Many Paths: Chapter Eight
May. 15th, 2015 11:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
flakediceTitle: Many Paths (8 of 10)
Author(s): Flakedice
Artist(s):![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
charlies_dragon, penumbria_fics and croix_souillees
Fandom(s): The Hobbit
Type: Slash
Rating: Mature
Word Count/Art type: 44,550 words
Characters/Pairings: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Warnings/Spoilers: major character death, graphic violence, gore, torture, psychological torture, ptsd, (tiny bit of) self-harm, suicide (sort of), mental illness. (Please highlight to read)
Summary: Bilbo wakes up in Dale. With the memory of a battle won but lives lost, he finds an army of Men and Elves readying to attack Erebor. Bilbo tries to save his dwarves. Again and again.
MANY PATHS
Bilbo found Thorin on the wall staring down at the lights of Dale. He stepped softly forward, hands cradling two bowls.
The incident with the trolls seemed so long ago. Fili and Kili were grim and silent most days.
And there were threats more dangerous than trolls.
"Thorin."
A shift in Thorin's shoulders was all that marked his suspicion. Thorin slowly turned, his pale blue gaze glittering in the light of the torches.
Bilbo shuffled, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "I brought you something to eat."
Thorin's gaze, which had been fixed on Bilbo's face in an intense stare he'd gotten used to, shifted down to the bowls in Bilbo's hands. He met Bilbo's gaze again. "I am not hungry."
Bilbo would have been surprised if it was that easy.
He squared his shoulders. "You need to keep up your strength." Bilbo picked his way through the fallen blocks of stone that were still scattered on the wall. He picked a long flat slab and sat down, acutely aware of Thorin's eyes on him.
He glanced up, catching that glittering blue gaze. "Please Thorin." There was a note of pleading in his voice.
Thorin stood silent, a war waging behind his eyes.
Bilbo remained silent, knowing from past experience anything he said would only push Thorin back to his obsession with the Arkenstone or the threat that lay beyond the gate.
Finally Thorin took a slow step forward. He approached in the quiet focused way he had while in the throes of gold sickness. A predatory, powerful stride that could all-too-easily erupt into violent anger.
Bilbo held his gaze and lifted up one of the gently-steaming bowls.
Thorin stared down at him for a long moment, looming over Bilbo in his crown and furred coat.
Finally he reached out for the bowl and slowly took it from Bilbo's grasp, large fingers overlapping Bilbo's. His hands very large and very warm. Thorin then turned and sat next to Bilbo on the fallen slab. Close enough that Bilbo could feel Thorin's solid bulk along his side.
Bilbo stared down at his bowl to hide his sudden urge to burst into tears. Instead he picked up his spoon and started to eat, ears pricked to hear the sound of Thorin starting to do the same. It took a moment but eventually there was the scrape of Thorin's spoon against his bowl.
They sat and ate in silence. It reminded Bilbo of nights around the campfire, when Erebor was a source of desperate optimistic hope. And Thorin's strength was tempered with a gentleness he was slowly revealing. Kindness and good humour that was not overshadowed by his abrupt defensive nature. Thorin as he was.
Bilbo would do everything in his power to see that again.
An empty bowl was placed into Bilbo's lap by large hands.
Bilbo looked up to find Thorin watching him, eyes softened by the small smile on the dwarf's lips.
"You spoke wisely, Master Baggins." He stood, reaching out to grasp Bilbo's shoulder, his hand engulfing the joint. His grasp lifted away and his gaze shifted out towards the lights of the army camped at Dale. "We will all need our strength on the morrow." The warmth leeched from his expression, replaced with cold hostility.
Bilbo sat and watched him pace over to the wall, hands clasping the empty bowls on his lap.
~x~X~x~
Azog and Bolg were the key.
Bilbo had learnt that he could not stop the battle. He could steer it somewhat but it always came down to battle with the two white orcs. The Company could deal with normal foes but confrontations with Azog and Bolg inevitably lead to death.
The answer was simple in the end. Bilbo had to kill them first.
~x~X~x~
"Bilbo!"
Gandalf's cry echoed out behind him but Bilbo kept running.
The orcs and men on the battlefield were a disorienting meld of dark shadowy forms. But Bilbo had gotten used to seeing the shadowy world of the ring. He had gotten his bearings before he had slipped it onto his finger and now he ran across the plain.
Not to Dale, but to Ravenhill.
Where Azog was waiting.
~x~X~x~
Azog was in the tower.
He was no longer stood on the jutting lip of stone from where he had overlooked the battle. The white orc had sought out a spot in the shadow of the tower. What had once been a room, broken open to allow a view that looked out onto the frozen river below.
Waiting for Thorin and the others to fall into his trap.
Perched on top of the remnant of a thick broken stone wall above him, Bilbo tightened his grip on Sting. A sudden wave of hatred engulfed him. It was not an emotion Bilbo had felt before, so full of rage and loathing. But for what Azog had done- The many ways he had killed Fili and Kili-
The pleasure he took in making Thorin's death as painful and humiliating as possible-
Bilbo hated him.
