There is no greater torture than waiting.

Waiting with no purpose or hope of deliverance, while death looms nearer and nearer.

Such was the torture we faced.

I tried to keep Bard's children distracted with light conversation but, as the day wore on, silence eventually overtook us, and our thoughts turned to those we had been forced to part from. Finally, the silence became too much. I left Bain, Sigrid and Tilda under the pretence of finding them something to eat, and once far enough from their view I leaned up against one of the great hall's pillars and let my head rest against the cool stone.

The cold was refreshing, and brought some clarity with it, but also memory. Memory of the cold waters of the river Bofur and I had swam in, memory of the fear I had felt when parted from the company in the mountains - not fear for myself, but for them. Here I was again, separate from them once more, and this time with so much more to lose. My hand reached up to follow the strands of hair down my braid to the wooden token of Bofur's affections, and tears strayed unbidden to my eyes.

"Poor dear," some strange woman cooed into my ear, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. "Don't fret, we'll be alright."

"I'm not crying because I'm worried about us!" I snapped, causing her to jump and stiffen.

"I'm sorry." I said gently after taking a breath. I looked at her for the first time and was surprised to see she looked more thoughtful then offended.

She nodded. "To be honest dear, I don't think anyone here is worried about themselves." Then suddenly she stood up and addressed the crowd.

"Look at us, sitting here like fat hens in a coop!" she preached, stepping to the wall and picking up a large makeshift spear. "I say we stand with our men, in life, and in death!"

I smiled and felt a small courage and hope blossom within me as she encouraged the able women to arm themselves. Grateful for the opportunity to actually do something about our situation, I quickly cast my eyes around the hall and fortunately I saw what I was looking for. I ran up to a man who was leaning up against the back wall, his leg wrapped tight with cloth seeped through with blood. An older woman was leaning over him, fussing over a large cut on his face.

"Might I borrow your sword?" I asked, indicating to the sheathed longsword that lie forgotten at his side. They both stared at me a moment in shock then finally the man nodded once. I thanked him as I grabbed the weapon and then returned to the group who were preparing for battle. I was surprised to see not only most of the women, but also the majority of the elderly, had taken up arms to fight. I grinned at the toughness of these people - my people - despite the sinking feeling that this was the final stand, and that our purpose was simply to go out with a bang.

The group had taken what armour and weapons they could from the wounded and a lady with grey hair and steely eyes helped me into an old brigandine to protect my torso. I wrinkled my nose at the smell of the molded leather and rusty steel, but was grateful for the protective layer. I buckled the scabbard across my chest so that the longsword hung down my back, then tested drawing it over my shoulder. It was heavy, a motion I was not used to, but when I brought the sword in front of me and gripped it with both hands I felt a small sense of familiarity, remembering my crash course with Fili. Another woman approached and offered me a helm but, after a moment's thought, I refused, wanting my vision to be completely unobstructed.

Finally, the barricade was removed and we all gathered in front of the door, glancing at each other, hiding our nervousness behind resolved eyes. I saw Bain amidst the crowd, holding up a sword in front of him, his face set with obstinate determination, and I knew he would fight to the very end in hopes of saving his sisters. My thoughts flashed briefly to Bilbo and Gandalf, and I wondered if they had made it to the city... if they were still alive somewhere...

The sounds of fighting were now all around us, and we could tell what few of our warriors had remained to defend the great hall would soon be overwhelmed.

"They're here!" Someone shouted from one of the windows, and through the crack in the great doors we watched orcs blunder into the courtyard. The woman who had rallied us to arms urged us to wait, counting down until they were nearly upon us, until finally with a shout we burst through the doors and charged down the stairs to meet the enemy head on.

I raced down the steps, one of the front-runners and pushed on by a swell of bodies behind me as we rushed forwards, all the fear and desperation from Smaug's attack, the helplessness of being in a battle we could not escape from, all channelled into this single purpose. Using my momentum to my advantage, I swung hard at one of the orcish party and my blade sunk deep into its shoulder, rendering its arm useless.

I could only guess that these orcs had not encountered any sizable defense up to this point - likely only the weak and wounded in small groups - as our sudden furious attack in such great numbers caused them to try to fall back, but to no avail.

The power and desperation in our initial chaotic collision allowed us to strike down their most courageous on the front lines, and we were then able to fight our way through the less sure amidst their numbers, those that had tried to hide in the masses and only offered a feeble fight before trying to flee, which put them at the disadvantage.

