"There is an ancient curse, it goes "may you live in interesting times.""
Terry Pratchett
Thorin was not overly fond of the Elves, but he could not deny that they were surpassingly good archers. With both Dain and his loyal company at his side, Thorin had led the charge out into the maw of bloodthirsty orcs awaiting them in the field beyond the gates of Erebor, only for the first line to fall in a hail of arrows before he even reached them. Across the plain, he could see the Elven archers stationed at Dale also firing, attacking the orc armies from both sides.
The haze of battle overtook him and soon Orcrist's edge gleamed black with orc-blood, ever thirsty for more. His gold-plated armour was heavier than his usual mail, but it had turned away several blows and was dented in places. His people had spread out around him, roaring their battle cries and fighting fiercely – out of the corner of his eye he could see Fili wielding his swords and Dain swinging his hammer.
"Thorin!" Balin shouted to him once the battle well under way.
His attention caught, Thorin fought his way over to his friend, slicing through several orcs in his path. "Up there," Balin said, ducking a swing from and orc sword and nodding his head up towards Ravenhill.
Following his gaze, he saw a sail-like contraption high on the hill. As he watched the panels shifted into a different position: it quickly became apparent that the battle was being directed from up there. "Azog," he said simply, knowing that was where he would find the Pale Orc. Thinking quickly, he conferred with Balin. "Without their leader the orcs would be a mindless rabble," he said pointedly, panting slightly from the exertion of fighting.
"Easy pickings," Balin agreed – there was a moments pause as they both fought off more orcs, hacking and slicing with the effortless efficiency that came through years of training and battles.
"Gather the company and some of the goats," he ordered swiftly once he was able to speak again, returning his gaze to the high hill above them. "We're going to take out their leader."
Balin nodded, vanishing into the fray to rouse the rest of the company. Meanwhile, Thorin worked his way over towards where Dain was swinging his hammer, bashing in orc skulls with every blow. "Dain," he shouted over the din, catching his cousin's attention. He quickly assisted him in dealing with the attacking orcs, allowing them a brief moment to speak. "We're taking the battle to Ravenhill, can you take command here?" he wanted to know, cutting straight to the chase.
The smile Dain gave him in response was nothing short of vicious, black orc blood streaking his face. "Cousin -" he said in a deeply satisfied tone, then paused to smash the pommel of his hammer into the face of another attacking orc. "It would be my pleasure."
With the faint din of the battle high above her, Lizzy crept as quickly as she dared through the dark tunnels of Erebor. Along the way she had found another dusty torch and had lit it using her lighter, the pale and flickering flame casting more light than the tiny halo of her purple lighter.
She had been running blindly in her desperate attempt to flee from Dain and had found her way down to the very bowels of Erebor. It was several long, silent minutes before she managed to make her way back to the upper levels, though she was still hopelessly lost, following the vague sounds of the battle. After what felt like well over an hour she found a large hall that looked slightly familiar, along with footprints disturbing the dust.
She paused: she thought that she could maybe make her way to the gate from here, but to what end? There was a five-hundred strong army of Ironfist Dwarves there, standing between her and the company – if they were even still alive, that is, she thought desperately. She had to get out to the battle somehow, but she knew the front gate was hopeless and all other exits had long since been blocked off …
But no, the front gate was not the only way in and out of the mountain – there was still the treasure chamber door, she remembered suddenly.
Turning on her heel, she dashed as fast as she could in the direction that she thought the treasure chamber lay in. Luckily for her, the vast chamber took up a large portion of the lower levels of the mountain and she was quickly able to locate a door that lead to the hoards of treasure. She sprinted across the mounds of gold, stumbling once or twice and sending coins scattering in the wake of her feet, and then abruptly skidded to a halt, looking around her.
There were innumerable doors, archways and staircases that lead to the treasure chamber and she had absolutely no idea where the hidden door might be.
She was turning on her heel, staring at her numerous options, when a chirping caught her attention. To her complete and utter surprise, there was a small thrush sitting on one of the stone bannisters. She stared at it, wondering how on earth it had gotten in, and then it chirped again. With a flick of its wings the bird hopped further up the stone steps, towards a shadowy archway.
Follow me, he seemed to be saying with his beady little eyes.
Remembering the bird that had helped both the company and Bard in the original story, Lizzy thanked any and all deities (both from her world and from Middle Earth) that might be listening and sped after the thrush. She dashed up the stairs and ran along a narrow stone corridor for some time, panting for breath, until she burst out into the sunlight -
- And instantly let out a gasping scream.
