Chapter 23: We fight as long as we live

All of those who had were not properly armed or had no weapons had been sent to the armory, while the women and children of Dale were sent deeper into the mountain where they would be safely away from any surprise attacks. Kili left the armory in the safe hands of Balin, when he saw the rest of the dragonblooded arrive. They came in their full strength, not leaving any of their kind at the peak. He also saw their leader, the legendary Master of the Forge, a tall warrior walking with the eerie grace of an elf. He too wore armor made of dark steel, and a helm obscured his face. What Kili noted mostly was that he had the shield on the right arm and would wield the blade left… he was one handed. Not that the dwarf paid him much heed, he was looking for someone else. Belfionn of course had reported to his Lord and Kili waited patiently until the blond dwarf was done, before actually pulling Belfionn aside. The warrior turned to him. "Prince Kili?" he asked politely, expecting some other set of orders for the troops.

"Please, just Kili, we are cousins after all…" Kili said, waving off the formalities.

Belfionn's eyes narrowed. "I do not think so," he said firmly. "I do not have any blood family left, albeit your House may be able to shed some light on the fate of my Uncle."

"Of course, you would not know," Kili said under his breath. "We are cousins, Belfionn. Your uncle is mine. Dari married my aunt, the Lady Dis, daughter of Thrain and brother of my father, and he raised me as his own with his own son. He was as much my father as Thorin is to me now."

As he spoke, the colour drained from the older dwarf's face, but it was soon replaced by a darker hue. "Do you jest, my Prince?" he asked. "Is this some form of poor joke? Do you purposefully mar the honour and loyalty of my beloved uncle for a few laughs?"

Kili frowned. "I… What? No! Of course not! I would never…"

"Then how could you say such things?" Fion demanded, his hand reaching over his shoulder and pulling his sword from its sheath. "You dare defile my uncles' name with such lies? He would never have raised his eyes above his station! Let alone to a high lady!"

"If I insult you, I apologise! But it is the truth, I swear!"

Belfionn stepped closer, his sword point not an inch away from Kili's chest. "Prince or no, I will not have my family's memory besmirched." The dwarven warrior knew the tales his own father had told him of the Uncle he had never known, and he would not have anyone sully this memory.

Kili raised his hands, showing he was unarmed, but he could feel his heart racing in his chest. "I am truly sorry for the pain I have caused you, but I cannot tell you I lie. The words I spoke are as true as the sword in your hand."

The blond dwarf growled, almost snarled, and looked as though he was about to lunge, and so Kili closed his eyes, waiting for the blow to come when…

"Brother!"

Opening his eyes, Kili found Fili standing in a doorway, eyes open wide in shock. "Fili!"

The clatter of metal on stone drew their attention away from each other and towards the only other dwarf in the room. Belfionn had lost his grip on his sword and it had fallen to the ground as he stared unabashedly at the newcomer. "It's not possible."

Fili frowned at him, trying to understand why he looked so familiar. "Are… are you Belfionn?"

The gob smacked dwarf nodded.

Sighing, Fili shook his head and turned to face his brother. "Honestly Kili, can you not go one day without being attacked by one of our family?" Turning back to his older cousin, he approached slowly before picking up the fallen sword and holding it out to him. "So, you are my cousin, or so it would seem."

Belfionn could do nothing but nod and reclaim his blade; still trying to process that everything he had just been told was the truth. This dwarf, Fili, looked too much like Skar, like himself, for it to be a coincidence. "I… Forgive me for my outburst, my lords. It was unseemly," he said falling back into his normal behavior.

Fili approached him. "It is forgiven; you are family, after all." Their eyes met cold blue meeting sea-green. "Dari was my father," Fili spoke on, still amazed to see features so much like his own on a near-stranger. "He died when I was very young, and I was raised as Kili's brother by King Thorin. And I am very happy to meet someone from his family."

Belfionn looked at him still amazed. "I find the feeling is mutual," he said, insecure how to react to all this. "How… how did he die?"

"He gave his life for me in Azanulbizar," Thorin grumbled, the ruckus having caught his attention. "He died a valiant warrior." He wanted to say something more, but the sound of a horn interrupted their conversation, the alarm was given from the battlements and the horns called them to fight.

ADL

The horn rang out not an hour after the people of Dale had arrived at the Mountain, it was the alarm call from the main battlements and Dwalin knew what it meant. He raced up the stairs towards the tower, meeting Boromir up there; he doubted that the human warrior had left that post all night. "The elves are advancing," the Gondorian reported once Dwalin had reached him. "Three pronged approach; it looks like, not very inventive."

