Homeward Bound Part One: An Unexpected Journey

Chapter Forty-Nine

Despite having fantasized about Mirkwood on fire many times, Thorin discovered he found no pleasure in actually seeing it happen. Perhaps it was the fact he'd lost his own home to fire that made it impossible to find joy in another losing theirs the same way, even if that individual was Thranduil.

The smoke rising in the far distance suggested the conflagration must be truly massive to be seen from Erebor. It had started raining in earnest almost as soon as the smoke became visible, no doubt Eru aiding the kingdom of his pointy eared children. From his vantage point on Erebor's front balcony, Thorin saw Thranduil come out of his tent and stare at the black plume rising over the trees. It was too far to see his expression but, again, going from his own memories, Thorin could picture it well enough. He drew back into the shadows under the overhang to watch, protected from the rain and the eyes of the elven king should he choose to look back.

Thorin wondered if the elf would abandon the men and go back to his kingdom to save it. Were the people he'd left behind fighting against the orcs? Were they fleeing? Or were they even then falling beneath the blades and arrows of the horde?

A horn sounded.

For a second the fact it was not coming from somewhere within the camps didn't register.

Below he caught sight of Thranduil whirl around, his eyes wide with something Thorin had never associated with an elf, horror.

About that time the first orcs started pouring in...from between Erebor and the camps.

Thorin's breath caught in his throat as the scope of what was happening registered.

They had been deceived.

While the main body of the army had marched directly at them, faster than expected judging from the location of the smoke, another group must have been moving even more swiftly around behind. With Thranduil and most of his elves at Erebor, focused on the army coming straight at them, the elves left in Mirkwood had probably been told to watch the edge of the forest leading to the mountain with little to no attention given to the other. It was possible even the fire itself had been set to draw attention away from the true threat. There had been no one in place to spot the contingent marching along the backside of the forest, around the tip and then down, cutting between Erebor and Mirkwood and coming in behind the camp.

Thranduil stepped forward, drawing his sword and meeting the first orc head on. His weapon sliced easily through its midsection, killing it so quickly it continued two feet before its body realized it was dead and collapsed.

As he did the rest of the contingent arrived, swarming over the camps like a plague unleashed upon the earth.

The clang of metal reached his ears, together with the scream of the wounded and dying, the sharp tang of spilled blood quickly becoming so strong not even the rain could lessen it. Thorin caught a brief glimpse of Gandalf wielding a sword and his staff simultaneously then he lost sight of the wizard in the chaos.

Adrenaline and shock vibrated through his body and the headache he'd grown almost used to vanished with a suddenness that staggered him. He stumbled forward, into the rain, until he caught himself against the railing. For the first time he became aware of the fog inside his mind, clouding his thoughts. He shook his head, trying to dislodge it, but it remained stubbornly intact.

Stubborn, his mind repeated. Bilba always told him he was stubborn.

His mind flashed to the look on her face when he'd cast her out, the eyes of his nephews as he'd banished them along with her.

Why had he done that again?

She was a traitor, a small voice whispered in the back of his mind. She turned your kin against you, stole the Arkenstone and gave it to your enemy.