She slid to a halt, falling backwards onto her behind as she came face to face with the largest, most terrifying creature she had ever seen. It was huge, bigger than a car – bigger than a tank – and was staring down at the battle that was well under-way below the high plateau they were on, letting out snarling breaths. Hearing her graceless arrival, it swung its huge head in her direction, its jet black eyes zeroing in on her face and sending her heart lurching up into her throat in sheer terror.
The bear-like creature bared its teeth at her, but somehow it did not seem threatening despite its monstrous size and large, curved fangs.
Lizzy sucked in a shaky breath as the realisation hit her. "Beorn?" she whispered softly and the bear growled in response.
Her heart still racing, she hesitantly clambered to her feet and crept cautiously over to the edge of the high plateau. On one side there was almost a sheer drop beside one of the towering statues of Thror, giving them a perfect view of the battle beneath them, but to the other the stone side of the mountain gradually fell away to rocky, scrubby plains to the east, answering her unasked question of where Beorn had come from. From their high vantage point she could see all five armies fighting: the Ironfist Dwarves were still defending the mountain despite Dain's treachery, flanked by archers from above, and she could just spy the Elven footsoldiers on the ground in the distance, fighting along side the men of Dale to protect the ruined city.
She suddenly gasped and leant out over the edge – far below her she could just make out several spry mountain goats that were being used as steeds by the company. They were still alive, she realised joyously, bringing up her hands to clutch her hair as she watched them. Dain hadn't gotten to them yet, which meant that they still had hope. Following their path with her eyes, she assumed that they were heading to another high plateau: she could make out a strange, sail-like contraption high on the ridge and realised that it must be being used to send signals and give commands in the battle.
Which meant that Azog, their commander, would be up there.
"We've got to get up there," she whispered to herself, watching them.
Hearing her words, Beorn swung his massive head around to look at her and she stared up into his face. His breath was hot and fetid, steaming in the chilly air, but his eyes were full of intelligence and anticipation. "Azog, the Defiler, is up there. Thorin is going to fight him and he is probably going to die," she told him quickly, her voice catching slightly. She had to do something, she had to reach him in time, and she could only think of one way she could get there. "Please … please, can you take me?"
High up on the battlements above the plains, Kili was commanding a garrison of Elven archers and he had to admit that he was highly impressed with their proficiency. He considered himself to be a competent archer but while he was all sudden, sharp shots, with his range coming through the strength of his arm and back in the draw, the Elves were a contrast to his own style, firing with fluid, uniformed precision.
From their high vantage point they had a view over the entire battle: the orcs numbers were probably near a thousand, out numbering them and their allies, but they fought with mindless ferocity and very little finesse and so he would still give good odds for their victory.
Picking his next target, Kili took down a running warg below them, sending its rider hurtling head over heels off the beast as it fell. "An impressive range," Tauriel said from beside him. The Elves were using the stone columns for cover, being far too tall to be properly protected by the ramparts that had been designed for Dwarves. With fluid and elegant grace, she stepped from behind a pillar and took her shot before ducking for cover again – the orcs had several archers among them and they had quickly figured out where the arrows were flying from, so they were attempting to shoot the Elven archers down with little luck.
"Size is no guarantee of efficiency," he told her with a breathless grin, panting a little from the exertion of constantly firing. "I told you before, I'd be willing to bet that I can match any Elven bow."
"You think so?" she asked, raising a finely arched brow at him. She quickly cast her gaze over the battle. She then raised her chin pointedly. "The two orcs riding the wargs, straight ahead," she challenged him.
Kili stepped up to his mark, noting that the target was right on the outer reaches of his range. Taking aim, with Kili drawing back as far as he could, they both fired, hitting their marks.
"Impressive," she allowed once again – then, almost faster than the eye could follow, nocked and loosed another arrow – following the shafts flight, Kili saw that it sailed at least a dozen yards further than their previous shot and clenched his jaw in mild annoyance that she had bested him.
Having made her shot, Tauriel hunkered down behind the ramparts with him instead of ducking behind a pillar and inspected his bow. "Your string does not have enough elasticity," she told him simply. "We string ours with Elven hair, often our own. The strength and flexibility of the string allows for a marginally longer range."
"And what would you trade for such a treasure?" he instantly retorted, honestly curious - then sent another roguish grin in her direction as a volley of arrows flew overhead, staying low to keep their cover. "Surely gold alone would not suffice, I believe emeralds would best suit your beauty."