The dwarf had to agree, it was not the smartest move on the elves' part to try and storm the main battlements up front, it would buy them a bloodbath, but who knew what an enraged Elf King might order them to do? There was no time to be lost, and Dwalin did not waste any time on wondering, his orders for the troops were quick and decisive. When Thorin arrived the wall stood ready to face the storm. Dwarves, Men and Elven warriors, standing side by side, willing to defend Erebor from the advancing Elven Army. In the light of the waning moon they could see the Elves approach, contrary to other armies Elves fought in silence, their advance noiseless, no orders were heard either nor were there torches, only their eerie shadows gliding through the dark.

All too quickly they came into range. Dwalin raised his hand as signal. "Archers!" He barked the order that the archers and crossbowmen on the upper battlements were waiting for. The first move in this battle had to be theirs, and there could be no hesitation. Not wanting to be the one who knocked that first arrow may be a lovely sentiment but when under siege it was idiocy to waste the opportunity. The hiss of hundreds of bowstrings and crossbow snaps sounded like a fell wind as a wave of arrows and bolts descended on the enemy.

There was this one endlessly long moment of only a heartbeat before the arrows would reach their targets, but before any of them could hit their target a bright flash of light shone on the grounds between the armies and a wave of fire consumed the arrows. "What is this madness?" A very familiar and very angry voice echoed through the night. In the shine of one white light they saw the familiar figure of an old man with a long staff and huge hat.

"Gandalf," Dwalin could swear to hear some measure of relief in Thorin's voice. "Dwalin.,." The warmaster understood at once what Thorin wished. "Hold your fire!" he barked for the archers, who would not dare to stop their fire, once the fight had begun and had the second barrage already on their strings.

The Elven Army too had stopped and Dwalin could see that there was one group of them moving towards the light. Thranduil and his guard.

"I need to go down there," Thorin said firmly. "Dwalin, you are with me, bring Balin, Kili as well…"

"Thorin…" Dwalin knew discussing this was useless, but he did not have to like it. And he still did not trust the elves. He would bring a strong guard, people who would fight like wild wolves if Thorin was attacked.

ADL

They met on the field before the gates of Erebor in the bright light of Gandalf's staff. The wizard was clearly enraged. "What madness is this?" he demanded for a second time. "That your people would go to war with each other?" His eyes fell on Elrohir, who stood with Thorin. "And that Elf would go to war with Elf again?"

"I came to demand the Whispy back from those who attacked my house," Thranduil told Gandalf. "And to demand justice for those they killed in Mirkwood."

Thorin crossed his arms in front of his chest. "You tried to kill me first, if I recall that correctly…" he grumbled.

Gandalf ignored both of them, his eyes quickly surveying Thranduil's entourage and finding the pale black-haired figure standing close to him. "You are no Huirorn," The grey wizard said, pointing the light of his staff on the man.

The pale white light touched the tree-spirit figure, the Huirorn stumbled backwards, and his form began to melt, the appearance fading away like a shadow falling off of him, revealing a man – an Easterling with tanned skin, the strong if lean body of a warrior and blazing violet eyes. "Your Master has fled his abode," Gandalf said coldly. "And has dissolved into the shadows again, you are but the servant of a shadow."

The Easterling leaped away from the shocked Elven Guards deftly, all appearance of weakness had fallen off of him, and if he felt fear it was not visible, hidden behind a fierce grin. "Well played, wizard," he said, in a startling well sounding if deep voice. "Well played indeed, but never forget that Shadow may melt from your light only to assemble out of its reach."

"Tungar-Sula…" Elrohir whispered, recognizing the very same opponent he had faced four hundred years ago, in Carn Dum. How was this possible? Could the shadow truly prolong the lives of its servants?

The Easterling laughed. "The name is Trakhaine," he said. "It's been a while, Elrohir. And you were better entertainment than your woodland friend here, cuddle him a little when I am gone, he is going to need it before the time of dying comes."

Thranduil's face had gone deathly pale when he came face to face with the Huirorn's true form. "You… you were a servant of Dol Guldur…" He drew his blade. "And I trusted you like a fool…"

"You are a fool, Elf," Trakhaine said, without any respect. "And a weak one at that. Too weak to be what you want to be and too cowardly to give up on the pretense of what you are not. Give that beast Azog my best."

