Thror was knocked to the ground, before he could rise; Azog swung his sword, beheading the king. Thorin watched in dismay. There was a moment of silence, then the pale orc held the head up, letting out a great cry before he threw the fallen King’s head, it rolled down the hill, stopping by Beuren’s side. Thorin gave one last cry in agony, and then Azog leapt towards him.
His shield was knocked from his hand, his sword as well. One good hit with his mace and the orc sent the dwarven prince flying backward several feet. Thorin moaned at the ache in his side, surely he’d broken a rib. Azog again made an attack, mace above his head, trying to smash him like he’d tried to get Beuren. Thorin rolled; grabbing the only thing he could to defend himself, an oaken branch. He wielded it as a shield, taking numerous hits to the arm that was covered by the shield. He finally was close enough to his sword, he took its hilt and swung aimlessly. His swing was true.
Before he could react, the orc’s arm fell to the ground. He let out a hideous wail, and then was drug off before he could fight back. Thorin stood, momentarily looking around, the number of orcs still loomed over that of the dwarves, but dwarves were strong, and they had to win. Thrain was nowhere to be seen, it was up to Thorin now.
Thorin yelled, rallying the dwarves again, and then leading them once more into battle. As he ran past Beuren he slowed but was forced forward. Dwalin and Balin were at his sides, they attacked with a force never before seen by the orcs. Within forty minutes the battle was over.
The surviving dwarves searched for their friends, brothers, family. Thorin searched desperately for any sign of Beuren, he’d lost sight of her in the battle. It was the gut wrenching scream that gave her away. He turned, his grandfather’s head was beside her, and to make things worse, Frerin lay still. He hurried to her side.
When he reached her, she was on her knees cradling his little brother in her arms, sobbing madly. Frerin’s blue eyes stared up at her; he raised one arm, taking her shoulder in his hand.
“You should have left me, damn you Frerin! You should have left me!” She bawled.
Thorin sank to his knees, taking his brother and Beuren in his arms. He looked down at his younger sibling. His resemblance to his mother was striking. The same dark curly hair that was always pulled back into a braid, the dark grey eyes, Thorin couldn’t believe it took him this long to notice.
“Thank you, little brother.” He whispered into Frerin’s forehead. “You saved her.”
“Take care of her, don’t ever lose her.” He smirked. “If you do I’ll haunt you till the end of your days.” Thorin smiled softly and nodded.
“I won’t lose her. I promise.” With a nod, Frerin winced, and then he went still. Beuren froze. She took his shoulders, shaking him, but got no response. She sobbed, and hit his chest several times. Thorin stood, lifting her to her feet. Her small frame was wrapped tightly in his arms, sobbing till she ran out of tears and her throat was raw. Thorin could stare down evil and not bat an eye, but when Beuren finally lost it, when the dam broke, it terrified him. She was always his rock, his steady hand, and now she was nothing more than a crumpled heap.
After several hours of war, everyone was exhausted. They hiked back to their camp, several miles back the way they’d come. Rather than just staying, they packed up and moved. They traveled nonstop for several days. The stretchers of wounded and the dead almost outnumbered those who carried them.
Beuren and Thorin walked in silence. Not saying a single word, not sharing a look. It was only till she sighed did he even think she was breathing. He wrapped one arm around her shoulders. He noticed how tired she looked, how red her hair was… red?
With one more step she stumbled, collapsing to the ground. Thorin looked down at her, again she was unconscious. Her head began bleeding again, badly. Thorin knelt down and ruffled her hair, trying to find the bleeding. He found it, applying pressure with his hand, he looked up, Balin was close, he’d seen her fall. In his hand he held a rag; it was filthy, but better than nothing. Dwalin came, a stretcher between him and one of the younger dwarves. They lifted her up and onto the stretcher, and again began moving.
As they trod over the hill, they saw it, their home. The mountains without a King. Thorin knew he’d have to take the role, he wouldn’t admit it, but he wanted nothing more than to let someone else take it. But that didn’t bother him now. At the current moment he was worried with getting his companion the help she needed.
