-AN-
IMPORTANT NOTE AT THE END OF THIS CHAPTER, PLEASE READ! THANK YOU!
Also, this is a long chapter so get comfy ;)
Adrenaline surged through Fili's veins as he ran, finally, into the fight, his battle cry busting from him like the growl of a predator. This is what he had been trained for, ever since he began practicing with a wooden sword in Ered Luin, this is what it had been leading to. And he was ready. But what he was not ready for was the sheer noise that met them. The thick stone walls of Erebor had done much to muffle the sounds of the battlefield, but now his senses were assaulted. The roaring and growling of the orcs was like the rumbling of thunder, their clamoring weapons only adding to the sensation of running into a storm. A storm of sorts, he supposed, as he raised his sword above him, eyes locking onto the orcs ahead of them. And as the dwarves and orcs hit, it was like crashing into a wall of stone. Momentum slowed as they dodged and ducked the enemy's attacks, whilst simultaneously bringing their own weapons down and around in great, swooping arches, the smoke from fires burning around them stinging their eyes and the sounds of metal-on-metal ringing in their ears. And Fili felt alive. More alive than he had in weeks, months even. As he cut through the onslaught of orcs, his blade dancing through the air like an extension of himself, he felt his vigor return to him. Every now and again, he would catch a glimpse of the company through the dull iron armor of the orcs, fighting with every ounce of strength, their faces hard and determined. Even mouse-like Ori looked fearsome in his attacks.
The battlefield was a blur of sound and movement, it was easy to grow disorientated as your senses became overwhelmed. The orcs came like a flood, wave after relentless wave, leaving no space to right yourself or catch your breath. Once one orc fell, another was upon you, weapon raised ready to cut you down. Fili ducked and dodged sword after scimitar after axe after hammer, his own sword moving through the air with such speed that it became a blur. An orc raise its scimitar above him, before bringing it down, the blade humming a low whistle as it came. Fili dodged it, feeling a rush of air as it narrowly missed his arm, and with two hands wrapped around the handle of his sword he swung at the orc, catching it in the side and sending it sprawling with a grunt. The blond did not hesitate to silence it for good. Once the deed was done, he took a step backwards, his back colliding with a yet another orc. He span, his sword being blocked with a metallic clang. But it was not an orcish weapon which blocked his attack, but a dwarvish one. He glanced at the person who wielded it. Thorin smiled at him, a thin cut on his cheek, before his blue eyes widened and he shoved Fili to the side, sending his blade through the mouth of an orc, open as he roared. It fell without another sound. Uncle and nephew exchanged quick glances and small nods before continuing to push through the waves of Moria filth.
Bilbo and Kili ran along a high walkway, the sounds of the battlefield being carried loudly towards them. Kili had heard the dwarvish horn being played out from Erebor, almost in response the orcish one. And he knew what it meant, the Company were joining the fight! The melodic drone made Kili's heart somehow both leap and pitch at the same time. He had been fillled with both pride and joy, and fear. He had been happy to watch the gate of Erebor burst open and the company rush from within, he had cheered at the sight. But now his friends were in great danger, and his entire being longed to join them on the battlefield, but Dale was still overrun. As he looked down towards them, he could just about make out the blonde of his brother's hair.
"The dwarves," Bilbo said from beside him, "they're rallying."
"They're rallying to their king." Kili turned to see that Gandalf had joined them, his tall, pointed hat had been lost during the fighting and his long white hair was flyaway. The wizard smiled at him and Kili felt a great burst of pride in his gut. Their king. He grinned. Thorin.
"Any man who wants to give their last." They heard Bard call from beneath them, they gazed over the wall to see him stood with his sword aloft. "Follow me!" The men cheered loudly and sprang after him. For those who had probably never seen war, nor held a battle-fit weapon, their bravery and willingness shone brightly. The dwarf, the hobbit and the wizard all stared at one another, before giving agreeing, simultaneous, nods and running down the stone stairway to join the men ward off the last of the orcs. As long as his family fought, Kili would fight too.
Thorin cut a path through the orcs, slashing and slicing, warm orc blood splashing onto his clothes, staining the metal of his chain-mail. He did not know how long he and his company had been a part of this fight, but it had felt like a great while since they had burst forth from Erebor. Yet, the orcish numbers did not seem to dwindle. Thorin! You must listen! He heard his youngest nephew's voice call, you don't know what's coming! Why had he been such a fool? Why had he been so blind in his lust for gold? He should have heeded Kili's warning, but the sickness had not allowed it. He cursed himself, his anger coming out in a growl as he slashed his weapon at an orc, it's head falling from it's shoulders. As he turned to fight another, he caught a glimpse of Dain through the breaks in the orcs. His red hair free of his helmet and fur cloak billowing about him as he span away from an orcish blade.