Thranduil lunged forward, intent on striking at the Easterling, but the man deftly dodged his attack, Malenior seeing his king in danger raced to assist and was effortlessly killed by the Easterling. The warrior laughed at Thranduil. "Get a better warmaster, Elf King, you will need it, when I come this way again it will be with an army." Suddenly the form of the Easterling waned, changing into a black Hawk, flying up into the night skies.

"Archers!" Dwalin snapped, but Gandalf stopped him.

"No, let him go. His life is tied to oaths and things I will not dare mention openly. You could not truly kill him, nor should you waste your strength on that."

"He said to greet Azog," Thorin's whole stance had shifted from calmly controlled to ready to fight. "Bard spoke of rumors of Orcs crossing the wilds… though how they crossed Mirkwood I do not know."

Gandalf sighed; the wizard suddenly looked very tired. "I will not speculate on it, but you are running out of time. Azog's army is not far away, I hurried to reach you in time. He is bringing all the Goblins and Orcs from the Misty Mountains, Warg riders… all he could muster. He has emptied the deeps of Moria and Mt. Gundabad to bolster his numbers."

"We should retreat into the Mountain again, my King." Dwalin suggested. "Let Azog get a bloody head trying to storm our walls."

Thorin cast his warmaster a long sad glance. "Leaving the Elves to perish out here would be as bad a deed as the day they left us to the dragon." He said grimly. "And I will not leave anyone to Azog and his ilk, not even Thranduil." It cost Thorin all his strength to speak those words, he knew that this was the right thing to do, much as it hurt. "Dwalin… coordinate with the others, we need a plan quickly."

Dwalin had no words to say how much he admired Thorin's strength, it was a truly noble decision he had made here and one the woodland elves and their traitorous allies did not deserve. He turned to the shocked Elf King, who stood pale and like in trance. "He killed your warmaster, who is in command of your troops?"

There was no answer for a few tense moments, before a younger elf stepped to Thranduil's side, gesturing the royal guard to take care of his father. "That would be me for now," Legolas said calmly.

"Mahal help us," Dwalin grumbled, he had seen the elf fight Elrohir and the boy had no experience whatsoever, that much had been painfully clear. "Lachanar! Get down here!" He called out back to the walls, before turning to the young elf. "Listen, Prince, I know you don't like Lachanar, but you need someone to coordinate your troops, someone who knows them. So forget for this one day who he is, when all this is over you can forget he was ever there. For now I need you to work with him."

Legolas met the dwarf's eyes steadily. "I will be glad to have him," he replied.

"Good," Dwalin said, knowing their time was limited. "We have three main lines of battle, if we want to trap the Orcs between us and the mountain. Dale Heights, Raven Hill and Winter's Howe." He had to put a plan together quickly, something to deal with an Orc host far superior in numbers, and advancing on them all too swiftly. "Elrohir, I will need you, with your elves and the Dragonblooded on Dale Heights, Raven Hill is already with the Woodland Elves and Boromir – you take Bard's men to Winter's Howe, the rest is with me under the gates. If Azog is still Azog he will charge at Thorin and spring the trap." It was a dangerous game to play and he would need to split up his best people, to keep control of the field.

ADL

The western hills were black with Orcs, their torches blazing against the still dark skies, dawn had not yet come and Thorin did not dare hope for it to slow down the Orcs. If Azog had been lured here by Dol Guldur, he may be driven by too much fear to let his fear of the sun affect him too much. A cold hand touched Thorin's heart; it all seemed to come to full circle here and now. Again he stood at the gates of a dwarven Kingdom to battle the pale Orc. Only this time he did not stand alone and that might make all the difference. With him stood his sons, Dwalin, the dwarves led by Fálki. Belfionn and his Dragonblooded warriors had joined Elrohir on Dale Heights and for a moment Thorin had believed to spot a taller figure, maybe their leader, amongst them.

His eyes fell to Bilbo who stood with them. The Halfling's face was pale, jaw set in a grim un-Hobbitlike expression. He gave the Hobbit a quick nod of encouragement, before his eyes returned to the advancing Orc host and there he saw him – one huge pale Orc astride a white Warg leading the army. Azog had come.

And the pale Orc saw him too, a loud shout rose from him as he pointed his mace ahead to where Thorin stood, and he spurred his warg on. The Orcs fell from marching into racing, rushing down at the dwarves by the gate of Erebor, completely ignoring the trap they were flooding into. But… Thorin could not believe how many there were. Even with all the fighters Elves, Men and Dwarves had brought to the battle, they still were outnumbered at least five to one.

