The deadly clash of swords rang through the smoke-filled air. The pain-filled screams of the dying mingled with the war cries of those few who still stood. Countless bodies littered the valley ground, piled high atop each other in grotesque and twisted positions of agony. The metallic odor of blood mixed with the sickening smell of burnt skin and smoke made the battlefield a truly horrific, hellish place. The sky was a dull red color, the sun hanging low and massive at the western horizon. The jagged foothills that were carved into that side of the mountain leered over the battlefield like gargantuan jaws, awaiting the battle's end to claim the dead.
King Dain stalwartly stood atop a pile of corpses, his mighty warhammer swinging to and fro. His eyes bulged from their sockets as he sought out foes, and no longer did he display the mad smile that he usually did when fighting. He was growing tired, his arms aching from the effort of hefting his weapon.
Brand fought as best he could beside him, his broken arm hanging limply at his side. Their wain protected their flank, shattered and broken where it had been crushed by a troll. That same troll lay beside it, its swollen tongue lolling from its mouth and its eyes looking lifelessly at the sky above.
The enemy closed in all around them, but few were eager to step into range of Dain's mighty hammer. They had already seen what would happen if they did. Instead, many of the Easterlings jabbed mockingly with their halberds, dancing just out of reach of the exhausted dwarf. They knew that it was merely a matter of time before he slipped up... And then they would go in for the kill like wolves on an injured deer.
"Watch out!" Dain shouted as he pointed at an Easterling who was attempting to attack Brand from behind. The king of Dale managed to just barely parry the strike, and sent a weak counterattack in the direction of the enemy warrior. But while his attention was diverted, another Easterling leapt forward, driving his halberd into the king's back.
"No!" Dain cried, swinging his warhammer in a frenzy. The flat of the hammer connected with the Easterling's head, causing a loud crunch as his neck bent sideways at an unnatural angle and his helmet collapsed inward. As he fell to the ground, Dain ran to catch his friend.
"Laddie, look at me! We're gonna get through this, I promise ya!" Tears began to sting the battle-hardened dwarf's eyes as he looked at Brand's quickly paling face.
Brand smiled weakly and held up a hand, which Dain took. "My friend, we fought bravely. Is that not the most we could do?"
"There's still more fightin' ta be done! More heads to sever! Don't make me do it by maself!" Dain thumped his chest and wiped a tear from his eye.
Brand laughed, then coughed violently. "You enjoy it more than I... Do... Anyway. Rule Erebor well, watch... Over your people. You can still win. There's... Still hope."
"Not without ya lad..." Dain's tears spilled into his beard, but he quickly rose to strike down an approaching Easterling.
"Defend your mountain, Dain... Defend your gold, and your people... My friend." Brand let out a final rasping breath as the life left him, and Dain let out a cry of anguish. He slowly lowered Brand to the ground, and rose to his feet. The Easterlings jeered, mockingly waving their weapons around and laughing cruelly.
Dain shouted in fury, shedding tears of anger instead of sorrow. He rushed headlong into the Easterling ranks, his hammer swinging to and fro. Easterling after Easterling fell to it, and Dain's strength grew with each strike. He roared in anger as he saw two Easterlings move towards the body of Brand, and with the speed of a tiger he covered the distance between them. His mighty swing felled both warriors at once, but in the process, the hammer shattered from the force of the attack. Dain quickly scrambled to grab an axe that a fallen dwarf was still clinging to, and narrowly deflected an attack from a charging Haradrim warrior. The Easterlings rushed forward, eager to claim the kill as their own. But Dain would not fall so easily. He quickly sliced the Haradrim tribesman in half, and with the same swing severed the legs of an Easterling. Brand's body lay at his feet, and he decided that this would be where he would make his final stand... Defending his friend.
He quickly struck down two more Haradrim, and turned to meet the blade of an Easterling. As he rose his axe to strike, however, a sharp pain pierced his side. He looked down slowly, only to see a sword being pulled from his flesh by an orc. He shouted as he swung wildly at the orc. The axe made contact with its head, but as it did another blade pierced his thigh. With a gasp he fell to his knees... And it was then that a dozen blades seemed to dig into his body at once. He blindly struck out, killing three enemies instantly. He slowly rose back to his feet, the pain excruciating. He gave the closest Easterling a bloody grin and struck him down, only to feel a hobnailed boot strike him from behind. The crunch of bone caused him to cry out as he fell, and as he did he heard the evil laughs of his enemies as they swarmed about him.
"Rhazir, is this not the mighty king of Erebor?" A voice said mockingly.
"Aye, 'tis," another voice answered with a sharp bark of laughter. Dain felt a gauntleted hand grip his shoulder and cruelly pull him over so that he lay on his back. The evil black eyes of a masked Easterling met him, and the creases around them made it clear that the man was smiling.
"Our victory is nigh," the man said. "Hashara, call for a wain. This one deserves a parade, no?"
A female Haradrim warrior approached and joined in the laughter of the others. Dain could barely focus on her face, for the pain was so great that he could feel himself slipping in and out of consciousness.
"Ah, indeed," she said. "A parade for all his people to see!"
=================================
Glorfindel stood atop one of the many ramparts of Erebor, shouting orders and coordinating with the other leaders of the defense. The loud beat of a drum tore his attention from the maps that lay before him however, and he slowly looked out onto the battlefield.
The Easterlings had reorganized, but their ranks opened as they made way for a solitary wagon. Glorfindel strode to the edge of the rampart, straining to see what was taking place. When he finally saw, his eyes widened in horror.
Two Easterlings stood on the wain, their halberds held high. Impaled by the arms, King Dain hung weakly from them, his head lolling back and forth.
