Dain yelled as the orcs charged, the deep notes of his voice shaking the valley. As the dwarves behind him locked their shields together, he marched his pig forward. A stamp of his hammer against the ground and it split, tearing apart to form a chasm. The line cracked further, and Dain smirked, watching orcs topple over the edge.

His smile was short lived as a gesture from Azog burst springs from deep within the veins of the earth and flooded the chasm. A swipe of his handless arm and the liquid turned to ice.

"Durin's beard!" Dain snorted. "Miserable filth is a bender!"

The orcs reached the dwarven line. Dain's pig protested but no blood drenched the thrust-out spears of the kneeling warriors as the earth rolled like a carpet shaken and reared to freeze into a wall ten feet high and almost as thick.

Another horn rang out. The wall shattered, and an orc leered through, ragged teeth cutting into its lip as it clenched a fist and manipulated a net of boulders to rise.

Dain's eyes turned the rocks to dust, but already more were rising, and a line behind the first orc proved their ability to bend as water, fire earth, and air came alive in enemy hands. He fought back the earth as it struggled to erupt beneath his men, baring his teeth as the fight made itself known in his spirit. Concentrated on one task, the water sweeping toward him carved a free path.

"Oh, where is Ciran when I need him?" Thranduil lamented.

The first line of elves crested the dwarven shields, but he was far in the lead, Flyfire left barebacked as he landed, an explosion of fire rocketing the orcs around him back. A funnel of flame evaporated the tidal wave headed for Dain and he met the dwarf's eyes, unable to help a sneer.

"Princess!" Dain roared, as the shield wall disassembled and thrust itself into the growing fray. He slammed a fist into the earth, watching plates of rock grow up his arms until he stood encased in the rock yet moving as though clad in cotton.

Not to be outdone, Thranduil took a step. The fire started at his ankles, swarming up his legs and encircled his bent waist. By the time his foot landed, the fire haloed his head, turning him into as much a representation of flame as Dain of earth.

The drums started. They lent an odd music, so devoid of rhythm, the beat came clearer than ever. Dain threw his hammer, the flat head breaking a hole in the earth. It expanded, swallowing writhing bodies, and closed as the handle returned to Dain's hand.

Thranduil sucked in a breath and torched an orc as it threatened to birth a tornado over the battlefield. Dain landed at his back and glared at him.

"Care to match kills?" Thranduil inquired.

"Be my guest," the dwarf replied.

They split, each their own to the beat of the drums. Where Thranduil's movements were as supple as dancing flame, Dain's planted themselves with as much grace as a boulder falling from a cliff. The walls of fire and earth bent and curved, lending themselves to the task at hand. The cries around them only strengthened a resolve far removed from personal quarrels.

Leaving the first charge of orcs shattered with snarling figures spread across the battlefield, elves and dwarves retreated back to form their scattered ranks before Erebor's gates.

Raileen looked to Ravenhill as he alighted beside Thranduil and read the signs on the red flags behind the Defiler even before the back battalions of orcs detached themselves from the main body and streamed toward Dale. With them ran dozens of trolls equipped to smash through the wall. A solid line of catapults hurled rock after rock into the city, toppling weak towers and sending stones pinwheeling into the air.

The air-bender looked to Legolas, but the Prince had spotted the danger and sailed to defend the city with Bard and a wave of elves behind him.

Blood streaked through the mud know, pools and spills forming as the sticky liquid sloshed and stank. Feet tramped through it, dismembered limbs and sightless eyes kicked and jostled. Elven shells lay still, buried in a sea of tangled orc limbs and twisted dwarven faces. Broken and flaming catapults, melted chariots, and lost weapons stared up forlornly at the sun.

"Where in Durin's name is Thorin?" Dain cried. "Miserable cousin of mine, cowering in his mountain!"

Thranduil hovered behind Dain to catch his breath, arms tired and the stench of burned flesh wrinkling his nostrils. The dwarf's hammer swings lacked ferocity and his chest heaved as much as his elven counterpart's.

A single note rang out, high and haunting, and speaking of a call to markets of old. The front gate of Erebor shattered, the carefully built catwalk collapsing across the river as the huge round of a golden bell swung through it. It chimed again as the shape of Smaug's body took form in the sudden gap in the mountain.

But it was not Thorin that emerged.

