Chapter 10 - Bifur
Chapter summary: "It seems you will have your battle after all, Thorin Oakenshield."
This chapter has a violence warning, just to be on the safe side (BOFA, nothing drastic, just standard battle stuff).
The afternoon after the horrible confrontation passed slowly. Every minute seemed to drag on forever and the sun remained stubbornly high in the sky, illuminating the entrance hall of the mountain in its entire terrible glory. Bifur hadn't paid much attention to the interior of the mountain before, too busy with admiring the piles of treasure and building the wall, but since they had nothing to do but sit on the doorstep and brood that day, he now had plenty of opportunity to examine his surroundings.
Had he never really noticed the piles of bones lying everywhere? Bifur thought as he walked through the halls, meandering aimlessly. The dead had never bothered him before, because the thrall of gold had kept him from paying too much attention to the rest of the world, but now, with the prospect of a battle hanging over their heads, the skeletons of long-dead dwarves suddenly seemed to be everywhere, their toothy grins serving as an uncomfortable reminder of their mortality.
Bifur felt like had been woken from a very long dream. One moment he had been happily counting precious gems and polishing his new armour and the next he had stood on the wall and watched in horror as the hobbit laid their madness bare at their feet.
Thorin's refusal to comply with Bard's terms had sounded completely logical before. Why should they pay ransom to someone who occupied the mountain with force? The gold was rightfully theirs – after all, it had been their quest that had led to the demise of the dragon and Thorin was the King under the Mountain by blood. Why should they diminish their shares, only to hand their treasure into the greedy hands of the elves?
Bilbo's words had served a horrible wake-up call for them all.
They weren't the rulers of a mighty kingdom. No. They were just a band of rag-tags sitting on their gold among piles of old bones in a musty tomb. They hadn't even killed the dragon, for Mahal's sake – they had just been lucky enough to be the first ones to arrive to the mountain after the dragon's death.
The mood of the company had been sombre after the hobbit's departure, his sudden absence a shock to them all. Some of the older dwarfs had grumbled about betrayal and the Arkenstone at first, their minds still caught up in the gold-fever, but as the day passed and the sickness began to leave them, they started to see the wisdom of Bilbo's decision and the depth of Thorin's (and their own) madness. Even Dwalin, who had never seemed to like the hobbit much, looked displeased with Thorin's decision.
Thorin himself was nowhere to be found – he had disappeared right after the scene at the wall and hadn't been seen since. Bifur thought that he was probably holed up somewhere, brooding over treasure. The rest of the companions sat around the entrance hall in silence, staring into space as each of them battled their own demons. Fíli and Kíli sat huddled together in a corner, looking miserable.
Unable to bear the gloomy mood any longer, Bifur had gone wandering through the corridors, hoping to clear his head of the last remnants of the gold-fever. It took several hours for the sickness to disappear completely from his mind and when it did, the pleasant haze of oblivion that had kept him from seeing straight disappeared with it. While before he would have happily spent the rest of his life counting coins and rubies, now the mountain felt stifling, the walls closing around him, the skulls of his ancestors grinning at him in mockery.
In the end he found himself standing back at the wall, his feeling of restlessness driving him to seek refuge under the open sky. The stars had already come out and the air was chilly with oncoming winter, reminding him of all the time he had lost under the thrall of gold. Even though the fever was gone, he still felt antsy, uncomfortable in his own skin. He spent several long moments just standing with his eyes closed, breathing deep.
When he was finally feeling more like himself, Bifur decided to return back to the others. He had spent the whole afternoon on his own and was now curious to discover how the others were faring. The entrance hall was empty but there was a light and the sound of raised voices coming from one of the side doors. It seemed that they had moved the party while he'd been away.
The Companions were gathered in one of the guard rooms, sitting around a long wooden table. Judging by the plentiful yelling and hand waving that was going on, the emotions were still running high and there was an undercurrent of tension in the room that made Bifur uncomfortable. The dwarves all paused when he stepped into the door, keen eyes studying him for a moment before they greeted him. Bifur's gaze flew over the assembly and found one person missing.
