A Single Dream is More Powerful Than a Thousand Realities

Into the Fire

"Run!"

Gandalf's shout reverberated inside Lyla's head even as she gazed back at the mountain where the Durin brothers were still missing or-

"Come on then on yer feet Bilbo," Bofur murmured, his gentle grip encircling Lyla's arm. He all but hoisted her to her feet and started to drag her forward.
Even as she was turned towards the mountains gazing forlornly at the packs of wargs and orcs converging together after the company, following the lead of a pale orc.

Her feet moved of their own accord as she whipped her head forward and followed after the rest of the dwarves.

Though part of her was still in the mountains.

They leaped into the trees, at Gandalf's behest (for they had run onto a ledge and had not other options), Bofur tossing Lyla upwards, into the Dwalin's firm grasp, as he jumped onto the lowest branch after her. Dwalin gave her a little shake and she gazed questioningly at the dwarf who sent her a pitying look-his eyes conveying the heartbreak he himself felt-and a soft reassuring squeeze on her shoulders.

The wargs were quickly upon them, snapping branches and rocking the trees to and fro.

Lyla hated being in this situation again and strained to keep a sure footing on the tree this time around as the tree buckled beneath the weight of the angry wargs. They tilted forward and Dwalin tossed Lyla onto a waiting branch in the tree closest to them, the rest of the dwarves (Balin, Bombur, Bofur) in the toppling tree following after.

But the wargs would not cease their tirade against the tree-bound company. With an even more ferocious determination, they leapt and attacked tree after tree, felling each one and forcing the dwarves and Lyla to jump closer and closer to the cliff's edge until at last, they were all corralled onto the only remaining tree that sat perched at the edge of the cliff face.

Then a low guttural growl had the wargs retreating as a horrifying orc rode forth, his pale skin glistening in the low sunlight. Astride a white warg that matched his own pale flesh, the orc-who had replaced one of his arms for a multi-pronged hook-set his pale blue eyes on the company in the trees. He let out a low laugh that contorted his scarred face into a twisted grimace.

"Azog?!" Thorin whispered his voice panicked, knuckles white as he gripped a branch. "No. It cannot be."

The pale orc inhaled deeply and chuckled again, eyes sweeping over the company's predicament.

"Nuzdigid? Nuzdi gast?" The orc's gaze settled on Thorin and narrowed in a sinister delight "Ganzilig-I unarung obod nauzdanish, Torin undag Train-ob."

Shivers trailed down Lyla's spine. She knew something terrible was about to happen.

The orc pointed its large, jagged mace towards Thorin, "Kod, Toragid biriz." And then raising his mace into the air he growled, "Worori-da!"
In a fevered frenzy, the wargs resumed their attacks on the lone standing tree.

"Sho gad adol!"

The wargs converged upon the company once more, ramming into the trunk of the tree, scraping the wood bare and jarring Lyla and the dwarves, trying to get them to fall. Lyla's stomach knotted as cold dread coursed through her veins.

But then she let out a surprised squeak as flaming pinecones suddenly descended on the monstrous beasts at their feet.

Gandalf!

Lyla's head jerked upwards, away from the scene beneath her feet, towards Gandalf who tossed the flaming spheres to the waiting hands of the company members.

"Throw them! Drive the beasts back!" He bellowed, lobbing a pinecone towards Lyla, who scrambled to grab ahold of the warm object. He threw another downward and it plummeted to the base of the tree, igniting the brambles and bushes beneath.