Watching the orcs spill from the mountain, Fili was reminded of the time many years ago when he and Kili were playing in the wood beside their house, as they did most days, and accidentally broke open an ants nest. The insects had burst from the mound like frothing water over a boiling pot and had began to crawl over their boots. They had felt the tiny creatures crawl across their skin and clothes all the way home, and their mother had not been best pleased when they returned. But the ants were small and silent and these orcs were loud and deadly. The sound of the horn blared across the land, bouncing off every rock and stone. It was like a low rumble of thunder. Fili rested one hand against the wall, the other tightening its grip around his sword as he watched Dain Ironfoot and his army race towards the orcs roaring their fierce battle cries, banging their weapons on their shields menacingly. The fingers wrapped around his own weapon began to drum impatiently on the handle, a strange burning in his chest.

"I'm going over the wall." He announced. He wouldn't linger on the rampart while his kin fought. He wouldn't simply watch as they were slaughtered. He wanted to fight. He had so much anger inside him. "Whose coming with me?" About him the company cheered and shouted in agreement, they too were hungry for battle, to help their kin.

"Come on, let's go!" Dwalin cried, lifting his battle axe above his head. It was too long since he had fought, and battle flowed through his warrior's veins. And as he lookedupon the orc hoard, he felt his heart beat. The company too, began to reach for their weapons and hold them aloft. But, it seems they were to go nowhere.

"Stand down," Thorin ordered, turning away from the scene before him.

"What?" His nephew hissed, "are we to do nothing?" Had the gold sickness made him a coward too? But Thorin was already walking away, armor clinking as he marched.

"I said stand down." His voice was final. And then he was gone. The company silent and dumbfounded, their previously aloft now lowered dishearteningly to their sides. The burning in their hearts now simply smoldering embers.


But it seemed that the Company were not the only ones who were not heading towards the impending battle as they remained stood where they were.

"The elves, will they not fight?" Bilbo looked at them, still as statuesque as they had been before, their expressions unchanged as they stared ahead. He may as well have been stood among an army of stone. Beside him, Gandalf's bushy white eyebrows pulled together, his lips a thin line.

"Thranduil! This is madness!" He called as he pushed through the elves, who made to effort to move to let him through. But the Elven king said nothing as he watched the Dwarven army come to a halt, creating a metal wall with their iron shields, pointing their long spears at the oncoming orcs. But the construction would not hinder the attack, there were more orcs than dwarves. Perhaps, the wall would hold the first few dozen of orcs, but ultimately it would fail. The dwarves would not let this probability deter them, however as they began to bark in Khuzdul. But as the orcs rushed forward, their own native language ringing out, the elves leapt forward and over the shield wall to meet them, their blades shining as they brought them down upon the enemy. And as the dwarves pushed forward, the battlefield became a rush of movement and noise, it was like two great waves crashing together.

"Uh, G..Gandalf." Bilbo said, the sound of metal-on-metal loud in his ears, "is this a good place to stand?" The rest of the elves were rushing past them now, and he did not doubt that the battle would find its way to them. He had never seen a battle before, he had read about them in books many times, but books were quiet. And this was loud. The sounds of shouting, in Khuzdul, in Elvish, in Black Tongue, absorbed into the chaos of weapon striking weapon, striking shield, striking body. Three races dancing a deadly dance, it's music deafening. And then a second orcish horn roared, the bat-like banners rising again, a signal to the orcs, a legion of which turned immediately from the continuing battle. And towards Dale. And from the were-worms tunnels climbed towering trolls, more fierce-some than the three Bilbo had met before. They growled and roared as they joined in the march. Upon their backs were strapped roughly, but strongly, forged catapults, ready to bring the already decrepit building of Dale crumbling to their foundations. Upon his white horse Bard felt his heart hammer, those left in the city would not survive this attack. He thought of his children, they were tenacious and made of hard stuff, but they did not stand a chance.

"All of you!" He called at his men, "Fall back to Dale! Now!" They would defend their own. And they did not hesitate to run back towards the City, thinking of those that they had left behind.

"To the City! Bilbo!" Gandalf shouted at the Hobbit as the Wizard too joined the men. They could no nothing in this battle, but they knew they could help protect those within Dale.


