At the head of the legion was a dwarf riding atop what seemed to be a boar. Fheon guessed that it was Dain.

Meanwhile, at the bottom of the hill, Thranduil barked orders in Elvish at his army. The elves turned to face the dwarf army to their east and started marching towards them, perhaps hoping to intercept them. Fheon could not bring herself to pay attention. She turned and gave Thorin a hard look, yelling, "What the bloody hell are you doing?"

He returned her gaze evenly, and in it, she could discern the fury he no doubt felt for her since she pushed him off of Bilbo. "I will not let them take this Mountain," he growled, "Not with my life."

"This is madness," she told him as she slowly sheathed her sword, but he was no longer listening.

The elf army had stopped marching, and so had the dwarves of the Iron Hills. But at the head, Dain continued forward on his hog, and then halted on top of a small crest, with his army of five thousand (more or less) behind him.

"Good morning! How are we all?" he greeted; his heavily accented voice sounded rather like Gloin's, which echoed all throughout the valley quite impressively. "I have a wee proposition if you wouldn't mind giving me a few moments of yer time," he said. "Would ye consider… JUST SODDING OFF? All of you! Right now!" He raised his voice, then, and the people of Lake-town—whom Fheon had just noticed were grouped together within a valley of elves—backed up in alarm.

"Stand fast," she heard Bard shout.

Then Gandalf walked out of the elven mass, saying in his condescending voice, "Come now, Lord Dain."

"Gandalf the Grey," said Dain, apparently familiar with the wizard, who nodded in acknowledgement. "Tell this rabble to leave, or I'll water the ground with their blood!

"There is no need for war between Dwarves, Men and Elves. A legion of Orcs marches on the Mountain. Stand your army down!"

"I will not stand down before any elf, not least this faithless Woodland sprite. He wishes nothing but ill upon my people. If he chooses to stand between me and my kin, I'll split his pretty head open! See if he's still smirking then!" Dain's statement was met with the cheers of the dwarves of the Mountain. Fheon pushed through their ranks to get a better view of what was happening below.

Thranduil was at the middle of his army, glaring at the Dwarf Lord. "He's clearly mad, like his cousin," he snapped.

"You hear that, lads?" said Dain. "We're on! Let's give these bastards a good hammering!"

He turned and then returned to the head of his army, shouting in Dwarvish. His men responded with a spine-chilling battle cry, pounding their shields and spears together. Those who had swords or axes did similarly. And as Dain continued barking at his army in Dwarvish, the front line of the elves—the archers—slipped back to the deeper quarter of the elf army and were replaced by their kin who held swords and spears, so that they formed a defensive front line that would strike down the nearest opponent.

Fheon felt a sense of dismay, watching Dain and Thranduil shout speeches at their men. They were going to march forward and beat each other bloody any second, and she felt so helpless.

Then, a deep rumbling sound registered in her ears, like that of giant boulders shifting. It was faint at first, but then grew louder… as if it was getting closer.

Fheon's hand rested on the pommel of her sword just as a huge pillar of dust exploded out of the ground, north of the Mountain. Clearly seen behind the sheet of dust was a creature as tall as Erebor, and by the looks of it, they were only seeing half of it. It seemed to be a giant worm of sorts, with a gaping mouth at one side of it, shaped like a blossoming flower, only with razor sharp teeth at every inch.

"Were-worms," Balin said beside Fheon, and she was about to inquire why he had used in the plural sense when three more similar creatures burst out of the ground, crushing boulders within their mouths. And then they disappeared back into the holes they created, only to be followed by the uninvited yelling of Black Speech.

The bellow did not come from within the tunnels, for it would have been fainter than it was, not echo all across the valley. Which only meant that it would have been coming from a high place. And indeed, when Fheon raised her head and glanced at the east, there, standing atop a ruined watchtower, was the Pale Orc. He spread his arms out and behind him, a flag was raised. An orc horn sounded from within the tunnels before legions of orcs began streaming out, armed for war.

Below, half of Dain's army disjointed and, though holding their ranks, started for the army of orcs. "The hordes of hell are upon us!" Dain shouted. "To battle, to battle, Sons of Durin!"

A shiver ran down Fheon's spine at the momentousness of his words. She pushed past the dwarves again, making her way to the scaling rope, and announced, "I'm going over the wall. Who's coming with me?"

The dwarves responded with obvious approval and enthusiasm, and then suddenly an arm shot forward to splay across Fheon's chest, halting her.

"Stand down," Thorin ordered.

She looked at him, more incredulous than angered. "Did you not hear your cousin? To battle, Sons of Durin—"

"I said"—he looked her right in the eye. "Stand. Down."