"Dain!" Thorin called to him.
"Thorin!" Dain batted a towering orc away with a heavy blow of his hammer, hitting it's dull armor with a clunk."Hold on! I'm coming!" The dwarf lord leapt forward, climbing up the back an snarling orc who span and attempted to bat him away. But Dain held fast, using his weight to steer it as thought it were a horse, or indeed his slain pig. The body of his hammer pressed against the orc's neck. He pushed off it with a kick, and sent the orc to the floor, before bringing his hammer down onto it's skull with a crunch, it's helmet doing nothing to protect from the blow. "Cousin!" He smiled, casually, as though they were sat around a dinner table rather than stood in the middle of a battle. The two dwarves chuckled and pulled one another into an embrace. The fighting about them seeming to dwindle and pause momentarily until they pulled away. Dain looked about him and huffed. "There are too many of them, Thorin." He said with a shake of his head, they were indeed vastly outnumbered, and each time he saw the body of one of his own laying on the ground, he began to loose hope that they may be victorious. "I hope you've got a plan." Thorin looked from him and towards Ravenhill, the banners still aloft and the shape of Azog silhouetted against the sky. Still stood away from the battle like a coward.
"Aye," he said, his lips pulling up in a grin, "we're going to take out their leader." He sprang forward and leapt onto the back of a great battle-ram, which snorted and stomped it's hooves, it's curved horns catching the light. "I'm going to kill that piece of filth." Thorin growled.
Dale continued to echo and rattle with the sounds of fighting and slowly, thankfully, the number of living orcs in Dale began to fall, the number dead growing. The men of Laketown fought with great vigor, never once giving into fear, but rather using it to keep them going forward. They fed off it and let it drive them on in their fight. Even the women had come to join them, standing beside their husbands and brothers in death as well as life. As the day wore on and the people began to win back the shattered ruins of Dale, a hopefulness permeated the air and filled the lungs of all those who breathed it.
"We may win this fight yet." Gandalf said to nobody in particular as he strode through the town, staff in one hand and sword wielded in the other. Bilbo followed him, he had made a note to stay neer his friends, not wanting to get lost in the fighting, not when all others towered so vastly above him. There had come a break in the fighting and he allowed himself to catch his breath, hands resting on his knees. His body ached, patches of blood staining his coat from the cuts underneath. He wished to sit down. But he knew this quiet would last only moments before more orcs burst from doorways and rushed around street corners to meet them. He straightened himself with a groan, the bones in his back protesting at the movement, and as he did, movement upon the snowy cliffs surrounding Erebor caught his gaze. He frowned and moved forward. There were three figures racing along the peaks, sat upon the backs of what appeared to be huge rams, even from this distance he could hear the creature's hooves beating against the rocks.
"Gandalf!" He called. It was a meer moment until he heard the wizard come up behind him, long rope brushing along the floor. "It's Thorin."
"And Fili and Dwalin." Gandalf followed his gaze and watched the three dwarves ride along the cliffs, rams leaping effortlessly across holes and cracks. "He is taking his best warriors."
"To do what?"
"To cut off the head of the snake." The pair had not heard another set of footsteps come up behind them. Kili still held the orcish sword in his hands, he had grown used to the weight and roughness of it now. And it was stained black with the blood of those who had forged it. He, too, watched Fili, Thorin and Dwalin ride towards Ravenhill, and he felt his heart plummet in his chest. And a memory flashed across his vision.
He was stood at the edges of Dol Guldur, black eyes looking out across the dark landscape, a cold and bitter air whistling through the ruins and picking up the edges of his hair. From somewhere withing the fortress a raven called out, its caw echoing off the stone.
"Master." Came a voice. Kili turned, his heavy orcish armor clinking, to see Bolg stood before him. The orc bowed his head as Kili met his gaze.
"I have an important job for you." He said, double layered Black Speech rolling effortlessly from his lips. Bolg stared at him, interest flickering in his one good eye. "You will go to Gunabad, and bring forth the army that awaits there. Whilst your father attacks the mountain, you will come from the north." Kili's lips pulled up in a cold sneer. "They will never know what hit them. They will be vanquished." Bolg nodded, his own grin spreading across his scarred face.
