First things first – again I apologise for the lack of update last week. I have been very, very busy and rather tired, and I decided to take a little break from writing rather than give you a terrible chapter last week. I should (touch wood) be able to update regularly again before too long, though I am leaving for a holiday this weekend, so we'll have to see how it goes.
Anyhow, thank you so much for the lovely reviews I received for the last chapter. They mean so much to me and I truly appreciate them! As ever, please forgive any typos here, and I hope you enjoy the chapter! It's named after the awesome Les Friction song 'World on Fire' which quite sums up the moon of the latter half, I think.
Chapter Sixty-Three: World on Fire
Merry thought that it was rather safe to say that Denahi was not over-fond of ents. Though he stopped wiggling in Treebeard's arms early into the journey, if Merry stopped touching him at any given moment, Denahi would whine and tense, until the hobbit leant down to stroke his ears, or petted the wolf's back with his toes. It made the journey through the forest seem much longer, and though Pippin was enthralled by Treebeard's stories, Merry found it harder to concentrate. Especially when shifting a little could cause his wolf to panic. He sighed. It was exhausting being the oldest.
However, he had Pippin and he had Denahi, and he was not hungry or thirsty or cold. He had Treebeard, and he felt safe, and Merry would not ask for more than that.
As dawn began to dance down through the thin ceiling of trees, they came to a large clearing. It appeared quite suddenly – one moment the trees were thick, and close, and the next they were standing in an open space as large as the main square of Dale, a space that was almost perfectly round. In the centre stood a large, grey stone, covered in a thick blanket of moss. Treebeard approached it with the same, slow purpose that he applied to everything else, and Merry found himself holding his breath.
Gently, Treebeard shifted Pippin over to the same arm that held Merry and Denahi, and raised his free hand to his mouth, cupping his fingers into a horn and letting out a loud call.
Low and rumbling and impossibly loud, the sound trembled up from the ground right through Merry from head to toe, and Denahi whined, pressing his ears against his neck. He began to growl, deep in his throat, and then Merry saw them.
One by one, there were ents walking out from the forest, and beside him, Pippin's jaw dropped open. There were more than Merry could ever have imagined, each more strange than the one before it. He had expected them to look similar to Treebeard, at least in the same way that two men or two dwarves looked similar, but the ents were as different as rabbits and wolves.
Some had a look of oak about them, an old, ancient sturdiness, while others were taller, more lithe, and brought to mind a willow waving in the breeze. Some looked to be in their prime, strong and smooth-skinned, with a greater alertness in their eyes, and others were gnarled and ancient, seeming almost as old as Treebeard. Merry noticed that there were no children, no saplings, and his heart sank slightly. Treebeard had told him the story of the entwives while Pippin slept, and Merry did not hold out much hope that they had survived. They went west, Treebeard said, and much of the West was destroyed when Sauron had been at full strength, back in the old days. Merry knew quite a lot about it – he had ever been fascinated by the ruins and old, overgrown roads that they passed on the way to Erebor, and he enjoyed seeking out old tomes in the library that might tell him what once had been.
Erebor's library had an awful lot of history books, and it had surprised Merry's parents just how much literature the dwarves had collected on matters that did not concern them. Yet as Balin had pointed out, while they were secretive of their own customs and communities, dwarves had never been shy to learn from others, nor uninterested in learning about others.
They even had some books on ents, though they were few and far between, and the only one that Merry had ever come across depicted monsters with great hands that crushed the skulls of dwarves in one strike. His childhood book of tales that Kíli had gifted him painted a far nicer, gentler picture, but that had been purchased in Esgaroth, where men thought of ents as gentle giants from fairy-tales.
Merry was inclined to believe that they were closer to truth than the dwarves, though it was clear that Denahi was still very uncomfortable. He whined at each new arrival, and his claws began to dig into Treebeard's arm as they were surrounded by almost four dozen ents. Their voices washed over Merry, and tumbled around him, and it was like floating underwater, weightless, as sounds blurred away into the waves. He could not understand a single word that they said – nor could he in fact distinguish which sounds might actually be words. Often the rumbling voices of the ents would seem to go on forever, unbroken by words or sentences. There was a musicality there that enthralled him for hours, but the novelty began to wear away as the sun waxed above them.