After doing what I felt was my fair share, I climbed back up the first few steps, gaining a better vantage over the combat site. Those injured now retreated back into the hall, limping or being carried, yet for every fallen human, several orcs now lay dead. When our fearless leader stepped up to join me, her look of triumph faltered slightly when she noticed I was not smiling. I had seen the legions of Azog the Defiler, and I knew that this was but a single rain drop in the storm raging beyond the courtyard. It was merely a small victory, but the war was far from over.

A few ragged shouts drew our attention - not in the tongue of orcs, but of men. From up one of the side-streets from the East, Percy the gatekeeper and a few stragglers bustled into our midst. The women surrounded them, immediately searching for loved ones and tending the wounded. Percy made his way to the foot of the stairs, explaining how the war as a whole was progressing.

"...elves are holding the main avenue, but are being pushed back. Bard was trying to link up with them last we saw. We have no archers left and the east wall is in ruins. The city will soon be overrun."

He looked up at us as he drew near, and took my grim demeanour to be a direct result of his ill-news. He offered a hopeful grimace.

"There's some hope yet, miss. Last thing we saw before abandoning the battlements was the dwarves charging from the mountain. They had horns blowing and bells ringing as the dwarves rallied to their king and his company." He climbed the steps past me, patting me on the shoulder as he went. "What a sight it was."

I stood numbly on the stairs as people moved here and there about me, as still as a statue with only my expression changing - first to disbelief, then to shock as I ran through his words again, slowly. Their king and his company.

"Bofur." I whispered, startling those around me as I suddenly began a wild flight up the stairs and into the hall. Moments later, I charged forth through the doors on Bard's white stallion, leaving people gawping in my wake as I galloped across the courtyard. The horse vaulted the barricades hastily erected on the main avenue, which I rushed down at breakneck speed towards the last known position of the elves.

The conflict should have been heaviest there, and while I passed a few pockets of fighting I spotted no sign of Thranduil or his Royal Guard. Had I not had such single-minded purpose, I may have found that fact to be disturbing, but less fighting played out in my favour, and so in little less than a few minutes I was thundering up to the gatehouse and the main causeway.

As I approached, the body of a large animal came into view, and for a moment I feared wargs had joined the battle. Warily closing the distance, it became clear this was no warg, but in fact an elk of massive proportions. I slowed my horse to a walk, guiding it around the body while regarding it with detached curiosity, when I suddenly recognized it as the great mount of Thranduil. Finally, the absence of the elves struck me. With such a vast and powerful host completely absent from the field of battle, my fear for Bofur only intensified. I slowed to a stop, hastily looking about for the body of the elven king, but saw no sign of him. With no more time to spare, I steadied myself for what was ahead. Then, with no small degree of caution, I nudged the horse forward onto the causeway and caught my first view of the nightmare that was open warfare.

There were no marching lines of troops in glittering armour. No banner-men waving their flags high. This was whole and total chaos. The orderly combat manoeuvres I had witnessed in the early stages of battle had degenerated to individual fighting - every man, elf, dwarf and orc for themselves. There was no way of telling where to even start looking for Bofur, but if he was with Thorin, I imagined him to be where the fighting was thickest - right where my natural instincts urged me to avoid.

I knew I was simply a target, a vulnerable one at that, especially if I tried to charge through the valley on a large steed. I could not slay a hundred foes and turn the tides of the battle. I could not make an impact whatsoever... but that was not my purpose. Dale was infested - there was nowhere to hide, and there was no escape. I would be lucky to survive until sunset, no matter where I was. My purpose was not to be the hero, but to try and find Bofur, to be by his side for the end... whatever end.

I was already being too slow in my actions, as a few orcs had noticed my stalled position and began rushing onto the stone bridge. I reached behind me and gripped the handle of my sword, but then thought better of it. I could not wield it with just one hand, and likely could not control the horse either. Instead I returned proper grip on the reins, kicked my horse hard and leaned forward as we burst into a gallop. Luckily the orcs were not expecting such a hasty onslaught and had no time to prepare a strike; instead, the lucky ones jumped aside while the others were run down as I unexpectedly charged through the group.

I urged my horse faster as we set foot upon the valley, guiding him to follow along the banks of the frozen river, trying to flank most of the action as I attempted to cover as much distance as I could. I knew I was likely committing the animal to death - it was only a matter of time, but I also knew that on foot I would make little to no progress at all. I rode hard, often having to violently skirt to the side as orcs lunged in efforts to cut us down.

Surprised and slightly emboldened by my progress, I began to veer towards the centre of the valley, where the fighting became denser, but I could only avoid confrontation for so long. Like I suspected, it was just a matter of time. I struggled to direct the frightened stallion through the growing chaos and over the sea of bodies, but suddenly it seemed that every orc ahead of us had become acutely aware of our presence, and they all wanted to put an end to it.

