Chapter Thirteen – A Quip of the Lip

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"A great battle is a terrible thing," the old knight said, "but in the midst of blood and carnage, there is sometimes also beauty, beauty that could break your heart." ― George R.R. Martin, A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms

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The march to the battle ground would be half a day's journey for the entire army to travel. As such the superiors decided not to dismantle the camp but to keep it standing for the return journey, as it would benefit any wounded and act as a retreat point if things were to turn south.

Lyra said her goodbyes to Kili that morning with emotion. Kili managed to drag out a promise from her to buy him a drink when they were back in Erebor, then they clasped hands and wished each other the best of luck. Lyra prepared herself then like she had every other morning; with a sword on her side, a spear in her hand and her bow and arrows upon her back. She then saddled her horse, the one she'd bought from the innkeeper on her way from Urbem, and mounted it to ride towards Captain Anders and join the archers for the march.

Before she had time to direct her horse in the right direction, a dwarf she didn't recognize sat upon an old pony approached her. "Sir, you have been asked to ride with the king under the mountain," he spoke clearly and plainly, his voice muffled somewhat by his large beard. He then turned upon the spot and began to trot slowly in the direction from which he came; not even turning to check if Lyra was following.

She was, of course. No one denied King Thorin an audience.

She was soon in the middle of the army, protected by soldiers on all fronts. In the centre she could see the King riding alongside his advisors and the princes. Lyra rode up to the side of their procession and found herself next to Kili.

"I thought I said goodbye to you," Kili quipped, looking to the side in surprise at her presence. "Well, now I'll have to say goodbye to you again! This is most unprecedented." The dark hair prince shook his head in dismay.

"Well I didn't!" Fili announced from horseback on the other side of his brother. Fili then leaned over Kili, much to the protest of the younger prince, and offered Lyra his hand. She laughed aloud at the princes antic and leaned over as well to grasp Prince Fili's hand.

"Fair thee well, Master Fraser," Fili told her in mock seriousness.

"Goodbye, Prince Fili," she replied, not quite managing to keep the smile from her face.

"Yes, yes, we've all said goodbye now," Kili told them breaking apart the handshake with a push. Lyra leaned back in her saddle smilingly while the two princes continued to banter between themselves.

When a voice spoke unexpectedly from her other side, it took most of her composure to not jolt violently in surprise.

"You have become remarkably good friends with my nephews," the king under the mountain said, pulling his horse alongside Lyra and looking upon her with interest. Most of his expressions towards her were that of surprise or curiosity, Lyra remarked to herself, was she particularly interesting?

"It is hard not to enjoy their good humor," Lyra replied, finding herself sitting taller in her saddle as she rode along with the king. Lyra looked to the still bickering brothers. "Or for them to enjoy it, it would seem."

A quip of the lip and a rumble from the back of Thorin's throat indicated, much to Lyra' fascination, a type of laugh. Lyra gave the king a hesitant smile at this and silence fell between the unlikely pair. Lyra noticed the king was dressed in beautiful plated armor, covering his chest, thighs and upper arms. It looked heavy but the king didn't seem to be bothered by the weight.

Lyra took a breath. "Sire, why did you ask me to ride with you?" she sounded somewhat impatient and knew she probably should not have asked the question, but with her nerves strung so high with the forthcoming battle, she could not hold herself in check.

"Am I keeping you?" Thorin asked in a dead tone.

"I am curious," she replied, bristling a little at his unapproachable demeanor. "Not everyday are you asked to ride with the king."

Thorin was silent a moment before he shifted in his saddle as if waking from a deep thought. "I wanted to ask your opinion on Urbem," he told her thoughtfully.

"Why do you want to know what I think?" she questioned before she could stop herself. She didn't know when it had become a habit to question royalty's decision.

"Despite all the pontificating of mine and Bards advisors when you arrived, you did not voice your thoughts. You were there, and I would hear them." Thorin was once again staring at Lyra intensely and she found herself struggling to pull together her thoughts.