Noon was blazing down upon them, almost uncomfortably warm, when Denahi finally had enough. He howled, and wriggled frantically, his claws scrabbling against Treebeard's arms as he threw himself around, unappeased by Merry's hand on the back of his neck.
"Oh!" said Treebeard, startled, and he looked down. "I had almost forgotten – you are hasty folk." He slowly bent towards the ground, and Denahi sprang down so quickly that he almost stumbled. His claws scrambled for purchase on the ground and he rose on somewhat wobbly legs, staring up distrustfully at the ents around him. Ears still pressed flat against his neck, he strode to the great stone, and cocked his leg.
Merry felt his face burn bright red and he opened his mouth, but even as he called out, Denahi urinated on the ent's large meeting stone. Pippin snorted beside him, and Merry punched his arm, turning quickly to Treebeard.
"Sorry!" he said. "He didn't mean any disrespect, honest!"
A different rumble ran through the clearing, and after a moment Merry realised that it was laughter.
"There is no ent alive who has not become the toilet of an unassuming dog," said an old ent with silver skin. His voice was like paper, soft and thin and slightly crinkled, and his face was crinkled too – crinkled up into a smile.
"I was forgetting how frustrating it is to listen to talk you do not understand," Treebeard said to Merry and Pippin. "I have told your names to the council, and we have agreed that you are not goblin spies. We have not got much further than that, I am afraid, for it takes a long time to say anything in entish. You may walk about in the dingle, it is quite safe. There is a deep well, and the water is good for drinking."
Disappointment flickered through Merry – he had hoped that there might be more resolution than this after hours of talk – but he did not let it show on his face. Despite his certainty that the ents were not vicious by nature, Merry thought that they looked awfully strong, and he would not want to be thought a spy by any of them.
"Thank you," he said politely. "Come on, Denahi, Pippin."
Pippin nodded, offering a smile and a wave to the ents as he turned, and followed Merry from the clearing. They walked a little way through the forest, following the direction that Treebeard had pointed out, and before too long they found the well. The water was cool and clear, and tasted fantastic, and for a little while Merry and Pippin were content to chat with their feet in the little stream that ran by the base of the well. But Denahi prowled through the trees, circling them, a low growl in his throat.
Sighing, Merry held out his hand. "Denahi, come." The wolf looked purposefully at him, and shook his head, but Merry lowered his voice and raised his eyebrows. "Come."
Grumbling, Denahi trotted over, butting his head against Merry's hand.
"That's it," he soothed. "What's wrong, 'eh? Is there something out there, or is it just the ents?"
Denahi whined and grumbled, and Merry smiled, relaxing a little. "Just the ents?"
Denahi huffed and nodded, and Pippin chuckled.
"They're friends, Denahi," he said pointedly. "You're just upset because they're sticks you can't fetch."
At once, Denahi's ears pricked up, and his head lifted from Merry's lap. Merry narrowed his eyes slightly.
"Fetch?"
Denahi yapped like an excited dog, and sprang backwards, his tail suddenly wagging as he stuck his backside in the air. Rolling his eyes, Merry stood up and stretched for a moment, before stooping to seize a stick from the ground. Denahi bounced up and down like a mountain goat, a desperate plea for distraction in his eyes. Merry threw the stick as hard as he could through the trees, and Denahi shot after it like an arrow. Seconds later, he was skidding to a halt at Merry's feet, tail wagging, and the stick firmly held in his mouth. Before Merry could take it, Pippin dove down and snatched it, waving it up in the air and dancing out of Denahi's reach.
"I thought you were supposed to be resting!" Merry cried, grinning as Pippin ran and dodged Denahi, before charging in a wrestling contest that he would only win by Denahi's grace. The wolf and the hobbit tumbled over each other on the dry ground, until Merry threw another stick and Denahi shot off after it.
"I could've had him," protested Pippin.
"You're both exhausted," said Merry, shaking his head as Denahi pressed a now slobbery stick into his hand. "I don't think either of you should be wrestling. Or playing fetch."
Denahi whined, and Merry conceded, throwing the stick again.
Pippin folded his arms. "It's like the mud-fight after goblin town. We need this, Merry. It's cathartic."