Kili's breaths began to quicken and his heart began to beat hard and fast in his chest as the sound of marching began to grow closer, shouting and chanting in Black Speech being carried on the air. The orcs were coming to Dale! He had been fighting his bonds for what felt like hours, the rope was biting into him and he could feel warm rivulets of blood curl through his fingers. Yet the rope would not give. He would be defenseless in this tent if he remained tied up, if an orc was to burst inside, he would not stand a chance. The creature could slit his throat or gut him like a fish and he wouldn't be able to fight back, not with his wrists tied to that post. He heard a great crash as the watchtowers and walls of Dale fell victim to the catapults, he heard rock fall to the ground like a landslide, the whole city seeming to tremble. He felt his gut burn with a new determination, and indeed a greater desperation, as he looked about the tent. There must have been something he had missed, something he could use to free himself. He craned his neck to get a better view of the tent around him, and he saw the answer. The table that had originally sat against the tent's center post had been moved to allow him to be tied up, and atop of it sat an exquisitely carved glass jug, still partly filled with red wine. If he could use what little give that the rope had to twist himself around the post he could topple the table. With any luck the glass would break and he could use the shards to cut the rope. It was his best and only plan, and as another crash shook Dale, he jumped into motion. From outside the tent he could hear terrified screams begin to ring out as the people appeared from where they had been previously hiding; nowhere was safe as the rocks rained down and the buildings crashed to the ground. The wine in the jug rippled. Kili grunted as he shifted around the post, the rope creaking with defiance, he tugged at it, feeling it bite harder into his skin. He hissed and shifted again, inching ever closer to the table.

"Come on, come on." He grunted. Almost speaking to the rope itself, asking, no begging, for it to cooperate. But it stayed defiant, fighting against him as he pulled it. Kili bit against the pain it caused as it continued to dig into him and heaved himself around the post. As he felt the corner of it press against his spine, he knew that he was, gradually, getting somewhere. Each time he shifted he got an inch closer to the table until he was finally opposite it. He allowed himself a moment to breath, the task had been tougher than he had anticipated, or would like to admit. He studied the piece of furniture, trying to decided how best to topple it. He needed it to fall towards him, it was no good it falling and the jug being out of reach. He would need to hook his foot around the leg and pull it. He dragged in a breath and stretched himself towards it, but found it still slightly out of his reach. He had always thought he was too tall for a dwarf, but now all the things he would give for an extra inch or two to be added to his height. He grunted and tried to stretch himself further, feeling his muscles and bones pulling uncomfortably, his back and shoulders at awkward positions. "Come on," he said again, this time as if urging the table to come towards him. But it stayed where it was, the items atop of it rattling as Dale echoed and jarred again. Finally he managed to hook the table leg with the tip of his boot, he pulled his extended leg in but instead of toppling, the table simply dragged across the floor. He needed it to fall! Suddenly Dale was aburst with life, the crashing and screaming was accompanied by the familiar growls and shrieks of orcs. He could hear them marching into the city, their armor clinking, sending away waves of terrified people who tried to find a place to hide. He tried to pull at the table leg again, but as before, it simply dragged towards him and did not fall. And as the the sounds of the orcs came quickly closer he knew he was almost out of time, they would be upon him soon. "Damn it," he cursed. With a growl he kicked out, the sole of his leather boot breaking the table leg in half, splinters flying out, with a crack. Thankfully the table fell towards him, rather than away. He pulled his legs in as the table toppled. The jug, decorated with delicate leaves, fell to the floor, but to Kili's great dismay, it did not break, it simply rolled, the wine spilling out like blood. He would have to do it himself. He raised his foot and brought his heel down upon it, the glass smashing at the impact. Kili winced, feeling small shards of glass did into the back of his leg. He looked at the shattered jug, it's pieces glinting and reflecting the shadows of the people who ran by the tent, some hand-in-hand, all scared. He dragged the largest shard towards him with his heel and when he could not bend his leg back any further, he kicked it into his hand. Kili smiled when he felt it hit his palm. He wrapped his fingers around it and began to saw at the elvish rope. Gradually the biding began to fray and give, the sharp edges of the shard digging into his palm, until he could pull his wrists apart and snap what threads were left intact. Finally he was free.

