I lied! Here's chapter 18! I'm on a roll...
A/N: I forgot to mention it last chapter, but I'm on Tumblr now! I have no idea what to do with it, mind you, and I only have about fifteen posts (reblogs, all of them), but I mainly got it so I could talk to people about fics and fandoms and stuff. So if you're ever so inclined, look up neophyteserendipity and ask me a question! I love questions. Well...reasonable questions, anyway.
Okay, shameless advertising over. Here's the chapter, as promised.
The snow was stained red with blood. Bodies of the fallen—dwarves, men, and even some elves—lay strewn about carelessly, as though the survivors had merely gotten up and kicked them aside.
We had missed the chance to be there when the doors of Erebor had opened once more, we were not there to see the joy on Thorin's face. We had missed it all, and now, everyone was dead. Kili and I may very well be the last surviving heirs to the line of Durin, and we were young. Kili was right. Though I had been under Thorin and Balin's tutelage from a young age to become the next King under the Mountain, I was still very young—and very afraid. I could not rule a people.
"Come on, Kili. We have to find them." I panted through my sudden tears, wiping them away so he would not see. Now was not the time for grief.
From next to me Kili uttered a wet sniff and nodded. He had not been long to collapse beside me, and in his eyes I could see the innocence vanish. Perhaps it was a good thing we had not been involved in this battle. Though my brother was, as I had told Bilbo early on in our quest, a battle-crazy fool, I doubted that he would ever forgive himself if he actually killed someone. He would become like the rumored-but-never-discussed "afflicted", the gentle dwarven folk scarred by the atrocities of war who were hidden away in disgrace. It was said that they were driven mad by what they'd seen and done, they stared into the distance, were needlessly violent, and sometimes even acted out what they saw in their minds. And it happened usually to young, first-time warriors, like…
"Ori!" Kili cried. "Oh, Mahal! Ori!"
He staggered over as fast as he could towards a bloody figure in the snow. It was indeed Ori, though something had struck him across one side of the head, shearing his hair and leaving a bloody wound.
"Ori!" I knelt down next to him and shook him gently. "It's Fili! Can you hear me?"
Ori opened one bloodshot eye. The other was swollen and purple. "Fili…you…Kili…Rivendell…" he murmured drowsily.
"Well, he knows that much." Kili said from behind me. "But we must get him help before we look for anyone else."
"Aye," I agreed. Turning back to Ori, I tried to keep my voice from shaking. "We're going to get you some help. Stay with us, now. Can you walk?"
"M-my head," he moaned, rubbing it. When he saw that his hand had come away bloody, he screamed. "Mahal! Oh, Mahal, I'm going to die!"
"Not if we can help it," Kili offered, trying to be positive.
"Stay calm," I directed. "Try to stand. You can lean on us. Kili…"
Though I could see it pained him, Kili tried his best to heft Ori's weight and hold him up while I drew his other arm across my shoulders. Together, the three of us hobbled through the bloody snow towards the Dale ruins where people had set up camps. From between us, head bent, Ori drew a shuddering breath.
"D-do you mind?" he asked shakily.
"Mind…oh." Kili replied, noticing something that I did not. "No. It's your first battle, after all. I don't think it's unusual."
Ori nodded, and without a word, broke down sobbing.
"Best let it out before we get to the camp," I said, pausing. Ori let go of our shoulders and sank to the ground, covering his bloodied face with his bruised hands in shame. Kili and I knelt down beside him.
"What happened, lad?" Kili asked. Though he was twenty summers or so older than us, Ori had rather a childlike nature.
"Dori…and D-Dwalin…they…." he sniffed. "They were guarding me. Then an orc came and sh-shot Dori. Dwalin…I don't know what happened to him."
I wanted to tell him that everything would be all right, that we'd find them. But if Dori had been shot with an orc arrow…he wouldn't have had long to live. The battle couldn't have ended that long ago, if survivors were still out on the field. Even so, orc poison didn't take long to take effect. Poor Ori…it was no wonder why he was distraught. Dori held their little family together. Without him, the other two would be lost.
Ori fought to regain his composure and after a few more moments of sniffling, he turned to me.
"I'm ready." he stated flatly.
"All right." I said, as we hauled him to his feet. "Do you think you can make it?"
He lifted his head and eyed the distant tents wearily. "I…I think so. Yes, I can make it." We staggered further towards the camp, Kili bending under Ori's weight. I should not have made him help me carry Ori. After all, he was still wounded himself.