When I finally saw the strike, there was nothing I could do. A crude, black blade hit my mount square in the chest, buckling its front legs as it tumbled forward to its death. There was the briefest of moments where I felt myself flying, falling through the air as I was hurdled over the neck of the animal in its abrupt stop. The breath was forced out of my body as I landed hard, grinding into the ground before I came to a halt on my back.

Pain surged through me and I struggled to move. I had no time to lay still and recover, and I felt my longsword digging into me uncomfortably. I pushed myself up in a rush, staggering slightly, but the enemies advancing towards me on all sides coerced my legs to become rock steady. I reached behind with my hand, ignoring the drumming pain in my shoulder and neck, as I drew out my weapon.

Then I was only reacting. I had no time for thought. No time for fear. I simply had to react. I had to react correctly... or die. The reach of my sword enabled me to keep the orcs at a more manageable distance. I was quick, and light on my feet, but heavy with my strikes as I focused my entire body's weight behind each blow.

I killed two rather quickly, but more kept pressing forward. I could not move off, I could not even stop to look around. That's when the doubt began to leach into my mind, distracting my subconscious actions in combat, filling me with fear and causing me to falter. Suddenly a blade was halting my own, and an orc much stronger than I was pushing my sword away with his. He stepped towards me, a jagged dagger held aloft in his other hand.

I did not know what to do.

I jerked back in alarm when suddenly his head toppled from his shoulders and to my feet. I looked up to see Thorin staring at me, black blood dripping from his sword tip. Without a word he sidestepped and began slaughtering the cluster of orcs that surrounded us. I gathered my wits and urged myself into motion once more.

Having seen Thorin in only one other battle, and in that case having witnessed his defeat at the hands of a massive warg after fighting his way through an entire mountain full of goblins, I was unsure what to expect. The king, however, proved his mettle. Every one of his strikes seemed perfectly timed, and while I had a hard time focusing on one enemy, he dodged, spun and struck, engaging several foes at once in spite of my bumbling performance.

After I finally managed to get a clean hit on a particularly nimble orc, I admired Thorin's handiwork as he brought his sword down into the neck of one, pulled it clean to parry another's blade coming in from behind him, spun and knocked a shield out of the way as easily as batting a curtain aside, punched the shield-bearer so hard as to drop the creature to the ground, drove his sword into the orc wielding the blade he had just parried, grabbed said blade and threw it into the shoulder of the orc he had punched - all of that, in very quick succession. The few orcs that survived turned heel and ran.

Finally we had some air, and Thorin firmly took my arm and pulled me to an overturned chariot, tugging me down so that we were both ducking behind it. I leaned against the side, breathing hard, my muscles burning, and dropped my sword for a moment to stretch my hand. I then glanced at Thorin and appraised him almost fearfully. I noticed he no longer donned the heavy ceremonial armour I had last seen him in, but instead only wore a chainmail hauberk for protection which, if anything, made him seem even more formidable. His gaze, however, seemed clear and sharp.

"I thought my eyes had deceived me - you should not be here. The battlefront is no place-" he began but I cut him off.

"My place is alongside Bofur... with the company." I said evenly, though my voice was rather strained from the growing soreness of my body.

His expressionsoftened slightly, the shadow of a smile on his mouth. He reached a hand up and placed it on my shoulder then leaned in slightly.

"I have wronged you." he began earnestly, causing me to blink in disbelief. "I am ashamed of my actions. I am sorry to have ever questioned your loyalty." He smirked and shook his head slightly. "Not just any woman would fight her way through an orc army to reunite with a dwarf."

I smiled somewhat as Thorin peered over the chariot for a moment. He ducked back down and met my eyes once more.

"If it is any consolation now, I give you and Bofur my blessing." he continued, giving my shoulder a quick squeeze then dropping his hand. "He loves you fiercely."

Thorin suddenly jumped up as an orc vaulted over the side of the cart. He dodged out of the way and elbowed the creature in the back so hard it fell forward onto the ground. Without hesitation he plunged his blade into the orc's back, twisting until it began to twitch piteously.

He yanked free his sword then quickly knelt back down in front of me. "More are coming. Prepare yourself."

"Thorin. I-" my mouth was dry. He looked at me urgently. "I don't know if I can." I whispered, frustrated tears filling my eyes. I was almost spent. I could not carry on much longer.

"You can, because you have to." he encouraged, pulling me to my feet and handing me my sword.