"Thorin?" he asked no one in particular.
Balin shook his head sadly. "He still hasn't woken up."
Nodding in understanding, Bifur sat down and the conversation resumed.
"I hope Thorin doesn't show himself today," Kíli said, his usual smile absent. "I don't think I can look at him without wanting to punch him in the face for what he did to Bilbo."
"Don't be so harsh on him, laddie," Balin said, trying to pacify the young dwarf. "The gold-fever can drive one to say and do terrible things."
"Thorin threatened to kill him," Kíli shot back. "He almost did kill him." He paused, shuddering at the memory. "I don't think I can forgive him for that. Fever or not, what he did was horrible."
"It was horrible, I won't deny that," Balin conceded. "But you cannot lay the whole blame on Thorin. The gold-sickness is incredibly powerful – it overrules your mind and turns you into a completely different person. The Thorin we know would be horrified if he saw himself act like that."
Most of the dwarves nodded in agreement, but Kíli still looked sceptical.
"Have you ever got so drunk that you didn't know what you were doing the previous night, but then you woke up in the morning and it all came rushing back and made you want to crawl a hundred feet underground and never come out again?" Bofur asked him.
Kíli tried to pretend ignorance, but Fíli leaned over to him and whispered something in his ear. Bifur didn't catch the whole thing, only the word "birthday", but it was enough to make Kíli turn bright red and duck his head in embarrassment. Bofur gave him a knowing look.
"Waking from the fever is like that, headache included. Now imagine that, but a hundred times worse." He shook his head. "Thorin is in for one hell of an awakening. All the gold in this mountain wouldn't be enough to make me trade places with him."
Balin gave Kíli a look.
"Believe me, laddie, there will be no need to punch Thorin over this, because he will happily do it himself."
Kíli didn't look like he entirely believed him but let the matter be, turning his attention back to his dinner. An awkward silence settled over the Company, nobody knowing what to say.
"Does anybody else have a headache?" Bofur asked finally. Several of the dwarves nodded.
"I have the mother of all hangovers," Glóin groaned. "I feel like that one time when I drank an entire bottle of elvish spirit on a bet, only much worse. I think I would hurl if I someone showed me gold right now."
"It does feel like a very long pub crawl," Bofur agreed. He turned to Fíli. "How long have we been here, anyway?"
"It's been almost twenty days since the dragon died," Fíli answered.
"Damn," Bofur breathed.
Fíli nodded.
"You have missed at least two weeks."
"It feels like we only found the treasure yesterday," Dori said.
"For you, maybe," Kíli muttered. "It's been ages for us."
"How come you two weren't affected as well?" Ori gave them a curious look. "You weren't, were you?"
Fíli shook his head.
"No, we managed to keep our wits. Bilbo helped us a lot with that. He warned us about the fever when we first came here and then made sure that we didn't catch it as well." He sighed. "I'm not sure if we did an equally good job for him. He's been acting a little strange these past few days."
"What do you mean?" Balin asked.
"He would stop speaking for several hours and just stare into space or wander off and disappear for half a day," Fíli said. "But I'm sure it's nothing. He was probably just feeling down about all this. I don't blame him."
"So he's really gone?" Ori asked in a small voice.
Fíli nodded. "I think he's staying with Bard."
"So if there is a battle between Dáin's folk and the elves…" Bofur began.
Nori grimaced. "He'll be right in the middle of it."
"Is there nothing we can do to help him?" Bombur asked.
Balin shook his head.
"I don't think so, laddie. Not while Thorin is still out of his mind."
They fell silent for a moment as everyone got the same, traitorous idea, but no one felt brave enough to voice it. It was Dori who finally spoke.
"Why don't we just leave Thorin to roll in his gold and go after Bilbo instead?"
Even though most of them had been thinking it, they still looked horrified when they heard it said out loud.
