[General POV]
"Bilbo!" exclaimed Aldril, his voice filled with surprise and relief at the unexpected arrival of his dear friend.
With a single step, he closed the distance between them, his cloak swaying slightly in the rhythm of the wind.
Bilbo was panting, his hands resting on his knees as he struggled to catch his breath. Each attempt seemed futile as the dizziness lingered. With a shudder, he bent over further, vomiting once again from the frantic ride on horseback.
Aldril frowned, kneeling beside his friend. "Bilbo, are you all right?" he asked, his tone full of concern as he placed a firm hand on the hobbit's back.
Bilbo raised a trembling hand in a weak attempt to reassure him, though his face said otherwise. "Don't worry about me... the horse... that horse—" His voice was frail, but he didn't want to show weakness in front of his friends. Yet surely, complaints weren't a sign of weakness, were they?
"What on earth do you feed that horse? By my surname Baggins, I swear I will never ride that beast again!"
The hobbit's outburst took Aldril by surprise. In all the days they had shared, he had never seen Bilbo lose his composure like this. However, the surprise didn't last long. A grin formed on Aldril's lips, quickly turning into a hearty laugh.
"Oh, come on, Bilbo!" he exclaimed cheerfully, shaking his head in disbelief. "How can you call my dear Shadowstar a 'beast'?"
He extended an arm, pointing toward his steed, who stood a little further away, its dark mane swaying with the breeze stirred by the eagles' wings.
"Take a good look at him," Aldril added, the affection clear in his eyes. "As beautiful as the night itself, isn't he? An absolute marvel."
Bilbo, still pale and unsteady, lifted his gaze toward the horse and scowled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "A marvel… sure, if we ignore its tendency to leap like a wild thing trying to throw me off."
Aldril laughed again, stepping closer to the hobbit and giving him a light pat on the back. "He doesn't like anyone but me riding him, but give it time. You two could even become friends."
Shadowstar, keenly aware of the conversation, neighed indignantly. With a sharp stomp of its hooves, it left a small dent in the blood-stained ground. The nerve of that hobbit! To call him a beast after being granted the honor of riding him? The insult was unbearable. If not for being Aldril's friend, that hobbit would already find his backside sticking out of the dirt.
Their moment of levity was interrupted by a deliberate clearing of the throat. Despite being in the middle of a battlefield, there was no concern about a sudden attack, as the orcs were retreating, and the area was secure thanks to the surrounding elven and dwarven armies.
"I'm glad to see you well, Bilbo," said Thorin, his dark eyes fixed on the hobbit, who unconsciously slipped behind Aldril timidly. "I would offer my apologies for my earlier behavior, but right now, we must act quickly, or Azog might escape."
As he spoke, Thorin's gaze shifted westward, toward the mountain slope where black banners fluttered in the wind, marking Azog's location.
Nodding, Aldril placed a hand on Bilbo's shoulder. "Stay here with Kili. Thorin and I will go end this."
Without another word, Aldril turned. With a display of skill, he leapt gracefully, like a feather caught in the wind, landing smoothly in the saddle.
"Aldril, I planned to—" Bilbo began, intending to protest. He had come to help, and now they were telling him to stay with Kili? But Aldril didn't give him the chance. The warm look from earlier was gone, replaced by the arrogant gaze of someone far above him.
"No! It's safer here. Gandalf would never forgive me if I let you go and you ended up dying because of recklessness."
With a sharp motion, Aldril urged Shadowstar forward. His figure became a blur, leaving behind four deep hoofprints in the blood-soaked earth as the steed accelerated.
"Balin, Bofur, Glóin, with me!" Thorin called out to the dwarves nearby, mounting his war goat and urging it to follow Aldril.
Ahead, Aldril cut through the orcs like insects underfoot, clearing a path for the others to follow, leaving nothing but chaos in his wake.
"Hurry up!" Glóin exclaimed, his face taut with panic. That bastard Aldril was getting ahead of him in kills!
Without further delay, the four of them set off, leaving Kili, Fili, and Bilbo behind. The trio could only watch as the others departed, their clenched fists and hardened expressions betraying their frustration. They, too, wanted to fight and help.
"Hey, Kili," Fili said suddenly, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "What if we follow them?"
"Sounds good," Kili added, his radiant smile reflecting his excitement. He might have initially obeyed Thorin, but their naturally rebellious spirits wouldn't let them miss the chance to take part in Azog's demise.
"Um, Kili, Fili, can I join you?"
At their side, Bilbo approached with his head lowered and an embarrassed expression on his face, a gesture that drew laughter from both brothers, who nodded in unison.
"We'd never leave out our dear burglar," Fili said, signaling to two nearby dwarves mounted on war goats. Their intentions were clear.
---
–Mirkwood–
A river of blood spread across the forest floor, staining the trunks and roots that jutted out like claws from the earth. The treetops swayed gently in the breeze, producing a melodic whisper, almost like a song narrating Thalwen's actions. She walked forward with calm, deliberate steps, her figure standing out amidst the chaos, her serene demeanor contrasting sharply with the brutality of the scene.
With a sigh, she halted her stride and let her gaze wander across her surroundings.
"It's been a while since I let my impulses run free," she murmured, her voice barely an echo among the trees. A flicker of nostalgia crossed her striking eyes as she took in the results of her work.
All around her, dozens of orcs lay impaled by roots that had risen from the ground like vengeful serpents. Their grotesque faces were frozen in a mix of fear and agony, a reflection of their final moments. The scene was a macabre testament to Thalwen's power, though she remained unmoved by the horror.
"Ugh, now I understand why the humans called you the Witch of Thorns."
Finduilas' voice broke the silence, soft but laced with irony. She was a few steps away from Thalwen, kneeling beside a group of wounded elves and panicked women. Her hands glowed with a warm light as she used her healing magic, a gift bestowed by Estë, the Valier of healing and rest.
Thalwen turned her head slightly toward Finduilas, a faint smile playing on her lips. "Well, humans do have a tendency for overly dramatic nicknames."
Finduilas, irony etched on her beautiful face, gestured with her head toward the impaled orcs. "No, I think that nickname suits you just fine."
***
Filthy orc!
Yes, I'm still alive, but I can't say the same for our brothers, those elven assassins ambushed us.
Advance chapter in "p@treon.com/Mrnevercry"