Hello everyone! Thank you for the lovely reviews for the last chapter, I really appreciate them! So , I am a little late, but I've finally finished this mammoth chapter, so I hope you enjoy it! Just as a warning, this chapter contains scenes of war and civilian death – it's no more graphic than other events in the story, but there are mentions of the death of a young child that you may find upsetting. If you have any questions or concerns, please don't hesitate to drop me a message, and if you think you'd rather not read it, or prefer to hear all the sad spoilers first please do send me a PM and I'll explain the plot points for you. I don't want to put anyone off, but I'd also hate to trigger anyone.

Anways, I hope you enjoy!

Chapter Ninety-Six: Sanctuary

Fíli threw open the door between his room and his brother's, his heart already pounding so hard he thought his ribs might burst. The toll of the war bells was ringing through the city so loudly that even the deaf could feel them, and Kíli was already awake, and already more pale than the stark, white cast around his chest.

"Fee-" he broke off, trying to push himself up the bed with his arms alone. "Fíli, that sounded like an explosion, that's the war bell, the war bell, we're-"

Rushing across the room, Fíli guided his brother back down, taking Kíli's hand and squeezing it tightly. "You'll be alright," he swore, pressing his forehead against his brother's for a moment. "You will be safe here, Kíli, I swear it, but I must go. I must help our people."

Kíli went even paler, the childlike terror in his eyes making them deeper, and darker, and he grabbed Fíli's wrist tightly. "You come back." Fíli's heart stung, and he opened his mouth, but Kíli shook his head, his lower lip trembling. "I know you have to go and I – I would too, but… but you come back, afterwards. Promise me."

Squeezing Kíli's hand, Fíli tried to smile. "I'll do my best."

"Promise me," protested Kíli, tightening his grip on his brother's wrist with growing urgency. "Promise me, Fee. Please, promise me. The last time we did battle you were reckless, and I – promise me."

Fíli pulled his brother into his arms, and felt Kíli's arms wrap desperately around him. He shivered, and prayed that it would not be the last time he could do so, that the whispered words that fell from his lips would not be a lie. "I promise."

The door flew open and Fíli looked up sharply. His heart twisted slightly at the sight of his parents standing there in their pyjamas, swords in their hands, with faces paler even than Kíli's. For a moment, they all froze, and then Fíli swallowed, making his voice as even as he could.

"I'm going down to fight."

"But-" Bilbo began, his face twisting in dismay, but Dís put her hand on his arm and hurried forward, taking Fíli in her arms and holding him tightly.

"Be swift," she murmured. "And be safe. Come back to us, dushtêl."

Fíli nodded, and kissed her cheek, before pulling away and looking to Bilbo. The hobbit smiled bravely, and held out his arm.

"Come on then," he said, guiding Fíli back towards his bedroom. "I'll help with your armour. Wouldn't want to go into battle in your nightclothes now, would you?"

"Thank you," Fíli murmured, glancing over his shoulder to catch a last glimpse of his brother and mother before the door closed.

"Don't you worry about them," said Bilbo, though his voice shook, and his hands trembled as they grabbed Fíli's mithril shirt from the closet. "I'll look after them, I won't let anything happen to them, don't you worry. You just worry about yourself, and make sure you don't go getting hurt, now. Worrying about one of you is enough, thank you very much."

Fíli nodded, fastening his armour as quickly as he could. With Bilbo's help it took only a matter of minutes, but still it felt too long, and by the time he grabbed his swords, Fíli feared he might already be too late.

"I must go, now," he said, squeezing Bilbo's arm. "Thank you."

"I'm very proud of you, Fíli, and I love you very much," Bilbo replied, a tear winding down his cheek. "You look after yourself, now."

Fíli bowed, and then he ran, throwing himself out of the door and tearing down the hallway, and out of the royal chambers. A small troop of soldiers were running at him, guards charged with protecting the royal family, and when they saw him their eyes widened.

"My lord-" yelled one, but Fíli shook his head.

"My brother and parents are in Kíli's room," he said, without even slowing his pace. "Protect them – I will help our people."

"Yes, my lord," bowed the dwarf, as half of his party ran up the stairs, and the others fanned out around the hall.

And Fíli kept running. A part of him ached to leave Kíli and their parents behind, but a greater part of him was grateful. His mother was too far along in her pregnancy to fight, and Bilbo was no warrior. As for Kíli…

He shook his head, focusing on what was ahead. Already, the hallway was full, teeming with dwarves answering the call of the war bells, running south towards the gates in a rank they had formed without rehearsal. They were mostly dwarves he knew, kith and kin who dwelt in the Halls of the High Nobles, and all were in various states of dress. A few were in full armour, but most had only a mail shirt or a breastplate pulled over their nightclothes. Some were still in their pyjamas.

A flash of white hair drew Fíli's eye as Bragi wound his way to his side, with a look of grim determination on his face and Ragan beside him, and a moment later, Fíli spotted Ehren and his parents a few rows before them. He swallowed, and pushed onwards.

"Halt!" cried someone at the front, and Fíli dug his heels into the ground, stopping so abruptly that he almost gave himself whiplash. He craned his neck to try and see what was going on, but he was too far back. He frowned, and listened.

He could hear someone panting, crying, and then they began to speak in frantic, gasping sobs.

"They're in them mountain, in the mountain! It's, it's too late, they, they broke down the wall, they tore it down with fire and they – they – they're everywhere, everyone-"

"Let me through!" Fíli called, and the dwarves before him turned and parted, bowing their heads. Motioning for Bragi to follow him, Fíli jogged to the front of the group to reach the young lad who had spoken. His heart twisted – the boy was no more than a child, and he was trembling head to toe. A spattering of blood speckled his nightshirt, and sweat was slicking his dark hair against his forehead. Putting a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder, Fíli met his eyes carefully. "They've broken in? The orcs are inside the mountain?"

