It was so good to feel like himself again. Gimli couldn't help grinning as he swung his axe, and more than one orc paused at seeing that grin—with fatal results.
Still, it was an even greater joy when his next target fell before he could bring his axe to bear, a familiar arrow sticking from its throat.
"Twenty-six," called Legolas from somewhere.
Gimli laughed.
"Legolas!" he called out. "Ibin abnâmul!" He looked about, but could not see his elf. "Where are you?"
"Here," called a voice from behind and approaching quickly. Gimli spun, and had just enough time to raise his hand before Legolas, still on horseback, gripped his forearm tightly and pulled him up onto his mount. "It is good to see you again, Meleth," Legolas said. "I hope it lasts long enough for me to greet you properly."
Gimli hummed so low it was nearly a purr and Legolas laughed. "Aye," Gimli agreed. "Let us hope I remain thus long enough for me to win my prize, for my count is now sixty-seven."
Legolas humphed, and fired his bow once more. How his love could steer their mount without reins, Gimli would never understand. "Twenty-seven," Legolas said. "And you've been in battle for longer than I."
Gimli grinned and swung his axe, taking out three orcs at once as they passed. "Where are we going?"
It was clear that Legolas was leading them away from the thick of battle. They were aiming for the Mountain—no, next to the Mountain.
"Thorin has taken your cousins to Ravenhill to end Azog and this battle once and for all," Legolas said. "It is a trap, for Bolg rides from the North and it nearly upon us."
Gimli felt his blood turn to ice colder than the river itself. "Ravenhill," he said. "This is the end of it, the moment." He gripped Legolas tightly around the waist with one arm, keeping his axe arm free. "Swiftly now!" he cried.
It was hard going on a horse, as the terrain was not kind. They had to keep to solid ground, for it was treacherous for even a shod horse to gallop over ice. They were halfway there when they saw the war cart, the dead wargs, and Balin. The white-haired dwarf waved at them from where he sat in the wreckage, idly patting the pelt of a large ram. Legolas pulled up short, letting Gimli slip from the saddle and make his way across the ice.
"Cousin Balin!" Gimli called. "Are you all right?"
"I'm old!" Balin called back. "But not so old as to be imminently fatal."
Gimli laughed as he caught up to the splintered war cart. "Seems like you have an interesting fight."
Balin grinned, showing his teeth. "It's been a long time since I drove a war cart. I've missed it." The Ram bayed, and Balin grinned. "Aye, me too." He looked back to Gimli, his expression sharp. "Thorin has taken to Ravenhill. My brother and the lads went with him."
"Aye," Gimli said. "That is why I cannot dally. They walk into a trap."
The humor fell from Balin's face. He looked up at where Legolas waited with the horse. "You'll never make it up on that beast," he said, and handed Gimli the reins of the Ram. "Take her. Be swift." He looked back up at Legolas. "You may have to leave him behind."
"Never," Gimli said, but he took no offense. "I've learned the weight of an elf is negligible on the back of a beast of burden. You stay safe, cousin."
"Mahal bless your path," Balin answered.
Gimli climbed aboard the Ram, and made their way quickly back up the side of the ravine, where Legolas eyed the ram with some trepidation. "My love," he said. "I'm not sure we will both fit."
"We have shared tighter accommodations," Gimli said. "And your horse, as strong as he is, will not have the ease of the climb the way this beauteous beast will." He held out his hand. "Trust me, my love."
"Always," Legolas said, without hesitation, and leapt from the back of the horse, sending her away with a whispered word. Taking Gimli's proffered hand, he folded himself into the ram in the pillion seat. His long legs were folded tightly, and Legolas's knees came up to around Gimli's chest. Gimli pressed his lips together and did his best not to laugh.
"I can feel you mirth, meleth-nin, Legolas said. "Is this payback for the barrels?"
"I would never be so petty," Gimli said, and urged the Ram on with a flick of the reigns. Legolas's grip tightened around Gimli's waist, and Gimli knew he was grinning as the Ram lead them across the river and up the path to Ravenhill.