"We can't just leave Thorin!" Bombur protested.
"Why not?" Dori challenged. "If he doesn't wake up then what does it matter to him if we're here or not? He would ignore us either way."
"We cannot leave our king," Dwalin said firmly.
"But he's not really a king right now, is he?" Nori asked, causing everyone to gape at him. "He stopped being a king the moment his eyes fell on that hoard. He was an honourable man before, but now he's nothing more than a deranged treasure hunter."
"What do you know about honour?" Dwalin growled. "You're nothing but a thief - a selfish bastard who only looks out for his own interests, but bails out the moment things start looking hairy. Would you sell Thorin out if someone promised you enough gold for his head? I bet you would." He stood up, sweeping his gaze over the assembled dwarves. "We are all staying here. We all swore loyalty to Thorin when we started this quest, remember? We've sworn to stand by him until the end, no matter what." He gave Nori a scornful look. "But I guess you wouldn't know loyalty if it bit you in the arse."
They barely saw Nori move. One moment he was sitting in his chair, seething, and the next there was a dagger stuck in the wood between Dwalin's outstretched fingers and Nori was leaning into Dwalin's space over the table, his eyes gleaming dangerously.
"I have served Thorin for the past sixty years, you brainless idiot," he ground out. "You were just too thick to notice."
Dwalin was clearly trying his best not to gape at him.
"You what?"
Nori gave him a withering look.
"How do you think he has managed to stay alive for this long, when there are so many people after his head? It certainly wasn't thanks to you."
Dwalin's eyes flickered between Nori's face and the dagger stuck in the table, which had a strangely ornate black handle. His face paled by several shades.
"You- you-" he appeared lost for words, while the others just looked on in confusion.
"Yes," bit out Nori. "So don't you dare lecture me about loyalty." He drew back, sheathing the dagger before the others could take a good look at it. He sat down, glancing around at the baffled dwarves. "There's a lot that I'm willing to do for Thorin, but I refuse to blindly follow a madman. If he doesn't wake up by noon tomorrow, I'm going after Bilbo."
"I'll go with you," Bofur offered.
"You would rather follow a hobbit than an heir from the line of Durin?" Glóin asked, but he didn't look angry with the notion. If anything else, he seemed to be genuinely curious about Nori's answer. Nori nodded.
"Yes, I would, especially when the heir of Durin is a raving lunatic." Dwalin growled at that, but Nori paid him no mind. "You know, you may not have noticed and he himself may not have realised it, but Bilbo has been leading this whole enterprise for a while." At their questioning looks he elaborated. "It was he who saved us from the spiders, got us out of prison and paid the Lake-men for our stay, not Thorin. It was he who discovered that door and went down to chat with a dragon while the rest of us sat around, twiddling our thumbs. Bilbo has led us for months now and did it well."
The others fell silent, digesting the words.
"Bilbo paid the Lake-men?" Dori asked. Fíli nodded.
"He paid for both our stay and the supplies for the journey. I doubt that Thorin even knows about that."
"So why are the Lake-men still here?" Dwalin asked. "They already got paid. We don't owe them anything."
"Their whole city got destroyed," Balin said quietly. "They came here looking for help. Will we turn them away, like the elves did to us when we lost our home? The Lake-men treated us most generously when we stayed with them. It would be only decent to repay that kindness."
An echo of Bilbo's words rang in Balin's speech, reminding them again of the whole horrific scene that had woken them up in the first place. Bifur himself could still see the picture vividly in his mind – Thorin holding the hobbit over the precipice, the dwarf's grip the only thing standing between Bilbo and death. Back then they had all stood frozen, too shocked to react, and could only watch helplessly as their king threatened to kill their friend.
Were they going to stand by again and let bloodshed happen because they felt too scared to go against Thorin's wishes?
"You know, we still have our shares of the treasure don't we?" Kíli spoke up slowly. "Why don't we just pay Bard from our portions?" He gave them a look. "Thorin can't tell us what to do with our own gold."
