I do not own any of the characters or the Hobbit (just the AU storyline and my OC) those are the work of the esteemed and brilliant John Ronald Reull Tolkien, and without his genius,this and many other fan fics would not be in existence.

Please review! I love getting them-they keep me encouraged J

The pale orc sat astride his great white warg, an evil smirk on his face as he finally spotted his quarry after many long years.

He remembered the Battle of the Dimrill Dale, known to the dwarves as the Battle of Azanulbizar, very clearly. He remembered the triumphant surge of adrenaline as he severed the head of the dwarf king from his body, and the fear in the dwarves' eyes as they beheld their defiled leader.

He could also remember his duel with the hot headed young dwarf, the foolish prince charging through seas of soldiers in order to reach him. He could see that fire, that bloodlust, in the young blue eyes, and had recognized immediately that he was kin to the fallen.

He hated the line of Durin. He had hated it ever since he was a young orc, and had learned that the dwarves had been responsible for many sieges of their ancient home, Mt. Gundabad, slaying thousands of orcs in those vicious wars. The dwarves finally, after many years of fighting, had relinquished the sacred mountain to the orcs, but the hatred still burned within.

He could tell that this young dwarf prince was just barely at the age of marriage, from what he had understood from dwarf customs, and, given the 7 year long war, had not likely succeeded in said venture yet. His excitement had grown tenfold as he heard from various captains about the rest of the royal house being either killed or missing during the battle, and realized that the young dwarf before him must be the last of the line.

Finally, he had thought, The end of the line of Durin is within my grasp.

But fate was on the young prince's side, and the young dwarf attacked with a vengeance that Azog had rarely seen in an opponent before. Instead of him being victorious within a few swipes of his gigantic mace, he had been forced to fight a formidable battle, and the longer he went unvictorious, the angrier he became.

Finally, just when he had the arrogant prince on his back, and was swinging for the death blow, a searing pain emitted from his left arm. Looking down as he roared in pain, he beheld his hand and half his forearm on the ground, severed from his body. He had grasped his wrist quickly, trying to staunch the flow of black blood as he dropped to one knee.

He had been brought back into the safety of Moria, Durin's bane having allowed them residence after realizing the usefulness of orcs in his realm, and, seeing a sharp multipronged tine, had ordered it seared to his arm to prevent himself from bleeding out. It had worked, and Azog the Defiler had sworn eternal vengeance against the dwarf who dared to defile HIM.

But the proud dwarf had eluded him for many decades, hiding in the villages of men and in mountains far to the west like a coward. With the presence of the Dunedain, elves, and the many human settlements between Weathertop and Ered Luin, most orcs sent to retrieve the head of the dwarf king had never returned, and Thorin Oakenshield had all but vanished.

And, with the high orc losses in the war, few could be spared to go, and with them never returning, the pale orc quickly ceased his hunt- temporarily. Focusing on rebuilding his armies, and spawning his son Bolg to be his eventual successor, the pale orc bided his time….and waited.

A few months ago, orc scouts had reported tidings from the evil men of Bree about a group of 13 dwarves, an old grey man, and a Halfling heading east. And, among the 13 was none other than his sworn enemy, Thorin Oakenshield. Finally sensing his opportunity, Azog had dispatched warg riders to hunt down the dwarf king, and after decades spent under The Redhorn, the pale orc himself emerged, intent on ending the line of Durin once and for all.

Now, visible up in a tall pine with a white face, was none other than Thorin Oakenshield himself. And, in stark contrast to the young, arrogant dwarf prince who severed his arm, the dwarf king was completely shocked-and terrified.

Azog leaned forward, sniffing dramatically, and spoke.

"Nuzdigid? Nuzdi gast?" The pale orc sneered in the Black Speech, sitting up with a disgusted look on his face.

Do you smell it? The scent of fear?

XXX

Thorin looked on the pale orc, his blue eyes startlingly wide.

"It cannot be," he whispered, shaking his head. Balin looked at him with concern, worried about how Thorin would react, especially in his grief ridden state.

Thorin had adamantly insisted that Azog was dead after the battle, even though warrior's creed had insisted that one see an opponent's light go out in their eyes and confirm the kill before such a declaration could be made.

Balin had tried over the years to convince his friend that there was a possibility that Azog still lived, but Thorin would not be dissuaded, insisting that a severed limb was a death sentence. And, most often it was, but the old dwarf felt it in his heart that something was amiss. However, he had respected Thorin's wishes (and realized he could not change his mind) and the matter was eventually dropped.

Balin's musings were cut off as Azog spoke again.

XXX

"Ganzilig-i unarug, obod nazdanish," Azog sneered, looking around at the whole company, before staring Thorin straight in the eye. "Torin, undag Train-ob."

I remember your father reeked of it, Thorin son of Thrain.

Azog sat up straight, and the she-warg beneath him straightened up her head as well, imitating her master. He lifted his great mace with his right hand, and pointed it straight at Thorin.

"Kod, Toragid biriz," he instructed, the orcs under his command nodding. "Worori-da!"

That one is mine, kill the others!