They burst onto the ruins of a small courtyard to find themselves face to face with Thorin and Dwalin. Legolas slid, gratefully and gracefully, from the back of the Ram. Gimli dropped down with more pragmatism, landing with a solid thud.
"Gimli," Thorin said, with surprise. He looked at Legolas. "Thranduillion."
"Legolas," the elf corrected, gently.
Gimli waved his arms. "There'll be time for that later. The Gundabad army is upon us. We need to leave now, or we'll be surrounded."
"We're so close," Dwalin rumbled. "That orc scum is here; I say we push on,"
"No," Thorin said. "Gimli is right. We must leave."
"Finally, someone listens to reason," Gimli said under his breath. Then, louder, "Where are Fíli and Kíli?"
Thorin paled, and in an instant, Gimli knew. "No, no, no," he said, and looked at the spire beyond. "You didn't."
Thorin turned to Dwalin. "Find Fíli and Kíli. Call them back." Dwalin nodded.
"I will go with you," Legolas said. "I'm fast on my feet." Dwalin looked like he would protest, but jerked his head in agreement. They hadn't taken more than a few steps when the drums sounded.
"Oh, no, no, no," Gimli said as he spun, but there was no denying the truth before his eyes. He felt his heart fall into his stomach.
Azog had Fíli.
The pale orc lifted him up off the ground with ease, even as Fíli kicked and struggled. Still, he was held fast.
The world around Gimli fell away; he was aware, dimly, of Kíli's cried for his brother. He knew Legolas had his bow notched and ready to fire. He knew Azog was taunting Thorin, playing with him before he killed—
Before he killed Fíli.
Gimli had failed. Somehow, all the horrors of before were coming to pass again. He couldn't stop Thorin's fall. He couldn't stop the battle. He couldn't stop the death of his kin. His vision started to white at the edges as the wind whipped around them.
The spell was broken with the sound of an arrow whistling through the air. Azog's taunts were cut off mid-word in a sickening gurgle as an arrow embedded itself in his nethers. Fíli fell, dropped, from the edge of the ledge, as Agog staggered backwards.
"Fíli!" Kíli cried, and Fíli screamed in pain, but Gimli could hear him swearing. He would live. Fíli would live.
Gimli turned to thank Legolas for doing what he could not, but the elf was not looking at him. His bow was still notched, arrow unfired, and eyes looked South. Gimli followed his gaze and saw the Lady Dís astride her Ram, bow still in hand and Bilbo white-faced behind her.
"Dís," Thorin said, breathless.
"I will deal with you later, Thorin Oakenshield," Dís cried, and Gimli felt like wincing even as his heart cheered. "The time has come to end this curse upon our family." The Ram shifted and Dís rocked with the motion as she raised her eyebrow. "Try to actually kill him this time, yes?"
Thorin drew himself up, affronted. "The Pale Orc dies today," he vowed. "The Line of Durin will endure." He nodded to Dwalin and took off after Azog, Orcrist in his hand.
"Yes!" Dwalin cried, and ran after.
Gimli ran up to the ledge, the need to see overcoming his need to follow Thorin, and he felt Legolas as a tall, warm presence at his back.
Fíli had landed on the ledge in front of another small cave entrance, where Kíli had been watching. That small ledge saved Fíli's life; another foot forward and Fíli would have fallen into the ravine, miles deep. He had landed, poorly, however, and even without Kíli's hovering, Gimli would know Fíli's legs were broken. His left leg lay at a sickeningly odd angle, and his right was bent too far back at the knee. His face was white with pain.
"I will go to him," Legolas said. "Your king needs you." He grabbed Gimli by his hair and pulled him in for a searing kiss.
Gimli gasped, and reveled in the scant moment they had together. Legolas pulled away, leaning their foreheads together, their breath mingling. "I have traveled through death and time to be at your side. It would be very ill of you to leave me again, and I would be very cross."
"I fear not death," Gimli said, his voice a deep rumble, "But I have no desire to meet her again, so soon. Keep yourself from the halls of your ancestors, and I will do the same."