Most of them looked up, intrigued with the idea, but Óin and Glóin started grumbling about diminished interests. Kíli rolled his eyes at their complaints.
"There is more gold in that hall than any of us could spend in a hundred lifetimes," he told them. "What does it matter if we give a bit of it to the Lake-men?"
They still looked hesitant, but finally nodded. Balin's eyes ran over the table.
"Does everyone agree with Kíli's idea?" Everyone nodded, even though some did so with reluctance. Balin gave them a smile. "Splendid. That is dealt with, then. We can send a raven to Bard tomorrow and tell him that we are willing to negotiate. Unless Thorin does something foolish, like telling Dáin's dwarves to attack on sight, we should be able to resolve the situation without anyone getting killed or anyone leaving." He gave a pointed look to Nori, who nodded. "We should get some sleep now. Tomorrow will be a long day."
They dispersed, hunting down their backpacks and bedrolls. Óin and Glóin built up a fire in the middle of the guardroom using pieces of old broken furniture and they all laid down around it, their heads still full of the day's tumultuous events. Fíli and Kíli shuffled into the room a little while later, carrying their things.
"Now that I think of it, I don't think I ever saw you two sleep down here before," Bombur told them when they walked in.
Kíli shook his head.
"No, we stayed with Bilbo. He has rooms upstairs." He bit his lip, his expression growing tight at the reminder. Fíli put a hand on his arm, steering him gently into the corner where the two of them lay down a little way away from the others, whispering intently.
It was a long time before anyone fell asleep that night.
°O°O°O°
Morning came, bringing new hope for everyone involved. The charged mood from the previous evening was gone, their solution to the Lake-men problem giving them hope that they might be able to avoid the battle entirely after all. They sent out the raven to Bard as soon as they found one and went to breakfast, trying valiantly to pretend that there weren't two empty seats at the table. But try as they might, the reality of the situation was hard to ignore.
Bilbo was still gone. Thorin was still nowhere to be found.
Nobody had seen Thorin since the previous noon, but even though they were starting to worry about him a bit, no one was eager to go looking for him. By silent agreement they decided to eat first and search for Thorin later. In the end they didn't have to.
The breakfast was almost over when they heard the sound of slow, heavy footsteps coming from the hall outside. They all straightened in their chairs and exchanged nervous looks, but nobody spoke. Less than a minute later Thorin appeared in the doorway, pausing in surprise when he saw them sitting there, as if he couldn't quite believe that they were real. He remained standing on the doorstep, obviously unsure of his welcome.
"Why are you still here?" he asked wearily. Balin raised an eyebrow.
"Where else should we be?"
Thorin shook his head at Balin's casual tone, his lips twisting with bitterness.
"You should have forsaken me for what I did."
"And what good would that do?" Balin asked mildly. "What is done is done. We were all caught by the gold-fever, so we hardly have the right to judge you."
Thorin gave them one more careful look before he slowly came inside the room, sitting down at the end of the table. He looked pale and shaken, his face haggard from his battle with the fever. His eyes were bloodshot and he looked like he had ages a hundred years in a single night. He sat slumped forward over his breakfast, staring at the tabletop with unseeing eyes.
The dwarves around him exchanged uneasy glances over his head. They had been prepared to rip into him in Bilbo's defence, but now that he sat in front of them looking like he was going to his own execution, that idea just seemed incredibly wrong. Thorin's entire posture spoke of remorse and it seemed that no words they could use would ever be as harsh as those he had already used on himself.
An uneasy silence settled over the room, nobody knowing what to say. It was Thorin who spoke at last, his voice so quiet that they barely heard him.
"I have watched my grandfather nearly get eaten by the dragon because he couldn't bear to part with his treasure," he said slowly. "I have seen the madness creep into my father's eyes and swore that I will never end up like him - never let myself get so enthralled by gold that I would abandon my own family. I have failed them and I have failed you." He looked up at them, his face full of despair. "I have failed him. How can he ever forgive me?"