Flanked by the identical fires and faces of Brenen and Realn, Kili came, bearing no crown but as much a king as his uncle. The decided notes of the bell rang behind him as the dwarves cut into the encroaching ranks of orcs, much like a fish through the water.

Dain let out a bellow and hefted his hammer. His cry surged through the dwarves of the Iron Hills, and the scattered warriors fighting alone wove together to form a strong net as they rallied behind Kili, joining in the thrust into the orcish ranks.

"Do you suppose Thorin would mind if I took down Azog?" Brenen inquired. Sweat dried on his face as he protected the flank, streams of fire billowing before his hand.

"Leave Azog to me," Kili said. "He stole my homeland, butchered my kin, not yours. He will die at the hands of a dwarf."

"You will need a swift path to Ravenhill," Brenen said. "And you are no bender, Kili."

"We dwarves have won wars since before there was bending," Kili answered.

Brenen grinned and whirled to jettison fire on the few orcs straggling up from behind. Over the clash of steel and the horrible moans of the dying, he called, "Muinda Raileen!"

His voice carried on the deft wind manipulated by Raileen's hands and the son of Sauron touched down beside him, red hair glossy in the light of Brenen's fire.

"This dwarf," Brenen indicated Kili, "Needs a step up to Ravenhill."

"It will be more of a jump, but it can be done," Raileen answered. He held out a slender hand to Kili. "I am needed here and cannot accompany you, but I do not doubt any sword will cut deeper into Azog than yours today."

Kili's grip tightened on his sword. "I will strike with the resolve of the universe behind me."

"Jump at my command; your flight to Ravenhill will be swift!" Raileen turned, the black sections of his tunic spinning around his legs as he gathered the force of wind needed under his palms. He closed his eyes to the orcs, aware of Brenen's labored breathing as he built a cone to harbor him.

"To Ravenhill," Raileen breathed, nodding to Kili.

The dwarf jumped, sword ready to stab, and the curling fingers of a wind jet swept around him. Kili gasped, the air sucked from his lungs as the ground receded. He drew his lips back as Azog's scared face loomed into view and the powerful force of the air gently pulled back. He stretched out a hand as the jet died, gasping as the orc's face fell from his view and only one flailing hand saved him from a quick death as his fingers gripped the edge of the high ledge of Ravenhill.

Kili dangled from the precipice, thousands of feet from the ground. The rock dug into his palm as his feet scrambled to find footing on the sheer wall of black stone. His breath came quickly as his eyes turned upward and met Azog's.

The Defiler smiled, drawing his blade back for a quick cut to Kili's white fingers.

With nowhere else to go, Kili felt the rock slid away and he plummeted into empty air. He spun, the ground looming closer, arrows slicing the wind around him, and the blur of orcs and elves growing closer. A moment later he saw the sky; the great, blue sky, crying down on the bloodshed below, and thought of the quiet of Durin's Halls.

A hand cut into his view, accompanied by a blast of warmth. The delicate fingers seemed so fragile, the slender body so weak, yet Realn clutched Tauriel in one hand and offered the other.

Kili glanced at the fast-approaching ground and scrambled for the hand, straining against gravity yet he could only brush the fingers. Realn grunted with him, the wild jets flaring with his struggle. And even when the hands clasped, the struggle continued, the fall continuing as Realn's breath came in hard pants.

Tauriel jumped, rolling to break her fall. Like a pebble skipping the waves, she stood as Kili landed beside her with a thump. Realn fluttered to the ground, leaning his hands on his knees to choke down air.

"Thank you," Kili said, nodding.

Realn coughed out a reply before he fell back to controlling the heave of his chest.

Kili squinted up at the sun peeking over Ravenhill. "Azog cannot fly; there is a back stair. Curse me for wanting wings when feet serve as well! We must be swift before he makes a move; he wants Thorin's head and his alone."

"I will not allow him to settle for yours," Tauriel replied. She clasped his hand and the pair circled the stone base, Realn's fire holding back the few orcs scrambling up the steep ledge below.


As I am currently watching my copy of the Extended Edition of The Battle of the Five Armies, I am reminded of not only the aspects of the film that I love but of the aspects I do not love. I am reminded of why I wrote Dragonfire.

Thank you all for reading; I enjoy seeing what you love and what you like. I send hearts all around for Valentine's Day!

Next Chapter:"Will the petty elf king not join us? Your forest smolders. Your kingdom is ravished."