"Bilbo said the mud-fight was a terrible idea. He's felt guilty about it for years."
"Bilbo's felt guilty about a lot of silly things. Kíli said it was one of the best games of his life."
Merry had no real desire to argue any further. Neither Pippin nor Denahi would over-exert themselves again under his watch, but it would not hurt to play for a little longer. Again and again, Merry threw the stick, or ran from the wolf, or chased him, and they played until Denahi was panting, and the dark of the evening brought a chill with it. Then, they sat again by the well, and Denahi curled up beside Merry's, laying his head in the hobbit's lap and letting his eyes slowly close.
"Do you think they've decided anything yet, Merry?" asked Pippin, a nervous edge to his voice. Merry looked at his cousin carefully. The carefree, playful ease that had occupied Pippin's face all day was cracking, and his eyebrows were furrowed in worry.
"I don't know," Merry admitted. "Chances are they've only just finished saying 'good morning'. Why?"
Pippin shrugged, staring down at his feet. "It feels like we're running not of time. I don't know why, or what will happen if time does run out, but I'm afraid all the same."
"Me too," Merry murmured. "I don't know what's going to happen."
Pippin sighed, and then he looked up. "Treebeard!"
Sure enough, when Merry looked up he saw the ent entering the clearing, with his oddly quiet footsteps. When he caught sight of the slumbering wolf, Treebeard smiled, and spoke quietly.
"Well, my young hobbits, it has been decided."
"What has been decided?" asked Pippin quickly.
"Don't be so hasty," said Treebeard, but his eyes were sparkling with a fierce fire. "The ents are marching as one – and perhaps for the last time, for we will march to danger, and delivery. The ents are going to march on Isengard."
Horror swelling in his heart, Kíli watched the army on the horizon grow closer. He opened his mouth to yell a frantic order to run when he saw something and stopped. There was a solitary figure racing towards them, someone who had been hidden before by the swooping hills and crags of the land, a small, desperate soul trying desperately to reach them first. It was a boy – a child of no more than thirteen years old, and he was running so fast that his legs blurred beneath him. Terror was carved into his face, and there was blood smeared all over him, and soot on his face.
"Caleb," breathed Grimbeorn, darting forward. In moments, Caleb tumbled into his arms, deep, rasping breaths heaving his entire body as he tried desperately to speak. Now little more than a mile away, the army stopped, and stood very still.
"Breathe, child, breathe!" said Jago quickly, but he put a hand on Grimbeorn's arm. "Quickly, brother – five minutes and they will be upon us."
"Run!" gasped Caleb, his eyes painfully wide. "Run, Grimbeorn, run!"
"Breathe, Caleb," ordered Grimbeorn, though his voice shook. "What happened?"
Caleb moaned, closing his eyes, though his mouth hung open, desperately trying to bring in more air. After three eternal seconds, he began to speak, his voice hoarse and trembling. "We – we – did not get… did not get far… did not get…to start the fires… uruk-hai, uruk-hai!" His voice rose to a cry, and Grimbeorn shook him.
"Caleb! What happened?" he demanded, his eyes flickering up to the army on the horizon. "Why aren't they moving?"
"Message," sobbed Caleb, "they – they wanted me… deliver a message… they, they are of Isengard… so many, so many – we were… outnumbered… they killed everyone! Everyone, they're dead, they're dead!"
"Thana?" Grimbeorn breathed, his eyes widening and his grip tightening. "Thana-"
"Gone!" whimpered Caleb, tears running down the filth on his face. "She… gone… Everyone's gone."
Grimbeorn's face lost all colour, and his brow crumpled as tears sparkled in his own eyes. "Gone?"
Caleb sobbed, grabbing weakly at Grimbeorn's arm. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry… there were so many of them, so many and – and – we killed a hundred, but – it was too much. Thana – her head-" The boy moaned, kneading his fists into his eyes. "Run, please, please run!"
Sorrow hurtling through his body, Kíli tore his eyes from Grimbeorn to glance at Jago. The giant skin-changer was upright, and his mouth was hanging slightly ajar. His eyes were glazed over, and he looked dazed, as though he was caught in a dream that he did not understand. But beside him, Grimbeorn was wearing his grief on his face, and he shook Caleb slightly again.
