All Who Wander Are Not Lost

Chapter 13

"If a battle cannot be won, don't fight it." - Sun Tzu

"Everyone wants to be the sun to light up someone's life, but why not be the moon, to brighten in the darkest hour?" - Unknown

Sweating profusely, she ducked the swing of another Orc. She was so tired, and they hadn't even made it close to the gates. The enemy had arrived in full force first, and they had been severely outnumbered. Even with her boundless amount of energy that she possessed, she felt weary. These orcs and goblins were not as skilled as some that she had fought with in the past, but the sheer number of them was straining. She was not even close to the heavy fighting, she was at the edges, protecting the flank of the dwarfish army.

Beheading her current opponent, she took a breather as she glanced around. She could see that many of the dwarves were holding their own, and turning she gasped, her superior eyesight catching the commander of the orc army. She had known him, even fought against him once or twice when she had been out scouting, but she found herself even more disgusted and horrified by him now. In his hands dripping in blood, he held the head of Thror. All the light seemed to be sucked out of her as she saw the orc toss the severed head, bouncing it off of the stones, and rolling to a stop at Thorin's feet.

It was as if all the blood was frozen in her veins, and her body refused to move. She and the dwarf king had never entirely seen eye to eye, and he had held a grudge over the warning that she had brought him. But seeing him slaughtered made her wish, just a little, that she could have reconciled with the dwarf. Guilt began to creep into her heart, whispering to her, telling her that she could have done more, that she could have tried harder, been more of a help. Why was she not more competent? Why? Why? Why?

Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd ai-mênu! came the dwarfish battle cry, startling her out of her thoughts. She knew that voice, knew that intonation. Swiveling, her eyes searched the field around her, no longer concerned for the sons of Durin, as someone more important called. In a moment her eyes found the form of her friend, Tilrim.

Surrounded by no less than six orcs, she could see that he was in dire need of help. Rushing through the battle, she yelled her own battle cry, her voice echoing over the plain like a bell. She flashed by the warriors of both sides, her sight becoming tunneled, zooming in on the face of her friend. She could see that he was cutting down his foes, but they would just be replaced by more, he was tiring. She let out a gut wrenching scream as she saw a goblin bring his jagged weapon down on the unprotected back of her friend. It plunged deep into his back, she could hear the squelch and noise of the blade ripping his skin. His agonized scream would have made even the toughest of warriors blood run cold, it was long and low, filled with heartache.

Her anger flared, and the edges of her sight became red. All of the emotions that she had learned to mask burst forth, her reason left her. She slashed through the orcs with her sword like a hot knife through butter, her body acting of it's own accord as she flew to Tilrim. Her mind was clouded, but even in the fog she could see the orcs moving in to make the kill. Her heart pounded in her chest as she cut through the contingent of orcs and goblins, her screams full of anguish. They fell beneath her blade in rapid succession, their twisted faces, filled with agony, but she cared not. Her anger was like a a raging bull, unpredictable.

It was only after she had slain all of the orcs within a fifteen foot radios of her friend that her anger slowed and she was able to breath easily. Her body turned towards the fallen form of her friend. Her legs shook with each step they took towards the bloodied body, before a new determination bloomed within her chest and she sprinted to him. Dropping to her knees she made to move him so that she could reach his back, but his quivering hand grabbed her arm, stopping her.