Half of the dwarf army ran out to intercept the orcs, forming a barricade that covered the entire length of the front of Erebor. Their spears peeked out from the gaps.

The orcs were only a few feet out now, and Fheon heard Gandalf yell something from below, but his voice was easily lost behind the heavy thundering of armored feet, and the battle cries of the dwarves.

Mere seconds before the orcs ran into the dwarves, Thranduil barked an order and a quarter of his army separated, running up from behind the dwarves and intercepting the orcs with their swords. Their red capes—which were the only signs of indication that they were elves—were soon lost within the flurry of battle. The dwarves' barrier disappeared and they were onto the orc army as well.

Meanwhile, Thorin climbed down the steps from the overhang. Fheon glared after him, bristling. "THORIN!"

He paid her no heed and vanished within the inner halls of the Mountain.

A second orc horn sounded to the east, followed by the rhythmic thundering of feet and a shouting of cadence. It was not at all human, and Fheon soon noticed a second orc army marching towards Dale. Their magnitude far outnumbered the dwarves and elves, whose halves were already fighting the orc masses that had come out of the were-worms' tunnels. She thought that things could not get any worse, but spoke too soon, for five trolls then appeared from the tunnels, wooden turrets on their backs, ridden by goblins.

She cursed under her breath and grabbed the scaling rope. "I can't just stay and do nothing. I have to help."

An old, wrinkled, pale white hand curled around her wrist, stopping her. It was Balin. "You can't go down there now, lass," he argued urgently.

"Why not?"

"You have to help Thorin."

A disbelieving scoff escaped her lips. "Help him? I have been helping him, ever since you told me I could bring him back. You were wrong, Balin. He won't listen to me." She heard an animal bellowing amidst the loud noises of battle, and glanced down to find Thranduil still atop of his stag, chopping away at the orcs beneath him. From the corner of her eye, she watched Dwalin trudge down the steps, no doubt about to look for the King.

"You can't leave him," Balin contended.

"Why don't you go talk to him then? Last I checked, he's known you longer than I have."

"But his feelings for you are stronger. You know this."

Fheon looked around at the rest of the Company, for they had heard as well, and she was completely aware of them staring at her. Some were curious stares, others were just in awe, as if surprised she had been the one Thorin had fallen for.

"Once, I thought I knew him," she muttered, bringing her gaze down. "Now I can't be sure anymore. Not with everything he's said, everything he's done—or almost done, for that matter." These were just excuses, of course. Half of her wanted to speak with him again, another chance; the other half wanted to hate him and lead his Company out into battle while he stayed behind with his beloved gold. "He's changed, Balin."

Balin then placed peeled her hand away from the pommel of her sword, a pleading look on his face. "You can change him again," he said softly. "Just once more. If he still does not listen, then I will give you leave to join the battle."

Boulders shot forth from the turrets on the backs of the trolls, demolishing the charred buildings of Dale. Fheon stared at the trolls in dismay, knowing that they had to be killed as soon as possible, if the battle was to go their way. Her decision was a split-second one. "Once more," she told Balin, and then hastily turned away, making for the treasure room, where he was sure to be…

… Yet she did not find him in the treasure room, but at the East Hall instead, standing atop the dried sea of gold where he had thought he could bury Smaug. Staring down at it from above, Fheon could almost imagine the slithering silhouette of the dragon, but he was not there, nor would he ever be. He was dead, like how the entire hordes of Men, Elves, and Dwarves outside would be if they did not receive help.

Thorin stared down at the floor of gold, looking quite unsteady on his feet. The closer Fheon walked, the more she noticed how hard his hands were shaking. His head snapped up but he did not look at her; instead, he glanced around, eyes wild and mouth agape, as if in fear. Because of the stillness of the air, she could hear his heavy breathing, and frowned in confusion. Then he just stopped breathing altogether and stared at something ahead of him with an odd look—a mixture of realization and fright.

Fheon was not quite used to seeing him with it, but reached the bottom of the staircase to his right. She watched him for a few minutes longer, just seeing how helpless he was, and how, at any second she wanted, she could knock him out. Of course, when he woke up, she would be punished, but she did not think about that.

For what felt like a long time, she just stood there, watching him, and he staring off into the distance. Straightening up, she came down from the final step of the staircase loudly, announcing her presence.

"Are you finished?" she demanded, forcing a dull tone into her voice. "Because we have a war to partake in."

