. . .

THORIN

. . .

The orcs were stomping, screaming for blood. The blood of Durin's sons. Thorin was so dismayed at the sudden appearance of his father that he was rooted to the ground. Somewhere in the back of his head a voice whispered that he should snatch the weapon out of Azog's hands to kill the orcs, but deep down he knew it was hopeless. They were outnumbered. Although he liked the idea of going down fighting, instead of dancing to the tune of his archenemy.

"Thorin..."

His father's voice was only a whisper, causing goosebumps on his skin. It sounded weak, as if it was a ghost whispering his name. He took his father in. His hair was a mess, just like his beard. The look in his eyes worried Thorin, it looked like a flickering candle. Madness — emptiness — madness — emptiness.

Blood clotted to his face and arms. His left hand missed a finger. The tips of his other fingers looked dark, as if they were rotting.

Azog held two spears in his hands, hitting them on the ground to attract Thorin's attention and enforce silence around them. "You will get the chance to prove yourselves. Show us what your dwarf blood is capable of."

Some orcs were laughing. Thorin grimaced. "I refuse to fight my father."

"I didn't expect anything but cowardice. Let me be clear. You won't leave this place alive together. The only way to return to your sister or daughter is by killing the other. If you refuse, I will kill you both. It's that simple."

Thorin broke out in sweat. There was a warning hidden in Azog's voice. This wasn't just about his life and that of his father, but also that of his sister and her sons.

The orc stepped forward and pushed a spear in his hand. It looked primitive; a wooden stake with splinters that drilled his skin immediately. The spearhead was made of stone, but looked too blunt to take someone out

Tonight, people were going to suffer.

A weapon was handed to his father as well. He wavered as he grabbed it, his eyes aimed at the ground. Thorin wondered what he was thinking. Was he afraid to die? Did he try to come up with a plan to escape his fate? The despair radiating from his face, contradicted it. He was here to die. Something Thorin could have lived with if he wasn't going to be his murderer. But what choice did he have? His father lost everything. The only things he still had, were his two children and he would never kill one of them.

"Do it, Thorin," his father said in Khuzdul, as if he could hear Thorin's thoughts. "Do it, my son. My time has come. I will be grateful to you if you redeem me from this place, so I can go to your mother. I have lived too long without her."

Suspiciously, Azog looked from Thorin to his father and back. "I promised my men a spectacle. Give it to them. If you are unable to satisfy them, the dwarf girl will stand here too. Then the three of you will fight." The orc snickered. A proud grin made his face look even more horrible.

Motionlessly, Thorin stared at the creature. Was he talking about Dís?

"The invitation is already sent to her," the pale orc continued. "I dare to bet she's already on her way." The orcs roared in laughter. "And who knows... Maybe I will even let the two little ones fight each other, if you disappoint us."

Thorin hung his head. Fíli and Kíli... Would he really force them to fight? His chest was filled with rage. He squeezed the spear so tightly he believed the splinters poked right through his fingers. There was nothing he wanted more than raising the spear and throw it at the orc's head, but if he did, he would seal the death of his father, sister and nephews.

Or had he nothing to lose? Would they really let him leave, as he killed his father? 

. . .

ELLADAN

. . .

His elf ears caught a cheering crowd. The orc leader was roaring words he couldn't understand. For a moment he forgot about the throbbing pain in his hand where his finger had been cut off two weeks ago. He raised his head as he heard shuffling footsteps. Someone appeared on the other side of the cell door, his or her face hidden in the shadows of a hood. He thought to recognize the cloak and Scar's features and he bit his cheek. She betrayed you, which shouldn't have surprised you. You followed her like a meek sheep and now Thorin and you are as good as dead!

The lock clicked when a key was put into it. With a squeaking sound, the door swung open. The figure stood still in the doorway; Elladan stared dazed at it.

"You rather stay here and die?"

He recognized her hissing voice immediately. "Scar?"

He stepped towards her, aware of a strange tingling feeling, as if his intestines were jolting because of a lightning strike. She pushed a sword into his hands. It wasn't his own sword, it was rougher and made by an orc. There were a hundred questions he wanted to ask her. Her behavior was impossible to understand. Why had she handed them to the enemy, only to set him free later? "Where is Thorin?"

