Title: Of Fire and Stars (Part 9)

Author: Ro

Rating: R (for extreme violence)

Warnings: Major angst

Disclaimer: I'm not making any profit off this. With the exception of a few of the original characters, Gimli and all the other characters belong to J.R.R. Tolkien (who's probably spinning in his grave as we speak).

Summary: Gandalf finds out what happened to Gimli in the year while he and Thorin's company were away on their Quest. Takes place during "The Hobbit", don't like Dwarves or Gimli then don't read this fic.

Notes: This is Book-version, not the Movie version.

More notes: Now beta-ed! Big thanks to the lovely Little My, my wonderful beta-reader ! Any mistakes are my fault alone.

" "means someone is speaking in Sindarin

"The Winds of Battle"

The day had drifted to late afternoon, the shadows long upon the ground, the crisp air heralding the arrival of evening. The Lonely Mountain stood proudly in all its grandeur in the distance,as if in contemptuous defiance against the two armies that camped before it, ready to lay siege to those that resided within.

In a small clearing below in the outskirts of the dark forest of Mirkwood, all was quiet as a Grey Wizard and a Dwarf sat by their small camp's fire, the only sound being the occasional snap and hiss of the flames. Gandalf's pipe had long since been smoked and put away. His storm-grey eyes watched as more crows gathered in the distance at the foot of the Mountain, as he thought about the dark tale he had heard, digesting it and in turn storing it away in the vast library of his mind. The long silence continued as neither spoke, for the young Dwarf had nothing more to say and the Wizard had no words that would properly articulate his thoughts.

A crow let out a cackling call from somewhere in the distance as a gentle gust of wind tugged on the loose strands of their hair, causing the small fire to leap and writhe. Gandalf finally turned his ancient eyes to the young Dwarf sitting quietly next to him. Gimli's large brown eyes were now closed as he rested his chin on his upraised knees that he hugged to his chest, a palpable tiredness about him as if the mere telling of his story had drained him. It was then that the Wizard reached out and offered the only comfort he could to the copper-haired Dwarf.

Gimli's eyes opened at the feeling of a warm hand upon his head, and looking to his left he saw that it was Gandalf, the Istari's expression compassionate.

Gandalf watched as the young Dwarf's eyes drifted shut again and he let go of his legs before leaning against the Wizard's side, taking the comfort the Istari offered. And for a small moment he was simply Gimli again, from simpler days— the young Dwarf who always stayed up too late dancing and drinking, always getting into trouble with Ulfr and giving poor Gloin premature grey hairs.

Gandalf gladly took Gimli's heavy weight upon his side, giving the young Dwarf's head a paternal pat. He felt a small surge of pride, feeling almost privileged that after all Gimli had been through and had faced, he accepted Gandalf's offer of comfort without hesitation. How strange that this simple act seemed to soothe a small part of him as well, for even a great Istari like he craved some small measure of comfort every now and then. And after what he and the rest of the White Council had seen and done in their dark dealings with Dol Guldur, lair of the Necromancer, and the no doubt costly battle he knew that was soon to come, he would not begrudge a small gesture of reassurance.

The two continued to sit in calm silence, both of their minds far away in their own thoughts, one thinking of the future, the other of the past. Unfortunately the peace was utterly shattered when another being decided to make its presence known just then.

"THAT STENCH!!!" came a sudden loud and grating voice from behind them.

Gandalf and Gimli sprang to their feet with a yell of fright, both whirling around, axes, staff and sword instantly in hand, hearts racing, prepared for battle. Two tall pines at the edge of the clearing swayed for a moment as a massive dark-furred shape shouldered its way past their trunks -- it was Beorn, in bear form, back from his wanderings.

Seeing who it was, Gandalf relaxed with an irritated sigh, lowering his poised sword and staff with a roll of his eyes. By the Valar, must he always find himself surrounded by idiocy? he thought sourly to himself.

Gimli also lowered his weapons before returning them to their holsters at his sides, but did not completely relax as he glared at the newly arrived Beorn. The massive bear reared up onto its hind legs to tower above them; so large was he that he blocked out the sight of the Lonely Mountain behind him. Gimli had to fight the urge to take a step back and reach for one of his axes again, but he managed to steel himself and not move from his spot next to Gandalf as he warily watched.

"Beorn! Damn it all!" Gandalf groused angrily, as he dropped his staff in disgust before shoving Glamdring back into its scabbard with a loud 'snick'. Beorn didn't seem to care one way or the other, for the mammoth bear only gave them a rude snort as he looked down his massive snout at the two. Then a strange wind that neither the Dwarf nor the Wizard felt began to ripple the thick dense fur of the were-bear's pelt. To Gimli it looked as if the bear's features were blurring as a prickling of static surged in the air around them, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to rise. The two watched as Beorn's features again came into focus but instead of the massive bear from just moments before, there now stood a huge Man wearing a simple tunic with a large, coarse black beard on his broad homely face.

"Really, Beorn. It is no wise thing to startle a Wizard!" Gandalf snapped, putting a fist on his hip.

"Aye! He could have turned you into something uglier than you already are, fool!"

"Gimli!" Gandalf hissed, shooting the copper-haired Dwarf a glare (who only rolled his eyes) before turning his attention back to the skin-changer.

"I swear that foul stench is enough to drive one insane!" Beorn continued to rant, completely ignoring both the Dwarf and the Wizard. His lip curled as he glared pointedly at the still smoking venison above the fire.

"Short trip for some," Gimli snorted under his breath. Ignoring Gandalf's warning glance, he crossed his arms over his chest and turned to look off at the Mountain in the distance.

Beorn was still glaring at the cooking venison when he suddenly turned to look down at the grumpy Grey Wizard, as if remembering something he had wanted to say before getting side-tracked.

"If you're interested-- not that I care! The Elven host and the Men of the Lake seem to be preparing for a siege of the Mountain. The birds also tell me that there is a large host of Dwarves heading this way at top speed, from the East."

"Dwarf host? They could only be from the Iron Hills!" said Gimli excitedly, his head snapping in their direction as he uncrossed his arms.

"Aye, Dain the Ironfoot himself leads them. It appears Thorin was wise to seek his aid, though even I am surprised at their speed," Gandalf answered, more to himself than to the other two as he stroked his white beard in thought.

Gimli watched the Wizard with wide eyes at hearing this, for this was all news to him. Not to mention the excitement at the thought of maybe getting to actually see one of the greatest heroes of Middle-earth, the famed Dain II, son of Nain, slayer of Azog and legendary warrior of the battle of Azanulbizar.

"With any luck, they might get to the mountain before the Goblin horde," Gandalf said to himself.

"Goblin horde!?" Gimli loudly exclaimed while Beorn's attention also snapped to the Wizard, his posture suddenly tense.

Gandalf let out a great irritated sigh as he tiredly closed his eyes for a moment, wishing he had not just said that aloud. But there was nothing to be done about that now— he might as well just tell Gimli. Reaching this decision, he opened his eyes again and watched the proud mountain in the near distance for a long moment.

"Aye, since the death of the Great Goblin, the goblins and orcs have been amassing an army, bent on avenging him. Led by none other then Bolg of the North himself, they are racing to the Mountain as we speak. Now I must see if I can show all these damned fools the folly of all this petty squabbling over old Smaug's gold-- for their true enemy is coming!"

"Let the Goblins come! The more the better, I say! Means all the more that I can kill!" Beorn boomed with a nasty grin on his broad face, as he slammed his massive fist against his meaty palm to illustrate his eagerness.

"I agree! My axes cry with a thirst that only their foul kind's blood can quench!" Gimli declared with a resolute nod of his head, clenching an upraised fist.

Gandalf, however, did not share his companion's eagerness, in fact he noticeably frowned at Gimli's words. He took a deep breath and turned to the young Dwarf again. "You, Gimli, will not be going anywhere. You have been through enough as is," he said, standing up to his full height and looking down at the copper-haired Dwarf with his best 'You will listen to me, because I'm your elder' look.

Gimli simply stared at him, his mouth partially open, arms slack at his sides for a long moment, digesting what Gandalf had just said. The Wizard mentally counted to ten and sure enough at the count of ten, Gimli's large brown eyes narrowed and he visibly began to bristle. In all his travels in Middle-earth, Gandalf had come to the conclusion that only Dwarves had the ability to truly bristle— like cats, their hair could noticeably lift up a bit. He watched this happen with Gimli and readied himself for the explosion he knew was to follow.

"NO! I am no child to be kept out from underfoot! I will not be denied this fight, Gandalf!" Gimli yelled. But Gandalf would not be dissuaded from his decision.

"This will be no mere skirmish, Gimli! This will be a war! And in the end everyone will see that there is plenty of the treasure for all!" As soon as he had said this, Gandalf closed his eyes and gave an internal wince, berating himself for his choice of words.

"Treasure?!" Gimli hissed in disbelief as he glared incredulously at the Wizard. Had Gandalf heard nothing he had told him? Did he honestly believe he cared anything about that dragon's hoard?

"Piss on Smaug's treasure!" the young Dwarf spat. "I care nothing for that old worm's gold! Do you not see? It is the Mountain! A home, Gandalf. A real home-- and my Da and uncle are there! That is the true treasure worth fighting for! The Elf King, Thorin and the rest of 'em can shove all the damned gold up their arses, for all I care!" and he made a very rude hand gesture to illustrate his point.

"Gimli, I already have enough to worry about in this coming battle. I need not have you add to them!" Gandalf said. "Now I know you--"

"No!" Gimli suddenly snarled, interrupting the Grey Wizard, his almond-shaped eyes flashing with fire. So fierce was his countenance that even Gandalf was taken momentarily aback, for in that small moment Gandalf saw not young Gimli, but instead the fiery image of Nei. And while she had been alive Lady Nei had been one of those individuals of Middle-earth that Gandalf had on a mental list to avoid angering at all costs. Actually, she was near the top of that list, along with names like Thranduil and Glorfindel.

"No, it is you who do not understand!" Gimli continued heatedly. "This is a chance for something better, a better life. Taking back our rightful home! I am tired of wandering about, begging for work! I'm so sick of mining coal! Sick of sleeping in barns or doorways like some damn beggar! I'm tired of being hungry and looked down upon like some greedy begging dog!" he growled through his tightly clenched teeth, his broad hands balled into white knuckled fists.

