Chapter 8: The way is shut

The stench was what pointed them to the troll hole, Kili nearly choked when the unmistakable smell of death and decay caught his nose. He did not want to know what was in there, he could imagine well enough. But they had to check, if the Trolls still had captives they were their only hopes of escape. The young Prince lit a torch and followed the others down into the cave. He did not need to turn around to know Boromir was behind him, having the warrior at his back made him feel a bit better. The man took the stench, the buzzing of the flies and the bones they already found at the entrance with a stony expression. For a moment Kili caught a glimpse of an Orc den that must have been even worse than this pit from him but the image soon vanished.

They had been the last to enter the dank den, Bofur, Gloin and Nori were already down there and had found the stash of gold. "Would be a shame to leave it just lying around…" Came the familiar lilt of Bofur's voice. Kili shuddered, this was a troll hoard and he was loath to touch anything those murdering bastards had possessed. Thorin's gaze found his and with an imperceptible shake of his head, the older dwarf signaled him not to interfere.

Kili sighed and accepted his father's decision, not saying a word when Nori went outside to grab a shovel. While Thorin inspected the dusty weapons stashed in a corner, Kili moved past the gold pile and deeper into the den. He doubted anyone would still be alive in here, but he wanted to check, to make sure they did not leave some poor prisoner behind.

The hind parts of the cave were steep, he skidded on the bones strewn on the stinking ground and slid down to the deep end of the hole. He landed hard on a metal shield that creaked under his feet. He stepped aside and lowered the torch, frowning. "This troll cave must be old," he said, using his boot to push some dirt off the ancient shield. "This is the coat of arms of Cardolan."

Boromir who had followed him down nodded in confirmation; he too recognized the symbol. "And they fell to Angmar. Had these trolls been here longer than we know?"

Kili shook his head. "Not these three, even trolls are not that long-lived. They only found a cave others of their kind may have inhabited in darker times. There are more armor pieces lying down here." He raised the torch again to look around. "There, that's an Arthedain helmet, some hill people plates and… that banded armor over there belonged to an elf." A shiver ran down his spine. "Many died here."

Carefully Kili checked the elven armor; there were actually two sets of them, lying discarded in this pit. They carried no sign, no coat of arms nor engraving which would allow the dwarf to place their maker or guess who had worn them. "Whoever they were, may their spirits rest peacefully," Kili said softly, it was all one could do, wish the souls of those who had perished here a gentle rest. When he was about to turn and look for a way up again, the torchlight flickered on something at the back wall of the cave.

Stepping closer the dwarf found, a black bow amongst several pieces of badly shattered dark armor. The bow was nearly as tall as Kili himself. Carefully he picked the weapon up; it was cold to the touch and heavier than the bow he strapped to his back. Attentively Kili checked the bowstring, finding it still attached and made of fine metal fibers, twisted into one smooth string. Finding it undamaged by time and the elements, Kili spanned the bow and smiled this bow definitely needed a strong archer to even try and draw it. "This one should have a quite the reach," he said, letting go, the bowstring hit his wrist forcefully.

"It's a beast-riders' bow," Boromir observed, they had to serve on great distances. "I can't quite tell whether it is of Eastern make, or Northern."

"Northern most likely," Kili replied. "Angmar used beast-riders in their battles. One might hate them for what they did to Eriador, but their weapons were good." He squatted down and found a quiver of steel arrows beside the broken armor, quickly picking it up when he heard Thorin call for them to leave the cave.

ADL

The howl of the wargs echoed across the hills. With the woodlands behind them they had no cover any more, except for the rocks, but how long they could stay hidden was dependent on their luck and on the Rosghobel Rabbits. Running across the valley towards the next cover, Boromir saw Thorin's hand signal, it was the sign for the warriors to catch up with him. Kili and Dwalin had seen it too and raced to the vanguard of their group. In the cover of the next rocks, the Dwarven King turned back to them. "We need to draw them off," he said shortly. "We split up. Kili, Fili, Boromir and Dwalin you are with me, we'll take on the chase, while the others get out of here."