"Tell me, quickly," he said, his voice thick with tears. "What was this message? How did you get away?"
"They – they let me go-" Caleb began to rock back and forth a little. "They caught me, and Aldwyn and Errol, and when – when everyone else – when everyone else was – was it was over – they asked, they asked us who was fastest." The boy's eyes squeezed shut tighter, and Kíli heard a horn blare somewhere in the distance. "Errol – he, he spat in their faces, he – he said that I was f-fastest – and they stabbed him, and then they killed Aldwyn and – and they told me to run – to run and tell my lord – tell him the Isengarders are coming – that our lands will burn and our people will fall – unless – unless-"
"You might want to hurry this up," Nori called warningly. "They're getting ready to move!"
"Unless we gave them – gave them dwarves – dead or, or alive and – and if we hand over Bilbo Baggins – then – then we will be spared. And then he told – told me to run – and I ran, and I ran, but I was not quick enough."
"No," interrupted Grimbeorn, shaking his head. "No, Caleb, you did well. Do you know if it was just your party, or if the others are caught as well?"
"Just – just us – that I know…" Caleb shook his head, and a sigh of relief and guilt left Kíli's lips. Even if Thana and her twenty warriors were gone, that did not condemn the other lighting parties, or those who had fled before.
His parents may yet be safe.
Grimbeorn nodded. "Let's go, now."
"Here," said Bragi, holding out his arms. "You will be faster as a bear, Grimbeorn, the lad can ride with me. I've got him."
Grimbeorn nodded, passing Caleb over. He was taller than Bragi by at least a foot, but the way he crumpled on the back of the wolf made Caleb look even younger.
But before he could turn, there was a great growl, and Kíli looked quickly at Jago. The man had finally broken out of his daze, and his eyes burnt with fury, boring into Grimbeorn with an intensity that frightened Kíli.
"You are running?" he snarled. "They killed Thana! They killed your sister – we stand and fight!"
"No," said Grimbeorn, shaking his head. "No, we must leave."
"It's us they want," argued Ehren. "We'll hold them off-"
"No," insisted Grimbeorn. "This is not a debate."
"They killed your sister!" roared Jago, and Kíli saw that his eyes were flickering between those of a man and those of a bear. "I will kill them! I will kill all of them, I will rip them limb from limb and-"
"Orphan your son!" Grimbeorn roared back, shoving Jago hard. "If you go that way, if you take on an army alone you will leave Aeron with no parents!"
Jago let out an animalistic bellow and lurched towards the army, but Grimbeorn grabbed him, wrapping his arms around Jago even when the older man began to change. It was like nothing Kíli had ever seen – Jago seemed trapped between forms, his fur growing and receding, fangs lengthening and shortening – and Kíli was terrified. Luno gave a frightened whine and stepped backwards, and Kíli was too afraid to halt him.
"She is my sister!" yelled Grimbeorn. "My sister – you think I don't care? We will have vengeance, we will, but not like this. We cannot lose you, too! Aeron cannot lose you too."
A final howl tore from Jago's throat, and then he stepped back, shoving Grimbeorn off of him. "We better have revenge. I swear-"
"We will, but now we run. We will fight another day."
"But-" Ehren began to protest, but a sharp cry from Fíli cut him off.
"They're moving!"
"Go!" ordered Grimbeorn, his eyes blazing. "This is a direct order – run."
They ran, Grimbeorn and Jago changing on the move. As a bear, Grimbeorn let out a mighty roar that shook the trees, and Kíli grabbed what was left of his fuel, flinging it out it behind him. He saw the others do the same, saw the uruk-hai begin to close the distance –
He threw down a match.
The grass behind him caught at once, flames shooting three feet high and licking at their heels. With a howl, Luno pushed faster, his tongue lolling from his mouth, and Kíli swallowed.
"You can do it," he promised, scratching behind Luno's ears even as he nudged him to go faster. "Good boy, there's a boy, keep going. Keep going!"
He heard the clamour of the uruk-hai behind him, the swell of voices spewing hatred and rage into the smoke filled air, and he knew that they had seen – or maybe even reached – the flames. Kíli glanced over his shoulder, and his heart hammered against his ribs. They were close now – they were very close. He had no idea how they travelled so fast, but their front-line were trying to ride the wargs through the flames. The flames that were but a hundred feet away from Kíli.