Beorn meanwhile had begun pacing in boredom around the clearing as the two argued, when a small black squirrel slipped down a large tree as he was passing, stopping the skin-changer in his tracks. Its large tail flicked about in excitement and it chattered to Beorn as it clung spider-like to the trunk. Whatever it said caused the huge Man to throw back his head and give a great guffaw, and both the Wizard and Dwarf paused for a moment to glance his way before turning back to their argument.

"I am sorry, Gimli. But I expressly forbid it! You have no armor and I know that if your father were here, he would forbid it as well. You may not go and that is final!"

Gandalf cautiously watched the young Dwarf battle with himself and it seemed for a moment that Gimli would continue to argue, but then the tension suddenly drained out of him and Gimli's broad shoulders slumped in seeming defeat. Gandalf reached out and gave Gimli's shoulder a reassuring pat, mentally sighing with relief, knowing how hard it must be for the proud young Dwarf to hold back his bitterness and accept his decision. With that hurdle now seemingly over with, the Istari turned to other matters that needed to be dealt with.

"Now then… the evening grows late and I have tarried here for too long already," Gandalf said, giving the dejected Gimli a final pat before turning his attention to the mountain again, his hand now thoughtfully stroking his long white beard. "I must get to the camp of Wood-elves and Bard!" he said aloud, though he spoke more to himself than to Gimli, who now silently watched him with a strange look in his deep brown eyes. Or to Beorn, who, his squirrel friend having left, was now rudely scratching at an itch in his crotch as he stared blandly at the Grey Wizard.

But Gandalf gave no mind to either of them as he thought furiously of what he should do. He couldn't leave Gimli alone, knowing the young Dwarf would simply try to join the coming battle if he left him here to his own devices. That meant he would have to come with him, for even if Beorn had not been planning to take part in the battle, he would not trust to leave the young Dwarf and the large skin-changer together unsupervised, especially if the events from earlier that day were anything to go by. The Wizard supposed that he would have to leave Gimli in the care of one of the camps, though the way both the Lake Men and Elves no doubt felt about Dwarves in general at the moment would be troublesome. He quickly decided that it would be best for all if he left Gloin's son in the care of Thranduil's people rather than that of the Lake Men. With any luck he might even convince Thranduil to leave a few of his guards to keep an eye on the Dwarf. And maybe even persuade him to have Legolas be one of those guards, which would take care of at least two of his worries.

Thranduil would most assuredly not be thrilled with the charge and Gandalf was not looking forward to Gimli's no doubt loud and violent reaction, but he knew he could trust Thranduil to keep the young Dwarf safe for him. He owed Gloin and Lady Nei that much at least. And, he admitted sourly to himself, to an extent he owed it to, Thorin and the rest of the Dwarves in the company, for not having sent word to Thranduil to let the Elven King know of the Dwarves' presence in his woods, or to have had the foresight to have given Thorin a quick letter signed by him, explaining their presence, in case they got lost or were come upon by any of Thranduil's people. But unfortunately for all, he had not thought of it; his mind had been on other things like the White Council and the matters of the Necromancer.

Now with the problem of where to keep the young Dwarf decided, he began to get ready to leave, walking over to collect his tall staff which was still laying where he had thrown it down earlier.

"Come, Gimli. I'm afraid you'll have to leave most of the venison behind, for we have no time for it to finish smoking. We must get to the Mountain in all possible haste!" With his back turned as he spoke, the Wizard never saw Gimli drop nimbly into a crouch and swing one of his strong legs out in a perfectly executed sweeping maneuver.

"Now then get your things and--!!

Gandalf let out an exclamation of surprise when out of nowhere a sudden force knocked his feet out from under him just as he was bending down to pick up his staff. His long beard flew up and he fell heavily on his rear end with a loud indignant curse.

In the next instant a large shower of sparks went up as Gimli kicked the fire, knocking over the sticks of wood that held the smoking venison (after quickly managing to snatch a large piece of half-smoked meat) and adding more to the confusion.

"Forgive me, Gandalf, but this is something I must do!!" Gimli yelled in apology as he made a mad dash across the clearing, piece of venison in hand, his three axes on his belt clinking merrily and his thick copper ponytail flying out behind him.

Gandalf immediately sat up and angrily adjusted his large hat out of his eyes. He looked up just in time to see Gimli bolt past a laughing Beorn, who simply watched him go before the Dwarf disappeared into the woods. All of this took place in a matter of seconds.

"Gimli! Get back here this instant! GIMLI!!!" Gandalf bellowed angrily after him as he snatched up his staff.

Seeing that Gimli had no intentions of coming back and knowing that he would be unable to catch him, Gandalf decided that he would be forced to use his magic if he wanted to stop the Dwarf before it was too late. Stumbling to his feet, the Wizard began to quickly mutter a simple spell he had learned from the Silvan Elves while he pointed his staff in the direction the Dwarf had gone. But he was forced to halt his spell with a frustrated curse when Beorn stepped unthinkingly right in his way, his huge back to the now fuming Wizard.

"Hahaha! I had no idea Dwarves could run that fast!" Beorn laughed, still looking appreciatively in the direction Gimli had disappeared.

"Damn it all! I am completely surrounded by FOOLS!" Gandalf cursed to himself, throwing up his hands as he looked to the heavens in utter frustrated exasperation.

"By the Valar! Why did you not stop him!? Gandalf then demanded out loud as he angrily adjusted his hat again.

"What does it matter?" Beorn said with a snort, giving the Istari a brief glance over his shoulder. "The Cub is going the same direction as you," he added, crossing his great arms over his chest. His tone suggested that it was so obvious a thing, Gandalf must clearly be stupid not to see it, and he cared not in the least about the Grey Wizard's outrage.

Gandalf tugged at his white beard in frustration as he gave the skin-changer one more infuriated glare. But Beorn took no further notice of him, and instead let out a face-cracking yawn before lumbering rudely off, without so much as a farewell, back into the woods.

Gandalf stood there alone in the clearing for a long moment, with the small tree, the smoking remains of the now extinguished fire and the scattered bits of sticks and half- cooked venison, before giving his head a shake. He had no time for this! He was already terribly late and could only hope that he would get to the encampment of Wood-elves and Lake Men by nightfall. No matter how much he wished it were not so, Gimli's fate was now out of his hands. As if he didn't have enough to worry about!

The Wizard sent up a quick prayer, Valar watch out for that one. May Nei's child prove to have her same greatness with an axe! For Gandalf had no illusions that he would need it very soon. Valar watch out for them all…

With that the Wizard snatched up his dark cloak from the ground, pulled it about his shoulders and stormed away, grumbling to himself as he once again continued his journey to the Mountain in the near distance, now painted red and orange in the late afternoon light. It had been a very trying day and looked to be a very trying night, not to mention the day to come!

Dwarves, Elves, Men, Hobbits, Goblins, were-bears! Bah, to the lot of them! he thought crankily to himself as he made his way through the forest.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

It was several days later that Gandalf found himself, arms uplifted, voice raised, standing between the advancing ranks of Dwarves, Men and Elves that prepared to clash against one another.

"Halt!" he cried, his appearance startling those on either side. "Halt!" his voice thundered, his staff giving a brilliant flash like a bolt of lightning.

He had finally had enough! He had had enough of the ignorance, bigotry, greed and petty squabbling of Thorin, Thranduil and Bard in these last days. His words of advice and warning had fallen unheeded upon their deaf ears. It had finally come to this, when it was almost too late, with the true enemy now bearing down on them all— it was their last chance!

The lust for Smaug's gold had brought out the worst in all those here, and it was this that had made him so frustrated with the Dwarves, Elves and Men of the Lake. For Gandalf knew all these people; he was not surrounded by petty or selfish beings, he was surrounded by good people! Heroes and noble beings that should not be squabbling amongst themselves!

But he knew that there was a driving force behind their reasons to keep or want a portion of the treasure, and all sides had just claims on the gold. Thranduil, who had marched his army out of the forest to the Mountain in hopes of gaining the, then thought, unguarded treasure, was driven by the needs of his people. His kingdom's depleted armory and treasury desperately needed replenishing, and with some of the treasure they could buy much needed supplies, weapons and goods for their long and continued struggle against the threat of spiders and other dark forces. Unlike the other Elven Kingdoms of Rivendell or Lothlorien, Thranduil had no powerful ring to guard against threats, nor did his Kingdom have the safety of the sea and the shielding of the Blue Mountains like Lindon. Only the strength and determination of his people kept the shadow of Dol Guldur at bay.

The same went for Thorin— for all his obsession and pompousness, was his cause not just? The Mountain and gold were rightly his and his people's. It was not by Elven hands, nor the hands of Men that the great halls of the Mountain had been formed; it was not by their pain, sweat and labor that the treasure had been dug and wrought. It was certainly not the Elves that Smaug had mostly destroyed and burned to cinders, chasing the few that survived from their rightful home. It was not they who were forced into exile all these years. If any had a right, was it not Thorin to reclaim his rightful home and wealth?

Like both Thranduil and Bard, Thorin also had his people's needs to think about. Some of his people were still forced to wander about, poor, doing the most menial of work— digging ditches and graves, coal mining and blacksmith-work if they were lucky. And while the Halls in Ered Luin were not so badly off anymore, with the opportunity of working with steel, bronze and wood, and a continued business of making tools, furniture, and simple weapons, they could be better off. Ered Luin was also rather small and space was limited, but here in Erebor there was space for all and his people could work again with stone, gold and silver! Once again the Dwarves could create glorious works of art, marvelous toys and glittering jewelry, and forge finely wrought and sought after weapons and armor.

Bard too was justified in his want of some of the treasure— was he not the one to single-handedly slay the dragon with his great bow? He too had people now homeless and in need, thanks to Smaug's burning wrath. And while at the moment they had the aid of the Wood-elves, they would need more if they wished to begin to rebuild their homes.

All three, the Lake Men, the Wood-elves and the Dwarves, saw themselves as just in their cause — to an extent they all were and Gandalf knew it. They were all wrong in their personal bigotry and ignorance, but right in their need. But for now, more pressing matters would need to be dealt with first, before these squabbles could be sorted out.

"Dread has come upon you all! Alas! It has come more swiftly than I guessed. The goblins are upon you!" Gandalf boomed before turning in Dain's direction, hand outstretched. "Bolg of the North is coming, O Dain! whose father you slew in Moria."