The gates opened as they neared, many women rushed out, helping with the stretchers, the healers immediately helping the worst of them, one being Beuren. He heard a woman shriek. Turning he saw Dis. Frerin’s stretcher had been set in the line with the rest of the dead. Thorin jogged to her side. She was lying in the dirt beside him, her arms curled underneath her, gripping his armor. She wept into his chest, speaking inaudible words between sobs.
Thorin took her shoulders, but she jerked away and flung herself again at their brother’s corpse. He took her roughly by the waist and lifted her off of him. Dis struggled, pleading and screaming. He turned her and pulled her close to him. His little sister continued to cry; finally she has cried herself hoarse, falling into silent sobs.
“Where is Father?”
“He didn’t come back, we looked everywhere, and we couldn’t find him.” Her shoulders shook again.
“We’ve lost everyone.” She bawled.
“I know, I know.” Thorin whispered. His voice cracking as he held back tears of his own. Finally not able to continue to hide his tears he rested his head on his sisters. They stood there, the sound of women and children weeping all around echoing in their ears.
A few weeks passed by. Thorin had been too busy to grieve properly, though he thought of his losses daily. He was pushed into the throne, weeks of speeches and campaigns, and whatnot. Though honestly, who wanted to run against him? Beuren still hadn’t woken up. She’d been comatose for three weeks now, going on four. Balin and Dwalin had been taking turns sitting next to her bed in the infirmary while Thorin was battered by the ‘Royal Running’ as they all called it.
Six weeks after the battle, everyone had finally agreed no one was foolish enough to run against the prince. Three days after the decision was made, they began planning the coronation. Thorin was sitting in his study; Dis was helping him write his speech. It was about midnight, both were exhausted, and Dis had already fallen out of her chair once as it was.
“Oh, we’re never going to get this done tonight brother.” She sighed. “You don’t need it till Sunday afternoon anyways, can we finish it tomorrow?”
“If we get it done now I can practice it tomorrow.”
“Are you using Thorin Oakensheild or Thorin of Durin?”
“Probably Oakensheild, they seem to like that one.” He grumbled in return, rubbing his face roughly with his hands to stay awake. He stretched a bit and leaned back. When he looked next as Dis, her head was on the desk, arms dangling at her sides, about as asleep as you could get. With a groan, he stood, dragging her to her feet and helping her to his bed. He pulled the covers back and she collapsed onto the mattress, pulling the pillow closer to her cheek and falling back asleep.
Thorin sighed and went back to the study; he had to get this done. Four hours later he had finished, run over it several times in his head, and was now slumped in his chair, arms crossed across his chest, sleeping. Balin entered to check on him, seeing Thorin asleep, he decided to do a quick check on the speech and let him be.
Dwalin sat heavily in the chair, his brother had just left. Beuren was still asleep, as she’d been for the last six weeks. Dwalin was starting to get worried. He’d seen some bad head injuries, but nothing that kept someone unconscious for six weeks. The most frustrating part was that the healers had no idea what was wrong with her.
He had begun to fall asleep himself when he heard something, a soft groan. He opened his eyes and saw Beuren reaching for her head. He sat up, leaning forward. Slowly her green eyes fluttered open, she took a deep breath and arched her back, stretching her arms. She looked at him, smiling sleepily.
“How are you?” She mumbled.
“Better now that you’re awake. How do you feel?”
“I would say well rested but…” Dwalin chuckled and sat on the edge of her bed, helping her sit up. She brushed her hair out of her face and looked up at Dwalin, her eyes finally focused. “How long was I asleep?”
“Six weeks.” She stared blankly at him.
“Really?”
“Yeah. My brother and I have been taking turns keeping an eye on ya, didn’t want you to wake up alone.”
“Thank you, very much.” She yawned. “Where’s…”
“He’s fine. His coronation is in two days’ time.” She smiled.
“Then he won’t know I’m ok until then, it’ll be a surprise.” He laughed.
“Already swinging back into your slyness are you now?” She shrugged, grinning as well. “I best go get the healer, see if we can’t get you out of here.”
With that Dwalin left. He came back several minutes later an older dwarf following behind him. The healer looked at her head, satisfied with the scar he released her. Dwalin sent for Dis, who brought clothes, also agreeing to partake in the surprise.