Heheheheh...luckily for y'all, this isn't the last chapter. I may be evil, but I'm not THAT evil. Enjoy, my lovelies~!
Disclaimer: Tolkien owns Tolkien, you own you!
With everything you love hanging in the balance, you've never been more ready to kick some ass.
You charge with Thorin and the company into the heat of battle. You take one enemy at a time, everything Dwalin taught you and things you picked up along the way now put to the test. Everyone else kills and moves on faster, not that it's a race; you're just trying to be careful and stay alive until the time comes to move to Ravenhill.
The archers are beautifully placed. Wave after wave of arrows rain down upon the battlefield, almost all of them hitting their marks. You can't quite tell, but you think that the orcs are surprised at the level of resistance they face. It gives you a surge of fierce pride and energy to know that it's all because of you. You defeat each foe with that much more enjoyment.
The hollow roars of creatures much larger than you tear across the battlefield. You wince and look up to see armored cave trolls pounding through the orc ranks. You hope the archers are paying attention; last you knew, it took the combined effort of nine people to kill one. And, of course, one is headed right in your direction.
You squeal and hit the deck to dodge its spiked club. The troll chases you, but it's large and slow, and you're much smaller and more agile. You suppose the best thing to do is stay close to it and try not to get stepped on or batted into next month.
With your daggers, you stab at its right leg. The troll howls in pain and tries to shake you off, but the daggers are up to the hilt in its thick skin, and you're not letting go. The troll takes off running, dragging you along behind.
"Ahh! No! Stop it!" You cling to the rough, foul-smelling limb. It's like a much more dangerous version of a child hanging on a parent's leg for a ride.
You get a firm grip on one of the spikes on the troll's armor and climb up its back. Your intention is that the view from its shoulders would be less terrifying and possibly safer. You are extremely mistaken. The elevation lets you see the warriors, both orc and Dwarf, dive out of the way of the rampaging troll.
How had they killed it? It was a well-aimed arrow to the throat from Legolas. You certainly do not have the angle to copy such a move. You improvise by embedding a hand axe in its skull with all your might. The troll goes ballistic with pain. You scream right along with it and try to use the axe buried in its nervous system to steer.
"Stop running! No, left! Left! Take me back to Thorin! But first go trample those orcs!"
You realize your unique position could be used to your advantage. Instead of immediately trying to kill or escape the troll, you goad it into squashing orcs. The troll runs at random across the field with you cackling evilly on its shoulders.
"Flee before me, mortals! I am the troll master! Fear my minion's blind flailing!"
But just as you begin to get comfortable with troll riding, your grotesque steed loses power. You suppose that yanking the axe lodged in its brain has taken its toll. The troll swerves and sways erratically before crashing to the ground. You tumble off and quickly grab your daggers before the awed orcs can think to attack you.
Thorin eventually fights his way over to you. "You told me not to be reckless! I cannot believe you would do something so dangerous!" he rants.
"It was an accident! Mostly! But look, I trampled orcs!"
"Do not leave my sight! I've got more important things to focus on than keeping up with you!"
"Keeping up with me?" You stab an orc with a flourish. "I'm the one babysitting you, remember?"
The adrenaline of the battle has you flying high. All fears and doubts have left your mind. You know Azog will be defeated and Thorin will live, and not one whispering insecurity can tell you otherwise.
"We could get going," you shout to Thorin. "We could finish this now."
Thorin's returning smile is radiant with the promise of long-awaited revenge. "I thought you'd never ask!"
Dain rounds up mountain goats for you, Thorin, Fili, Kili, and Dwalin. The goats' massive horns plow over anything and anyone in the way. The goats ascend the cliffs to the frozen waterfall. It's dizzying to look down, so you close your eyes until the ground is solid once more.
Everything is hyper realistic: the scenery is over-saturated with color, the wind is that much colder, and the silence on the peak has physical weight. Your moment of truth has arrived, and you are ready to tackle it head-on.
"Fili, Kili, go scout ahead," Thorin whispers.
"No," you say ironly. "Stay. I'll go."
"But - "
"Don't argue. This is what I came to do." Without a second thought, you enter the crumbling tower.
You move noiselessly through the dilapidated corridors, ears straining to catch the first sounds of Bolg's army. You don't go too deep; that was Fili's mistake, one you will not repeat. Finally you glimpse torch light from one of the tunnels. You waste no time in dashing back outside.
"Got it!" you announce breathlessly. "They're here. Get ready."
Azog appears at the top of the tower, but this time he has no prisoner to murder. You smirk triumphantly: two saved, one to go. Azog says something in Black Speak, probably a threat, and sends his army pouring out of the tower.