"Well… I suppose I think this battle is unavoidable," she began hesitantly. The King gave no indication of listening to her, looking out at the road ahead in deep thought. This gave her courage. "Prince Edvard has been manipulated; he was going to kidnap the princes on the advice of a mysterious advisor and now he is at war because he believes Urbem will benefit from it. It is a foolish endeavor. So who would benefit from strife between Urbem and Dale? Possibly someone who didn't want an alliance? Or who didn't wish to see Prince Kili wed to the princess?" Lyra stopped herself, surprised that her thought came together so eloquently and even somewhat having merit.

Thorin nodded, seemingly having come to the same conclusion. "And what of after the battle?" he asked, looking ahead still.

"Well… hopefully Prince Edvard dies in battle and the king is crowned again, Kili and Ilithia are married and an unconditional trade deal between Erebor and Dale is created." Lyra summed up the intricacies of the complex politics in a few words, not feeling any more necessary.

Lyra heard the deep rumble of a laugh of the Kings again, and looked at him to see amusement in his eyes and directed towards her. His look was intense even when his mood was light, Lyra thought, but nonetheless found she did not want to look away.

"That would be ideal," he said, breaking eye contact to look forward once more. They fell into a comfortable silence as they rode together towards the battle.

It was near midday when they heard to sound of horns upon the air and a Dale scout could be seen breaking the trees to the east and riding toward the army in a panic.

"My King," he called to Bard, who sat astride his horse not far from Lyra. The scout approached the leading party and the information was relayed between breaths. "They are to be upon us in moments. It is an ambush."

At the words of ambush, a signal was sent along the line to the commanders and suddenly the army was in a frenzy of movement. Lines were being formed with practiced ease; order forming from chaos. From upon her horse Lyra could almost see her regiment of archers to the back, but she knew there was no time to get there; an impenetrable wall of soldiers standing between her and her station.

Lyra was aimless, not knowing where to stand. She saw Kili stationed with other mounted dwarf archers and so moved her steed alongside the prince and notched an arrow on her bow. The prince looked to her with concern, knowing she should not be so close to the front, but also knowing it was too late.

Urbem was not supposed to be upon the army for another league, and yet from the east and west emerged two battalions which had been lying in wait in the neighboring valleys and now where charging upon the army of Dwarves and men.

"Hold the line," shouted the King of Dale.

Lyra draw back her arrow on Kili's command, thankfully to be fighting to the east and looking away from the sun. There was a sudden beat of silence as the position was held, the time for a single deep calming breath. The roars of the apposing army grew louder, and yet a stillness that Lyra felt around her was almost unnatural

"Archers, fire!" Kili shouted, and Lyra let lose an arrow. It was as if a frenzy of energy had been released into her body at Kili's words. She had been trained to change arrows as fast as possible, but her hands were shaking so hard she seemed to be struggling to attach them to her bow. She took a breath, placed the arrow into its position, and fired again. She did not look to see where her arrows fell; she just fired endlessly.

Lyra felt somewhat disconnected from what was going on and everything started to move as if slowing down. It seemed as if an age had passed when finally, the soldiers broke against the front of the Erebor army, but before any ground could be made a wall of men rushed forward to replace those that had fallen and to double up those that hadn't.

Blood was rushing in Lyra's ears. She heard Kili shout to fire, she heard King Thorin's shout to hold ground. She saw the enemy coming towards her and knew she could either freeze and be struck down or she could do something; anything. Both would likely end in her death, but she was not someone who would die quietly or easily.

With a bloodthirsty battle cry to mirror those around her she grabbed for her spear and, on her mounted steed, who had remained amazingly calm, she thrust the point into the neck of an Urbem soldier. There was a blur after that; she didn't know what she was doing or how many she'd killed. Most of the men seemed surprisingly untrained; probably farmers and shopkeepers urged to fight a war.

She cut them down mercilessly and unthinkingly; she couldn't think. Her spear was ripped from her hand when she encountered a hard faced man, clearly not new to the trials of war. She reached for the sword at her side but found her hands soaked in blood and it slipped from her grip as she tried to remove it from the scabbard.