Legolas smiled, surprisingly sweet, and gently kissed him again. He pulled back, and stood at the edge of the cliff, prepared to jump.
"And tell my cousin I expect to see him after this—" Gimli cried. "We have a game to settle!"
Legolas flashed him a wild grin, feral and sharp in his blood-flecked face, and left with startling grace to the ledge below.
Gimli watched him disappear, and then turned to follow Thorin.
~*~
Kíli's hands shook.
Kíli had been working as a mercenary guard with Fíli since he was in his sixties. He had faced wolves and bandits, orcs and trolls. He had been fighting for his life since he was a young dwarfling, all ears and gap-toothed smile.
Seeing Fíli broken before him, coming so very near death, had rattled something loose, and Kíli could not stop shaking. His vision blurred, and he wiped tears from his eyes, leaving a streak of wetness across his cheek.
There was a soft "thwump", like the sound of snow falling from a tree branch, and Kíli's head snapped up, his sword in hand, finally still even as his heart raced like a hare's, and saw Legolas kneeling in the snow before him.
Kíli opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. Closing his mouth, he swallowed thickly, letting his sword dip. Legolas watched him with luminous eyes, wide and soft with sympathy.
"Danger lurks near," Legolas said, quietly. "Bolg still hunts, and seeks to avenge his father's injury. I will stay with your brother, and offer him what little healing I have. He will be safe in my hands."
Kíli blinked at him, the cadence of his words still so strange in Kíli's ears. When Tauriel spoke, it was like a strange music, unfamiliar yet already deeply loved. Bolg was here. Legolas could heal Fíli. Kíli could kill Bolg and end the line of Azog. He tightened his grip on his sword.
" Mukhuh Mahal bakhuz murukhzu", he said, bowing deep. Legolas touched his hand to his chest, bowing his head.
"Galu, Kíli, son of Dís," Legolas said. "May your blade fall true."
Kíli nodded, and turned towards where he could now hear the sounds of fighting. Bolg's time was numbered.
His hands no longer shook.
~*~
Tauriel landed gently on the top of the rock wall, and took a moment to look back at the battle that raged beneath her. From here it was easy to see the sheer numbers of the orcs; the Free Peoples had rallied, true, and fought with renewed strength of heart, but they were not making the progress they should, even with Lady Galadriel on the field.
And wasn't the Lady a sight to behold. She rode like a legend of old, white fire and grace with all the power of the tides. The orcs fled before her, but for every orc she felled, two more took its place. Still, her eyes were lit as if with fever, and Tauriel knew she would fight until Mandos came to claim her, if necessary.
Glorfindel (and Tauriel would never feel quite comfortable leaving his titles aside, not matter how much he insisted), fought much the same, and she could see in him the warrior that had killed the flame of Morgoth.
Such legends come to life; it made Tauriel dizzy when she thought too long on it.
A shadow passed overhead, and Tauriel crouched, head snapping up to judge this new threat. Her heart quickened, but not with fear.
"The Eagles," she breathed, and she laughed aloud. The sound of it echoed amidst the clang of steel. The Eagles had come.
Tauriel had never met the Great Eagles, though she knew Legolas had in his other life, and she could only watch as a great host of them flew overhead. They were large, large enough to carry even Glorfindel as a rider. In fact, one tawny eagle did carry a rider, a wild-haired man in brown homespun. Radagast the Brown.
Looking closer, Tauriel saw others among the eagles, held in their talons, and as they passed over the battlefield, the eagles let them loose. One by one they fell, and as they fell they shifted taking the form of great beasts, with a great Bear the lead. "Skinwalkers," she breathed.
And in that moment, the tides were turned. The Skinwalkers let no orc past, and the eagles picked off their prey, to drop them from a great height only to topple a score of others. They might yet win this day.
Tauriel was suddenly aware of harsh breathing behind her, and the stench of unwashed orc filled her nose. She spun, her hair flying out behind her, even as she slashed with one of her wicked long-bladed knives.