"Hurry!" he pressed, his fingers curling around Luno's fur. "Hurry, Luno! They're coming!"
But they were not – the flames had halted them, and the next time Kíli turned it was to see the uruk-hai going the long way around, trying to avoid the hottest of the flames. Through the haze of orange fire, he could see the dark mounds of wargs burning in its depths.
"It's working!" he yelled, scrambling in his pocket for accelerant. There was only a small handful left, a couple of loose grains of spark powder, but he threw them out behind him, tossing a match down after them. Again, his aim was true, and the grass sprouted orange leaves of flame that sprang up towards the sun, but there was less this time. The fire was smaller, tamer, and Nori yelled out what Kíli was afraid of hearing.
"We're outta powder! Go faster!"
Letting out a howl of discontent, Luno shot forward, edging faster, faster, and Kíli shot a glance over his shoulder. Despair climbed up his throat, and he bent down low, trying to make himself more aerodynamic. He did not know if it was helping, but it was the only thing that he could do.
Ahead of them, he saw the woods, and his heart leapt. Grimbeorn could get them through the woods, he could loose the uruk-hai there –
But then Kíli's heart sank again, his hope drowned by his own design. There were people and animals, twenty or thirty of them, streaming out towards the plains, and the north.
Fleeing flames that were devouring the trees of southern Mirkwood. They looked over their shoulders, and Kíli heard their horror in shrieks and howls as they saw the orcs, and the group they pursued. Some hesitated, and Kíli met the eyes of a man astride a large horse. He was turning, as if to ride back, but Kíli waved his hand and bellowed as loud as he could.
"Move, move! Run!"
Grimbeorn roared beside him, and the hesitaters turned, fleeing before them with twice the speed they had used before. That meant that three of the four lighting parties were accounted for – Grimbeorn's group, the south-western group, and Thana's group. Kíli pursed his lips and took a deep breath, doing everything in his power not to think of little Aeron, and what he would say when he found out that his mama was dead.
There was one group still missing – those who had gone straight west, and with any luck they were yet to face the uruk-hai of Isengard. They had to be at least two days' travel away, and the refugees even more so. Bilbo and Amad should have reached the crossroads now. They should be safer.
They might yet survive.
It did not look like Kíli would be so lucky. Every time he looked over his shoulder, the army seemed closer, and to his horror they began to fire arrows from the backs of their wargs. And they were close enough to hit their mark.
A shaft struck one of the triplets in the back of the head, and at once the fox crumpled to the ground. The other two shrieked, and one stopped to tug at its sibling's body. A lump grew in Kíli's throat as the other fox dropped back, pulling the surviving sibling away from the dead with its teeth, until they both gathered the wits to run. Kíli saw Bragi squeeze his eyes shut, and look away from the dead fox. He was lagging slightly, Koda struggling beneath the extra weight of Caleb. As if he was reading Kíli's thoughts, Fíli dropped back. Sokka nipped at Koda's heels, chasing him faster, and an arrow shot through the sky, and Fíli was flung flat against the wolf's back.
"Fíli!" Kíli screamed, his heart stopping dead in its tracks. Desperately, he tugged at Luno, but the wolf did not slow. "Stop, stop - Fee – Fíli!"
"Keep going!" Fíli yelled, sitting up.
Sitting up.
Relief soared through Kíli so strongly that it replaced the air in his lungs, and for a moment he could not breathe. There was a red streak across Fíli's face, and blood dribbled down from it, but he was alive. He was alive.
Another hail of arrows fell down upon them, and two horses hit the ground. Their riders scrambled to their feet, falling quickly to the back of the group, where one was felled by an arrow in the back. Quick as lightening, Jago turned and loped back, grabbing the other runner and throwing him onto his own back.
A wolf fell, and then another, and then Luno was vaulting over the corpse of a girl that Kíli had met in the caves – a girl who had been shot straight from her horse. She had been fifteen, and she had a little brother.
Another horse fell, and even as Grimbeorn grabbed at its rider, an arrow burst through her neck, and her body went limp in his arm. With an agonised roar that shook the ground, Grimbeorn laid her down and ran on.
