The Last of the Guardians Part 2 - A Hobbit Fan Fiction

Chapter 13 - Orc Arrows

Orcs swarmed over the rocky banks, their black arrows flying through the air with death on their tips. A black feathered arrow shot passed Thorin's right ear, missing it's mark by a mere hair's breadth. He turned in his barrel to challenge the orc who had fired it, but he was too far away to do any damage. The barrel rolled beneath him, and he grabbed hold of it to steady himself. Another barrel, pulled by a stronger current, passed by him, but too fast for Thorin to determine whether the shock of red hair carried in it belonged to Bombur or Gloin.

A roar echoed in his ear, and Thorin turned again to see a huge orc leap from the rocks and fall towards him, sword arm raised. On instinct, Thorin grabbed the sword - which he had swiped from the body of a dead elf - with both hands and lifted it above his head. At the last moment he brought it down hard, splitting open the orc's head. Before the orc's sword could sink with it's dead master, Thorin scooped it up and threw it to Nori, who was coming along behind him.

"Thorin!" the dwarf cried out as he caught the sword. After adjusting his hold on it, Nori pointed the blade back the way they had come. "Look!"

Thorin glanced back and saw a great winged creature flying fast towards them. Something was dangling below it, and looked as though it was struggling to hold on. The relief Thorin had allowed himself to feel upon seeing the Guardian diminished when he realised it was not their Nema, but Síor. 

The Guardian flew closer, following the river above them until he saw fit to release the struggling Bilbo who fell head first into the raging waters. He did not rise for a good minute or two, and when he did it was only to be pulled under again by some unseen current. Thorin saw Oin plunge his arm into the water and bring Bilbo back up to the surface, half-drowned and spluttering.

"Síor!" Thorin roared. The Guardian had not altered his flight to help them, nor had he raised a weapon against the orcs. He simply flew onwards down river without so much as a glance in their direction. "Come back and fight, you coward! Where is Fili? Where is Nema? What have you done with them, you winged rat!"

If the Guardian had heard him, he gave no sign. He was abandoning them.

There was no time to dwell on the traitorous Guardian, as ahead Thorin could see another orc preparing to leap onto Balin as he passed under a tree who's branch had grown out across the river. Without stopping to think about what he was doing, Thorin had thrown the sword in his hands with all his might at the orc, catching it mid jump and impaling him on the branch. The older dwarf called out a thanks before he hit the rapids and was drenched by the rolling waters. As he passed beneath the branch, Thorin yanked the sword free and prepared to face the next threat.

Far behind him, Kili was struggling. The arrow he had taken in his leg was giving him more grief than what seemed appropriate. It was throbbing incessantly, and when Kili reached down to feel the wound, his fingers came back dripping with dark blood. Not only that, but the pain seemed to be going to his head, for his eyes were blurring and strange images were flashing before them.

He saw what looked like an elf balancing on the heads of two dwarves while firing arrows at the orcs. He saw a barrel bounce off a rock and onto the bank to squash orcs as it rolled over them. He saw the sky rotating rapidly above him, and when the spinning finally stopped he saw a great beam of pure white light shining somewhere in the distance.

The river did not help either. It's constant twists and turns, drops and falls sent his mind reeling and his stomach convulsing, though it was so empty that nothing would come up. Kili began to feel very odd. A strange coldness had come over him - a coldness that started in his leg and crept towards his heart. The world lost its colour, and began to slow until it seemed as though time itself had stopped. The sound died, the sun turned black, and all around him were the faces of the dead. They floated in grey barrels,  embarking on their last journey towards the end of all life.