. . .

THORIN

. . .

Thorin felt as if someone had grabbed his heart and slowly but firmly squeezed it. Blood spattered on his face when the giant orc swung the head of his grandfather. Frozen in pain, he watched the head bounce towards him. His eyes followed every turn of it, until it bumped against his foot. He felt so desolated that he could only open his mouth and scream like a dying man.

Despite the warning cries around him, he could not take his eyes off his grandfather's face. His eyes looked straight at him, as if he wanted to give him a final order. "Save our people."

Thorin swallowed and managed to turn his attention to the massive orc. He raised his sword and ran up the slope, straight to his enemy, who was twice his size. It felt like his grandfather urged him to destroy this creature, that had brought his family so much misery.

When their swords met, the tendons in Thorin's shoulder tore, causing him to yell out. His chest swelled by the hatred that filled him. He would kill that orc, even if it was the last thing he would do. He did not care if he would die with him.

Azog drew his weapon and rammed a dwarf who was in his way a few meters aside. Thorin's heart pounded in his chest as he was hit again, but this time his sword was beaten out of his hands. His thumb bent double and went out of joint, but there was no time to think about that. He crawled back in vain searching for something with which he could defend himself. He raised his shield when the huge orc struck again, but it splintered under the violence of his opponent.

Thorin's brain stopped working when Azog waved his weapon in the air again. He touched around and his fingers found a piece of oak. Just when his death blow hurtled towards him, he pushed the thick piece of wood between them. The pale orc was not prepared for this and Thorin got on his feet again. He snatched his sword from the ground and cut off the arm of his enemy.

Dark drops of blood fell on him while Azog's screams filled the air. His eardrums trembled. He pushed his finger back into the joint, picked up the piece of oak and watched the orc flee back to his fortress.

Scattered, he looked around. They were obviously a minority. They would all be killed, even now that the captain had fled like a beaten dog.

"Back off!" He shouted to the men who'd served his grandfather. He tried to discover his father between the dwarves and orcs, but he didn't see the man and he couldn't wait for his command.

The men listened to him and began to withdraw. The orcs snarled and spat on them and some chased them, but many were covered with wounds, done with the fight now their leader had fled as well.

"Back!" he shouted again.

This was a battle they couldn't win. Moria was lost.

Thorin drove his sword into the chest of an orc that blocked his way and moved on, urging his comrades to leave the vicinity. Blood stained his forearms red while he severed all that crossed his path. No matter how much blood flew, nothing could compensate for the losses of that day.

It would always remain a dark chapter in his life.

. . .

Dís

. . .

With a beating heart Dís lifted Kíli and put him on her side while she took Fíli by the hand and descended the stairs, that brought them outside.

They were welcomed by a grey sky, that spat big water drops to the ground. She held her son slightly firmer against her and tried not to be paralyzed by the fear that was fueled by this lurid weather. They were just innocent raindrops, not comparable to the signs that had proclaimed the coming of the dragon.

In the distance she saw the procession. Soon whispers went around that the amount of survivors was terribly low. Anxiety gnawed her and she bit her fingernails as she thought of all the men who'd left to help Moria. Her grandfather. Her father. Her brothers. Her husband.

When she heard how small the number of survivors was, her heart sank. She was convinced that at least one of her relatives had been killed and waiting until she knew more, was terrible. She glanced briefly at Kíli, who pushed his head against her chest and seemed to feel the tension. Fíli said no word and his fingers were lifeless in her hand, though it was perhaps her own hand that had become dead.

It seemed to take hours before the men reached the mountain. On the one hand, she was so nervous that she wanted to run to them to see if they'd made it, on the other hand she was so afraid of what she would see that she wished many more hours would pass before she would discover which men did not return home.

The gloomy procession walked between them. All eyes were directed downward. Dís saw no one who was not injured. Some of them were covered in so much blood they were not even recognizable anymore.

"Moria has fallen."

The rumour spread like wildfire, but Dís did not care. All she wanted to know was whether her husband and brothers were alive. Slowly the men walked by, but she recognized none of them.

Was it true? Had nobody survived?

It was customary her father walked in front, along with his sons, but those were already passed and she'd not seen them.

"Where's daddy?" Fíli began to ask. He tugged at her arm and tried to see along the other bystanders.

Dís did not answer.