Bolg stopped the blow with the metal of his arm guard, and Tauriel cursed her inattention. Her battle was not over yet. With a cry, she leapt at him, her knives flashing.
~*~
Kíli heard Tauriel cry out, and stopped, heart beating fast. He was in the guard tower, and its paths were many. He closed his eyes, and listened, focusing on the sound of her voice, pushing away the rest of the echoes. He put his hand to the stone and tried to quiet his breathing. His left ear twitched.
There! The scuff of an elvish shoe, the heavy tread of iron-shod orcs.
Kíli took off at a run, not bothering to open his eyes, relying on the echo of his own footsteps to tell him the twists and turns of his path. The sounds of the fight grew louder as he grew closer, and as he felt the weak sun on his face, Kíli opened his eyes.
Tauriel spun and sliced Bolg's throat open, sending her other blade up though his chin into his head, just as Kíli skittered to a stop in the small stone courtyard.
There was silence for a long moment as Kíli stared at Bolg, then at Tauriel, who was watching him, breath heavy. She had obviously seen battle. Her hair was matted with blood, and her face was several shades darker from dirt and blood. Her long skirts were frayed and singed. She looked like a wild creature from the stories Balin told when they were younger. She had never looked more beautiful.
It took Kíli a long moment to find his voice, but when he did, he smiled widely.
"That was amazing!"
Tauriel beamed, and only just remembered to drop her other blade when Kíli pulled her into an exuberant kiss.
~*~
"You've gotten yourself into quite a mess, cousin," Legolas chided him gently, and Fíli surprised himself when he had the energy to laugh, choked off as it was.
Mahal's bloody hammer, tongs, and forge, he had never felt pain like this before. "They're broken, aren't they. My legs." It wasn't a question. He knew they were broken, he didn't need Legolas's gentle nod to tell him so.
"They need to be set," Legolas said. "Or they won't heal properly."
But Fíli shook his head. He remembered visiting Gimli when he had been helping on Óin's rounds. There had been a patient, once, a miner, whose leg had broken when one of the old ore mines, already stripped nearly bare, had collapsed. It had been a big scandal at the time, in a way that Fíli was only just beginning to be aware of, where the workers had been pushed too hard, too fast. There was a new head of the miner's guild after that, he remembered.
But the miner, one of three who had survived, had been laid up in bed for weeks, pale and wan, as Óin clucked over his leg. Like Fíli, his leg had snapped sideways halfway down from his knee. It had been nearly a day before he had been pulled from the rubble, and well...
Dwarven bones were hard and their muscles were dense. It was not easy to set dwarf bones. Óin had called him lucky to walk away with both legs, even if his crooked leg meant he would never walk without aid again.
Fíli was under no illusion. He was broken while battle still raged. It would be hours before he was tended to, if he was tended to at all, and his legs were in far worse shape than that miner from long ago.
Legolas raised his eyebrows at him. "Do you not wish your legs to heal?" Legolas asked.
"Have you ever set dwarf bone?" Fíli asked, his voice quiet.
"Yes," Legolas said, and Fíli looked at him in surprise. Legolas pulled his knife from its sheath and began to cut up the side of Fíli's left trouser leg. "It was long after the events that connected Gimli and I. All of our fellowship, save for us, had left Arda, so I built a boat and together we sailed to Aman. Gimli was already an old dwarf, then, the red in his hair more an echo than it's current sounding call." Legolas's hands were cool where they brushed Fíli's inflamed skin, though even the most gentle touch sent fire sizzling up Fíli's nerves. He grit his teeth, and focused on Legolas's voice.
"We sailed until the days stretched together and time lost all meaning. I do not know how long our journey was, in truth, but when we arrived at the shores of Aman, greeted by the Lady and Mithrandir, Gimli's hair was a brilliant white." Without warning, Legolas braced one hand on Fíli's knee, and pulled. Fíli's scream startled the birds before he could bite down on it, his sight greying at the edges.