They all shifted in their seats, not knowing how to respond to something like that. None of them had ever seen Thorin look so...defeated.
"Bilbo knew what he was doing with the Arkenstone." Fíli spoke up. "He was aware that you might react badly."
Thorin looked at him in surprise.
"You knew about his plan?"
Fíli nodded.
"He came to me the day before yesterday and confessed what he was planning to do. I gave him my blessing."
"You let him take the Arkenstone?" Thorin's eyebrows climbed, but he didn't seem angry.
Fíli raised his chin defiantly.
"I was given a choice between a piece of rock and a good friend. I chose my friend. As should have you."
"Yes, I should have." Thorin said quietly. He slumped forward, burying his face in his hands. "What have I done?"
"You have lost any claim you had on him, tenuous as it was," Balin said. "He would be right to never forgive you or speak to you again, though I doubt he would hold such a grudge."
Thorin's head bowed in shame.
"I should shave my head for this," he mumbled, his hands tugging at his hair.
"No, no shaving." Despite any words he might have said the day before, Kíli quickly stepped forward, prepared to intervene if Thorin started doing anything foolish.
"Nevertheless," Thorin reached for his knife and cut off one of his braids in a flash, handing it to Kíli. "I no longer deserve to wear these."
Kíli stopped his hand when he reached for the other braid.
"One is enough, Uncle. Bilbo has no idea what the braids mean, so there's no point in cutting them all off." He laid the strand of hair on the table before Thorin. "You can give it to him yourself after the mess with the Lake-men is over."
"If he's willing to see me at all."
Kíli gave him a hard look.
"You have a lot to make up for."
Thorin sighed, fingering the severed braid.
"Yes, I do."
°O°O°O°
A large raven landed on the wall a few hours later, clucking his beak in impatience as he waited for the dwarves to gather around.
"What news do you bring?" Thorin asked him.
"It seems you will have your battle after all, Thorin Oakenshield," it said.
"What do you mean?" Thorin demanded. "Did the elves decide to attack? I have already asked Dáin to wait."
"The elves are the least of your troubles right now," the bird replied. "There is an orc army marching on Erebor from the North. They will be here shortly after noon."
The dwarves exchanged alarmed looks.
"How many are there?"
"The Grey Mountains have emptied, as has Moria. There must be several thousands of them. The orcs have united under the banner of Azog the Defiler and to make matters worse, they have made an alliance with Wargs, so there are two armies standing against you." He gave Thorin a grim look, as grim as a bird can be capable of. "The odds are not in your favour."
"What is the situation downstairs?" Nori asked.
"The negotiations weren't going very well, but now that they have heard about the orcs, the elves, men and dwarves have decided to join forces." He looked at Thorin. "Your so called "enemies" have all agreed to fight to protect your mountain. I hope you appreciate the irony of the situation."
He made as if to fly away, but Kíli stopped him.
"Wait!" he cried. "What about the hobbit? What is he doing?"
The bird turned back towards them.
"The halfling attended all the negotiations, trying to diffuse the situation between Dáin's folk and the elves. Now he is preparing for the battle."
"He's still here?" Fíli asked, worried.
The raven inclined his head.
"He refused to leave. I believe he is planning to stand with the Elvenking."
"He will be killed for sure!" Ori said in dismay.
"But that is not your concern anymore, is it?" the bird asked. "After all, you sent him away."
Before they could say anything else, it took off, flying back towards Ravenhill.
Most of the Companions went back to the guard room to try and to come up with a way to help the army below, but Bifur remained standing by the wall, watching the commotion in the valley.
The last time he had been in a battle like this, he got hit with an axe to the head and almost died. To this day he still didn't remember much from that day besides pain and seeing nothing but red. The healers had treated him for what felt like hours, making him feel like his head was falling into a thousand pieces. In the end they had decided to leave the axe where it was, because taking it out would have killed him.
