Chapter Fifteen

Author's Note: This story is AU, so I will be changing several events to fit this story. Now, hope you enjoy this chapter.

Days after Smaug's attack

Dragon fire raged on for days even after Smaug's attack. It had been two days since he showed up and none of the inhabitants of the lonely mountain were prepared for a second attack, let alone only days after. A cry was heard through the destroyed halls of Erebor, all the surviving dwarrows were in their designated underground area where they could escape incase something happened.

Thorin had received a raven from one for the elves of Mirkwood. But the message arrived too late, they at least had time to warn the residents. Thorin now stood in the frontlines his blade covered in dried blood as the battleworn soldiers flanked him. His father and Grandfather stood with them, Frerin was with the archers at the highest point waiting for his brothers signal and his sister made sure to keep the women and children safe. Smaug's corpse laid still beside the lonely mountain, a reminder to all those whom survived. And for the life of Thorin he could not understand why they were being targeted. Gold was a major factor for the dragon but Azog?

Keeping his hand in the air, Thorin waited until he spotted the Orc scum. He didn't have to wait long, three thousand came out of the ruined city of Dale, it's people securely in Erebor. The pale orc, Azog was nowhere to be seen. Confused, Thorin tried to make out his distinct features and yet he could not spot him. Growling in anger, Thorin gave up his search for the pale Orc. His biggest problem were the hoard that neared. "Archers ready!" The tension was overwhelming, the earth shook and the summer heat was no help. Thorin prayed, prayed that his people survived, although they were short on numbers compared to Azog's, Thorin had hope in his heart.

With one movement of his arm, the arrows shot into the air and whistled downwards as gravity took over. They met their marker but it wasn't enough, with each orc that went down others took their place. Everything about Azog's attack made no sense to the Thorin, last he knew they had resided in Moira after his kin lost it to the orcs. What was their purpose? Could they have anything to do with Smaug? He doubted it, there was no possibility of that, Smaug was smarter than aligning himself with scum lower than himself.

"Weapons up!"

The tension snapped as soon as the orcs passed the midway point between the mountain and Dale. Thorin broke away from everyone and ran forward, the rest soon followed in his footsteps. The clash of metal against metal, the shouts of both dwarf and orc alike were the only sounds in the battlefield. With each slash of the blade, with each orc he killed it wasn't enough to cause damage. The battle had taken place in the center and now Thorin found himself closer to the entrance. Thorin dared a glance at his brother, and sure enough Frerin was still deploying arrows. It wouldn't be enough. The slaughter of his people laid before him, their blood tainint the green field. Strength left him as he watched his father and grandfather fight. They could not hold on any longer, within minutes the orcs would be inside the city.

While Thorin contemplated the situation he failed to notice a figure approach him from behind, an arrow flew close to his face, it passed through Thorin's hair and into the orcs chest. Dumbstruck he turned around ready to tell his brother thanks, but the figures that stood beside the archers were enough to spark hope. Mirkwood elves.

In a blink of an eye it was not only dwarves, but elves in the battlefield. The very creatures that helped defeat the dragon, Thorin owed them a life debt. If they made it out alive, Thorin would make it a mission to meet with Thranduil and give his gratitude in assisting them once more. The tide had finally turned to their favor, when everything seemed to be working out for Thorin in an instant was shattered.

Azog had finally appeared before Thror and Thrain, it's scarred face twisting with malicious intent. No time to think, Thorin ran towards his grandfather and father, killing anything that came in his way. The more he ran the more it became unbearable, his father laid still on the cold hard ground and his grandfather was still battling Azog. Thorin pushed and pushed but one orc in particular stopped him from advancing further. " Prince, you're mine." An orc about the same size as Azog but more slender approached, he had two weapons in each hand and a third one strapped to his back. As he stalked forward , Thorin gave his grandfather a look before turning back, barely missing the slash of a sword. Ducking away he turned back arond and brought his sword up just as the orcs blades clashed against it, his arms vibrating at the intensity of the hit.

"He will die." The slender orc twirled his blade and began his assault, Thorin kept the pace but felt a force against his chest that sent him skidding backwards. Catching his breath, Thorin tried standing up but the pain from his chest had him falling back instead. The orc slowly approached the fallen prince, he took his two blades and placed them across thorin's neck. "Watch." The orc said as he pointed to where Azog fought.

Thror was at the end of his strength, he could no longer hold up his sword so instead he kept his strength to block all of Azog's attack with his shield. But the shield was crumbling away with each assault. Knowing there was nothing else he could do, Thror threw down his shield and glared up at the creature then picked up the nearest sword and brought it up. He would die, he knew. So, he was going to do it on his own terms. With a fierce cry Thror gave his all, he sidestepped then ducked and slashed his sword across Azog's stomach, blood pooling out. Azog's hand reared back to slash at the dwarven King but Thror had other plans. Using his legs he shot up, with one clean cut of his blade Azog had lost an arm. Azog's cries were heard around the battlefield, many of his followers awaiting for Thror to finish him off.