"He is beyond help."

"I won't leave him!"

"Why not? You left me here to die for centuries." She sounded scornfully. "Here, in this cell. Haven't you tasted the tears I've shed in five hundred years? Couldn't you feel my despair?" Behind every word, a reproach was hidden. They felt like punches in his gut.

"I didn't know you were here. I..."

Scar turned around. She didn't want to hear his excuses and quickly, he followed her. His thoughts were torn between Scar and Thorin. Would he be able to find his friend on his own? He looked through the tunnel, there were torches on the walls as far as the eye could see. They walked past only twee dead orcs. Where were the other guards?

"Why are you doing this?" Elladan muttered as he begun to walk beside her. Awkwardly, he weighed the orc sword in his hand. It was much heavier than his own weapon. "You lock me up to set me free. Are you insane?"

"I should have let you rot like you wanted my sisters to rot!"

He was startled by her raised voice, which echoed between the walls.

"They were dead," he said in a small voice.

Scar laughed, although it sounded hollow. "I wish they were, but we aren't that weak."

"Are they still alive?" he asked in shock.

"Sigil is," she answered with an almost beastly growl. "Not that you would recognize her. And Maeves no longer belongs to he elf race."

A shiver crept down his spine. It felt like ages since she returned, upset and with a hideous scar on her face. It didn't take long before he realized that his betrothed was no longer the girl she used to be and he had always dismissed her stories about her sisters as nonsense. After having been gone for five hundred years, he hadn't wanted her to go back to the lion's den to free her family. Not long after, he had lost her anyway — or what was left of his Moira.

. . .

THORIN

. . .

Thorin knew there was no way out. The stench of unwashed orc bodies was everywhere around him, hindering his breathing. Oh, what he would give for a little bit of fresh air...

Again, he studied the scarred face of his father. He was old. Much older than he would ever become. A sudden pain spread through his calves. With a jolt he turned around, just in time to see the leather of a whip.

"Fight!"

Thorin tightened his grasp around the spear and tried to turn off his thoughts. He must not think, he just had to raise the spear and throw it to the man across from him. Just like the many other creatures he had killed.

But these had been orcs. Creatures like the ones surrounding them, who were cheering over this awful battle. Thorin hated them. How could he ever kill his father, the only one in this room whom he loved? He couldn't do it. And judging from his father's face, he couldn't do it either.

Think about Dís. Think about the children. Soon, they will take your place because of your cowardice. How will the ever do what you can't? If you don't do it, your bloodline will be wiped out. You have to be strong, Thorin. You have to.

He took a step forward. And another one. He tried to draw strength from the expression on his father's face, but the resigned look in his eyes made everything only worse. Being killed by your own son... wasn't that one of the biggest nightmares one could have? Knowing that your son would never be able to look into the mirror again?

Thorin took another step. The excited hollering around them became louder. The orcs were stomping, hitting long sticks to the floor so the ground was shaking. Thorin looked up, to the ceiling of the pecked chamber they were in. Let the roof collapse. In thought, he called upon on all the gods he knew, those of the dwarfs and the elves. He begged them to destroy this cave, so they would all be crushed before Dís and her sons would arrive.

No such thing happened. Thorin was all by himself. He circled around his father, trying to avoid his reassuring glance.

"I'm sorry, father." His voice was shaking. He raised his spear. He didn't care what would become of him, but he refused to kill his own father to entertain those vile creatures. Moving back his hand, he threw the spear over his father's head to Azog. He hit the orc in the chest. After taking a few shaky steps, the orc fell.

Thorin didn't wait to see if he was dead. Grabbing his father's arm, he dragged him towards the only exit he could see. For a moment there was a deadly silence. Then, the horrible screams returned, in such a fierceness it made his heart shrink. From everywhere, orcs were coming. Thorin knew they weren't going to make it. But he had known that since the moment Scar betrayed him.

Thorin clenched his fists as the first orcs fell over themselves to reach him. His fists hit jaws, chins and noses, but his bare hands were all he had. A sword slit through his stomach and another one pierced his shoulder. Roaring loudly he fell on his knees, the pain so severe that he couldn't think of anything else. Again and again there was a wave of pain when another weapon pierced his body.