Kili didn't know what he expected to see when he ran from the tent, but he found himself frozen in his tracks. Everywhere he looked he saw panic and death. Those who had not accompanied Thranduil and Bard that morning, attempted to flee the wave of orcs who had burst into the city, bringing only dark intentions with them. But there was nowhere for them to flee, as the orcs had filled every street like rats, and anyone taking shelter within the old buildings were dragged from doors and thrown from windows. The blood of the slaughtered began to stain the old cobbles, running through them like crimson rivers. He needed to find a weapon. Kili pushed himself into motion and ran, though he knew not where. He did not know this place, he had seen only the courtyard and the inside of Thranduil's tent, and before that, the town square. But he doubted that place was safe. He doubted anywhere in this damned place was safe. So running was the only thing he could do. As he ran, a shower of rocks fell from above him as another of Dales skeletal buildings fell victim to the catapults. He raised his arms above his head, feeling the ground around him shake and dust engulf engulf him in a brief cloud. He pushed on, finding himself drawn into a crowd of people all hoping to find some refuge. He knew it did not do well to be in a large crowd, the orcs would go for the crowds. It was better to be alone, to hopefully go unseen. But the crowd was so dense that he found himself dragged along with it. He looked at the people's terrified faces, beside him a girl with tear stained cheeks, was being dragged along by her mother. There was blood upon her sleeve. Kili swallowed and pushed on. But the people all stopped as half a dozen orcs met them at the next corner, snarling and roaring beneath their helmets. One raised its scimitar above it's head and plunged it into the shoulder of a man, who fell twitching and bleeding to the ground. A woman fell next, a sword twisted in her gut. Kili looked about him, there must have been something he could use as a weapon. The only thing he could see was a rock. He reached down and took it. It had a good weight to it, but it would do nothing against the heavy orcish armor. He heard a scream and saw the girl dragged from her mother who was cut down in an instant, blood gushing from her. An orc raised its weapon above the girl who struggled and cried. Kili threw the rock through the air, unlike an arrow it did not whistle, but moved silently, and it hit the side of the orc's sword, as had been Kili's aim, and sent it to the ground with a metallic clang. The orc turned his head towards Kili and snarled, before unhanding the girl and lunging forward with a growl. Kili span and dodged it, feeling the woosh of air as its arms narrowly missed him. He pressed his hands against its back, cold metal of its armor against his cut palms, and pushed it against the wall before scrambling forward to take the dropped weapon. The orcish sword was heavier than his dwarvish one had been, and not so finely made. But it would do. He heard the clanking of armor and heavy footsteps rushing towards him, and span, bringing the weapon around in an upwards arch, the sharp edge of the blade catching the orc beneath the chin, a deep gash flowing black blood in his throat. The orc fell and Kili brought his stolen weapon down upon it, relieving it's neck of its head with one clean slice. Kili did not linger to admire his kill but turned and took the girl's hand and pulled her away.

"Run, you must run." He urged her.

"My mother." She said tearfully, looking towards the familiar form on the ground. Her once blue dress stained with wet blood. Her eyes were still open, but unseeing now.

"I'm sorry," Kili shock his head sadly, "she's gone. But you can't stay here, you must run. Quickly." And with a sob and one last look towards her mother, she did. Kili watched her go as long as he could before she was concealed among the fleeing people. He prayed that she would find someone to look after her, and that she would survive this battle. She must have been no older than nine or ten, and did not deserve to have her life cut so short. Kili sighed before continuing to fight the orcs. He dodged and ducked their advances, blocking their weapons with his own. But they wore armor and he did not, and many times he felt a blade cut at him, he needed to discover where their armor was the weakest. He tried to remember Thorin and Dwalin's stories, they had always gone into great detail when they retold tales of battle. Dis had thought the details far too frightful for young dwarflings, but Kili and his brother hadn't mided one bit. Orcish armor is tough, he heard Dwalin's voice in his head, but you can always get them if you aim for under the arm and their necks. Silly place for a weakness, the neck. And with this echoing in his mind, he raced through Dale with the orcish sword in his hand.


Bard leapt from his horse the moment he pulled it to a halt, he drew his sword and dashed forward. About him people screamed and ran, desperate for safety.

"My children!" He called, "where are my children?" He needed to find them, they would not die here. They would not be murdered by orcs.

"I saw them! They were down in the old market!" A woman shouted in reply as he fled, holding the skirt of her dress from the crowd as not to trip.

"The market?" He knew the way, he could only pray that his children had found shelter, and that they were together. They were better, safer together. He prayed that their tenacity would not wear out. "Tilda! Sigrid!" He did not have time to call the name of his third child, before the men that had followed him back into the city rushed towards him.