Now, stood in Dale, Kili gasped. No! Fili, Thorin and Dwalin were heading straight to Ravenhill and they had no idea of what they would face when they got there. He flicked his gaze towards the ruined guard-post and the orish banners that waved there. Bolg's forces of Gundabad orcs would be upon them soon. Kili felt panic rise in his chest, an icy cold feeling of fear. His brother and the others would be slain! They would not stand a chance. He tightened his grip his sword, knowing that he needed to warn them.
Bilbo turned, hearing quick footsteps behind them. He lifted his sword, the blade still glowing blue as it had since he had entered Dale, expecting to see orcs coming towards them. But it was quiet. The only thing to be seen was a figure with dark hair dashing around the corner. Biblo frowned.
The orcs were almost defeated, Dale was almost rid of the scurge. Those that remained grew anxious at their ever-dwindling numbers. The men and elves had turned the tables, where once the orcs had outnumbered them, it was they who were now facing more perilous odds. Some had began to fall back to the battlefield in front of Erebor where they faced a better chance of being victorious. Gandalf span at the sound of approaching hoof-beats, a white horse being pulled to a halt before him. He recognized the riders immediately. Behind him, Bilbo frowned, he too recognized them. They had been two of the elves that had taken the Company prisoner in Mirkwood. The blonde had been the one who had barked the orders.
"Legolas. Legolas Greenleaf." Gandalf said as Thranduil's son jumped to the ground, a red-haired elf doing the same from behind the saddle. She looked about her when she landed, smiling at woman who had come to catch the stomping horse.
"There is a second army." Legolas said, striding towards them, his voice serious and urgent. "Bolg leads an army of Gundabad orcs. They are almost upon us." He warned, flashing Bilbo a quick glance, brows pulling together. The Hobbit had seen the same look in Thranduil's eyes when the king saw him for the first time.
"Gundabad." Gandalf repeated, blue eyes twinkling pensively. "This was their plan all along. Azog engages our forces then Bolg sweeps in from the north." The whole battle so far had acted as a trick, a diversion. Bilbo frowned and looked about him.
"The north? Where is the north, exactly?" He had found himself quite turned around during the fighting, the only directions that had held much meaning had been 'towards the orcs' and 'away from the orcs.' Now, among the crumbling ruins and blood soaked streets of Dale, it was hard to tell which way was which.
"Ravenhill." Gandalf answered gravely. Ravenhill? Bilbo thought to himself, oh no.
"Thorin is up there." He gasped, "And Fili and Dwalin, they're all up there." And they had walked into a trap!
Thranduil gazed down at his fallen soldiers, their golden armor stained red with blood. Dale was engulfed in a strange, eerie silence, all orcs slain or expelled. But it was engulfed in death, too. And it was thick like smoke and as heavy as rock as Thranduil walked through it. Looking down at the dead elves, strewn throughout the streets like broken dolls, bodies twisted and broken, arrows protruding from their armor, the sharp tips still embedded in their dead flesh. The king's heart felt strangely heavy and his mind was overcrowded with thoughts. But one thing surpassed them. Regret. Regret that so many elvish lives were ended in this pursuit. Perhaps he, too, like Thorin, was blinded by desire. It was time to call back his forces. No more elves would die here.
"My Lord!" Thranduil's blue eyes flicked to the side to see Gandalf striding purposefully towards him, "dispatch this force to Ravenhill. The Dwarves are about to be overrun, Thorin must be warned." He stared at the wizard with hard eyes, his stare calculating. He did not care for Thorin or any of the dwarves, no more of his men would die for them.
"By all means, warn him." He pushed passed him, silver armor glinting in the sun of late afternoon. "I have spent enough Elvish blood in defense of this accursed land. No more." He breathed, walking away. Gandalf frowned and called after him, but the elf king said nothing and did not look back. He wondered what else he expected and was somewhat shocked at his surprise and disappointment.
"I'll go." Bilbo studied the disheartened look on his friend's face, feeling the wizard's concern and fear for Thorin and the others. But, the hobbit knew that there was already someone on the way to Ravenhill, for he had searched Dale for Kili, calling out the dwarf's name, but had been unable to locate him. At first he worried the lad had been wounded or slain, but he recalled the dark hair that he saw. At first, he had supposed the dwarf was eager to return to the fighting below, to do away with the last of the orcs. But as he continued walking the body littered and blood stained streets of Dale he realized that Kili was already ahead of them, figuring that his time with the Necromancer meant that he knew things that they did not. He doubted, however, that Kili would reach Ravenhill in time, for he had to cut through the battle. But Bilbo, could get there unseen. He had his own tricks.
"Don't be ridiculous. You'll never make it."
"Why not?" He questioned.
"Because they will see you coming and kill you."
"No, they wont." Gandalf stared at him, "they won't see me." The Wizard knew what Bilbo planned to do, what he planned to use.