The boy nodded vigorously, gasping for breath. "They're tearing through the guards, down, down by the first market."

Fíli swore. There were homes down there, many homes, and just as many refugees – no one had counted on the gates coming down without a warning.

"They're, they're not just going in one direction, too," the boy added with a sob. "They split up, and some are running left and right and every way! You have to help, they, they're nearly at my house!"

"Where is your house?" said Fíli sharply.

The boy sobbed. "New Smith's Road."

Fíli nodded, sparing half a second to glance around. His best guess that there nearly four hundred dwarves behind him, most of the High Nobles who were of the age to fight. Dwalin was nearby, Balin, Glóin and Óin too, and a handful of Captains in the army, but Fíli outranked them all. This was his call.

And he was going to make it.

"Lad, I want you to run as fast as you can, to Una's Doors. Tell the guards to prepare for the worst, but remember you are safe behind those doors. Go, now!" he watched the boy start to run, and then turned to the dwarves before him. "We split up!" he declared. "Dwalin, take the first fifty men and head towards New Smith's road. Balin, you take the next fifty in the other direction. Óin, you take another fifty and head towards the upper levels of the gates, and all of you, make your way towards the doors, and leave no orc or invader alive. This is our home, and these are our people – protect them, at any cost!"

A mighty roar rose among the throng of dwarves in the corridor, and without a second's hesitation, the first ten rows of dwarves followed Dwalin west. The next fifty headed east with Balin, and Óin took the next group upwards, leaving Fíli with around two hundred and fifty odd fighters of his own.

Two hundred and fifty, against the army that had been outside their doors.

He could only hope that more were coming, that more still were already down there. That the bell had not rung too late.

"This way!" he called to his own group. It did not escape his notice that Ehren and Bragi had both stayed beside him. "We're heading straight to the gates, by the shortest path! Du bekar!"

"Du bekar!" roared the warriors, and Fíli set off at a run, leading them towards the growing sounds of screams and steel. The sounds grew louder, and louder still, and Fíli ran faster, already knowing that he was too late for some. He could hear the screaming, hear the voices of children among them, and he knew that the orcs had reached the outermost homes of the mountain. Mainly, they were the houses of guards, and warriors – and their families.

With an almighty screech, a goblin flung down from the ceiling towards him, its sword outstretched and murder in its eyes, but Fíli caught the blade with his own, and plunged his second sword through the beast's throat. "Look up!" he yelled, following his own advice and narrowing his eyes at the sight of at least thirty goblins clinging to the ceiling above them. At once, the goblins squawked, and let go, plummeting towards the dwarves with weapons outstretched. One aimed its scimitar right at Bragi, but Fíli's sword severed its head before it could even reach the ground.

"Alright?" he demanded, and Bragi nodded.

Fíli glanced over his shoulder. Already, the goblins were dispatched, but two dwarves were leaning heavily against the wall, and two more were sprawled, unmoving, on the floor.

"If you're wounded, retreat," Fíli ordered. "Move the dead to the side – we will return for them, but we cannot delay while those still living are in need of us."

There was a mumbling of agreement, and within a matter of moments they were moving again, speeding towards the gates. While there were definitely wounded folk among them, it did not escape Fíli's notice that no one turned back. They came across two more snatches of goblins and orcs, and lost three more of their own in slaying them, before finally they reached the top of the great stair that would take them down to the front gate.

And when he reached it, Fíli's mouth dropped open.

There was a great hole in the centre of their gate, and through it the army outside were trying to swarm in. Already, a great horde of several hundred dwarves were pressed against the gap, stemming the tide, but Fíli knew the size of the army outside.

"Du bekar!" he yelled again, leading his troops down the stairs and sprinting across the hall towards the door, but before he reached it, a familiar figure emerged from the army of dwarves and limped heavily towards him.

His heart skipped a beat.

"Thorin-"

"Go," said Thorin at once, seizing Fíli's arm and pointing back into the mountain, towards the outer marketplace. There was a great lump swelling above the king's left eye, and a large, dark bloodstain on his trousers, but his eyes were ablaze with determination and fury. "Take your soldiers and push back through the lower levels – they took us by surprise, too many got through!"

"But-"

"Go! You must get the people to the deeper levels of the city! We can stem the tide for now, and the bell will bring more warriors here, but none have gone back into the city, and if no one does all we shall fight for is a tomb. Go, now!"

Fíli hesitated, and Thorin leant closer.

"You must do this," he said in a low voice, pressing his forehead against Fíli's. "You are our future, and you must keep our people safe. Go, Fíli – I am proud of you. Go."

Taking a deep breath, Fíli nodded, pulling away from his uncle and turning back to the hundred odd troops that had fallen under his command.

"Barak khazad!" he yelled, jogging backwards through the grand entrance hall, towards the marketplace. "Slay every orc you find, protect our people! This way!" He turned, and heard the battle cry of his people swelling behind him.

Out of the corners of his eyes, he could see Ehren and Bragi flanking him, their faces grim as the screaming before them grew stronger. The smell of smoke hit the back of Fíli's throat as the market came into sight, the roofs of the vendors' huts all wreathed in flame. Fire was licking at the windows of nearby houses, houses with broken in doors, and corpses lying over their thresholds.

Fíli kept running, and the pathway forked before them.

"Joren," he yelled, signalling to Ehren's father. "Take fifty left, Ragan, take fifty right. The rest of you, with me!"