It was only when he had woken up several days later that he discovered that he couldn't speak. He still understood what other people told him, but had lost the ability to form words of his own. He had eventually managed to relearn Khuzdul after many years of trying, but Common speech had never come back to him. It was incredibly frustrating, especially since most of Middle-Earth didn't understand a word of Khuzdul.
Normally he tended to avoid speaking as much as he could, because he knew that many people found his voice disconcerting - i was better to stay silent than become a target of curious looks. During the course of their journey, however, Bifur realized there was someone else besides his two cousins that he would like to talk to, if he could. Many times he had caught himself wanting to talk to Bilbo, only to stop himself at the last minute, because the hobbit wouldn't understand him.
He could only watch the others chat with the hobbit and envy them the ease of their communication. He sat with Bofur sometimes when his cousin talked to the hobbit, but it wasn't the same. If only Bilbo could learn Khuzdul, the two of them would be able to talk, too. Bifur would tell him all about his dogs and the toys he used to make back in Blue Mountains and make him laugh with tales of Bofur's drunken exploits.
And now I might never get that chance, he thought as a flock of large Mirkwood crows soared overhead, circling the mountain in eager anticipation of the oncoming bloodshed.
A battle was coming and they could do nothing to stop it.
°O°O°O°
They stood on the wall and watched the orcs scale the slopes of the mountain, the elven archers barely keeping them at bay. They watched as the army of men got slowly overwhelmed by the throng of orcs, forced to close their ranks and switch to defensive just to keep the orcs from running over them. They watched their kin get swarmed by wargs, the heavy axes slaying beast after beast, only to have three more mutts take its place.
"Shouldn't we be fighting, too?" Kíli asked quietly.
"What difference are thirteen dwarfs going to make?" Dori said. "The mountain is swarming with orcs. What hope do we have against such enormous numbers? We would be killed before we even reached Dáin and his men. We have a much better chance to survive here, protected by the wall. We'll be able to see anyone who comes within fifty feet of the gate."
Bifur ran out of his patience. He had been watching them wait and bicker for hours, while in the valley below their kin lay down their lives to defend their mountain. He'd had enough of hiding. Securing a sword on his belt and taking an axe in his hands, Bifur started towards the wall.
"Where are you going?" Bofur called.
Bifur turned.
"I'm going to help Bilbo."
"Have you gone mad?" Dori yelled. "You will be shot by orcs the moment you stick your nose out."
Bifur raised his chin.
"I'll take my chances. Better die a fool than a coward."
"Are you calling us cowards?" Glóin stepped forward, hand on the handle of his axe. Bifur drew himself up to his full height, momentarily forgetting about his dislike of speeches.
"Yes, I'm calling us a bunch of cowards, because that's what we are right now. Hiding like rats behind a wall while others fight to protect our mountain." He threw his arm in the direction of the battlefield. "Bilbo hates violence, yet he willingly stayed for the battle, because he didn't want to leave his friends behind. Right now, he's down there, fighting for us." He let his gaze slide over the present dwarves. "Are we going to let him fight alone, while we sit holed up here? Shouldn't we fight for him, too?"
To their credit, most of his companions had the sense to look chastened.
He didn't wait for their response, turning back to start climbing the wall.
"Wait!" Thorin called. Bifur looked up. The king made several steps toward him. "Come back here. There is no need for you to go alone."
Bifur looked at him doubtfully. "You will come with me?"
Thorin heaved a heavy sigh.
"Yes, I will. I and whoever else is willing. I have so little honour left that if I died hiding here, I would be thrown out of the halls of my ancestors the moment I stepped there. Besides, the orcs would climb up here sooner or later anyway. We might as well go and meet them on our own terms." He looked at the assembled dwarves. "If we are to die, let us die with honour."
He straightened up and once again he was a king, a leader standing tall and proud in front of his people. His features still looked tired from his fight with the gold-fever but his eyes were clear, shining with stone-cold determination. A cheer rose among the assembled dwarves and Bifur could see the same resolve mirrored in their eyes.