The five of you fight in a circle against the oncoming waves of Gundabad orcs. They're more ferocious than the ones on the plains, or perhaps you're just running out of steam. Still, you relish every time an enemy falls before your blade and use that to fuel you on.
Suddenly there are three new allies: out of nowhere, Bilbo, Tauriel, and Legolas join the fight. You'd forgotten all about them! Their aid makes the skirmish almost easy. Azog, dismayed by the growing enemy number, disappears from the tower. You watch him go and notice Thorin doing the same. You exchange looks. He nods.
"Hold them here!" you shout to your friends. "Whatever happens, do not enter that tower!"
Thorin and you barrel through the line of orcs, cutting them down when needed. Your heart pounds the closer you get to the frozen scene of the final battle. You refuse to think of anything other than victory.
Azog is already out on the ice. You and Thorin jump down, and you promptly slip.
Thorin steadies you. "I thought elves are supposed to be graceful," he quips.
You shoot him a dirty look. "Don't you have revenge to get?"
"Indeed." Thorin surveys Azog, who stands tauntingly alone, waiting. "Are you still resolved to fight with me?"
"Don't even try to send me away."
Thorin engages his lifelong foe. You pick off orcs on the fringe of things, giving Thorin his space but always keeping a close eye on him. Suddenly an arrow sticks in the eye of an orc to your left. You wheel around to see Legolas sniping from on high. You wave wildly at him in thanks before returning to work.
Azog delivers a particularly violent blow with his new boulder-mace. Thorin rolls to avoid it and is stuck on the ground. You cannot resist intervening; the sight of Thorin on the defensive makes your stomach lurch. While Azog is distracted, you build up momentum by slip-running towards him. You ready your sword to maybe cut off another limb -
Azog sees you at the pivotal moment. He swings the boulder at you with a roar. You have only enough time to lift your shield and close your eyes.
The boulder connects with the shield with a resonating gong. You fly backwards on the slippery ice at tremendous speed, unable to stop or slow down.
"ANIEL!"
You realize why Thorin is yelling one second later when you slide over the edge of the waterfall.
You scream on the descent, terror filling your mind as the ledge above grows more and more distant. You claw at the smooth ice wall and find no purchase. Now Thorin is alone up there with Azog, and he will die, and all your work will be for nothing.
No - !
You plung your daggers up to the hilt in the thick ice wall. The ice splinters and cracks as the daggers tear through it, slowing your fall. Finally you stop moving altogether and are left dangling hundreds of feet above certain death. You whimper and try in vain to find a foothold. There is nowhere to go but up, because you certainly can't go down.
You begin the slow, nerve-wracking, perilous ascent. The daggers are your only means of climbing. They sometimes give and slip in the ice, but they never break, and the ice never fails. This fact would be heartening if you weren't scared out of your wits.
The tower Legolas was standing on collapses behind you. You can't look around to see how the fight is progressing. You simply hope that no one notices you, because you have no way of fending off attack.
A mane of raven hair peeks over the edge of the waterfall. It's Thorin! Your heart flutters in relief that he's still alive. He looks down almost unwillingly; his eyes widen when he sees you hanging.
"Pay attention!" you shriek when an orc appears above him.
Help comes from Legolas, who throws Orcrist through the enemy. Thorin snags the pommel just in time. He looks for a way down to you.
"I'm alright," you call. "Be up in a minute. Don't die before I can get there!"
This is easier said than done as another several orcs occupy him. You work all the harder to reach him, to save him -
The minutes tick by agonizingly, but finally the top ledge is within reach. You stake the daggers solidly and heave yourself over the edge. You take a moment to rejoice at the feeling of ground beneath you once more before standing on your own two feet. "Thorin, I did it, look! Thorin?"
The sight you see makes your blood stop flowing. Thorin is pinned to the ice, Azog on top of him, their swords locked and Azog's gaining towards Thorin's exposed chest. There are only seconds to change destiny forever or fail.
You let out a war cry filled with rage and hatred and denial from the bottom of your soul. This time the slippery ice is your friend; your strides are longer as you thunder towards the creature you intend to murder or die trying.
Again Azog notices you, but this time you are the faster. His pale eyes widen slightly before your fury. You tackle him from the side and stab your daggers into him as violently and maliciously as you can muster. Your momentum knocks him off of Thorin and sends him sliding several feet away. On your hands and knees, you feel a hot pride in your chest that makes it hard to breathe - but it is hard to breathe, and bright crimson blood is dripping in a pool under you.
"Finish him," you pant to Thorin, pressing a hand to the long, deep wound. "Thorin, finish it!"
Azog is writhing on the ice nearby; one of your daggers landed in his eye. Thorin wastes no time in stabbing him through the heart before removing his head. Once you're sure beyond the furthest doubt that Azog is dead and Thorin is safe, you collapse on your side in the spreading pool of blood.