So Far Away ✔

017

. . .

THORIN

. . .

The orcs were stomping, screaming for blood. The blood of Durin's sons. Thorin was so dismayed at the sudden appearance of his father that he was rooted to the ground. Somewhere in the back of his head a voice whispered that he should snatch the weapon out of Azog's hands to kill the orcs, but deep down he knew it was hopeless. They were outnumbered. Although he liked the idea of going down fighting, instead of dancing to the tune of his archenemy.

"Thorin..."

His father's voice was only a whisper, causing goosebumps on his skin. It sounded weak, as if it was a ghost whispering his name. He took his father in. His hair was a mess, just like his beard. The look in his eyes worried Thorin, it looked like a flickering candle. Madness — emptiness — madness — emptiness.

Blood clotted to his face and arms. His left hand missed a finger. The tips of his other fingers looked dark, as if they were rotting.

Azog held two spears in his hands, hitting them on the ground to attract Thorin's attention and enforce silence around them. "You will get the chance to prove yourselves. Show us what your dwarf blood is capable of."

Some orcs were laughing. Thorin grimaced. "I refuse to fight my father."

"I didn't expect anything but cowardice. Let me be clear. You won't leave this place alive together. The only way to return to your sister or daughter is by killing the other. If you refuse, I will kill you both. It's that simple."

Thorin broke out in sweat. There was a warning hidden in Azog's voice. This wasn't just about his life and that of his father, but also that of his sister and her sons.

The orc stepped forward and pushed a spear in his hand. It looked primitive; a wooden stake with splinters that drilled his skin immediately. The spearhead was made of stone, but looked too blunt to take someone out

Tonight, people were going to suffer.

A weapon was handed to his father as well. He wavered as he grabbed it, his eyes aimed at the ground. Thorin wondered what he was thinking. Was he afraid to die? Did he try to come up with a plan to escape his fate? The despair radiating from his face, contradicted it. He was here to die. Something Thorin could have lived with if he wasn't going to be his murderer. But what choice did he have? His father lost everything. The only things he still had, were his two children and he would never kill one of them.

"Do it, Thorin," his father said in Khuzdul, as if he could hear Thorin's thoughts. "Do it, my son. My time has come. I will be grateful to you if you redeem me from this place, so I can go to your mother. I have lived too long without her."

Suspiciously, Azog looked from Thorin to his father and back. "I promised my men a spectacle. Give it to them. If you are unable to satisfy them, the dwarf girl will stand here too. Then the three of you will fight." The orc snickered. A proud grin made his face look even more horrible.

Motionlessly, Thorin stared at the creature. Was he talking about Dís?

"The invitation is already sent to her," the pale orc continued. "I dare to bet she's already on her way." The orcs roared in laughter. "And who knows... Maybe I will even let the two little ones fight each other, if you disappoint us."

Thorin hung his head. Fíli and Kíli... Would he really force them to fight? His chest was filled with rage. He squeezed the spear so tightly he believed the splinters poked right through his fingers. There was nothing he wanted more than raising the spear and throw it at the orc's head, but if he did, he would seal the death of his father, sister and nephews.