He charged down the main street of the market-place, instinctively ducking around the bloodied corpses of dwarves and orcs strewn across the street. Soon, he caught sight of a band of orcs, a hundred strong at least, rampaging their way through the market. They were streaming into houses, and screams were rising out, and Fíli's blood boiled.

With a roar he threw himself forward, hacking at orc after orc, and feeling a surge of satisfaction thrill him as each one fell down.

"Check every house!" he bellowed, kicking open the door to a nearby home. There was the corpse of a dwarf in the doorway, his axe still in his hand, and behind him a door hung, half torn from its hinges. Behind that door was the body of a woman, draped over the edge of a crib. Fíli's stomach turned, and he forced down the desire to run away screaming. He peered into the cradle, and his heart twisted painfully. The babe looked like it was still sleeping, if you did not look at the blood. Fíli prayed that it had been quick, that the little one had not had time to be afraid or feel pain, and then he backed away.

He threw himself outside, back into the fight, and took down five orcs on the way to the next house, but there he found only more corpses. It was the same in the next house, and the next, and every time he returned to the throng of battle his heart was heavier, and his anger roared louder, but fury and sorrow were only just a match for the vicious glee of the orcs. They jeered and laughed, even as they died, and slew fleeing men and women and children, just inches from the reach of the warriors, and there were so many of them, outnumbering Fíli's dwarves two to one at the very least.

With each body he found, despair began to claw more fiercely up the back of Fíli's throat. If there were so many orcs still in this part of the market, how many more were there in the mountain? How could they hope to stop them before every soul in the city was slaughtered?

How long would it be before they cut through the royal guards, and broke down the doors, and found Bilbo, and Dís, and Kíli? Bilbo was no warrior, and Dís was heavily pregnant and Kíli – Kíli was helpless. As helpless as a little child.

Unbidden, an old memory flashed before his eyes – the memory of another orc raid nearly fifty years ago, and of his brother's tiny, terrified face. It was the memory of Kíli being torn away, of Fíli's world being ripped apart. Of hope being drowned in a river of fierce, black water.

Yet if his brother had taught him anything, it was that there was always hope.

He gritted his teeth, and ducked into the next house, hurrying past the lifeless woman sprawled over the floor. A frying pan was still clutched in her fist, covered in black blood, and the body of an orc lay at her feet.

He threw open the doors to two empty rooms, but in the second, a flicker of movement caught his eye. He stepped forward carefully, raising his sword, and then the cupboard burst open, and a tiny dwarf flew out with a strangled roar.

"Stay 'way!" he cried, but then his eyes grew wide and he dropped the ladle from his hand. "Soldiers! Nuala, the soldiers are here!" The boy flung himself across the room with a sob, wrapping his arms around Fíli's legs, and as he did, the lid of a nearby chest cracked open, and Fíli caught sight of a pair of wide eyes peeking out from inside.

"Come, child," he urged. "Hurry! You must be brave, now, quickly!"

There was a whimper, and the chest closed, and Fíli cursed that he did not have time to use more tact. Instead, he took what he was sure would have been Dwalin's approach, running across the room and pulling open the chest. The tiny girl inside screamed and cringed into the back of the chest, but Fíli hoisted her out and over his shoulder.

"Is there anyone else here?" he asked the boy, who shook his head.

"Just me, Nuala and Amad, but Amad's fighting."

Fíli fought to keep from flinching as his eyes flickered towards the hallway where the woman lay dead. He sheathed his swords and grabbed the boy, resting him on his hip. The girl was still crying.

"I need you both to close your eyes," he said firmly. "Now, do you understand me?"

"They're closed, sir," said the boy. "Nuala, close your eyes."

The girl whimpered. "They're closed!"

Fíli nodded, and hurried back out of the house, checking both ways before ducking outside. He kicked the door shut behind him and then put the boy down so that he could draw his sword again.

"Open your eyes," he ordered. "Stay close." His eyes scoured the fight and quickly fell on a couple of other civilians clinging to soldiers, and his mind whirred with a way to get them to safety. As if by the grace of the Valar, he heard a roar, and then looked to see Ragan leading his group of fifty back around, a straggle of a dozen odd survivors behind them, and he nodded.

"Ragan! Ûhaskhajam-okilondin!" Still in Khuzdul, he added, "Circle your men around them, keep them together, and start working your way to the Old Spring Well."

Ragan bowed his head sharply, looking so much like Soren that Fíli's heart caught painfully. "You heard the prince!"

At once, Ragan's group corralled the survivors into a small bundle, taking wounded men, women and children from the other dwarves and forming a tight circle around them. A noble lady with a scowl like steel ran up to Fíli with her arms outstretched, and the prince shifted Nuala into the woman's grip. She scooped up the boy with her other arm, bowed her head at Fíli and then turned to deliver the little ones into the ring of survivors.

"Ehren!" Fíli yelled, catching his friend's attention. Again, he yelled out in Khuzdul, grateful beyond words that no orc knew their tongue. "Find your parents, get them to head for the old Spring Well!"

Ehren nodded, and jerked his elbow back into the face of a nearby orc, beheading another before sprinting off in the direction that his parents had gone. Fíli turned back to the hoard of orcs, striking his way through them and working his way through home after burning home.

Sighting so many unarmed dwarves in one place, a group of two dozen odd orcs rallied and charged at them, and Fíli felt a stab of panic. They did not have enough people to clear the city and protect the survivors, they did not have enough folk to fight –

He stopped, and took a deep breath. He could not panic. He could not afford panic, and neither could his people.

He steeled himself, and shifted his grip on his swords.

I am Fíli, Prince of the Line of Durin, he thought fiercely, letting the words fill every part of him. And you should never have come here.

