I regained consciousness a few hours later, coughing against the repulsive roll of cloth they had shoved in my mouth. I was dismayed and rather put off to find my arms had been bound around the neck of an orc in order to keep me secure while riding. I was sitting close behind him and was jostled uncomfortably with every stride his warg took over the rocky landscape. His rough armour was chafing my arms something fierce and my head was absolutely pounding. To top it all off, this was one of the few orcs with a bit of a head of hair, which was almost worse than the gag as it rustled about and whipped against my face.
The sun had not yet risen, I realized in a moment of respite from the orc's far from luscious locks.
Fortunately we were soon called to a halt. My rider forcibly freed himself from my involuntary clutch and tugged me to the ground where I almost had my head bit off when I accidentally fell back against his warg's hind leg. I scrambled away from the beast as best I could, trying to ignore the laughter of the rider, and then pushed myself into a more dignified sitting position. I was able to pull the gag out of my mouth, since my hands were bound in front of me, granting me a few much needed deep breaths.
He started yelling at me, pointing at the piece of torn cloth I had just discarded. I held up my hands, trying to calm him. The translator pushed his way over to us and picked up the gag.
"No, please no." I pleaded, quickly leaning back as he made a move to shove it into my mouth once more. "I can't breathe with it. I will be quiet. I promise."
He paused as if debating. "One word," he growled, holding up a greasy finger, "and I'll cut out your tongue." He brandished the edge of his blackened blade close to my face for effect.
I nodded in perfect agreement as he tossed the gag back to the ground and then ambled away.
After a few moments of sitting quietly and on my best behaviour I found I could no longer ignore the dryness in my mouth and throat. I was able to subtly pull out my water canteen from my inner coat pocket, but had just unstoppered it when one of the orcs noticed I had something. I quickly drained its contents as he rushed up to me, knowing it would be taken regardless. He snagged it away from my lips and tipped it upside-down, only a few remaining droplets spilled out. I sneered at him in triumph.
"Undur kurv." he spat at me as he sniffed the top of it. He tossed the canteen over his shoulder, eyeing me suspiciously, then, to my horror he knelt down in front of me and began searching me in the most uncouth manner. His clawed hands forced their way into my jacket, scrabbling into pockets and even shoving up underneath my shirt at one point. He quickly found my stash of gold coins and tucked them into one of his own leather pouches, smiling a greedy, dirty smile. He even took the most mundane things I had still in my coat; a handkerchief, some string, a forgotten piece of dried meat... I scowled at him as he left me sitting there rather rumpled and feeling a little violated.
Azog then shouted something and the riders scrambled back to their mounts. My rider looked down at me disdainfully then called the translator over once more. They spoke for a moment, indicating towards me a few times, then the translator pulled me to my feet whilst the other jumped onto the back of his warg.
"You will hang on." the translator snarled, sending a waft of foul breath into my face. "Hang on or you will die, one way or another." He then gnashed his teeth at me, cut my bindings and lifted me onto the warg behind the other orc. I tried to angle my body as far back from him as possible and was unsure what to do with my hands. Hang on to where? I pondered. Suddenly the warg sprung into motion at his rider's command and I barely had time to fling myself forward and put my arms around his waist lest I fall off the back. He cursed, or what I assume was a curse, though the whole language sounded like cursing to me, and so I loosened my arms. Instead, I gripped onto his armour in the least invasive way I could.
I only pondered letting myself fall off to try and escape very briefly. I knew better than to take their threats idly. There were many wargs spread out both ahead and behind me, howling and snapping at the air and at each other as they ran. Plus we were still on the jagged terrain of the mountains, with abundant drop offs and ravines. The wargs showcased their agile prowess as they effortlessly leapt along the rocky peaks, causing me to cling to the disgusting orc with a vice grip.
I was glad when we left the high precipices of the mountain range to descend down into the comparatively less treacherous foothills.
The first whisper of dawn was just beginning to illuminate the horizon, and at our next break I was feeling considerably better than I had at the first. Still, the immediate stop of both warg and rider, coupled with my not so immediate stop shortly thereafter, led to my face once again being subjected to the wonder that was orcish scalp and hair care.
After withdrawing from the tangled black mess, I realized that the greater strength of the warg pack had broken off, along with the entire compliment of unmounted wargs. Azog and the interpreter rode directly towards my escort. The interpreter spoke, but it was Azog's words. I could tell by the way he looked at me, his face twisting with the savagely gleeful emotion the words must have been meant to convey.
"Seems we've had a bit of luck. We've found your friends, and are on our way to greet them."
I was crestfallen - feeling more like I stood on the edge of a great void now than I had even on the High Pass.
"Oh, don't worry, you'll be joining us. We wouldn't want an important member of Thorin Oakenshield's company to miss them."
Azog pointed with his metallic appendage to the rider I was with, barking a command which needed no translation to get its meaning across. Keep her here, out of sight, until the time is right.