"It's out of the question." He said with a shake of his head and leaned in. It was far too dangerous. "I won't allow it."
"I'm not asking you to allow it, Gandalf." Bilbo said with a sideways nod. "Kili is already on his way there, but he won't make it in time. But I will." The hobbit said nothing else, and neither did the wizard. Gandalf knew that he would not change Bilbo's mind and that it was their only hope. He felt great pride as he looked down upon the hobbit. He was much changed from the person he had approached in Bag-end, flustered and proper, happy to sit in his armchair or in his garden day after day. The person who stood before him now was brave and loyal, he had faced a dragon and an army of orcs. Yes, Gandalf felt quite proud indeed.
The initial quiet and seemingly emptiness of Ravenhill had returned as the goblins lay dead at their feet. It was bitterly cold on and a thick mist swirled about the place, making it feel quite cutoff from the battle on the ground. Or indeed anywhere. The three dwarves paced, feeling uneasy in the silence, watching the rocks and walls for any shapes that did not belong.
"Where is that orc filth?" Dwalin hissed, looking about him. They hadn't seen nor heard any sign of Azog since they had arrived on Ravenhill, and the great banners now stood alone, dull fabric flapping in the whistling wind. They were sure that he had not fled, it was not in the orc's nature. No, he was here, waiting for the right moment to strike, and they knew they needed to be ready. So they kept their weapons firmly in their grip and their senses sharp.
"Thorin." Came a voice out of nowhere, as though it had popped from the very wind itself. But it did not startle them and they did not raise their swords in anticipation of an attack.
"Bilbo," Thorin breathed as he turned to face the hobbit. He felt a great relief that he was still alive, but also a great and heavy guilt. There was so much he wanted to say, needed to say, to apologize for all that he had said and done. But he did not have time as Bilbo, breathing heavily and red-faced from running, continued speaking.
"You need to leave here, now." He said. "Azog has another army attacking from the north. This watchtower will be completely surrounded, there'll be no way out." Dwalin shock his head and growled.
"We are so close. That orc scum is in there. I say we push on."
"No." Thorin pressed a hand against the warrior's chest, "That's what he wants, he wants to draw us in." He looked towards the lonely banners where Azog once stood, watching the battle unfold below him, and every seemed to slot into place. The seemingly abandoned guard-post, the second army. "This is a trap. Bilbo is right we need to leave this place." Bilbo looked at them, battle-worn, his eyes resting on Fili.
"Kili is on his way here." He said to him, the blond's eyes widened, "he may even be here by now, I don't know."
"Then we have to find him, if he's here we have to find him." Fili turned to his uncle, his eyes desperate and pleading, "Thorin, we can't leave here without him." No, thought Thorin, I will not abandon him again. He placed a hand on Fili's shoulder and nodded.
"Let's go, we will look for your brother on the way." But they got no further than five steps before shrieking was carried on the air, the sound, very out of place, echoing from the ruins. The four people stopped dead and turned their head to the sky. And then, from out of the thick mist, came strange, winged shadows, almost like birds. But these were not birds, these were huge grey bats. As they swooped down the dwarves and the hobbit fell to their knees to avoid the creature's long claws. But the bats merely flew above them before diving down towards the battlefield in front the Mountain, their large wings beating and teeth flashing as they called out. Bilbo watched them dip into the mist and towards the on-going battle and beside him the dwarves got to their feet, looking at each other with uncertainty. They did not voice it, but they knew that the monstrous bats signaled the arrival of the second army. And then, as though voicing it for them, Bolg lept onto the top of of a stone staircase, barking orders to grey-skinned orcs who came to join him with animal-like roars.
The orcs put up a greater fight than the goblins had and it required greater force to make them fall, and any that did was swiftly replaced by another, who came rushing from a corridor or jumping from over a wall. Fili cut his way through them, his feet dancing as he span and leapt, sword twirling through the air. He glanced over at Dwalin who took an orcish head from its shoulder with one swift, sure swipe of his axe. It bounced across the ground. The sides of Fili's mouth pulled up. He span and brought his sword up, blocking a blow with a clang of metal upon metal, the two blades almost seeming to spark as they collided. He looked up and pushed away an orc with one green eye and one yellow, skin almost a sandy color. It attacked again, but he dodged it effortlessly, spinning away to the left and bringing his sword around to catch it in the side. As the orc stumbled, he sent the blade through it's chest. It blood adding to that which had already stained the silver of the weapon. It didn't glint any more, the layer of orcish blood was too thick and had dulled its shine.