The metal chariot behind us rolled forward, causing us to lunge out of the way as the massive club of a troll levered it up and over onto the earth we had been sitting on seconds prior. The troll was set upon by several dwarves, but was still causing catastrophic damage with its wild death throes, forcing us back into the heat of the battle. Thorin was once again beset on all sides, and it was all I could do to avoid getting in his way, while watching for the opportune moment to strike a blow or distract one orc away from the multitude around us.

As I stood panting after a particularly intense bout, one hand on my knee while the other balanced on the pommel of my sword which rested tip first in the ground, I heard Thorin shout from where he had just finished off an orc with a hefty overhand swing.

"Dain!"

The ebb of battle lessened slightly for a moment, and I could see the king's fiery cousin closing in on us. Thorin spun to finish another orc, while I lunged forward from my position to drive my sword up under the arm of an enemy taking a wild spear thrust at my companion's exposed back.

"Hold on! I'm coming!" I heard as the wild dwarf warrior leapt onto the back of one of his quarries and rode it to Thorin's side. It appeared the casual grace of killing ran in the Durin family lines, as he easily dispatched both his unfortunate 'mount' along with two more with his massive warhammer before embracing Thorin roughly.

"Hey cousin, what took you so long?!" he demanded as he pulled back. He then looked over the king's shoulder to see me pulling my blade clear of the spear-wielding orc before wiping it on my sleeve. I finally turned and closed the distance towards them, hearing Dain half-whisper to Thorin out of the corner of his mouth as I did.

"Blimey, I thought tha' was an elf..." He straightened up, leaning on the haft of his hammer with one hand while still clasping Thorin's shoulders with his other arm.

"You dog you, stopping to flirt with every pretty face on the battlefield, eh? You're as bad as Dis's sons, 'cept with none of the charm." He let go of Thorin with a laugh and reached out his hand to me in greeting, and so I lifted mine, only to be surprised by the dwarf bringing it to his lips to kiss it - such a gentleman on a battlefield.

"Dain Ironfoot, at yer service lass."

I could see Thorin rolling his eyes behind Dain, and offered a wry smile and the slightest shrug of a shoulder to the king in response, as if to say 'I'll take what I can get'. This caused a rare moment - one, if not the only time, I made the surly Thorin Oakenshield laugh, even if it was stifled by his fist the moment it left his lips and thus came out more like a snort. Still, his eyes betrayed him.

Dain let my hand drop and turned back to Thorin. I followed and stood just back to one side of them, my eyes flitting around nervously looking for Bofur as they spoke.

"I hate to admit it, but we're right buggered cous'." Dain grumbled, casting his eyes out at the carnage. "Any ideas?"

Thorin cast his eyes to the hill on which Azog commanded his legions, and then looked back to us with conviction.

"We're going to take out their leader."

"Azog." Dain muttered in slight apprehension.

"I'm going to kill that piece of filth!" Thorin spat, his eyes glinting.

"Thorin. You can't do this. You're our king." Dain protested, stepping forward as he shifted his hammer to his other hand.

"It has to be me." Thorin uttered, and I saw in him then the leader he truly was, the reason why he had such loyal and dedicated followers, the true King Under the Mountain.

"You plan to fight your way single-handed to Ravenhill. Fine, you won't be doing it on foot though." Dain called out to one of his cohorts, who pulled out a small horn and blew on it.

"You still know how to ride ram, eh?" The larger dwarf asked, patting Thorin on the shoulder and nodding through the throng towards the mountain. Miraculously, a surviving goat galloped through, heeding the call of the horn. It stopped right next to us, waiting for a rider. Thorin grinned and took the reigns.

"I can ride a far sight better than you could weighing what you do now." The king smirked, mounting the ram with grace. "No wonder you switched to the pig."

"Hey, you watch it. Show some respect for the dearly departed." Dain glowered, brandishing his hammer towards Thorin. "Just 'cause your king doesn't mean I won't knock you on your backside." Thorin laughed.

From the direction of the mountain, I heard a distinctly familiar shout above the turmoil. It seemed Thorin's wasn't the only creature that heeded the call of the horn.

"Halt!"

Dain and I were suddenly forced back as the dwarven ranks parted to make way for one of their war chariots, which skittered to halt alongside us, somewhat unceremoniously. Dwalin manned the automatic crossbow, and was now glancing back at his brother incredulously. Fili and Kili were clinging to the edges, while Balin, at the reins, cast a reluctant glance down towards us.

"Well, it's been a while since I've done this." He admitted to us all.

"It seems I wasn't the only one with this idea." Thorin mused, appraising his comrades. "To Ravenhill then!"

"Thorin, wait!" I shouted before he could urge his steed forward, and at that moment the others seemed to become aware of my presence.

