Book 1: Come Home [Thorin Oakenshield]

Chapter 17

Chapter Inspiration: This Is War by RipTide Music

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Arms rising for the final strike Bilbo tackled the Orc to the ground. The Hobbit quickly stood only to hack away at the enemy until Poppy's blade ran through its skull, silencing its struggle. They turned on Azog, who glared, urging his Warg forward. The Half-breed stood protectively over the unconscious prince, bending down to quickly check his breath to realize it was still there, but faint. Mace raised overhead in an attack the battle cries distracted him as the Dwarves swarmed the pack, slicing through them with determination at their fallen leader. The Hobbit was not paying attention and Poppy shoved him out of the way as Azog continued forward in anger, pulling up her weapon to block the attack. The weight of it made her stumble but refused to back down or leave Thorin defenseless. Another blow, but the Half-breed held her ground, the blade slicing open the Warg's cheek. It howled in pain, rearing back and causing its rider to drop the mace. Snarling Azog ripped a sword from a dead Orc's hand. Their blades clashed in the night and the pale Orc only grew angry that a woman stood up to him. Held him off. Shouting in rage his arm arched around throwing the Half-breed's blade away from its defensive position, yet still remained in her grasp. But it was too late to recover as a searing pain exploded on the right side of her face.

Poppy screamed in agony, stumbling backwards before falling to the ground clutching the wound.

"Poppy!"

But the young woman could not answer, nor knew who spoke. There were other voices calling out to her. Azog grinned in triumph at the sight of the red blood that flowed between her fingers. Using one arm to pull her across the ground, her back hit Thorin's fallen form and gripped her weapon in the less dominant hand. But it mattered not. In life or death anything was better than nothing to defend with.

She could leave now. Save herself, but only pressed closer to the prince refusing to allow this Orc to take his head. If today was the day she died, so be it. There was a good reason.

The cry of a bird echoed in the air, both turning to watch as a large eagle swooped down. Its talons latched around Wargs and Orcs before casting them over the side of the cliff. More descended laying waste to the enemy and forcing them to retreat. The pale Orc snarled, whirling on Poppy, whose blade swung around in his moment of distraction and sent the weapon flying from his grasp. He roared in anger, foot kicking out and into her gut throwing her backwards. She hit the ground roughly, nearly falling on top of Thorin. Reaching over him, her hand wrapped around the hilt of the Goblin Cleaver just before a set of talons gripped her body and hoisted it high into the air. With her good eye the Half-breed watched as an eagle descended before lifting the prince into the air out of danger. Suddenly, she felt herself falling and screamed before landing on the back of another bird. Wildly looking around the young woman felt relief to see the rest of the company safe, including her cousin and Gandalf. But the pain returned, biting back a shout and pressed the hand against the face wound harder, wishing it would stop. Poppy apologized profusely to the eagle under her breath for the blood that dripped onto its beautiful feathers.

"Thorin!" Fíli shouted. But no answer came from the prince.

"Poppy!" Bilbo shouted. He glanced over a shoulder in relief at seeing her, but still her cry from the battlefield terrified him. "Are you alright?"

She couldn't answer, afraid she would scream instead or give away the pain through her voice. The eagles seemed to give hers a wide berth, the one below the blacksmith giving out a cry as if saying not to approach. And the company wasn't pleased. The animals refused to listen to them when they attempted to move closer so they could check on their comrades.