"Bard," said a grey-haired man, there was dirt and dust upon his face. Behind him, two young lads panted and looked about fearfully. "Orcs are storming over the causeway." More vile creatures were coming, they would be cut off, outnumbered. Bard was not used to being a leader, especially not in a war, but they looked to him as their general, their leader.

"Get the bowmen to the eastern parapet, hold them off for as long as you can." The man nodded and raised his sword.

"Archers, this way!" he called, leading the way. Those armed with bows followed him and those without remained with Bard, awaiting further instruction.

"The orcs have taken stone street!" A man ran passed them, blood on his cheek, a slight limp to his gait. "The market's overrun!" No! This could not be. Bard's heart began to beat faster as he feared for his children. He had to save them. He turned his head in the direction of the market hearing roars and screams and swords.

"The rest of you, follow me!" Hold on, children, he willed, silently. Hoping that any god was listening.


Kili was beginning to tire, his body ached and fresh wounds screamed for relief. But there was no relief. The orcs were everywhere and they kept coming. Like a disease. His clothes and skin were covered in blood, some of it was orc, some of it was his, and some of it was of those being slaughtered about him. He did not stick to one spot, but simply willed his weary, pained body to keep running, his orcish blade cutting a path for him. He cut down orc after orc until they seemed to blur together, until the world seemed to blur into armor and weapon and blood. Suddenly he was thrown from his feet, it felt as though he was in the air for ages before he crashed to the ground with a hard thud. He coughed and got to his hands and feet, spitting red onto the floor, the metallic taste of the blood lingering in his mouth. Then a rough hand curled itself into his hair, he could feel fingers dig into his skull, and he was yanked into a kneeling position. A fist connected with his ribs and a wave of pain rippled across his chest. He looked up, blood trickling from the side of his mouth, to see an orc, yellow eyes glaring at him from beneath his helmet and rows of sharp teeth revealed in a cruel sneer. The orc raised his arm, the weapon in his grip glinting menacingly. Kili growled and threw his legs forward, kicking the orc's from beneath him and sending it to the ground. The moment the orc's hold on him vanished, Kili rolled to gather his weapon back up, and as the orc lunged for him, sent the tip of it through its neck, black blood spurting out like a fountain. The orc twitched and gurgled, and once Kili pulled his weapon back and from it, it fell to the ground silently. Kili panted, each breath sending a stab of pain across his ribs. He heard footsteps approach him and he span awkwardly on his knees, his sword arching upwards. It was just inches away from taking out Bilbo's eye.

"Bilbo?" Kili gasped, the hobbit lived? Kili rose to his feet, curling an arm around himself, his sword lowered and dripping blood onto the floor.

"You look a mess," Bilbo smiled, relieved to see his friend alive. But what did he expect? Kili was a fighter! Fierce and true. But they had no time for a happy reunion. "Come, this way." Bilbo waved. Kili spat some more blood onto the floor and followed, wiping his lips on his sleeve as he went.

He and Bilbo joined a throng of armed men, up ahead was Bard leading the way. Then Kili realized that these were those that had left for the mountain that morning, they had returned to help those they had left behind. Kili smiled, for fishermen they sure were brave and loyal. Kili also saw the familiar grey hat of the wizard towering above the ground. But he had no time to greet Gandalf before the men met an onslaught of orcs. The fishermen's battle cries were feirce. But in that moment, Kili supposed, they were not fishermen, they were warriors.

The men ran to defend the causeway, cutting down any orc that tried to block them. Elves too had joined the mix, their golden armor like bursts of light among the dark grey armor of the orcs. Kili and Bilbo stayed close beside one another, fighting back-to-back at times, defending one another as the battle raged about them. There was something reassuring about having a friend beside you in battle, and it pushed you to keep fighting. But as they approached the gates of Dale, it was clear that they were outnumbered, they could fight as vigorously and as bravely as they wished, but they were being overwhelmed. Kili's sword whistled as he swung it, it got an orc in the side and it stumbled, it's balance off long enough for Kili to run it through. The moment it fell, another was upon him. And that's the way the fighting went, an endless stream of orcs, too many weapons to dodge and block.

"Fall back!" He heard Bard shout over the battle,"fall back!" The orcs were an unstoppable wave, and they were like leaves adrift in the current. Kili and Bilbo backed up, feeling themselves being pushed as those ahead of them heeded the bowman's desperate command. About them lay the bodies of orcs and men and elves lay, their fight ended.