When at last Fíli settled, the blazing agony falling to a lingering red haze of pain, he realized that his left leg was straight once more. He blinked up at Legolas, who had been silent the whole time; he had not expected his slight-framed cousin to be so strong. The elf looked drained, like that simple act had taken more out of him than he had expected. Fíli places his hand over his cousin's long-fingers, and Legolas's mouth quirked.
"Together, we built our home on the shore. Unlike the wooden structures of my kin, grown together of living wood, our home was made of stone, in the dwarves fashion. It would have taken a team of elvish craftsman several years to make; it took Gimli and I two." He sighed. "It would have been a year and a half if Gimli hadn't slipped and fell from the roof. If he had been younger, if I had been faster—but we were no longer used to thinking of dangers in that place, and he fell. His leg was much as yours, and he had to coach me through the setting before he would let me send for the healers. I know how quickly dwarves heal, and even in his age when everything begins to slow, if we had waited his bone would not set."
Fíli hummed. His leg still throbbed, but the pain had lost some of its sickening edge. His other leg, however, still howled horribly at him. Legolas closed his eyes, holding his hand just above Fíli's knee. He frowned, and Fíli felt the little hope he had grow cold in his breast.
"What is it?" he asked.
Legolas sighed, shaking his head and dropping his hand. "Legs, arms—these are easy things to do. Knees, however..." he let the sentence hang as Fíli closed his eyes. "I am sorry, cousin. There is little I can do."
Fíli nodded, and lay back, praying for the pain to stop and waiting for the battle to end.
~*~
Gimli found the others in a doorway that opened to the frozen river. No one so much as spared him a glance, which concerned as much as frustrated him. He pushed forward to stand next to Bilbo. His friend was pale, and there was a steely set to his jaw that Gimli had never seen before. Gimli looked past Dwalin—not an easy feat, the old warrior was large—and blew out his breath in exasperation.
Thorin was standing alone on the ice, no armor. No helm. Completely exposed.
"Mahal wept," Gimli muttered under his breath.
"He's gone to draw out the Defiler," Dwalin murmured. Gimli looked at Dwalin, and noticed how tightly he held his war hammer. Past him, Lady Dís was standing in shadow, her bow again nocked and ready in her hand.
"Still," Gimli muttered. You'd think, if he was handing out mithril shirts, he would have at least found himself some solid plate. Then again, Gimli didn't blame Thorin for not wanting to wear anything from Erebor at the moment.
Something in the air shifted, and Gimli knew they had spotted Azog. He pushed forward as much as he dared, and finally got a clear view of the river.
At the far end from Thorin, Agog had finally appeared. Dís's arrow was missing from his loins, and he walked upright, though slow. Gimli would bet hard-earned money that he was hurting something fierce. Good.
"Looks like he wasn't too keen on your handiwork," Dwalin muttered. Lady Dís raised her head, looking down her nose at the scene.
"Pity," she said, dry. "I'll have to try something different, next time."
Azog dragged behind him a large block of stone attached to a thick, rusted chain. His footsteps crackled and ran on the ice, even under the constant dissonant scrape of stone.
"Oakenshield," Azog called out. "You and your miserable line end tonight!"
Thorin didn't say anything in response. His sword never wavered. Step by step, he advanced on the injured orc.
"No pretty words?" Azog taunted. "You're getting feeble in your old age."
Still, Thorin said nothing. Now, however, Dís had her bow raised, Azog clearly in her sights.
With a cry, Azog attacked, swinging the stone on its chain with surprising speed—but not fast enough! Thorin ducked under the swing, bringing him up behind the orc as Agog staggered, unbalanced by his wound and the weight of his weapon. Orcrist flashed, and Thorin drew first blood.
Enraged, Azog swung again, and again Thorin dodged. This time, however, the stone block embedded into the ice, sending out splintering cracks. Thorin pressed forward, but his blade was turned aside last moment by Azog's blade hand. He danced back, eyes wary as Azog pulled his weapon free.
"What are you waiting for?" Gimli hissed. "Put an arrow in his eye and end it!"
"Not yet," Lady Dís whispered back through tight teeth.