With a roar, he charged the splintered group alone, relishing the shock in the eyes of the orcs as he did so. He collided with them before they were even within spear's length of Ragan's group of civilians, his twin swords cutting through them like paper, moving as though the metal was not only a part of his body, but an extension of his soul.

He felt a knife stab into his back, felt the pain of the blow strike him even as the blade's tip was foiled by his shiny shirt, and he wheeled around, striking the head from the orc that had landed the blow. The orcs did not wait their turn to fight, instead surging down upon him in a deadly swarm, but Fíli had people to protect, and that was where the Crown Prince had always come into his own. Even as a knife was torn across his face, splitting open the skin of his cheek, Fíli drove his sword through the neck of the last of the two dozen orcs.

Panting heavily, he turned, glancing over the stunned faces of Ragan's group. "Shall we keep going, then?"

Shaking his head slowly, Ragan gave a stunned smile. "After that? Whatever you say, my lord!"

Grinning wryly, Fíli gave a nod and turned, signalling for the others to follow. The dwarves who had remained as his group were pushing the orcs back, forcing open a path for Ragan to get his group through, until at last they reached the Old Spring Well.

"Ehren!" Fíli roared, on the desperate chance that his friend was in earshot. "Hurry up!"

"As you wish, your highness," cried a voice, but it was not Ehren.

It was his mother, Thora, leading a much larger group than she had left with. Several hundred men stood behind her, armed but unarmoured, and sheltered within their ranks were several hundred more folk – women and children and elders of dwarves and menfolk alike.

"Did as you said, Master Fíli," Thora called, "Not an orc left alive behind us, no man left behind."

Fíli grinned, and bowed his head. "Good!" he slipped back into Khuzdul. "Keep them together, make for Una's Doors by the quickest road! When the unarmed and the children are safe, come back, grab more – our job is to get as many people to safety as we may!"

"Understood," said Thora, barking out an order. At once, the dwarves of her group parted, forming a living wall that stretched to Ragan's group, ushering the two groups of survivors into one. With the bolstering of the soldiers of the menfolk, they had warriors enough to surround the group, and Thora stood at their head. "This way!" she roared, and Fíli watched them go with a surge of hope.

Deep within the mountain, far underground, was a last refuge of hope for those who could not fight, a great bunker fit to house thousands built in the early days of the mountain. It had been refurbished and secured by Thorin over the last twenty years, and he had commissioned two great doors to replace the old ones, doors as strong and thick as the very gates of Erebor. The image of Fíli's grandmother was carved into each door, and each and every soul dwelling within the mountain had been shown where they were when the siege of Erebor began.

Una's Doors, and Una's Sanctuary, Thorin had named them.

The idea had been that the more vulnerable folk in the mountain would retreat to the Sanctuary when it looked possible that the enemy could break into the city. They had thought there would be warning, that it would take weeks to breach the doors.

How had they breached the doors?

Fíli shook his head slightly. How was not important. What mattered were the thousands of people that they had to move through the mountain at once, those who were already wounded, widowed, orphaned…

He took a deep breath.

A force of nigh on a hundred dwarves remained with him, and after what felt like an age they slew the last orc in the marketplace. His corpse fell with a heavy thud into the Wishing Fountain, his blood dying its clean waters black.

"Which way now?" asked Bragi, breathing heavily and voicing the question on everyone's mind. Fíli took a deep breath, and nodded.

"We'll have to split up again – I doubt all the orc that broke in stayed in the market – four groups, we need four groups…" He glanced around, nodding at some familiar faces in the crowd. "Lord Karl, you lead a group down the westernmost road, Lady Valdís, you take the next lot northwest. Any survivors you find, guide to Una's doors, then make your way back and repeat." They both bowed, and gave a shout, splintering off with two dozen dwarves each down the two main roads, and Fíli nodded. "Lord Ivan, you take the north-eastern road, and I will go east. Stay together, keep your wits about you."

Ivan bowed and ran, and Fíli headed down the east path as quickly as he could, glancing over his shoulder at the twenty-five fighters left to him. It seemed so small a number, in face of the odds, but it did not escape his notice that many who had remained in his group were friends of his, or of the company. Along with Bragi and Ehren, there was Alfr, who had accompanied them on many a journey to the Shire, and Dwalin's brother in laws Dastan, Dustan, and Daren. He also caught sight of Lady Rúna, a close friend of his mother's, and Mette, a friendly lass from the library who was becoming rather close with Ori. Both women were usually mild-mannered and cheerful, but today they carried battle-axes that they wielded with nerves of iron, and a precision that would put elven archers to shame.

Soon, the sound of screaming and of metal on metal grew louder and closer, and Fíli was spurred on, leading his little troop further down into the Grocer's Corner, a small, residential area home mainly to shop-hands and labourers. It was a poorer part of town, the eastern side, and so many doors seemed to have been kicked in with so little effort. Fíli's heart ached at each one.

You weren't supposed to be here when the orcs came, he thought desperately to each body that he passed. You were supposed to be safe in Una's Sanctuary, we were supposed to have warning…

A great swarm of orcs were choking the streets, and Fíli's troop collided with them fiercely, but he feared it was too little, too late. There were so many dead, so many dying, and those survivors they did manage to pull from burning, raided houses struggled to band together. Afraid, some scattered, and most who did were cut down in the streets as they fled. Even those who tried for safety in numbers could not count on as much – Fíli saw several elderly dwarves felled as they tried to run for the meagre group of survivors behind Bragi and Ehren.

