Okay ya'll. So our Prom is coming up, I am socially awkward, and I need some tips. What does one do during Prom? (Aside from eat, that is.) And what if you're not very close with your partner but he asks you for a dance?

Seriously, I'm like the Jon Snow of school dances.

Make sure to leave a review! Please!

All rights go to JRR Tolkien and Peter Jackson, except for anything you might not recognize from the original universe. (Like Fheon. Yeah. She's mine. NOT UP FOR SALE THANK YOU-)

As expected, their entrance had been very anticlimactic—to Fheon, at least.

They made sure to get down the rope quickly; the dwarves had full gloves on, so it was easy for them to slide down. Fheon did not wrap her fingers around the length of rope completely, only enough to be able to glide downwards without searing her skin off. Over her shoulder, she was aware of the stillness that had settled over the armies, including the orcs.

Not until all of the Company had crossed the shallow trench did Dwalin finally release a battle cry. He was the first, followed by Thorin, and then the rest of the dwarves. Dain's army made way for the Company and she was able to register Dain yelling, "To the king! To the king!" and his cry was echoed by the shouts of his kin.

Thorin bellowed something that vaguely sounded like Khuzdul, raising his sword and shield. All around them, the dwarves echoed the war cry. Fheon released one of her own, though shorter, and then increased her pace, making towards one of the trolls that stood in their way.

It swung its mace at her. This she deftly avoided, but it missed her leg by an inch. She jumped onto its knee and pushed herself to straddle its dirt-ridden shoulders, as she had done in Rhudaur with the cave trolls. This time, however, she quickly unsheathed her sword and pulled out one of her arrows, and then stabbed them into each of the troll's ears.

The troll bellowed in anger and thrashed about, trying to push her off. She became hard-pressed not to get herself killed by impaling her head on the troll's helm. She tightened her legs around its jaw and gave its head a hard tug, making it swivel to the right, so that it faced the orc army. Beneath her, the orcs froze in fear.

She pulled out her sword from the troll's ear and slipped the blade beneath its ear, stabbing it in the neck thrice before its muscles finally gave way underneath her. It fell, face-first, into the army of orcs, and as Fheon rolled away from it, she was able to register a gory, splattering sound from where the troll had landed.

From the corners of her eye, she found that the rest of the trolls had been killed already. She dove into the approaching army of orcs, hacking and slicing at any that came near. Though it was foolish to walk into the sea of enemies alone, Thorin and the other dwarves quickly caught up to flank her, before surging forward and taking the lead. Thorin shouted something in Khuzdul which might have been an order, and she felt a slight prick of annoyance that he had not just said it in common-tongue.

Distracted slightly in trying to discern what he was trying to say, an orc ran up to her and, because of her sluggish movements, was able to nick her upper arm. Not a very good way to start a battle; however, she soon noticed that their small legion was cutting down the orcs in an outward fashion. Seeing that Thorin was at the head, Fheon kept at the front lines of the legion and beside him.

There were very few chinks in the orcs' armor that she could hope to exploit, and so she stuck to the most common she could find: the gaps between their upper-body armor and their faulds, the skin peeking out at the tops of their feet, and the gaps between their helms and cuirass. Her sword was sleek enough to be able to slip through, though it was hard work.

Two orcs advanced at her from the right, and she was able to slit one's throat before stabbing the other in the gut. The dwarf beside her grunted before smashing his hammer into an orc that was running up in front of her. She spun around him and beheaded an orc that was about to bash his head in.

By unspoken agreement, they reverted back to their original positions. Fheon felt safer fighting beside Thorin, which, she supposed, said a lot about what she felt for him.

She slid her sword through an orc's armpit before beheading it, and then whirled around to gut another. Orcs were coming in from all sides now, and she realized that the dwarves had broken ranks. She began to fight more fervently, saving Thorin from a few death blows he did not have his eyes on, and was thankful that he did the same for her.

Elusively, she was able to notice a large redheaded dwarf fighting alongside them, and he had been since the beginning. She turned her head the slightest bit and comprehended that it was—

"Dain!" yelled Thorin, hacking at another one of the massive orcs.