Thorin plunged his sword through the chest of a Gundabad orc, black blood bubbling and gushing. As it fell Thorin's eyes remained forward, looking across the cold ruins of Ravenhill, a light layer of snow began to cover the rocks and stones, and the top of frozen river became fluffy with the stuff. And then he saw a figure emerge from the thick mist, a tall, monstrous figure, one arm replaced with a double pointed blade. Blue eyes seemed to glow like ethereal torchlight. And then pale skin, as white as the snow and fog, beneath hard, rough armor. Azog. Thorin growled, swiping at the throat of another orc, and set forward toward him. That filth would not escape, not this tip, Thorin would not let him slip through his fingers again.
"Thorin!" Dwalin called after him, but he did not stop. His eyes glued upon the pale orc before him, sword held in a deathly grip. His mind was set and his target would not get away that time.
Bilbo had lost sight of the dwarves, they had dashed forward up staircases and down shadowed hallways, to pursue the orcs who had come to attack. For some reason, Bilbo did not pick up Sting after he'd dropped it when the bats had swooped overhead, and it remained, glowing, on the floor behind him. Instead, he picked up rock after rock and tossed them through the air, each one hitting it's mark. An orc's jaw. And orc's chest. Hitting an orc's weapon from it's hand. He was quite surprised by his aim. He had surprised himself a lot on that journey. And as he sent another rock flying, he knocked an orc, as broad as a tree-trunk to the ground. He smiled. But he did not the see the end of an axe handle as he reached for another, and as it collided with his temple, the world went black and he collapsed against the rocks of a broken wall. The last thing he felt was the hard stone digging into his spine.
Thorin could feel the ice against his back as the Pale Orc pinned him against it, the tips of his double-pointed blade inching ever closer to Thorin's chest. Thorin pushed against it with his sword, feeling its sharp edge begin to dig into his tough leather gloves. Much more force and the gloves would give way and split, and the blade would start to cut into his flesh. Thorin grunted with the effort of blocking Azog's weapon, the orc pushing all his weight down upon him. Azog smiled, blue eyes flashing, he could tell that Thorin was struggling, knew that he was larger and stronger. Thorin glanced at the blades, they were meer inches from his chest now, each inhale bringing them closer to penetrating his heart. He shifted slightly, feeling the thin layer of cold water atop the ice soak through his garments, seeping through the narrow gaps in his mail. The bitterness made his breaths come out like shivers, or perhaps that was the rising panic that began to grow as he felt the sharp point of Azog's blade press against him. One more push and his blood would begin to pool on the ice, it's crimson red a stark contrast to the dull grey and whiteness of his surroundings. Is that how his life was to be ended? In that abandoned, dead place? His body left on the cracked and fragmented ice? Would he slip beneath the water, sinking down into an icy abyss? No, it would not be! But Azog had too much force behind him, and for every inch Thorin pushed him away, he would push back by two. The dwarf king's eyes met those of the orc and he could tell that he Azog longed to take his life, as he had Thror and Frerin. If it would be so, then the pale orc would have ended three Durin lives in battle. No doubt Azog would relish in it.
But, it seemed, Azog would not take Thorin's life on Ravenhill that day.
From the eerie quiet of the ruined guard-post came an animal-like roar and a dark haired figure dived forward, throwing Azog from Thorin and tackling him to the ice. Azog scowled and looked towards whoever it was who had interrupted him, who had prevented him from slaying Thorin. And, as he looked at Kili, pushing himself to his feet, he felt like he had been sent back in time. This was not the first time the dwarf runt had done this. Azog growled and stood, head tilting to the side like a predatory bird as he studied him. So this was why his master had not come to the battle. Azog's lips pulled up in an angry, cruel snarl as he stalked across the ice towards Kili, the blade attached to his half-arm, glinting as he held it aloft.
Kili watched him come, picking up speed until he traveled at a run, towards him, heart hammering in his chest. He tightened his grip around the handle of his sword and sucked in a breath, steeling his features and readying himself for the inevitable clash. The two orcish weapons met with a loud, resonating clang. Kili twisted and forced Azog's weapon downwards. Azog pulled away and advanced again, but Kili effortlessly side-stepped the blow, feeling the rush of air and the whistle as the blade cut through the air. With a leap forward, he swiped his sword at Azog's side, knocking the orc off balance. He took this opportunity to kick Azog's legs from beneath him, the ice making it easier to send the orc sprawling. Kili stood above him, breaths quick and deep as he twirled his sword in two circular motions. Azog's head snapped to the side to glare at him, hatred and anger in his icy blue eyes. They sent a shiver up his spine, they had the power to make him feel like a rabbit staring at a hungry wolf. Azog rose to his feet, a growl resonating from his chest as his sharp teeth flashed in a snarl. He lunged forward, Kili diving forward and falling to his knees, sliding across the ice to avoid Azog's blade as he brought it around in an arch. He jumped to his feet again and leapt towards the pale orc, but this time he wasn't quick enough. And as Azog brought his weapon in an upwards arch, it caught him, the sharp tip of it slicing upwards from his hip and across his ribcage, and Kili was sent falling backwards with a cry. His sword clattering to the floor. Immediately, blood began to spill from the fresh wound and soaking into his tunic. It dripped onto the ice. With a hiss, red hot pain spreading across his torso, he pushed himself onto his knees and elbows, pressing his forehead againts the ice, eyes squeezed tightly shut.
