Disclaimer: I do not own The Lord of the Rings or The Hobbit. I only own the OC Liante.
The company was back on the run as the howls of the Wargs drew closer with the shouts of orcs added to them. Liante growled as he felt his pride be stung at the act of running from them, lesser creatures that could not stand against him! He was the Son of Morgoth and Ungoliant, he was more powerful than a bunch of Orcs on Wargs.
He spun around with a snarl, blade gripped tight, and slashed the beast that had overtaken its brothers across the throat. Then he continued running, before coming to a sudden and jarring halt when he realised they had trapped themselves on the edge of a cliff. It was a dead end.
If they wanted to survive, they would have no choice but to fight. Not unless they had some magical solution to jumping off the cliff without being killed by the inevitable impact. Liante could survive the impact, as he's jumped off far higher and landed without harm... but the rest of the company didn't have that luxury. They weren't capable of transforming into a Spider and crawling down or had superior strength that not even a long fall would harm them.
"Up the trees!" Gandalf ordered and the company began climbing the trees. Annoyed at this but complying, Liante jumped and swung himself onto a tree branch with ease as the Wargs without riders arrived and jumped at the company who were high enough that the Wargs couldn't reach them, but it did allow the Orc pack to catch up.
Liante's fell on a pale figure, riding a large, growling white Warg. Though he's never seen the Pale Orc in person, he's heard enough about him through rumour and tales.
His ears just about picked up Thorin's disbelieving exclamation. "Azog."
Azog the Defiler smirked as he looked at the company in the trees. His eyes were mainly on Thorin though.
The Defiler sneered and spoke in the black speech of Mordor, which Liante understood. "Do you smell it? The scent of fear? I remember your father reeked of it, Thorin, son of Thrain."
Thorin was staring in horror, despair and shock at the orc. "It cannot be," he breathed.
Azog tpointed his mace at Thorin as he spoke to his soldiers. "That one is mine. Kill the others!" At this order, the Wargs all leaped forwards and lunged at the trees, snapping and growling.
The tree in front of Liante suddenly started to sway and creak, the sheer force of half a dozen oversized mutts crashing into it starting to overwhelm the strength of its roots. His own tree was shuddering violently enough that Liante was struggling to keep hold.
Azog cried out again. "Drink their blood!"
The Wargs renewed their attacks with vigour, and the rocking of the tree intensified.
A great, shuddering groan sounded, and Liante's head snapped up just in time to see the tree in front of him start to fall. Directly towards his. With a hissed curse, Liante braced himself for the impact. It was a good thing he did, for as soon as the two trees collided, his own started to topple. Like a Spider, he climbed quickly and fast, leaping from one tree to the next. When they came to a stop, it took a second for him to realise all members of the Company were crammed onto one tree. And they were right on the edge of the cliff.
"Fili!"
Liante's head jerked up, and he saw Gandalf throwing a flaming pinecone down to the blonde Dwarf, who hopped it between his hands a few times while using it to light a second pinecone – this one held by Bifur. This continued with all the Dwarves, Bilbo and Liante included, and they began throwing the fiery cones at the Warg pack.
The dogs yelped and backed away from the licking flames, some of them bumping into each other in their haste to escape its reach. Others were too slow, and their fur caught alight, sending them careening in all directions as they tried desperately to put themselves out.
As the Wargs retreated, the dwarves began to cheer.
Liante felt no inclination to join in, as he had not forgotten their precarious position in an unstable tree at the top of a long fall.
And just as the thought crossed his mind, the roots of said tree began to lose purchase on the rock and soil beneath them. The tree tilted dangerously over the precipice, the weight of the dwarves dragging it down. Liante jerked to grasp his branch with both hands hen the tree came to a groaning stop, almost directly level with the cliff.
Luckily, he had more than enough strength in his arms to heave himself up, moving quickly along the trunk of the tree and feeling his body settling once he had solid ground beneath his feet.
A hearty guffaw came from the Pale Orc, and Liante's temper grew. He would not be made a fool by some Orc with a cut off hand. If the Orc wanted a fight, he'll get one.
His sword appeared in his hand almost without him noticing, the weight a familiar comfort and his blood scorching his body with fury.
Before he could take more than two steps, however, Thorin ran past him, brandishing his elven sword and his oaken shield. He was heading straight for Azog.
Two halves of Liante were at war with themselves as he deliberated for half a second over whether he should follow. On the one hand, he knew all too well the heat of vengeance – the need to claim a life in retribution for a past wrong. He knew Thorin needed this moment, and would not be receptive to outside help. On the other hand, the dwarf was tired – as they all were – from a long day of combat, and his mind was clouded by emotion. This could very well prove a suicidal charge.
His decision was then taken out of his hands when a dozen Wargs suddenly rushed at him, many bearing orcs on their backs. His eyes left Thorin's form as he fought his opponents.
Liante's surroundings were just a blur of dark fur, leathery skin and black blood for several seconds as he hacked and sliced and spun. Not a single nick was landed on his skin, a show of his much superior skills and the training that had been brought upon him at a very young age.
By the time his opponents had all been dealt with, and Liante had the chance to turn back towards Thorin and the Defiler, he was on the floor with Bilbo standing bravely – or perhaps foolishly – in front of him, the Hobbit's little blade and reckless courage the only barrier between Dwarf and Orc.
He charged forward, knowing that Bilbo would not be able to keep Thorin safe for long with his limited swordsmanship skills.
Liante killed two Orcs and a Warg before the rest of the pack could properly comprehend what was happening to them. They then whirled on him with yowls of fury and surprise, lunging at him with wild abandon. liante faced them and fought them without fear.
And then a piercing cry brought the whole battlefield to a standstill.
It was not a human cry, but rather that of a bird.
Turning his eyes skyward, Liante bore witness to a massive winged creature bearing down on him, clawed feet outstretched. He ducked just in time for the bird's talons to snatch up a Warg and its rider that had been mere inches from attacking him, then dropped both down the long fall to the mountain base.
"The Eagles." Liante muttered. The Great Eagles were beings of Arda said to have been "devised" by Manwë Súlimo, leader of the Valar, brother of Morgoth... Liante's uncle, and were often called the Eagles of Manwë. They were sent from Valinor to Middle-earth to keep an eye on the exiled Ñoldor, and also make sure there was no sign of Morgoth returning.
'Guess you are still watching me, uncle.' Liante thought, unsure how he should feel about that. He stayed away from anything to do with the Valar after Morgoth was banished from Arda and sent into the Void.
Liante was drawn back into a fight with a now panicked Orc, but didn't have the time to do anything after the creature was dead. Instead, he was grabbed by one of the large birds, and then he too was left to plummet down towards the ground.
It was unsurprising when he landed heavily on soft feathers, his hands gripping onto them so he didn't get unseated.
"Still haven't given up on watching over me, uncle." Liante muttered quietly, shaking his head with a slight smile coming onto his face.
And that's it for this chapter. I know Gandalf had a way of calling the Eagles or however that works, and that the Eagles represent the Valar, or are the spies and messengers of Manwë, but I figured Morgoth's brother would've given his nephew a bit of a helping hand.