Of Dragons, Dwobbits and Dwarves

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Fili soared over the battlefield feeling as if he were in a nightmare.

He wished it were one he could wake up from.

Below, the ground was littered with the broken corpses of dragons and those riding them. He caught sight of Quinlan, clearly dazed and favoring a leg. He'd been on the lowest level of the tiered formation, near Xalanth, and must have been hit by a dragon falling from overhead. Other dragons had already landed around him, protecting him as he got his bearings. He wouldn't be able to fight on land but should still be effective in the air, a harsh but necessary evil and one Fili was sure the dragon was happy to take in lieu of the alternative.

The image of Quinlan's tiny son flashed through his mind and Fili breathed a silent prayer of thanks that the small creature wouldn't have to deal with the agony of a broken bond, or the pain of losing his father.

He had no doubt others were feeling such pain, even then. They'd lost the mental links again as they'd approached Mordor and the mountain within so it was always possible those back home hadn't felt the breaks, but he doubted they were that lucky. His uncle had mentioned people feeling soul bonds snap on the way from Rivendell to Erebor and he had no doubt those left behind had felt these now. Gothmog relished pain. He'd make sure they could feel it.

Plus, it was the only thing he could hold onto in light of the fact that he couldn't see his family anywhere. Couldn't see them, but hadn't felt any bonds break and surely he would have had they...had anything happened.

Surely.

Some distance from Quinlan, and farther down the slope, lay the still body of another drake, one of the younger ones he didn't immediately recognize. A young dwarven woman knelt next to it, fingers digging into the fabric of her trousers and mouth open in a scream he could practically feel if not hear.

I'm so glad it isn't me.

The words passed unbidden through his mind, followed closely by a rush of shame over their selfishness. It could yet be him. Syrath and his mother had been left behind but the rest of his family was there, and the battle was far from over.

It could be him, but he thanked Aule it wasn't.

Yet.

Sardin shifted beneath him, not the sharp twists and turns he'd made when avoiding falling dragons and people, but enough that it got his attention. He looked down and saw orcs advancing on the young woman. She was still kneeling, silent, eyes fixed on her hands.

"No," Fili growled. They'd lost enough. He leaned forward and patted Sardin on the neck, hoping to convey that he'd seen the same thing the dragon had and wanted to go.

Sardin must have gotten the message because he adjusted and suddenly was diving straight down, through the gaps in the formation everyone was too stunned to close. Only moments before those holes had been filled with friends and family.

Now...

Now they were simply gone.

Sardin landed behind the woman, roaring in rage and sending a burst of flame over her head to incinerate the first few ranks of orcs making their way up. The move gave Fili enough time to unstrap himself from the harnesses and slide off the dragon, drawing his sword as he did.

"Come on," he ordered, kneeling next to the young woman and grabbing her arm to pull her to her feet. This close, he could see she had dark blonde hair tied in braids around her head similar to how Bilba wore hers. Her eyes were a deep blue and she wore clothing that marked her as a member of the merchant's guild, which explained why he didn't recognize her. The guild was enormous, often boasting families with many children, dwarven and dwobbit alike. It also had a high number of dragon riders, due to the children of merchants being the ones to deliver food regularly to the dragon levels, by intent.