And he had no hesitation in trying to kill the white orc. The Ring on his finger, Bilbo jumped from the wall, Sting held firmly in both hands.
He was on target.
Sting slid in smoothly, the small blade finding a gap in Azog's armour and slicing deeply into the orc's neck.
Azog swiped his bladed arm backward even as he fell, words of the dark tongue spilling vicious and biting from his mouth.
Hanging from Azog's back, Bilbo ducked, twisting Sting to tear the wound open wider. But before he could land another blow, Bilbo was pulled away, flung down hard onto unforgiving ice. It knocked the wind out of him.
Azog staggered to his feet, blood pouring down his shoulder. Bleeding heavily but not dead.
Not yet.
His pale eyes scanned the ice before him, mouth twisted into a snarl. "Fauthlat.” His eyes narrowed. “Mal kulat?"
Bilbo stayed still, barely breathing. If Azog drew closer he would make his move. Azog would not be killing his dwarves this day.
But Azog had stopped searching. He was staring at Bilbo, a terrible smile on his face.
Not him, Bilbo realized. The snow that had been disturbed when Bilbo fell.
"Mal kul!" Azog lunged, blade sweeping low to ground.
Bilbo, still crouched in the awkward position he had landed in, was unprepared for the move. He rolled, trying to keep as low to the ground as he could.
But he wasn't fast enough.
A pained noise escaped Bilbo's mouth as Azog's blade caught his side. He landed on his back, gasping for air. Thorin's gift had saved his life but he still had bruised ribs, the wind knocked out of him.
"Honizg znalab!” Azog advanced, blood running down his side. His blade hand was held before him in readiness as he tracked the marks Bilbo had left in the snow.
Bilbo scrabbled at the ice, trying to claw himself from Azog's path. He rolled, hands and knees digging into snow to propel him forward.
A large hand caught his ankle.
Bilbo found himself hanging upside down, his mithril shirt pooling around his arms.
An image of Fili held high over empty air rose in Bilbo's mind and he felt a jolt of fear through his stomach.
It burst into pain.
Azog's blade pulled free in a horrific rush, painted red with Bilbo's blood.
Bilbo gasped shallowly. Trying to bring his hands up the wound that felt like he was being torn in half. The very effort tearing the wound wider.
“Maatharz, matlat -"
Bilbo fell to the ground, biting back a scream as his vision whited out. After several breathless moments, he finally blinked his sight clear, his breaths slightly better than desperate pants.
To see Azog lying still only a few feet away, pale eyes open and unseeing.
Dead. Finally.
Bilbo let out a gasp of relief, light-headed with the pain it provoked. He allowed himself a moment and then he firmed his lips and gathered his strength.
This was going to hurt.
Bilbo struggled to his feet, a hand pressed to his stomach, barely even glancing at Azog's corpse. Bolg was still out there. He had to warn his dwarves.
~x~X~x~
Bilbo staggered up the rise to the outcrop that overlooked the frozen river. The treacherous plain of ice where Thorin had died again and again.
Bilbo lurched away from the edge, towards the remains of what had once been a courtyard.
Here. Here was the place where Thorin would come.
He wavered, light-headed and balance uncertain. Then he started down the shallow steps to level ground.
And tripped.
Bilbo met the ground with a breath-stealing impact. He lay, mouth working as he tried to breathe around the agony that seized his stomach and radiated through his body. Slowly he managed to breathe, to find the shallowest breaths that caused the least pain.
It wasn't so bad now that he was lying down. Bilbo flexed his fingers where they lay on his stomach, wet and glistening, then let them still. He only had to wait.
Bilbo lay staring up at the sky. It was a pale blue, the thin clouds white and pale grey skeins. It was the only sky he had seen in days, months, however long it had been.
It had been so long since he had seen a bright blue sky.
"Bilbo!"
It was Kili's voice. Between one slow blink and the next, Kili himself was there, leaning over him, face pale and drawn.
A hand closed over his wrist lifting his hand from the wound in his stomach. Strangely it didn't hurt so much now.
Fili. It was Fili.
"You're both alive." Bilbo let his eyes fall shut, relief making his body go limp. "I was in time."
"Bilbo." Kili. A light touch on his face. "Bilbo!"
Bilbo's eyes flicked open. Kili was still there. And Fili.
"How did this happen?" Fili's lips were pressed tightly together as he surveyed the wound.
"Azog." Bilbo was vaguely aware that someone else had arrived but it was too hard to turn his head. "He's dead now."
The hand on his stomach pressed down.
It hurt.
Bilbo gasped, entire body lighting with pain, eyes wrenched open. He sobbed in a breath, lungs aching for air but pain flaring with every breath.
Warmth settled on his head, soothed him from his panic.
"Bilbo." Thorin knelt by his side, one large hand resting on his shoulder, the other shakily stroking over his hair.
Thorin.
"Bolg!" Bilbo gasped out. "An army. From the north." He sucked in more air. "You have to go!"