"Behold! The bats are above his army like a sea of locust. They ride upon wargs!" He spoke to all the armies now, watching the looks of confusion and amazement on their faces, and as if in step with his warnings the sky above grew ever darker. The Dwarves halted and gazed at the sky. The Elves cried out with many voices. It was then that Gandalf felt a moment of small triumph as he watched the armies' reactions. Now they saw. Now there was some hope for the coming battle, he thought to himself

There was a stirring within Dain's army as some of their armored ranks stepped aside to allow Dain to come forth. Gandalf watched the striking dark-haired Dwarf clad in fine shining armor striding towards him, flanked by two of his best warriors bearing finely wrought weapons and shields. A quick glance at the Elven and Lake Men's forces showed Thranduil, now clad in kingly green and gold armor, coming proudly forth with Bard at his side, flanked by their men. Gandalf even caught sight of Legolas as the young archer walked resolutely behind his father with his two elder brothers.

"Come!" he then called to all. "There is yet time for council. Let Dain son of Nain come swiftly to us!"

For the true battle has come…

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Gloin was in a daze as he swung his axe at any orc or goblin that came near, running more on pure instinct than skill, his heart hammering in his chest as he willed himself to keep calm. Panic was a deadly thing in a fight. The heavy mail hauberk and helmet he had found and now wore chafed, making him feel clumsy as he wished desperately for the hundredth time that he was wielding his beloved long knife instead of the heavy battle axe he held in both hands. But thanks to the Wood-elves, he and the others of Thorin's company had been stripped of their previous weapons and so had been forced to use the ones they could find in the old armories in the Mountain. Oin fought behind him, also clad in a heavy hauberk, swinging an axe with about as much skill as he as they fought back-to-back, both on the defensive rather than the attack.

Damn it all! He and his brother were jewelers, not seasoned warriors! None of them were! Gloin cursed to himself as he just barely ducked a sword swipe that would have taken off his head. He slammed his axe into his attacker's side, but no sooner had he ripped his bloody weapon from the goblin's flopping corpse than he was on the defensive against another shrieking creature.

Both his lost beloved Nei and his son would have made short work of these damned beasts, and would have made it all look so terribly easy and graceful, he snorted to himself as he clumsily swung the heavy axe he held two- handed. Gloin was no fool; he knew he was no skilled warrior. His mate used to remind him of it constantly whenever he would lose a fight (which happened more often than not).

"My dear stupid Husband. It was pure luck and Mahal's good grace that you managed to survive Azanulbizar!" Nei would say with an exasperated sigh, shaking her head at him while she tended his hurts, usually after having to step in and trounce his opponent for him.

He knew that she was right. But at least during that terrible and costly war, when he was still young and foolish, he had been wielding his long knife and had not been in the main battle, but instead had been desperately helping to defend the army's supplies with many others on the outskirts of the massive battlefield before the great gates of Moria. Not like his fierce Nei, who had been right in the thick of it, her screaming axe in hand, earning her name Nei the Burkdis(1.)! There were songs and poems sung of her even now; only her skill and prowess on the battlefield overshadowed her beauty that day.

But he was not Nei, nor was he his son who had been blessed with inheriting his mother's skills. No, he and his brother were just jewelers, who unfortunately had become so poor that they couldn't afford to buy even the cheapest materials they needed for their chosen craft. So desperate that they had been willing to go on this damned suicide quest for the slim promise of gaining a home and a portion of treasure. Both had been brought along because of their fire-lighting skill— neither of them were skilled in wielding an axe unless there was a need to cut wood or split logs, he thought disgustedly to himself.

Thorin's company had initially made a very grand and impressive start as they came charging out from the gates of the Mountain. Leaping down to the falls' foot, they rushed to the battle trumpet sounding, managing to avoid the rocks hurled at them from above, driving the wargs and goblins back. Thorin rallied the Men, Elves and Dwarves of the various armies to him, then drove directly against the bodyguard of Bolg, but even with all his determination and the renewed fight of the other armies, they could not break the goblin's line. All too soon the battle had degenerated into blind chaos once again, with many of Thorin's company scattered and simply trying to defend themselves and survive.

Gloin himself fought desperately on, keenly aware of Oin's presence behind him. He would not let his little brother down— he was the eldest and it was his job to watch out for him. It was his job to survive! And he would not let Gimli become another orphan, just another poor Dwarf alone and forgotten, spending the rest of his days mining coal for barely enough copper shillings to buy bread, until he died in a cave-in or got black-lung so bad that he would waste away. No! He would not let that happen! Gloin found himself fighting with renewed vigor.

Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of young Fili and Kili working together to take down a large club- wielding orc. The twins made quick work of the villain before having to defend against another attacker, this time a yelling goblin riding upon a large snarling and snapping warg. Like their uncle Thorin, the twins' weapon of choice was a sword rather than an axe, which they both wielded with skill; they had been well trained by the weapons masters of Ered Luin in the Blue Mountains, as befitted two in direct succession to the throne.

Gloin had lost sight of Thorin soon after they had clashed against the goblins, as well as several others of their company including Balin and Dwalin, who he knew could handle themselves. He had seen Dori earlier, his helmet missing and his long inky mane having escaped its tie to whip about him. Unlike the others of their company, Dori did not wear a heavy hauberk; instead he went shirtless except for a simple chest plate and gauntlets, leaving his massively muscled and tattooed arms free. He was also one of the few of their company having no problem holding his own as he swung a huge long handled war hammer about as if it weighed nothing. What the large Dwarf lacked in skill he made up for in pure physical power, for no enemy could get near him. The large Dwarf simply plowed through any block or shield, sending orc and goblin bodies flying.

Gloin remembered how he had pulled Dori aside during their stay in Lake town and asked why he had not simply broken his bonds when the Wood-elves had captured them or why had he not broken down the door to his cell, knowing that the large Dwarf was capable of doing both. Dori's answer had been that he didn't want to hurt anyone or get anyone hurt. 'Sides, those Elves weren't bad, they were just doing their job. And one pretty thing even sang to me, he said in his deep rumbling voice, rubbing the back of his thick neck and giving a shrug of embarrassment at the glower Gloin gave him. Dori was far too soft and kind-hearted in Gloin's opinion. He and his brothers, Nori and Ori had only come along on Thorin's long-shot quest for a chance of better lives and a proper home, like Gloin himself and Oin.. The three strong Black Locks had been forced to eke out a poor living as porters and ditch-diggers in the town of Shiprock, just a stone's throw from the mining town of Black Hollow.

A Man let out a terrible scream as he was run through by an orc's rusted scimitar, followed a moment later by that same orc being cut down by a Dwarf from Dain's army wielding a battleaxe. It was in that moment that Gloin caught a momentary glimpse of poor old fat Bombur, red-faced and sweating profusely, looking like some utter fool who had just barely managed to squeeze himself into someone else's too small armor. Swinging his long- handled axe about with even less skill than he and Oin, his wild strokes were dangerous to both friend and foe alike.

Gloin never could understand why Thorin had let the fat cook come along. He had, to Gloin's mind, proven himself to be completely useless--when he was not a burden. Gloin disliked Bombur, always had. Corpulence in male Dwarves was greatly looked down upon in Dwarven society. In a culture of laborers and warriors, for a Dwarf to simply stay "fat" meant that they must not be working and that they were also very well-to-do to be able to maintain and feed such a weight. Gloin also freely admitted to himself that part of his dislike was due to a certain amount of envy. Bombur and the rest of his relations were a successful family of bakers and cooks, living in the comfort and safety of Ered Luin's halls. They were one of the lucky ones; they had never had to struggle like he and many other Dwarves in exile. At least the two other Broad Beams, Bifur and Bofur, could help out and had proven to be of some use on their journey.

Nearby another Man went down, blood and bone flying as he was struck in the face with a wickedly spiked mace, swung on a heavy chain by a cackling orc. Not far away an Elf desperately fought off an attacking goblin with two long knives in hand. He was trying to defend the fallen body of another Elf, its broken bow still clutched in one hand, the many leaf-fletched arrows fallen from its quiver to lie scattered on the ground. To his left a Dwarf let out scream of pain as a dark snarling warg mangled one of her arms. The beast let go with a howl of pain of its own as the warrior began stabbing it in the chest and neck with her short sword.

Thorin was such an utter pompous fool! Had he forgotten just what kind of Dwarves made up this party? Simple laborers, tailors, scholars, cooks, porters, coal-diggers and one Hobbit grocer pretending to be a burglar! And with the exception of Thorin himself, not a true warrior in the bunch! They didn't even have Gandalf with them any longer! Gloin cursed to himself, remembering how he had bitten his tongue to keep from saying exactly that as they had prepared to knock down the wall and join the battle.

He remembered Balin and Dwalin in deep discussion with Thorin as the silver-haired and hawk-nosed Dwarf put on some shining armor. They all knew the battle was turning. The three armies were being pushed back by the dark tide; the goblins would soon win the gate! Thorin was determined to lead them out in a charge and join the battle and while Balin and Dwalin agreed that it was an honorable plan, it was also foolhardy. They had tried to convince him that the best course was to stay put and defend their fortified position. Especially taking into account that while all here could fight with their fists and wield a knife with skill, with the exception of Balin, Dwalin, Fili and Kili and Thorin himself, almost none of their small number were skilled at swinging even an axe or sword!

But Thorin remained deaf to their pleas and could not be dissuaded from his course as he took up an axe. Gloin had watched the silent concerned looks that Kili and Fili gave one another. But he knew that they would resolutely stand behind Thorin (not really having a choice in the matter) even though they clearly did not agree with their uncle's decisions lately and were questioning the logic of this one. He watched Dwalin bitterly shake his head as Balin gave his own snow-white beard a harsh tug of pure frustration, while the rest of them either looked nervously around or tried to steel themselves, clutching. their found weapons in sweaty hands.

Gloin himself was hurriedly trying to re-adjust the too large hauberk that his younger brother now wore; it had clearly been originally made for a much bigger and stronger Dwarf. The ink-haired Ori was fiddling with a trumpet, a sword tucked under his arm as he waited for Thorin to give the signal to sound the call. His equally dark-haired cousins Dori and Nori stood on either side of their erected wall, holding onto the large levers, anxiously awaiting the same signal from Thorin to knock down the wall. None looked happy about it, but the three Black Locks were stoic, accepting whatever fate awaited them and willing to face it head on.

