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It had been a tough few days, months even and Bilbo had gone through so much. She had fought trolls, orcs, goblins, orcs, elves, orcs (why were there so many bloody orcs!) and a dragon. She had argued with kings, riddled with creatures of the dark, rode on the backs of eagles, fallen in love, and had her heart shattered into pieces by the arse she had fallen in love with. Now she was battling for everything her stubborn heart would not let go of, against yet more orcs! She wasn’t going to give up now. If only Lobelia could see her now.
She thrust Sting into the nearest enemy and tried her very best to cleve the bastard in two. It somewhat worked and his blood started spurting out of the new wound. She looked around trying to find at least one of her stubborn dwarves, but she couldn’t see them over the masses of orcs and Goblins. She needed to find Thorin and tell him of the trap. If she didn’t get to him, it might be the end of the line of Durin, and she couldn’t allow that to happen.
She continued to slash and slice through goblins and orcs, searching for the dwarves, but she still could not find them. She was still looking when she spotted Ori, his brothers just out of reach, trying to fend off an orc. Suddenly, a switch flipped on in her brain: her eyes turned from her soft hazel to a vibrant blood red; her nails and teeth got frighteningly sharper; the hair on her head and feet spread to the rest of her body and her ears and snout elongated. The process was relatively painful, and she let out an animalistic howl, then ran full throttle towards where Ori was still facing off against the orc.
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Ori had never been in a battle like this before. Sure, he had joined in a few fights, here and there, but he almost always had his brothers to protect and fight for him. But now he was on his own, his brothers just out of reach, unable to get them and he was so, so scared.
He truly thought he was done for, this time. The orc was slowly getting the upper hand and Ori was sure that this fight would be his last. However, a split second later, he was on his backside, in the mud, watching what looked like a warg gone rogue charge into the orc and start tearing into its chest. On closer inspection, Ori could tell that this was no warg. First thing he noticed was that it was just a bit smaller than your average warg. It was better looking as well, and was a shade of copper that faintly rang bells within his head. It was only when the beast turned to look at him did he realise why. It stared at him with big brown eyes, her eyes.
“Bilbo?” he questioned, a tremble evident in his voice.
Bilbo, as he now knew her to be, gave him an affirmative huff and bumped him on the shoulder with her snout, and hurried away, to the next orc. He followed, helping her cut down orc after orc as they made their way across the battlefield, towards his brothers.
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Dori and Nori were panicking. At some point during the conflict, they had both lost sight of Ori. Precious little Ori, who they had both promised to protect. their sweet little brother who Dori had raised himself when their amad had died, and who Nori had tried his best to make sure had enough to eat, even if it meant stealing to do so. And now their little brother, who they fought so hard to protect, was out there, all alone. They fought back to back, frantically looking for their youngest sibling, but no luck.
Then, all of a sudden, a huge wolf (for this was definitely a wolf and not a warg) came barreling towards them, a familiar ginger dwarf on its back. It was ori, bravely felling orcs, wargs and goblins. They stared at the young dwarf, shocked and in awe of the youngest ri.
“Follow us!” the small scribe yelled over the sounds of war, and follow they did.
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All he wanted was for his nephews to be safe, and he thought that by sending them to the watch tower that he was doing so. But there Fili was, hanging over the edge, that bastard Azog's hand wrapped around his neck. He watched him drop, helpless, unable to do anything. Then, out of nowhere, a large copper wolf ran out and caught his nephew in its jaws. Thorin’s heart stopped. The beast flipped his nephew up into the air again and he landed on its back, almost graceful in its movement. Then it charged towards Kili, and Thorin had no choice than to watch the creature pick him up by his collar and flip him onto its back as well. It continued by running towards where he was frozen to the ground. But as it ran up to him, he caught a glimpse of its eyes. He knew those eyes. Those were the eyes that haunted his dreams.
“Bilbo! You're alright!” he yelled as he scrambled to meet her.
She bounded over to him like an excited puppy and let out a series of happy yelps, then she started to nuzzle his neck. He breathed in the sweet scent of her fur and almost wept. She proceeded to lift the princes, and started to lick their faces. They groaned and made disgusted faces but Thorin could see them fighting off smiles.
The happy reunion was cut short by the sharp howl of a warg, and they remembered where they were. Bilbo let out a low growl and charged back into battle, along with all of her boys.
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The battle was over, and everyone was weary, but alive. Azog was dead along with his son Bolg, and in the dwarf tents, a large copper wolf sat curled around the king and his nephews, who were having their wounds checked by a slowly angering healer. It had been a harrowing day for all of them, and many of their allies had been lost to the battle. They mourned for those now lying dead among the bodies of more loathsome beasts, and yet they still considered themselves lucky for what they still had. This day would forever be remembered as a great success for years to come as the Durin line continued to prosper and though they still had some questions for their hobbit companion, that could wait till later.