The Company of Thorin Oakenshield was going to war.
Bifur waited for them as they put on their armour and chose their weapons. He rolled his eyes a little when he saw the attire they had chosen - since they were prepared to go to their death, they had gone full out with the gold and gems, their mail gleaming like peacock feathers. Bifur's own modest mail of grey steel made him look like a mouse next to their splendour, but Bifur didn't mind the comparison, too glad that they had chosen to go with him.
They assembled at the wall, looking at Thorin expectantly. The king looked them over, eyes full of pride.
"I will not keep you long with needless words. Though the battle below may seem hopeless, let us remember that there is always hope. We have been in several situations that had seemed nearly impossible, and yet we always managed to escape from them unharmed. Let us hope this is one of those cases." He looked at the chaos below. "Bilbo and Dáin are down there somewhere. Let us help them in any way we can. If we die in the process, we won't have to feel ashamed when we step into Mahal's halls." He drew his axe, taking a moment to look each of the Companions in the eye. "If this is to be the end, let it be one worthy of songs."
A deafening roar rose from the company, the dwarves waving their weapons in the air.
As they prepared the levers to break down the wall, Thorin said quietly: "I am glad you all travelled with me. It was an honour to know you."
Moments later they broke down the wall while Bofur and Bombur sounded the horns. After that it became complete pandemonium. They burst from the gate at full sprint, weapons shining in the afternoon sun and Durin's name on their lips. Thorin's voice filled the valley, his mighty baritone summoning their allies to his side. Many answered his call, clambering to reach him.
Unfortunately for them, the elves and dwarves weren't the only ones his voice had summoned. In no time they were surrounded by orcs pressing in from all sides, each one of them eager to be the one to slay the mighty dwarf-lord. Bifur soon lost count of how many heads and various limbs he had cut off. The weapons from the dragon hoard were still razor sharp, even after so many decades of disuse, and they cut through the orc flesh like it was butter.
Time lost all meaning. Bifur's entire vision filled with orcs and blood and dead bodies, and with each swing of his axe he got uncomfortably reminded of the battle before the gates of Moria. This battle looked nearly identical, dwarves pitted against orcs as far as eye could see - the only difference were the elves and men mixed in the crowd. Blinking his eyes to get rid of the double vision, he ploughed on, cutting down any orc he could reach. As he stepped over yet another body, Bifur vaguely thought that the elves made for much prettier corpses.
Soon it became a struggle just to stay close together. The press of bodies cut Bofur off from the rest of the Company and carried some distance away, so he could only watch in growing horror as Azog stepped forth with his personal guard, bearing down on Thorin's company. The huge orc had left his white warg behind and fought on foot, flanked by several orcs that were nearly as big as Azog himself. One of them especially bore remarkable resemblance to the Pale Orc, and Bifur thought that it must be Bolg, Azog's son. The younger orc was nearly as feared as Azog himself, having a reputation that struck fear into the hearts of travellers all over the North.
Bifur tried to fight his way back to Thorin's side, but the mass of orcs was too dense, refusing to let him through. From his place on one of the slopes he could only watch helplessly as Thorin was driven against a wall, the blows of Azog's enormous mace raining mercilessly against Thorin's shield. Fíli and Kíli tried to step in front of Thorin and protect him with their bodies, but were struck down and thrown against a wall, where they remained lying motionless.
With two more blows Thorin fell as well, his axe dropping from his broken hand. He slumped against the rocky wall of the mountain, his eyes defiant as he watched the orc raise his weapon for the final blow. Bifur heard himself shouting something in warning, but had no idea what it was, the din of the battle and the roar of blood in his ears drowning out his voice.
Suddenly, Azog let out a howl of pain and swung his arms wildly, his mace missing by a wide berth. A tip of a familiar blue sword emerged from the orc's stomach, running the foul creature through.
