painless wounds ;; the hobbit

the war ;;

The stomping of dwarves grew louder as a great army approached, no less than five hundred dwarves. They carried spears and shields, and they had further reinforcements behind the frontliners.

"Ironfoot." Cyrille heard Gandalf mutter as he, Thranduil, Bard, and the men of Laketown turned to the army. The elves stood their ground. The great army was led by Dáin II Ironfoot, Lord of the dwarves of the Iron Hills.

The company of Thorin Oakenshield cheered from the ramparts, shaking their weapons and raising their fists.

So they think they have won.

Thranduil turned on his elk, voicing an elvish command as he pushed his way through the soldiers. The elven guards turned towards the Dwarves, marching forward.

"Hey, Thorin!" Dáin shouted. "Ironfoot has come!" The dwarves cheered louder.

Cyrille slunk back into the marching guards from where she stood at the front. Se significantly stood out because of her dark green tunic, apart from the sparking gold the rest were wearing. She slowed her walking until she was side by side with Gandalf and Bilbo, both of them in the middle of the throng of elves.

"Who is that?" Bilbo asked, while trying to keep pace with the guards of Thranduil. "he doesn't look very happy."

The Hobbit, of course, was speaking of the glowering dwarf riding on top a huge boar, leading the army that was waiting to bring them to their doom. The dwarf had a huge beard, billowing in the wind as he rode.

"That is Dáin, Lord of the Iron Hills." Gandalf replied. "Thorin's cousin."

"Are they alike?"

"I've always found Thorin the more reasonable of the two." The wizard said.

Bilbo huffed.

"Hey, there." Cyrille said.

"Yea?"

"Want me to carry you? Maybe then you can keep up."

Gandalf snorted.

"I'm serious, Bilbo. Don't your feet hurt?"

"I'm a hobbit, Cyrille. My feet don't hurt." He said that with a note of finality.

Cyrille giggled. "Alright, alright."

___

"Good morning!" Dáin's gravelly voice filled the air. He rode forward on his boar, stopping when he was on an elevated part of the land. His army waited a couple hundred feet behind him, and Cyrille won't lie, it looked quite intimidating.

"I have a wee preposition." Dáin continued. "if you wouldn't mind giving me a few moments of your time. Would you consider...JUST SODDING OFF?"

The people of laketown, at the front of the formation that the elves had made, backed up a bit in fear. They brandished their makeshift weapons haphazardly.

"Stand fast!" Bard said to his people.

"RIGHT NOW! ALL OF YOU!" Dáin said.

Gandalf stepped forward, as he always did when trouble arose. He was wise, and old, and almost everyone trusted his word. "Come now, Lord Dáin."

"Gandalf the Grey." He sneered. But dwarves were foolish, and blinded by greed and pride. The wizard bowed, for whom he spoke to, after all, was a King.

"Tell this rabble to leave." The King said to him. "Or I'll water the ground with their blood!" He made sure everyone heard the last part, and the men of Laketown backed up even more.