Thorin glanced at Fili.
Bilbo caught the blond dwarf shaking his head at the corner of his sight.
He was dying. There was nothing to be done.
For him.
Bilbo closed his eyes and drew in as deep a breath as he could manage. "Leave me."
Thorin's hand stopped moving in his hair.
"Bilbo." Kili voice was anxious. "We-"
"You need to leave before Bolg's army arrives." Bilbo pried his eyes open. It was harder than he thought it would be.
"We're not leaving you here." It was Fili who spoke. "How could you even think it?"
They couldn't stay. But looking from Fili to Kili he could see that they were planning to do just that.
Bilbo rolled his gaze upwards. "Dwalin, talk some sense into them."
Dwalin gazed down at him from where he stood watch. His gaze was hard as he scanned Bilbo's body, flicked over his stomach wound. He turned to Thorin. "We carry him down. He doesn't weigh much."
What- Even dying and half numb, Bilbo felt a flutter of indignation. He hadn't come all this way, to kill Azog, to warn them, to save them, for his too-loyal dwarves to risk their lives for him when he was already dying.
He opened his mouth to give them as scathing a scolding as he could manage but Thorin cut him off.
"Brace yourself."
Bilbo didn't have the time to ask him why. Thorin's arms worked beneath his shoulders and knees. And then he was lifting-
The world vanished. There was only pain so brilliant it stole his sight and breath.
When Bilbo blinked his eyes open, breaths in shallow jagged rasps, the world was flecked with pale streamers of colour and he was surrounded by worried dwarves.
He suspected he had said something. Or maybe screamed.
Kili's face was pale where it floated nearby. Fili had a hand pressed to his throat, feeling for a pulse.
"I'm alright." Bilbo croaked out, through that was manifestly untrue.
"Rest, Bilbo." Thorin's voice rumbled through his chest, warm and soft. Quiet and uneven. "You've done enough, my friend." His voice broke on the last word.
Friend.
Bilbo dragged his hand up to his chest to cover Thorin's where it gripped his side. He gripped Thorin's hand as hard as he could with his numbing fingers.
"We retreat to the mountain." Thorin ordered the others grimly. "We engage only when we have to."
There were nods. They started down the mountain, Dwalin in the lead, Fili and Kili at Thorin's side.
Bilbo let his eyes sag shut. Azog was dead and his dwarves had been warned about Bolg. They might live.
Even if he did not.
~x~X~x~
Bilbo woke up slowly. He was in a bed and warm.
His heart leapt in hope.
Bilbo cracked his eyes open-
Only to see wooden beams. The familiar room he had been given at Dale.
Bilbo's heart sank. Either Thorin and the others had fallen in battle, or he had died before they had gotten to safely. With all the battles he had experienced on Ravenhill, Bilbo suspected it had been the former.
Bilbo slowly pulled himself up, hand touching his stomach in a ginger press. There was no pain, no sign of the injury Azog had given him.
It was as if nothing had happened.
Bilbo's lips thinned, pressing together into a tight line. Azog. This time, he would do better.
~x~X~x~
The iron shot caught Azog in the side of his head, sending him staggering.
Bilbo darted forward from his hiding place, Sting grasped tightly in hand. He ducked Azog's arm and thrust up, Sting sliding into the white orc’s side. Twisting the sword roughly and pulling it free.
Azog had a hand on his wrist before Bilbo could land another blow.
The first had not serious enough to hinder him, Bilbo realized in despair, Sting glancing off Azog's ribs. And he would not be given a second chance.
Azog recognized him. A victorious sneer twisted his lips as he seized Bilbo and dragged him close.
His breath smelt like raw meat. The iron tang of dark orc’s blood was heavy in the air as it slid down the side of the white orc's head.
Bilbo twisted, stashing at Azog's throat with Sting.
Azog easily deflected the small sword with the blade attached to his truncated arm. Sting flew through the air, falling to ground with a dull clank.
Azog snarled, lifting his arm so Bilbo was hanging helpless before him.
Azog's blade drew sharply across his throat. Bilbo was gone before his body hit the ground.
~x~X~x~
Azog wasn't where he was meant to be.
Bilbo scoured the tower with a sense of almost panic, creeping from room to room, hiding to avoid the orcs that filled it.
Thorin would leave the mountain soon. Lead Fili, Kili and Dwalin to Ravenhill.
And Bilbo had to kill Azog before they did.
Bilbo ducked down a corridor, ears quivering as he listened. There was no sound to indicate the presence of orcs that he could hear. Reassured, he slipped down the corridor and into one of the rooms leading off from it.
The room was filled with orcs.
A cry went up as he was spotted.
Bilbo drew Sting. He couldn't outrun them, but he might be able to break free and slip on the ring-
The orcs surged towards him.
Bilbo slashed wildly, retreating towards the door.
Sting was knocked aside, one large hand closing around Bilbo's arm. The orc twisted.
Something in Bilbo’s arm gave a dull snap. Sting fell from his broken grasp, landing with a startlingly loud clang.
