…
"No…not that…" He said, the memories of his sister, his family in Erebor, his friends in Erid Luin, the dwarves that fought and died by his side at the battle of Azanulbizar all flashing before his eyes.
This gold will be the death of you. Who are you, Thorin Oakenshield? A voice of reason echoed in his mind.
All this weight was upon him, surrounding him, he was paralyzed. Gold…all his gold…was holding him with a death grip, as if he was being buried alive. Thorin struggled out of his shiny armor, shedding it completely, piece by piece. He even threw off the crown, as a shower of gold coin fell from his head; he shook it and the remaining pieces dropped from his hair.
Gasping, he stood up, his load lightened and his focus steeled. He crawled over to the little doll carefully and gently dug it out. He held it, in his hands, staring at it, panting deeply with his exertion. He could not help but to mist over as he stroked the old yarn head, and straightened the little, faded skirt. A precious little treasure he now held in his hands…a precious memory…
I hope you realize what true treasure is one day, Brother.
His sister's last words to him echoed in his mind as if echoing in the very halls of Erebor. Thorin blinked as realization washed over him, his mind cleared, and the darkness vanished from his heart.
I am not my grandfather.
As the weight lifted from him, he gasped for breath… No more did he lust for the gold surrounding him, no more did the jewels that strangled his neck hang from him. Yet he was still weighted; but this time with regret.
"Dis…forgive me…" he whispered, as he stroked the little doll.
Thorin looked around at all the gold with a different mindset. All the treasure in Erebor would cease to matter if there was no one to share it with. None of this gold was worth those he cared for, those he loved. His kin, his people. Thorin blinked, looking back up towards the gate of Erebor, the sounds of battle echoing faintly through the halls. Dain, his cousin, a great leader and fighter in his own right was out there facing a sea of the enemy without them. It was his duty to stand by their side, die by their side if necessary. Now was the time to fight for what mattered most. Was he not, after all, their king?
Thorin stood up, with resolve in his heart, pride rising within him again, with that stance that inspired so many, head held high above those powerful, squared shoulders. To long had he kept his company idle. Now was the time that the Sons of Durin to show their metal…
Kili could not bear it anymore. With a growl he got up from the stone block he was sitting on in the entrance to Erebor and headed up the stairs to the gate. Fili grabbed his arm.
"Don't do it. It will only make it worse." His brother warned, a scowl on his face. Kili fumed back at him.
"I cant sit idle any more, Fili. This is killing me…" Kili said, bursting with emotion. He shook off his brother's grasp and ran up the stairs.
He ran to the edge of the terrace and could not believe his eyes. Everywhere, as far as he could see was war…seas of black masses with grey steel weapons bearing down upon the legions of dwarves that were fighting valiantly on the plain before Erebor. He looked around to the distance…even larger beasts were strolling through throngs of gold clad elves, bearing down on Dale… Then his heart seized in his chest…they were doomed…vastly outnumbered.
"Oh by Mahal…" he gasped.
An awful sound of a horn bellowed through the air. More orks started to rush before Erebor. He looked where the sound of the horn came from and was gripped with anguish. There on Ravenhill's highest paraphet was the ghastly flags of the Orks, the outpost overrun with black blooded creatures. Kili blinked, holding back his fear and anger, his anxiety eating him alive. He tried to convince himself Tauriel was not there on the top of Ravenhill when they arrived… or so he prayed.
But where was she? Where was his yasith?
The forces of the dwarves, stalwart, strong fighters all before Erebor were holding, but they could not do that indefinitely… With a growl Kili trudged back down into the pit of despair, where the company of dwarves were there, lingering, wasting away, gnawed at from within with desperation at hearing all the screams, iron against iron clanging against itself, the war happening just beyond their doors…and they were shackled, unable to do anything about it, ordered by their king to stand down.
Kili stormed past the stairs, and stomped past all the brooding dwarves on his way to find Thorin. He could no longer stand by and watch their dwarf brethren die and do nothing to help. He was a prince, was he not? He had to try to convince Thorin…if that did not work he convinced himself he would beat some sense into his uncle-king. Kili hurried into the depths of Erebor, looking all about.
