for all the gold || hobbit {completed}

chapter twenty-four - we come running

"Get back! Get back!" 

Dwalin did not need to repeat himself. The thin shriek of the horn still ringing in my ears, I ran to join him, Oakenshield and the hobbit, Fili and Kili close on my tail. The ruins were not difficult to climb up, but I was growing increasingly aware of the pain in my arm, breaking through the shock. Groaning, I slowed in my climb, but not for long. A hard hand grabbed my rear, pushing me upwards, and then Dwalin was there, grabbing me by the collar and hoisting me up. Oakenshield was at his side, leaning down to grab his nephews and pull them up, one by one.

It didn't take long to figure out who had given me a hand up and likely a bruise to go with it. Fili caught my eye, the braids around his mouth twitched, and it took all of my resolve to stop myself from grabbing him then and there. There was something that could be said about nearly dying, it really brought something out of you. 

"Looked like you needed a hand," was all he had to say on the matter, albeit out of his uncle's earshot. A sharp cough from Dwalin was enough to break the spell, to remind me just where I stood, surrounded and with little chance of escape. I still could not fully fathom what had happened in the tower, just how far I had pushed my luck, and that I stood and breathed still - alive, but for how long? My strange strain of luck could not last forever.

"Horn's coming from the east," Dwalin grunted. 

"We may have enough time to retreat to Dale-" the hobbit began, but Oakenshield shook his head. 

"This must end now," he said, his voice firm. His gaze fell on Fili, who nodded grimly back, "for all our sakes." 

"And quickly," Kili thought to add. Across the frozen river, the hordes beneath Azog were gathering. There had seemed to be so many in the tower, but, out in the harsh daylight, there could not have been more than a few score, maybe a hundred. For what it was worth, they still outnumbered us. 

"Kili." Our six turned then to a seven, and then to a reluctant eight. Cue the arrival of the two elves who had fought with us against the orcs in the bargeman's house and had helped (I'd concede them that) us just now at the tower. The red-headed elf sheathed her knives as she approached, striding towards us. Her path however was quickly blocked by Dwalin, hands gripping his war hammer. The fair-haired elf at her back grasped his bow and nocked it, glaring down at the unrelenting dwarf.

"She's fine," Kili said, grasping Dwalin by the shoulder. "She's with me." 

Dwalin grunted at that and looked to Oakenshield, refusing to lower his guard until he heard what his leader had to say about this. Oakenshield only looked to his nephew and then to the elf at his side. His face remained grimly set. 

"Be quick about it," was all he then had to say on the matter, and he turned away. Dwalin grunted, spat derisively at the ground, and stepped aside. 

Kili seemed almost oblivious in his happiness to his uncle's clear disgust. His happiness however at the red-headed elf's return was shadowed almost at once by worry.

"You shouldn't be here," he said, taking the elf's hands in his own, looking up to her. "The mountain's about to be swamped. You've got to get away."

"I wanted to be with you." Oakenshield was not the only one feeling a wee bit sick about it all. I caught the fair-haired elf's gaze and raised an eyebrow.

"We on the same side now?" I asked.

"Seems like it," the elf replied, coolly. His bow remained in hand, arrow resting slack against his leg; if he needed to, he could have had it buried in my chest before I so much as blinked or finished calling him a rude name.