His fury blazed hotter with every death that he saw, and Fíli roared, tearing through the orcs until he was at their very centre. A blow to the back of the head stunned him, and Fíli stumbled out of the main fray, twisting around and stabbing up into the ribcage of the orc that had struck him. The creature gave a squawk, grappling with the hilt as he stumbled back, and Fíli realised too late how close they were to the edge of the walkway. He lurched forward, grabbing for his sword, but the orc fell too quickly, tipping over the edge before Fíli could reach him. Fíli growled, watching his sword fall away into the depths of the mountain. Instinctively, he reached for a knife to fill his right hand, but then he froze.

He had not grabbed any of his knives. He did not sleep in knives, not in Erebor, and he had not had the time to properly arm himself beyond his swords –

"Fíli, duck!"

Fíli hit the deck, feeling the air above him gasp as an orc's axe swiped over him. He kicked the creature's legs out from beneath him, and then kicked him again, sending him over the edge after his thieving comrade.

Adjusting his grip on his left sword and leaping to his feet, Fíli looked for Ehren to shout his thanks, but he had already disappeared into the battle. Fíli did the same, feeling blow after blow glance off his mithril shirt, and a bloom of bruises begin to spread across his back and chest, but he pushed on.

A scream tore through the air and Fíli glanced towards it, his heart twisting painfully at the sight. An orc had grabbed a fleeing dwarf woman by her hair, and wrenched her down onto her knees. He had her head tugged back, and his axe raised high, and as Fíli began to run towards her another orc swept down, and wrenched something from her arms. Fíli's blood ran cold as the orc let out a triumphant howl, and the wail of a baby joined its mother's frantic screams.

Laughing with a sickening glee, the orc opened its mouth around the baby's neck, and Fíli roared, ploughing into the orc with all his might. He drove his sword straight through the foul creature's gut, and ripping it upwards through the torso to make sure the job was done. Even as he did so, he snatched the baby away from the orc's claws, cradling her close in the crook of his arm. She was trembling, and crying, and her chubby little hand seized his moustache tightly.

"I've got you," he swore, even as he thrust his sword through the next orc to come too close. He looked back to the mother, and his heart seized as he recognised her. Tûra, daughter of Ovie. The girl from the forges.

The great orc still loomed above her, and it met Fíli's eyes with a dark smile as it brought its axe curving down towards her head. Her arms were crossed above her face in a desperate attempt to stop the blow, but Fíli knew exactly how little that would do.

"No!"

With all the accuracy a second would allow, Fíli hurled his sword, already knowing that it would be too late, that he had no chance of making such a hit.

But he did.

His sword struck the axe mid-air, knocking both blades into the orc's gut, and away from Tûra. Without waiting to see if his foe was truly wounded, Fíli surged forwards and threw a punch so hard the orc's teeth flew from its mouth and shattered against the ground. It swung its axe wildly, but Fíli ducked, keeping little Lula tucked tight against his hip. He kicked the orc away, kicked him down, and then he stooped for his sword, and drove it through the orc's neck.

Panting, he looked up at Tûra. "Are you hurt?"

She shook her head slightly, her wide, frightened eyes fixed on the baby. "Lula," she whispered brokenly, and Fíli offered her the crook of his arm to help herself up.

"She's alright," he said gently as she rose. "They didn't hurt her, she's alright."

Tûra whimpered, reaching for her daughter, but then her eyes widened, locking on something behind Fíli's head. He spun around, driving his sword through the throats of several orcs, and then he turned back to her, nodding at a nearby alley.

"This way," he said, leading the trembling Tûra down the little road, away from the bulk of the fighting. With a small smile, he eased the crying baby into Tûra's arms, but she let out a stuttering cry of her own and doubled over, her face going white with pain.

"Where are you hurt?" Fíli urged, time and fear forbidding him from using tact, as he caught Lula's back to stop her falling.

Tears broke from Tûra's eyes, and she shook her head slightly. "She's no burden, I, I can carry her-"

"I'm not going to let them hurt her," he swore, meeting her eyes steadily. "I won't leave her behind, and I will not leave you. Please, Tûra, there's no time. Where are you hurt?"

"I-" She faltered, and then she lowered her eyes and lifted Lula up to show Fíli her own forearms, wincing violently. Fíli's gut churned with rage and sympathy. He had been too late after all. When Tûra had raised her arms against the blow of the orc's axe, a blade had struck her arms, tearing away skin and sending rivulets of blood down her sleeves, and by now her arms were swelling, and greatly. He would not be surprised if both limbs bore broken bones.

"Mahal," he breathed, his hand reaching towards her, but then he stopped himself. "Let me carry her, Tûra. I swear, I will not carry her to harm, and I will get you both to Una's Doors, but you must trust me. Please..."

Tûra whimpered, and bowed her head, kissing Lula's downy hair. Then, slowly, she offered her baby back to Fíli.

"That's it," he murmured, settling the infant on his hip. To his surprise, Lula did not protest his taking her, instead reaching up to wind his hair over her fingers and clinging to his tunic with her other hand. Her crying quieted a little, and Fíli held her close as he turned back to her mother. "Are you armed?"

Tûra pulled a small knife from her belt and offered it to him, but he shook his head.

"You keep that, just in case. Stay close, and keep low."

She nodded, following so closely that she was almost tripping on his heels as he crept towards the edge of the alley.

A couple of orcs whooped at the sight of an apparent easy target, but Fíli's sword flashed furiously, and he knocked the heads off of three foes with a single strike. He charged on, striking down any orc that dared stand in his way, and moving around Lula almost effortlessly. No weapon came close to her as he ripped a path through the edge of the battle, and the orcs that looked upon him fell back, cringing away from the prince that fought like a king of old, with a baby in the crook of his arm.

