The Last of the Guardians Part 1 - A Hobbit Fan Fiction

Chapter 13

***Ok, I'm dragging them out of Rivendell if its the last thing I do! Thank you for commenting on this, it really makes my day!***

The dwarves had given up on their table manners and now lay sprawled about on the balcony, still chewing their way through the fruit and vegetables. A few had even turned up their noses at the feast and pulled meat from their packs to cook. Bifur had not quite thought of that yet, instead picking up yet another vegetable and looking at it. It was, like most of the vegetables surrounding them, green. In an attempt to somehow change it into meat, he held it over the fire they had started.  

Bofur sat beside his cousin, and he too was holding a food over the fire. On the end of a long poker was a juicy sausage he had taken from Bilbo's larder. He pulled it away, inhaling the gorgeous smell of well cooked sausage and was about to eat it when he noticed his brother.  

Bombur was sitting on a table already laden with food, and it's wooden legs were creaking under the weight.  

"Bombur!" Bofur called to his brother and tossed him the sausage. The large dwarf caught it in his hand and sniffed it, and the table creaked alarmingly. He gave his brother a wide-eyed look just as the table collapsed beneath his weight. Bofur roared with laughter, causing Bifur to stare at him.  

Thorin appeared at that moment and Bofur stopped laughing. He seemed to remember where he was and looked around him. When Bofur saw that Fili had been sitting among them for a while he stood up and turned to Thorin.  

"Where's Nema?" He asked the dwarf, ashamed that he had let her slip his mind.  

"She's getting changed." Thorin replied, then proceeded to walk around the group. "Come on, everyone up! We need to leave now." The elves had long since left them alone so they should be able to slip away without being seen.  

Óin looked at him, confused. "What did you say? We are leaving?" He adjusted his ear trumpet so he could hear Thorin a bit better.  

"Yes, we are leaving. Get your things and pack up." Thorin filled his own pack and pulled on his fur coat. The other dwarves hurried about the balcony, stuffing their few belongings into their packs and strapping on their weapons. By the time Nema joined them, they were ready and awaiting further direction. 

She walked to stand by Thorin and he nodded at her. Fili was avoiding her gaze, hoping that if he could keep from looking at her, he would be able to ignore the turmoil he felt within. Nema looked at him once and then turned away. She didn't want him to know how much pain she was in.  

After a brief plan was laid out they set off. The company snuck through Rivendell, keeping to the shadows and moving in silence until they were beyond the bridge. They kept expecting to run into an elf who would try to escort them back but they met no one. A lone elf stood hidden in the shadow of an archway, watching them leave. Once they had disappeared out of sight, he hurried to find Lord Elrond to tell him that Thorin and his company had gone. 

The dwarves, Bilbo and Nema followed the path up and out of the valley and headed towards the Misty Mountains. Dawn came and went yet still they marched on, determined to reach the foothills of the mountain range before sundown. They barely stopped all day and by the time the ground beneath their boots finally began to rise they were almost begging Thorin to let them rest.  

The dwarf looked around him and gestured to a clump of trees a few feet away. "In there," he said, leading them into the shade. 

They quickly set up camp and then sank to the welcoming ground, exhausted from the full day's march. None of them had slept for several days and they wanted nothing more than to curl up and go to sleep. Nema, being the only one who had successfully had any rest, volunteered for the first watch and so after a brief meal the dwarves laid down around the fire and drifted into a deep sleep. The sun soon followed suit and hid itself away in its bed below the dark horizon.  

Nema took her bow and her quiver and climbed a tree which overlooked the area. After making sure she was stable in the upper branches, she scanned the plains they had just crossed for any sign that they had been followed.  

If she had been paying attention, she might have noticed that the grasslands were not as still as they should be.  

A group of three or more orcs was running across the grasslands between Rivendell and the dwarves. They had a few wargs with them, the only survivors of the elf attack. At first they had been reluctant to return to their leader because they knew he would be far from pleased with them. But after deliberating over whether or not to run they had decided to face his wrath. They reached the abandoned fort and scaled the cliff on which it sat. The orcs crawled over rubble and collapsed walls and crept into the circular area overlooking the plains.  

One orc moved towards the centre, avoiding the glare of the yellow-eyed white warg. He cleared his throat and told the pale orc standing before him that he had failed in his mission.  

Azog, the Pale Orc, turned slowly to face him. "You failed?" He growled, approaching the trembling orc.  

"Yes O' Pale One. We failed. Elves attacked us. We barely escaped with our lives." The orc whimpered.  

Azog came closer and wrapped a hand around the orc's throat. "Better you had not come back. You may have died a lot quicker." He snarled, then in one movement he threw the orc at the wall where the wargs tore him to pieces. His shrieks were cut short as a warg ripped out his throat.  

The second orc now came forward and attracted Azog's attention. "I have news, O' Pale One." 

"Speak your news now lest I through you to the wargs as well!" 

The orc jumped slightly then hurriedly gave his information to his leader.  

Azog picked up a small rock and threw it at the orc in anger. "So they have a Guardian? This cannot be so!" He stood on the edge of the fort and looked towards the Misty Mountains. "If I am to kill the dwarf-scum I must destroy this Guardian first." He turned back to the orc. "You say she has no wings?"  

The orc shook his head. "No wings." 

Azog smiled menacingly. "Then she is as good as dead. Come! I shall hunt her down myself!" The Pale Orc mounted his white warg and, without waiting for the other orcs to even stand up he descended from the fort and entered the darkness below.