A screech, louder than any Kíli had ever heard, gave its reply, and then a great eagle swept from the sky, seizing the first skin-changers it could get its talons on – the two surviving fox triplets. Up it soared, and more swept down, but the arrows were still flying, and the orcs grew closer. One eagle was shot straight from the sky, and the wolf that it held in its grasp lay still beneath its corpse.
But the eagles made no move to flee. They continued to grab at the Beornings, many of whom changed into human form to get a better grasp on the eagle's backs. Taking a deep breath, Kíli laid down on Luno ,making himself a smaller target for the orcs, and easier for the eagles to grasp – and almost immediately one did, its talons painfully tight around his chest. The ground fell away beneath him, and with several swift beats of the eagle's wing they were up. Higher and higher they flew, and Kíli watched with tears stinging his eyes as his kin raced through the corpses below. Fíli and Nori were grabbed by two eagles in quick succession, and Bragi and Caleb were already aloft, and higher up than Kíli. But when an eagle opened it talons for Ehren an arrow shot straight through its chest, and it crashed into Ehren and Kanna, knocking them to the ground.
"No!" Kíli screamed, throwing his hand out as though it could somehow, magically, reach his friend, but there was nothing he could do. He could not see if Ehren was even still moving, and the eagle bore him higher. "Ehren!"
He could not lose another friend, not again, not like this.
He saw Ehren scramble out from beneath the eagle's corpse, saw him tugging frantically on Kanna's leg, but even when he dragged her out, Kanna did not stand. Instead she whined, butting him with her head, and Ehren stood stock still. There were no more eagles. Not one more bird to lift him away – they were all already laden, or lying motionless upon the ground. There was no horse or wolf to bear him on. Ehren was alone, and the uruk-hai were almost upon him, and Kíli's throat was raw with his own screams.
"Ehren! Run!"
Ehren did not run. He looked up, and the sun fell on his face and he closed his eyes. Then he drew his sword.
"No!" Kíli howled, still reaching out hopelessly even as his other hand clutched the talons that held him. "No!"
He could hear Bragi and Fíli and Nori yelling too, but Ehren stood firm, and the uruk-hai raised their swords high above their heads.
And then Kíli was plummeting – shooting towards the earth too fast for it to be called falling – and he knew that his eagle had been hit. Terror coursed through him, wiring his jaw shut and clenching all of his muscles, and in the split second before they reached the ground, Kíli wondered if he would be killed on impact, or if he might have a chance to fight with Ehren. That would be a nobler death.
He closed his eyes, bracing for the impact, but instead there was the sound of Ehren wheezing, and the whimper of a wounded wolf, and then he was shooting upwards again. Kíli opened his eyes, and saw that somehow, the eagle that held him had grabbed both Ehren and Kanna from the ground. They were clutched rather precariously in one of the bird's feet, and now they rose much more slowly, but they rose, and the eagle turned and followed its kin northwards.
Another eagle flew towards them, and the bird carrying them spoke. "Hold on to my talons, dwarf, if you can get a good grip."
Ehren wrapped his arms around the eagle's great claws, and the other bird took Kanna in its own talons, bearing her away despite the two, hobbit sized figures huddled upon its back.
"Thank you," gasped Kíli, reaching out to squeeze Ehren's forearm even as he looked up at the bird carrying them.
He could hear Ehren beside him, breathlessly whispering over and over again. "Thank you, thank you!"
"You are welcome," said the eagle, in a voice heavy with sorrow.
Kíli swallowed, hard and peered over Luno's shoulder at the destruction and waste that lay below them. The corpses sprawled across the ground were soon swallowed in the surge of the orcs that marched forth, and Kíli looked away. Fury and guilt burnt in his gut and rose angrily up his throat. The Beornings did not deserve this – they were a peaceful people, and so many of them were so very, very young. Kíli wanted to claw the eyes out of the orcs that had attacked them, and stab the generals that ordered the attacks until even the strongest of swords would break beneath the blows.
They flew for a long, long, time, and Kíli had no way to track the hours save the waxing and waning of the sun. When night came, they were swallowed by the cold and dark of the sky, and the moon and stars were veiled. It was not until the sun bled red light onto the horizon that the eagles began to descend, landing behind a small hill close to Rhosgobel. There were around forty of them, and sixty odd survivors of the Beornings. Some were moaning, clutching at bleeding limbs or protruding arrow shafts, and others were still weeping. Some, like the surviving triplets, seemed catatonic, their eyes fixed on nothing as they rocked back and forth like a babe in a crib.