"No!" Gandalf interjected, ignoring the glare Thorin shot him. "There are too many for you to deal with." The wolves passed them again and the wizard hastened to guide them towards whatever unknown destination he had in mind.

Crouching under the next rock, they heard the characteristic growl of a warg right above them. Boromir craned his neck, seeing the shape of the warg-rider pacing on the rock that hid them. Thorin gave Kili a quiet nod, slowly drawing his sword. The younger dwarf pulled an arrow from his quiver and sprinted away from rock, turning around he drew the black bow and fired. The arrow's aim was true and tore the warg's throat; the wolf tumbled down the rock, where the orc rider was quickly disposed of by Thorin in one swift strike of his sword.

It had been done as swiftly as possible, but the downed rider had still been able to shriek one last time and all the orcs turned from their other chases and came towards them. "Run!" Again it was Gandalf pointing their direction as they ran across the yellow grass, the wargs were quickly gaining on them, there were several groups closing in from all sides, trapping them at yet another rock-crowned hill.

The old wizard approached the mighty grey stone swiftly, using it as cover when he pushed his staff against the barrier he whispered the secret words for the hidden pass. The granite did not move, only a hollow echo rang from the stone. Gandalf paled, the passage had been closed, sealed on the other side. Only a moment later he felt the counter spell, the seal was a trap.

Thorin saw the wizard vanish, paying no heed. Let the old man use magic to flee, like the coward he was. They would have to fight their way out of this mess without his help. "To the rocks!" he barked, for those in the group that were not warriors. It would give them some cover for their backs, they'd have their hands full to deal with those orcs that got past the warriors. The others moved ahead, forming a semi-circle to defend their ground, they would be the ones who had to break the wave of the attack. The dwarf king held no illusions on their chances, but he'd fight to defend his people to the last breath.

To his right, Fili and Kili were guard, having chosen a boulder for their stand; its height allowing Kili an elevated position for shooting. Dwalin and Boromir were to Thorin's left, both warriors had understood at once what he was trying to do, and Balin had taken Bofur to close the gap at the utter left. The old warrior and the miner, were covering each other's backs. Thorin stood alone at the heart of the protective circle, they could not take them all on, but they'd allow fewer wargs to break through to the rest of the group.

The warg-riders were closing in, huge hairy beasts with their orcs on their backs swooping down the hills. Some spears flew, most of them badly aimed and missing their target. The one thrown by the Orc leader was better aimed but Thorin sidestepped it and reached up to catch it just in time. Turning the ugly weapon around, he threw it back with all the strength of his mighty arm, killing the mount of the orc leader. Angry howls rose and the wolves charged in earnest.

Thorin's axe smashed the skull of the first warg that approached, the dying beast ripping the black weapon from his grasp, and the dwarven leader decapitated the orc rider with one stroke of his sword. The elven blade cut through the orcs like whirlwind through dry leaves. Thorin did not notice how much time had passed, nor how many were coming at him, he was caught in a deadly dance, each hit and stab another dent into the orc ranks. A warg jumped at him, Thorin ducked one silver circle of his sword cut off the ugly beast's paws. Shrieking in pain the warg rolled on the ground, burying the rider under its own agonized mass.

"Kili, archers far left!" Thorin recognized the voice of the human warrior, shouting the order at his son. Boromir and Dwalin had held their space of him clear, both fighters fought like they had been a team for years already and both shared the same incredible field-awareness, never losing sight of the overall battle. Dwalin had hastened to join Bofur and Balin who had been flanked by two wargs, once the wolves were dead he rejoined his comrade.

Kili stooe on the rock; precise shots taking out the orc archers, the black bow had truly an incredible reach. But he was running low on arrows; he decided to save the last arrows for more archers the orcs might be bringing and drew his sword, joining Fili who had turned the space before the boulder into a bloody field.