Azog grinned and moved towards him, and sent his heavy boots into his rips. Kili was sent sideways and Azog perused, reaching down and yanking him up into a kneeling position by his hair. Kili looked up at him, brown eyes shining and glistening with pain, blood spurting from his lips with a cough. Azog chuckled.
"How brave you are." He hissed. "How stubborn. How foolish. You think you can defeat me?" Kili felt shivers go up his spine, feeling sick to his stomach. As the Orcish words reached his ears, he realized he could understand each and every word. Azog's fist connected with Kili's side and then again, and then again, and then again with his jaw.
"Azog!" Thorin roared. "Step away from him, orc filth! You have done enough to him. Your fight is with me now." Azog turned his head towards him, fist tightening in Kili's hair, with a grin. The dwarfing in his grasp coughing and groaning. Azog could see the fury in Thorin's face, the sheer hatred and and disgust, as he approached, his elvish blade tight in his fist. He blinked away the blood that dripped into his eyes from the gash on his forehead. With a cruel smile, the pale orc threw Kili back to the ice, the dwarf holding himself up on trembling arms. Azog growled and brought his boot down on the small of Kili's back before kicking him away.
"You were told that you would watch your uncle die. It was to be my master who showed you." He turned his attention back to Thorin. "But now it shall be me." Thorin raced towards him, Orcrist flashing menacingly. Azog stood his ground and pointed his weapon at the so-called King Under the Mountain. Thorin thrust his sword at him but Azog blocked it, the sound of metal-on-metal ringing out, reverberating across the ice and ruins.
Kili could hear his blood pumping. It was like a rushing river in his skull, swirling and crashing about. It blocked out any other sound, he couldn't even hear his rapid, hoarse breathing. But he could feel the pain they sent through his body. Wave after wave of sharp agony which seemed to crush him, each inhale was like a dagger. Through his ever-blurring vision, he could see the ice about him start to turn a deep red as his blood began to pour from the wound across his torso. He pressed a hand against it, it took no time at all for his palm to change color. He groaned and attempted to push himself up onto shaking elbows, biting down on his lip as he sucked in a breath and tried to blink away the fog that had settled in his vision. It was when his eyes flicked open that he saw Azog knelt above his uncle, arm raised and weapon pointing at Thorin's heart. No! And then the agony was gone and he pushed himself to his feet, reaching for his sword. Adrenaline coursed through his emptying veins as he raced across the ice. The white and grey world about him became a blur as he focused solely on the pale orc, and as he neared the beast, he raised his sword before leaping and plunging it through Azog's back and twisting it. He heard the Azog gasp, his head tilting down to see the sword penetrating through his chest, dripping black with his own blood, before it was pulled back and his entire body convulsed. He turned where he was knelt and with the last of his quickly diminishing strength, he threw Kili through the air with a swipe of his arm, the movement pulling at the wound. When Kili landed, he felt a pain shoot up his arm from his wrist, hearing a definate crack. He screamed out and pressed his arm against him. Eyes squeezing tight. Azog rose unsteadily to his feet, his hand going to his open chest. He stumbled towards Kili, eyes burning. But he got no more than a couple of steps before he fell to his knees. The last thing he saw was the brown of Kili's eyes staring at him, and despite the pain, the dwarfling smiled at him. Azog had been defeated.
Thorin stood above Azog, a bitter wind swirling about Ravenhill and lifting the edges of his hair, studying him with a strange fascination. How long he had dreamed of seeing the pale orc slain, how long he had wondered how it would feel. But now, looking down at Azog's still open eyes, glassy and unseeing, and the pool of black blood soaking the ice around him, he felt nothing but light, a great, crushing weight gone from his shoulders. And, as he breathed in a long, deep breath, he knew the lightness he felt was freedom. For so long he had suffocated under the weight of grief and anger, but now his grandfather and brother had been avenged. And Thorin felt as though he could breath. He titled his head back and let the cool breeze wash over him. It wasn't until her heard av soft, pained groan did he come back to reality.