Looking around at the faces of his fellows, Gloin knew he was not the only one who had been disturbed and disgusted by their leader's recent behavior. All knew that Thorin was pompous and a rather large blow-hard, but they also knew that underneath he was a good person and a leader. While he had a tendency to let his ego and pride get the better of him at times, he did care about and worry for his people.

Just his being here was proof of his want for a better life for them. If he truly didn't care about the others he would not have even bothered with the long-shot Quest for Erebor in the first place and would have simply walked away from Gandalf on that road all those years ago. His life had been comfortable enough ruling over the halls of Ered Luin with his sister. And he had put himself in danger for them all a number of times on the Quest--though they had not seen it (all of them stuck in sacks at the time, awaiting to be cooked), they had heard from Bilbo how Thorin had heroically tried to fight off three trolls to rescue them, with nothing but a large burning stick.

Yet none here knew this Thorin of the last couple of days, so strange had his behavior become. Gloin had to wonder how Thorin would react if he knew just how close he had come to being deposed several times in recent days, especially when Thorin had picked up Bilbo and had threatened to bodily toss the small Hobbit down to the rocks below. Neither Thorin, Bilbo, nor those standing below had seen Fili and Kili silently move close, poised to grab both their uncle and the Hobbit at the first sign that Thorin would carry out his threat. All of them had looked to the frowning and worried- looking Balin then, as they had in Mirkwood after losing Thorin, waiting for any sign to act. Luckily for everyone Thorin calmed and did not carry out his threat. But many of their party had watched small Bilbo walk away with Gandalf, Bard and the rest, wishing that they too could simply walk away.

He remembered the disapproving look on little Bilbo's face earlier the previous day as he had looked around at all the other Dwarves of the company, after Thorin had picked up a bow in a fit of fury and fired a shot at the speaker below who had demanded a portion of the treasure for Esgaroth and the Forest. Gloin had given an angry snort at the Hobbit's expression; it was clear that Bilbo thought they all must agree with Thorin's actions. Idiot! Gloin wanted to smack him upside the head— even after all this time traveling with them their burglar still hadn't learned to pick up on their subtle expressions. Fine, let the Hobbit think what he wanted! What did he care!

But the fact was that many of their company thought Bard within his rights to ask for one twelfth of the treasure, as well as for Thorin to offer some treasure to help the Men of the Lake, who had been hospitable to them during their stay in town. Bard had slain the dragon after all. If any deserved some of the treasure, was it not he? And though it rankled and they felt forced, insulted and threatened, should they not just give in and hand over a portion of the treasure to the greedy Elven King, and be done with it? They still had the Mountain in the end, right?

But none had the courage to say their thoughts aloud, so fierce and angry had Thorin's countenance been. Only Balin, backed by Dwalin, and both Fili and Kili had dared to voice their concerns and had almost been struck for it, so furious had Thorin become. No one said it, but all of their party knew that Thorin had fallen under the curse of the dragon's gold; gold-sickness was an ugly thing and everyone knew that gold a dragon has been wallowing in for years was especially cursed. But they had all sworn their loyalty and allegiance to Thorin, though they had sworn it when he was of better mind and heart.

Yet they all had felt betrayed when they saw Gandalf, who they thought a true and staunch ally, open the box and hold the Arkenstone aloft for them to see as he stood with those below. But the worst blow had been when they found that it had been none other the Bilbo himself who had stolen it and given it to Bard.

Gloin's thoughts were interrupted when Oin gave a sharp cry of pain from behind him; an orc's rusted blade had managed to get through his defenses, cutting through his armor and slicing into his shoulder. With a surge of adrenalin Gloin quickly dispatched his spindly goblin opponent to quickly come to his brother's aid. And not a moment too soon, for Oin had dropped his axe in his pain and the orc was bearing down on him, eager to finish off the injured Dwarf. So focused was the beast that it was caught unawares by Gloin's axe. The weapon split its head wide open with a shower of gore, splattering not only Oin but several others nearby, including a weary looking dark-haired Elf and the long- limbed goblin he clashed against.

"Oin!" Gloin cried, putting a concerned and steadying hand on his brother's uninjured shoulder.

"I'm fine--just--just a scratch!" Oin panted with a wince. He tried to give Gloin a reassuring smile as he clutched at his bloody shoulder, but Gloin wasn't fooled even for a moment as he alternately glared at his brother's wound and kept an eye out for another attack. Fortunately, the two Dwarves found themselves in a small lull in the fighting. Gloin watching with worry and fear as Oin took a deep breath before letting go of his shoulder, then reached down with a pained groan to snatch up his fallen axe with a red- slicked hand.

"See…I'm fine," Oin managed to say, trying again to smile at his older brother. But Gloin could see the pain in his brother's deep brown eyes— his smooth face was pale, appearing almost white next to his black beard and the long dark strands of hair that had escaped from his braid to trail out from under his borrowed helmet.

Gloin was just opening his mouth to retort angrily, but unfortunately it was then that their small moment of rest ended. Several goblins came at them, weapons covered in crimson from having just cut down a group of ill- trained Lake Men. Now they set their sights on the two Dwarves, one clearly injured.

Luckily for Gloin and Oin, one of the charging goblins was cut down immediately. A fierce dark-haired Elf in the green garb of the Elves of Mirkwood had taken the opportunity of the goblin's distraction to slice its head clean off, before moving on to her next opponent. Her elegant white curved sword flashed out in a deadly series of thrusts and parries; she seemed to glide through the chaos around her, dealing death to all that opposed her. Gloin thought he remembered seeing her standing next to the Elf King's throne, no doubt one of his top guards, as he watched her disappear back into the mass of fighting.

But Gloin didn't have time to admire her skill for long— he and Oin still had problems of their own. For while the Elven warrior had taken down one assailant, there were still three left bearing down on them.

Gloin found himself facing two opponents, one carrying a spear and the other a heavy club. Oin, who was once again back-to-back with him, faced the third cursing orc, this one wielding an ugly saw-toothed sword. The goblin with the spear charged at him, attempting to run him through, but Gloin managed to knock the spear away from him with his axe. Unfortunately for the goblin its momentum now carried it right by the black-haired Dwarf, and Gloin wasted no time in delivering a devastating blow to the goblin's chest, his blade plowing through the beast's ribs and the soft organs within, cutting the goblin almost in half. Gloin had but a moment to recover from his swing when the other goblin was upon him.

Oin somehow managed to take down his opponent, feinting to the right then landing a surprise chop to the orc's left side, before quickly delivering a death blow to its head. His teeth clenched as the wound in his shoulder screamed in protest at the movement.

Meanwhile Gloin stepped forward to meet his club- wielding opponent and as soon as the goblin came within striking distance he lashed out, throwing his weight into the heavy strike, aiming to take its head off. But to his surprise the goblin managed to step back and avoid the powerful swipe. A nasty grin appeared on its hideously twisted face, showing a mouthful of pointed green and black teeth as its clawed hands tightened on the club it held.

Gloin tried to do a quick reversing maneuver with his axe to counter his mistake and block against the incoming opponent. Damn it all! He had seen Gimli do this one-handed countless times! But unfortunately for Gloin the simple- looking maneuver was much harder to actually do. For he had not even been able bring his reversed swing to bear when the large orc struck out. It hit him full force in the stomach with its heavy club, knocking his axe from his grip as well as the air from his lungs and throwing him back into Oin, causing them to both to crash to the ground.

It was a blow that would have broken ribs or caused internal bleeding in a Man or Elf. But Gloin immediately managed to sit up, an arm around his middle as he gasped for air. His abdomen was spasming, his stomach threatening to expel what food was in it, but no permanent damage was done.Oin however did not move from the ground; already bleeding and injured he had been knocked out by the blow of his brother crashing into him from behind and knocking him harshly to the ground.

Gloin sent a small prayer to Mahal for Oin to remain unconscious and for the goblins to think he was dead and leave his brother be. With any luck maybe one of them could survive this.

"So this was how it was to end? Gloin thought to himself with surprising calm. He knew that he would never be able to snatch up his axe and rise in time to defend himself, so instead he simply glared his defiance and hate up at the snickering goblin that stood over him, its heavy club raised and ready to smash him to a bloody pulp.

The goblin was laughing nastily, when the shaft of a leaf- fletched arrow suddenly sank through its left eye and punched into its brain, causing the goblin's head to snap backward. It stood there motionless for a moment before falling forward, very much dead. Gloin had to move his legs out of the way to prevent the large goblin from falling on them.

Never one to let an opportunity slip by, Gloin managed to catch up his fallen axe and quickly scrambled to his feet, turning to see who had saved him even as he took up a protective stance over the still unconscious Oin. His brown eyes widened in surprise at the sight of his rescuer.

Standing behind him, its bow lowering, was a slim long- legged male Elf, his features smooth and delicate, windswept hair around its shoulders in a fall of onyx. He was light-bodied and androgynous, as his race tended to be compared to the heavier- bodied and stronger- featured Elves of Rivendell, but still clearly male and most assuredly a warrior. His dress was that of the rich greens and browns of the Wood-elves, his long legs clad in muddy soft- soled boots, a long white knife at his belt.

During his time in the Wood-elves company, Gloin had come to the conclusion that while they tended to have slighter frames than the Elves of Rivendell and other Elvish folk he had seen during his travels, they also seemed more dangerous, more feral. And the Elf before him was no exception. But while the Elf's clothes and weapons were liberally splattered with foul black blood and even some splashes of red, not a drop of it clung to his pale skin, as if his immortal flesh would not allow any of it to mar his glowing skin.

The Elf looked him square in the face, cocking an elegant sweep of an eyebrow, a small knowing smirk pulling mischievously at the corner of its generous mouth. It clearly recognized him. But Gloin himself had a harder time placing the Elf. Where had he seen this Elf before? Had he seen this archer with those that had caught him and his fellows in the dark forest or had he seen him standing near the Elf King's throne, both perhaps? He gave an internal snort. Damn Elves, they all looked alike to him!

Gloin still hadn't figured out the Elf's identity when their small moment was interrupted by more shrieking goblins. The Elf's bow was instantly up again and before Gloin even had time to react the Elf had fired an arrow that struck down an orc he had not even noticed coming up behind him, then turned to the goblin that charged forward to strike down the Elf.

