A Single Dream is More Powerful Than a Thousand Realities

Chaos

Lyla could feel the warg's cold, sticky blood dripping down her face as she watched Azog slowly creep towards her, a furious glint sparked in his beady blue eyes. His fingers were taut around the handle of his mace and his mouth was pulled into a deep frown, making the scars along his cheekbones stand out. He spat something, in his black speech, low and menacing as he slowly edged ever closer.

And she wasn't stupid. Lyla knew the odds were stacked against her. She was small, with no armor and only one measly weapons practice under her belt.
And here she was facing down a giant, monstrous creature, bloodthirsty and enraged.

Heart pounding erratically, she hazarded a quick glance back at Thorin's still form, desperate to assure herself that he was still breathing before tightening the grip on her sword and her resolve.

If she was going to die, she mused, she may as well die trying to protect someone deserving.

That didn't seem such a terrible thing.

Azog stopped a few feet from Lyla, narrowed his eyes and smirked, baring his serrated teeth.

Lyla narrowed her own eyes in response and readied herself for what she knew was coming.

And Azog did not disappoint.

With a loud roar, he charged with surprising speed, his mace raised high and his clawed arm thrust forward, as though to impale her.

Lyla raised her sword upward to meet his mace, while trying to dodge his long sharp clawed arm. She felt the metal nick the fabric of her cloak, but missing all contact with her body.

Her arms buckled at the contact of Azog's powerful swing. Her fingers started slipping as she tried desperately to hold her grip on her sword and stop the mace from connecting with her skull.

With a growl of annoyance, the giant orc raised his clawed arm and swung, connecting with Lyla's face, ramming into her chin. Her grip slipped, her sword clattering, as the force of the blow sent her sprawling.

Azog chuckled as Lyla tried to scramble to her feet.

Only to meet the orc's boot in the stomach, knocking the wind from her and sending her downward again.

The orc kicked her again, forcing Lyla to roll onto her back, the orc's thick leather boot pressed firmly on her chest.

And then he was on top of her, the cold metal of his clawed appendage crushing her windpipe, cutting off all air from her lungs.

He didn't want to kill her quickly, she realized. He wanted to draw this out.

To torture her.
She dug her fingers into the orc's flesh, trying to push the monstrous beast off of her. She kicked her legs furiously, trying to wiggle from his firm grip. But the sheer weight of the monster, was more than her slender form could manage.

Azog only laughed at her attempts and pressed the metal harder into her throat, spitting vicious words at her, his saliva dripping over her cheeks and into her eyes.
Her hands started searching to her sides, trying find something, anything, she could use to defend herself. Her sword was nowhere within reach.

But then she had a brilliant idea.

An incredibly stupid, brilliant, Tookish idea.

And she was no simpering Bracegirdle or a snooty Sackville Baggins.

She was a Took. And a Baggins.

Probably mostly Took if her current predicament was any indication.

And dammit if she wasn't going to use her wits to her advantage.

Bringing her right knee upward in a jerking motion, she connected a hit to the pale orc's groin. The surprised creature let out a small annoyed grunt, his grip loosening marginally.