No.
Lyla turned briefly to look up at Thorin's horrified face. She looked panicked, tired, and terrified. But then, a small, resigned smile lit her features and a look of calm affection sparkled in her large hazel eyes for a brief moment. She gave Thorin a quick nod of her head and then she quickly turned around.
Thorin's stomach dropped at the realization.
No!
Mahal, no!
"Lyla!" He thundered, trying to scramble from his barrel, reaching his arm for her, trying to grab her jacket, her arm, anything, as she pulled the lever, dropping the companions down a chute and into a fast-paced river. The last image that he caught was a mop of matted, dirty golden curls disappearing from his view as his barrel plunged into the river.
No!
That foolish, impertinent, annoying, brave hobbit. Why would she do that?! Why would she purposely put herself in harm's way like this?
Mahal help him, no.
No.
****
Azog's roar was deafening as the barrels containing Lyla's dwarves tumbled down into the chute, safe from the pale orc's mal intent.
The same couldn't be said for their small hobbit burglar.
She knew that by pulling the lever she'd have a small chance of making it through the chute along with her company members. But that didn't matter. What mattered was getting those she cared about to safety. That was the most important thing to her.
And part of her wanted to gloat of her success, to triumphantly stand in from of Azog, with a calm demeanor and a large smirk.
She had bested him after all. How many creatures could claim such a title as their own?
But as she stared down the pale orc, whose beady blue eyes betrayed the utter hatred and contempt he held for the small hobbit, she didn't feel smug. Far from it in fact.
She felt fear. Heart-stopping, limb shaking fear from the tips of her ears to the bottom of her soles.
Her gaze flicked down to the still, blonde elf lying in crimson, his breath still, his eyes closed, mouth pulled into a silent cry. Anguish filled her veins for the loss of an innocent life.
'Aule bless him,' she thought pleadingly.
But then a panic welled up inside her, threatening to destroy her rational thinking as she realized that she too might end up like that.
Lyla looked back to Azog's scowling face and saw the look in the orc's eyes and knew that he wanted her dead as well. There would be no games played, no dancing around the issue.
He intended to kill her.
But despite this earth-shattering fear, the terrified knowledge that this moment could likely be her end, Lyla felt no regret for her actions. She knew it was the right thing to do. And she'd do it again if the opportunity presented itself to her.
Thorin's face flashed in her mind and then Fili's, Kili's, Bofur's, Dwalin's and the rest of the company's. She smiled at the thought of those thirteen rowdy, unusual, boisterous, creatures.
Those dwarves meant more to her than anything in Middle Earth.
They were her family now.
And she'd protect them, even if it meant never being able to see them again.
Because after all, she was just an ordinary little hobbit.
Nothing special really.
But they were important beyond all measurable treasures.
Lyla swallowed the bile that had risen into her throat and blindly searched to grab hilt of her sword with shaking hands.
Time seemed to slow down, colors becoming brighter, shapes more defined, expressions forever burned into her memory. She noted the battled swirling around her. Elves of all shapes and sizes, with their bright silver swords, and bows, moved gracefully around her, dancing and spinning as they slew orc after orc, slimy flesh and snarling growls falling to the floor.
She also saw, with startling clarity, Azog's large scarred hand clenched into a tight fist, his eyes narrowed and teeth bared. She could see the taut, bulging muscles the beast's neck and the dark scowl that took up the entirety of his face as he charged forward, a guttural cry falling from his blackened lips.
Surprised at the orc's speed, Lyla stumbled backwards with a cry as the blow from Azog's clawed arm connected with explosive force to the blade of her sword. She felt her grip buckle, but with a gasp, she forced her arms to remain firm and still. She would not buckle against this.
She couldn't afford to.
The orc snarled at her and bore down, the sheer weight of his presence bending her form until she nearly toppled.
Her muscles protested, her back groaned in agony, her hands shook.
"mother," she whispered desperately, a deep panic settling in her heart.
She was going to die.
But then a loud cry shattered Lyla's ears as Tauriel lunged forward and drove a knife into Azog's arm.
The surprised orc let out a howl of agony and released his hold over Lyla who toppled backwards, gasping for air, her heart hammering in her chest.
The elf rammed her body into Azog's pushing the still howling orc backwards. And then she stood, between Lyla and Azog, tall and proud, her auburn air tousled and tumbling down her back, with her knife in one hand and her sword (a thin delicate thing) grasped tightly in her other hand. A spectacular scowl graced her features as deep, forest green eyes glittered with fury and Lyla could feel the anger radiating from the lithe creature before her.
"Back!" She hissed, a deep biting fury lacing her words as her fingers twitched, "Stay back."
Azog growled and straightened, baring his pointed, rotting teeth his eyes narrowed into slits as he gazed at the elf before him. Azog's glanced down at his arm, his dark blood dripping slowly to the marbled stone floor. His fist curled and a low roar escaped the orc's lips.
And then he charged the elf, who stood unruffled by the pale orcs sheer intimidating power.
"Run." Tauriel murmured behind her, towards Lyla. "Run little one. Go!"
And the orc was upon the elf. She twisted herself backwards, dodging a blow and brought her sword up to parry the second shot the orc threw at her. Metal clashed against metal, the stinging sound reverberating in Lyla's ears with shocking force.
She stumbled to her feet and backed up, her eyes wide her head confused. Why would they help her.