Without missing a beat the Elf spun, the long white knife now in hand and slashed the goblin's throat before it had even brought its scimitar all the way up, its bulbous yellow eyes bulging in surprise.

If Gloin thought Nei and Gimli could move with frightening grace, this creature was pure poetry in motion. What he lacked in raw power the Elf more than made up for in astonishing speed and agility, his movements quicksilver.

Suddenly another Elf appeared, this one with brown hair, startling both Gloin and even the first Elf for a moment. This Elf was taller than the first and carried a bow, but this one was also armed with a sword and seemed to be of lower rank than the first, made clear by its manner and the way they spoke together. Gloin could not understand their hurried and hushed conversation, but as he watched them he had to admit that the first Elf was beautiful even compared to his own kind.

The two finished their discussion and the first Elf gave him one more brief glance, then as quickly as he had appeared the Elf was gone along with his companion. Gloin watched them go, bounding away like hunting cats through the chaos, leaving orc and goblin bodies in their wake.

Saved by a damned Elf! Could this day get any worse!? he thought to himself,before turning his attention to the immediate danger of another screaming orc.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Legolas almost had to laugh as he remembered the look on the Naugrim's face. He could just see the wheels turning in its head as it tried to place him. Perhaps Naugrim did not have good memories or maybe their eyesight really was as bad as the stories said, he thought as he made his way to the ridge defended by his father, Gandalf and the main force of Mirkwood.

He ducked a swipe of a large scimitar then efficiently dispatched the orc, stabbing it through one of its sickly green eyes before quickly moving on. Brandor, one of the archers of his group, followed right behind him. Both of them fired arrows when allowed, but mostly they had to work with their blades in this tight fighting.

He knew most would have left the Naugrim to its fate. Especially that one, whom he remembered to be particularly ill-tempered. Legolas had personally been witness to it, being one of those to capture the pack of Naugrim stumbling through the woods, then later at his father's side as they were questioned, then later still taking his turn in guarding the prisoners.

Somewhere to his right in the swirling chaos he heard a piercing cry of agony from an Elven throat, sending a stab to his heart. He knew a death scream when he heard one. He'd taken another goblin down when he came across a group of Dain's armored warriors. Now these were Naugrim of whom he felt truly wary. From the moment he had set eyes on them, he noticed that these Dwarves were different than the ones he had seen, different from the bumbling band they had found wandering lost in their woods. These Dwarves could truly be called frightening.

He knew that if it had come down to a fight between the army of Wood-Elves and the army of Dwarves, if they could not have felled him by arrows from a distance, it would have fallen to Thranduil himself to battle this Dwarf Lord, Dain. For even at a distance, Legolas could see with his farseeing eyes that this Dwarf exuded a power and majesty that he had only seen in older powerful Elven Lords like his father.

The Dwarves of Dain's army moved through the goblin and orc masses with frightening ferocity and skill, and as if to illustrate this point he watched an orc head go whizzing by, its sickly yellow eyes blinking in surprise. A large Dwarf with a round shield on its back, its long, flame-red beard plaited and tucked into a heavy belt, swung a large battleaxe, skillfully taking out two goblins with one stroke.The two hadn't even fallen when the Dwarf turned and lopped off the arm of another goblin before it could cruelly skewer a wounded and fallen Man.

Behind him Brandor ran a yowling orc through as Legolas himself managed to get enough room to whip his bow out and fire off two arrows. One took a warg in the throat, but the other unfortunately bounced off a goblin's shield (the creature had jerked it up to guard against an attacking Man and inadvertently saved itself) and Legolas gave a curse before quickly moving on. He watched a Dwarf go down with a snarling dark gray warg on top of him, the warg's rider cackling in glee as it swung a nasty looking mace. Its glee however was cut short as one of Legolas' arrows struck it through the chest, and it fell off its mount as he and Brandor ran past.

Legolas momentarily lost his concentration when he and Brandor were forced to jump over several bodies laying in the mud. His heart leapt to his throat as he caught the brief sight of a young Elf around his own age, struggling in the mud, surrounded by the broken bodies of Men, Dwarves, Elves and goblins alike. He was covered in terrible wounds, one of his long legs missing mid-thigh as he struggled weakly to knock away the malicious bats that clawed and bit him. The evil creatures swarmed overhead in the dark sky, swooping down to torment the unfortunates that fell wounded or dead upon the ground and latching onto them vampire-like.

He was further distracted when a cry went up of, "The Eagles! The Eagles!" And not a moment later he heard the striking battle cry of the great birds from above as they joined the fray, swooping down on their foes, scattering the swarms of bats in their wake. Legolas could see that some of the great birds clutched large heavy stones as they flew overhead, dropping them on the evil folk below. He felt his heart gladden some at the sight, letting in a ray of hope.

Unfortunately, with his attention on the Eagles, Legolas unknowing had run right into a contingent of some of Bolg's bodyguards. He gave an internal hiss, berating himself for his lapse in concentration as he found himself in the midst of the giant goblins. They were almost as big as trolls! No sooner had he thought this than one of the massive creatures spotted him, bringing a large club down where he stood with a bellow. It would have smashed him to a bloody pulp if he hadn't nimbly sprung out of the way, his long white knife in hand. Unfortunately he had leapt from one danger directly to another—as he landed, his back bumped into something disturbingly large and solid.

Legolas instantly spun, on guard, only to see that he had run into an even bigger goblin than the first. Too close! he cursed himself. He tried to spring away again and gain some needed room to maneuver, but by bad luck on his part and pure luck on the huge goblin's part, its massive hand snatched out and caught him by one of his long legs. With a yell, Legolas found himself suddenly hoisted into the air.

He heard Brandor cry out from somewhere behind and below him.

"No!! Legolas hang-- hughk!"Brandor's cry was cut short as a Goblin wielding an ugly looking mace struck him down from behind. The dark-haired Elf was dead before he even hit the ground.

"NOOOO!"Legolas yelled as he struggled to release himself. He stabbed and slashed with renewed pain and outrage at the scaly stone-like hand that gripped him.

"Look what I caught!" called the massive goblin to another. It peered at its struggling catch, seeming to take no notice of the Elf's knife stabbing its hand or the battle that continued to rage around them. Another massive goblin stepped up to squint and sniff at its friend's catch. It made the mistake of sniffing too close to the struggling prey, and got a nasty cut on its bulbous nose for its troubles.

"Bash its pointy little head in!" it snapped, glaring at Legolas and clutching its bleeding nose.

"Nah! I'm gonna bite off its pretty face!" the first said with a nasty laugh, and the second one joined in with its own harsh cackle.

But a moment later the other goblin jerked and its laughter cut off, its mouth dropping open as its small pig-like eyes snapped wide in shock. The massive body then fell as if it were a puppet whose strings had suddenly been cut. It collided heavily against the Goblin holding Legolas, causing it to grunt and stumble before the body hit the ground. Both Legolas and his captor looked down and saw the horrible slice across its spine, the powerful stroke clearly having severed the spinal cord between its thick vertebra.

The massive goblin gave a bellow of rage, crying out what must have been the other creature's name. A close friend or a sibling perhaps? It struck a part of Legolas's mind as terribly alien, that such dark and horrible creatures might actually form attachments to one another. Legolas was unable to see who had felled the beast, for the hand that still imprisoned his leg began to whip him about as the goblin turned to this new attacker.

Legolas only had time to gasp in surprise as he felt the iron grip on his leg tighten, causing him to hiss in pain and claw and slash at the scaly hand. He was flung to and fro, the velocity causing his body and arms to fly about helplessly, and then he felt himself being bodily thrown. As he flew through the air, the world became a blur as it rushed by, and he saw just a momentary flash of a pair of wide brown eyes coming at him before he crashed into something solid. The impact knocked the breath from his lungs, and he heard whomever he had hit let out an 'Oughf!' as they both slammed into the muddy ground.

Legolas lay unmoving, his pale face covered in blood-soaked mud, too stunned to even lift his head to see who or what he had crashed into. Then he felt whomever- it- was sit up, and a hoarse voice yelled, "Get off me!"

He had just managed to struggle up, his knife still in hand, when a cruel hand suddenly gripped him by his hair and yanked him back, his long neck protesting. He gave an involuntary cry of pain as he felt his body lose contact with the ground.

This might have badly hurt or even broken the neck of a Man, but luckily for Legolas he was an Elf and no frail weakling.

Whoever dared to touch him in such a manner would regret it! No one treated him like that and lived! Seething, Legolas tightened his grip on his white knife a moment before he hit the ground again, the thick red mud cushioning his impact. He had just rolled into a crouch, furiously wiping the muck from his eyes, when the goblin's scimitar slammed into the ground where he and whoever -it- was had been sprawled just a moment before, sending mud flying. The sight of it and the massive bellowing goblin extinguished his anger at the realization that whoever's harsh actions had saved them both.

The huge goblin took up its weapon again and turned its attention to Legolas' unseen ally, ignoring him and in turn denying Legolas the chance to see who had inadvertently saved his life, twice.

Legolas prepared to get up and help take down the massive monster, but another goblin spotted him then. Its eyes were alight in anticipation as it made the mistake of thinking that the lithe Elf was down because of an injury. His sharp ears hearing the goblin run up behind him, Legolas spun and kicked the legs out from under the creature. Leaping agilely to his feet like a cat, he then jumped into the air and came down with both narrow feet on the lanky goblin's neck, crushing its windpipe before it even had time to raise its ugly head. The Elf sprang acrobatically off, doing a quick back-flip to avoid the ungraceful sword swipe of another orc. The beast didn't even have time to swing his sword back before Legolas leapt forward again, white knife flashing out to split the orc open from neck to chest, then danced out of the way of the following blood spray.

Legolas took the moment to glance back to see the bodyguard of Bolg, now laying in the mud dying, clutching futilely at its eviscerated belly with one arm, its other arm missing from the elbow down. Apparently its opponent had already moved on, lost in the chaos of the battle.

Suddenly a hand seized Legolas' shoulder, making his heart jump. Within a blink of an eye he turned to his attacker, knife at the ready. But it was no orc or goblin and he immediately halted his blade, seeing that it was Valandil, his second eldest brother. Valandil also wore the simple uniform of an archer, unlike their eldest brother and father Thranduil, who both wore armor befitting their status. His blond-haired sibling seemed not to notice how closely he had come to having his throat sliced open just then.