This is it, she thought as the man raised his sword. Yet, in an act of some fate, a stray horse who had been spooked by the battle galloped violently into the hardened man, knocking him to the floor and stamping on his back as it scrambled to find a way out from the madness around. Lyra quickly wiped her hand on her tunic, pushing from her mind the sad fate of the man trampled to death by a war horse without thought or ceremony. She moved her bow from her back, knowing this was her only choice, and began to fire the enemy around her.

"Thorin!" shouted a voice Lyra recognized. Turning to the sound she saw that the King under the Mountain had fallen from his mount and was being crushed by the black stallion. Above him stood a soldier, poised to strike and end Thorin's life. Lyra didn't hesitate or think, she just raised her bow and shot the man between the eyes. His eyes rolled into his head and he fell on his face besides the dwarf king.

Lyra directed her horse toward Thorin and Fili, who had been fighting mere feet away, jumped from his mare and moved to his uncle with speed. Lyra did not dare dismount but instead stood guard over the uncle and nephew.

"My leg," grunted the king. Fili pulled the king out from under the horse and Lyra noticed the odd angle his leg was twisted at.

"We must get you away from here." Fili looked around wildly for an escape, seemingly only noticing Lyra in that moment. "You must take him," he told her with wild, beseeching eyes. She nodded quickly and Fili, in one swift movement that spoke of his immense strength, lifted his uncle onto the back of Lyra's horse. The king grunted in pain as he grabbed the saddle; from his close proximity Lyra could hear his quick, labored breaths. Without announcement Fili hit Lyra's horse hard on the hind and the mare began to gallop through the battle.

Thorin, in his pained state, pulled the bloody sword from Lyra's scabbard and began to swing it at any enemy that tried to prevent their escape. It was another blur of quick motion, with bodies throwing themselves beneath their path and cries of fury from the clash of enemy's sword. It seemed like an eternity had passed when they eventually reached the outskirt of the battle, but still Lyra continued to move forward and away from the war. The king was vulnerable and she was no match against multiple armed opponents; they should hide. Lyra felt a cold drop hit her left cheek and glanced up to the sky despondently; it seemed as if at some point during the battle it had started to rain. There were a few trees to take cover under but none were good hiding places, so all they could do was keep moving forward and away from danger. Fortunately, it wasn't long until Lyra spotted an old mill across the field and analyzing it as a defensible position with shelter, she began to steer the house in that direction.

Lyra told Thorin of her plan and he nodded his agreement lightly. She could feel Thorin's cold hand gripping tightly onto her shoulder as he steadied himself against the jagged motion of the horses trot; each step probably causing agonizing pain to his broken leg. When they reach the abandoned building Lyra dismounted quickly, tied the horse to a wooden post in the shelter of the mill, and quickly ran inside quickly to scout out for threats. The king helped himself down from the mare with grunts of pain, balancing on one leg inelegantly. Lyra emerged with a nod, having found nothing but broken furniture and dust within, and moved to the king's side to assist him up the stone steps of the mill.

Lyra put the kings arm around her neck and together they crossed the threshold of their shelter and finally out of the rain. Lyra couldn't help but notice, as the dwarf king leaned heavily on her, that he smelled of sweat and leather, but strangely also of a sweeter sent she did not recognize. As gently as one could move a fully armored dwarf, Lyra helped seat the King on the floor so his back could lean against the mortar wall that sat opposite the only entrance in or out.

Lyra closed the doors and the shutters of the windows firmly around the circular room, leaving one slightly opened so she could watch for any approaching threats.

"Will the battle take long?" Lyra asked with concern, noticing how heavy the rain had begun to fall.

"We were winning," Thorin spoke through gritted teeth, "but that does not tell us much." Lyra looked to the king and noticed his great pain, but unsure of what she could do to alleviate it. She let her eyes wonder over the king in concern and noticed that there was a rip in his leather upon his shoulder. On closer inspection she realized a sword or arrow must have pierced the area where his plates of armor met.