The procession was almost completed and there were only a few who stumbled on. The latter, who could hardly walk.

"Thorin!" she screamed as her eye caught her brother. He held another dwarf standing. She ran toward him.

She had the feeling she choked when she saw who he supported. "Frerin!"

She put Kíli on the ground and crouched next to her youngest brother. He looked past her glassy, as if he no longer knew who she was.

Her breathing quickened and she began to panic. "He needs help," she whispered, but Thorin gazed at her firmly. He knew that their brother was beyond saving, even though he did not want to leave him.

Kíli sauntered around his uncles and looked around asking. "Daddy? Where's my dad?"

Thorin put a bloody hand on his head and looked at her in silence. Slowly, he shook his head.

Dís' stomach seemed to turn around. She sank to her knees, but there was no one who could catch her. Staggered she sat on the floor, staring at the dust.

"Famin," she whispered. Her throat was dry. She took a few deep breaths and tried to calm down. She could not show her grief in front of her children. She could -

Dís could do nothing at all. Her shoulders began to shake and she fell to the ground. She curled up as a tiny, little child and screamed so loud that her children began to cry too, but their shrieks let her heart cold. She'd raised her knees and buried her face in her arms while she cried and cried wile the tears seemed to drown her.

. . .

THORIN

. . .

"We have to leave, Dís." Thorin placed a hand between her shoulders. She turned to face him. The empty look in her eyes hurt him and he hugged her.

A week had passed since the defeat of Moria. It was rumoured that Azog had sworn to exterminate the rest of his family. He was not safe here, and he doubted his sister was.

"Where should we go, Thorin?" she whispered. "It seems like the whole world is on fire."

He had no answer. Before Smaug had moved into Erebor, he could have named enough kingdoms where they could go to, but now he was doubting. All dwarf kingdoms were attacked by orcs. It was only a matter of time before the Blue Mountains and the Iron Hills would fall. The Grey Mountains were an option, but he had heard rumors that something dark stirred in the darkness there. Moreover, the Wood-elves had turned their backs to them years ago, so they couldn't turn to them.

"I don't know," he replied, "but I promise you I will find a place where the kids are safe."

Where she was safe, even though he suspected she no longer cared for her own safety.

It was difficult to leave the others, but what could he do for them? They were not strong enough to take back the mountain. They were no match for their enemies and his people could better join the larger colonies.

Thorin did not look back when he left the Blue Mountains behind. They had three ponies, including one for the ballast. Fíli sat for him and stared ahead. Although he would've found a ride like this great under other circumstances, the loss of his father pressed heavily upon him. Even Kíli, who was too young to understand what had happened, looked sad, seized by the sadness of the rest of his family.

He decided to go first to the hills of Evendim. There were a few villages where they could replenish their supplies. He was not very familiar with this region and all he knew, was that the road would take him to the Hobbit Lands. He knew they couldn't stay there, the hobbits didn't like foreigners and when they heard that they were fleeing from an enormous orc, they would probably faint.

A sigh left his lips as he petted Fíli's hair. Would they send the children away as well? He knew too little about that people to say anything about it, but if Azog found them, he would find little resistance. They could better look for a village of men in Gondor and Rohan, but these areas were so far south that it made him giddy.

Thorin was glad when they passed the great plains, and forests offered them some cover. The forests were fresh and green. There lived enough rodents that could keep his family alive and there were plenty of rivers, thus they wouldn't die of thirst

When evening came, they tied the ponies and looked for a place to make a camp. He looked worried at Dís. She hadn't spoken a single word the entire trip and did not respond to Kíli when he tugged at her hand, weeping because he was hungry.

"We'll have dinner, Kíli," Thorin said. "Let your mom alone for a moment."

He opened the flap of one of the saddlebags and gazed the stuff they had snatched together. He lit the tinderbox in his pocket and gave Fíli the order to gather some wood on the edge of the path. He himself walked to Dís and pushed a flask in her hands. "I know you feel that nothing matters anymore," he whispered. "But your boys need you." He gently touched her cheek. "I need you."

She did not answer, but turned the cap from the bottle and put it in her mouth in silence.

Thorin smiled when his eldest nephew returned with his arms full of branches, but it hurt when he realized that he needed the help of a ten year old child. A child should go on an adventure with his father, instead of ensuring that his family was warm tonight. He suppressed a sigh, but knew he could not do everything alone.