"Hold them back!" Glorfindel cried as he rallied the few elves that remained. The Easterlings had pushed the defenders back all the way to the King's armory, and here they were cornered. They could retreat no further, for there was only one way in or out of the massive chamber. The wounded had been taken to the back of the room, and the surviving fighters had formed a defensive half-circle around them. Though the elves had suffered heavy losses, even fewer dwarves had survived, and Kalan, Gloin, and Dwalin stood side-by-side holding off the enemy along with only a dozen or so other dwarven warriors.
"Baruk-Khazad! Khazad ai-menu!" Kalan bellowed as he swung his axe to and fro. The cry echoed off the rough-hewn walls of the armory, giving strength to the dwarves who still fought. Though normally it would've filled the enemy with fear, they knew that their victory was nigh.
Glorfindel swiftly cut down an Easterling warrior, at the same time positioning himself beside Gloin.
"We cannot hold the line much longer, they shall soon break through to the wounded," he said breathlessly.
Gloin nodded in agreement. "Not much we can do about it though, is there?"
Glorfindel exhaled, feeling as if a heavy weight had been placed upon his shoulders. No... There was nothing they could do. They had few enough fighters as it was, and the chances of reinforcements arriving in time were next to none. The Easterlings kept coming like endless waves upon a rock. Each wave did little damage... But it was nonetheless damage that the defenders could not afford to take, and over time, that rock would break apart and fall into the sea.
He could feel his voice shake even as he spoke. "This is the end, it would seem." Then, partly to ease his own mind and partly to comfort his friend: "I should've much rather liked to die under the stars."
Gloin snorted, his lips parting in a grin. "Beggars can't be choosers, lad. For my part, I'm quite happy dying here. And who knows, perhaps the kind Eastmen will find a nice spot under a linden tree to bury ya!"
Glorfindel allowed himself a thin smile, and soon after he began to laugh. A pure laugh that seemed utterly out of place in the midst of so much death, but one that brought hope to the defenders. "Perhaps I'll ask them."
With a nod to his comrades and sly wink to the dwarf, Glorfindel charged forward into the enemy lines, his blade whirling at blinding speed. The elves followed him, willing to die alongside their leader in this last stand.
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Astrid rushed from wounded soldier to wounded soldier, unsuccessfully attempting to drown out the sounds of battle that rose above the cries of the injured. Her pale hands shook as she worked, for she could not banish the thought from her mind that the enemy were mere feet away from her, and all that stood between them and her was a thin line of defenders. Still, she did what she could to help those she could, and ease the passing of those she could not.
"They've broken through!" A fearful voice cried out before it was silenced forever. Astrid whirled around to see Easterlings pouring through a gap in the ranks of the defenders, ruthless as they began to cut down the wounded. She frantically looked about, knowing that she was no fighter but she'd rather die with a weapon in her hand. She dove for a handaxe that a dead dwarf still clung to, her heart racing as her fingers touched the cold steel.
Suddenly, she felt a vicelike grip around her ankle. She screamed and rolled onto her back, putting her face to face with the last person she expected to see.
"Well, look what we have here," the Easterling captain grimaced, blood dripping from the edges of his mouth. Astrid immediately recognized him as the cruel man who had killed her friend Speer on the streets of Dale. He appeared to be wounded, perhaps mortally so, but his grip was still surprisingly strong. His eyes had an evil light about them, and his smile put fear into her heart. It was clear that his intentions were malevolent.
"Let me go!" She exclaimed, launching a well-aimed kick at his face. He recoiled backward with a grunt of pain , momentarily loosing his grip on her, but before she had a chance to get up and flee he leapt on top of her, grabbing her wrist and wrenching the axe from her hand. She struggled to free herself, but he was significantly stronger than her.
"You're a feisty one," he growled, drawing a dagger from his belt. "A shame that you don't have anyone to protect you this ti-"
He was unable to finish his sentence, for at that moment the tip of a lance pierced through his neck. He fell off of Astrid sideways, gurgling as he clawed fruitlessly at the blade. The distinct shape of a horse rushed past, and Astrid could see dozens of other horsemen in brightly colored clothing riding down the enemy. She did not recognize their armor; It appeared strange and foreign to her. She could hear the elves cheering, their clear voices ringing out through the stone halls.