He was pulled into the room, into the centre of the gathered orcs.
An orc picked him up with a leer, its fetid breath washing over his face in a disgusting moist cloud. With a sneer it shoved him back.
Bilbo stumbled, falling against another orc.
The orc growled out something that made the other orcs laugh, ugly and dark. Grasping Bilbo's tunic, the orc pulled, ripping off the sleeve to expose the shoulder of the mithril shirt he wore underneath.
"Rat!" One of the orcs leered. “Rippta!”
Bilbo found himself thrust to another orc in the circle, hard hands pinching and pulling, tearing the rest of the coat from his body. Exposing the mithril Thorin had gifted him to their greedy gaze.
Bilbo suddenly found himself in a tugging war, where each of the orcs was doing their best to pull the mithril mail from his body. Bilbo tried to stop them but it was to no avail. The mithril shirt was pulled up from his body, trapping his arms around his head. The orcs were pressed close around him, tearing at his exposed torso with clawed hands and twisting the mithril shirt about his head-
Bilbo started struggling, trying to breathe-
A cry went up as the mithril ripped off his head, tearing at his ears.
Bilbo fell to the ground, receiving a few idle kicks from the orcs pressing around him as they fought over the mithril.
Bilbo tucked his arms around his head, blood meeting his fingers, and tried to breathe around the pain his ribs.
The guttural words of the orcs filled his ears: shouts and hissed words. Violence and venom.
A voice barked out and the orcs suddenly stilled.
Unable to push himself up off the floor, Bilbo rolled his head around to regard the source of the disturbance.
A pale orc approached, standing a head above the others. Azog.
Azog strode towards him through the parting orcs. Eyes fixed on Bilbo, a cruel smile splitting his face.
~x~X~x~
Azog's massive hand held him high from the ground, a pitiful mess of ragged bone and flesh. The move was agony but Bilbo merely hung, unable to even lift a resisting hand.
"Mirzob akashuga?" Azog bellowed.
Thorin stood across the divide, Bilbo knew. Fili, Kili and Dwalin.
Bilbo blinked blood from his eyes. He could see Thorin more clearly now, sword grasped in his hand, crown and robes discarded for more modest travelling garb. He stood near the edge of the cliff, body straining forward. His lips were moving but Bilbo was too far to hear what he was saying.
Azog lifted him higher, swinging him out over the crevasse.
Bilbo let out a choked scream, legs kicking in panicked jerks as bones grated and the wounds in his side tore open.
"Bilbo!" Fili and Kili had surged forward, only to be stopped by Dwalin's outstretched arm.
"Lûtom. Shiik, akashuga." Azog sounded gleeful, his pale eyes glinting with banked bloodlust. His grip tightened on Bilbo's neck, his fetid breath fanning across Bilbo's face.
Bilbo squeezed his eyes shut, knowing what would happen next.
Azog's teeth clamped down on his ear. And tore away.
Bilbo let out a shrill scream, body convulsing with the agony that shot through his head. He shuddered, arms and legs jerking as a hot tide poured down his face and neck. He gasped for air, jagged sobs that tore his throat and the world slowly steadied around him.
"-ibo!"
The word was garbled, muffled, and it took Bilbo a while to locate its source.
Thorin.
"Bilbo!" Thorin's bellow echoed out across the divide, fear and rage ringing through his voice.
Azog spat. Something landed with a wet splat on the snow, blood a vivid scarlet spray.
His ear. Bilbo mouthed the words through curiously numb lips, a high ringing filling his remaining ear.
Azog growled in satisfaction, blood spraying from his breath. Bilbo barely blinked as it landed on his bloody cheek.
He kept his gaze on Thorin, standing on the very edge of the out-thrust stone.
Azog growled into his ruined ear. Something low and satisfied, purring with pleasure.
The blade slid into his stomach with enough force to make Bilbo jerk in Azog's grip.
It pulled free with a vicious twist and Bilbo's body convulsed with spasms and twitches.
There was screaming in the air. Thorin. Bilbo thought numbly. Fili and Kili.
Azog opened his hand.
Bilbo fell, body broken even before he hit the icy stone below.
~x~X~x~
Bilbo bolted upright in his bed, desperate fingers grasping at his ear. His whole ear, slightly chilled but intact.
Bilbo wheezed, suddenly finding it hard to breathe. He sucked in large gasps of air, free hand digging into his discarded blankets.
His chest seized and Bilbo forced himself to breathe, hand clamped tightly around his ear.
His tearing gasps for breath finally slowed. Heartbeats bolting wildly, a thundering thrum.
Cold certainty filled Bilbo. He needed to kill Azog first.
~x~X~x~
Black Speech:
Fauthlat. - 'You hide.'
Mal kulat? - 'Where are you?'
Mal kul! - 'There you are!'
Honizg znalab! - 'I see your form.'
Maatharz matlat- - 'Sweetly, you die-'
Rat! – 'Loot!'
Rippta! - 'Skin him!'
Mirzob akashuga? 'Whose halfling is this?'