Untouched, Lula clung to him, her little eyes round as the full moon as they peeked over his shoulder at her mother. They tore down a side road, away from the battle, and Fíli led through twists and turns that took them deeper into the city. He swung around a corner and then skidded to a halt, twisting Lula around behind him as a spear tip rested an inch below his chin.

"Good reflexes," he said slowly, raising his eyes from the spear to the one who wielded it – a young woman of Dale with dark skin and darker hair, and an expression of pure horror. A small group of two dozen menfolk were cowering in the corner behind her, children mostly, besides a couple of women and elderly folk. The woman's spear fell from her hands, and Fíli caught it – rather awkwardly, given that his 'free' hand was already full with his sword.

"My Lord, I-"

"It's alright," he promised, pressing her spear back into his hand. "Are any of you wounded?"

The woman shook her head, but a child of four or five gave a whimper, and held out raw, gravel-rashed palms.

"They knocked me over," he said, and Fíli bowed his head.

"Then we will make them pay, but first we must get you to safety. How many of you can fight?"

The woman with the spear gave a small shrug, as did a couple of boys no older than twelve, and an elderly man. The others remained silent.

Fíli nodded slowly. "Alright… stay quiet, stay together – and follow me, now."

"Are we going to die?" the boy with the scraped palms asked, and Fíli shook his head.

"Not on my watch."

Slowly, he snuck to the edge of the alley, checking both ways before ducking out and ushering the others to follow him. He set off northwards, leading them through the back alleys of the residential area until they reached the outer walkways. There, he paused again. Leaving the paths between the homes of the mountain wold leave them exposed, easier targets, but it was the fastest way to Una's Doors.

It was the only way to Una's Doors.

He stepped out, and then began to run – slowly, that the others might have a chance of keeping up. Every footstep sounded too loud, and every infant's whimper seemed like a scream of 'here we are,' but no orcs beset upon them as they delved deeper into the mountain. Torches had been lit, but it was still very dark, and Fíli ordered the younger menfolk to lead their elders by hand in an attempt to avoid losing any of them over the edge of the walkways.

It took nigh on half an hour, but they were almost there, so close that Fíli could see the inconspicuous wooden door that led down to the halls, when a great screech tore over them.

He turned, eyes widening at the sight of fifty orcs tearing towards him, with three dozen angry dwarves sprinting after them. He caught sight of Óin, Glóin and Dana in the front line, but they were still a way behind their quarry.

"Run!" Fíli yelled, "Make for the door, run!"

The menfolk ran, children outstripping their parents as they pelted towards the door, but Tûra hesitated, reaching out for Lula with her swollen, bloodied arms.

"Fíli-"

Out of the corner of his eye, Fíli caught sight of a knife sailing towards them, and he pushed Tûra out of the way, down behind a nearby column. He leant down to press Lula into her arms, but another flying knife forced him to leap back, the child still tightly clutched in his arms.

Then, the orcs were upon them, and it was all he could do to keep the blades away from the baby. He felt weapons find their mark, felt them strike his neck, his chest, his back, and though his armour deflected their blows the pain was growing strong, and every orc he felled was replaced by another, more foul and eager than the last.

Gritting his teeth, he glanced over his shoulder, but he was too far away from Tûra to have any hope of delivering the baby to her. She was on her feet now, fighting desperately with the wild look of one relying on old memories, her eyes flickering constantly towards her child. Terror gleaned on her stricken face, and her arms shook violently, but she held her ground, and a small pile of corpses was building at her feet.

The orc's numbers began to dwindle as the dwarves that had pursued them hacked their way towards Fíli and Tûra with a roar, but as they did an orc drove his war hammer into Fíli's gut with such force that the prince doubled over, winded. With a wrenching twist, his sword was torn from his hand, and Lula screamed.

There was no time to gasp for breath. Fíli drove his fist up into the orc's chin, smashing his head into the orc's and watching the creature crumple. He kicked and punched and dodged, but the orcs that were now falling from his blows were beginning to get back up again, and he could not dodge everything. The strokes of the swords of his enemies were getting closer and closer to the baby – he needed a weapon, and he needed it now.

He stooped towards the ground, grappling for a corpse's sword, but it was kicked from his grip, and then a metal boot smashed into his chin, sending him sprawling back against the ground. With a triumphant cry, the orc surged forward, driving his sword down, and it was all Fíli could do to throw himself over Lula and pray the blade would not reach her.

But the blow never came.

He looked slowly up to find the orc hovering in the air above him, impaled on the end of Óin's new polearm. Breathless, Fíli grinned up at his cousin.

"Thank you."

Óin grinned back, tossing away the orc's corpse and holding his hand out to Fíli. "Ah, don't mention it, lad. Why, I've been looking out for you since you were smaller than that wee bairn!"

Fíli gave a breathless laugh, glancing down at Lula. She had stopped crying, but her little face was pale beneath her bright red cheeks. A sudden fear that she might be going into shock struck him, but then Óin let out a grunt, and his grip on Fíli's hand became a crushing vice, and Fíli looked back up. And his heart dropped down through his chest and he stopped breathing, fear shooting through him faster than one of Kíli's arrows, sharper than the edge of a knife.

Sharper than the end of the serrated scimitar that had burst out from the healer's chest.

"Óin!"

There was a flash of red hair as Glóin spun around, beheading the orc that had stabbed his brother, and Fíli grabbed Óin's arm, easing him down to the ground and onto his side.

"Hold on," he gasped desperately, as Óin's bulging eyes found his. "You're going to be alright, Óin, everything's going to be fine."