Another pack of wolves charged down on them, Thorin advancing a step, taking on the next of Gundabad's ugly monsters. The sound of a familiar yet unwelcomed horn cut through the warm air and riders appeared on the eastern ridge. The dwarven leader was not relieved to hear them, their presence made the warg riders all the more determined to finish their task. If possible their attack became fiercer, the brunt coming down on him – they wanted him dead. Thorin fought with the grim will of a survivor, his sword cut through another orc, the next came close, Thorin's fist against his head threw him back just long enough for the king to yank his sword free and attack him. He heard a choking sound behind him. One of the riders had dismounted on their first pass and was keeping the wargs off his back.

The dwarf growled and attacked the next foe even more fiercely. He had recognized those riders, and being saved by an elf was one humiliation he hated to bear. The riders circled the hilltop, their archers making swift work of the majority of the enemies. Thorin cut down his last attacker, hearing an orc die at his back. He turned around to face whoever had thought he needed the help. He came face to face with an elf in their typical banded armor, only that this was a few shades darker than they usually preferred, he held a curved blade in his left hand and had a bloody gash on his forehead, where a blade had grazed him. Grey eyes met stormy blue calmly. "Are you injured?" the warrior asked the dwarf speaking westron.

The dwarf shot him a glare, disliking the assumption that he was weak or wounded. The silence hung heavily over them, before Thorin finally spoke. "Only scratches," he stated, "you should guard your head better, that circlet you wear is no protection." The intricate silver band the elf wore told Thorin he had to be highborn, but no ruler, that much was clear to see. Still he should have been more careful, an orc axe would split this circle in half along with his skull.

Strangely the elf did not anger at his words. "I usually do not ride out like this when our rude neighbors insist to clamor at our very gates, but someone nearly broke the seal on the stone. We had to act quickly." There was humor in his eyes, something that Thorin had not come to associate with elves.

"That would have been me," Gandalf appeared beside them. "I tried to open the passage for my fellow travelers here, but not only did I find it sealed, but it trapped me also." The grey wizard's brows were furrowed as he stared down the elven leader.

The riders came close; numbering about twenty, the one that looked like a mirror image of the man beside him leading them. This sight was what answered Thorin's question as to whom had come to their aid. The Lord of Rivendell had twin sons, who were famous for their never ceasing war on the orcs in the mountains.

"The passage is sealed, by order of my father, Mithrandir." The Elf warrior replied. "It is not safe to keep open." His words made it clear that he did not answer to Gandalf about how they protected their borders. Thorin hid a smile. He could nearly like the elven Prince for that, there were few people openly daring to oppose the old wizard. Instead he turned to see how his comrades had fared. The group at the rock was alright, aside from a few cuts and bruises, Balin and Bofur were still standing, as were Dwalin and Boromir. However Kili was squatted down beside his brother, who sat with his back against the boulder, an arrow protruding from his right arm.

Thorin hastened over to his son and nephew. An arrow had pierced Fili's arm, the black shaft might have gone through cleanly, but Fili was deathly pale. It took only one sniff at the dirty arrow to tell him that something had been smeared on the arrow's tip. Poison. "It's just a scratch," Fili spoke slowly. "just get it out of me, I'll be alright." But Thorin could see the grey sheen of his skin.

He considered calling Óin who was treating the cut in Bofur's arm, but he knew with a sinking heart that the old dwarf would not have anything to deal with Orc poison quickly. Even removing the arrow and cleansing the wound with blue fire might come too late, the poison had entered Fili's body, there was no doubt about it. His nephew was pretending to be fine, but he didn't fool anyone. Suddenly Thorin's mind was flooded with vivid images of Dari, bleeding out in his arms… No! He would not loose Fili too. Do not worry, Dari, I will guard your son's life. Even if I have to beg the elves for help. "Kili, stay with Fili, keep him awake and warm." He ordered, jumping back to his feet.