Lûtom. Shiik, akashuga. - 'Beg. Scream, halfling.'
~x~X~x~
On to Chapter Nine
~x~X~x~
Author(s): Flakedice
Artist(s):
charlies_dragon, penumbria_fics and croix_souillees Fandom(s): The Hobbit
Type: Slash
Rating: Mature
Word Count/Art type: 44,550 words
Characters/Pairings: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Warnings/Spoilers: major character death, graphic violence, gore, torture, psychological torture, ptsd, (tiny bit of) self-harm, suicide (sort of), mental illness. (Please highlight to read)
Summary: Bilbo wakes up in Dale. With the memory of a battle won but lives lost, he finds an army of Men and Elves readying to attack Erebor. Bilbo tries to save his dwarves. Again and again.
MANY PATHS
CHAPTER VIII
Bilbo found Thorin on the wall staring down at the lights of Dale. He stepped softly forward, hands cradling two bowls.
The incident with the trolls seemed so long ago. Fili and Kili were grim and silent most days.
And there were threats more dangerous than trolls.
"Thorin."
A shift in Thorin's shoulders was all that marked his suspicion. Thorin slowly turned, his pale blue gaze glittering in the light of the torches.
Bilbo shuffled, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "I brought you something to eat."
Thorin's gaze, which had been fixed on Bilbo's face in an intense stare he'd gotten used to, shifted down to the bowls in Bilbo's hands. He met Bilbo's gaze again. "I am not hungry."
Bilbo would have been surprised if it was that easy.
He squared his shoulders. "You need to keep up your strength." Bilbo picked his way through the fallen blocks of stone that were still scattered on the wall. He picked a long flat slab and sat down, acutely aware of Thorin's eyes on him.
He glanced up, catching that glittering blue gaze. "Please Thorin." There was a note of pleading in his voice.
Thorin stood silent, a war waging behind his eyes.
Bilbo remained silent, knowing from past experience anything he said would only push Thorin back to his obsession with the Arkenstone or the threat that lay beyond the gate.
Finally Thorin took a slow step forward. He approached in the quiet focused way he had while in the throes of gold sickness. A predatory, powerful stride that could all-too-easily erupt into violent anger.
Bilbo held his gaze and lifted up one of the gently-steaming bowls.
Thorin stared down at him for a long moment, looming over Bilbo in his crown and furred coat.
Finally he reached out for the bowl and slowly took it from Bilbo's grasp, large fingers overlapping Bilbo's. His hands very large and very warm. Thorin then turned and sat next to Bilbo on the fallen slab. Close enough that Bilbo could feel Thorin's solid bulk along his side.
Bilbo stared down at his bowl to hide his sudden urge to burst into tears. Instead he picked up his spoon and started to eat, ears pricked to hear the sound of Thorin starting to do the same. It took a moment but eventually there was the scrape of Thorin's spoon against his bowl.
They sat and ate in silence. It reminded Bilbo of nights around the campfire, when Erebor was a source of desperate optimistic hope. And Thorin's strength was tempered with a gentleness he was slowly revealing. Kindness and good humour that was not overshadowed by his abrupt defensive nature. Thorin as he was.
Bilbo would do everything in his power to see that again.
An empty bowl was placed into Bilbo's lap by large hands.
Bilbo looked up to find Thorin watching him, eyes softened by the small smile on the dwarf's lips.
"You spoke wisely, Master Baggins." He stood, reaching out to grasp Bilbo's shoulder, his hand engulfing the joint. His grasp lifted away and his gaze shifted out towards the lights of the army camped at Dale. "We will all need our strength on the morrow." The warmth leeched from his expression, replaced with cold hostility.
Bilbo sat and watched him pace over to the wall, hands clasping the empty bowls on his lap.
Azog and Bolg were the key.
Bilbo had learnt that he could not stop the battle. He could steer it somewhat but it always came down to battle with the two white orcs. The Company could deal with normal foes but confrontations with Azog and Bolg inevitably lead to death.
The answer was simple in the end. Bilbo had to kill them first.
"Bilbo!"
Gandalf's cry echoed out behind him but Bilbo kept running.
The orcs and men on the battlefield were a disorienting meld of dark shadowy forms. But Bilbo had gotten used to seeing the shadowy world of the ring. He had gotten his bearings before he had slipped it onto his finger and now he ran across the plain.
Not to Dale, but to Ravenhill.
Where Azog was waiting.
Azog was in the tower.
He was no longer stood on the jutting lip of stone from where he had overlooked the battle. The white orc had sought out a spot in the shadow of the tower. What had once been a room, broken open to allow a view that looked out onto the frozen river below.
Waiting for Thorin and the others to fall into his trap.
Perched on top of the remnant of a thick broken stone wall above him, Bilbo tightened his grip on Sting. A sudden wave of hatred engulfed him. It was not an emotion Bilbo had felt before, so full of rage and loathing. But for what Azog had done- The many ways he had killed Fili and Kili-
The pleasure he took in making Thorin's death as painful and humiliating as possible-
Bilbo hated him.