A smile tugged at the corner of Óin's lips, even as he gazed down at the blood began seeping over his armour. "Ah, lad…" he choked. "You… know better."

Fíli's blood ran cold, and he shook his head desperately. This was Óin, his Óin – his cousin, his kin, the dwarf who had tended his scraped knees and his broken limbs and his war-wounds, the only soul in the mountain save Dís who could get Thorin to take care of himself, the one they had all leant so heavily on. This was Óin, and he could not be dying.

"No, no, we'll get you help," he promised, seizing Óin's hand as it rose, trembling, towards him. "You're going to live, you're going to be fine."

Glóin crashed down to his knees beside them with a choked sob, taking Óin's other hand as Dana kept away the last straggling orcs.

"I'm here," Glóin choked, pressing Óin's hand against his heart. "I'm here, nadad." He did not beg, or demand that Óin stay with them, and he did not promise help, or healing. He just sat there, trembling with tears running down his cheeks into his beard and his arms wrapped tightly around Óin's, and the truth fell upon Fíli like an avalanche.

"No," he begged, knowing that there was no one there to be moved by his words, no one on earth that could stop what was coming. "No…"

"It's… alright, lad," Óin said, his eyes beginning to haze over. His grip on Fíli's hand was weakening. "Sulliglukhul, nê akhshum…" It's alright, don't worry. Slowly, his head shifted, and his eyelids fluttered as he struggled to fix his gaze on Glóin. "Nad…ad…ith…"

"I'm here, brother. I'm here," said Glóin, a deep, aching sadness resonating from his voice. "You are not alone. I'm here."

Óin struggled to draw breath, his fading eyes flickering between Fíli and Glóin. "Amrali astun…"

I love you…

Fíli felt tears burn at the back of his eyes. "Amrali astu, Óin," he said weakly.

"Amrali astu, 'undad," said Glóin, pressing his lips to his brother's forehead.

I love you, greatest of all brothers.

Óin closed his eyes, and Fíli bit down on his lip until he tasted the tang of blood in his mouth.

"Barak khazad," Óin breathed. "Khazad ai menu..."

And then he said no more.

Glóin let out a sob as Óin's body went limp, and his last, rattling breath gave way to silence, but Fíli could not move, not even to cry. He felt paralysed, like every inch of him was immovable, like his body was no longer his to control. Grief crashed down upon him like a tidal wave, and almost at once the anger flooded through him. They fought brutally within him, shaking his entire body, and a haze of red fury veiled his eyes.

He wanted to kill, to tear his way through orc after orc, to slaughter thousands upon thousands, until the enemy knew just a fraction of what he felt, of the hole that Óin would leave. He would tear them limb from limb with his bare hands, rip out their throats his teeth if he had to, he would kill until there was no one left to die –

A small hand hit his cheek, clumsily wiping away his tears, and Fíli jumped violently, glancing down. Lula was silently staring up at him, her soulful eyes meeting his with an intensity that stole his breath. She was no longer screaming or crying, but tears still trailed down her face as she stretched up her tiny little arms to press her palm to Fíli's other cheek. He knew she was a baby, that she could barely grasp the concept of life, let alone death, but in that moment, he felt that she understood everything.

He bit back a sob, and strengthened his resolve.

"Glóin…" his words stuck in his throat as Glóin looked up, his eyes brimming with rage and anguish. Fresh tears spilled from Fíli's eyes, and he shook his head slightly. "I will be back. I won't let this go unavenged but I-"

"Go," said Glóin gruffly. "You get that baby someplace safe. Go."

Nodding, Fíli held Óin's hand close for a final moment, before resting it over his chest and rising to his feet. For a moment, his knees swayed beneath him, but he drew back his chest and held Lula close, turning back towards Tûra.

Her arms were trembling, tucked tight against her chest, but it was sorrow in her eyes, not pain, as she looked at Óin. She glanced up at Fíli, but when she met his eyes she looked away, closing her eyes. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Fíli stepped towards her.

"Wait!" Dana seized his arm from behind, and then pulled him into a fierce hug, baby and all. Then, she pressed his sword into his hands, and a kiss to his forehead. "Don't you let them hurt you too, Fíli."

He nodded, and then turned to Tûra, gesturing towards the door. She nodded back, picking her way through the bodies to his side.

Even as it ripped apart his heart, Fíli walked away from Óin and Glóin, ushering Tûra through the small, wooden door.

No orcs had yet reached the hallways leading down to the Sanctuary, but guards were positioned every forty yards, and they sent back a call to the doors, so that by the time Fíli and Tûra reached them, Una's Doors were open.

Fíli bowed his head to the guards as he ushered Tûra inside. Though he had feared that he would find a swarming haven of panic, Fíli found that the guards of Una's Sanctuary had already begun to organise the frightened refugees, and the atmosphere was surprisingly, jarringly calm. So calm, in fact, that he was almost tempted to follow logic and leave Tûra and Lula with the nearest healer, but something stopped him. It was an odd feeling, a small tugging in his gut that somehow made itself known amidst all his anguish and anger, a feeling that would not be ignored.

Before tonight, Fíli had promised himself that the next time he saw Tûra, he would ask if she wanted to take tea with him, or perhaps go for a stroll in one of Bilbo's gardens. He liked her, and she was easy to talk to, and he wanted to get to know her better. That all seemed so trivial now, but it still seemed wrong to leave her and her child in the care of a stranger. Putting Lula down at all was a surprisingly unpleasant thought.

To his relief, however, he did not have to fight long between logic and conflicting emotions. He was saved by a friendly, albeit drawn and worried, face, when he caught sight of Svana, Soren and Bragi's mother.