"Kili." He breathed, turning his head to see his nephew pushing himself up onto one arm, the other pressed against his chest. Once he'd dropped to his knees, Thorin reached out to place a hand on the side of Kili's face, stroking a thumb across his cheek, and ran the other through his dark hair. Kili stared at him with pained eyes, brows knitting together with each inhale, and each exhale coming away like a puff of smoke. The adrenaline of battle had numbed Thorin to the cold, and his layers of mail and leather had provided a small barrier against it. But as Kili shivered beneath his hands, he began to feel it bite at the tip of his nose. Kili shifted, immediately hissing with pain, eyes squeezing shut. "Be still, you're wounded." Thorin gazed down and pulled back the torn and bloodied tunic, trying to hide a wince as he lay eyes on the wound beneath. It was not too deep, but it was long, cutting upwards from right to left, the vast outpouring of blood made Thorin's heart pitch, and he feared Kili's shivering was not merely due to the bitter cold. "You'll be alright," Thorin said, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him closer, feeling Kili curl the fist of his good arm into his garments. He rested his chin atop Kili's head and breathed him in, it was hidden, beneath layers upon layers of grim and blood, but his nephew's scent was still there. Thorin cursed himself, he had been a damned fool! Valuing gold above the life of youngest sister-son, the boy he had helped raise and loved like a son. He wanted to apologize, for everything, right there. Wanted to say sorry for turning him away, for not listening to his warning and throwing him, unprepared, into a battle. But the words would not pass his lips, they clogged in his throat and came out as a choked sob. Never again would he be so blind, never again would he value riches over his own blood.
"Thorin!" Came a familiar voice, "thank Mahal you're alright!" Thorin looked up to see Dwalin rushing down a stone staircase towards them, his axe stained black with orc blood. Behind him, Fili and Bilbo followed, both in one piece, if bloodied and bruised. Thorin felt a great relief in seeing them all alive. As he reached the bottom step, Fili froze, as if he'd suddenly turned to stone. His blue eyes widened as he looked upon his kin.
"Kili!" He cried, pushing past Dwalin and Bilbo, letting his sword clatter to the floor. At the sound of his named being called, Kili straightened himself with a wince and turned his head, brown eyes swelling with relief as his elder sibling ran towards them and dropped to his knees. Thorin shifted back, allowing Fili to wrap his arms around his brother, knowing how deeply, and for how long, he had yearned to have him back. He watched as the blond's expression immediately became one of sheer relief, a long exhale lifting away all of his fears. "Nadadith," He breathed, a tear crawling down his cheek. "I've missed you so much." He pressed his lips against his little brother's forehead. It had felt like an age since the Necomancer had taken Kili in Lake-town, since he felt as though he had lost everything all over again, his heart tearing itself into shards. All that time, grief and guilt and anger, had torn at him, and then had come the desperation, burning in his gut, the moment he had been dragged through the elves. And now, finally, Kili was with him. "I've got you," he said, voice cracking. Kili buried his face in his shoulder, clinging tightly to him, and he couldn't help the tears, of relief and of pain.
"What happened?" Dwalin asked, as Thorin rose to his feet. The warrior turned his head to look at the large, still figure on the ice, pale skin as white as the light snow falling around it. "Azog, is ... is he dead?"
"Yes." Dwalin sucked in a breath, at long last, he thought.
"You did it," he beamed at Thorin.
"No," The dwarf king glanced down at Kili, his mouth curving up in a proud smile. He nodded his head towards him. "He did."
"Kili killed Azog?" Bilbo questioned, astonishment in his voice. Kili could feel all eyes on him now. He looked towards the pale orc. Had he? He hadn't been thinking in that moment. In fact it had all been a blur, a rush of movement, of metal and ice. But he remembered the noise the blade made as he pushed it through Azog's armor, the crunching and grinding as it passed through his ribs. The sound of the orc's final breath as he fell to his knees. Kili sucked in a long breath, the depth of the inhale sending a burst of pain across his ribs. Fili leaned away and glanced down, his stomach pitching.
"Mahal, Kili." He said. The initial pride he had felt - his little brother had slain the pale orc! - was replaced with terror. The front of Kili's tunic was almost completely red with warm, sticky blood, and as Fili looked into his eyes, he could see that he was suffering. "He's loosing too much blood." Kili was quickly paling and his eyes were beginning to glaze over.