A figure approached from the darkness as he fumed his way through the dimly lit halls between fallen stone. It was Thorin. Kili gathered himself up, and approached his uncle with fists clenched, enraged…he practically shook with the ire and heat in his veins…
"I…will not hide… behind a wall of stone…while others…fight our battles for us!" Kili screamed at Thorin. His uncle stopped in his tracks as Kili approached. "Its not in my blood, Thorin." He said, distraught, bursting with anger.
But…as the light from the torches lit up his face, Thorin looked different, somehow. Kili's brows knit. Something had changed. His uncle stepped closer to him, with eyes wide open, stern but he looked… lighter. Gone was the cape, the vestments, the armor; gone was that godforsaken crown upon his head. His uncle softened his gaze for a moment and regarded him with warmth and confidence. His eyes were clear.…
"Of course not." Thorin said, as he held Kili's head with a solid, sure hold. His voice was low and ardent. "We are the sons of Durin, and Durin's folk never flight from a fight." Thorin said. Kili gasped.
Thorin pulled Kili in and pressed his forehead to his sister-son' nearly fell to pieces where he stood.
He was back…the uncle he loved and followed and respected…that Thorin was back… Kili's face fell in shock and his eyes grew full. He pursed his eyes and lips closed, tight for a second, all his emotions threatening to burst forth from him. He took a deep breath and steeled himself, and opened his eyes, staring into Thorin's sky blue ones, the shimmering color of a pale cold winter morning, the eyes of the man who had inspired him since he was a boy. Thorin released him and walked by Kili with a fast, sure stride. Kili stood in shock for a second and turned around slowly, to look at his uncle who was approaching the front of Erebor with sure speed. Kili threw his shoulders back, proud to follow his uncle once again, and marched along.
Thorin walked up to his friend and partner Dwalin, who needed only a glance to know his friend had returned with his mind intact. Thorin put a solid hand on Dwalin's shoulder…and the mountain of a dwarf nearly crumbled. Dwalin pursed his lips, his eyes blinking with emotion. Thorin's gaze spoke to his lieutenant in a silent request. Dwalin nodded assuredly.
Dwalin sensed the change. Now this… this was a dwarf he could call King.
Thorin walked slowly to the entrance of Erebor, to commune with the remaining dwarves, who all looked his way upon his entry into their midst. Kili and Dwalin walked after him, and stood at attention, some distance behind Thorin.
"I have no right to ask this of you…" Thorin said, his low voice solemn, echoing in the cavernous entrance of Erebor. He spoke softly to his company, looking each one in the eye. "But…Will you follow me…one last time?"
Fili was the first to stand, a large sword in hand, the golden haired prince nodding with a quiet, stalwart sureness that was his nature. One by one, the remaining dwarves stood and took up arms, in reverence to their king. Thorin was nearly overcome by the ardent displays of his company's loyalty.
Out on the field of battle the dwarves were now left alone to protect the doors of Erebor; the army of men and the remaining elves had turned their forces to try and protect Dale, which was now being overrun by the black army. Screams of women and children were heard as parts of the stone wall crumbled with the onslaught.
On the field, Dain called back his men, to regroup and form a shield just before the entrance to the underground kingdom. Their spirits were trodden, their strength failing.
"Where in blazes is Thorin?" Dain shouted. "We are getting walloped out here!" Dain shouted to his nearest fighters. "We have to fall back!" he shouted.
Then, just as they had almost given up hope, and it seemed that they would perish under the final blow of the black enemy hordes, a great dwarf horn signaled the arrival of the dwarves of Erebor to the battle.
A great, gold bell smashed through the stone wall that blocked their exit, and before the shock wore off, and the orks surrounding the dwarf contingent could think, Thorin's company burst forth through the stones and took their place at the head of the dwarf forces besides Dain…
And all the dwarves rallied on again, as if renewed, to join their king. The company clashed and fought in close quarters with the dwarf fighters of the iron hills against the sea of orcs.
