That's Another Story For Later

Vision or Nightmare

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It wasn't a vision. No, not specifically. It was a nightmare. But it wasn't a nightmare created from only the mind. It was the valleys before the Misty Mountains, where we had recently passed. It was still storming. A large white Warg sniffed the ground. The faceless Pale Orc was atop it. A group of Orc scouts followed behind. He snarled something unintelligible. The Wargs howled, racing off in the direction we had just gone. A barely heard whisper was heard.

The scene changed, to the Battle of Moria. Azog was holding up the head of Thror by the hair, letting out a roar that caused me to cringe. The orcs charged ahead, killing the leaderless dwarves. Thorin came up, with an oaken shield, cutting off the arm of the Orc, and he was dragged back. The dwarves victorious, weeped over their losses. The whispers became louder ever so slightly, the ominous sound becoming more apparent.

Later, it showed the Pale Orc, alive, with a metal hook in place of his left arm that was cut off. The harsh tone of the Orc's language stabbed my ears, making them hurt slightly.

Radagast arrived at Dol Guldor, the whispers becoming louder. The old thorny vines moved slightly. The statue's hands clenched around the sword, making a clicking noise. The Witch-King Angmar appeared, a ghostly white spectre, the place where the eyes were supposed to be, only black holes. His sword came down on Radagast, before coming material, dropping onto the ground with a clank. The whispers were louder, taking up most of the sound space. An archway, thorny vines crawling along the sides, overhanging the opening, started morphing, coming closer, causing dizziness to settle mildly. A black shadow started to form, taking the shape of a man. The whispering got louder and louder the more the man. The eyes were pits, the mouth a circle of blackness. The face zoomed toward me, the whispering sounding like a roar.

Blackness engulfed my vision for a moment. It cleared, and I saw an Orc. I flinched. It wasn't headed for me, but headed for another figure. Black hair down to their shoulders, with nothing but a stubble on their face. It was Kili. The Orc held a sword, and charged toward Kili. He had no weapons, no way to defend himself. I called out for the dwarf, but it went unheard. It kept advancing, and Kili tripped over his feet. The whispers came back again, quietly.

Kili lay on his back, a look of horror on his face. I screamed his name, and again it went unheard. He backed up, not fast enough. I tried to run over, but my feet were rooted to the spot. I desperately attempted, but it was all in vain. Time seemed to slow down, and the jagged sword the Orc possessed was aimed toward Kili's heart. The whispers got louder the closer the weapon got to him. I only continued to scream and struggle, but it made it worse.

It touched his heart, and broke the fabric of his tunic. It pierced the skin, and blood bloomed from his wound. An agonizing scream came from Kili's throat. The sword only went deeper into his chest, more screams ripping from both of our throats. The Orc pulled it out, and lumbered away. I found my feet able to move, and I sprinted over to Kili. I knelt down, pulling his weak body closer. Tears flooded down my cheeks, the whispers creeping into my head. I felt for a pulse, and found it getting weaker, fluttering.

"Hey, you'll be okay." I whispered, pushing his hair from his face. He shook his head in small motions, taking my hand, pressing it to his cheek. The tears fell onto his cheeks. "Please, just stay." Blood ran down my hands.

"Iridian. I-" The light dimmed from his eyes, and he was gone. I shook my head, sobbing almost.

"Kili. Kili. Echuio. Wake up." I said. The whispers crept further into my head, and it infected my thinking. "Kili!" I cried. He was dead. I pressed my forehead to his. "Tan menu selek lanun naman." I said in Khuzdul, saying may his forge burn bright. My grip faltered, and he turned into smoke in my hands, whisking away. I tried to catch it, but I couldn't. The last thing to disappear was his hand, but the ghost of a touch remained. The whispers were louder than the sobs. The world fell away, and I curled into myself. The shadow reappeared, rushing through me.

Then nothing.