The look she shot him was genuinely annoyed, though he could not help but notice that the very tips of her pointed ears were faintly red and bit down a laugh when she did not reply.
They occupied themselves with firing down at the orc army for the next few minutes, pausing only to replenish their arrows. The Elves had come ready for battle, with large boxes of arrows waiting in the wings of the ramparts for when their quivers ran dry. Kili fumbled a little with the slightly longer, thinner arrows but was quickly able to adapt his style; luckily the orc armies were fairly close to the wall, engaged in combat with the Dwarves, and so he did not have to fire far, doubtful that he would be able to make his usual range with a longer arrow.
"Your company is departing," Tauriel told him with some surprise, having been looking out over the battle.
Following her gaze, he saw the company heading over towards Ravenhill, riding on several of the goats that had been bought with Dain's army. His heart lurched in his chest to see them, half wishing he was down there with them, fighting along side them though he understood his uncles reasons for wanting him here. "They're taking the fight to Ravenhill," he told her, lifting his eyes to the high summit, where there was a huge device with sails that were constantly adjusted. "The orcs are being commanded from there."
"Cut the head off the snake," Tauriel said with an approving nod.
For several minutes they continued to fire down upon the battle, then a horn sounded far below them. Tauriel briefly leant over the battlements and then turned to him with a frown. "The Dwarves are withdrawing," she said, sounding confused.
Kili joined her at the ramparts, looking out over the battle – sure enough, the Ironfist Dwarves were retreating back into the mountain in the wake of the horn blast, with the orcs turning their focus to attack the city of Dale. "Why are they giving ground?" he asked rhetorically, unsure as to what was happening. It made no sense to retreat. "We're winning."
Tauriel turned to several of the other Elves, her bearing cool and composed compared to the banter they had shared minutes ago. "Go, find out what's going on," she ordered them, and they left with a nod.
All at once they heard the loud, unmistakable cracking of stone – looking out over the ramparts once more, they saw that one of the large Dwarvern statues that flanked the gate had been cast down, destroying the bridge between the mountain and the plain. "I don't understand," Kili whispered to himself – without the bridge they were essentially barricaded into the mountain, an effective tactic if they were under siege, but the sails on the contraption directing the battle high on Ravenhill had changed and orcs seemed to have lost all interest in the Dwarves, solely attacking Dale.
Voices and shouting suddenly echoed up from the passage where several of the Elves had vanished down – there was the unmistakable sound of fighting, followed by noises of pain.
But the orcs were not in the mountain, only the Ironfist Dwarves.
"Barricade that door," Kili ordered loudly, making several of the Elven archers turn to stare at him – Mahal above, he did not know what was going on but the Ironfists had retreated into the mountain and were now slaying the Elves in the passages below, which meant none of them were safe. "Do it, now!" he shouted when they showed no sign of obeying him.
"We sent Elves down there," the blond haired prince, Legolas, said to him with a frown affixed to his face.
"And they are likely already dead," Kili retorted bluntly, moving to slam the heavy door that lead to the battlements closed himself, still hearing the sounds of fighting below – there was nothing they could do to help, not with an army awaiting them. Tauriel was the only one who helped him and they wedged wooden slats against the pressure points of the door to reinforce it, but it would do little good against Dwarvern hammers. "Help us," he shouted over his shoulder.
The Elves waited until Legolas nodded his agreement, then sprang into action. Under Kili's command they quickly gathered the stone and heavy pieces of rubble that had been left on the battlements since the day that Smaug had sacked Erebor and stacked them against the door. Luckily for them, the doorway was narrow and they were swiftly able to make a crude, though effective barrier.
They heard the heavy stomping of feet on the other side, followed by the sound of hammers on the door – but the door held.
"Find something we can use as a ram and break it down," they heard a deep, unmistakably Dwarvern voice ordering.
And then there was silence, though they all knew that it would not last for long – the Dwarves of the Iron Hills would return with a battering ram.
"What treachery is this?" the Elven prince asked softly as the silence dragged on, his hands still ready on his bow.
Kili slowly shook his head, fear creeping through his veins like ice. "... I don't know," he replied honestly.
Fili was creeping around the edges of the dilapidated siege towers that topped Ravenhill, searching for any sign of their quarry with Dwalin and Oin beside him. The battle was being directed from the high ridge by a wooden contraption with sail-like panels that were adjusted to give signals, but when the company had reached the plateau they had found it abandoned other than a handful of goblin mercenaries. They knew Azog, as the commander of these legions, was up there somewhere and so they had split into groups to scout the perimeter.