Thorin triumphantly smirked up at the orc, an elven archer had his arrow aimed at the slender orc, Thorin's smile grew wider. "No, you're his." Moments later the orcs body laid dead atop of Thorin, he pushed against the creature before he could suffocate. Dusting himself off he picked up his blade and made to go to his grandfather but what he witness would forever scar him. Azog held King Thror head in his right hand, his left arm bleeding out but the orc gave it no thought.

"No!" Azog looked beyond and found the crown Prince, he brought the head up and tossed it until it reached Thorin's feet. Anger, pain, and sadness filled thrown, his thought no longer made sense all he could only focus on spilling blood in his grandfather's name. Releasing a war cry, The dwarven Prince did not go for the orcs head, but for his other arm. Azog's was too slow to perceive the attack, his blood loss affecting him.

Present.

That battle was still ingrained in Thorin's head. The bloodshed was more dwarven than orc. Feelings of that day came rushing back like a virus. Thorin could have sworn he had slayed the pale orc, if the blood loss didn't kill him, the infection would. And now, Azog stood proud, mounted a top of white warg that shared his unique attributes. The pale orc still had scars running down his face and chest but what stood out were his arms. One that his grandfather had cut and the other from Thorin's blade. Thorin expected no less from Azog. On his left arm was a long spear of sorts the tip of the blade was broken in two, one shorter than the other. His right arm was something no one had seen before. Thorin remembered severing the arm completely but instead Azog had a full arm the difference was it was coated in a black substance. Parts of the substance wound its way around his chest and neck until it disappeared. Black magic? His thoughts were interrupted as Azog spoke.

"You were supposed to bring them to me." Azog's voice startled everyone as he emerged from the trees, several other orcs followed close behind. Thorin and Company took their positions, some surrounded the injured hobbit while others flanked the Crown Prince. Frerin on the other hand stood close to the wizard. Azog sneered at the dwarven scum before him, his icy blue eyes immediately falling upon the gentle creature. A smirk formed but he averted his attention back to the goblins that were swarming out of the caves, their king huffing and puffing. "I gave you orders." Azog snarled, he nudged the warg forward and circled around the hideous creature.

"Y-you see. I was just having a little fun, I wanted to scare them. Heh." The Goblin chuckled nervously, "We had a deal, orc, I want that hobbit." Fear left the goblin, he took three steps towards Bilbo but was cut off by two of Azog's riders.

"You get nothing." Having enough of the goblin, Azog turned back to what really mattered, the hobbit that was protected by the dwarven scum. He couldn't help but look at the incredulous expression that adorned the Crown Prince.

"You're supposed to be dead." Thorin growled.

Azog set his eyes on the dwarven prince but his concern was the hobbit that sat on the ground, his hands massaging his foot and wrists. The dwarrows posed a problem, they would not easily let him get close to the gentle creature. One tilt of Azog's head, his followers surrounded the the dwarrows, several wargs snapping their mouth at them. "You have your mother's eyes, Hobbit."

Bilbo raised his eyes at Azog, he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

"She put up a fight, unlike your father." Bilbo's eyes widen in surprise. What could Azog know about his parents? There was no possibility of that, his parents were killed by rouge wargs. That's what his grandfather had told him since the tragedy. She put up a fight. Those words swirled around Bilbo's head like a mantra. Remembering his mother brought pain to his heart. He couldn't even remember the smell of her any longer, all he knew was that there was some sort of freshness to her. And his father, his gentle father, Bilbo often wondered why his mother chose him, some one so opposite from her. As the pain subsided, frustration and confusion took over. Confusion for Azog words and frustration because he knew something was wrong with the story his grandfather had told him. "What do you know?"

"Bilbo, my dear boy, don't." Gandalf whispered. That only made Bilbo want to know even more. It seemed that Gandalf knew something. "What. Do. You. Know?" Demanded Bilbo, he looked towards Bombur and noticed Silencer strapped to his back. With the adrenaline running through him he was able to stand up, but he still favored his other foot. He unstrapped Silencer, the moonlights reflection bouncing off the blade.

Suddenly there was an uproar, the goblin king shouted and hoards of goblins began appearing. No one could really make out what was happening, one moment Biblo was protected by the Company and the next his neck was being crushed by the goblin king, Silencer gone.

"That sword, Bandobras Took." Lungs aching for air, Bilbo desperately clawed at the meaty hand. The goblin king's eyes seemed far away and glassy, probably mistaking him for his uncle, Bilbo mused. "You will not go unpunished." The grip around his neck tighten, Bilbo wondered how he wasn't dead already. Deprived of oxygen, Bilbo could feel himself lose consciousness, his body slacked. Before he blacked out, Bilbo faintly heard Thorin's voice then a sense of weightlessness took over.

Authors note: alright. Honestly. I did my best, haven't written in a while...may not be my best but I will get better. Anyways, hoped you guys enjoyed it and yes things are getting confusing but you will have answers, to all who still read this. Thank you. Till next update. Adiós.