for all the gold || hobbit {completed}

chapter twenty-two - the battle

Hell was surprisingly cold, bright and sharp.

As we ran free of the mountain's shade, the trail of debris we had left in our wake, the sound of the barricade's collapse still ringing in our ears, we were met at first with nothing. Then a low rumble from afar started up in greeting - our kin and enemies calling out to us from across the battlefield.

"Du Bekar!" Oakenshield shouted again, and we responded in kind.

The force under Ironfoot was close, closer to the mountain that they had appeared from the ramparts. The orcs must have driven them back to breaking point against the very mountain. Helmeted faces turned towards us; Ironfoot shouted an order above the din and the Iron Hill dwarves drew apart, allowing us a clear path through.

"With the king!" Ironfoot shouted, and his dwarves fell in behind us, swelling our numbers. "To the king!"

"Du Bekar!" Oakenshield shouted, one final time. His shout was taken up then by Ironfoot and then by the entire dwarf army, Khuzdul ringing out across the Desolation.

It was a moment unlike any other. One that would stay with me until my final breath. There was an odd sense of kinship, being one among many, all set towards a single purpose. My death, something I had avoided for so many years, now seemed insignificant - I was but one in a tide of armour and weapons.

The orcs ahead braced themselves for impact and, for a short moment at least, our tide was strong enough to sweep back their first few lines. The first orc I met was slammed back into his comrades by the force of my shield. He struggled against me, struggled against my shield, and against the orcs at his back. His only means of escape were on the point of my sword.

He was of a stronger build than the goblins we had faced under the Misty Mountains and his death was no easier. He continued to flail against my shield and it took all of my strength to hold him in place just so as to free my sword from where I had buried it into his gut. Death came for him perhaps on my fourth thrust and it was not a pretty death. He sunk to the floor and to the mud with a bloody gurgle, yet there was little time to react. Behind him came more and more, all pushing forward and all hungry for blood.

I held my shield up, crouched low behind it. On my left, Balin struck out with his blade. He was himself without a shield and I found myself pushing myself before him, if only to offer him a little protection from the onslaught.

"'S nice of you, lass," he managed to shout, in an odd moment when the press was not quite so pressing, "but I've been doing this from when you were nothing more than a sparkle in your da's eyes."

That comment caught me off-guard, even if only for a brief, choked-up second. It was just enough time however for one orc to strike out at me with the flat of his blade. In this respect, I was lucky it was only the flat side that caught me across my face. The beast bruised me and knocked me back, but he failed in finding a killing blow. In his own moment of weakness and hesitation, he was driven through by Balin's sword. There was no need for repeat slashes; Balin, kindly old dwarf as he was, had been truly slaying orcs for longer than I had been alive.

"Thanks," I managed, only half-grudgingly, having first wiped away blood from a split lip. "If we make it out of here in one piece, I owe you."

His chuckle was lost amidst the chaos that swept in around us. In it all, I had lost sight of Fili and his brother. It seemed that they and their uncle had pressed on deeper into the melee. I could only hope Fili lived still; his bead still hanging on for dear life to my hair.

The wall of orc was not holding very well. As we dwarves pushed the enemy back, aided in part by the odd elf that had not yet reached their king in Dale, the ties that had held the armies in their respective formations broke. The orcs seemed to be succumbing.