The howls of wargs on the scent caused Azog to tilt his head to the side, like a dog listening to a distant sound. I knew what it meant, and he knew that I knew. His sky blue eyes, which had been turned in the direction of the distant sounds, slowly returned toward me and a maniacal smirk twisted its way across his features. His gaze was so intent that it held my attention wholly and uninterrupted.
Afterwards, I couldn't tell how long the look had lasted, for it was such a small part of such a large journey, but the next thing I could remember was watching the back of the pale white orc on the pale white warg, riding away into the morning mists.
After that I lost consciousness a second time, and the pain of a heavy impact to the base of the skull was just as bad as the first time.
A horridly bitter scent brought me back to the world of the living; some foul liquid wafted somewhere close. My vision was blurred, and for a moment I wondered if I was still on the mountaintop at the heart of the storm. There was light though - bright, orange light that danced and swayed. I lifted a hand to shield my eyes from the centre of the apparent starburst, only to recoil at the pain of exposing my injured fingers to the heat of the nearby flames. I drew in a sharp breath instinctively, only to fill my lungs with the same heat and the smoke of the fires. My lungs voided what sparse air they had, and the racking cough coupled with the blunt trauma to my head threatened to void my stomach as well.
My knees gave way.
The stony bite of the ground never came. Somewhere behind me a hand grasped roughly at my overcoat and held me effortlessly. The support was welcome. Sounds began to trickle in like the steady increase of raindrops in an intensifying storm, as my brain struggled to compensate and correct itself. Ahead, through the blur, a ghostly white giant faced the flames. From behind, a black shape loomed in my peripherals.
"Do you see your friends, deary?" the grating voice of the translator jeered. An arm reached outwards to gesture to the heart of the blaze. "Stuck with nowhere to run. We even landed ourselves a wizard." His tongue flicked out to trace across his filed teeth, and then he dropped his voice. "You know where that leaves you, don't you?"
Though my vision was clearing, I couldn't see far enough through the blaze to know if what the orc said was true. Still, I would end up dead sooner or later. In a moment of clarity, however, I decided that when to die would be a matter of my own choosing.
"Let me draw them out!"
My words were slurred, my voice thick but bearing all the remaining strength I could muster. My throat burned with even that effort, but it needed to be loud enough, for my words were not meant for the translator.
I could see Azog, still sitting atop his warg, turn his head lazily to look back at me, he smiled, and I understood the horrible reality of my situation. He had the dwarves right where he wanted them. They would die of exposure if not from flames or the fall. I was no better. He would have to be a fool to even bother with me now but I had no idea of how truly evil he could be.
"Thrak gruiuk!"
The command ramped up my senses into overdrive. The translator roughly shoved me forward towards the white beast of a creature, keeping his hand firmly on my back, which I was somewhat thankful for as I stumbled through the debris of the fires.
My heart started racing.
My eyes darted around for any possible chance or hope.
My breath quickened.
I was drawing near to Azog's left side, and I knew my list of options was quickly diminishing. Panic overruled reason and I opened my mouth to speak, but as I stepped up beside the warg I finally saw the fate of the dwarves. Whatever words I had planned were lost as I saw them, their situation as helpless as mine. I had no time to process it. No time at all.
I looked up at Azog, he had been watching me. He smirked and shook his head before looking back up towards the dwarves, and in doing so with one smooth, nonchalant motion; he dipped down and savagely drove the spikes of his metal arm deep into the back of my shoulder. The translator held my other shoulder firm while the points drove in. My lungs instinctively drew in a sharp, startled breath as the blades sank home. I looked down in a daze and saw one spike protruding right through the front of my tunic. Surprisingly I only felt an odd pressure, the adrenalin in my blood numbing the majority of the pain. Azog sneered down at me and once again held me in a gaze of timeless, unbridled hatred.
He then twisted his arm, I screamed as the curved blades wrenched at my flesh and bound the fabrics of my clothing. He then pulled my weight up towards him. As to when the translator released me, I did not know, but shortly thereafter my feet left the ground.
Azog held me up effortlessly. My legs dangled uselessly by the side of his warg. I could not struggle, nor hardly move. I fought to remain still and to remain conscious. He rumbled a laugh and straightened his arm, lifting me higher over the precipice his warg perched upon, and from my vantage point I gained a clear view over the flames. After a few seconds - which felt like a lifetime - I noticed a lone dark figure charging forth through the smoke.
Thorin Oakenshield was coming for me, I thought with a sad sweetness. He's coming to save me.
As he drew closer, though, I realized it was no normal determination driving him onwards, it was pure loathing. No, he was not coming for me - he was coming for Azog the Defiler. With another twist, his lethal appendage was free from the tangle of my clothing, forcing my wounded shoulder to take all my weight. Not for long though, as when Thorin neared, Azog swung his arm to the side with all his strength. I was thrown down without a second thought. As I collided with the hard ground several feet below, Azog and his warg lunged forward over me towards the oncoming dwarf lord.