Moaning, Grimbeorn sank down to his knees and dropped his head into his hands. His white fingers tore at his long, dark hair, and he rocked back and forth slightly, like a lost child. A lump in his throat, Kíli looked at his own brother, only a few feet away. Breathing. Not bleeding. Alive, well, safe.
Thana was dead, and so was one of the triplets and nearly two dozen Beornings, and Ehren had almost been among them. That all the dwarves had survived felt almost cruel, and Kíli hung his head.
"We cannot stay," rasped a strong, coarse voice, and Kíli looked back up. It was the eagle that had borne him, and he looked exhausted. "But we cannot outrun them. They are too fast."
Kíli's stomach plummeted like a stone down a mineshaft, and Grimbeorn looked up.
"What do you mean?" said the skin-changer, his own voice almost as coarse as the eagle's. "Since when can wargs outrun the great eagles?"
"Since now," replied the eagle sombrely. "We do not know what grants these creatures such speed, but they are thrice as fast as any wolf here. They are gaining on us, and there are crebain in the skies to spy on us. If we carry you much further, we will only lead them to your more vulnerable kin. The other group of fire-lighters are nearby – they will reach us in a few minutes. That is why we have stopped here. But as for onwards, you must make a choice. Fleeing now, by wing or foot, will only bring danger further north."
"Did they make it?" demanded Grimbeorn, and Kíli held his breath. "Those who fled, did they make it, do you know?"
The eagle inclined his head. "The last of the refugees have indeed reached Mirkwood, your wife and children among them. A couple of the groups had skirmishes with rogue orcs, but there were no fatalities. Not on our side, at least."
A sigh of relief rippled out over the entire group, and Kíli felt his knees wobble beneath him. His mother and Bilbo were alright, and Vinca and Bofur and Glóin, too. They had reached safety – or at least greater safety than they had had before.
"How long until the army reaches us?" asked Grimbeorn.
"An hour, perhaps. Maybe less."
There was a shout as a young woman emerged from the trees to the right, and Kíli recognised her as the leader of the final lighting party. The rest of them were behind her, and they spilled out from the trees with gleeful grins that faded at the sight of their young chieftain, crumpled on his knees.
"What has happened?" demanded the woman. "Master Grimbeorn-"
"Thana and her party were killed," said Grimbeorn, his voice like a bow string that was far too tight to be plucked. "There are uruk-hai on our tail, from Isengard. The eagles cannot outrun them."
"There are too many of you," said the eagle. "We cannot carry you all, and we cannot evade the eyes of the crebain. We would bring the wrath of an army down upon your kin, and risk losing ourselves to the evils now dwelling in Mirkwood."
"So what are we going to do?" cried the woman, and all eyes turned to Grimbeorn. He shook his head a little, and looked at Fíli. Kíli swallowed.
"It is your call," Fíli murmured, guilt burning in his eyes so fiercely that it scalded his brother. "I am sorry – this was my plan. We should stay. See it through. You go on, take your people and go on."
"No," growled Grimbeorn, shaking his head more strongly. "No – you gave us a plan, and it might still save our children, though it won't save us. Even leaving you behind, we are too many, and we will not desert you now. You could have deserted us long ago. No. This is my call. We will stand, and we will fight. We are what, a hundred? Eighty? They might be greater in number and better armed, and they may have a speed that only devils may possess, but we will face them all the same. We are a young people, but we are free, and we have fire in our hearts, and we will not let our kin go unavenged. We will stand, and we will fight, and if we die then we will die in a battle that will rend the earth and scar the sky! We will die, and our bodies will return to this land, this land that is ours by birth-right and by blood, this land that no orc may ever truly own! This is our land and our fight, and we may be small – we may be hopeless – but we are Beornings, and we will give them a fight that Isengard will never forget."
I hope that you enjoyed that chapter! Things are getting intense, but at least Bilbo and Dís' group are safe – for now. What do you guys think will happen? I would love to know!
Thank you so much for reading, I'll see you next time!