The rider who had killed the Easterling captain wheeled around and reigned his horse in beside her. He was muscular, his dark arms bare and gleaming with sweat. Around his head was a scarlet headwrap, and despite the intense battle being waged all around them, his eyes twinkled with a mischevious air. He offered a hand to her, smiling roguishly.
"You look lost!" He shouted over the din of battle.
Astrid found herself returning the smile despite herself, relief saturating her voice. "The fighting was never supposed to get this far back," she replied, taking his hand and pulling herself onto the horse behind him. He barely gave her time to get situated before spurring the steed onward.
"Well fortunately for you, it's almost over," the swarthy man replied. He had an accent, that much was certain, but it was a pleasant and easy to understand one that Astrid could not quite place. He was not an Easterling though. And that was enough for her at the moment.
They rode until she could see pallid shafts of moonlight lighting up the main gate. How long had the battle raged? She thought to herself. It seemed like it had been short, only a few hours perhaps, though most of what had taken place was little more than a blur to her.
Several horsemen met them at the gate, but they were nothing like the ones who had saved her. Instead of the colorful garb of her new companion, these were clad in rough-hewn breeches and riding boots. Their bare chests were covered with black tattoos, as were their faces. Long black hair was gathered up in messy ponytails and topknots, and stormy eyes peered out from under bushy eyebrows. Astrid felt a chill of fear go up her spine at the sight of them, for she could tell that they were rough men and savage.
Her rescuer did not speak to them, but they wordlessly fell in behind him. Astrid could see the faint shapes of more horsemen in the mist, and occasionally a scream pierced the pervading silence. Every now and again she saw dismounted soldiers moving among the innumerable corpses that littered the muddy field, evidently searching for someone specific.
To Astrid's surprise, a female rider dressed in bronze armor approached. The armor looked like Easterling armor, but something about her was unusually uncharacteristic of an Easterling. Her skin was paler, and her keen eyes were slightly narrower.
"Any luck?" Astrid's rescuer asked. The other rider shook her head, her horse snorting as she reined it in.
"Not yet. I fear for his safety, Hadar," she began. "Some ill must have befallen him as we fled into the mountain."
Astrid's rescuer, evidently named Hadar, nodded in agreement. "The flying beast might have caught up with Rukil after all. It might be a good idea to find it. There we may find some clues."
"If it weren't for this cursed fog that would be an easy task," the rider replied pensively. "But as it is we're still finding pockets of enemy troops that are lost in it, and finding anything at all is difficult. How goes the fighting in the mountain?"
Hadar laughed. "The enemy who entered will never see the light of day again. My riders made short work of them."
The woman nodded, and just then she seemed to notice Astrid. "Who's that?" She asked in a cautious tone, nodding in her direction.
Hadar shrugged. "A villager from Dale most likely. Found her in the mountain-"
The woman rolled her eyes. "Hadar, why don't you let her speak for herself?"
Hadar coughed awkwardly. "Oh, um... Right. So, m'lady, tell us about yourself!"
Astrid looked from Hadar to the rider, half expecting it to be a ruse. At this point, she was not entirely sure whether she had been saved or captured.
When it became clear that they were indeed waiting for her to speak, she cleared her throat and began.
"I am Astrid, of Dale. I'm a healer." She intentionally neglected to mention that her father was the commander of Dale's forces, for she did not want to put herself in unnecessary danger if these people were somehow aligned with Mordor.
The woman looked surprised, and gave Astrid a slight smile. "We have need of your services, healer. Many of our men were wounded in the assault."
Assault? Astrid tensed. Perhaps these were indeed enemies... But then why had they killed the Easterlings?
"Who exactly are you?" She ventured cautiously, her words slow and careful. She did not want to upset these newcomers, even if they were her enemies.
Hadar raised an eyebrow and shot a suggestive glance at the woman, which Astrid took to mean that he wanted her to explain.
"We are soldiers of the army of Prince Rukil of Rhun," the woman said. "I am Taryi of Khand and this is Hadar of Harad. We are here to deliver your people from the grasp of Mordor."
Astrid breathed a sigh of relief, but she was still confused. Why would Khandings and Haradrim be helping?
Sensing her confusion, Hadar piped up. "Prince Rukil rules the Dorgeshi, a rebel tribe not under the rule of the Khan. He has been leading insurrections across Rhun for the past year, and he has amassed many allies such as Taryi and myself. War creates strange bedfellows."