Kili uttered my name in disbelief, while Fili, Balin and Dwalin stared down at me with wide-eyes. I glanced towards Kili, trying to placate his concerned expression with a reassuring smile. He shook his head, frowning, and began to say something but I held up my hand and cut him off, looking back to Thorin.

"Where is he?" I asked the king urgently.

"Eastward, towards the valley's centre with his kin." Thorin directed with an arm. "Don't stop." he added, fixing me with a hard stare.

I quickly surveyed the direction he had indicated, and saw only disorder and death. I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders and nodded.

Seeing I was done, Thorin gave an encouraging shout, kicked his ram and sent it careening into motion. Balin held the chariot for a moment longer and I dared to peer up at them all, my gaze automatically setting on Kili's conflicted face. I could tell he was debating staying behind.

"Go!" I shouted to them, but directing my comment to Kili. "I'll be alright." He still seemed reluctant, so I tried to reassure him. "I had good teachers, remember? Besides, I made it this far, didn't I?"

Kili's nodded slightly, setting his jaw. "You two had better be alive when I get back!" He ordered with mock severity, pointing towards me. "I've put far too much work into your relationship to have it wasted by a few mangy orcs!"

I smiled and stepped away from the chariot.

"Hold tight, lads!" Balin shouted after sparing me one more glance before the chariot lurched forward.

"They're all mad bastards!" Dain shouted, looking to me with a smile. "I like it." he added. Yet he looked back towards his kin, his countenance becoming more sombre as we watched them speed away towards Ravenhill. "May Durin save you all." he muttered quietly.

We did not have long to linger in thought as another wave of orcs swept in on our position. Thorin and the chariot were engulfed into their ranks, but their wake was only visible for a moment before they closed in and our enemy charged. Their momentum carried them far into the dwarvish battle lines, and I quickly found that we were once again on the front lines - and by 'we', I meant just myself.

I quickly looked around, but Dain was no longer at my side, the fight taking him further into the valley while orcs circled around to flank his position. This brought them directly into my path. I sucked in a breath, looking over the host of enemies that now had eyes only for me.

I then grinned stupidly as I sheathed my sword and simply turned tail and ran. I did not look back.

I roughly shoved an orc in front of me aside, and then dodged around a dwarf deep in combat. As I ran, I looked at every dwarf a second longer and desperately hoped Bofur had not donned an actual helm or he would blend in with them all. My side was soon aching, sweat dripping down my forehead and stinging my eyes, and I was only forced to stop when an orc finally succeeded in engaging me, blocking my progress with an outstretched weapon. I rapidly calculated my chance of escape, feinting to one side only to be mirrored by the savage creature, and realized I would have no choice but to fight.

The orc charged.

In my youth, when told tales of combat by my father, I had always imagined the hero having ample time to draw his sword, face off his opponent and spout some witty remark. Even in my own limited experience, when beset with enemies earlier on, it had been relatively easy to unsheathe my weapon while standing still. In this case, however, I barely had time to turn and run back the way I came, wildly grasping for my sword hilt and trying to wrench it from its scabbard, while the orc barrelled forward behind me at full speed. Finally the longsword came free. I regretted spending so much time on complicated manoeuvres and none on practicing such a simple, and necessary, motion. Getting both hands about its hilt I swung wildly, letting the weight of the blade carry me around.

I hit absolutely nothing, but the swing had an unintentional side effect.

The orc, heavily armoured as it was, was running full tilt to catch up to me, and would have done brilliantly if not for my sudden unexpected twist to one side, which caused the orc to overshoot and crash into a defensive circle of dwarves. The dwarven shield wall broke open, and instantly the orc was pulled through to be dispatched within. One of them beckoned to me, his shield still down to allow me access to the protection offered beyond, but I shook my head with a rueful smile then turned to continue towards Bofur's last known position.

I kept my sword drawn now. On my way further into the valley, where Thorin and company led the dwarves' final charge, the fighting grew heavier. I was forced to skirt away from a line of enemies that had approached from the south but I soon found that northwards, in the shadow of the mountain, was even worse off. Here I found I was completely at the mercy of the ebb and flow of the battle, and my progress towards my destination slowed to a painful crawl while waiting for my odds of survival to increase to something above negligible at best.

It was during this waiting that the dwarves around me suddenly began shouting desperately in Khuzdul and closing ranks, falling back from the location they had been pushing towards. It only took a quick look in that direction to see why. I watched in fearful awe as a large mutilated troll bouldered towards us through the orcs, heading in the direction of the river. Its feet and hands were severed and replaced with heavy weapons, and it had driving chains stuck through its eyelids.

