A Single Dream is More Powerful Than a Thousand Realities

Retribution

He'd gone on ahead of the others when he'd heard the cry. He didn't want to risk being too late.

Thorin's heart stopped as he made it through the trees and noted the frightened little hobbit dangling in the air, her legs kicking out, trying to stop the orc who had her raised up like a fish on display. Her face was flushed, her hair dripping, a look of resigned horror marred her features.

A burning stone of dread ignited in his belly at the sight.

Azog growled and raised Lyla higher into the sky, his fist clenching an ever growing roar echoing in the air.

And then Thorin was charging, full speed, sword drawn a furious roar of his own escaping his lips.

Not her.

*****
She heard him before she saw him.

Lyla's heart rate sped up as she heard the familiar roar.

That blessedly familiar rich, baritone roar of fury that only Thorin Oakenshield could produce.

Oh it was like music.

But, Azog too, heard the dwarf's charge and pivoted, too late as the infuriated dwarf king lunging towards him, sword drawn.
The collision of the two was an earth shattering experience that sent the hobbit reeling.

Lyla's torn jacket ripped further, as Thorin slammed into Azog's pale form, sending the orc sideways and Lyla tumbling into the river, the orc and dwarf landing on top of the hobbit, forcing the air from her lungs with the cold water washing over her head and her back landing awkwardly among the rocks. Someone grabbed her arm and yanked her to the side as her head broke the surface. She noted two blurs rolling past her in the water, as she lay blessedly forgotten for the moment. Her hands grasped at the smoothed stones beneath her palms, trying to gain traction in order to rise.

She let out a hiss of pain as her left hand found a grip on something sharp.

Lyla gazed down and her eyes widened in shock as she raised her little sword from the water, the crimson of her blood dripping down her palm and wrist and splashing into the water, blending with the cool, clear liquid.

But another roar of anger startled the hobbit-dashing curious glances at her sword aside-and she rolled in the shallow water, climbing to her knees and scampered onto dry ground as she took in the scene before her.

Thorin was charging Azog, Elvish sword drawn, his lips pulling back to reveal a snarl, crystal blue eyes narrowed in contempt for the pale orc.

Azog only stood there, smirking, a dark chuckle reverberating from his throat.

Lyla's heart twisted painfully.

This is what the orc had wanted all along. Another confrontation with Thorin.

Another chance to kill him.

Oh Aule help her.

Help him.

She cringed as Azog charged forward and connected a blow to Thorin's shoulder with his claw, sending Thorin's arm reeling backwards, nearly causing the dwarf to lose his sword. Azog then brought his claw downward, slicing through the dwarf's tunic and into the flesh of his lower arm. Thorin hissed in pain, his teeth gritted, eyes blazing, but he tightened his grip and pushed back against Azog, raw determination sweeping across his face.

And, Thorin, to Lyla's surprise, was very agile in the water. Even as the frigid water rushed past his knees, his feet remained firm as he twisted his upper body to dodge the orc's continual onslaught of frenzied advances. With taught muscles, the dwarf swung upwards as Azog brought his clawed arm down, clashing metal to metal. Baring his teeth, he let out a low growl and pressed his shoulders forward, increasing the weight behind his sword, forcing Azog back and stumbling into the river.