The first clash of armies always was a sickening sound, the moment the first blades and armors, bodies and fighters made contact, an impact of destruction that left several dead within moments. It was a sound like crash, or the fierce crack of the ice in cold winter nights. Thorin hardly heard it this time, his blade being amongst those to first draw blood. One Orc fell beheaded, the next stabbed, Thorin ducked under the next attack, ramming his dagger into an Orc's belly. A Warg snapped for his arm, Thorin coming about and ramming the blade deep into the wolf's neck. It was a flood of Orcs rushing against them and the dwarven King fought with all the strength he had to weed out their numbers.

ADL

Boromir saw the Orcs take the bait, it was the first time ever he saw such stupidity on their part and he knew he was grateful that no Easterling or Haradrim did the thinking for them this time. It was a brave thing Thorin did down there, luring Azog in, but holding back was hard for Boromir. He could sense the tension in the men of Dale, they wanted to charge, but had to wait until the right moment for the trap to close behind the Orcs.

He could feel Fili and Kili down there with Thorin, their tension, and apprehension echoing up to him, along with an echo of shock when Azog appeared at the head of his army, all of it drowned out soon enough by the rush of battle.

"Fan out," Boromir ordered. "Hagil, long left flank, we need to trap them. Bard, you have the archers." They advanced from their position, closing the ring behind the Orcs, effectively trapping the Orc army between the others and the mountain.

When the first rain of arrows came down on the Orcs from behind a part of their ranks turned and rushed at them. There was next to no coordination in their attack, it was sheer numbers and brutish strength. Leading his men into the fray, Boromir's blade began to deal out death.

ADL

Thorin could not tell when he had seen Azog, the day had come, a bleak grey autumn day without much light or sun. The fighting was fierce, the trapped Orcs having all but broken the Elven ranks on Raven Hill. Thorin had neither time nor strength to more than notice the situation, because the Orcs kept coming like a black flood. But this time he saw the speck of white amongst them as the white Warg charged at him. Widening his stance to gain a better stand, he gripped Orcrist with both hands. Back in the mountains he had underestimated the beast and he would not make the same mistake twice.

The Warg leaped into the attack, Thorin ducked, bringing Orcrist up to graze the beast's flank. The warg landed stumbling but was pulled around at once for the next charge. This time Thorin did not evade, he stood and as the beast raced at him, he brought the blade down on the Warg's mighty head, the skull breaking with a sickening crunch. The same moment he felt a powerful smash in his own side as he was tossed through the air by Azog's mace, landing hard on the ground. He scrambled to get up before the pale Orc could reach him, but the Orc was slowed down by Fili blocking his path, Azog's first hit smashing Fili's left arm. The young dwarven warrior did not give ground, the sword in his right hand cutting deep into the pale Orc's flank.

Thorin attacked again, bringing his full strength into each hit he landed, the mace swished Kili away from them, but the same time Fili cut deeply into the Orc's knee. Azog stumbled forward. With one powerful jump Thorin leapt forward, Orcrist a silver deathly circle in the air as he beheaded Azog.

A fierce roar went through the Orc host, when they saw their leader fall and with all the might and anger of a wounded beast they charged at the hill of the King.

ADL

The Orcs turning towards the heart of the battle was not much of a reprieve and Lachanar knew it. Coordination of the Woodelves had been decent enough, but too many of them were reserves, the border banner was still holding out, they formed the core of their defense, the other troops from Mirkwood were too easily lost under the Orc blades.

He had shortened the line of their defense to hold the hill but things were not going well. "Legolas!" He had fought his way to the Prince, defending his wounded father. "Get your father off the field, leave the rest to us."

"No!" Legolas shot another Orc and ducked under a further attack, Lachanar made swift work of the opponent. "I can't leave, I am not coward."

The former Captain-General was too busy fighting off several Orcs to continue the debate at once, cutting through several of them before he had some room to breathe. "You are your father's only son, Prince Legolas, and he will need you. He is wounded and can't fight any longer, so get him off this hill before he gets killed."

Even in the middle of the fight Legolas noticed the way Lachanar addressed him, a clear sign that he did not count himself any more among Mirkwood Elves. Could he, Legolas, shame his house with another retreat from danger? He felt a hard, nearly brutal grip at his arm, Lachanar had grabbed him, the warrior's scarred face was smeared with blood, he looked stern and exhausted. "Listen, Legolas, I was there when Oropher fell, and I was there when Amrir went… I do not wish to add another Silvan King to the list, no matter my own choices. Mirkwood will need you and your father to heal, to recover. He is severely injured; there is no shame in getting him out."