The blind creature was effectively crushing anything it stepped on, and, fortunately, happened to decimate the orcs that had been hindering our advance. Its driver was clearly a rather despicable orc, one with no interest in distinguishing between his allies and foes - that, or the troll was out of control, as it seemed to be killing far more orcs than dwarves as it wandered helter-skelter on its way. In fact, it seemed like it wasn't killing any dwarves at all. I cast my eyes up to the saddle on the back of the huge beast as it meandered away, and my mouth dropped open as I caught sight of the rider.

"Bofur?" I questioned disbelievingly to myself. I squinted, trying to get a good look at the figure that was quickly growing smaller as the distance between us grew. There was no mistaking that tell-tale floppy hat wobbling with each heavy step.

Dwarves around me were coming to the same realization, and their tactical retreat turned into a full blown advance in the disarray left by Bofur's unexpected appearance. I, however, cursed as I realized I had travelled needlessly into the heart of the battle and now had to retrace my steps and work my way back towards the river after all. At least the dwarves would clear my way for a short time, though not long enough for me to catch up to the blasted troll.

As I began back westward, Fili's tutelage undoubtedly saved my life countless times when confronted by foes, though more and more often I had to rely on my allies for help. Despite several hasty offers for protection, I forced myself to continue on alone behind the troll's path of destruction, with fatigue beginning to wear on me.

My weariness led to mistakes.

In my search for an easy way back towards the river's edge, I strayed too far into the orcish ranks, and eventually was encircled by a ring of taunting foes. They egged each other on; making remarks in their crude tongue, until finally one was shoved forward and set upon me. I fought it with reckless abandon and the first orc fell to my sword. The second lasted much longer, and I couldn't help but shake the feeling that it was toying with me, much the same as Kili had during practice.

Unknowing tears streamed down my face and I began to accept and prepare myself for the inevitable end. I would certainly feel foolish if the war was won, and Bofur came to look for me in Dale, like he promised he would, but here I would be, dead on the battlefield in some foolish attempt at bravado - though, of course I wouldn't feel foolish, or anything else for that matter - I'd be dead. Yet judging from the looks of things, and hearing the desperate shouts ring out across the valley, I very much doubted there was much hope for anybody.

I choked back a cry as another orc lunged forward at me only an instant after the second one received a fatal strike. I was forced into using one hand against the flat of my blade to brace my sword against the power of its oncoming blow. I stumbled back, barely clutching my sword as I fell hard against the ground. My hands trembled with the shock they had absorbed, unresponsive to my desires to lift them up and protect myself. The orc raised its sinister weapon high, only to suddenly lurch sideways so hard that it flew several feet horizontally and scattered the wall of its orcish kin. My would-be killer was replaced by the business-end of the massive red warhammer of Dain.

"Takes a special kind'a scumbag to draw out the death of another. Couldn't let the bastards have the satisfaction now could we?" He asked, roughly grasping my shoulder and hauling me abruptly to my feet despite my taller stature.

I reeled at what had seemed to be my immediate demise, whirling about and drawing in shaky gasps. Staggering around, I watched with detached recognition as Dain's dwarves carved into the orcish ranks, clearing a small area once more. Dain was still talking, but I could hardly understand him at the best of times, and I only caught the tail end of his urgings - something about not sauntering off so deep behind enemy lines again. Clarity caught up with me, and I leaned on my sword and drew a steadier breath, focusing on the way forward.

"Yeh alright then, lass?" Dain shouted at me as he hefted up his weapon, sparing me another quick glance before locking eyes with his next target.

I nodded at him though he was already moving off.

I looked around, knowing that each break in the fighting, each clearing, was extremely temporary - a fleeting moment of rest until the constant tide of enemies and allies fluxed into new positions to find new targets. I knew my odds of becoming a target were increasing each minute I lingered in this mess. I no longer had the strength to fell targets of my own. The enemy was beginning to swarm around me once more and I recoiled towards some of the armoured Ironfoot warriors.

In that moment I finally caught a glimpse of the dwarf I had faced death to find.

No longer atop the troll, I watched Bofur fight in harmony with his brother and cousin only a few yards away.

I shouted his name, and though there was likely no chance of him hearing me over the din of battle, I liked to think that the next whirl of his head was on my behalf, and not simply to seek out his next target. Before anyone could stop me, I was moving forward along the carnage, stepping numbly between sparring combatants towards the one I loved. In my mind I pictured him turning to see me in a moment of respite... him rushing towards me to wrap me in his arms...