Thorin was sat upon his great stone Throne, torchlight flickering beside him. It was quiet within the mountain, any noise from outside was absorbed by the rock. Not even a bird could be heard from within. Thorin's eyes flicked up as he heard footsteps approach, echoing through the cavernous hall.

"Since when do we forsake our own people?" Dwalin growled as he walked up the steps before the throne. He was no longer in the heavy armor but stone wore the mail which glinted slightly in the firelight. "Thorin, they are dying out there." Thorin leaned forward.

"There are halls beneath halls in this mountain," he said, his voice low. His blue eyes looked about him. "Places we can fortify, shore up, make safe. Yes" He rose to his feet and stepped towards Dwalin, whose eyes were narrow beneath furrowed brows. "Yes, that is it. We must move the gold further underground to safety." He began to walk away. He needed to protect his treasure, nobody would get it, no orc, man or elf. Only he would have it.

"Did you not hear me? Dain is surrounded. They're being slaughtered Thorin." There was a long silence, only the crackling of the fires was to be heard. Thorin rubbed his fingers together, his eyes moving slowly across the hall before he spoke.

"Many die in war. Life is cheap." He looked at Dwalin, the corners of his mouth pulling up slightly. "But a treasure such as this cannot be counted in lives lost." Despite the torchlight shining upon him, his face appeared dark and shadowed. It made him look old and sick and not like the Thorin Dwalin knew. "It is worth all the blood we can spend."

"You sit here in these vast halls with a crown upon your head and yet you are lesser now than you have ever been." There was no anger or hatred in Dwalin's words, but there was disappointment and sadness. Even pity. How had his friend become this? It would be a lie to say that Dwalin had not feared this outcome, that Thorin would become his grandfather, but he had told himself that Thorin was stronger than Thrór, that his trails would have made him stronger. Not Thorin, he had told himself, Thorin is too strong. But he had been wrong, they had all been wrong.

"Do not speak to me as if I were some lowly dwarf-lord, as if I were still." Thorin's voice began to tremble and break, "Thorin Oakenshield." What was wrong with being Thorin Oakenshield? He was someone to be admired, to be followed. "I am your king!" He pulled his sword from the scabbard on his him, stumbling and loosing his balance like a drunkard with illusions of grandeur.

"You were always my king." Dwalin told him, his voice soft. "You used to know that once. You cannot see what you have become." Why could he not see? Why could he not understand that this was not him?

"Go. Get out. Before I kill you." Dwalin simply stared at him. He could not mean it? Surely this dragon-sickness would not compel him to kill one of his oldest and most loyal friends. One who had fought beside him in battle, who had been there when Thrór and Frerin were killed and Thrain had vanished, who had rarely left his side since the day the dwarves were flushed from Erebor. But the dark look in Thorin's eyes told him that he would. And so, with a small, sad nod of his head he turned and walked away. Defeated, sorrowful.


Thorin walked upon solid gold, it shone beneath his feet, glowing like a fire. But it was not hot like a fire, no, it was very cold indeed. It had been here that they had engulfed Smaug in liquid gold, as he awed at the great statue, lust for the precious metal burning in his gut, blinding him. As he walked, Thorin's mind rattle with voices, echoes.

You sit here with a crown upon your head. You are lesser now than you have ever been.

But a treasure such as this cannot be counted in lives lost.

A sickness lies upon that treasure.

The blind ambition of a mountain king!

Am I not the king?!

They were so loud and so clear those talking may as well have been stood around him. Shouting at him. They disorientated him. He shock his head to expel them, but they did not go.

This gold is ours. I will not part with a single coin.

He cannot see beyond his own desire!

As if I were some lowly Dwarf-lord. Thorin Oakenshield.

A sickness which drove your grandfather mad.

This is Thorin, Son of Thrain, son of Thrór!

I am not my grandfather.

Why wouldn't they leave him alone? His head began to pound and spin from the onslaught of voices. His own voice, the voices of his friends. Voices of reason.

You are the heir of the Throne of Durin.

They are dying out there.

Take back Erebor.

Dain is surrounded.

Take back your homeland.

You are changed, Thorin.

I am not my grandfather.

Is this treasure truly worth more than your honor?

I am not my grandfather.

The golden ground beneath his feet began to rumble and a shape slithered beneath it, long and scaled, with spikes upon its back like daggers. It curled around him like a coil. And then he began to sink, the gold rising up around him like waves as he was dragged down. He looked up to see the high ceiling of the hall shrink away.

This treasure will be your death!