"This way," he murmured to Tûra, leading her towards the other woman. When Svana noticed him making a line towards her, she gasped slightly, putting her hand over her mouth.

"Fíli," she breathed. "Oh, look at your face… Are you much hurt?"

He shook his head, unable to help smiling slightly at her concern. "It's a fleshwound."

"Well, your mother's not going to be too happy about it," Svana said, but though her tone was easy, her voice was trembling. "Bragi and Ragan, have you seen them, are they with you?"

Fíli could not help but lower his eyes. There was so little hope on Svana's face, and he could not see any more of it drain away. This was only the second time he had since her since Soren died. "They are not with me. Last I saw Ragan he was bringing a large group of folk here from the market, and Bragi – we were separated. He is with Ehren, though. They were both unharmed, when I saw them last."

"Ah," said Svana softly, lowering her own gaze. "Would that I had skill with a blade, I – well, that can't be helped now… I'm sorry, I've been terribly rude."

Fíli shook his head slightly, clearing his throat. "No, that is on me. Svana, this is Tûra and Lula, they're friends of mine. Tûra, this is Svana – she is a friend as close as family. Tûra was injured in the battle, Svana, she needs to see a healer, and to have someone hold Lula for her. Would you look after them for me?"

"Of course," said Svana sympathetically, wincing a little at the sight of Tûra's arms. "Of course, I'll make sure you're both taken care of. Fíli, you… you be careful, alright pet? And if, if you see my boys…"

"I will do everything I can," he swore, and Svana smiled weakly, standing on her toes to kiss him on the cheek.

Tûra stepped forward, putting her hand on Fíli's arm. Her touch was as gentle as a butterfly's, but he was sure that even that contact must be painful. "Thank you," she murmured. "If you hadn't… thank you, Fíli. Thank you. Thank you. And I'm – I'm so sorry."

A lump rose in his throat, and his breath caught, but he bowed low. "You're most welcome. It was my honour." Fíli looked down at Lula and smiled sadly, stroking her cheek with his thumb. "It was my honour." He turned, and passed Lula into Svana's waiting arms. Lula gave a spluttering cry of protest, trying to cling to Fíli's braid, but he eased her fingers apart and stepped out of reach, and she let out a wail.

"It's alright," Tûra murmured, pressing a kiss to her daughter's little forehead and stroking her hair. "Ama's here, Ama's here, sulliglukhul."

But Lula reached kept crying, reaching towards Fíli. He smiled sadly. "Goodbye, Lula. Tûra. Svana. If the Valar allow it, I will find you after the battle. Long may you endure here, if all else fails."

The women nodded gravely, but Lula just cried, squirming in Svana's grip and stretching out almost desperately for Fíli. With a great effort, he turned away, and strode back towards the great doors. He took a deep breath, and nodded at the guard to open the gates.

"Fíli? Fíli! Wait!"

He paused, glancing back through the crowd to see his old friend Jari running towards him, his sister Aria at his heels. They were both still in their bedclothes, but swords hung from belts hastily fasted around their waists. Flanking Aria were Lani and Kenai, the two wolves of Erebor who had not chosen to go to the Shire for Frodo's party. Aria dealt with animals, and Jari was a craftsman by trade – neither of them were warriors, and he doubted either had picked up a sword since the last time they left the mountain.

"We heard the gate has been bought down," said Jari breathlessly. "Is it true?"

Fíli paused, glancing around. Causing a panic would be disastrous, but he could not lie. Not to Jari. "There is a portion of the wall that has been broken through," he said carefully. "But the enemy doesn't have free entry to Erebor, not yet."

Jari and Aria exchanged a glance, and she nodded. "We're coming with you."

"No," Fíli said, the very thought of either of them on the frontline churning his gut. "There are folk here that need protecting, and you are not soldiers, you don't need to-"

"Ari was on patrol tonight," said Jari. "Near the gates. After midnight, he was due to be upon them."

Fíli's heart sank. With Austen, Auden and both of their parents already in the ground, he knew that nothing he said would persuade Aria and Jari to stay behind Una's Doors when their brother was out there. The horrors of war would not dissuade them, and their own vulnerability would not turn them back. The fact that Ari would want them to stay safe would mean nothing, and the fact that he could fight better than them both was irrelevant. He was their baby brother, and he was all that was left of their family.

"You know if I go out there, I will look for him," he said, not expecting much in the way of success.

Jari smiled sadly, squeezing Fíli's arm tightly. "And you know that if Thorin himself commanded me to stay, I could not do it. You know I have to try."

Nodding reluctantly, Fíli turned his eyes to Aria, who simply nodded, and put a hand on the back of Lani's neck. The wolf bowed down, allowing Aria to mount.

Fíli sighed heavily, and then nodded. "Alright. Come on, then. But if either of you dare die on me, I swear I will raise you from the dead to murder you myself."

"Understood," they chanted, sombre as death.

He pushed his way back out the door with the siblings on his heels, as well as a handful of dwarves who had shaken off the shock and armed themselves, prepared to leave Una's Sanctuary now their families were safe. It was a small group, of barely two dozen, but it was enough for Fíli to feel like he was bringing reinforcements. As he ran back towards the main city, towards the screaming and the plundering and the pillaging, he let his rage flow through him, let it fuel the fire in his heart, but not unbridled. He wanted to let it go to his head, but he could not. He needed his head, and he knew it.

Just like he knew that the battle for Erebor had only just begun.

Well that was an exceedingly long chapter, so I hope you enjoyed it and that it was not too repetitive. It was not the easiest chapter to write in many ways (I'm so sorry Oin, please forgive me!) but I think I'm happy with it. Please do let me know what you thought.

Until next time, please do take care, and thank you for reading!