With a nod, Legolas followed the older elf's words and called for what was left of the Royal Guard to assist in retrieving his father.

Lachanar returned to fighting, with only the border banner still standing, the warriors who had contended with Dol Guldur for the past century, he did not hope to hold the hill for very long, but by Tulkas' Eternal Wrath, he'd make the Orcs pay a dear price for it.

ADL

The field was breaking, Elrohir saw it. The elven warrior could not tell anymore how long they had fought, his armor bloody from the countless Orcs he had cut down. Had it not been for the Lord of the Dragonforge he doubted he could have held the field at all. The one handed warrior fought with such a skill and such an eye for tactics that Elrohir had followed his lead for most of the battle. Otherwise the heights of Dale would long have been overrun by the Orcs. But now things were grim. Ravenhill was getting slaughtered and Winter's Howe fought with a determination and strength that Elrohir wondered how many of them would be left in the end. With Azog's fall the Orcs had begun to charge the center and they were taking it. His eyes strayed between Raven Hill and the Gates of Erebor, both needed help and they had hardly enough to aid one.

"Elrohir, we need to clean Raven Hill before the Orcs can get their archers there," How anyone could still be so controlled in the midst of the chaos was beyond the elven Prince. And he hardly knew how to address the warrior; of course he knew who this elf was. There was no second elf in history that had lost his right hand, or that fought like the very Lord of War himself. "What about the gates?" he asked back.

"I will take care of that. You take your troop, see what fighters you can free up at Raven Hill, and have them shower the Orcs with arrows. My people and I will support the gate."

While Elrohir had been impressed with Dragonblooded's fighting, he knew they numbered too few. "You won't survive that."

Belfionn freed his swords from an Orc corpse. "Then to death it is." He said grimly. "Up boys! For one final dance with the black-veiled Lady."

Elrohir did not say another word, they would follow their Lord to their certain doom and it was a loyalty and love freely given… speaking against it would be low. "A star above you." He said as he turned to lead his elven warriors to Raven Hill. And behind him he heard the answer. "Die proud."

ADL

Thorin collapsed to his knees when an axe hit him in the side; he stabbed the Orc into the belly, grabbing another Orc's shield to pull himself up again. A shower of arrows came down on them, many cut out of the air by Kili's sword. Thorin yanked Orcrist free and beheaded the next foe. Beside him Fili went down under the merciless blades of two Orcs. Thorin charged at them, not caring for wounds or pain, he decapitated both in one stroke, but Fili did not get up again. Standing above his wounded son, Thorin fought like he had never before in his life. No matter how many came, he hacked, stabbed, sliced at them, at his back he knew Kili, who was fighting with the same fierce rage. By the time their strength began to run out, the Orcs were stumbling over piles of corpses around the three. From the corner of his eye Thorin saw the archers, but it was too late, a barrage of arrows fired at short range hit them, piercing their armor. A wave of pain washed over him and he knew no more.

Dwalin saw them fall, he had been battling his way up the hill to reach them, but he was too late, the arrows taking Thorin and Kili down moments before he could get there. The first Orc raised his blade to hack them to pieces was met with one blow of the hammer. Dwalin swung the weapon full force, smashing several of them out of range. More came, eager to finish what they had started, to hack the wounded to pieces, howling hate and vengeance. But none of them made it close, Dwalin fought like a wounded wild bear to keep them off Thorin and the boys. His Kings may just have fallen but the warmaster was still standing, the Orcs would not get them as long as he drew breath and Stormcaller sang in his hands.

Bilbo ducked under another Orc kick, his sword impaling the brute warrior's knee and a hit of Dwalin's hammer finished him off. The small Halfling still stood with Dwalin where Thorin, Fili and Kili lay in their own blood. The horrors and the fear surrounding him had faded into a wild, determined will to fight and to not let his friends down. This is the face of the enemy Boromir had told him in the deeps under the mountains, and while it still felt ridiculous and absolutely impossible that a great King like Thorin Oakenshield would need or want him, Bilbo Baggins formerly of Bag-End, to defend him, he'd still not retreat one step as long as he could fight.

Another Orc stumbled forward, hit by Stormcaller's spiked shaft, Bilbo stabbed the Orc right in the chest when he came down too close. His naked feet felt the blood and mud, as well as the steel and bloody armor pieces, even the cold bodies of Orcs he was standing on. But he hardly registered them, his heart with the friends who lay behind him injured, maybe dead, maybe dying. How many more Orcs were there? They had to run out of fresh troops eventually, hadn't they?