And he had no hesitation in trying to kill the white orc. The Ring on his finger, Bilbo jumped from the wall, Sting held firmly in both hands.
He was on target.
Sting slid in smoothly, the small blade finding a gap in Azog's armour and slicing deeply into the orc's neck.
Azog swiped his bladed arm backward even as he fell, words of the dark tongue spilling vicious and biting from his mouth.
Hanging from Azog's back, Bilbo ducked, twisting Sting to tear the wound open wider. But before he could land another blow, Bilbo was pulled away, flung down hard onto unforgiving ice. It knocked the wind out of him.
Azog staggered to his feet, blood pouring down his shoulder. Bleeding heavily but not dead.
Not yet.
His pale eyes scanned the ice before him, mouth twisted into a snarl. "Fauthlat.” His eyes narrowed. “Mal kulat?"
Bilbo stayed still, barely breathing. If Azog drew closer he would make his move. Azog would not be killing his dwarves this day.
But Azog had stopped searching. He was staring at Bilbo, a terrible smile on his face.
Not him, Bilbo realized. The snow that had been disturbed when Bilbo fell.
"Mal kul!" Azog lunged, blade sweeping low to ground.
Bilbo, still crouched in the awkward position he had landed in, was unprepared for the move. He rolled, trying to keep as low to the ground as he could.
But he wasn't fast enough.
A pained noise escaped Bilbo's mouth as Azog's blade caught his side. He landed on his back, gasping for air. Thorin's gift had saved his life but he still had bruised ribs, the wind knocked out of him.
"Honizg znalab!” Azog advanced, blood running down his side. His blade hand was held before him in readiness as he tracked the marks Bilbo had left in the snow.
Bilbo scrabbled at the ice, trying to claw himself from Azog's path. He rolled, hands and knees digging into snow to propel him forward.
A large hand caught his ankle.
Bilbo found himself hanging upside down, his mithril shirt pooling around his arms.
An image of Fili held high over empty air rose in Bilbo's mind and he felt a jolt of fear through his stomach.
It burst into pain.
Azog's blade pulled free in a horrific rush, painted red with Bilbo's blood.
Bilbo gasped shallowly. Trying to bring his hands up the wound that felt like he was being torn in half. The very effort tearing the wound wider.
“Maatharz, matlat -"
Bilbo fell to the ground, biting back a scream as his vision whited out. After several breathless moments, he finally blinked his sight clear, his breaths slightly better than desperate pants.
To see Azog lying still only a few feet away, pale eyes open and unseeing.
Dead. Finally.
Bilbo let out a gasp of relief, light-headed with the pain it provoked. He allowed himself a moment and then he firmed his lips and gathered his strength.
This was going to hurt.
Bilbo struggled to his feet, a hand pressed to his stomach, barely even glancing at Azog's corpse. Bolg was still out there. He had to warn his dwarves.
Bilbo staggered up the rise to the outcrop that overlooked the frozen river. The treacherous plain of ice where Thorin had died again and again.
Bilbo lurched away from the edge, towards the remains of what had once been a courtyard.
Here. Here was the place where Thorin would come.
He wavered, light-headed and balance uncertain. Then he started down the shallow steps to level ground.
And tripped.
Bilbo met the ground with a breath-stealing impact. He lay, mouth working as he tried to breathe around the agony that seized his stomach and radiated through his body. Slowly he managed to breathe, to find the shallowest breaths that caused the least pain.
It wasn't so bad now that he was lying down. Bilbo flexed his fingers where they lay on his stomach, wet and glistening, then let them still. He only had to wait.
Bilbo lay staring up at the sky. It was a pale blue, the thin clouds white and pale grey skeins. It was the only sky he had seen in days, months, however long it had been.
It had been so long since he had seen a bright blue sky.
"Bilbo!"
It was Kili's voice. Between one slow blink and the next, Kili himself was there, leaning over him, face pale and drawn.
A hand closed over his wrist lifting his hand from the wound in his stomach. Strangely it didn't hurt so much now.
Fili. It was Fili.
"You're both alive." Bilbo let his eyes fall shut, relief making his body go limp. "I was in time."
"Bilbo." Kili. A light touch on his face. "Bilbo!"
Bilbo's eyes flicked open. Kili was still there. And Fili.
"How did this happen?" Fili's lips were pressed tightly together as he surveyed the wound.
"Azog." Bilbo was vaguely aware that someone else had arrived but it was too hard to turn his head. "He's dead now."
The hand on his stomach pressed down.
It hurt.
Bilbo gasped, entire body lighting with pain, eyes wrenched open. He sobbed in a breath, lungs aching for air but pain flaring with every breath.
Warmth settled on his head, soothed him from his panic.
"Bilbo." Thorin knelt by his side, one large hand resting on his shoulder, the other shakily stroking over his hair.
Thorin.
"Bolg!" Bilbo gasped out. "An army. From the north." He sucked in more air. "You have to go!"
Thorin glanced at Fili.