"You need to finish it, Thorin." Dwalin said. Thorin looked from Kili, still clinging tightly to his brother, and towards Azog, who now had a thing layer of now covering his body. He nodded and strode towards him, taking up his sword. He knew what he needed to do. He could still hear the battle beneath them, it was not as loud as before, it was creeping ever closure to its conclusion. But now it was time for him to speed up the process. He stood over Azog looking into his empty blue eyes and, with a long breath in, raised his sword and brought it whistling down.
On the battlefield The Company pushed through the lines of orcs, who were slowly, and thankfully, beginning to thin. The huge eagles had done much to disperse them, swooping down, their talons flashing, to throw the orcs through the air, slicing through them like butter. The bats too were dwindling, many lay on the ground and rocks, wings torn and shredded, the last of their shrieks tearing their way up their throats. They came a feeling of hope, that perhaps the end of the battle would be soon upon them, for they felt as if they had been fighting for days, the company's bodies weary and aching.
Suddenly, the orcs began to screech and cry, their fighting began to slow as they looked upwards and towards Ravenhill, strange looks of fear and uncertainty. Dain frowned and followed their gazes. A figure was stood upon the cliff holding something in the air above them. The dwarf lord narrowed his eyes, and as, suddenly, the sunlight burst through the clouds, he felt his heart leap. It was Thorin! The king held his sword aloft and thrust upon its point was the head of Azog the Defiler!
"He did it!" Dain cried, punching the air, "Azog is defeated! The battle is won!" About him, the dwarves began the cheer and clap, the company coming together, clapping each other on the back and wrapping their arms around one another, laughing out. Cheers, too, began to emanate from Dale, where the people had come to the city walls. "Now," growled Dain, tightening the his grip around the handle of his war-hammer, "let's do away with the rest of this scurge!" But many of the orcs had began to flee, their commander was vanquished and they knew that they had been defeated, and so the dwarves the elves and men began to peruse them.
Thorin couldn't help but smile as he watched the last of the orcs begin to flee the battle, they had looked up towards him, their leader's head mounted upon his elvish sword, with terror in their beady eyes. Some of them attempted to continue the fight but most were retreating back into the were-worm's tunnels. Thorin sucked in a deep breath, feeling a great relief wash over him. It was done. It was over.
"Kili?" Fili's concerned voice made Thorin turn, lowering his weapon. Fili was leaning in close to his younger brother, stroking a soft had across his cheek. "Hey, nadadith." Thorin strode over, using his boot to slide Azog's head from his sword and kicking it away.
"What's wrong?"
"We must get him help, there's too much blood." Indeed, Kili looked close to passing out and his breathing was becoming strained and labored. The long wound across his torso continued to bleed extensively, deeper at his hip where Azog's blade first made conact. The cold was not doing much to help, Kili worn and torn tunic provided very little shelter from the bitter air. Thorin put his sword back into its scabbard and reached down, he and Fili taking an arm each and pulling Kili to his feet, careful of his wrist. "It's alright, little brother," Fili soothed, "You're going to be just fine." But he knew that it would be a look walk down the mountain, for their rams had bolted or been slain.
With their weapons gathered they began their trek, leaving the bodies of Azog and the other orcs in the cold, whistling wind.
-AN-
Howdily doodily readereenos.
I can't believe I've reached FIFTY CHAPTERS! This was meant to be no more than 20! A lot of this is down to you guys! You've been so supportive! And there's still lots to come!
This is the longest chapter I have ever written!
I thought I would skip lots of the battle but it seems that some scenes were just too important. But now the battle is over! I had intended to include a bit more of the Thorin vs. Azong fight as it's pretty epic in the movie, but I knew that this chapter was getting long, so I flash forwarded. Plus, I wanted to get this chapter finished and uploaded tonight as I have a pretty busy week coming up and am not sure when I'll be able to write any more (I'll try my best to get it done in my spare time.) So I'm very sorry if any of this seemed rushed, I just really wanted to get it done.
I hope you guys didn't mind Kili being the one to kill Azog, I just thought after all the crap he's been through in the last two-or-so months that he deserved it. Plus the story kinda came full circle. Kili saved his uncle from Azog in CH.1 and did the same in CH.50. And now the Durin family is back together!
And now for the IMPORTANT NOTE.
So, I need your help. The upcoming chapters are going to deal with aspects of PTSD and Depression/Anxiety. I have never suffered with any of these myself, so don't have any experience to base my writing on. And, as I don't want to misrepresent them or cause any offense, if you have any experience, be it second hand or first hand, please give me some tips so I can do this right. Thank you very much! 3
If you enjoyed this part please remember to fave, follow and review!