"Behold! The King under the Mountain!" An Easterling cried, answered by a thousand cruel voices ringing out in laughter. Gloin, who stood next to Glorfindel, fell to his knees and covered his face with his hands. Kalan slammed a fist down upon the table as silent tears fell down his bearded face.
"What a mighty ruler! What a brave warrior!" The Easterling continued to the raucous roars of his comrades. He rose his hands into the air triumphantly, and at the same time the Easterlings holding King Dain lowered the dying king behind the wain.
"He returns to you now, in all his vain glory! So soon shall you all be!" The two Easterlings fastened the halberds to the wain, and the announcing Easterling swatted the rear of one of the horses pulling the wain. It reared and galloped forward, pulling Dain along the ground behind it. The enemy soldiers began to bang their shields and weapons together, creating a deafening crash of steel.
"No..." Gloin whimpered. The wain careened wildly toward the gates, Dain's weak cries of pain growing louder until they abruptly stopped. The wain stopped in front of the gate, and several dwarves ran out to recover the maimed body of their king. Those that saw it when they brought it through the gates either fell to their knees in sorrow or turned away, for they could not bear to see their king so disgraced.
Gloin rushed to the body of his king, tears staining his face.
"They'll pay for this... I swear it!" He said through clenched teeth. "Dwarves of Erebor!" He cried, rising to address everyone around him. "Will you let them mock us like this? Will you stand idly by while they humiliate our king? I, for one, will not! These scum from the east have no claim on this mountain! None! Let's go, and show them that this mountain belongs to the dwarves!"
Those dwarves that were still strong enough to fight rose their axes with a shout, and they fell in behind Gloin, whose eyes were narrowed with determination.
The gates opened slowly with an ominous creak, and Glorfindel stood beside his dwarf friend as he watched the seemingly endless ranks of evil Men advance. Gloin turned to the elf and grinned sadly.
"This is how it's to end, it seems. Well, I wouldn't want it ta end with anyone else by mah side lad." He extended a gloved hand, which the elf took with a smile.
"I would say the same, Gloin son of Groin. What a strange brotherhood the trial of war has created. But not an unwelcome one. I am honored to have journeyed alongside you."
"Me too lad... Me too." The sturdy dwarf brandished his axe, looking back towards the enemy. Suddenly he let out a mighty battlecry and rushed forward, heedless of the imminent danger. Glorfindel, after a moment of surprise, joined in the charge, and soon he heard the thunder of the dwarves' heavy boots behind him. This would be their final stand... Here at the very gates of Erebor.
=================================
Gerithor limped slowly down the corridor, supporting Gilian with a protective arm around her shoulders. It was utterly silent, and every step seemed to echo deafeningly throughout the mountain. The young ranger clenched his teeth as another wave of pain coursed through his side, but willed himself to keep moving forward for Gilian's sake. She seemed to have snapped out of her shock, but she was unusually pale and he could feel that she was still shaking.
"I'm okay, Gerithor, really," She said, glancing over at him uncertainly. "You're the one we should be worried about right now."
Gerithor laughed weakly, immediately grimacing as he felt a sharp pain coming from where he had been stabbed. "Neither of us are exactly in fighting condition, are we?"
As he spoke, he suddenly felt his legs give out under him and Gilian barely managed to catch him before he fell.
"You're losing blood... A lot of it," Gilian said as she looked at his blood-soaked tunic. "Walking won't help."
"I'll be fine, just give me a moment to-" Gerithor stopped and raised a hand for silence. Gilian's eyes widened as she heard a loud crash from down the corridor.
"They've broken through! We have to move!" Gerithor exclaimed, taking Gilian's hand and dashing ahead. Behind them, the sound of heavy footsteps grew louder and louder, and before long Gerithor could hear harsh voices calling out commands.
"We're not going to outrun them!" Gilian said, casting a fearful glance back.
Gerithor let out a sigh and stopped. "No... We're not." He released her hand and slowly drew his longsword. "You have to go on alone," He said, giving her a sorrowful look.
"No... I'm not going without you," Gilian said with a frown. "Either we're both surviving, or neither of us are."
A lone tear trailed down Gerithor's face, though whether it was from sadness or pain Gilian couldn't tell. "I won't let you die... Not like this. Go. That's an order."
"Not without you!" She insisted, drawing her own sword. Gerithor smiled slightly. After a moment of silence, he took a step forward.
"You're going to be stubborn, aren't you...?" He gave a weak laugh. "I suppose part of me hoped you would stay..."
Gilian rested a hand on his shoulder and gave him an encouraging smile. "We're in this together now."
Gerithor's smile grew, and he drew her into an embrace. "If this is the end, I'm glad you're here. I don't think I'd want to face it alone." The tone of his voice was foreign to Gilian... He sounded vulnerable, frightened. No longer was he the lordly, fearless warrior that she had seen him as in the past. She could see now that despite the years of hardship he had suffered, deep down inside he was still young. The responsibility bestowed upon him had forced him to play the part of a veteran leader, but despite that he was little older than her, and now that they were alone it showed. It somehow made him seem more human to her... And now she felt unusually protective of him. She pulled him closer, attempting to stay the fear in her own heart.
"Neither would I," Gilian replied softly. The voices and footsteps grew louder, and the light of torches began to flicker off the walls. The two rangers held the embrace a moment longer, eyes closed as the enemy approached.
"It's them!" The foremost Easterling exclaimed when he saw them.
Gerithor slowly pulled away and looked into Gilian's eyes. He reached for her hand a final time and both rangers turned as one, hand in hand, to face their foe...
===================
Update! Hope you all enjoy this sorta feels-laden chapter!