She moved towards to injured king and crouched before him. "We must bind your leg," she told him gently, ignoring for now the shoulder wound that the King obviously did not wish to mention. Thorin nodded his consent, knowing how vulnerable he was without the strength to hold himself up.

Lyra looked around the mill for something wooden to bind to the king's leg. She knew it would be painful but to leave it without support could do more damage. It wasn't long until she located the leg of a broken chair that was just short of length of a dwarf's leg. It crossed her mind in that moment that she sometimes forgot how short dwarfs really were, as there overbearing presence tended to make one forget their stature.

Lyra removed her belt and asked the king to do the same. He struggled with it, having to sit straighter to release the clasp and causing a resultant spasm up his leg. Lyra moved to assist him once again.

"Have you done this before?" he asked her, huffing through the pain.

"No," she told him lightly, "have you, sire?" she asked absently, laying the wood next to his leg on the floor and the belts beside it.

"Thorin," he said, concentrating on her to distract from the pain, "you most likely saved my life upon the field and now to tend to my wounds like a babe. I think we are past titles." Knowing he was distracted Lyra lifted the kings leg and slid the wood and the belts beneath it. Thorin grunt and grit his teeth, but it was a testament to his strength of will that he did not cry out.

"Of course, Thorin," Lyra told him eyes laughing slightly at the dry look he gave her when the pain had abated. Lyra tied the belts above and bellow the injured knee. "So, have you done this before?" she repeated.

Thorin observed her as she worked, wincing as she pulled the belts tight. "I have," he said. "Shortly after Erebor was reclaim."

"What happened?" she asked him, making subtle adjustments to his leg.

"We were on a diplomatic mission west and were set upon by orcs," Thorin told her, resting his head against the stone wall behind him. Lyra sat back on her knee, thinking she had done all she could do the leg, and listened to the king. "Dwalin was injured in the battle; he was caught in the face with a spiked mallet and, much like me, his horse fell upon him. I did my best for him and he was brought back to Erebor. And yet, he has never healed from the ordeal."

"Yours looks much less dire some than that," Lyra reassured him honestly. Having moved it to more of a normal angle now she could not see any protruding bones from the skin. That did not mean there was less damage, but she hoped at least. There was a pause in the conversation as Lyra watched the king. He had his eyes closed and his hair stuck upon his forehead, matted with others blood and his own sweat.

Still he is handsome, Lyra thought suddenly and unexpectedly. She blinked in surprise at the boldness of her thoughts and so to distract herself from these unnerving ideas she observed his other injuries.

"Your shoulder also needs tending to." Lyra moved her arm to touch the area that had been cut, but a hand reached up to prevent her.

"It is fine," he told her seriously. Lyra saw the congealed blood and dirt and looked to Thorin dubiously. Through his pain Lyra saw that her reaction amused him.

"I think we shall eventually have to move from this place," Lyra told him gently, not removing her hand from it's place hovering above is shoulder. "If you are in a fevered state, that will make it all the more difficult."

The king studied her for a moment before nodding his agreement and allowing her to tend to him. She helped him remove the arm plates and, using his knife, cut away the ripped material that clung to his arm. The slash was not as deep as it appeared; it had bled a lot but the leather had taken the brunt of the damage.

Lyra ripped some cloth from the white shirt she wore under the leathers and using water from the rain began to clean the cut delicately. Thorin did not flinch at the contact, opting to close his eyes in exhaustion.

"Kili has told me of your family," Thorin began, surprising Lyra, "and told me that you were in Escargoth when the dragon attacked." He did not look at her, his eyes still closed in pain.

"I was," Lyra said tentatively, unsure where the conversation might be headed but deciding to answer honestly nonetheless. "My parents perished in the fire."

"But you did not," Thorin stated, unnecessarily but as if he were trying to say something.