XXX

The wargs under Azog's command charged the pine trees immediately, and began throwing themselves into the air, snapping at the lower branches.

Bilbo grasped the branch tightly above him, face pale and eyes wide. Not knowing what else to do, he pointed his sword down, hoping against hope that the wargs beneath him would be just as stupid as the one he had killed.

Several of the dwarves began to cry out as their trees wobbled dangerously. Thorin shot a worried look toward his nephew, the younger's eyes fixed on the wargs beneath him with a strange expression on his face. The cold blue eyes, barely concealed rage swirling within them, were calculating, assessing their opponents. Almost as if…

Thorin's eyes widened. Surely he wasn't going to….

"Fili, NO!" he cried, lunging toward his nephew as the young dwarf moved to jump, the desire for revenge clear on his face. His left arm wrapped around his nephew's torso as his right hand grasped Fili's sword wrist in an iron grip. If it hadn't been for Balin and Dwalin's quick reflexes, the pair would have most certainly fallen in the midst of the ravenous wargs below.

As is, the two had barely managed to grasp Thorin's coat, hauling them back against the trunk of the wobbling tree.

"Let me go!" Fili roared, fighting his uncle. "I—" his words were cut off as their tree began to tip backwards.

XXX

The cracking sound of the roots breaking off sounded far louder to the dwarves' ears than the growling of the wargs, every single person in the trees keenly aware of the grave consequences of any misstep.

The tree that Thorin, Balin, Dwalin and Fili were in was the first to tip, slamming into the tree behind them. Dwalin didn't hesitate, throwing Thorin (who was still grasping a feral Fili, his knuckles white and his face damp from the effort) and his elder brother into the next tree with one hand on each, before jumping himself.

They landed on the next branches unsteadily, Thorin being forced to release one hand on his nephew to grasp a branch on the next. They didn't have a second to think before that tree tipped as well, and they had to jump again. The force of each successive tree caused them to hit harder and harder, until the entire company ended up in Gandalf's tree-save two.

XXX

As the fourth tree fell, Thorin reached for a branch on the tree that the wizard was in, and jumped.

But he fell just shy of it, fingers scraping bark as he fell to the ground with a loud cry, Fili landing on top of him. The approaching wargs had scampered back slightly as the two fell, and now approached the two slowly, the moonlight glinting off their long teeth as they snarled.

Panicked voices cried their names out from above, and Thorin immediately pushed Fili off of him in the direction of the tree, before standing and drawing his sword. Fili jumped up behind him, attempting to move past him, but Thorin grasped his arm and practically threw the grief ridden young dwarf between himself and the tree.

Fili smacked into the tree with a loud crack, but it didn't seem to affect the young dwarf, bloodlust shining in his enraged eyes. Before he attempted to move again, Thorin spoke behind him in Khuzdul, never taking his eyes off the advancing wargs.

"Don't you DARE try to move past me!" Thorin growled, praying to whomever would hear him that Fili would listen. The tone in the dwarf king's voice was one he had never used with his nephews before in their life, and, even in his grief ridden state, Fili stopped suddenly, the effect of the words startling the young dwarf.

For a very brief second, the bloodlust left the young heir's eyes, and he was Fili again. But just as quickly, the young, frightened dwarfling became the grief ridden warrior once more, and tried to move past Thorin again.

In his blind rage, the young dwarf never saw the warg approaching his right.

XXX

Gandalf looked down in worry, seeing Thorin try in vain to keep Fili from attacking the five wargs alone.

As soon as he had heard the young dwarf's screams, Gandalf knew. Kili was gone, and Fili was broken. He had glanced worried eyes back at the young heir during their escape, then, when he had knelt down to revive him, he could feel it- the overwhelming despair. The same despair- that had taken Thrain after the battle of Azanulbizar.

Now, as he watched Fili move in to attack, despite Thorin's very clear warning, he knew he must interfere before the young heir gets killed. Reaching for a pinecone, he placed his staff near it, and began to blow as power surged through the long wooden artifact.

He was quite grateful that Cirdan had perceived his need of the elven Ring of Fire as the pinecone lit up in flame. As soon as it was lit, he threw it down at the warg approaching Fili's right, aiming to light the warg itself on fire, for the creatures of evil detested flame.

The blazing pinecone hit its target, but not before an ear splitting scream sounded through the hills.

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A response to guest reviewer Ari- Nope, not getting tired of it at all :D I am glad that you and other readers are ok with me taking it slow. Given that I like Tolkien, I am sure it comes as no surprise that I enjoy books I can sink my teeth into, if you understand my meaning ;) It will take about 2-3 weeks for them to find Kili/Cira, and there is a lot that has to happen before they do. Fili's reaction at seeing Kili alive will hopefully be tense, intense, and good :) and (spoiler) Thorin's will be good too- and Cira will finally get the "Thorin hug" equivalent genuine thank you-not a hug, given she's a female, but a heartfelt thanks. I am glad that you are feeling what my character feels- it tells me I am emoting effectively ;) I will try to have the next chapter up soon :D

Thanks to all who review, favorite, and follow- seriously, I don't know what I would do without you guys! You are such an encouragement to me! :D