A Clash With Swords -A Thorin Fanfiction- (Discontinued)

Chapter 12: Unlikely Events

- YOU -

Blinking back  my tears, I ran as fast as I could. Running away from him. Running away from all of this.

I only wanted to save him... But then... He didn’t listen.

This is all wrong.” I replied.

He’s marching off to his own doom. Why...?

“GET OUT!” Thorin spat.

No... It’s that gold. It’s changed him in a way.

You will be pivotal in determining the King’s fate.

The Lady’s words rung in my ears. I could’ve saved him, but where am I now?

Lost. Alone. Scared.

Pivotal? Yeah, right. I led him to doom, with a slight certainty of death.

I’m stupid, aren’t I?

--

I walked down the bank, keeping close to the river. Then, I heard Orc-speech. I quickly got into my senses and hid behind a bush, afraid to make a sound.

It seems they are tracking the Company.

After they left, I struggled to choose between going to the Lake, or go to Mirkwood.

If I’ll go to the Lake, the Orcs will probably kill me on the way, not to mention I’m on foot.

If I’ll go to Mirkwood, Thranduil will probably kill me.

More or less, I’ll be killed either way. But then...

As I got out of my hiding place, an Orc got me down to the ground. He spoke in Black, so I couldn’t make anything out. I struggled to get on top of him, but failed as he pinned me down once more. Sensing my bones crack, I writhed in pain then slammed my head backwards to his face and kneed him in the stomach. Running away, he caught up to me and beat me with, luckily, a normal club without any spikes. Withstanding the pain, I reached below my dress to take my dagger. Bruises now covered my arms and blood was running everywhere. Getting it, I raised it into the air and shouted, stabbing him between the eyes. And that was the last of the Orc.

I struggled to get up and walk to Mirkwood, feeling my strength going out of supply.

- NARRATOR POV -

“Such is the nature of evil. Out there in the vast ignorance of the world... it festers and spreads. A shadow that grows in the dark. A sleepless malice as black... as the oncoming wall of night.” The Elvenking said, looking at the Orc. “You were tracking a Company of thirteen Dwarves. Why?” The Orc laughed maliciously. “Not thirteen. Not anymore,” Tauriel looked at the creature with fear. “The black-haired archer... We stuck him with a Morgul shaft.” He laughed. “The poison’s in his blood. He’ll be choking on it soon.” The elleth leapt up to the vile monster and pointed her dagger at his throat. “You like death? Then let me give it to you!” She spat. Thranduil told her to back away.

“What is Thorin Oakenshield to you?”

The Orc only snickered. “The Dwarf runt will never be King.” “King?” Thranduil was alarmed. “Death is upon you.  The flames of war... are upon you.” He immediately killed the Orc. “You promised to set him free,” Legolas said, looking at the body. “I freed his wretched head from his miserable shoulders.” “There was more that the Orc could tell us.” He looked at his son sternly. “There was nothing more he could tell me.”

He strode and spoke loudly, voice clear... But inside is fear.

“I want the watch doubled at our borders. All roads, all rivers. Nothing moves, but I hear of it. No one enters this kingdom... And no one leaves it.”