Bilbo caught the blond dwarf shaking his head at the corner of his sight.
He was dying. There was nothing to be done.
For him.
Bilbo closed his eyes and drew in as deep a breath as he could manage. "Leave me."
Thorin's hand stopped moving in his hair.
"Bilbo." Kili voice was anxious. "We-"
"You need to leave before Bolg's army arrives." Bilbo pried his eyes open. It was harder than he thought it would be.
"We're not leaving you here." It was Fili who spoke. "How could you even think it?"
They couldn't stay. But looking from Fili to Kili he could see that they were planning to do just that.
Bilbo rolled his gaze upwards. "Dwalin, talk some sense into them."
Dwalin gazed down at him from where he stood watch. His gaze was hard as he scanned Bilbo's body, flicked over his stomach wound. He turned to Thorin. "We carry him down. He doesn't weigh much."
What- Even dying and half numb, Bilbo felt a flutter of indignation. He hadn't come all this way, to kill Azog, to warn them, to save them, for his too-loyal dwarves to risk their lives for him when he was already dying.
He opened his mouth to give them as scathing a scolding as he could manage but Thorin cut him off.
"Brace yourself."
Bilbo didn't have the time to ask him why. Thorin's arms worked beneath his shoulders and knees. And then he was lifting-
The world vanished. There was only pain so brilliant it stole his sight and breath.
When Bilbo blinked his eyes open, breaths in shallow jagged rasps, the world was flecked with pale streamers of colour and he was surrounded by worried dwarves.
He suspected he had said something. Or maybe screamed.
Kili's face was pale where it floated nearby. Fili had a hand pressed to his throat, feeling for a pulse.
"I'm alright." Bilbo croaked out, through that was manifestly untrue.
"Rest, Bilbo." Thorin's voice rumbled through his chest, warm and soft. Quiet and uneven. "You've done enough, my friend." His voice broke on the last word.
Friend.
Bilbo dragged his hand up to his chest to cover Thorin's where it gripped his side. He gripped Thorin's hand as hard as he could with his numbing fingers.
"We retreat to the mountain." Thorin ordered the others grimly. "We engage only when we have to."
There were nods. They started down the mountain, Dwalin in the lead, Fili and Kili at Thorin's side.
Bilbo let his eyes sag shut. Azog was dead and his dwarves had been warned about Bolg. They might live.
Even if he did not.
Bilbo woke up slowly. He was in a bed and warm.
His heart leapt in hope.
Bilbo cracked his eyes open-
Only to see wooden beams. The familiar room he had been given at Dale.
Bilbo's heart sank. Either Thorin and the others had fallen in battle, or he had died before they had gotten to safely. With all the battles he had experienced on Ravenhill, Bilbo suspected it had been the former.
Bilbo slowly pulled himself up, hand touching his stomach in a ginger press. There was no pain, no sign of the injury Azog had given him.
It was as if nothing had happened.
Bilbo's lips thinned, pressing together into a tight line. Azog. This time, he would do better.
The iron shot caught Azog in the side of his head, sending him staggering.
Bilbo darted forward from his hiding place, Sting grasped tightly in hand. He ducked Azog's arm and thrust up, Sting sliding into the white orc’s side. Twisting the sword roughly and pulling it free.
Azog had a hand on his wrist before Bilbo could land another blow.
The first had not serious enough to hinder him, Bilbo realized in despair, Sting glancing off Azog's ribs. And he would not be given a second chance.
Azog recognized him. A victorious sneer twisted his lips as he seized Bilbo and dragged him close.
His breath smelt like raw meat. The iron tang of dark orc’s blood was heavy in the air as it slid down the side of the white orc's head.
Bilbo twisted, stashing at Azog's throat with Sting.
Azog easily deflected the small sword with the blade attached to his truncated arm. Sting flew through the air, falling to ground with a dull clank.
Azog snarled, lifting his arm so Bilbo was hanging helpless before him.
Azog's blade drew sharply across his throat. Bilbo was gone before his body hit the ground.
Azog wasn't where he was meant to be.
Bilbo scoured the tower with a sense of almost panic, creeping from room to room, hiding to avoid the orcs that filled it.
Thorin would leave the mountain soon. Lead Fili, Kili and Dwalin to Ravenhill.
And Bilbo had to kill Azog before they did.
Bilbo ducked down a corridor, ears quivering as he listened. There was no sound to indicate the presence of orcs that he could hear. Reassured, he slipped down the corridor and into one of the rooms leading off from it.
The room was filled with orcs.
A cry went up as he was spotted.
Bilbo drew Sting. He couldn't outrun them, but he might be able to break free and slip on the ring-
The orcs surged towards him.
Bilbo slashed wildly, retreating towards the door.
Sting was knocked aside, one large hand closing around Bilbo's arm. The orc twisted.
Something in Bilbo’s arm gave a dull snap. Sting fell from his broken grasp, landing with a startlingly loud clang.
He was pulled into the room, into the centre of the gathered orcs.
