So it came to be that Bard, Thranduil, Gandalf – who insisted that Náriel, Bilbo and Legolas were present too – sat in a tent with Dain. The Dwarf had promptly walked out from the ranks of his kin and stepped forwards beside Gandalf. He looked at the Dwarf with regard before leading him away.
The army which was marching steadily through the oncoming darkness was an enemy to all. And as such all other problems and quarrels should be set aside for them. If needs be, they could be picked up, but for the foremost, dealing with this came first.
It seemed that the only true plan of action was to lure their foes into the valley which was between the arms of the Mountain. With this done they themselves could man the outcropped surrounding cliffs to the East and South. This may have seemed simple, but it was in fact rather dangerous. If their enemy were in great numbers they could easily overrun the Mountain itself, never mind them, but if they managed to get into the Mountain, then they would be attacked from each sides. Regardless of the likelihood of being attacked from each sides – minus aerial attacks – the plan was set into motion, there was no time to find an alternative, or to summon help.
Soon the thunder which had been echoing out in the sky had disappeared. It passed lazily by but with that gone the thick cloud which had been travelling on the wind appeared. The cloud ended up being flocks of tightly flying bats, it flew low over the Mountain and whirled up in the air making sure to block out any light which was trying to shine. The blocked out sun just added to the unease, dread and anticipation which was already heavily hanging over everyone.
“Tôl auth,” Náriel whispered from Bilbo's side as they quickly marched towards their destination. He looked at her confused. “War is coming.” She said while looking at him and then up at the darkened sky. She had never seen it like it looked now. There was no sky as such. Just black, no light, no clouds, nothing. It was bleak, and dreadful, and caused everyone's morale to diminish even more.
So it came, a battle which no one had expected. The Battle of Five Armies. On one side were the Goblins and the Wild Wolves, and upon the other were Elves, Men and Dwarves. How this battle came to be stemmed from the fall of the Great Goblin of the Misty Mountains. Ever since then the hatred towards the race of Dwarves had – if possible – grown ever more and kindled anew with a fierce intensity. There had been messengers to and fro between all their cities, colonies and strongholds of the North. In secret they had gathered, and in all the mountains there was a great forging of weapons – though crude they were efficient – and arming. When all were armoured and carried weapons there was a great force marching through field, valley and over hill. Through tunnels, in the dark until they reached Gundabad of the North. This was their capital, a host so vast had already assembled ready to sweep down in any time. When news of Smaug's death had reached them, there was a joy which rang out and was felt in everyone. With this news staying at the forefront of their minds, everyone quickened their pace with new urgency. It was this urgency which had bought them on the hot trails of Dain.
“To the Mountain!” Bard called over all the ruckus of the marching. “Let us take our positions while we're still able to!”
On the Southern side in the lower slopes and the rocks at its feet, the Elves were set. Stoic faced and unmoving like silver clad statues. On the Eastern side were Men and Dwarves, they all looked as grim faced as each other in their darker armour. Bard and a few of the more able Men and Elves had climbed the height of the Eastern shoulder to gain view of the North. Soon they were able to see the land which stretched out at Erebor's feet. Black and never stopping was the great multitude which marched its way into Dale. They were making fast progress, even more so considering their swift beast steeds which they rode. Already their piercing echoing howls could be heard reverberating off of the rock faces around them. A few number had been set out to make a resistance stand, but these were easily flung aside, with jaws clamped on them. Or speared by sharp blades, or retreated backwards.
As Gandalf had hoped, the army before them had gathered and poured into the valley. They were wildly moving up between the arms of the Mountain trying their hardest to seek their foes. The banners which they wielded were endless and flying in the chilled breeze which was still present. Black and red were their colours and they soon grew more in number with the more figures which appeared.
The Elves were the first to charge. Their hate ran deep for those that they were pitted against. The swords and spears which they wielded bright silver in the failing light. With fluid efficiency and seemingly the actions of many years of training and fighting, the Elves moved forwards in one swift motion. Many twisted figures were caught on the ends of their sharp glimmering blades.
As soon as the enemy host was vast in numbers within the valley a voice called out above all: “Leithio i philin!” Thranduil stood with his archers, both Legolas, Náriel and Tauriel were a part of this group and stood by either side of him with their bows trained on the enemies before them. The arrows sailed down from the air as one force, each arrow head – much like their foot soldiers weapons – shined brightly in the gloom which surrounded them. Behind the archers a thousand spearmen leapt down and charged with their weapons raised. The yells coming from both sides were deafening. Having first to deal with the attack on the ground and then the air and then the ground again, the Goblin force found itself failing, their black blood stained the rocks below them.
Just as they were recovering from the onslaught which was sent their way and the Elf charge had halted, there rose across the valley a deep throated shouting ruckus. The Dwarves – in their native Khuzdul – were charging and shouting their battle cries as they charged forwards and plunged into battle. From the opposite side came the Men of the Lake with their long swords. Panic was putting it lightly, the Goblins panicked and even as they turned to meet a new attack the Elves had charged again with more numbers than before. Already it seemed that a retreat was happening. Many had turned to flee back the way they had come. Those who were riding had found that their steeds had turned on them. Victory, it seemed, was at hand. Or at least, it was until there was a cry which rang out from up high.
They had scaled the Mountain from the other side and already many were on the slopes above the main gate and the barricade. With the few crawling numbers which were there, many more joined them sensing the weak spot. Though, as more hurried along, there were many who lost their footings and fell from up high, they were shattered against the rocks never to move again. From the sides, the Goblins were able to climb up and over and attack the slopes where each part of the army had people set. These little ledges could be reached by paths that ran down from the main form of the Mountain which was in the centre, the defenders had too few to bar the way for long. Victory now vanished from hope. They had only just managed to stem the first onslaught of the black tide of the army.
The day drew slowly on. The Goblins continued to gather within the valley, and each time they'd either make progress or were driven back. With them came a host of Wargs. These easily bounded on their wiry muscular legs, either leaping on the shield wall which had been put up for temporary protection to get at those behind it. Or to simply leap and pounce on anyone who was unaware of their presence. Many people fell to the tearing teeth and clamping jaws of these beasts. With the Wargs came Bolg, who had been sent forward by his father; Azog, the Pale Orc for the most part had stayed back and watched the battle unfold from up on a high ledge on the back of his White Warg.
War is coming - Tôl auth
Release the arrows - Leithio i philin
(A/N: Oh dear Valar...dear, dear, Valar...so, stage one of BoFA is evidently under way. How's it going? Honestly, I have no clue, I rarely reread my stuff back, so I’m just gonna take your opinions as either 'good' or 'meh' or 'rubbish' xD Also, the way I see it, Azog seems the type of geezer to only appear in a fight when the person he wants to kill appears – hence why he's just chilling. Though, tbh, let's be honest, I could be awfully wrong. In the film he could very well be in the battle from the outset, but considering he's meant to be DEAD, I don't think it wholly matters when I shove him into the battle xD seriously, for a dead thing, Azog you're looking grand – psychotic – but grand xD)
YOU ARE READING
Calm The Fire (UNDER EDITING)Fanfiction
It is a little known fact that Thorin had come to dislike the race of elves; but perhaps it hasn't always been this way, maybe, just maybe, once upon a time there wasn't such high disdain held towards them. The dwarf-Prince's heart isn't as nearly a...