Price of Battle ➝ The Hobbit ✓

Part Thirty-Three

PART THIRTY-THREE ~

Arien tugged on her boots, made of the finest mithril in Erebor. They had been a present from Kili for looking after his brother, and she accepted them gratefully for the upcoming battle. The rest of her armour was made of steel; it was tough and durable, but not as strong and lightweight as mithril. Finally, she slipped on her greaves and gauntlets, and was armoured up and prepared for battle. Sheathing her sword round her waist, and two extra daggers at her hip, she marched out of the tent and to where Kili was waiting on his steed, Aphas, bearing an air of pride and authority. He looked like a true leader in Arien's eyes.

Her thoughts were suddenly cast to Fili, alone in the tent, suffering from a poisoned wound while his family and friends fought to protect their home. She immediately felt a twang of guilt, and she hoped the dwarf understood her reasons. She desperately didn't want to abandon him, but it was what she set out to do.

"You ready?" Kili asked, looking her in the eye.

She met his fierce gaze and nodded confidently, tugging at her sword to make sure it was attached securely. "Ready."

"You fought valiantly in the last battle, my brave friends. But another is upcoming, this time against the Uruk-hai. You've faced such foes before and succeeded. I have faith you can do the same again," Kili called to the assembled warriors - those fit to fight, anyhow. "Now let us ride to the aid of our homeland and defeat the beasts plaguing our lands!"

The dwarves roared in agreement, clashing their swords against their shields in a cringing clamour, and Kili threw up a hand, signalling for the war horns to be blown. A deep-throat call echoed through the hills and the army began marching forward. Kili was at the head of the army, with Arien by his side. But they had got no further than a few paces when a weak voice called for Arien to stop.

She instantly spun round, recognising the voice.

Fili was hobbling unsteadily towards them, wincing with each step he took as pain rippled down his side. "Arien," he wheezed, his sunken eyes searching the crowd.

The human pushed her way towards him in confusion. He wasn't planning to come with them was he? He wasn't even armoured up, and certainly in no condition to fight.

As soon as she reached the dwarf, she began to protest. "Fili, what are you doing? You shouldn't be here! You need to rest until your wound-"

She was cut off by a little gasp as Fili abruptly raised a hand and slid it round her neck, pulling her close.

"Promise me you'll come back," he whispered, their foreheads pressed together. Arien closed her eyes and responded with the only thing she was thinking of at that moment.

She kissed him. Their noses gently brushing against one another as she pressed her lips against his. She was fully aware of the other soldiers staring at them in shock, but she didn't care. For her heart was thudding fiercely in her chest and her stomach was fluttering wildly with butterflies but she was with the one she loved. He kissed her back gently, savouring the moment before she marched off to battle - a battle which could be the death of her. 

"I promise," She muttered as she pulled away, her eyes sparkling. Fili nodded and stumbled back into the crowd, keeping his eyes trained on her.

She eventually broke his gaze and returned to Kili's side, where they resumed their march.

"What, no goodbye kisses for me? Huh, brothers!" Kili muttered under his breath, huffing in pretend annoyance and receiving a chuckle from Arien.

~

Fatigue was wearing Thoros down. His mind was clouded with fear and worry for his friends who had not returned. He'd sent messengers to Kili in hopes of receiving assistance in the upcoming battle. But he could not be sure the messengers had reached him; if Arien and Fili were ambushed along the way, perhaps, then the messengers might have been also. Then there was no hope of aid from the other army.

It was a horrible feeling, being oblivious to the events around you. When fear and doubt are nagging at your mind, and an endless pit at the bottom of your stomach drags you deeper into despair, yet you haven't a clue why. It was the feelings Thoros was being plagued by, as he left the shade of the trees, breaking into the sunlit fields of Erebor. His hands trembled as he gripped his sword, his gaze skimming the horizon in search of an army, be it Orc of Dwarf. But none were in sight; the hills rolled onwards, heedless of the battle about to break out on it's grassy plains.

"We'll rest for ten minutes then continue towards Erebor," he concluded to his small detachment of soldiers. Scanning over the assembled dwarves, he knew, deep in his heart, they weren't going to survive against the Uruk-hai without the assistance of another infantry.

"Captain Thoros!" An urgent voice called from the throng of dwarves. Thoros' glance landed on a young soldier, his face stricken with panic. "Look!"

Thoros followed his outstretched finger, his heart sinking in his chest. In the horizon, at least a league away, marching steadily on foot, the army of the Uruk-hai approached.

The dull throb of battle horns rang through the hills as the thundering clamour of their march greeted the terror-stricken dwarves.

"Prepare for battle!" Thoros cried, dread clutching his sunken heart,