My injury, coupled by my aching head and the trauma of the fall, tunneled my vision. When I regained my breath I turned my head and could make out the figure of Thorin through the smoke. I watched in detached terror as he struggled to his feet only to receive a heavy blow to the chest from Azog's mace, knocking him roughly to the ground once more. Tears filled my eyes as the giant warg savagely took Thorin in its mouth. I could hear his yells of pain through the dull roar of the fire. This roused me out of my semi-conscious state and into action. I rolled onto my chest and managed to get my good arm beneath me, biting back angry sobs as my ruined shoulder hindered and slowed my every move. I pushed myself up onto my knees and saw that the beast had tossed Thorin aside. A nearby orc dismounted, I tried to duck into the shadows, not wanting to draw attention to myself, but it paid me no heed and began to walk towards Thorin, its weapon at the ready. I stared dumbly at the orc's sword as he drew nearer to the fallen dwarf and vaguely recalled I had no weapons of my own, nor did I have even a semblance of a plan.
I tried to stand, but my legs were unsteady beneath me. My world was spinning and I stumbled forward, crying out as my hands involuntarily shot out to break my fall, my arm giving way in an excruciating manner when it met contact with the ground. My chin collided with the dirt. A part of me wanted to stay like that. I was nearly at the end of my limits, and it seemed an easy thing to just stay lying in the dirt, letting the flames close in around me. But I didn't. I pushed myself up once more, the smoke was stinging my already watering eyes, but I could see that the orc was upon Thorin, his weapon poised to strike. It was hopeless, I couldn't get to him in time. We were all going to die.
Suddenly a small form collided with the orc just as his strike was about to fall. It was Bilbo. I could hardly believe my eyes. I smiled despite everything and found the strength to get up. It took a moment to steady myself, then finally my feet were firmly beneath me. I heard a savage growl nearby and turned to see one of the riderless wargs advancing on me, I took a few steps back, cradling my useless arm.
The beast crouched into a spring, ready to finish me, until its attention was drawn to the sudden war shouts of half a dozen dwarves who, having freed themselves from the cliff side, now made a desperate charge to save their leader. All across the cliff I saw the dwarves clash with orcs and wargs, attempting to form a line between the enemy and their hapless companions, but they were too few to avoid being attacked from all angles.
The warg I was worried about had no time to react to their heroic charge, and ended up with one of Fili's swords splitting its head right through the skull. Another charged Fili from behind, its rider all but useless now with the fire causing such chaos, but the dwarf managed to draw his second sword and deliver a debilitating slash into the beast's wide jaws. The warg's head turned with the impact of the blow, teeth clamping down on Fili's sword as it stumbled and rolled towards Fili, who released both his weapons to stagger backwards away from the impending mass of flesh and bone.
He came to a stop before me, unarmed and unprepared for the sudden attack of the warg's rider, who had managed to deftly land on its feet as the two wargs collided behind. I watched wide-eyed as the orc advanced, and as it drew closer, I realized with horror that I recognized it: the long disgusting hair of the orc that I had burdened not so long ago. There was no question that the orc recognized me too, for he raised his sword and advanced with renewed vigor. Fili waited for the last moment, and then lunged forwards to catch the orc's forearms, stopping the fall of the curved, wicked blade held aloft in the creature's hands. They spun before me, and I could see the dwarf's triumphant grin opposite the orc's hateful scowl until the orc was between the dwarf and I.
Fili's triumph was short lived though, for behind him the wounded warg rose up, a waterfall of black blood foaming around its lips.
"Fili!" I shouted in warning, then threw myself forward despite my injury and locked my good arm around the orc's throat in a vice-grip. Fili looked me in the eyes, and I looked back with steely determination. He nodded faintly in thanks, wrenched the orc's sword from its hand and spun to face the warg. As Fili clashed with the beast, I was forced backwards by the violent struggle of the orc, who twisted and dug its sharp fingernails deep into my arm. Armour plating roughly grated across my injury in the struggle, and it was all I could do to barely hold on as I took several steps backwards.
The orc's head smashed back into my nose and my vision went black, stars sparkling across my eyes. The thick hair of the orc got into my mouth, the taste almost as effective at choking me as my arm was at choking it. One more step backwards, and then another.
My next step was met with much less resistance. My senses spread beyond my immediate danger to realize a much more serious one, for the edge of the cliff was right behind me. I halted my backwards momentum, barely able to get the toes of my foot onto solid ground. The orc must have assumed he was wearing me down, for it stopped pushing backwards and renewed its efforts at wrenching me free from its neck. I could not hold on any longer. The pain was too great. I released the orc, who stepped free from my grasp, spun and lunged wildly at me. With the last of my waning strength, I spun too, and with a grace I thought only reserved for the elves, I took one simple step backwards. The orc fell. I smiled a crooked smile, and the world began to fade around me.
Then, in a not so graceful move, I fell too.