He fell to his knees, the metal of his armor clanking as he landed. The world about him seemed to spin, his head spinning with it. He felt as though he was coming apart, and still the gold dragged him down, rising his around him like walls, trapping him as though it was a prison. He screamed as he tried to escape, leaping upwards. But each time, he fell. The gold would not let him go, not until it engulfed him. No! He needed to escape. He would not let the gold keep him. He did not belong to it! He was Thorin Oakenshield, he belonged to no one! He would not be the gold's prisoner! What had be become?

He lifted the crown from his head and threw it to the ground, almost in disgusted, with a clatter. He looked at his reflection in the surface of the gold and suddenly hated the person staring back at him.

What had he become?


The company had removed their armor and thrown it to the ground. And now they sat among it, hearts heavy and uncertain. They could hear the screams of their kin as they were slaughtered, yet they had been ordered to remain within the mountain. They were all at odds, their hearts and minds torn. They did not wish to linger in the mountain while Dain and his army were killed, while the people in Dale were slaughtered in the street, yet they dared not defy Thorin, for their feared his wrath. They did not doubt his anger; he had almost thrown Bilbo to his death. They thought of Bilbo, out there in the battle. Hobbits were not a race known for their warriors. Yes, Bilbo had proved himself brave, perhaps braver than any of them, but surely, he could not survive the battle. Nobody spoke.

Fili was sat upon a step, his head bowed sadly. The sounds of the battle, of metal-against-metal, of screaming, ringing in his ears. But his thoughts were with Kili. The company had watched the orcs march towards Dale, witnessed the catapults bring buildings to the ground, saw the flames which rose from the ruins, watched the orcs spill into the city and heard the screams that had followed. Fili had not seen his brother among the elves which meant he had been left in Dale, unprotected and undoubtedly unarmed. And now the orcs were in there, killing every man, woman and child which had the terrible luck to be found. Had the orcs found his brother? Was he dead already? He prayed beyond hope that he was not. He did not doubt Kili's fighting ability, and those two months had proven how resilient he was. But a legion of orcs and trolls had swarmed into Dale, and Kili could not fight off a legion alone, he had been through too much and was not as strong as he had once been. Silent tears crept down Fili's cheeks as he feared for his brother's life. He ran a hand through his hair. Why was he still inside that mountain? Why was he still sat upon that step while his little brother was fighting for his life, if he still had it? He did not care for Thorin, nor his anger, anymore. He did not fear his anger. Let Thorin do what ever he wished, kill him, banish him. He needed to be with the only person who mattered. Kili. So why was he still there? He looked up to see a figure walking towards them, silhouetted against a burst of sunlight. They were no longer wearing fine golden armor or a cloak of fur, a crown did not adorn their brow. But Fili knew who it was. He jumped to his feet, feeling his gut burn with anger.

"I will not hide behind a wall of stone while others fight our battles for us!" He yelled venomously, stepping towards his uncle, who held a sword in his hand, "and nor will I sit here while my little brother is in Dale, unarmed, unprotected, unprepared." His voice began to tremble now. "I will not loose him a third time. I don't have it in me, Thorin." Thorin came to a stop before him but said nothing. He studied Fili, seeing him properly for the first time in what felt like forever. He seemed so changed, so full of anger and grief. There were tear tracks on his cheeks and his blue eyes glistened. Thorin felt his heart pull. What had he done to him to make him like this? He, too, would not abandon Kili and nor would he take shelter while Dain's army was slaughtered. No longer.

"No, we are sons of Durin. And Durin's folk do not flee from a fight." He placed his hand around the back of his nephew's head and smiled, Fili looking at him with uncertainty, and leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Fili's. "We will find him." He felt Fili let out a shaky breath and nod his head. They stayed like that for a moment, a sudden peacefulness, when the only two people in the world were them, before Thorin pulled away, patting the blond's shoulder before passing him and walking towards the others, who had all risen to their feet and watched him with hopeful eyes. He smiled at Dwalin as he passed, and the warrior knew that his friend was back. The real, true, Thorin was back.

"I have no right to ask this of any of you." Thorin said, thinking of how he had let them down, they who had been so loyal. He heard Dwalin and Fili come to stand behind him. "But will you follow me one last time?" And to his surprise and relief they raised their weapons. They would indeed follow thier king.


Fili drummed his fingers on the handles of his swords, eager to join the battle, finally. Finally they would no longer hide away like cowards, finally they would help. He closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath. Hold on, Kili, keep fighting until I reach you. He prayed that they were not too late.