"There you are, little brother! Come! Your skills are wasted here in the valley; we make for the ridge where your bow is most needed!"he shouted over the din of the battle before turning and quickly dispatching another orc.

With a sharp nod Legolas followed his brother as they fought their way out of the valley to the ridge occupied by Gandalf, Thanduil and many of their people. And, unknown to them all at the time, by an invisible, unconscious Hobbit.

As they continued to race for the ridge, killing any warg, goblin or orc that dared get in their way, a small part of him thought of the incident just moments before.

He deeply grieved the loss of Brandor, and though he had not seen who it was Legolas knew it could have been no Man that he had collided with. He remembered the momentary flash of a pair of large, deep brown eyes, wide in surprise. No Man could have shaken off the force of that collision, then have had the strength of arm to simply toss him bodily away one-handed. It could have been a stronger, older Elf— he knew of at least four warriors here who could have done it-- but the hard solid body that had been beneath his in that moment had been like no Elf he had ever felt before. Nor was it foul and cold like that of a goblin.

That left only one choice, and Legolas felt his stomach roll…

Saved by a Naugrim; could this day get any worse!?

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Gimli didn't know how much time had passed but continued working his way through the battle, trying to reach the area where he had last seen his father and uncle as well as the rest of Thorin's company. He kept an eye out for them even as his twin axes sang out in deadly arcs and blocks, their crescent blades creating not only a shield but a kill-zone around himself. He had been wearing a borrowed helmet earlier but had lost it soon after the battle had begun (having thrown the heavy cap of iron in a goblin's face). Like his mother before him, Gimli disliked wearing helmets (2.).

He stood out a bit, being one of the only Dwarves on the battlefield without at least some proper armor. Clad only in his ripped trousers, sleeveless faded red shirt and scuffed boots and belt, his three beloved axes were his only real armaments.

Gimli had put as much distance between himself and Gandalf as possible several days earlier, running as fast as he could from the small clearing with Gandalf's angry calls behind him. He had continued on his way to the Mountain, eating the bit of half smoked venison he managed to snatch as he had bolted. Eventually he reached the Mountain later that night, a few hours earlier than Gandalf himself, but unlike the Wizard he was forced to slink around and hide near the outskirts of the Lake Men's camp. Eventually he managed to pinch a bottle of watery ale and some hideously dry and tasteless bread (that he would later learn was cram).

Luckily for him, two sharp-eyed Ravens spotted him. Neither the Men nor the Elves seemed to take notice of the Ravens flying about, not suspecting that they were actually spying on the camps and relaying messages for the Dwarves. With their help, he found a place to safely hide. The two birds, who he found out were brothers, were called Tay and Ray, and both played look-out and kept him apprized of the goings-on of the Mountain and the armies, when they were not telling Gimli bad jokes or complaining about the hard life they were forced to live in Smaug's desolation.

He learned from them that the Ravens, under the leadership of old Roac, were doing everything within their power to help the Dwarves, even though old Roac would not call Thorin's council good. Which did not surprise Gimli, for though he admired certain things about Thorin and gave the imposing Dwarf the respect he was due, he and almost every other Dwarf knew Thorin to be a self-important wind-bag.

Gimli remembered how his mother had had a great dislike for both Thorin and his sister the Lady Dis, and at the mention of Thorin's name she would roll her eyes or snort in derision. But she would visibly bristle and growl if there was mention of the Lady Dis. Though Gimli and his siblings had never been able to pry the reason for this anger and resentment from either their mother or father, they knew whatever the cause, there was very bad blood between their mother and the Lady Dis and her brother Thorin.

As for the Ravens, they had a very good reason to want the Dwarves to come back to the Mountain. For it meant that the Ravens would prosper again, with the staunch alliance and protection of Durin's Folk

The large entrance gates to almost all Dwarf kingdoms led first to a vast hall before reaching a second large entrance gate and it was here in this first hall one usually would find the homes of that Kingdom's Raven population. The walls were honeycombed with niches and hollows for the Ravens' nests, carved into the stone with wonderful flourishes of vines and complex patterns by Dwarven hands. They would not have to fear attacks by crows and magpies here and no chick went hungry-- even abandoned chicks were almost always guaranteed to have a Dwarf take them in and rear them. The glossy-black birds could come and go as they pleased, even into the Mountain itself through the various gates or the large vents and windows. It was not an uncommon sight to see a Raven flying above in the great halls among the stone pillars, or to even see one of the birds perched beside a vendor, a small pouch of coins clutched in one clawed foot as it haggled with the Dwarven merchant over whatever he or she was selling.

Only the surviving Dwarves and birds knew of the brave sacrifice of the Lonely Mountain's Ravens the day when Smaug lay waste to Dale and the armed Dwarves who had come at bells of alarm to aid those in Dale. As Smaug had first burst through the open main gate and into the first large hall, many of the Ravens had flown at the dragon's face, scratching and pecking, trying desperately to blind and distract the terrible beast as the Dwarven warriors on the ground fought to turn back the dragon. The Ravens' mates had tried to get to safety, many with young, barely feathered fledglings clutched in their beaks and feet. But old Smaug had only laughed at their efforts, and even with all their bravery it came to not, for with a great breath the dragon let out a belch of terrible flame, killing all those around him. Both Ravens and Dwarves were set alight to writhe in agony in the horrible heat of the dragon's fire. Many of the surviving Ravens left and followed the Dwarves into exile; only a few Ravens had refused to leave and stayed in the area.

Both the Ravens and Gimli had been greatly surprised when the following night Beorn, in bear-form, suddenly came upon them (having sniffed the young Dwarf out again), and in turn almost getting an axe thrown at him. Thankfully Gimli held onto his temper when the massive were-bear decided that Gimli's spot was a perfect place to wait for the coming battle and simply invited himself to join the exasperated Dwarf. It was not long after being in Beorn's company that both Tay and Ray were of the same mind as Gimli, glaring down at the huge skin-changer from above. Still in bear-form, Beorn had then simply curled up and proceeded to take a nap, and the ensuing earth-shaking snoring was the loudest Gimli had ever heard in his entire life.

What Gimli didn't know at the time, being so preoccupied with trying to take a nap himself with his broad hands clamped over his ears and his eyes squeezed shut, was that Beorn's massive and loud presence had saved him from being discovered by a patrol of Mirkwood Elves that had been scouting the area.They came across his hiding spot so silently that they had not even awoken the two snoozing Ravens perched above in a tree. Having come to investigate the thunderous snoring, they looked into the hollow to see the slumbering mass of a giant bear by an old gnarled tree, but Beorn's sheer bulk blocked their view of the grumbling Dwarf just on the other side of the were-bear. The Elves quickly recognized the huge beast as Beorn and decided to leave him be, slipping silently back the way they had come. For even the fair Wood-Elves of Mirkwood were wary of this crass and ill-tempered being.

It was sometime during the next day that the Ravens directed Gimli towards the coming Dwarf army and Gimli gladly left the still snoring Beorn at the hollow.

When Gimli finally came upon Dain's force they were on a hard march, and as he approached most of the older Dwarves completely ignored him or just glared when he asked to join their force.

"This be no place for a half-starved pup!" one heavily scarred and grim looking warrior had yelled at him and another Dwarf knocked Gimli back with his armored shoulder as he walked past. Even though the words and their treatment of him burned as he glared at their retreating backs, Gimli had to admit he did feel like a skinny pup next to these grim, battle hardened warriors. They were all clad in heavy armor, their legs covered in the special hose of flexible metal mesh that the Dwarves of the Iron Hills wear famous for, weapons strapped to their backs or waists. Many of them bore massive heavy packs that would have made Gimli strain and stumble, yet they carried them as if they were nothing but a mere inconvenience.

He had simply stood there fuming as he watched the army continue to march past when an armored and powerfully built Dwarrow-Dam left the column and came up to him. Her armor and the beautifully carved mithril beads braided into her brown beard marked her as one of the King's elite guard, and she bore a large battle-axe strapped to her back and a full length broadsword at her hip. Gimli looked up at her as she came to stand before him, her ruby-red eyes looking him up and down with a critical air. She seemed to tower over him, and Gimli gave an internal gulp and quickly bowed respectfully, making sure to keep his posture submissive in the presence of this powerful Matriarch.

"You know how to use those axes, Lad?" she finally asked in a deep voice, her eyes looking expectantly at him.

"Yes, My Lady. You will find no one better!" Gimli said eagerly, raising his head proudly.

The Dwarrow-Dam only gave a snort at his answer as she looked the ragged young Dwarf over again. His face was dirty, his clothing worn and ragged, and he looked as if he had been sleeping on the ground for weeks and not eating regularly either. His long straight copper colored hair was gathered on the back of his head in a thick ponytail, except for two long thick forelocks that fell before his ears, but the young Dwarf's large almond-shaped eyes spoke of a strong soul and experiences tempered with loss and pain. They looked far older than they should have for one so young. It was clear to her that this young one was more than what he appeared; the confidence in the way he stood spoke of an ability to back up any claims he might make.

The shadow cast by her helmet denied Gimli a clear view of her face, but he could see a smile tugging at her plump lips. "We'll have to see about that. You're a bit young… But we'll need all the able bodies we can get. Now go back down the line and join the rest of the tag-alongs and Wanderers," she said, jabbing a thumb behind her towards the back of the column.

A grateful grin broke out over Gimli's face and he immediately gave her a deep bow, the end of his ponytail actually touching the dusty ground.

"My thanks, my Lady!" he said and immediately began to jog down the line.

"Oy!" Hearing the call, Gimli stopped and looked back at the warrior still standing there.

"I'd better see you alive after that battle, boy. Don't disappoint me!" she ordered, giving him a wink before turning and continuing on, bellowing out orders. Gimli watched her go, giving a blink as he thought about her words before moving once again down the column.

Like all Dwarven armies, a certain portion was usually made up of Dwarves that were not 'officially' part of the army, but capable and willing to go to battle. These Dwarves usually marched behind the main contingent. Word had spread like lighting of the death of Smaug and of Thorin taking back the Mountain, and many Dwarves in the Iron Hills and the near vicinity had quickly scrambled to join Dain's march to Erebor. It was with this group that Gimli had fallen in, marching out of step to the battle behind Dain's main force.