Yet, the pain left. A calmness came over him which brought him cold nor warmth. Things were fine this way. Lord Elrond would protect Dís and the children, he was sure of it. Azog's bloodline had ended. There was no one left to be out for the blood of his family. And with the knowledge that his nephews would grow up untroubled, he closed his eyes.

He had done what needed to be done. Scar took care of it, whether knowingly or not. But that's how it goes. Destinies were fulfilled without the wielders being aware of it.

. . .

ELLADAN

. . .

Elladan knew there was nothing he could do. Before they left the dungeons, horrible loud screams erupted. The floor was shaking because of the stomping of thousand feet.

"What's happening?" In some strange way, Elladan felt what was happening, but he failed to connect images to his feelings.

Scar stepped through a gate. The stones were ink black and they spread a rotten stench. A warning to keep intruders out? "Thorin did what I hoped he would do."

Elladan didn't understand a thing. He tried to catch her glance, but she peeked over her shoulder.

All she said, was: "Later."

Elladan followed her. The screams haunted him for a long time. Even when they had walked for several miles and it was only in his head. He failed to get over it, it became even worst. Above all the savage screams, he heard a death cry. That of Thorin, his friend.

It tore itself away from the other noises and sounded so heartbreaking that Elladan's whole body was shaking. "You left me to die."

It was true. He did. But what good would it have done if he had joined Thorin to die together? His father would mourn for him. His brother. His sister. And why?

Elladan knew he had made the right decision. As far as one could make a right decision in a situation like this. He was disappointed in himself. And in Scar, who had dug Thorin's grave. And he still followed her like a meek sheep.

They arrived at an run-down farm. There was a dim light and smoke escaped the chimney.

Scar opened the door. Elladan still didn't know why he was following her. Was the reason of her betrayal so important to him? He should avenge his friend!

Yet, he didn't feel the urge to harm her. He felt exhausted, hollow. Hoping for something that would give the death of his friend meaning. Hoping for an explanation of Scar's behavior.

The floor cracked as he walked through a hallway to the living room. In the middle of the room sat someone. Despite the furniture, someone had decided to sit on the floor.

A shiver crept down his spine as he saw the battered back of the head. It was covered in scars, with a few strands of hair between them

Elladan tasted bile as the creature turned its head towards him. The face was even forse. The nose blunt, as if it had been broken a hundred times. The lips torn, the skin a battlefield. Two empty eyes stared right through him.

He remembered Scar's words. She told him she had freed her sister, but that he wouldn't recognize her.

"Sigil?"

Saying her name didn't call up recognition in her eyes. She kept staring at him, or through him.

He looked at Scar. Tears were in her eyes. Elladan didn't know what to say. He had never seen a mutilated creature like this. Of course he knew the stories about the first orcs. That they had been elves who had been tortured for so such a long that they had lost their souls. Not for a moment, he had believed it was something that still happened.

"You told me she was dead. You all did." A tear rolled down her cheek. "She's much worse than dead." She aimed her fierce glance at him. "She helped me escape, together with Maevis. I would get help. But your father didn't want to risk the lives of his men and you believed that I had gone crazy. For centuries I have search for another way. I've done countless things for Azog and other commanders, things you can't even imagine. This had been the last one. I had to take Thorin to Azog. And I did it. Like all the other horrible things that I've done. I allowed Azog to cut off your finger to send your father a message. He wanted his ring. He already had the dwarf ring of Thorin's father. Hate me for it, do whatever you want. I hate myself for everything I've done, trying to make good on my promise." Her bottom lip quivered. "But I was too late. She's nothing but an empty shell. And Maevis..." She shook her head. "Maevis is the reason I will never be able to raise a sword to an orc again. For I know what they are. What they were. Elves like you and me."

She turned her face away. For the first time since her return he heard her cry. Elladan couldn't imagine what things she'd done and caused. Yet, it broke his heart to see her like this. Walking over to her, he held her tight, wishing he could take her pain away. But he couldn't. Not her pain. Not his own pain. Not Sigil's pain. Not Dís pain, whom he had to tell that her brother was gone.