"Well, no," Lyra started, hesitantly, "my sister looked after me for a long time. When she married we were able move to Dale. When her husband died, it was my turn to step up where she had all those years before." Lyra was unsure why she was telling Thorin this; he had not asked for such details and yet she felt compelled to explain herself to him.

The makeshift rag was covered in blood and dirt but the wound was cleaned. She ripped more cloth from her shirt then and began to bandage the Kings shoulder tightly to stem the slow bleeding and to keep it from the elements. Lyra shivered suddenly, realizing that she was soaked through to the bone. The adrenaline she'd been running on since the battle was draining out of her and she began to feel the sores that were inflicted on her being.

"The battle will be over by now," Thorin noted, but they both knew there was no point in their moving. An injured king on horseback would not get far if they did not win the battle. Their best bet was to wait for rescue; with Fili knowing the direction Lyra had fled it shouldn't be too long. They had hardly settled for an hour.

"We could do with a stiff drink I think," Lyra muttered, perhaps to the King or perhaps just to herself. Thorin, having heard her complaint, reached into his jacket and pulled out a hipflask. Lyra looked at the king with pleasant surprise and she couldn't help the near hysterical laugh that bubbled up in her chest. "I didn't take you for a day drinker," she told him, smiling.

The King's lips quirked slightly and he unscrewed the lid, raise his glass in Lyra direction and took a long drink. He then handed it to Lyra who moved to sit next to Thorin on his none injured side and repeated his movement. It was a strong whiskey that burned as it touched the tongue and gave a kick at the back of the throat. Lyra coughed at the familiar taste.

"This is the Sailors Bath; that they make in Dale," Lyra said with surprise, "this is the stuff common folk drink. Surely you have access to the best drink there is?" she asked him, handing the drink back.

"All those years in the wilderness I have grown accustomed to many things commoners do, say and drink," Thorin said humbly. His words struck a cord in Lyra; she found the King fascinating and not at all how she'd expected he'd be. The last few times they'd interacted she had been too shocked to realize, his presence being very intimidating. But sitting in an abandoned mill, injured from battle and sharing strong whiskey made him somewhat less so.

"Have you made a decision on the offer I made you?" Thorin asked her as he took another sip from the flask.

"I haven't," she told him, looking down with a frown. He did not push for an explanation but, again, Lyra wanted to explain. "But my thoughts are mostly angled to return back home."

"Do you not enjoy your work?" he asked with blank interest.

"I do, it's the best work I've ever had," she told him with a reluctant smile. "But my family needs me and it is a dangerous job. I do not know what would happen to them if I were to die." Lyra gave a half shrug.

They were silent for a moment, both lost in their own thought, but were broken out of the peace when Lyra's horse gave a panicked neighing noise from outside. The King and soldier were instantly on edge, knowing it could be anything from help to the enemy and other unpleasant and dangerous things. Lyra crept to her feet slowly, not wishing to make a disturbance on the wood, and peered out from the slightly open window.

First she noted that it had stopped raining, but this thought was pushed far from her mind when she saw the situation below. She felt the blood draining from her face and her heart began to beat as panic threatened to consume her. "Orcs," she whispered in a terror, not daring to move her eyes from the disgusting sight before her.

A band of six orcs approached the tower like cockroaches approaching a fallen loaf of bread. They were most likely drawn to the sound of battle and were looking for easy snacks, or they even could have followed the army knowing that there would be ripe pickings once the fighting had stopped. Such was the way of orcs.

They were ugly creatures with grey, slimy skin and a short, hunchbacked demeanor. They wore brown rags and animal furs, laden with long weapons. They were moving past the mill when they noticed the horse and, as if of a hive mind, began to move towards to tower quickly.

"They're coming this way," she told Thorin, who tried to move to stand but fell back down as a look of deep pain flashed upon his face. "I will shoot them," Lyra said with determination. She did not turn to see the King's reaction. She had brought her bow and arrowed inside with them, knowing it unwise to leave them unattended. She reached for them and nocked an arrow. Without thinking too much or second guessing herself, she opened the window a touch more and positioned the arrow, carefully aiming at the closest orc, and without any ceremony released. He was shot in the stomach, a fatal blow, but there were five more that needed her attention.