Azog noticed her movements and with a quick shove, knocked the elf downwards, lunging towards the hobbit once more. She tried to bring her sword up, to defend herself.
Someone jerked Lyla backwards as another elf leapt in front of the quaking hobbit.
Legolas, stood, bow notched with an arrow aimed between Azog's eyes.
"Move and I bury this arrow in your skull, you filth," Legolas snapped, his lips pulled into a thin line as he stared down the orc.
Azog's eyes twitched and he let out a low growl, his speech marred by the fury he obviously felt.
Lyla, however, was pinned by an angry and frazzled looking Thranduil, who grasped the hobbit's shoulders, his grip bordering on painful.
Oh for Aule's sake! Was he serious?!
"Why!" He muttered darkly his golden hair tumbling in his face, "You let them escape! You helped them! How did you get in here?! Tell me!"
He stopped suddenly and peered down at her, his mouth forming an 'o' and a look of disbelief clouding his features.
"It was you I sensed. In the throne room. YOU!" Thranduil's eyes narrowed and a twisted frown worked onto his face, contorting it into something hideous as he fisted the collar of Lyla's shirt in his thin, pale hands, "You were the one to kill the spiders. You've been here the entire time."
He shook hobbit forcefully, until Lyla could feel her teeth start to rattle in her head.
"How!" he uttered furiously, "What power are you hiding! Tell me how!"
He was crazy.
She needed to get away from him.
She arched her back and brought her foot upwards, landing a solid kick into the elf king's stomach. The elf seemed to come to his senses due to the force and backed away from the hobbit quickly, his hands balled into fists, a frown on his face.
But Lyla let out a low groan and she launched herself upwards and into the arms of the startled king, pushing the elf to the side just as an orc knife whizzed past. Lyla let out a hiss as the serrated edge of the weapon broke through the fabric and nicked her skin. The orc was upon them both, snarling and hissing, clawing at both Lyla and Thranduil. Lyla pressed the king backwards, away from the attack as she pushed her legs outward, connecting with gangly legs of the creature. Losing its balance the orc toppled awkwardly to the side, a startled screech escaping its lips.
Then a loud cracking noise caught Lyla's attention. She was shocked to see Gandalf the Grey standing before her, staff outstretched as he brought the hard polished wood down again.
Onto the mottled flesh of the surprised green-grey orc. The creature slumped on top of Thranduil and the elf king sighed in disgust and, shoving the still body to the ground, tried to rise again.
Lyla scrambled away from both the orc and the elf, a wearied nervousness wearing her down. She didn't even know if she could trust this elf!
But not before still another crack from Gandalf's staff sent Thranduil grunting backwards in surprise and pain.
"I'll not have any of that. You are not yourself Thranduil son of Oropher. You have to let her go Thranduil. Do it."
The elf king growled lowly, but his thin bony fingers released their hold on Lyla's jacket bregrudgingly.
She pushed herself backwards, away from the elf king, her eyes warily scanning around for signs of the pale orc, who was still being detained by Legolas and a few other of the elf guard.
"You fool of a Took!" Gandalf's gruff, harried voice was in her ear as he straightened her up and shoved her to the side. "Get to the barrel. Tauriel will take care of the rest."
Lyla stood for a moment gaping at the wizard.
"Move!" He admonished again shoving her again even as he surged forward to aid Legolas who, while distracted by his father, had been tackled by the orc. The elf was struggling to pull the pale creature from atop him, reaching desperately for his belt, where a sheathed sword lay.
Then Gandalf was there, staff and sword in hand prepared to strike. With a low cry, he brought his sword downward with surprising force and speed.
He would have connected with Azog's shoulder, had not the orc been prepared for the attack and parried his movements, rolling off of Legolas in order to stand and defend himself against the grey wizard.
Lyla'd seen enough.
She darted to her left and skirted around the slowly dimming battle--a battle she noted with relief, that was being won by the eles--as she made her way back towards the barrel port and to a barrel that sat atop the platform, ready and waiting for her.
How did they?
When?
WHY?
Tauriel gestured her forward, "Into the barrel shireling, hurry!"
Lyla scrambled up to the platform and sheathed her sword, stumbling, with some difficulty, into the large wooden barrel that smelled faintly of apples. She gazed at Tauriel confusedly.
"Why?" She murmured lowly, uncertain if the elf could hear her.
But hear her she did. Tauriel gave a grim smile even as Lyla heard Thranduil's cries of protest for the red-haired elf to stop her movements.
"Stop!" the elf king thundered, "Do not aid in his escape! Bring the hobbit here, now!"
"The elves are indebted to you little hobbit. Thank you," Tauriel murmured, her face contorted into a grimace as the shouts from Thranduil continued.
Then she pulled the lever.
Lyla gripped the edges of the barrel, digging her nails into the weathered wood as she felt a strange rushing sensation shift through her body, making her stomach drop to her toes, as the barrel rolled down the platform and towards the chute.
But, before she disappeared from Thranduil's halls completely, Azog's murderous growl erupted in her ears, and a heavy thud echoed around her as something crashed into the barrel.
Lyla let out a startled scream as a long clawed arm shot into the barrel and Azog's pinched, scarred face loomed over her, a snarl tearing from his lips as he gazed into the barrel.
And into the face of the frightened hobbit he had trapped.