Thus far, they had found nothing.
They heard sudden noise of small stones skittering under quick, heavy footsteps and thought that it might be more wargs. They clutched their weapons tighter and shifted into the battle ready position – only to instantly fall back a few steps when a huge, monstrous, bear-like creature lumbered into view and, seeing them, snarled a challenge. Steeling themselves and raising their weapons, they made to charge -
"Fili!" Lizzy's familiar voice said in acute relief, shocking them into pausing – she was astride the gigantic creature, her hair loose and tangled in the wind and her sword unsheathed in her hand. She slid gracelessly from the bears back, landing heavily on her feet and staggering slightly. She ran towards him and threw her arms tightly around him. "Thank God you're still okay," she said into his hair, her voice catching.
"Mahal above, Lizzy!" Fili said disbelievingly, holding her at arms length and glancing warily at the gigantic creature behind her that was watching them with sharp, cunning eyes as its breath steamed in the chilly air. "What -?"
"It's Beorn," she interrupted, guessing his question and looking more agitated than he had ever seen her. Her face was white and she seemed to be breathing quickly. She opened her mouth to speak again, but he overrode her.
"Lizzy, what on earth are you doing out here?" he demanded protectively, then his gaze flicked down her familiar, other worldly clothing and Dwarvern coat, her sword held in her hand. "Mahal, you're not even wearing any armour," he added, realising that she was completely vulnerable and wondering what on earth had possessed her to leave the safety of the mountain.
"Never mind that now," she snapped, waving away his concern. "Fili, Dain has betrayed us."
"What?" he questioned, his brow creasing in confusion at her words.
"Dain, he's betrayed us," she repeated, the desperation and fear in her voice instantly convincing him – he knew that Thorin had long since feared a traitor, knowing that someone had set the Pale Orc on their trail. "He's trying to kill us all, we have to stop him," she babbled, then glanced urgently around them. "Where's Thorin? Is he alright?"
"They're down there, scouting the perimeter," Fili said, jerking his chin in the direction the rest of the company was.
"Fili," Dwalin said heavily from behind them, catching their attention; he and Oin were standing on a ridge slightly above them, giving them a view down to the plains and the front of the mountain. Beside them, Beorn snarled down at the sight below and pawed at the ground with one massive, clawed foot. "The Ironfists are withdrawing back into the mountain. The archers have stopped firing," he said, his voice curiously blank.
They both instantly scrambled up to get higher so that they could see down to the plains themselves – sure enough, the Dwarves that had been fighting in front of the mountain had retreated and the orcs were turning their focus to attack Dale alone. As they watched, one of the huge and partially ruined statues that flanked the gates of Erebor was thrown down, destroying the bridge and cutting off access to the mountain.
Sure enough, the Elves were no longer firing and there was no movement on the battlements.
"He's taking the mountain," Lizzy whispered in horror beside him as they watched. "Kili and the Elves are in there -" She sucked in a deep breath, raising her hands to clutch her hair worriedly. " – Jesus, and the women and children of Dale," she added, sounding panicked.
"Kili ..." Fili said fearfully, staring at the empty battlements and still trying to make sense of what was happening before them.
"He'll be fine, lad," Oin said, though his voice lacked any conviction. "The Elves will not easily be overcome."
"One squadron of archers against an entire Dwarf army?" Lizzy said almost hysterically, still staring out over the carnage on the battlefield and shaking her head in despair, sounding utterly hopeless.
"He'll be fine, lass," Dwalin reiterated almost sternly and Fili tightened his grip on his swords in response to his assurance, forcing away the fear that threatened to choke him as well – his brother was strong, a fighter through and through, and he knew in his heart of hearts that he would be fine.
"He won't," Lizzy said softly, still shaking her head with wide and stark eyes, breathing far too quickly. "He won't, I know he won't and it's all my fault," she breathed, seemingly unaware of what she was saying. "What … what the hell do we do?"
"What do we do? Is – is that a question?" Fili demanded of her. Recognising that she was near to freezing with battle-fear, he took her by the shoulders and forcibly turned her around to face him, so that she was no longer looking at the death and destruction on the plains below. "Lizzy, you are the strongest person I have ever met. You saved that whole town and you faced a dragon without flinching," he reminded her, squeezing her shoulders though still being careful of her injury. "We are Durin's folk, each and every one of us," he said, glancing at Dwalin and Oin along side them, their strong and steady presence boosting his faith. "We are going to find the others, we are going to fight and we are going to win, do you hear me?"
