Star-Crossed

Chapter 31

They fought hard, both the rangers and the villagers. Elrond’s sons, Elladan and Elrohir, had left hours ago to get help. There were no great swordsmen or archers in the village. Half had been slaughtered in the first fifteen minutes, they were now held up in the only stone building in the village, the handle of Beuren’s war hammer was all that held the giant wooden doors closed. Those doors were all that stood between the villagers and their attackers. He had come.

“So it’s been him hunting you for all this time? I thought he was…”

“Dead, I know!” Beuren ran her hands roughly through her hair. If she didn’t think of something quick, the rest of this village would burn. She looked around frantically, unable to think of anything. Her breathing was quick and shallow, her head swam, and she shook with such a force Arathorn was sure she’d fall.

“Beuren, Beuren, look at me.” She flicked her eyes up at him. “What is scaring you?” Her face fell.

“What if I’m not enough, what if he takes…” Thorin. What if he takes Thorin? That was what she was going to say, when the doors burst open, the room flooding with orcs. The villagers fell easily, too easily. Arathorn was not going to die here, nor was Beuren. He drug her out the back. They ran for their lives, both horses had been slain, meaning that they had to run if they wanted to survive.

They broke the tree line, their breathing and heavy footsteps were the only noise. It seemed that no matter how fast they ran, the orcs were still close. The orcs were on foot rather than on Wargs, which wasn’t very usual. Arrows shot past them, causing them to have to duck and weave between the trees and bushes.

A wicked shriek echoed. Beuren had been hit in the shoulder; the arrow went all the way through. Her brother pulled her to her feet, and they began sprinting again. An arrow sped fast Arathorn’s face, the edge flaying his skin along his cheek bone. He yelped and slowed, his sister pulled his sleeve, urging him on.

Beuren let another cry escape as she was shot once again, this time in the side. Somehow the arrow had ricochet and lodged it’s self into her side, she was able to keep running. Arathorn let out a gut wrenching wail when he was hit in the calf, causing him to fall. Unable to walk now, he rolled to his back. An orc was leaping at him, sword raised high. As he brought it down, it was blocked. His sister pushed the sword aside, placing her finger tips on its temple. It gave a wretched scream then collapsed on its side, convulsing in the dirt.

Beuren looked up, pushing her shoulders back and straightening to her full height. The orcs slowed to a stop and watched Arathorn struggle to his feet. Once he stood, an arrow flew from the back of the crowd, striking him in the ribs, knocking him to his feet. His sister didn’t flinch. She swung her sword suddenly, beheading five or six startling the others.

“Where are you, you coward?!” She shrieked. The orcs stared at her blankly, a smirk formed evilly on her lips. “C’mon now, don’t be shy.” Beuren laughed, her voice sing song like. The crowd parted, revealing a shadow at first, and then as it got closer, she was able to tell it was him.

Her breath hitched a tad bit. There he stood, as real as ever, the pale orc, Azog. He bared his teeth in what she thought was supposed to be a smile. He spoke in Black Speech, hers was a bit out of date, but she could tell just by looking at him that this wasn’t going to end how she wanted it to.

Behind her, Arathorn stood, throwing one of several knives he’d picked off of his sister at the gigantic orc. Azog looked down at his chest where it had imbedded itself. Removing it, he twirled it in his fingers, then threw it back. Arathorn ducked.

“Mabus ta.” (Kill him.) Azog barked. The other orcs pounced on Arathorn; he stood, fighting them off as best as he could. Beuren tried to help, she really did, but Azog got to her first.