Lyra took a step back and reach down to the floor to search for another arrow. In her panicked hasted she knocked over her quiver an it fell to the floor with a load thud; the arrows scattered about in disarray. She looked down, grabbed the nearest, and pulled her bow taught again. The next orc she shot was the one shouting and pointing in Lyra's direction. This time she got the creature in the eye socket, and hit fell to the floor in a heap of bones.

Four more left. Again, she nocked, drew and shot the arrow. It missed, but she tried again and again and did this over and over until there were two left alive. One of them had been nimble and managed to avoid all possible shots, but the other she'd managed to injure with an arrow in its thigh.

"They are in the shadow of the mill, I cannot shoot them now," she told Thorin, taking big calming breaths. She closed the shutter tight firmly and stood back staring at the locked door. It would not take long for them to knock it down.

"Hand me your bow," Thorin instructed, sitting up as much as he could. Lyra did as she was bid and also handed him the quiver with a few arrows within. "You will have to take up the sword and fight them."

Lyra swallowed, "I am not very good with a sword." There was a loud crash against the door and a strange type of tangled hissing which Lyra assumed to be the infamous black speech. She jumped to her feet, grabbing the sword, and squared off against the door.

"I will shoot one, and you must get the other," Thorin instructed, no emotion displaying upon his face. "We will not die today," he told her with so much conviction Lyra almost believed him. The door shook with the effort to knock it down and on the third try the orcs succeed and it cave inwards.

Even though there were only two left, Lyra thought they seemed to swarm into the room. Thorin did as he promised and disabled the one who already had an arrow in the leg, but his aim fell short and did not make it fatal. The orc fell to the ground in pain.

Meanwhile, Lyra swung her sword wide and cracked it against the blade of the other orc. The foul aroma of rot that etched from the breath of the beast made Lyra want to throw up, but instead she pushed back with all her strength and stabbed upwards into his chest cavity. The black blood that encompassed her arm made her retch uncontrollably.

She pulled her sword out and turned to the orc with the wounded leg that was crawling on the floor. Thorin was attempting to notch another arrow but his hand shook with the strain of the force and pain of trying to keep upright with a broken leg. The orc on the floor looked to her with malice and without thinking Lyra planted her blade through its skull.

"Watch out!" Thorin roared, but too late did she turn and parley the blow. The blade of the orc caught at her waist and drew deep down onto her hip. Pain ripped through Lyra as she plunged her sword through it's stomach, this time waiting until it's body grew limp before letting the orc drop to the floor.

Lyra stood panting, with two dead orcs at her feet and her sword held limply in her hand, and promptly emptied her stomach onto the floor. Her side ached horribly and she felt the slow trickle of blood soaking her shirt and oozing down her leg. "You are badly injured," Thorin told her, though she didn't hear him due to the rush that was pounding in her head at the sight of her own blood. She shook her head to dispel the feeling.

"King Thorin!" shouted a voice from the field. Lyra heard the call of their saviors and turned to stumble from the mill and wave at the party of approaching dwarves. They picked up their pace and soon were upon them, with many dwarves flittering about the King as Lyra stood to the side and leaned against the wall for support. She clutched her side hard, trying to stem the bleeding, but it would not stop.

"Dammit, I'm fine," shouted Thorin. "Tend to the boy!" The king seemed so angry.

Fear gripped at her heart as she pulled her hand away and it was covered in red. She closed her eyes for a moment and when she opened them again she was on the floor. A voice she recognized seemed to be calling her name, her actual name. "Lyra, oh mahal, stay with us," it said, but she felt the call of sleep and did not fight its peaceful grasp.

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Thank you once again for being patient with me and my sporadic updates. I hope you enjoyed this chapter! The battle was very hard to write but the ending was so exciting it took a bit to not get carried away with it. Please let me know what you think! Will Lyra's secret be found out? Until next time…