"...Yes," Lizzy said quietly, her eyes clearing. Then her whole body seemed to slowly tense as she visibly drew her courage and steeled her self. She nodded at him – she still looked scared, but now she also looked grim and determined. "You're right … And dammit, I have not come this far to fail now."
Thranduil was on the battlefield among his people, astride his elk with his long, faintly curved sword stained black with orc blood when he heard the horn in the distance. Looking up, he saw the Dwarves of the Iron Hills starting to withdraw into the mountain and frowned to himself as easily he sliced the throat of an attacking orc. The elks height gave him an elevated view over the battle and he could discern no reason for the Dwarves to possibly retreat – they were strong in numbers and, though their fighting style was crude and brutish in comparison to the Elves, they could hold their own.
High above them on the high ridge of Ravenhill, the sails on the wooden contraption commanding the orcs shifted into a new position and both armies turned their attention to Dale, the Elves, and the men of Lake Town as the doors of Erebor closed in the distance.
Sensing some treachery afoot, Thranduil kept his sword poised and shouted to his people. "Na barad!" he called loudly, ordering them to fall back to Dale. "Na barad, fall back to the city!"
They obeyed his command with fluid grace, quickly falling back to the city to regroup. The repaired gates were closed behind them and the orcs were briefly kept at bay by the archers on the wall, long enough for Thranduil to dismount and climb the battlements in order to gain a better view of what was going on. His frown instantly deepened – no single orc was attacking Erebor and the Elven archers manning the mountains battlements were no longer firing. In fact, his sharp eyes could discern no movement from the mountain whatsoever.
"Thranduil, what news?" Bard, the dragon-slayer and unofficial King of Dale, called to him as he hastened up the stone steps, grimy and dishevelled from the battle.
"The mountain has been closed off," he said, still staring towards the gates of the Lonely Mountain, his voice melodious even amidst the noise of battle below them. "The Dwarves have fled and are no longer fighting."
Bard stared out over the battle, the two orc armies converging upon Dale and heavily outnumbering them. "We have been betrayed ..." he said softly, despair creeping into his eyes.
Thranduil nodded grimly, silently cursing the fickle cowardice of the Dwarves – Thorin must have fallen, they would not have retreated while their King still led them. And now an entire army of orcs, the emptied cesspits of Dul Guldor, stood between them and the mountain. "We must look to our own," he said heavily, thinking of Legolas and knowing that there was nothing that could be done for him.
Bard tore his gaze from the mountain and shot him an incredulous look. "Look to our own?" he demanded furiously "Have you forgotten that our women and children are in there?"
"As is my son," Thranduil reminded him sharply, fearing for the well-being of the contingent of Elven archers, led by Legolas, that were still within the mountain. "Do not mistake tactics for apathy."
"We have to do something," Bard said, sounding desperate.
"How?" Thranduil demanded, turning to fully face the man. "We have an entire army of orcs between us and the mountain. If you have an idea then by all means share it," he ordered and, after defiantly holding his gaze for several long seconds, Bard dropped his eyes. "If we wish to save them we must first secure Dale, and then …"
"Then?" the bowman asked, his voice tinged with uncertainty.
"Then we keep fighting," Thranduil said, turning his gaze back to the battle below them. "And we pray to the Valar to deliver us."
"Thorin!"
Turning swiftly at the familiar sound of Elizabeth's voice, Thorin saw her standing at the far end of the icy plateau beside an enormous, bear-like creature and among several other members of the company as well. He, Balin and an invisible Bilbo had been scouting the west tower that topped the dilapidated Ravenhill, but thus far had found nothing. As he watched, the bear seemed to shiver and convulse in on itself until the familiar figure of Beorn was crouched naked beside them.
She ran towards him, utterly unarmoured and wearing nothing but her Dwarvish coat for protection, and hugged him fiercely for a moment before pulling back. He instinctively cupped one cheek despite his shock at seeing her. "Elizabeth, I told you to stay in the mountain," he rebuked sharply, fearing for her safety in this battle out of the protective walls of Erebor.
"Dain has betrayed us," she retorted instantly, her voice all steel and grit. "He was working with Azog the whole time, he is the one who betrayed the quest."