One of the older Dwarves, a round-faced fellow who called himself Litr, managed to find an extra helmet and shoved it on Gimli's head as they prepared to come beneath the Mountain's arm.

"It ain't much--but at least it be something!" said the friendly brown-haired Dwarf with a shrug as he marched next to him. Gimli had given the Dwarf his thanks even though he wished that the Dwarf hadn't bothered— he didn't need it and he didn't like wearing helmets, but he kept silent.

Gimli noticed that like many of those around him, Litr was clearly one of the 'Wandering folk' like him. He could tell by the Dwarf's simple working clothes, with only a plain and dented breastplate, forearm guards and cap of iron in the way of armor. Looking at him, one would think that he was a simple peasant off to play war, but Gimli had been taught from an early age to never judge someone by appearances. Looks can be deceiving, his mother used to say. For Gimli could see that for all his apparently scavenged armor, Litr held a heavy and wonderfully decorated battleaxe casually over one broad shoulder, gripping it with practiced ease and sureness. It was clear he knew how to skillfully use this weapon.

Gimli watched an armored Dwarf gallop past on a thick-necked and dappled gray mountain pony, down the column on some important errand with a Raven keeping easy pace as it flew next to him. The pony's heavy shod feet kicked up dust and dirt as they rushed past, and Gimli wondered at their haste.

Mountain or Dwarf ponies were a common mode of transportation for Dwarves, and they also helped to carry and pull loads in the mountains. They usually had long shaggy manes and tails as well as feathering around their hooves. They were strong, sturdy and powerfully built animals, and while they were a breed of pony they were in actuality not that much smaller than a regular horse. For while a small, round- bellied and stubby-legged pony was the perfect mount for a small child or Hobbit, they were utterly useless to Dwarves, except maybe as an emergency supply of meat. The average Dwarf usually weighs as much, if not more than the average Man, and Dwarves needed animals that could take the already heavy weight of a large muscular Dwarf, combined with armor and heavy weapons and still be able to gallop without problems or strain. In a way the mountain ponies were very much like the Dwarves that rode upon them, as one Elf had noted many hundred years before while he and several others had watched the comings and goings of the Dwarves, from the then thriving Khazad-dum.

Gimli didn't have long to contemplate this though, for as Dain and the main force of the army up front prepared to clash with the combined armies of Lake Men and Wood-Elves, everything came to a screeching halt. And though Gimli could not see him, he instantly recognized Gandalf's booming voice, unconsciously ducking his head a bit as he remembered the last time he had seen the Wizard. He knew that Gandalf would have a piece of his hide when he saw him next. If he doesn't turn you into something horrible that is, like a snail or a frog! he snorted to himself as he watched the sky become dark. It was not long after that that all of Mordor broke loose and Gandalf's anger became one of the least of his worries.

At the moment he found himself in the familiar thrill of battle, a special thrill in knowing that he now fought under King Dain's banner. All of the Dwarves, Men and Elves, after their leaders had gotten together with Gandalf to asses the coming battle, now found themselves allies, fighting as one against the evil masses. With battle cries and chants from all sides they had charged down into the valley to attack the incoming forces of wargs, goblins and orcs.

But valiantly battle as they might, the dark forces just kept coming. It was not long before their combined forces found themselves being pushed back to the ridges, but like many Gimli was determined to fight on, no matter what the cost. But his heart leapt in his chest at the sudden sound of a trumpet call and everyone watched in surprise as the wall to the Mountain's gate came crumbling down.

Thorin! Gimli had almost completely forgotten about them and he watched with held breath as Thorin burst forth. Shining gold in the light and clad in glorious armor, the great Dwarf's eyes blazed as he held his axe aloft. Behind him the rest of the small company charged out, narrowly avoiding the rocks and boulders thrown down on them from the goblins above.

"Da! Uncle Oin!" Gimli involuntarily cried out, his voice lost in the thunder of battle around him.

"To me! To me! Elves and Men! To me! O my kinsfolk!" Thorin cried, his voice seeming to shake the valley. And like many other Dwarves, Gimli rushed to Thorin's calls, heedless of the thunderous orders of Dain to hold. Both Thranduil and Bard were also unable to hold back their Men and Elves that raced down the valley to join the battle anew. The copper-haired Dwarf had rejoiced inside, knowing that his father and uncle and the rest of them would need all the help they could get.

But since the fighting had taken a turn for the worse, Gimli had not been able to catch sight of his father or any of the others. Even then he didn't stop looking as he tore a swath through the goblin ranks.

Gimli slammed a kick into an orc's stomach, knocking it back before turning his attention to a large and filthy furred warg. Its rider was nowhere in sight as the beast lunged at him, its whole head stained red by its previous victims. Gimli let the large animal come to him, catching it in the shoulder with his left axe, before finishing it off with a blow to the neck. He then spun around to deal with his next opponent, a tall broad orc with a spiked club, but there was a sudden strong gust of wind and the great beat of wings from above.

Instinctively Gimli ducked, and the orc in front of him gave a horrible shriek when one of the Eagles swooped down and seized the foul creature in its powerful talons. Gimli watched in momentary awe as the great bird carried the screaming and flailing body high into the air, before simply dropping it onto the rocks below. The Eagle swooped down again to snatch up another victim, a howling warg this time.

It was then another spindly goblin came shrieking at him with a saw-blade scimitar. He easily blocked its strike and with a challenging yell of his own he lopped its head clean off, watching with satisfaction the sudden geyser of black blood. The goblin's hands came up to claw spastically at the space where its head had been moments before, then it finally fell to join the rest of the bodies littering ground.

Gimli noticed that unfortunately there were not just the bodies of the orcs and goblins, but of Men, Elves and Dwarves as well. Finding himself in a momentary pocket of space in the fighting, he caught sight of a tall spindly goblin standing over a downed Elf, not far away to his left. The wounded Elf's head thrashed from side to side as its body bucked and arched, its long legs kicking uselessly in the red mud as it gasped and cried out. Crimson blood covered its pale, long fingered hands as they tried to grip the blade stabbing into its abdomen. The goblin's ugly long-nosed face sneered in glee at the poor Elf's pain, spittle dribbling from its pointy chin, purposefully dragging out the Elf's agony as it twisted and leaned its weight onto the rusted black sword.

As much as Gimli disliked Elves, he hated goblins and the rest of their foul kind with an all- consuming hate. The pain they had caused him during his life could never be fully quenched until every one of their kind was exterminated from all of Arda, and seeing what this beast was doing fired Gimli's hate all the more. No one deserved such cruelty!

So you like to cause pain, huh? How about some of your own medicine!? Gimli growled to himself, his white teeth bared in a fierce snarl as he charged forward. The goblin looked up at the last moment to see a Dwarf bearing down on it, and ripped its sword from the Elf's body. Its previous glee of just moments before had vanished, the Elf now laying utterly forgotten. As it raised its blade for a block, one of Gimli's axes easily lopped off the Goblin's arm, and both sword and arm fell to the mud. The goblin didn't even had time to take a full breath to scream, when Gimli sank the blade of his other axe into the creature's lower belly. The beast saw no mercy in the pair of narrowed almond-shaped eyes that glared into its own, burning with a frightening fire of vengeance and hate.

"Look upon me well, creature. For this day, I am your death!" Gimli growled, not taking his piercing gaze from the bulbous yellow eyes. Then with a sudden jerk, he pulled up the blade of his axe, splitting the creature from belly to breast bone, effectively gutting it before kicking the goblin away from him. It would be a terribly slow and agonizing death, but Gimli felt no sympathy, ignoring its screams of agony as it writhed in the mud.

Giving a quick look around for any approaching enemies and seeing that he had a few moments, he walked to the panting and trembling form of the Elf. The lithe being lay prone in the mud, clutching weakly at its damaged abdomen, deathly pale and covered in its own crimson blood from its previous injuries as well as the torture inflicted on it by the goblin. Gimli was no healer, but even he knew that there was no hope for this fair being, and a look into the Elf's eyes showed him that the Elf knew the same. Still keeping a wary eye out, Gimli knelt by the Elf's side, laying a hand on the shaking shoulder. Even through its obvious pain, the Elf seemed to be greatly surprised by this small gesture of comfort, as if it were the last thing it had expected from a Dwarf.

"I am sorry… But I can only offer you an end to your suffering," Gimli said looking down at the Elf with deep brown eyes now filled with compassion. It was the only thing he could give, aside from the retribution he had inflicted on the Elf's attacker.

"P-pl-Please," came a piteous whisper after a long moment, that Gimli could just barely hear.

Gimli gave the fallen Elf a small nod and with a deep breath he stood up again, feeling the Elf's gray eyes upon him. He steeled his heart, and with a steady hand he lifted 'Star Smasher' up and as the Elf's eyes softly closed, down his axe went.

'Thunk'

Gimli made sure that it was instantaneous, giving the Elf the only kindness that could be given, but his stomach still clenched at the sight of the crimson stain on his axe. His axes had been covered in red blood too many times of late when they should be dripping in black. Past pain threatened to overwhelm him before he resolutely shoved it back. Now was not the time! But the final look he had read in those luminous and pain-filled eyes before they had closed had been one of gratitude. For some reason that stung his heart more than he could ever understand.

With a mental shake he turned again to the battle at hand, moving back into the main fighting and leaving the body of the Elf and the still writhing ggoblin behind.

Back in the thick of it, he was dispatching a goblin when he heard a loud scream and felt a sudden hot splash as he was splattered in gore from some unfortunate, but he didn't have time to see who it was, being busy with his own problems. A scimitar- wielding goblin had managed to land a lucky strike on him, slicing a cut across part of his upper chest. Luckily it did nothing to hinder him, though it stung and bled, not to mention adding another rip to his already ruined red shirt. The goblin traded a few more blows before Gimli caught it in the side followed by a deathblow with the handle of one of his axes to its temple. He battled on, still looking out for his father or any of the others of his father's company.

A short time later, Gimli took the opportunity of a large mottled- skinned orc's distraction and threw one of his axes, watching in satisfaction as it lodged deeply in the creature's chest. The force knocked the orc back and made it drop its weapon, but instead of falling backwards, the orc tilted forward at the last minute to crash to the muddy ground with a splat.

"Shit!" he cursed to himself as he watched the huge beast land on its face, effectively burying his axe under it. Gimli told himself he would be back to collect the weapon, quickly marking his location on the battlefield before being forced to move on.