Slowly, the King turned around and placed his gaze on her, wide-eyed and catching his breath. She continued, "I know what you're going to say, but I will not stand down, nor will I let the dwarves do the same. Azog is out there shedding the blood of your kin. Too much rides on this war; if the orcs win, they will take this Mountain. The fourteen of us won't be enough anymore, not without—" She cut herself off when Thorin abruptly pulled the crown off his head and flung it onto the golden ground.

The resounding clang echoed up and down the large hall for the better part of a minute, and within this minute, Thorin strode from his position twenty feet away, to be in front of Fheon.

Then he hugged her, arms wound tight around her torso. She was aware of his slight trembling against her, though said nothing of it, in her astonishment and disbelief. His long, disheveled hair covered a portion of her face, but she stayed still and waited for an explanation.

"I saw it," said Thorin, his voice rumbling in his chest and sending vibrations into Fheon's. "I saw what would happen to me… to us. Mahal, can you ever forgive me?"

She did not know whether he was speaking to her or to the deity Mahal himself, and so said nothing; not until he pulled away and looked at her with the most earnest expression. "Please," he said.

"I may be able to forgive you, Thorin, in time," she replied, rather tentatively. "But I do not think I can ever forget… for obvious reasons."

Understanding flickered across his face and then he said in a very low, serious voice, "The things I said to you last night were the truth. I meant every word."

"You threatened to kill Bilbo. You raised your sword against me."

"I had not intended…" He trailed off and looked away from her for a moment, seeming to gather his thoughts. "You were right, Fheon. The sickness had gotten into me, but now I… now it has gone. I swear."

Fheon regarded him for a minute longer, trying to see whether he was speaking the truth, and ultimately agreed. Her strong trust in him returned to her veins, and she felt like she had just gotten through the desert and been offered an oasis of cool water. But despite herself, she treaded with caution.

She peeled his hands away from her hips and said, "The dwarves wait for us. It is time to defend the Mountain."

Thorin nodded and then they walked out of the East Hall. To her surprise, he led her to the armory, and before she could ask, he had retrieved for her pairs of bracers, greaves, and poleyns. He then attached the sets of armor onto her forearms, lower legs, and knees faster than she could ever have, saving them a fair amount of time.

The material of the things did not offer her as much comfort as Gokukara's armor, which was only expected, but she agreed that they were necessary if she were ever to survive half the battle. He gave her a pair of gloves as well, which ended just before her fingertips, and she pulled them on eagerly, knowing it would help in wielding both a sword and a bow.

Thorin flashed his teeth at her, which threw her off completely, and then led her to the front gates.

An orc horn sounded outside the Mountain that made Fheon's stomach churn. She and Thorin marched into the main hall, watching through the sheets of dust and past the rubble as Kili—followed by a few other dwarves—shot to his feet upon seeing them.

"I will not hide behind a wall of stone while others fight our battles for us!" Kili yelled in outrage, before saying in a much quieter voice. "It is not in my blood, Thorin."

Fheon looked at him, smiling slightly as she inched away from the King to give him a moment with his nephew. If Thorin noticed, he did not acknowledge it. He only looked at Kili with pride in his eyes, and said, "No, it is not. We are Sons of Durin, and Durin's Folk do not flee from a fight."

A kind smile lit up his face and Kili's, and they pressed their foreheads together, eyes closed. Fheon felt as if she was intruding on something, and looked away, pricking her ears to listen to the carnage outside.

"The battle fares badly," she announced. "Dain has just ordered his men to fall back. We should get out there while we still can."

Thorin bobbed his head once in acknowledgement, but spoke to the rest of the Company next. "I have no right to ask this of any of you," he said. "But will you follow me… one last time?"

In response, the dwarves squared their shoulders and raised their weapons.

Smiling slightly, Fheon banged her braces together and said, "Well come on then. We haven't got all day."

"Bombur, go to the overhang. Blow the war horn," Thorin quickly ordered. "The rest of you, get ready to scale down the wall. Remain out of sight."

"Why?" Bofur asked.

"We might as well make a worthwhile entrance, yes?"

Fheon scoffed. "Thirteen dwarves and a human scaling down a single rope won't look very worthwhile. It'll just look very stupid."

Thorin looked at her with a glint in his eye but said nothing in retort. She let her mouth quirk upwards slightly, to hint at him that she was jesting, before turning around and following the dwarves up to the overhang. During the climb, Balin tugged at her elbow until they were eye to eye. The look on his face said it all.

"You're welcome," she told him.

He said, "Just… don't die, alright, lass?"

She laughed at that. "No promises."

This is how I make my stories longer HAHAHA

ALSO! The final battle starts in the next chapter, so stay tuned. ;)

You never know when I'll feel nice and just decide to put an update sooner rather than later~