Any hopes we had of Ori getting to a healer were dashed when we saw that the ruins of Dale had primarily been taken over by Men. But still, it was worth a try. We were not in good standing with the Men of Esgaroth, but once they saw how badly Ori was wounded, surely someone would be moved with pity enough to help him.
But it was all for naught. The minute we approached the camp, a gruff man holding a bloody scalpel peered out from a tent and directed us to leave.
Rushing out of the tent, he dropped the scalpel and waved his hands at us in the manner that one might shoo a cat. "No! No dwarves! Go away! Go find your own people!"
"Please, sir!" I cried, Ori's weight becoming more and more on my shoulders. "He's very badly wounded, he can barely stand anymore."
"You think this concerns me?" the man glowered, hands on his hips. "Many of our own men were carried in on stretchers. He…" –he gestured rudely at our burden—"can still walk. Find your own people."
"Sir, we know him well," Kili spoke up, grimacing with the effort of holding Ori up. "He is kind and polite and will be no trouble to you if you take him in."
The man merely snorted and spat. "Oh, I'd wager on it. And how is it that you two are unscathed?"
"We've just come a long way from…" I began, but he cut me off.
"Cunning, greedy dwarves—the lot of you! Asking for allies when you are graced with a fortitude we do not have! Fight your own damned battles! I'll have nothing more to do with you!" With that he retrieved his scalpel and retreated back into the tent.
Ori hung his head as shouts rose up from all around us to leave. The man's insult cut me like a knife, as I'm sure it did the others. It was not unusual for Men to have distrust of dwarves, as we did them, but to deny aid to someone so clearly hurt…it made me so angry…
"Fili!" Kili's cry of panic interrupted my thoughts. His weight buckled under Ori's and they both fell to the ground, dragging me with them. Here we were, three young, frightened children amid the aftermath of battle…and no one willing to help us. The injustice stung my heart, but for their sake I had to carry on.
"Get up!" I urged. "Please, you must get up."
They stumbled awkwardly to their feet and I hoisted them up at my sides—Kili on my right, Ori on my left. Together we stumbled back through the field of blood and bodies. It was such a long way…in the distance we saw more tents. That must have been the dwarves' encampment. I neither saw elf nor orc anywhere near, and there were whispers about that they'd been involved as well.
It was nearing sunset when I saw a sight that I could not believe. A massive man—either part wolf or part bear, I could not decipher—was ambling around the battlefield, eyeing the fallen sadly.
"Sir!" I called to him, my companions now hanging limply, near unconscious, from my shoulders. "Can you help us? Please!"
He turned slowly to face me, and it was then that I noticed he wore shackles. Who was he enslaved by? I had not the time to ponder this, however, as he drew nearer and bent down to my height.
"Thorin Oakenshield spoke of a golden-haired dwarf who stayed behind with his injured brother. He said this dwarf did not understand the importance of his quest."
"You spoke to Thorin?" I asked.
"Yes. And his Company. I gave them supplies so that they could continue their journey." he continued gruffly. "A foolish quest, I still think. But yours, I consider far nobler. So I will help you."
"Thank you," I said, relieved as he took up Kili and Ori from my shoulders and carried them in his massive arms. We continued in the direction of the dwarves' camp, my legs suddenly shaky from the sudden decrease of weight.
A strange sight drew my eyes aside. A dwarf lay dead with an axe piercing his skull, right through the forehead. But this was not a new wound—this axe had been in the dwarf's head for quite some time. It was Bifur. Bofur and Bombur would be devastated—the three were very close, as much as Ori and his brothers. I prayed that we would find the rest of the company alive and relatively unscathed.
As we drew near the dwarves' camp, I saw a familiar sight. It was Bilbo Baggins—with a bandage around his head and another around his right arm, but otherwise looking rather like I'd seen him last. A bit dirtier and more tired perhaps, but the same old hobbit nonetheless.
"Bilbo!" I called. He hurried over just as Beorn was releasing my companions to the care of a healer I didn't recognize.
"Oh, Fili, I'm glad you're here." he panted with exertion. "Where is Kili? Is he…"
"No, no, he's here. He's just been given over to the healer. He collapsed trying to help me carry Ori."
"Good, that's good. Listen, Fili, I think you should go get him." When I gave him a puzzling look, he responded worriedly. "It's Thorin. I—you should see him."
Dun dun dunn...
Get ready and fasten your seatbelts, my lovelies. Next chapter, we're going on a major feels trip.
"The feels on the bus go round and round..."
Sorry, I just had to.
Please review! I particularly like the in-depth ones!