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Dead Dragons and Necromancer Shenanigans

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It was chaos, the sounds, the smells, everything blurred together into one great ball of confusion and instinct. Kili had been separated from Fee and was now alone except for the gigantic orc with the humongous maul in front of him. His sword was a constant blur of motion, but his strength was not up to that of the orcs, and soon he would fail. And he did. It was by pure luck that it was the hammer part of the orc's weapon and not the gruesome spike at the bottom that broke through his defenses. He was hurtled against the rockface behind him and pain exploded all across his back. Oww, he thought, that wasn't overly nice of him. The orc strode toward him and smiled, running its thick tongue over twisted, scared lips. Kili's hand scrabbled desperately for his sword. Where was it? He had it just a second ago before this orc threw him acr - oh. Well that was unfortunate.

The orc smirked as it raised its mace, the spike glinting red. It paused to say something in its broken language, most likely gloating. Kili fought down a hysterical giggle. Gloating? On a battlefield? It was just his luck to be attacked by the most idiotic orc around. Then, while the orc gloated, red haired vengeance leapt from the rocks above, one knife sinking into the back of the orc's weapon hand, the other striking down upon its head, looking for a soft spot in the armor bolted to the skin, and found it, curving deep into the eye and  sinking into the brain. The elf jumped off, kicking the orc down and rushing to Kili's side. Her smile lit her face as she looked down at him.

Kili had never seen anything so beautiful. 

"Kili." Her voice was wonderous, as if she couldn't believe he was alive.

"Tauriel." A grin crossed his own bloodied face. "Nice moves."


. . .


It was dark and he couldn't see, still the stone echoed and sang in the way it only did for dwarows. His sword dripped blood as Fili looked relentlessly for his brother. A shift, a scream, a rake across armor that tore at chainmail and flesh. Fili yelped, spinning around to stab the orc in the throat. His own blood dripped warm down his back and the tunnel walls in front of him glistened with torchlight. He turned, to see the same vision behind him. He was surrounded with neither Kee or his Uncle were anywhere.


He gulped, feeling dread pool in his stomach. There was nowhere to go, and he was alone and soon to be dead. He got ready, a sword in one hand, hand axe in the other, and pain branding his back. Then they were on him and then he couldn't think and couldn't dread his death. The tunnel worked for him, funneling the orcs. He couldn't fight many at once, but two at a time? That he could do, but not for long. A black bladed sword made brittle by bad forging, the sound of screams of pain, the faces, so many orc faces, blood glistening ruby red on his swords. Flashes, to fast to truly catalogue in his mind, he could only reacted. Slowly his confidence began to build. He could do it! He could hold them off till Thorin or Kee or someone else found him!

Then a scream pieced the air, somehow travelling deep into the tunnel. A hobbit's scream.


His swords stilled for one second, but one second was enough and they were on him. He fought, but his weapons where torn from his hands. He couldn't move couldn't breathe, he was going to die. Hands pushed yanked him toward were the tunnel was wider, pushing him down to the cold rock, he felt metal on the back of his neck. Then a voice, speaking in a broken black speech, and then darkness.

It was not the type of darkness stone sense could solve.


. . .


Bilbo couldn't find him. He couldn't find Thorin. Dwalin had been right to send him to find Thorin, the pompous king was probably challenging Azog this very minute. If only he had worn the mithril shirt instead of Bilbo! After all, Thorin was a king, and Bilbo was just a hobbit! Invisible, he threaded his way through the battle. He could see a space ahead, a great span of ice, and two figures locked in battle. Bilbo hurried his pace, tripped and fell on to the ice, skidding across the slick surface. 

A waterfall. He was on top a waterfall. Trust Thorin to choose the most ridiculous place to have a duel.

Thorin was on his back, holding his sword and desperately pushing against the spiked arm of Azog. Bilbo stumbled up, cold digging into the pit of his stomach. Not Thorin. Not stubborn, noble Thorin! Bilbo could see the moment the dwarf decided to relent, the sudden weakness in his arms.


Bilbo's shout rang on the ice, left behind as he hurtled forward, moving faster than he had ever had before. He hit Azog head on, and the pale orc went skidding, his blade missing the dwarf entirely. Bilbo skidded further, a blood trail following his wake. Azog was prone on the ice, his blade hand impeding his progress. Then he was moving no more, Orcrist sunk deep into his chest and pinning him to the ice. Thorin rushed to Bilbo side, his name clinging to his lips.

He could see him. Thorin could see him.

Wasn't he invisible?

"Bilbo, I am so sorry. I was lost and mad and could not see clearly." Thorin pulled him close as Bilbo tried to make sense of what was happening. Thorin, apologizing? He must be mad, or dead.

"Ummm. Sure, yep, uhhh, can this wait till we find Gandalf? You are bleeding a lot." The ice beneath them had turned dark and sticky.

Thorin frowned. "Bilbo, that is not me."

That was when Bilbo noticed his hand, or rather his lack of one, but that was not what made him scream. It was Azog, limbs twisting unnaturally to push him out of the ice, Orcrist still in his chest. In one hand he held a hand, a little hobbit hand that had a glint of gold on the middle finger.

Bilbo screamed, the sound spitting the air and traveling to all corners of the battlefield. Thorin spun around, his face going pale as he saw Azog up and alive. Except not, his skin was waxen and his eyes faded, his chest neither rose nor fell. The dead orc started to take a step forward, but paused as if listening to something. Then he was gone, loping impossibly fast towards the south. Towards Mordor.

Bilbo, holding his bleeding stump, laid his head against Thorin's shoulder. "Can we please bandage this and find Gandalf?"

Thorin stroked Bilbo's hair and swallowed. "Of course."


. . .


So the Battle of the Five Armies ended, with one stubborn dwarf and one stubborn hobbit learning exactly how much they loved each other. The traveled down to Gandalf and told him of the little gold ring and the undead orc. There they found Kili and Tauriel, who swore that they would stay together no matter what, and where the elf swore fealty to the dwarven king. The battle was searched and the dead lain to rest, but Fili's body?

It was never found.