Thorin's lips parted on a breath – he had suspected some treachery since Rivendell, knowing that someone had initially set the Pale Orc on their trail but he had never once suspected Dain to be the culprit. He was family, his cousin and heir after Kili, surely she was mistaken. "You're sure?" he asked, hoping that she was wrong despite the stark honesty in her face.
She nodded grimly. "He tried to kill me, Thorin," she said softly and that alone solidified his belief.
He looked in the direction of the battle, though he could not see the plains from where he stood – if Dain had betrayed them it meant that their company and allies in Dale were now heavily outnumbered in this battle. Victory, it seemed, was slipping from their fingers.
As he turned his head, he saw the tall, pale figure of Azog standing still and silent on the ice, utterly alone and watching them with his teeth bared in a challenge.
The Pale Orc was simply waiting, knowing that he would not walk away from this fight – not when vengeance, his families honour, nay the entire mountain even, was at stake.
Elizabeth had followed his gaze and sucked in a sharp breath at the sight of the orc. "... Leave him," she said softly, no doubt feeling him tense in her arms.
"You expect me to just walk away?" he asked, still staring at Azog.
"We have bigger things to worry about," she said grimly.
Thorin glanced at her, his hand tight around the hilt of Orcrist. "He is commanding these legions, if he is defeated -"
"Thorin," she interrupted him, staring at him intently at him and speaking slowly to get her point across "Dain has taken the mountain."
That made him pause – Kili, the Elves, and the women and children of Dale were all in the mountain. This was not just a betrayal, this was usurpation, this was Dain attempting to take the throne and kingdom for himself.
And that would not happen while he still had breath in his body.
Beorn slowly walked forwards, unashamed of his nakedness and staring intently at the Pale Orc with a feral glint in his eyes. "Go, look to your home," he told them in his slow, deep voice. He then sunk down into a crouch, his skin starting to ripple and change once more. His voice was a low and sinister growl when he spoke again. "I have unfinished business with the Defiler."
He hesitated, glancing from the Pale Orc, to Elizabeth, to the company behind him and to the mountain that loomed above. Recognising that Beorn, whose kin and people had been slaughtered and enslaved by the orcs of Gundabad, also had a right to vengeance, it was with great difficulty that Thorin made the decision to walk away.
"Come on," he said heavily and Elizabeth squeezed his hand tightly as he led them swiftly towards where the tethered mountain goats were waiting for them – behind them, they heard a feral growling and snarling and the unmistakable sounds of battle as the fight between the two beasts began.
The rest of the company was waiting beside the goats and they all regrouped, with several of then surprised to see Elizabeth among them again. The situation was quickly explained to those who did not know and they looked out over the battle: sure enough, the orcs were no longer attacking Erebor, whose gates were closed; instead they were filling the plains and focusing solely on Dale.
"We need to get back to the mountain," Thorin said, feeling the anger stirring in his heart as he stared at his home, the home that had been taken from him for a second time just days after he reclaimed it.
"How?" Balin asked, looking slightly despairing as he saw the masses of orcs attacking the city. "The Elves and people of Dale are near overwhelmed, we cannot win against the armies of both orcs and Dain."
"Maybe not, but I damn well intend to go down fighting," Elizabeth said grimly beside him, with all the courage and valour of one who has never seen true battle. She looked at the company alongside them. "Who's with me?"
There were murmurs of agreement for her words – there was no question that they were going to fight to the end, but at this moment Thorin could not see how victory would be possible.
A horn echoed out over the plains and they all looked to the east.
"Look, look, the eagles are coming!" Bilbo said, pointing at the sky – and sure enough they could make out dozens upon dozens of huge shapes wheeling in the sky with the Misty Mountains behind them.
Then there was another horn and the sunlight suddenly glinted off armour on the edge of the plains. It was ranks upon ranks of armoured warriors, some mounted on goats, boars and ponies and some marching on foot, all heavily armed and ready for battle. It was an army of five-hundred strong at least, enough to turn the tides of battle in their favour.
"... Not just the eagles," Thorin said in a soft, husky voice as he stared to the east with hope kindling in his heart once more.
Lothar's army had come.
Thank you all for being patient with me while I was writing this chapter – I know I always say that life is busy, but working 2 jobs, voluntary placements and doing all my applications for primary teacher training next year does take its toll! But I have 3 interviews in the next 2 weeks, so hopefully everything will be decided at the end of them and I'll have good news to share with you all at the end of the next chapter …
Hope you all enjoyed this one – it was rather hard to write since there are SO MANY characters to deal with in a frickin battle!
Leave a review, my lovelies :)