Finding himself beset again by an attacker, he blocked with his remaining axe before simply punching the orc in the face with his free hand with all his might. The sheer force of it collapsed the orc's cheekbone and eye socket under his thick knuckles, not only knocking the orc out, but throwing it back a few feet.

Unfortunately Gimli suddenly found himself in the midst of some of Bolg's huge bodyguards. Luckily two of the massive beasts seem to have their attention focused on something the bigger of the two was holding as they talked and laughed amongst themselves. Gimli couldn't help the smirk that came to his face as he decided to take advantage of the clearly stupid creatures' distraction. Fools! Didn't they know not to turn their attention away from a battle, when there were dangers about?

He came up behind the smaller of the two massive Goblins. Strangely enough, although it wore heavy armor, its back was utterly unprotected— not that Gimli could really say anything as he wasn't wearing a scrap of armor himself. With a powerful and carefully aimed strike of his axe, he slammed his weapon through its thick spine and severed its spinal cord.

He felt a burst of satisfaction he watched the massive body crash to the ground-- he had seen how much damage these huge Goblins had been inflicting on the combined forces. The other massive goblin gave an angry bellow, crying out what must have been the other creature's name, and as it turned Gimli saw that it clutched a struggling black-haired Elf in one of its massive fists. Then the huge creature whipped back its arm and unthinkingly hurled the Elf at him.

Gimli watched in disbelief as the Elf came flying at him, catching just a momentary flash of wide green eyes. He didn't have time to dodge out of the way before the impact hit him and he let out a loud 'Oughf!', and down they both went in a tangle of limbs.

Gimli lay there for a moment in the mud, dazed, just staring up at the dark stormy sky above, his mind reeling. "I can't believe it. It threw a damned Elf at me! What's next, Hobbits?" he snorted to himself, feeling the Elf's surprisingly light weight still draped over him.

With a mental groan Gimli managed to sit up in time to see that same massive goblin charging, its wicked scimitar upraised. He realized with a rush of adrenalin that he had but a moment to act, and he yelled, "Get off me!" to the Elf that was still sprawled over him. The groggy Elf struggled to get up, but not quickly enough and Gimli was left with no choice.

He grabbed the Elf by its muddy hair and bodily flung the lithe creature away from him, surprised again at how little the Elf weighed, before quickly rolling to his feet in the opposite direction. A part of him gave an internal wince at the cry of pain he heard, but he figured that it was better to have a moment of pain and maybe a few less hairs on your head than being dead!

His thoughts proved true for not a moment later the goblin's massive steel scimitar smashed down where he and the Elf had been sprawled just moments before. The beast gave a bellow of rage at their escape, spittle flying from its gaping maw, then it ripped its blade out of the muck and turned to the young Dwarf, blocking his view of the Elf. Seeing the sheer size of this monster Gimli quickly decided that this was a job for a bigger weapon than his one-sided axe. With practiced ease he shoved 'Fire Ripper' back into its holster at his side while he reached behind him with his other arm and deftly brought 'Blood Screamer' to bear within a blink of an eye.

Gimli nimbly ducked a swipe of the goblin's big blade, then dodged a crushing downward chop that sent mud flying, causing the goblin to give another bellow of rage at his easy escape. The creature lunged forward and took a one-handed swipe at him, but Gimli simply side-stepped it then used the goblin's momentum to his advantage and got in close, past the goblin's defenses. With a powerful two -handed strike, he opened up the goblin's bulging belly, the rusty armor and mail offering no defense against his heavy battleaxe's wicked blade. Gimli leapt back as the huge beast gave a roar of pain, stumbling back to clutch at its eviscerated abdomen, trying futilely to keep the mass of black slicked intestines from spilling to the ground. The beast gave another howl when the Dwarf then took advantage of its distraction and managed to lop off its arm still holding the scimitar.

Gimli wasn't even able to watch the giant goblin topple to the ground before he was beset by more attackers, and without missing a beat he fell back into the deadly rhythm of his dance. While he might not move with the lithe grace of the Elves, he had a grace all his own.

'Blood Screamer' lived up to its famous name as it shrieked through the air, and no goblin, warg or orc could stand against its frightening song. Unknown to Gimli at the time, its eerie song caused more than one Dwarven warrior to look momentarily up or turn in recognition at the sound of the legendary axe. Could it be? Had the ghost of Nei Burkdis come back from the dead to do battle once more? A few even thought they saw a brief glimpse of her spirit moving through the battle. Surely it could not be…

There was a terrible cry from above and Gimli looked up to see the sad sight of one of the great Eagles plummeting to the ground, its mighty breast pierced by black poisoned arrows. He then had to turn his attention back to the battle as another death cry sounded from somewhere nearby in the clamor of swords smashing against shields, axes against scimitars and the din of war cries against the shrieking and cursing of the goblins. Gimli did not know how long he had been fighting or how many he had killed, but he continued on. Like everyone else, he had to continue on if there was any hope of victory.

And the battle raged on…

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

It was finally over; the long fierce battle had been won. The four armies of Elves, Dwarves, Men and Eagles had triumphed over the goblin hoard. The dark malevolent clouds and the swarms of evil bats had disappeared and once again the sky above was blue and clear. The Battle of Five Armies would become the stuff of legends; tales of bravery and amazing feats would be told and sung for generations to come.

But all victories come with a price and this one was no different. For in the valley below lay the sad sight of many noble Dwarves, fair Elves and brave Men laying broken upon the blood soaked ground, together with those of goblins, orcs and wargs. The shouts of victory were over, now only the crows cackled with glee as they feasted, the harsh sound mingling with the moans of the dying and the cries of the grieving.

Now came the somber task of trying to help the wounded, of finding lost comrades and comforting the dying. The various healers of Elves, Dwarves and Men alike moved through the seemingly endless bodies in the valley. They offered whatever help they could, be it to load the wounded that could be saved onto stretchers to be carried off to one of the healing tents or to mercifully end another's suffering.

Some of the Dwarves of Dain's army were hard at work removing the wall, while Men began the task of digging deep pits to dispose of the orc and goblin carcasses. Elven warriors searched the surrounding ridges amongst the rocks, looking for any surviving goblin attempting to hide.

On a rounded hill, near the gates of the Mountain, six Dwarves stood silently in the chill air, with bent heads and slumped shoulders, taking no notice of the cloudless sky above. Their search for at least two of their missing company was now over.

"Where is Thorin?" Bofur asked. He was leaning heavily against his cousin Bombur, needing his help to stand thanks to a leg injury.

"He lays near death in a tent in Dale." Dwalin answered, weariness and sorrow evident in his angular bloodstained face.

Thorin can rot, for all I care!" Gloin thought to himself. It was quiet again as they stood there, all of them filthy with mud and blood, all horribly tired and wrung out. Now only one of their party was unaccounted for-- their missing burglar. Gloin hoped he was not also laying dead somewhere.

"Someone must tell him of this," Bombur said with a sniff, his light brown eyes full of unshed tears.

With a heavy heart Gloin looked down at the two bodies laying at his feet, and Oin at his side also gazed sadly on the heartbreaking sight as he clutched his injured shoulder.

Kili and Fili lay together, broken and cold upon the muddy and blood soaked ground, both cut cruelly down while defending the fallen body of Thorin. They were clad in princely armor of flashing mail, now dirty and stained red, but their helmets and weapons were nowhere to be found.

Fili had clearly been killed outright, his slate-gray eyes staring unfocused and half-lidded at the sky above them. There was a horrible gaping wound in his chest, his strong heart rammed through by a spear. Kili, also mortally wounded, had apparently lived long enough to somehow drag himself to his sibling's side. He lay curled next to his twin, his fair head resting upon Fili's still breast, his eyes forever closed. Kili had even laced his fingers with those of his brother's, both their long golden hair blood- stained and unbraided.

Gloin felt a deep wave of anger as he looked at them lying there. How dare Thorin take these two on such a quest! How dare that cold bitch Dis allow her windbag of a brother to take her only children on this suicide mission!? he thought to himself, one of his broad hands clenching into a white- knuckled fist.

"'Tis not right, they had not even reached their prime," Bifur sadly whispered from where she stood with Bofur and Bombur. A single tear ran down her dirty face, which was badly bruised from having taken a glancing blow from a goblin's mace.

The blue-haired Dwalin finally stepped forward to kneel down next to the bodies. Gloin watched as the older Dwarf reached out with a blood- stained hand and gently closed Fili's staring eyes, unintentionally painting two red marks over Fili's eyelids and partly down his pale face.

"Go now, young ones… You have both proven yourselves and died with honor. Go and be at peace," the older Dwarf said in his hoarse voice.

"May Mahal and your honorable ancestors welcome both of you around the great hearth," Oin quietly added, as he and the others bowed their heads.

Gloin finally turned away then, unable to stand the sight any longer, his thoughts conflicted as he angrily tried to suppress the tears stinging his eyes. A small bitter part of him wanted to snap at his brother that at least Dis's sons had seen more life than all of his children! But he truly mourned for the loss of Fili and Kili; the light-hearted twins had proven themselves many times over during their harrowing quest. They had always kept their good humor, eagerly helping and rolling with whatever was thrown at them.

Had it all, truly, been worth it?

How easily it could be Gimli laying there broken at their feet. A chill ran up Gloin's spine as he looked out into the valley strewn with bodies. He missed his son terribly and hoped that he was well and in good spirits back at Black Hollow. How lucky he was compared to many here; at least he knew that his son was safe.

Or at least that's what he kept telling himself, unable to shake the strange dread that had crept over him about a month after he had left the Blue Mountains…

Sorry about the long wait! RL has really been kicking my butt lately. Next chapter is in the works!

As you probably noticed, I'm also a Raven fan. Yet there is so little about them in "The Hobbit" and the other books. So I've added my own ideas here again.

Yes, lots of depressing stuff in this chapter. I wanted to show the ugly side of war, it's not pretty and the price is usually high. Make love, not war!

Peace, love and naked Elves !

(1.) Burkdis Axe Goddess

(2.) Contrary to Peter Jackson's movies and much of the fandom, it's a canon fact, Gimli did not wear a helmet! The only time he did was when he picked up a cap of iron from King Theoden's hoard, as well as a small shield, before the battle of Helms Deep. But even then he loses both pretty quickly and we don't read in any other part of the trilogy of him wearing a helmet.