"Thorin! It is good to see you, cousin!" Dain said, once he literally fought his way over to his cousin.
"Dain! So sorry I am late…" Thorin said, between bludgeoning several orcs before him.
"Not to worry, there seems many left to contend with…" Dain replied. "But bloody hell…they keep on coming!" Dain said, approaching Thorin. "It wont be much longer we can keep up like this." He said, seriously.
Thorin looked around, as yet another blast from the orc war horn seemed to bring on another wave of ork fighters. He glared up at Raven Hill. He looked around; his nephews and Dwalin were fighting nearby.
"I think I know just how to slow them down…" he said, glaring. He turned back to Dain. "I have an old score to settle." Thorin growled, as he mounted a nearby short, stocky goat.
By the time Thorin and his best fighters had scaled the treacherous rocks below the ruins of Raven Hill, the upper reaches of the structure grew quiet; an eerie quiet permeated the old fort. Fili and Kili followed him as they crept silently over the steps and looked out upon the frozen river. Dwalin lingered behind, making sure no surprises flanked them.
"Have they gone?" Kili asked.
"No, just hiding in dark holes like the vermin they are." Thorin said. He looked over at his nephews. "Go and scout it out…but be careful." He urged. Both the light and dark haired nephews nodded solemnly. Kili steeled his jaw.
As they entered the lower levels of the fort, Kili breathed hard, trying desperately to push out of his mind the memories he had of this place. Oh, so different it seemed just days ago when he and Tauriel were here, together. This now dark, dreary place that stank of death was once their shrine. He searched around in dread, hoping to the gods he would not see the image of a red haired elf dead among the ruins. He could only hope she was not there when they had come.
Fili and Kili crouched low, with stealth, and they entered the eerily quiet middle level. Kili tapped Fili's shoulder and waved him past an entryway; Kili remembered that being a way with too many hidden spots from which they could be ambushed. A low tapping sound echoed through the stone passages, making them stop in their tracks, as if coming from above. The hair on the back of Kili's neck stood up, and he shook off the chill running down his spine. Everything about this situation screamed danger to his senses…
Fili knit his brows and motioned that they should split up, he taking the high level, Kili the lower. Kili gripped his arm, looking at Fili with a serious stare.
'No…' he mouthed, 'We stay together…' Kili insisted. Fili pursed his lips and reluctantly agreed. Moments later, the silence was shattered.
A borage of tall, dark beasts came at them from out of the shadows. Kili and Fili went immediately into furious battle mode, back to back. An ork crouched and screamed at Kili, who responded with a swift slice to it's throat, to silence it permanently. Kili swung around, spying another to his right and lunged that way, ducking to avoid its mace, and ducked and rolled to kill yet another from below. All around him, orks fell to his blade, and he dared to look briefly at Fili, who seemed to be doing just fine, his broadsword becoming black with ork blood, moving so quickly as to be barely seen.
As Kili sunk his sword into the last of wave of orks in his view, he yanked his sword from the putrid, dark hide and let the body drop with a thud. He turned around, a satisfied grimace on his face. Kili panted a moment with the effort and turned around briefly to look at Fili, who was hacking the head off another ork, the last one on that side, apparently.
"Seems the last of them…" Kili said, in a loud, raspy whisper.
"For now…" he heard Fili say, from behind. "But there will be more." He said, his voice a groan. Kili knit his brows-Fili just did not sound right… Kili turned around slowly, fear gripping him, just in time to see his brother fall to his knees. Kili rushed to his side. His blood ran cold.
Fili had his hand pressed into his stomach, and a look of pain on his face.