"This is Thorin's fight," Dwalin rumbled. "That beast took much from him; our king deserves the chance to get it back. To avenge his father and grandfather."
"Even if it gets him dead," Bilbo said, speaking for the first time, and Gimli wasn't the least bit surprised by the amount of venom in his voice. Even Dwalin looked at him in surprise.
"We won't let that happen, Bilbo," Dwalin promised, and the use of his given name seemed to startle the hobbit. "But look at the way Thorin is fighting. Truly look. Who has the advantage here?" If Gimli closed his eyes, he could almost be back on the training grounds at home, listening to Dwalin instruct the other dwarflings as the princes sparred for them.
Bilbo squinted at the fight, and Gimli turned his own attention back to his cousin. The ice was now breaking readily and the ground beneath the feet of both fighters was treacherous. Still, it was Thorin who moved swiftly, who stepped surely from ice floe to ice floe.
Thorin was dodging with ease, but with the added danger of the broken ice, he had yet gotten close enough to so much as scratch the orc's armor. "Time to tip those scales a bit, yes?" Gimli asked.
Lady Dís nodded. "I do believe you're right." She loosed her arrow, and a moment later it was sticking from Azog's chest, over where his heart would be, if he had one. Dís dropped her bow. "Damn," she swore. "I missed."
Azog, meanwhile, broke the arrow off with his only hand, and Thorin used his distraction to slice at him once more.
But the arrow didn't slow Azog down as much as they had hoped, and in a moment Thorin was the one on his back. He rolled, falling as the ice tilted, and just barely managed to miss falling into the water. He leapt and landed on solid ice. Azog brought his weapon around, and once again the stone stuck fast in the ice. He tugged, but he couldn't move far as the ice he was on would overbalance, and the stone wouldn't budge.
Thorin bared his teeth, grinning, and used all of his strength to pull the rock from the ice and toss it at Azog. Taken by surprise, Azog caught the rock, stepping backwards, and that it was all it took. The ice tipped. Azog scrambled, but he was pulled beneath the surface by the weight of his weapon.
The ice righted itself on the surface of the water, and everything was still.
"Go," Bilbo whispered. "Go to him."
Gimli didn't need to be told twice. Before them, Thorin picked up Orcrist, then paused as something under the ice caught his attention. He walked slowly, his sword low at his side.
"Thorin!" Dwalin called out, his tread heavy behind Gimli. There was another set, Lady Dís, though it moved with a lighter tread.
"Uncle!" cried another voice, and when Gimli looked he saw Kíli and Tauriel on the other side of the river, Kíli quickly climbing down the rockface.
The next few moments happened very quickly.
Thorin screamed, head back as his foot was pinned to the ice by the blade sticking through it, and when Thorin could finally stagger back, the ice before him broke and Azog sprang from the hole. Thorin landed on his back, looking up at the white beast before him, and Azog raised his blade arm, blood still dripping from the tip.
Another arrow lodged in Azog's shoulder, and he didn't even bother to break it off as he turned—right into Dwalin's hammer, swung with every bit of his strength.
Azog staggered back, face whipped to the side, and when he looked back, his jaw hung at a strange angle. He knocked Dwalin aside, but Gimli was there, keeping him on the defensive as Gimli's axes flashed.
Then Kíli was there, back to back with Gimli, and Dwalin was back on his feet, and Lady Dís slashed with a dwarven shortsword, and Azog staggered under their combined attack.
Dwalin shattered Azog's thigh.
Kíli opened Azog's arm from elbow to shoulder.
Lady Dís drove her sword through Azog's other shoulder.
Gimli took Azog's bladed hand just above the elbow.
Thorin stepped in, and in one clean swing, separated Azog's head from his shoulders.
The head of Azog the Defiler bounced and rolled away, leaving a black trail on the clear-blue ice.
"It is over," Thorin said, and fell to one knee.
The others jumped to his side, even Bilbo scrambled from his watching place and ran, so no one was there to catch Gimli when the world went sideways and then blissfully dark.