Skin Changer : A Hobbit FanFiction (Discontinued)

Honor, Duty, And Guts

Thorin ran, his armor clinking against itself as he crossed rough terrain. Guilt, heavy and stifling, weighed him down, and he didn't even try to shake it off.

The elf was going to do something stupid.

He'd seen it in her eyes as she'd wished him well, in how frantic she was for them to leave. She probably thought she could reason with the wargs, or some such nonsense.

She had looked so resigned, as if sacrificing herself was the only option. Stupid, stupid woman.

The howls of wargs brought his attention back to the matter at hand - running for his life - just in time. The pack had caught up with the Company, riderless beasts at the front. Growling, Thorin thrust himself into the heat of battle, mind blessedly blank as he brandished Orcrist before him. He needed to focus.

And then, he ran out of ground.

"Into the trees!" He yelled, remembering the elf's words. His men acted without hesitation, using each other to catapult themselves into the branches. Wargs swarmed beneath them, claws scrabbling against the bark of the pines. They jumped and snapped, but they stayed on the ground.

The elf was right.

Then again, she often was. He just never took the time to listen. Perhaps she'd been right to call him racist.

The wargs below suddenly calmed, turning to look at

"Azog." He said with disbelief. He'd heard the goblin speak of the pale orc's survival,but seeing it for himself was another thing entirely.

"Do you smell it?" The nightmare asked, his voice carrying in the silence. "Fear. I remember your father reaking of it, Thorin son of Thrain."

Thorin's heart died in his chest. "It cannot be..." he trailed off, his throat thick with emotion.

Azog held his gaze, fleetingly different expressions crossing his face. "That one is mine," he said in his rough language. "Kill all the others."

The wargs resumed their assault on the trees, and a still, small voice in the back of Thorin's mind told him that she wouldn't like that. He ignored it. His heart was gone, and his entire body felt hollow and heavy. The trees shook under the force of the wargs, branches snapping like twigs in their powerful jaws. The dwarves were forced higher into the trees and still the creatures leapt them. Then the trees started falling.

She was really going to hate that.

The entire Company crowded the boughs of one tree on the edge of the cliff. Thorin looked down, resigned to the death the cliffs would bring him. Despair filled him as a single howl rose above the yips and barks of the wargs below, long and sorrowful. It seemed to spur Gandalf into action, and Thorin watched apathetically as the old wizard used his staff to ignite a pine cone of all things. And as he tossed it down and the flames rose, Thorin felt hope rekindle in his chest.

Soon, all the wargs had retreated, and even Azog's mount looked ready to run. The dwarves rejoiced, but their antics proved too much for the spindly pine that held them. It fell away from the flames and over the cliff, and Thorin looked on in horror as his friends - his family! - held on for dear life. Nori, who held onto his brother Ori, fell. Thorin's heart leapt into his throat, staying there as Gandalf pulled them both to safety. He turned, looking over his shoulder, and froze. The voices of his comrades fell away and became silence as his gaze met the cool blue of Azog's. The orc wasn't gloating over his victory. His eyes held an uncertainty, a sense if disappointment that Thorin shared wholeheartedly.

He felt himself stand, Orcrist in one hand and his oak branch shield in the other. His friends did nothing to stop him, or, if they did, he did not acknowledge it. He ran through the flaming forest, his blade held high. His face twisted into a scowl as adrenaline pumped through his veins. His nemesis smiled as he spurred his white warg off the ledge above the dwarven king, wide paws coming down fast. And then, in a flurry of white fur and teeth, they were gone.

Azog rolled to his feet from where he'd been thrown, eyes wide and incredulous. Thorin dared not look away, and instead charged the larger fighter. Azog sneered in contempt, simply swinging his mace. The many edged weapon caught Thorin across the face and he fell.

From his new vantage point on the ground, he could see the second battle between the white warg and...something else. Its fur was whiter than the stars, unmarred by scar or dapple where it was untouched by blood. Its snout was longer than its opponent's, its skull more elegantly shaped. Huge paws tossed the warg aside, its eyes bright with anger and firelight. Pink lips pulled back in a snarl, the beast dwarfed the warg as Azog did Thorin, fangs as long as his forearms piercing flesh.

Thorin was pulled from the ground abruptly, pain erupting through his back. Azog's metal hook drug along along his shoulder blade and he screamed in agony. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he brought his sword around, cutting across the orc's chest. Azog yelled and tossed Thorin across the clearing. His back met stone jarringly, his mouth falling open in a silent cry. Cold steel touched his throat and he looked up at Azkg's second. An irrational anger filled him. Would his enemy truly let this - this lesser fighter slay him? He didn't get the chance to find out.

A low growl filled the air and the armored orc backed away hastily. White paws, now bloodied, stepped over Thorin and stumbled. The beast that had taken the white warg was standing, though not for much longer. Blood soaked the lowered head, and one ear was all but gone, but it stood before Azog as a she-wolf defending its pups.

The pale orc said something and his second raised his blade, side stepping the beast so intent on his master. Then, in a flash of red, the orc was taken down by a hobbit. His hobbit. He watched the little man kill the orc, then the darkness that had been creeping into his vision overtook him.