"Thorin!" was the reply. "Hold on! I'm coming!"

Fheon, past her own multiple skirmishes, registered the sound of a growling orc and metal clanging against metal. Suddenly she felt the ground quake and rolled to the side, barely keeping from being stepped on by a very large orc. On its back was Dain. He shouted, "Sorry!"

She pursed her lips but otherwise resumed her fighting, yet she was more cautious about where she moved about, now.

Behind her, Dain said, "Hey, cousin! What took you so long?" followed by the still alien-sounding laugh of Thorin.

She sliced open an orc's belly and spared a look over her shoulder to find the two of them in a brotherly embrace. There were dwarves fighting around them, anyway, so they were safe enough; though she would have appreciated it if they saved their bonding ideas for after the battle.

"There's too many of these buggers, Thorin," said Dain. "I hope you've got a plan."

"Aye," said Thorin. "We're going to take out their leader."

"Azog?"

"I'm going to kill that piece of filth."

Then the sound of clacking hooves reached Fheon's ears. She frowned in confusion. There was not supposed to be a horse on the battlefield. In the brief moment she had been distracted by this, an orc thrust its sword upon her torso, just a few inches from her navel. She cried out in pain, grimacing as she whirled around and killed the orc with a swipe of her sword.

Behind her, she heard Thorin call out her name, and then the flurry of hooves before a large ram entered her vision. Riding atop it was Thorin, with a concerned look on his face. Dain and his men surged forward, creating a protective circle around her and the King.

Worried, Fheon glanced down at where the orc had stabbed her. Though there was no blood, there was a considerably deep dent in the metal and a sure bruise on the skin beneath.

"I'm fine," she said, panting slightly.

The ram shifted as Thorin said, "You're sure?"

"Yes." She ran hand across the dent and then raised her head to look at him. "I'm coming with you, to kill Azog."

"No, you are wounded—"

"Thorin." She stared at him with hard, determined eyes. "I'm coming with you."

A knowing look crossed his face. Quickly, for he knew they were still on the battlefield, he thrust his hand out to her and said, "Come on."

She took his hand and pulled herself onto the ram. He moved farther up the saddle to make space for her, and she wrapped an arm around his waist.

As they rode past the hundreds of soldiers—elves, dwarves, and orcs alike—she swung her sword here and there to slay a few more of the orcs, if only to slightly lessen the hardships of those still fighting on the ground. Thorin fought as well, though half his concentration was on riding the ram where they needed to go. The massive horns of the ram aided tremendously, knocking away the orcs ahead of them as if they were nothing but flies, clearing the way.

A roar reverberated from their right, and Fheon dug her heel into the ram's backside. It sped up and barely was able to evade the downward blow of a troll. The creature followed them, however, making the earth tremble with its heavy footsteps as it knocked away any dwarf or elf that came up and tried to kill it.

"Thorin," warily said Fheon, sheathing her sword. "Keep heading us in the right direction, yeah?"

"Alright," he answered slowly. "What are you—"

He stopped when she came up from behind him, bow in hand; she stepped over his shoulder and settled back down in front of him, also facing him, so she was practically straddling him.

His eyes went wide and she shrugged slightly, before pulling an arrow out of her quiver and nocking it. She adjusted herself so the bow was behind Thorin and that she was leaning slightly away from him, so she could aim properly. And she aimed for the troll's left eye, for it was still following them. It was difficult to hold her aim when the ram's movements were so uncontrolled, and so she only had brief moments to realize the aim was right and release the arrow.

It did not help that it had been a while since she had last used a bow. And it was not even her bow. The feeling of the grip in her hand was different.

When she was positive she had locked down on its eye, Thorin shifted against her, causing unneeded friction between her legs. She jumped slightly just as she released the arrow. The tip of it bounced off the troll's helm, denting it. The troll roared in anger and sped up its pace.

Fheon scowled. "Do you mind?"

Thorin did not reply, but a rumble came from within his chest. He was chuckling. Fheon could not help but to smile slightly at the position she had gotten herself into, before clearing her face and aiming for the troll again.