Taryi nodded. "Prince Rukil is a gallant soul and a good leader."
At this Hadar's expression became downcast. "We do not know what befell him during the battle, but he is missing. I shall take you to the healing tents and then I will continue searching for him."
Astrid smiled gratefully. "Thank you, Hadar, for saving me."
Taryi's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. "Yes, well enough of that. Thanks can be given after this is all over. Hurry up, Hadar." Her horse wheeled around and she galloped away, leaving Hadar and Astrid alone once more.
Hadar watched her leave, giving Astrid a sheepish, almost embarrassed glance. "The tents are this way."
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After leaving the Dalish woman at the healing tents, Hadar set out into the fog once more. The sounds of battle had faded away, leaving only the occasional caw of a crow. The battlefield was littered with them, unceremoniously feasting upon the dead. When the burly Haradrim warrior rode past the ebony-feathered birds would raise their blood-covered heads and stare at him with beady, emotionless eyes. He shuddered as he met their gaze, then carried on.
The smell of death filled the air... Death and the gritty, earthy odor of mud. Whether the night was just beginning or it was nearly dawn, Hadar did not know. His eyes had difficulty adjusting to the moon speckled darkness, but there was enough light that the darkness did not swallow him whole. Instead, it gave the sludge and blood-covered corpses a pale deathly hue, and painted the ground in varying shades of grey that gave the landscape an otherworldly, hellish appearance.
His horse chomped at the bit nervously, swishing its head to and fro. Horses hated battlefields. Hadar had been in enough battles to know. It took a great deal of training to keep them from bolting at the very smell of a dead corpse, let alone a field full of them.
As he rode a large shape emerged from the mist, hulking but motionless. Massive, batlike wings splayed outward, stiff and ugly in the throes of death. Spikes rose from the body of the beast, not yet bloated with rot. It had died recently.
Hadar approached slowly, wheeling around it until he could see the monster's snakelike head. Its dead eyes were open wide, still moist and unsunken. It's serpentine neck curved back so its head rested on its wing.
The Haradrim warrior felt a chill go down his spine at the sight of it. Whatever the creature was, it seemed unnatural and evil beyond words to him. Like a demonic being from another realm, perhaps.
Suddenly, his eyes landed upon a piece of tattered blue cloth casting about listlessly in the wind. It was attached to a long halberd that was planted firmly into the muck, and at its base was a steel gauntlet reaching out of the mire, covered with mud and barely noticeable. The armor, despite being almost completely hidden, was instantly recognizable to Hadar.
"Rukil!" Hadar cried, leaping from his horse and running ahead at full speed. Tears stung his eyes, and his heart thumped loudly in his ears. Not Rukil... Anyone but Rukil.
He fell to his knees beside his prince, pulling his still body from the murky water. Rukil's face was pale and his eyes were closed, and when Hadar placed his hand on his chest he could not feel any movement at all.
"My prince!" He exclaimed through the tears that now stained his cheeks. "Wake up... It's over. The battle's over."
But there was no response. Hadar cradled the young Easterling in his arms and let out an agonizing shout. He can't be dead... Please no.
===========================
That was where his men found him, still cradling the body of the Easterling prince. His eyes were rimmed with red and he stared aimlessly into the night, barely acknowledging the arrival of the other warriors.
"Sir?" One of them questioned, resting a hand on the chieftain's shoulder. When he saw who Hadar was holding, however, he too knelt to the ground, overcome with sorrow. All of them had loved their leader, and though they were but mercenaries he had not bought their loyalty, he had earned it.
One of the Haradrim gently took Rukil's hand and said a whispered prayer. Then, in surprise, she felt his wrist with two fingers.
"Chief, he's not dead!" She said urgently, shaking Hadar out of his trance. He looked at her wide-eyed.
"What? What do you mean?" He asked.
"Feel his wrist! The life-blood still flows in him!" She insisted.
After confirming it himself, Hadar rose, lifting Rukil as one would carry a small child. "Ride ahead, and tell the healers to prepare a bed. He may still make it after all."
Hey guys! The battle's officially over now, and it looks like the good guys have come out on top. Let me know what y'all think of the chapter, I'm gonna try to spend more time on adding details to future chapters because I feel like I've been sorta rushing the last few. Was this one good/bad/atrocious?