ADL

Belfionn closed ranks with his Dragonblooded brothers, he knew that breaking the Orc ring at the gate would take most of them, but he did not shy away from it. "No holding back anymore, boys," he told his warriors. "Go all out, let them see the dragonblood." It would extract a price even from those who might not die in the battle, but there was no other way. They advanced and he saw a larger figure to his side, a slender elven warrior in a familiar dark armor. Automatically Belfionn changed his blade into his other hand, their Lord fought left handed and it would be easier to cover him that way. There was nothing more than a short glance between them, a silent recognition, words were unnecessary, Belfionn had neither doubts nor fears left. This was the one who had taken him in, raised and trained him; given him the strength to become the warrior he was now… and he'd gladly follow him to the end of the world if necessary.

They reached the ranks of the Orc host at the center, breaking into their formation. The Lord of the Dragon Forge fought with a speed and strength like none other, his blade cutting away the orcs like a scythe would cut away blades of grass. Belfionn had to push hard to keep up, to cover his right flank properly. The dwarven warrior slowly let go of the tight control he had been taught, beginning to see the orcs like shades, seeing where they would be before they reached that spot, his own movements speeding up as he began to act on what he saw, being stronger, faster and always a heartbeat ahead of them. The darkness began to uncoil inside him, as the rage of the dragonblood seeped into his mind.

He heard the fierce howl of one of the others, a deep animalistic shout as one of their number lost control, going feral; the dwarf threw himself at the Orcs, ripping them apart with his bare hands. Belfionn knew this was only the first, they would all follow eventually, he did not care anymore and fought on, drawing on all the blood had given them, the speed, the foresight, the rage… they would be a force of sheer destruction.

ADL

Boromir could see what the fighters from Dale Heights were trying to do, it was exactly the right thing, the Orcs had formed a center at the gates of Erebor and smashing that would hopefully fracture the battle. But they were too few. He was well aware how exhausted the men of Dale were, this was the hardest battle of their lives and it was from over. "Hagil! Close ranks," he ordered. "Bard – take the other flank," He knew he was pushing them well beyond their limit, but it was this or certain death.

The bowman quickly sent the remaining archers, towards Raven Hill where they could make a difference. He then closed ranks with Hagil and Aiken who had already gotten some order into the battered ranks of men. "You have done that before," Hagil observed, towards Boromir, he could tell an experienced captain when he saw one.

"Too often," Boromir replied, glad for the old mercenary, who brought years of experience to the field. A part of him was in pain, he could feel Kili's and Fili's wounds, had felt when they had been taken down and now he felt their life seep away, slowly fading out like candles in the night. He tried to hold onto them and their pain, trying to give them whatever strength he could share but he did not know if it would enough.

They charged at the orcs from the other side, who had turned and presented a closed front to them. Their clash was fierce, Boromir saw Bard being the first to break into the ranks, the greatsword in his hands a Harbinger of death. They pushed through the Orc ranks, leaving a trail of death behind them.

Belfionn saw the army of men breaking the Orc circle at the other end; their two leaders were good, maybe even good enough to help turn the battle around. Pain burned brightly in the dwarf, when he heard the feral shrieks of his brethren as one after the other was overwhelmed by the blood; in their craze they even made a deeper dent into the orc numbers, rushing to death with a wild will that carried them far. Belfionn too felt the madness encroach, he still held it at bay, but it got harder and harder. He saw two Orcs move at once, their pale forms ahead of their actual attack, charging forward he killed one, shielding his Lord against the attack of the other. The blade slipped through the cracks in his armor and with a searing pain Belfionn fell to his knees.

Elrohir saw the Orc formation falter, they were splintering! Raven Hill was back in Elven hands, but their losses were fierce. "Lachanar! Let's finish this." He called out, seeing that the Woodelves had found some coordination again. Mercy of the Valar, Elrohir had always thought that the stories about the last alliance and the Woodelves were exaggerated. At least Lachanar knew his task and had held the core of their fighters together. When the elves moved on the splintering Orc center they heard a roar, a wild, fierce roar coming from the west. Looking up Elrohir saw a huge bear, followed by others of his kind on the ridge. And behind them in the sky appeared a flight of eagles.

Author's Notes

The Woodelves "weak" performance in battle is partially based on the accounts on Oropher's and Amdír's performance in the Last Alliance, as it can be found in the Unfinished Tales.

This chapter comes with lots of thanks to the amazing Harrylee94 who helped me write some of the more emotional bits and discussed a lot of the battle with me. I can only recommend you check out her stories as well.