Star-Crossed

Chapter 16

Thror was knocked to the ground, before he could rise; Azog swung his sword, beheading the king. Thorin watched in dismay. There was a moment of silence, then the pale orc held the head up, letting out a great cry before he threw the fallen King’s head, it rolled down the hill, stopping by Beuren’s side. Thorin gave one last cry in agony, and then Azog leapt towards him.

His shield was knocked from his hand, his sword as well. One good hit with his mace and the orc sent the dwarven prince flying backward several feet. Thorin moaned at the ache in his side, surely he’d broken a rib. Azog again made an attack, mace above his head, trying to smash him like he’d tried to get Beuren. Thorin rolled; grabbing the only thing he could to defend himself, an oaken branch. He wielded it as a shield, taking numerous hits to the arm that was covered by the shield. He finally was close enough to his sword, he took its hilt and swung aimlessly. His swing was true.

Before he could react, the orc’s arm fell to the ground. He let out a hideous wail, and then was drug off before he could fight back. Thorin stood, momentarily looking around, the number of orcs still loomed over that of the dwarves, but dwarves were strong, and they had to win. Thrain was nowhere to be seen, it was up to Thorin now.

Thorin yelled, rallying the dwarves again, and then leading them once more into battle. As he ran past Beuren he slowed but was forced forward. Dwalin and Balin were at his sides, they attacked with a force never before seen by the orcs. Within forty minutes the battle was over.

The surviving dwarves searched for their friends, brothers, family. Thorin searched desperately for any sign of Beuren, he’d lost sight of her in the battle. It was the gut wrenching scream that gave her away. He turned, his grandfather’s head was beside her, and to make things worse, Frerin lay still. He hurried to her side.

When he reached her, she was on her knees cradling his little brother in her arms, sobbing madly. Frerin’s blue eyes stared up at her; he raised one arm, taking her shoulder in his hand.

“You should have left me, damn you Frerin! You should have left me!” She bawled.

Thorin sank to his knees, taking his brother and Beuren in his arms. He looked down at his younger sibling. His resemblance to his mother was striking. The same dark curly hair that was always pulled back into a braid, the dark grey eyes, Thorin couldn’t believe it took him this long to notice.

“Thank you, little brother.” He whispered into Frerin’s forehead. “You saved her.”

“Take care of her, don’t ever lose her.” He smirked. “If you do I’ll haunt you till the end of your days.” Thorin smiled softly and nodded.

“I won’t lose her. I promise.” With a nod, Frerin winced, and then he went still. Beuren froze. She took his shoulders, shaking him, but got no response. She sobbed, and hit his chest several times. Thorin stood, lifting her to her feet. Her small frame was wrapped tightly in his arms, sobbing till she ran out of tears and her throat was raw. Thorin could stare down evil and not bat an eye, but when Beuren finally lost it, when the dam broke, it terrified him. She was always his rock, his steady hand, and now she was nothing more than a crumpled heap.

After several hours of war, everyone was exhausted. They hiked back to their camp, several miles back the way they’d come. Rather than just staying, they packed up and moved. They traveled nonstop for several days. The stretchers of wounded and the dead almost outnumbered those who carried them.

Beuren and Thorin walked in silence. Not saying a single word, not sharing a look. It was only till she sighed did he even think she was breathing. He wrapped one arm around her shoulders. He noticed how tired she looked, how red her hair was… red?