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Chapter Thirteen
It was the sound of root being wrenched from earth which halted the Dwarves' short-lived victory. The great pine tree they had all sought refuge in had begun to twist away from the ground, groaning in its last moments as a living part of the world, before swaying perilously over the precipice of the cliff behind them. It seemed that their combined weight had been too much for the once mighty tree, and splinters of bark flew through the air as it toppled backwards, coming to rest on the dry grass. The tops of its branches, adorned with green leaves, lay over the gaping chasm of the cliff edge, dangling the company over limitless darkness below.
Gandalf's pale face seemed to lose what little colour it had as he saw Dori and Nori swaying from a branch, grasping each other tightly in fear. They shouted to him, their words whipped into a frenzy on the strong breeze which curled about the night, and it was with a last shout of terror that they disappeared from view. The wizard leapt forth and swept his staff downward in a sweeping arc, catching their reaching hands to save them from the certain death below. The two Dwarves were not out of danger however, as their sweat-greased palms slid over the polished grey wood.
"Hold on!" Gandalf cried, hauling with every muscle to keep the swaying Dwarves from falling into darkness. His fingers were white with exertion, and it was with a gasp that his body slid forward minutely. Miluiel slid along the trunk of the tree, nearer to the wizard, and gripped the staff in her own tiny hands, helping to keep the dangling Dwarves in some semblance of safety. She looked around and saw the other members of the company clinging to the tree with fear raging in their eyes, watching as the Wargs paced back and forth before the burning ground hungrily. Their dark, wild eyes reflected the dancing flames as they swayed between the two factions, and the saliva covering Warg jaws glistened in the dull light.
The Dwarf prince glanced about himself to see his company clinging to the tree, all with fear settled in their eyes. The bravest of Dwarves were around him, and yet he could not see any who were not afraid. He looked over at Miluiel, the strange, beautiful woman who had wormed her way into his thoughts despite his most desperate of efforts. But this was not the time for sentimental moments, and he dashed away thoughts of her tumbling autumnal curls, and her storm grey eyes which seemed to light her way, even in the darkest of times, and her delicately flushed skin as he held her face gently in his hand. He had marvelled at how tiny she was in that moment on the mountainside, and again in the goblin tunnels; despite how small she was, she had fit perfectly into the curves of his own body, and this was something which he clung to as he pushed himself to his feet. Her darling, beautiful face swam before his eyes as he moved away from the company, and before he pushed it away to allow his attention to focus on his enemy, he imagined for a tiny moment, the soft brush of his lips against her slim hand, and the peaceful smile she may one day grace him with. But for this moment, thoughts of beauty and fragility were dashed against the steel of his resolve, and he carried onward along the tree trunk.
"Thorin!"
Miluiel felt her heart leap into her throat as she whipped her head around to the sound of Dwalin's cry, and saw the Dwarf prince walking along the fallen tree, towards the Pale Orc and away from his comrades. His sword gleamed at his side, and in that moment, with the breeze lifting his dark hair from his shoulders and his bearing straighter than an arrow, she felt a pull inside her that went deeper than any fear she had ever encountered. He could die at any moment, and she could do nothing to stop it. She felt as though she might never experience joy again, and with every marching step he took away from her, Miluiel felt tiny shreds of her soul leaving her body, as if to cling to him and persuade him back to the company, and to her. Her mind flitted back to those moments of closeness which they had shared and felt her heart constrict almost painfully. His scent curled once more on the air, enveloping her in his muscular arms once more, filling her with both pleasure and dread. Tears sprung to her grey eyes as she could do nothing but watch as he strode away, intent on only one thing. It seemed that all else faded away from him, as if in a terrible dream, and all he could see was the pale skinned enemy before him. Her lips parted then, and in a last moment of hope, a single word slipped forth, buffeted on the night air and lost before it reached the Dwarf prince.
"Thorin."