The sword was quickly withdrawn and a second later Bilbo stepped out from behind Azog, nimbly avoiding the orc's flailing limbs. He was nearly unrecognizable - his face was sprayed with blood of all kinds and his shining armour was nearly black. The most remarkable feature, however, were his eyes, shining with fury as he gazed up at the huge orc. He barely reached Azog's chest and yet he bravely stepped between Azog and Thorin to face the orc, raising his sword in challenge.
Azog growled in anger and raised his mace again, paying no attention to the blood pouring from his middle.
The blow never landed.
Before the strike could fall and crush the halfling, Dwalin jumped down from a nearby rock and with a mighty roar lopped off Azog's head with his axe. The mace fell out of the orc's hands, his headless body flailing for a moment before it landed with a heavy thud in the dirt. The orcs in Azog's entourage let out wails of dismay, backing away from their fallen leader. Only Bolg stepped forward, towering over his father's body as he advanced to take his revenge on the dwarves.
He didn't get far. A ground-shaking growl sounded and the biggest bear Bifur had ever seen came running over the battlefield, tossing orcs and wargs away from his path like ragdolls. He bore down on Bolg and with a single hit of his enormous paw crushed the orc like a bug. He mauled several other orcs from Azog's entourage before the rest of them threw down their weapons and fled in terror.
The huge bear then swooped down and with surprising gentleness picked up Thorin and carried him away from the battle. He did the same with Fíli and Kíli before he went back to destroying the battlefield, crushing the orcs under his feet.
Bilbo and Dwalin used the brief lull in the fighting to exchange a few short words. It looked like Dwalin was trying to persuade the hobbit to stay with him, but Bilbo was stubborn in his refusal. He shook his head and put on the ring, disappearing from the sight. Several orcs fell a moment later and Bifur could only guess that Bilbo was making his way back to the Elvenking, where he had stood before.
A sudden pain brought Bifur's attention back to his own situation as an orc scimitar sliced his arm, narrowly missing his chest. Soon he was swarmed by orcs once more and forgot about the hobbit completely, too busy with trying to stay alive. When he finally had the opportunity to look around again, he was relieved to find that most of the company was still standing and had flocked around Dwalin. Bifur started making his way towards them, noting with despair that a new wave of orcs had arrived from the north, taking the place of the fallen.
Just as things were beginning to look bleak, Bilbo's voice rose over the battlefield in a call of hope: "The eagles are coming!" Friend and foe alike watched in amazement as the majestic birds dived down from the sky, wreaking havoc among the orc ranks. The bat-clouds burst and the light of the setting sun shone upon them from the west, blinding the creatures of darkness. The arrival of the eagles had given the allies new hope and they picked up their weapons once more, driving the orcs away from the mountain.
It was several hours before the battle was finally over. The orcs scattered, running heedless into the wild and some of the less-weary elves brought their horses and went after them, slaying the deserters. The wargs had abandoned the orcs long ago, running away to save their hides before the elves could come upon them, too. Those that weren't pursuing orcs were now searching the field, looking for survivors.
Limping, Bifur slowly made his way to the camp in Dale and was gratified to find that nearly all of his companions had been accounted for and were alive. One of Dáin's healers had tended to his injuries and Bofur now walked by his side, talking his ear off about the battle. No matter how much they asked around, however, there was one question nobody was able to answer:
Where was Bilbo?
To be continued...
A/N: This chapter was long and really hard to write (so many versions and edits!). Funnily enough, the battle was the easiest part of the whole chapter. I didn't want to veer from the cannon too much, but rather describe the experience through the eyes of someone on the other side of the wall.
I won't leave you with the cliffhanger for too long – the next chapter will be up either on Thursday 19th, or Friday 20th, depending on how well the work goes.
Thank you so much for all the reviews and favourites you left me on the last chapter (mind boggles at the numbers)! I was blown away by the response I got. Feedback is welcome as always :)
P.S. For those anxious about the dwarves - I really, really hated what happened to Fíli and Kíli at the end of the book. Since this is my story, I can do whatever I please, so take hope in that :)