A/N: Hello, dearest readers, short but readable, I hope you enjoy it.
Mizz Alec Volturi, bringing things together, finaly!
Celebrisilweth, Mary Poppins would bring havoc to Mordor and the Fellowship wouldn't even be necessary!
JayH00d, I'm so happy you're liking it, I hope the next chapters won't disappoint you!
Welcome on board, Yehuda Dream andJayH00d, and have a nice ride!
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So Close, so Far
The staircase was steep, but the fugitives made their way down as fast as their limbs allowed. Each couple of flight of stairs the elf mumbled some reckoning, the dwarf grumbled some curses and the woman moaned some delirium. None of those were really encouraging, but it was what they had to offer each other.
The sounds outside the inner staircase were dim, louder now and then, almost silent here and there. They could descry the outline of other secret, or at least discreet, doors, every couple of storeys. Every time Kíli asked with a nod if that was the way out they were seeking so fervently, and every time Legolas had to deny it with a shake of his head.
The slime on a series of steps made Kíli slide more than once, taking the brunt of the fall on his own limbs while holding Tilda safe from the impact. The woman just grunted, too far to have any react ion.
"We need a break."
The hushed voice of the dwarf stopped the elf, whom turned to the pair sprawled on the stone floor.
"We must go on."
"Just five minutes..."
Legolas crouched and reached for Tilda, rearranging the makeshift bandage at her throat.
"When we're outside, I can commune with nature and beg Yavanna for the strength of Her creation. With Her strength, I can beg Estë for healing. But inside this place of horror and corruption, I'm fading just like your lady."
Kíli held Tilda closer, as if it were possible, caressed her matted hair as no decent dwarf would do in front of others, and swallowed a sob.
"Why must I love just for them to suffer and…?"
The last word was unspoken, but Legolas understood it all the same. He took a moment to choose his words.
"Aulë bestowed you a love that can reach beyond… some veils…" The elf managed to stand up bringing the woman with him, and then leant a hand to the dwarf to stand up. "Let us not cross those veils right now. Come. We mustn't be far."
Once on his own two feet, Kíli took charge of the precious load once more. A kiss to her temple was all he allowed himself to before following the elf again in their desperate escapade.
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Bilbo led the invasion, followed close by Thorin and Bard. The bridge was narrow, reminding the dwarf king of his first visit to Rivendel, and the anguish of stepping into an elven fortress without knowing what to expect. But his sister-son was there, by his fault, and he would take any risk to retrieve him and make things right.
Bard didn't have the same qualms about narrow bridges, used since forever with the bridge that led from Lake Town to the shore, but he knew what he and his people faced when Dale was attacked by orcs, turning a place that was already ruins to defiled ruins. He could feel it, the decay of a place that was meant to be beautiful and full of life, now reduced to filth and decay. And no, he would not allow his little girl to be there more than the strictly necessary, and even this amount of time would be too much. Tilda's big and shiny eyes, so full of care and understanding, were meant for brighter sights than the corruption that was there all around. If she only still were alive…
"They know we're here!"
"Who?"
"Shhh…"
Bilbo's perception of the enemy was keen, keener than regular hobbit senses would explain. Yet, neither dwarves nor men were aware of that difference, mostly because Lake Town people came to know Bilbo after his adventure inside the Misty Mountains, and Bard's son-in-law's people only heard about holbitla as creatures out of fairy tales. So, anything out of the ordinary was accounted as only normal to that foreign people.
"Watch out!"
Fíli was the first to notice the attackers, and made a run to face them, twin swords at the ready. Rough arrows flew around them, but any orc wielding a bow lacked the finesse needed to make the weapon effective upon a – relatively – small partie. In a large battle, any unskilled archer could make an arrow find a target, out of the sheer luck of a multitude of arrows sent against (not necessarily aimed at) a large mass of enemies. Throw a hundred marbles against a glass window and it will shatter, eventually. Overthrow the marble thrower and the window will stand – even if hit here and there.
The counter attack was ready and precise, motivated human warriors thirsty for a fight – no one abducts one of ours and gets along with it, be it our princess, the sister of our marshal's wife, or our neighbour's sister-son.
In the point of view of the dwarves, no such level of detail was thought – one of them was taken, one of them would be rescued, and whomever with they. Period.
But it was battle, nonetheless.
Orcs were killed, and orcs killed. Or tried to. But what they did hurt, oh, it hurt, even if it didn't kill. Orcs were designed to inflict pain, any kind of pain. Sometimes, the hissed stating that ´she's dead already´ before the Mordor-damned creature died was a blow stronger than any scimitar's.
"Where to now?"
"Up! Up!"
Bilbo guided the warriors as he could, based on what he heard and mostly what he felt. Even inside his pocket – his nasty little pocketses, something inside his head hissed – it was unrestful, as if wanting to be put to use, moreover after his first incursion into the fortress. It was not a nice feeling. After all, the ring was his, not the contrary.
Wasn't it?
"Where are they?"
Thorin shouted at the face of an orc, teeth clenched in anger. A hideous laughter drove him to behead the creature, only to grab the next one and demand the same answer.
The swish of a blade near his ear was enough signal for him to duck and swirl, only for Orcrist to find an already beheaded orc and the shiny armour of Thranduil behind the foul corpse.
Any eventual gratitude for the elf saving his hide was immediately buried under the usual mask of self-control and resentment.
"You are late!"
The dwarf king shouted while piercing an approaching orc. The creature's scimitar fell to the ground with a clang, and Thranduil sidestepped the corpse, with grace.
"I don't recall we had a date scheduled."
"Did you say a date?"
"Appointment! I said an appointment!"
The discussion had to be postponed for a while when a group of heavy armoured orcs chose to find their end at their swords' edge. Grudgingly, Thorin acknowledged the new comer's help beheading an Uruk that was about to hit the elf.
"Appointment long overdue. Durin's Day was sixteen days ago."
The elven king reciprocated with a side slash that divided an orc in two.
"I sent a proxy."
"Never seen him."
The lame retort punctuated some parries with a newcomer foe, soon deceased.
"Now, that you did."
They reached what Thorin believed was just another hall, but a look longer than the short instant between stabbing one orc and another revealed to be a wide yard, partly in the open, partly carved in the very stone of the hill. The waterfall running from the stone wall should be gorgeous, were it a sunny day. As it was, cold and dark, brought to mind shadows and despair. The look of disgust on the elf's face was revealing. The dwarf ignored it and resumed the argument.
"We've been out of Erebor for whole moon, any envoy of yours missed us for sure."
Thranduil kicked the head of the orc he just beheaded with disgust and disagreed.
"Never said you've seen him after he set out from my realm."
A precise arrow crossed the space between their noses to find the forehead of yet another creature of Mordor.
"Will ya two just stop bickerin' and find ma daught'a, will ya?"
King Bard treading back to bargee accent was revealing, and Thorin noticed it for what it was.
"My sister-son will rather die than let any harm come to her. I know his honour!"
Bard didn't waste a heart-beat.
"And what grants me he's alive enough to die for her? It takes more than a willin' heart to engage a fight!"
Wrong thing to say, Bilbo would state if he were close enough to hear it. But he was not. He already saw this yard, and where the prisoners were carried to from it. So he followed the logical route out of it, hoping against hope that he would be able to free them from whatever cage or shackles held them. If it weren't too late…
The hobbit heard the captors, he knew their intentions. Up, up to the highest terrace, where the darkness of the New Moon was most evident, no torches to bring any shred of light, no bonfires to bring any warmth, just darkness, darkness, darkness…