Kili quickly took off his leather coat, rolling it up to create a pillow for Fili to lie down on. His brother was shaking, a pain beyond the wound visibly etched on his features. Taking his healthy hand, trying to keep him awake, Kili felt helplessness like never before. The archer that had fired that arrow had been the last of the enemy bowmen and the one Kili had been unable to shoot because he had run out of arrows. "You have to hang on, Fili," he pleaded. "Thorin will find help for you."

The elves had fanned out, securing the hilltop while the dwarves tended to their own people. Strangely they seemed to respect that the dwarves would wish only as much elven help as they had to. Thorin sighed, in this moment a nosy elf simply assuming that his help was indispensable would be a blessing. Why had he to meet well-mannered elves when he least needed them. He approached their leader, it was hard to tell those twins apart, but there were a small differences in their armor and the circlets they wore, he pegged the one who had helped him for the elder one of the brothers. "Prince Elrohir?" he addressed him, taking a guess on what he had seen.

The elven warrior turned to him gracefully. "Prince Thorin? May we assist your people, several are injured."

"I would be grateful for your assistance," Thorin replied, forcing himself to speak evenly. "My nephew was hit by a poisoned arrow…"

He failed to see the spark in the elf's eyes at the mention of his nephew. "Then we better see to him quickly," Elrohir began to walk towards the injured blond dwarf, kneeling down beside him, inspecting the wound and the arrow, his mien becoming serious. "You are right… it is Nightblood they smeared on the arrow. We could bring him to my father, but he would not last the ride." His hand gently touched Fili's forehead and he closed his eyes.

Everything in Thorin screamed to protect Fili from the elven bewitchment, but he held back, forcing himself to simply watch. Kili still held his brother's hand a flash of hope in his dark eyes. After a few moments Fili's skin had lost the grey tint and he breathed easier. "This will buy us some time, but not much." Elrohir said as he rose. "Aelin! We make camp here, secure the hill and finish any stragglers," he called out to a dark-haired rider, politely keeping to a language the dwarves would understand.

Half an hour later Fili was resting on a blanket beside a fire the elves had built, a few of them standing guard at the camp's perimeter, while some of the others aided with the darfs minor injuries. Thorin had rebuked any attempt to look at his wounds. He had stayed at Fili's side, who had become delirious with fever. Elrohir had told him to hold Fili's arm, while he cut the arrow out of the wounded limb. Thorin had seen this done many times, and he could tell the elf was skilled with what he did. He made it as clean and swift as he could. The wound bled extensively when the arrow was out and elf let it, until he had a hot white root paste his brother brought him.

Fili groaned in pain when the hot poultice was pressed into the wound, Thorin firmly holding his arm still, so Elrohir could continue treating the injury. Eventually the elf put a bandage on the affected area. "We'll have to change that with a fresh poultice every three hours." He said to Thorin. "It will drain the poison from the wound and allow it to heal cleanly."

"You have my thanks," Thorin said, surprising himself by how much he meant it. Much as he disliked elves, Fili's life was more important to him than an old grudge.

The grey-eyed warrior shook his head. "Thanks are quite unnecessary, Thorin Oakenshield. Will you allow me to take care of your wounds too?"

"It is nothing, just scratches," Thorin pushed it off. "I appreciate what you do for my people…"

"And you are too stubbornly proud to accept the same help." Elrohir replied with an un-elven directness. Their eyes met. "I would appreciate it if a man who hates the Orcs as much as I do, would accept help – or forget for the moment that I am of a race that he hates nearly as much."

Curbing his pride Thorin gave him a gruff nod. "Very well then." He said, removing his armor, to allow the elven warrior access to his injuries. Elrohir began to clean the cut near the shoulder gently, too gently; Thorin would have preferred some pain to the elven softness. "You say you hate the Orcs as much as I do." He grumbled, his frustration finding an outlet in words. "What did they do to you? Or do you just hate them because that's the way of your kind?"

