The Dwarves and Elves paused only for a moment, but that moment was enough.
Both sides turned toward the incoming Orc army.
No command was needed.
The enemy had made itself clear.
Thranduil's hand shifted, and the Elven ranks adjusted instantly, bows rising toward the valley. Across from them, the Dwarves of the Iron Hills tightened formation, shields locking, war-ready, their arrival now no longer a threat to Erebor—but a shield against something worse.
Dáin Ironfoot raised his weapon, his voice carrying across his army.
"Form ranks!"
The Dwarves responded as one.
Then the Orc horns sounded.
From the shattered mountains, the army surged forward—Wargs charging ahead, Orcs flooding behind in overwhelming numbers.
"Hold!" came the Elven command.
Arrows were drawn.
Then released.
A storm of arrows tore into the front lines, cutting down the first wave, but it did not slow them. The Orcs climbed over the fallen, pushing forward with brutal momentum.
The distance closed.
The Elves moved first, advancing with speed and precision, meeting the Orc vanguard before it could crash fully into the lines.
Then—
Dáin roared.
"Charge!"
The Dwarves of the Iron Hills surged forward, heavy armor crashing into the Orc ranks with unstoppable force. Shields slammed, axes fell, and the impact broke the front of the Orc advance, turning the battlefield into chaos.
Elves struck from the flanks, blades moving fast and clean, while the Dwarves held the center, unyielding.
For a moment,
They pushed back.
But the Orc army did not end.
More poured in.
Orcs followed, smashing through lines, forcing both Elves and Dwarves to give ground step by step.
What had begun as a standoff between three forces had become something else entirely.
A war.
And it was only beginning.
"Should we help them? Those are our people down there," Dwalin said, watching the battle spread across the valley.
Below, Elves and the Dwarves of the Iron Hills were already engaged, holding against a force that kept growing. Orcs flooded in without end, and through them, Azog carved a path, moving with a single purpose.
Thorin.
He was coming for him.
Thorin stood still, looking down, but his expression did not change.
"No," he said. "We hold Erebor."
Dwalin turned sharply. "Hold it? While they fight for us?"
"The mountain comes first," Thorin replied, his voice harder now. "We do not abandon it."
Dwalin clenched his jaw, but Thorin did not look at him again.
Behind them, Bilbo had been watching, listening, the sound of battle echoing through the halls. The clash outside felt distant, but not enough to ignore.
"You've changed, Thorin," Bilbo said quietly.
Thorin didn't respond.
Bilbo stepped forward, his hand moving inside his coat. He hesitated for a moment, then pulled out the Arkenstone, its light catching even in the dim halls.
Without another word, he threw it down between them.
The stone struck the floor with a sharp sound.
"You wanted this," Bilbo said, his voice steady. "Then take it. It's nothing more than a glowing stone. Nothing special."
Thorin's gaze snapped to it.
Bilbo continued, not looking away from him.
"The Thorin I travelled with would never leave his people to face this alone. He wouldn't sit behind walls while others fight in his place."
Outside, the sound of war carried through the stone.
"And yet that's exactly what you're doing."
Thorin still didn't answer.
He couldn't look away from the Arkenstone.
Bilbo took a breath.
"I'm leaving," he said. "I can't stay here anymore."
There was no anger in his voice, only certainty.
And then he turned away.
Thorin stepped forward slowly, his eyes fixed on the Arkenstone lying on the floor. He bent down and picked it up, the light reflecting in his gaze as his grip tightened around it.
A faint smile touched his face.
"Bilbo took it," Thorin said, almost to himself. "He hid it from me."
Balin stepped forward from the shadows, having seen everything.
"He did," Balin said quietly, his voice calm but firm. "But not for greed. Not for himself."
Thorin didn't look at him.
"He did it because he was worried for you," Balin continued. "Since we came to Erebor, you have changed. Your eyes see only gold now… and nothing else."
The words settled, but Thorin's expression hardened.
"You speak as if I have lost my mind," Thorin said.
Balin shook his head slightly.
"No," he replied. "I speak as one who has followed you for many years. The Thorin I know would not let this mountain come before his people."
Outside, the sound of battle echoed faintly through the stone.
"They fight for us," Balin said. "Elves… even Dwarves who came for you. And yet you would have us remain behind these walls."
Thorin's grip on the Arkenstone tightened, the light reflecting sharper now.
For a moment, he said nothing.
But the silence was no longer steady.
It was starting to crack.
*****
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