"Fili…no…." Kili said, his breath seizing in his throat. "Oh no…" He dropped his sword and kneeled down before Fili, whose eyes rose to his… Kili looked below; already blood was oozing around his hand, which was wedged into his stomach, just below his chest. Kili grabbed his brother and hefted him up, carrying him with one arm, putting him down against a wall beneath the stair. Fili growled in pain. Kili quickly undid the leather outer covering of Fili's vestment, and took it off. Fili's hand was pressed over a rent in the chain mail below. Kili gasped. There was so much blood…
"Let me see…" Kili said, anguish in his voice. Fili panted, and removed his hand. The light was low, but Kili saw the blood gushing out. Kili quickly put his hand over the wound and pressed hard. Fili threw his head back and grunted in pain, eyes squeezed shut, panting. Fili stared up at his brother's face, the grimace sending pangs of dread through Kili. Immediately, Kili wanted to scream with sadness and anger…
No…not his brother…not his careful, courageous, Fili.
"A direct hit…" Fili said, as his eyes opened a little, as he panted between grunts. Fili straightened his face and looked into his brother's eyes.
"Stay quiet…don't waste your breath." Kili said, the tears threatening to squeeze from his eyes. "I have to get you out of here…" Fili gritted his teeth and grabbed Kili's shoulder, just behind his neck, looking hard into his eyes. Fili shook his head. Kili sucked in a breath… "Yes…" he growled.
"No…you can't …you will die…trying to save me." Fili said, through tightened lips, between gasps.
"I'm not leaving you…" Kili said, his eyes wide, incredulous, his free hand gripping Fili's shoulder. Fili closed his eyes and breathed in and out a few times. "Fili…" Kili gasped. Fili opened his eyes, a look of determination in them.
"I will not survive this wound, brother." He said, low and solemn. "I know it."
Kili let a sob sneak out…because he knew the vile words his brother spoke were true. Fili's brows rose.
"But you…you can survive this battle…if you leave this hill now." Fili said, hope in his eyes. Kili shook his head, tears gathering in his eyes.
"Fili…no…" was all he could muster. Fili put a blood caked hand over Kili's hand, the one holding his wound tight.
"Now, little brother…by all that is good and just, listen to me…" Fili said. "Or this battle…will be the death of us all. For once, let reason lead you." he insisted. Kili held his breath, swallowed hard, and nodded, his emotion bursting from him.
"Yes, big brother…" Kili gasped. Fili gave a pained smile, and patted his brother's cheek with a blood soaked hand.
"Good…now…Help me up…" Fili ordered. Fili grimaced and forced his way up to standing, with Kili's help. "Find something to bind me…" He looked down at the floor. Kili pursed his lips and looked around. He quickly used the leather of Fili's armor and the straps with it to tie it around Fili's midsection tightly. Fili winced and groaned in pain but kept standing.
The ominous banging sound started again above them. They both looked up, and then found each other's eyes again. Fili held his brothers face between his hands.
"Go Kili …" Fili said, blinking to hold back his own emotion. Kili's mouth opened with a sob. "Even if...we lose the mountain…you still have something. Go… find her." Fili groaned. Kili closed his eyes tight and wrapped his arm around his brother, holding him desperately close, barely able to hold on to his emotion. Fili patted his back, heavily.
"I can't…I can't leave you…" Kili sobbed…The sounds of monsters ambling towards them came to their ears.
"You have to…" Fili insisted, pushing Kili away. "I will hold them off as long…as I can…" He growled, between pants "…while you go." Fili said. "Do not let me…die in vain… brother." Kili took a few short breaths…
"Fili…" he moaned. Kili saw there was no denying his brother this, a warrior's end, a chance to save his kin. Fili steeled his expression and pursed his lips. Kili did the same, because his brother needed him to.
"I will take as many of them with me...as I can." Fili said, a proud, brash smile on his face. Kili patted his shoulder firmly.
"May your blade be sharp, and your arm sure…" Kili said in a low, commanding voice, as he watched the fire burn in his brother's eyes. Fili turned around, raising his sword, rushing into the oncoming blackness with reckless abandon. Kili could only watch as Fili ran headlong into the fray, the lion into the slaughter, a fighter to the end…
Kili grabbed his sword and ran down the stairs, his heart breaking in his chest as he heard his brother's battle cry, rising above the screams of orks behind him…