The elven warrior spread a salve on the cut and began to bind it. He paused when he was finished, his gaze going past Thorin to the fire. "They murdered my mother," he said, a cold edge in his voice. "Captured and tortured her… by the time we reached her, she was too far gone, she faded away and relinquished her soul to Mandos."

Thorin closed his eyes; he knew what Orcs did with captives… what they would have done to that woman. No one deserved that. And he understood revenge, the vengeance the brothers had against the Orcs. "So even your kind knows loss." He had not meant for it to come out as gruffly as it had, but the gentle way the elf probed the gash near his neck had made him tense. Give him the rough help Dwalin could provide any day.

Elrohir stilled, reaching for a bowl of hot water. "I know you hate my people," he said, speaking more sternly. "but like I do not heap all the blame for the follies of the dwarven kings of old on you, I would ask you to not blame me for the cowardice of an elven king to whom I have no blood ties or obligation."

"Cowardice, that's the first time I have heard an elf called it that." Thorin looked at the elven warrior; he had the fair face of his kind, thought it held a bit more character to it than many of their overly beautiful races were graced with. "Had you been there, when the dragon attacked us, would you have fought?" he provoked the elven prince.

"Try me." Elrohir replied a clear challenge in his voice, before going back to treat the wounds, making swift work of them, and then leaving Thorin to guard Fili's restless sleep.

On the other side of the fire Thorin saw Elrohir speak with Kili for a moment, his son quite relaxed in the elf's presence. He saw Kili bow slightly, maybe in thanks for the help before young dwarf joined him at Fili's side. "What was that about?" he inquired.

"Nothing," Kili told him, busy with putting his cloak over Fili like a blanket. "I am just being polite."

Night fell in the camp; Thorin knew they were well guarded, the elven warriors patrolling the outer ring of their refuge. Elrohir returned every other hour to check on Fili, twice he repeated what he done before, touching his forehead, and each time Fili slipped into a deep and healthy slumber. "You should get some rest too," he said when he came back around midnight. "The son of Dari will stay with us, the crisis is passed. He should be awake by tomorrow and we can bring you to Rivendell the day after that."

"Who says that we were headed there?" Thorin asked curtly.

"Gandalf may have claimed it," Elrohir's eyes assessing Thorin. "But he is not your master, so he may have erred there. But you have my invitation to join us."

Thorin looked down, again hiding a smile. By extending the invitation the elven prince had made it a matter of politeness between himself and Thorin, no matter what Gandalf thought. Why did this elf of all people understand how much he chafed under Gandalf's assumptions? Or did the proud elven warrior feel the same? Before he acquiesced to go to sleep he cast a last glance at Elrohir. "You challenged me to try you, I may yet still."

From the other side of the fire, Elladan watched his brother and dwarven king in exile exchange sharp tongued barbs and veiled compliments. He could see the laughter in his twin's eyes; Elrohir enjoyed the antagonistic debate with the dwarf. It was a sign of respect for Thorin Oakenshield, actually. The younger twin sighed, while he was an accomplished fighter like his brother, he was less of a warrior, finding wisdom preferable to the sword. Elrohir, Elven Knight, had been so aptly named.

"Your brother may just bring our stubborn dwarven leader to Rivendell," Gandalf observed beside him. The old wizard was still grouchy about being trapped in the sealed passage, caught like a bird in an elaborate cage. "For he needs the advice of your father, much as he would deny it."

"My father's advice or simply elven knowledge?" Elladan asked. "If the latter, my brother may find it in himself to smuggle them past our father's esteemed court, which might not be unwise. The last time a King of Durin's line and our father met, things became tense..."

"Only time will tell," the old wizard replied, thoughtfully watching the dwarven king who was pretending to sleep beyond the flames.

Author's note

Huge thanks to harrylee94! What would I do without you? I love it when you read the chapter to me. :D

Arthedain, Cardolan and Rhudaur where remnant Kingdoms after Arnor split and all three destroyed by the Witch King of Angmar.