The Caladrius (A Dwalin x OC story)

Chapter 6 - Yay, Trolls

I sat around the open fire with Fili and Kili on the cliff side as everyone else slept and rested for the next day's journey.

The warmth of the flames warmed my bones on the chilly night. Fire was a sacred comfort for my sanity. I had never been much of a fan of the cold, and it showed.

Out of my peripheral vision, I could see Bilbo pop up, visibly disturbed by Bombur's raucous snoring. The short man walked over to Myrtle and snuck her an apple.

A soft grin appeared on my face. Bilbo was a gentle soul. Possibly too gentle for the brunt of cruel wilderness we would be encountering.

A loud shriek sounded through the night air and put the brothers and I on high alert.

"What was that?" Bilbo asked.

"Orcs," I replied with a disgusted expression.

"Orcs?" he asked seemingly confused as to what an Orc was.

Thorin woke suddenly from hearing the word.

"Throat cutters. There'll be dozens of them out there," Fili said.

Kili decided to spook the poor Hobbit further by saying, "The lone-lands are crawling with them. They strike in the wee small hours when everyone's asleep. Quick and quiet, no screams. Just lots of blood."

A pained expression took over my face. They weren't wrong, but they're quiet laughing showed they were making a game of it.

Thorin stepped forward as his angry self and scolded, "You think that's funny? You think a night raid by Orcs is a joke?"

Kili looked down to the ground and quietly replied, "We didn't mean anything by it."

"No you didn't. You know nothing of the world," he answered as he turned and stared into the distance. He had a right to be upset, but to be honest he looked like he was having a total main character moment.

Balin chimed in afterwards to explain Thorin's behavior, "Don't mind him, laddie. Thorin has more cause than most to hate Orcs. After the dragon took the Lonely Mountain, King Thror tried to reclaim the ancient Dwarf kingdom of Moria. But our enemy had got there first. Moria had been taken by legions of Orcs, led by the most vile of all their race: Azog the Defiler."

I deeply grimaced, feeling a murderous passion fill my veins. I vowed long ago that I would be the one to kill the heinous beast.

Balin continued, "The giant Gundabad Orc had sworn to wipe out the line of Durin. He began... by beheading the King. Thrain, Thorin's father, was driven mad with grief. He went missing. Taken prisoner or killed, we did not know. We were leaderless. Defeat and death were upon us. That is when I saw him. A young Dwarf prince facing down the Pale Orc. He stood alone against this terrible foe. His armor spent, wielding nothing but an oaken branch as a shield. Azog the Defiler learned that day that the line of Durin would not be so easily broken. Our forces rallied and drove the Orcs back. And our enemy had been defeated. But there was no feast nor song that night, for our dead were beyond the count of grief. We few had survived. And I thought to myself then, there is one who I could follow. There is one...that I could call King."

I felt empathy for Thorin. We both had terrible experiences with the Pale Orc, unforgivable experiences.

At this point, all the dwarves had risen and were looking to Thorin with undoubtable loyalty, faith, and admiration.

"And the Pale Orc? What happened to him?" Bilbo asked.

Thorin answered with a tone that could cut glass, "He slunk back into the hole whence he came. That filth died of his wounds long ago."