In reality, it was a gruesome looking goblin who embraced my lower leg, snapping me out of my reverie. It leered at me vilely as it flashed a wicked looking knife, and my immediate reaction was to punch it as fast as I could in the face, hard. Unfortunately, the goblin's larger counterpart now facing me down would not be dealt with so easily. I rose up on tiptoes, trying to spot Bofur somewhere nearby, but to no avail. I reached a hand back to feel for the longsword's now near familiar hilt. Then I took a more wild grasp for it. Nothing.

"Sod it..." I hissed in frustration, remembering now that I had left the sword standing upright, tip buried some several paces away after I became distracted by seeing Bofur on the field. To be so close to my goal, having come through a battlefield of trained killers, only to be routed by an unarmoured goblin mercenary mostly because I forgot my sword, would be so unfair. At least I could make a good go of it. I raised my fists - my only experience in unarmed combat being from watching bar room brawls - and went to step forward, only to be grabbed once again by the damned little vermin, now with a much uglier face.

I fell to my knees with a scream as it tripped me, furious at first, then hopeless. The large goblin advanced, its tiny counterpart skittering around to join it. I slammed my fists into the ground and shouted Bofur's name once more, willing him to see me with all the hope I had left.

Find me.

The tiny goblin crumpled into the dirt, flattened completely by the hammer blow to its head. My initial thought was Dain, to the rescue again, but as the larger goblin was dispatched by a violent strike to the side of its face, I looked up, and there he was - the answer to my plea.

Tears fell from my face once more, and I bent the rest of the way forward towards the ground, my whole body trembling as adrenalin thrummed through it. Before my elbows touched the blood stained dirt, he was sliding quickly onto his knees before me, arms under my own to stop my fall. His hat tumbled down my back as he embraced me fiercely.

I laced my aching arms around his neck as he pulled me up to my feet.

"How-" he began as he pulled back slightly to look at me. He seemed to lose his words as I trembled slightly, my feet unsteady beneath me, my body completely out of resources. He steadied me, his arm firm under my own. I noticed he was no longer wearing his plate armour, and had only arm guards and spaulders left in terms of protection.

His eyes frantically searched mine as he reached up a hand to my cheek, rubbing his thumb over my bloodied skin. "How are you here?" he asked.

"I came to find you." I replied tiredly. "Dale is lost." I added, looking wistfully back towards the city.

His eyes softened even though he frowned and he looked me over once more, critically this time, taking note of all the tears in my clothing and the splatters of blood that now covered me.

"You're hurt." He said, one of his hands sliding over my side - which I noticed was staining red from below my now very battle worn brigandine. "And you have no weapon?" he asked incredulously.

I smiled somewhat contritely. "I had one... I forgot it back there." I admitted.

He shook his head, his eyes glinting with amusement. "What will I ever do with you?"

I grinned despite my pain and exhaustion. "Don't make me leave you again." I responded tartly as he reached down to retrieve his filthy hat.

"Trust me," Bofur said as straightened up, lifting his weapon at the ready. "I will never leave your side again."

Fortunately we were given a moment of respite and I was able to better catch my breath. Bombur and Bifur had fought their way towards us and were now keeping a small clearing open.

"I saw you." I said to Bofur, wishing I still had my sword to lean on as standing upright was becoming no easy task. "On a troll... how on earth-?" I began to ask, but was cut short when he suddenly pushed me behind him as an orc snuck past his family's defences.

"Luck." he replied happily over his shoulder before moving to take down the incomer.

The large orc, however, proved to be more than 'luck' could handle, as before Bofur could get in a hit, the creature struck him hard in the chest. I shouted out helplessly as Bofur was flung back, landing just in front of me.

Before Bofur could regain his footing, I heard a wild yell from behind me and saw Bifur run past to the rescue of his cousin. Rather than utilizing his weapon, Bifur simply took a wild lunge at the orc, leaping into the air in a flying headbutt. Bofur and I watched in wonder as Bifur became locked head to head with the beast and we both realized with incredulous clarity that the axe tip lodged in Bifur's head was now being shared.

Bofur scrambled to his feet and ran to grab onto Bifur's waist to pull him free. I ran up behind him, adding to the unusual tug-o-war, then Bombur rushed up to grab my waist as well.

It became quickly apparent that our efforts were not effective so Bofur decided to change tactics.

"PUSH!" he yelled and we all heaved forward, forcing the orc blindly backwards. I expected the goal was to wait for it to trip up, and then deal with it from there. Before that could happen, though, we ran out of land. The orc could not keep itself from being pushed over the edge of a small cliff, and I felt for sure that the fall would dislodge the pesky axe.

Yet even as Bifur was bent nearly double, us holding him from plunging face first off the rise, and the orc now held aloft only by the axe embedded in both heads, the thing would just not be free. I knew we were currently the strangest sight on the battlefield, perhaps ever, and was sure even enemies would hesitate to strike us down until they had witnessed the conclusion of our ridiculousness.