An orc picked him up with a leer, its fetid breath washing over his face in a disgusting moist cloud. With a sneer it shoved him back.
Bilbo stumbled, falling against another orc.
The orc growled out something that made the other orcs laugh, ugly and dark. Grasping Bilbo's tunic, the orc pulled, ripping off the sleeve to expose the shoulder of the mithril shirt he wore underneath.
"Rat!" One of the orcs leered. “Rippta!”
Bilbo found himself thrust to another orc in the circle, hard hands pinching and pulling, tearing the rest of the coat from his body. Exposing the mithril Thorin had gifted him to their greedy gaze.
Bilbo suddenly found himself in a tugging war, where each of the orcs was doing their best to pull the mithril mail from his body. Bilbo tried to stop them but it was to no avail. The mithril shirt was pulled up from his body, trapping his arms around his head. The orcs were pressed close around him, tearing at his exposed torso with clawed hands and twisting the mithril shirt about his head-
Bilbo started struggling, trying to breathe-
A cry went up as the mithril ripped off his head, tearing at his ears.
Bilbo fell to the ground, receiving a few idle kicks from the orcs pressing around him as they fought over the mithril.
Bilbo tucked his arms around his head, blood meeting his fingers, and tried to breathe around the pain his ribs.
The guttural words of the orcs filled his ears: shouts and hissed words. Violence and venom.
A voice barked out and the orcs suddenly stilled.
Unable to push himself up off the floor, Bilbo rolled his head around to regard the source of the disturbance.
A pale orc approached, standing a head above the others. Azog.
Azog strode towards him through the parting orcs. Eyes fixed on Bilbo, a cruel smile splitting his face.
Azog's massive hand held him high from the ground, a pitiful mess of ragged bone and flesh. The move was agony but Bilbo merely hung, unable to even lift a resisting hand.
"Mirzob akashuga?" Azog bellowed.
Thorin stood across the divide, Bilbo knew. Fili, Kili and Dwalin.
Bilbo blinked blood from his eyes. He could see Thorin more clearly now, sword grasped in his hand, crown and robes discarded for more modest travelling garb. He stood near the edge of the cliff, body straining forward. His lips were moving but Bilbo was too far to hear what he was saying.
Azog lifted him higher, swinging him out over the crevasse.
Bilbo let out a choked scream, legs kicking in panicked jerks as bones grated and the wounds in his side tore open.
"Bilbo!" Fili and Kili had surged forward, only to be stopped by Dwalin's outstretched arm.
"Lûtom. Shiik, akashuga." Azog sounded gleeful, his pale eyes glinting with banked bloodlust. His grip tightened on Bilbo's neck, his fetid breath fanning across Bilbo's face.
Bilbo squeezed his eyes shut, knowing what would happen next.
Azog's teeth clamped down on his ear. And tore away.
Bilbo let out a shrill scream, body convulsing with the agony that shot through his head. He shuddered, arms and legs jerking as a hot tide poured down his face and neck. He gasped for air, jagged sobs that tore his throat and the world slowly steadied around him.
"-ibo!"
The word was garbled, muffled, and it took Bilbo a while to locate its source.
Thorin.
"Bilbo!" Thorin's bellow echoed out across the divide, fear and rage ringing through his voice.
Azog spat. Something landed with a wet splat on the snow, blood a vivid scarlet spray.
His ear. Bilbo mouthed the words through curiously numb lips, a high ringing filling his remaining ear.
Azog growled in satisfaction, blood spraying from his breath. Bilbo barely blinked as it landed on his bloody cheek.
He kept his gaze on Thorin, standing on the very edge of the out-thrust stone.
Azog growled into his ruined ear. Something low and satisfied, purring with pleasure.
The blade slid into his stomach with enough force to make Bilbo jerk in Azog's grip.
It pulled free with a vicious twist and Bilbo's body convulsed with spasms and twitches.
There was screaming in the air. Thorin. Bilbo thought numbly. Fili and Kili.
Azog opened his hand.
Bilbo fell, body broken even before he hit the icy stone below.
Bilbo bolted upright in his bed, desperate fingers grasping at his ear. His whole ear, slightly chilled but intact.
Bilbo wheezed, suddenly finding it hard to breathe. He sucked in large gasps of air, free hand digging into his discarded blankets.
His chest seized and Bilbo forced himself to breathe, hand clamped tightly around his ear.
His tearing gasps for breath finally slowed. Heartbeats bolting wildly, a thundering thrum.
Cold certainty filled Bilbo. He needed to kill Azog first.
~x~X~x~
Black Speech:
Fauthlat. - 'You hide.'
Mal kulat? - 'Where are you?'
Mal kul! - 'There you are!'
Honizg znalab! - 'I see your form.'
Maatharz matlat- - 'Sweetly, you die-'
Rat! – 'Loot!'
Rippta! - 'Skin him!'
Mirzob akashuga? 'Whose halfling is this?'
Lûtom. Shiik, akashuga. - 'Beg. Scream, halfling.'
~x~X~x~
On to Chapter Nine
~x~X~x~