This time, she did not miss. Her arrow slipped past the troll's helm and buried itself deep into its eye. It then fell amidst the sea of battling dwarves and elves, no doubt squishing several of both beneath its weight. Behind it appeared two more rams, on which rode Fili and Kili. The brothers cheered and applauded her. Fheon managed a sigh of satisfaction before pulling back.

Thorin was staring at her. He said, "Well done."

She allowed herself to look at him as he was at that moment: face covered in grime and gore, hair wild and unkempt, eyes glinted in momentousness—he looked glorious in battle. By then, they had broken away from the heart of the battlefield and were in a no-man's-land, headed for one of the less steep mountainsides. The King leaned forward slightly, eyes flicking down to her lips.

She moved just in time so her lips brushed against his, but did not fully touch, and she muttered into his ear, "Keep your eyes ahead, Thorin."

A smirk played on his lips as she stepped over his shoulder again to sit behind him, where she returned her bow over her shoulder and, this time, wrapped both arms around his torso.

They rode up the mountainside, closely followed by Fili and Kili. And while the ride was anything but comfortable, she put on a brave face. Her fingers occasionally—though subconsciously—tightened around themselves whenever the ram had to jump past a particularly high ledge. The saddle was not doing any good for her, but she grit through it.

In an effort to distract herself, she asked, "Where did Dain get these rams anyway?"

To her surprise, Thorin replied, "I have no idea."

"Where are we headed?"

"Ravenhill," he said. "Azog has been using it as his command post. If we kill him, we may win this battle just yet." The ram then began descending the mountainside, to Fheon's confusion. But Thorin said nothing of it, so she assumed they were still going the right way.

After five minutes or so, a guard-post entered her view. When it was still far away, she had just thought that it was an intricate statue, like the one at the back gates of Erebor. But the closer they got, she realized that it was a fort, completely covered in snow and looking abandoned—apart from the small groups of orcs that littered the place.

Fili and Kili surged forward from behind them and jumped onto the fort, brandishing their swords. Thorin rode the ram beneath until they were on the upper levels of the fort; at which time, he yelled an incoherent word at Fheon, but she was still able to discern what he meant.

Together, they jumped off the ram and rolled to a stop on the snow-littered floor. There were half a dozen orcs in the perimeter, and two of them quickly fell to the swords of Fheon and Thorin.

Fheon spun around and ducked, letting an orc's sword pass over her head before reaching up to grab its arm. She struck at the bare skin above its bracers and then slit its throat. Over its shoulder, she saw Thorin slay another orc. She and he made quick work with the two that were left, just as Fili and Kili appeared from the lower level, still on their rams.

Panting, Thorin rushed up to the ledge that looked over a frozen river, continuing to a frozen waterfall, which led down to a frozen lake. He stared up at the hill across the river, which Fheon could only presume was Ravenhill. Before, she had thought that it was a watchtower, and she was right. The two flags Azog had ordered to be raised were still there, billowing against the biting wind, but there was no Pale Orc.

"Where is he? It looks empty," said Kili. "I think Azog has fled."

"I don't think so," said Thorin, turning around to look at his nephews. "Fili, take your brother. Scout out the towers. Keep low and out of sight. If you see something, report back. Do not engage. Do you understand?"

An animalistic, but strangely familiar chorus of grunting sounds reached Fheon's ears, and closing in.

"We have company," she announced, raising her head just in time to see the first goblin appear from behind the ramparts. "Goblin mercenaries. Seems like quite a lot."

She drew her bow and killed the one that was peeking its head out, and then another, and then another, until she was hard-pressed on keeping them from pouring down from the ramparts.

"We'll take care of them," said Thorin, pushing Fili and Kili away. "Go. Go!" There was the sound of scurrying feet as the two brothers scuffled away, and then Thorin said to Fheon, "Do not waste your arrows. Let them come."

She was reluctant to do so, but even she was aware that her arrow supply was dwindling into a ten. Huffing, she slid her bow over her shoulder and unsheathed her sword just as the first wave of goblins came upon them.