"Fili." Came a voice. Fili opened his eyes to see his uncle walking towards him. "I want to speak to you before we go."

"I don't wish to speak with you." He replied flatly.

"Then listen, at least." Fili rolled his eyes and sighed. He was still angry at Thorin, and that anger would not go away easily. There was too much of his and it still burned too hotly. But he nodded. "I'm sorry for everything I have said and done to you, you have suffered so much that I had no right to add to your suffering. It is my fault that Kili is in Dale now, my fault that he is in danger."

"You're right, it is." He hissed, "You turned him away when he was right in front of you."

"And I shouldn't have, I can see that now. Fili, I can see now for the first time in weeks, how wrong and selfish and ..." Thorin sighed, "I was not myself. I let this place change me when you needed me the most. You were hurting and I did nothing but make it worse. And I will never forgive myself. I promised your mother that I would take care of you both and I let her down, let you down, let Kili down." Tears glistened in his blue eyes. Fili frowned, he could not remember the last time he saw his uncle show remorse or guilt. "I understand your hatred towards me - "

"-Thorin," Fili interjected, holding up a hand. "I don't hate you. I'm still angry at you, yes. And I can't forgive you so easily, not until I have my brother back, not until all this is put right. But I do not hate you." And it was true. Fili believed Thorin's words, his remorse, his apologies, and any hatred he felt dwindled away. He knew none of those things had been said and done by his uncle, it had been the dragon-sickness, all of it. But forgiveness was sometimes a hard thing to give, and at that moment, he could not give it. Because Kili was still in mortal danger and if he was to lose him again, any forgiveness he could conjour up in the future would cease to exist. Thorin sucked in a breath and lay a hand on his nephew's shoulder.

"I understand perfectly," he nodded. He did not deserve forgiveness in that moment. Yes, he needed to put things right. "Thank you, Fili, for being here, for being so loyal."

"There were times where I wasn't, time where I was moments from leaving this place and not coming back. Dwalin convinced me to stay, and you can be sure, I wasn't staying for you, I was staying for them." Fili nodded his head in the direction of the company.

"Then, thank you for being loyal to them when I was not. You are a better person than I, and I am thankful to have you beside me when we enter battle." Thorin smiled, and despite himself, Fili found himself smiling back.

"I will fight beside you always, uncle. It is what we sons of Durin do."

Bombur looked out across the battlefield, already littered with the dead, as he took his place high above it, a large horn snaking around his body and over his left shoulder. In the mountain beneath him his friends were lining up to fight. He pulled in a deep breath and blew, a medolic tune calling the dwarves to battle. The orcs stopped where they were and upon the high cliff Azog looked towards the mountain, his icy blue eyes narrowing. So Oakenshield makes his appearance. And then a huge bell made of solid gold burst from the patched rock, hastily built by the dwarves, a low toll ringing out. It sent the rocks falling downwards, creating a bridge across the icy moat. His lips curled up in a sneer as the Dwarves of Erebor ran forth, weapons held aloft and mighty battle cries spewing from their lungs. Dain's army moved their shields to let them through.

"To the king!" Dain cried, "To the king!" What remained of his force cheered and joined the Erebor dwarves as they ran to battle.

"Dur Bekar!"


-AN-

Howdily doodily readereenos? The Battle begins! The battle will be split into two parts (hopefully not more than that) And as said before, I'll speed a little through it as writing battle scenes isn't my strong point. And as some of you asked, yes, the story will continue on past the battle as I'll be changing how it ended (I was most unhappy about three main points - I'm sure you can guess which ones - and they will not be happening) This story still has a lot to come, perhaps a dozen more chapters dealing with certain things.

This part had a lot of focus on Kili during his fight in Dale. Damn, he has been through so much. And also bits and pieces from the movie as these scenes are inescapable at the moments, but are being twisted along the way. I gave Kili's lines/moment with Thorin to Fili as I felt he was the best character to give them to, I'm sure you'll agree. (Also I squealed so much watching that scene back, it's so damn sweet! And the scene between Dwalin and Thorin? All of the emotion!) And GOOD THORIN IS BACK! Thank Mahal for that! Uncle Thorin has finally returned to us.

So if you enjoyed this part please leave a comment, hearing feedback is the absolute best! And if you haven's already, fave and follow if you wish!

Until the next part (which will hopefully be up in the next few days) DUR BEKAR!