I felt Bombur release me and worried for a moment we would all simply plummet over the rocky ledge, but Bofur held steady despite Bifur now leaning dangerously far over the edge. I then watched with wide eyes as Bombur leapt down over the side and disappeared. He must have grabbed hold of the orc, and it must have worked, because after another second we were suddenly free of the weight and tumbling backwards over ourselves.

I groaned as my body took another wave of abuse, landing hard on my back and Bofur falling on my lower half. We all sat up, rather flustered, and then Bofur stilled, looking at Bifur. I leaned forward to see what the matter was.

"By Durin! You've lost your axe!" Bofur exclaimed.

Bifur put his hand up to his head and when he felt nothing there he let out a small noise of panic.

"No he's not!" Bombur yelled unexpectedly, and we all looked up to see him running towards us, waving the weapon fragment in the air before proudly offering it back to Bifur, somewhat out of breath. "There you go, cousin."

Bifur took hold of the axe piece and looked at it.

"You know where you can stick that!" he uttered fiercely before carelessly tossing it over his shoulder.

We all gaped at him as he got to his feet but had no time to further question his (perhaps altered) state of mind. An oncoming assault of orcs had joined those already in the area, and together their numbers were now forcing back any dwarves that stood in their path, us included. Bofur quickly helped me up and we retreated further towards Erebor, having to stop every few moments to fight down the outlier orcs and goblins that lie between us and the remaining ranks of Ironhill dwarves.

Once amidst his people, Bofur hurriedly exchanged a few words with one of the soldiers.

"Everyone's pulling back to the mountain. Dain's folk are buying time for the wounded to fortify the entrance." Bofur explained to me afterwards.

"We could go with them." He offered, his desire to protect me overwhelming his reluctance to leave the front lines. In response to that, I managed to pick up a smaller axe dropped by one of the dwarves, of no use for penetrating armour, but better than nothing at all. I looked squarely at him, holding the weapon close. If he wished to stay, so be it. He regarded me severely for a moment, and I forced my aching body to straighten up into one last bold stance, feeling strengthened by our reunion against all odds. We had made it this far.

He smiled sadly.

"Fair enough, love. Stay behind me."

As we relinquished more ground the dwarven lines became clear again, holding back the overwhelming tide of blackness. Dain's forces had finally withdrawn fully from their counter-attack, closing the gap in the semi-circle of dwarves. Behind us, the walls of Erebor rose up into the heavens, but the safety of its keep still lay a long way off. A mad dash to the mountain would certainly mean heavy losses, and so it seemed we were in for a long, slow, tactful retreat.

"Never thought I'd see a human lass on the field," Dain remarked with a nod towards me as he lined up next to Bofur. "Can't say much for her trainin' tho, found her on her arse surrounded by the vermin not two moments ago."

"Funny, I found her in the exact same situation." Bofur replied teasingly, which earned him a cuff to the shoulder.

"Clearly I'm doing something right, seeing as Dwarves with big hammers keep going out of their way to save me." I rebuked, to which Dain laughed and leaned forward to look critically at Bofur's weapon.

"Oh come now, I'd hardly call that wee little thing a 'big' hammer. More for pounding nails, I'd say."

Bofur opened his mouth to reply, but I beat him to the punch, laying a hand more gently on his shoulder this time. "Now boys, we all know it's not about the size of the hammer - it's how you use it."

Dain laughed uproariously as he lifted his sizeable weapon and positioned himself at the ready. "Right then!" he shouted at Bofur with a grin, "Let's see how well you use that wee hammer then, shall we?"

The orcs gave them no more time to banter. Having reformed their lines once more, they charged the now much diminished dwarven shield wall. Before me, Bofur and Dain took the brunt of their assault with gusto, so much so that the few orcs who made it past were in such a sorry state that I had no difficulty finishing them off. All down the line similar skirmishes were taking place, and in time between breaches I was surprised to find some humans, and even a rare elf scattered amidst the dwarves whose shields had been lost during earlier sorties.

I was even more surprised at how few of us remained, and in only a short time I was forced to match Bofur and Dain's pace as they slowly fell back, step after calculated step. At that time I realized what we were doing. Bofur cast a glance over his shoulder in a rare break between the seemingly infinite enemies, and the look on his face confirmed my fears: we were going to die. There was no hope for us, even should Thorin succeed. We all knew it, and all we could do was make them pay dearly for the last great kingdom of the dwarves, the kingdom I had spent all of my free adult life heading towards.

It was a fitting place to die.