The Lonely Mountain [1]

The Pale Orc

The company rode throughout the day, only stopping for quick breaks every once in a while, and lunch. As the darkness began to close in, they came to a stop near the edge of a cliff. It was sheltered from the elements and was the perfect place to see any possible enemies approaching. The dwarfs prepared a quick meal while Amara ate some lembas bread that she had packed for the journey. It didn't take long after for most of the dwarves to fall asleep and soon it was only Amara, Gandalf, Fili, Kili and Bilbo left around the small campfire.

They all jumped as a cry pierced through the air. Amara looked up from her sketch book as Bilbo moved closer to them with a worried expression.

"What was that?" Bilbo asked, clearly terrified.

"Orcs." Amara told him.

Thorin, who had been dozing, jerked awake at the mention of orcs.

"Orcs?" Bilbo squeaked.

"Throat-cutters. There'll be dozens of them out there. The lowlands are crawling with them." Fili muttered as he stoked the fire.

"They strike in the wee small hours, when everyone's asleep. Quick and quiet; no screams, just lots of blood." Kili said.

Bilbo looked away in fright; Fili and Kili looked at each other and began laughing.

"You think that's funny? You think a night raid by orcs is a joke?" Thorin asked, clearly angered.

"We didn't mean anything by it." Kili muttered. All he wanted to do was prove to his uncle he was not a child, but that was all Thorin treated him like.

"No, you didn't. You know nothing of the world." Thorin spat before walking away to look out over the edge of the cliff.

"Don't mind him, laddie. Thorin has more cause than most to hate orcs. After the dragon took the Lonely Mountain, King Thror tried to reclaim the ancient dwarf kingdom of Moria. But our enemy had got there first." Balin said walking over to Fili and Kili.

Battle of Azanulbizar; thousands of dwarves and orcs fought in front of the ancient gates of Moria. Thorin, Thror, Thrain, Balin, and Dwalin fought fiercely. A massive, pale, orc wiped out many dwarves with his mace, before engaging King Thror.

"Moria had been taken by legions of Orcs lead by the most vile of all their race: Azog, the Defiler. The giant Gundobad Orc had sworn to wipe out the line of Durin. He began by beheading the King."

Azog defeated King Thror and held up Thror's severed head as he roared. He flung the head to the ground where it bounced and rolled to Thorin's feet.

"Nooo!" Thorin yelled at the pale orc as he looked at his grandfather's head.

"Thrain, Thorin's father, was driven mad by grief. He went missing, taken prisoner or killed, we did not know. We were leaderless. Defeat and death were upon us."

At the death of the king and the disappearance of his son the orcs had overpowered the dwarves and the dwarves were fleeing for their lives.

"That is when I saw him: a young dwarf prince facing down the Pale Orc."

Thorin faced Azog; Azog swung his mace and knocked away first Thorin's shield, then his sword. Thorin fell down an embankment and landed on the ground.

"He stood alone against this terrible foe, his armour rent, wielding nothing by an oaken branch as a shield"

Azog leapt to smash Thorin, but Thorin, grabbing an oaken branch lying on the ground, managed to roll away in time. Azog continued wielding his mace against Thorin, who was still on the ground, but Thorin blocked his mace with the oaken branch, which he now wielded as a shield. As Azog swung one last time, Thorin, grabbing a sword lying nearby, cut Azog's left arm, his mace arm, clean off from below the elbow. Azog clutched the stump of his arm as he howled in pain.

"Azog, the Defiler, learned that day that the line of Durin would not be so easily broken."

Azog was rushed into Moria by other orcs as Thorin rallied the dwarves to battle. They stopped fleeing and return to the fight with new found ferocity. The dwarves then seemed to have the advantage.

"Our forces rallied and drove the orcs back. Our enemy had been defeated. But there was no feast, nor song, that night, for our dead were beyond the count of grief. We few had survived."

The battlefield was covered in the corpses of dwarves and orcs; the surviving dwarves wept with one another over their loss. A younger Balin and Dwalin embraced and rested their foreheads together as they wept. Balin, still weeping, looked up and saw Thorin, holding his oaken branch.

"And I thought to myself then, there is one who I could follow. There is one I could call King."

In the present, Thorin turned away from the view beyond the cliff; the entire Company was awake and standing in awe, staring at him. Thorin walked between them towards the fire.

"But the pale orc? What happened to him?" Bilbo asked inquisitively.

"He slunk back into the hole whence he came. That filth died of his wounds long ago." Thorin said bitterly.