Star-Crossed

Chapter 15

Several years later…

Beuren sat on the edge of her bed. Again she’d woken from a nightmare. Rest was a rarity to her anymore. Her head in her hands, she let a deep sigh escape her lips, and then stood. Her long brown hair tumbled down her back, she quickly took to braiding it. A small knock was heard at the door. Dis entered a sad smile on her face.

“He’s ready.” She nodded, pulling a long sleeve shirt over her head. She strapped her vambraces on and pulled her chainmail over her head. She carried her belt out with her, grabbing her quiver on the way out.

“You look dashing.” She looked up, Thorin stood.

“Just woke up this way, believe it or not.” Dwalin smirked and nodded.

“Ye ready lass?”

“Aye, let us be done with them.” She said. “These new recruits are going to be the death of me one day.”

“So impatient.”

“I’m head of the guard, Dwalin; it’s my job to be impatient.” Dwalin had taken up the job of training. He would train the youngsters, sending them off to the guard. Balin had fallen back on his skill, teaching, a tutor so some. Thorin smiled and followed her out of the small house within the Blue Mountains. However they were stopped on the way, Thror looked troubled, but it was Thrain’s words that stopped the hearts of all.

“We are going to retake Moria.”

“You really are foolish.” Everyone looked in surprise, Beuren had hardly spoken at all in the years after their home was taken. And then she says this! “You are going to lead your men to their deaths, every single one of them. You are as good as murdering all your people.” Thrain looked to the stone. “When do we leave?” Thorin smirked slightly.

“In an hour.”

“Dwalin, bring the young ones suit them up. We need all the help we can get.”

“The Iron Hills is going to meet us.”

“Good. Now if you’ll excuse me.” She trotted back up the stairs, returning to her small home. When she was sure no one was there she fell to her knees. “What are you doing?” She groaned. Reaching under the bed, she pulled out a small chest, within it, her old armor, from her first battle. If she was to die, she would die in this, at least with some style. She laughed at herself, quickly changing into it. With all of her weapons strapped on tight, she began her decent to ready the troops. Thorin seemed to have read her mind, already having done so. With several moments to spare Thorin pulled her aside.

“You can stand down, no one will think little of you.”

“Are you going?”

“Of course.”

“Then I’ll be there.” She said. He stared at her.

“Beuren, why are you so loyal to me?”

“Because you are my friend.”

“That’s not it.” She smirked and looked down at the floor.

“You’d laugh.” She said simply, trying to step around him. He blocked her way.

“Try me.” She looked up at him, her green eyes meeting his. She leaned up, her finger tips resting along his lower jaw. Thorin moved his hands to her waist, pulling her closer. Their lips met in a soft, slow kiss that made them both melt into one another. Her arms slowly wrapped around his neck, pulling him ever closer. Breaking for air, he rested his forehead on hers. She looked up into his beautiful blue eyes.

“You promised not to laugh.” She joked.

“I promised nothing.” He chuckled. Leaning forward she stole one last kiss, then turned on her heel and ordered the troops into formation.

“Bout time.” Thorin looked over at Dwalin, who was laughing mischievously.

“Shut up Dwalin.” Thorin laughed.

The trip was tedious. They had to stay away from the main roads, it would draw too much attention, and with so many, they couldn’t move fast. The younger freshly trained warriors were wanting nothing more than to fight and the older experienced warriors wanted nothing more than to turn back, among those being Beuren.

She’d seen enough death to last her a life time. The hordes of orcs she’d killed. The people in the mountain that died by the hundreds. Those who starved or froze on that first winter out of the mountain. She was tired. Only sixty five and she already wanted nothing more than to quit battle. Nightmares haunted her, the echoing screams of terror and the roaring of the dragon. The cries from Dale. The way Thorin had looked at her when the elves turned back, the look of defeat.

Thorin was able to see it in her eyes, the pain, he felt it to. He was tired. He wanted to forget, but he couldn’t, no matter how hard he’d tried. The young prince also dreamed of her forgetting, if no one else Beuren. He wanted to see her smile, truly smile, like she had all those years ago. He wanted to see the way her eyes sparkled when she looked at him, or the excitement she showed when she looked at the stars. Never had he expected to ever lose that Beuren, he had never expected to see her light fade.

Several mornings later they stood at the edge of the mountains. There the orcs were waiting. It was clear that they were outnumbered, very outnumbered, even with the warriors of the Iron Hills at their sides. Beuren stood tall, her axe gripped tightly in hand. When she turned to give orders, the first arrow flew, zipping right past her face, that was it, the war had begun.

Beuren threw her axe with such a force that it cut the orc in half to its shoulders. She picked it up again and then leapt into battle. It took several moments for Thorin to spot her, but when he did he was in a dire rush to reach her. An orc was about to kill her. He blocked the blade and slew the orc. Her back pressed to his as she dodged a blade. They fought like this, it was their usual routine, back to back so that way they knew the other was alive. Frerin roared and beheaded several, earning a short lived applause from Beuren before she ducked, dodging a flail.

Thorin turned; forcing Beuren to fight the orc he’d been working over, taking hers. There was a loud cry and then a thud. His back was cold with the absence of Beuren, he looked, and she was on her back, a pool of blood steadily growing around her head. Just as he turned to help her, he saw the orc. Biggest he’d ever seen, Azog the Defiler.

The orc towered above Beuren. Its mace raised above its head, ready to smash hers. Frerin dove, grabbing her shoulders and rolling out of the way. The mace hit so hard that it cracked the rock where Beuren’s head should have been. Struggling to his feet, Frerin tried to fight off the orc, Thorin rushing to his aid, though he never made it. Thorin was attacked, forced to fend off several orcs. When he looked back, Frerin was on his knees, the hilt of a sword protruding from his chest Thror fighting off Azog.