While she had been shooting at them, her arrows had been enough to pierce into their stomachs and hearts. It said much about their armor, and she knew she would be having a much easier time killing these than she had with the orcs. These, however, proved to be quicker and much less predictable.

She strode forward and parried a downward lance, and then crouched to slit open another's stomach before cutting off the head of the first one. Heavy footsteps came up from behind her and she rolled backwards, between a goblin's legs. She came up from behind it and cut off its head.

"Duck!" said Thorin. She did and heard a blade lance across her head. Scowling, she stretched her leg out at her side and spun around, still crouching. She swept the goblin's legs out from underneath him before proceeding to bury her sword into its chest. A gurgling sound escaped its throat before it stopped thrashing about, and became still.

The next several minutes were a flurry of slashing, hacking, stabbing, and dodging.

There came such a time when Fheon's sword arm grew heavier than she had ever felt it before. Her movements became sluggish, and she received more injuries than she could have hoped for—cuts on her upper legs and arms, and even a nick on her ear. One goblin had managed to outsmart her for the slightest bit and was able to deal a long, shallow cut above her eyebrow. It proved to be the most irritating, for blood kept pouring from it and onto her eye. She constantly had to pause and wipe it using the back of her hand. But glancing around, she saw that Thorin was doing no better than her.

So, she grunted to get the weight off her chest and resumed fighting.

When the sea of goblins finally started decreasing, Fheon heard Thorin call her name. She hacked a goblin across the chest before starting towards the King, hastily swiping at her left eye. As she was about to slice into a rather large goblin that had been ailing Thorin, she felt a hard, painful tug at the back of her head.

Her neck cracked as it craned backwards, and the pull at her braid had been hard enough to bring her onto her back.

Looking upwards, she saw the goblin pulling at her hair begin to raise its sword. She reacted quickly enough and was able to raise her own sword, blocking its blade from bashing her head in. Yet in her position, it was difficult to keep pushing against the strength of the goblin. She knew she had to get back to her feet, but the goblin was still tugging at her hair painfully hard. The braid must have flown out from beneath her armor during the fighting.

Fheon cursed and shouted for Thorin, but he was surrounded. He would not be able to come to help her, not until it was too late. She had to get out of this on her own.

Thinking quickly, she gathered her strength and pushed at the goblin's sword again before rolling to the side. For a moment, she was able to get her feet beneath her. Then the goblin tugged again and she was back on her back. There were sure to be bruises on her shoulder blades from the impact of the spaulders there. Seeing no other way out, and in a spur of the moment decision, she steeled herself for what she was about to do.

Holding her breath slightly, she brought her sword up and swung it a few feet away from the back of her head, with the tip facing downwards. The outwards pressure on her neck disappeared. Immediately, she rolled to her feet and killed the goblin.

It fell to the ground, with her rather long braid of hair still in its hands.

She decided not to stare at it, fearing that she would become sentimental, and instead rushed to Thorin's aid. Hacking her way through the small army of goblins that had surrounded him, she soon caught sight of him; fighting, but bloodied—very much so than before. With her helping him, they were able to cut down the goblins to a thin number, which they then finished off.

Afterwards, Thorin leaned against a stone pillar for support as he struggled to catch his breath. Fheon watched him, bringing her hand up to touch the cut above her eyebrow to find that the corners of it had already closed. She tried not to open it again, not needing the nuisance. When Thorin had regained enough strength, he looked up at her, and, of course, noticed the shortage of hair behind her. He froze.

Pursing her lips in agitation, she strode to the dead goblin across from her, picked up the length of hair in its hands, and then threw it down the side of the mountain. She did not watch it disappear past the dark rocks, instead turning to face Thorin. As she struggled to keep her voice steady, and her face clear, she told him, "Say nothing of it," as if in warning.

"I won't," he replied, and then sent her a gentle smile. She regarded it for a moment, before turning around and beginning to wipe her blade clean on the material of her pants, feeling slightly guilty for being so petty.

It was just hair, after all. It would grow back, unlike a leg, or perhaps a head.

There's a reason why Fheon would feel sentimental about her hair. Care to take a guess? ;)

Love you all!