Extra-long chapter 1, but there was a lot I wanted to set up and reach a good ending point. Things should move at a better pace now and I might even go back and redo the first chapter. I don't even know, distraction.

In other news, I got an interview to vet school!

Time slowed almost to a stop for Bofur, the rage of battle fell to the background as his family was cut down. He didn't hear himself scream or the crack in his voice.

But he could not go to his cousin, could do nothing to help. The battle waged on and if Bofur did not continue to fight he would join his cousin in the afterlife. Orcs still screamed and swarmed. A hand yanked him to his feet. When had he fallen? The miner could not remember.

"Fight or die," Dwalin shouted giving the distraught dwarf a shake for good measure. The tall soldier had seen many battles and enough devastation to recognize defeat in another's eyes. More than once he had seen a friend fall because they had just given up. Too tired to fight and too long to remember the reason they fought for. Hopefully, what little he could offer would be what hit took to remind Bofur.

Likely for Dwalin, it was enough to rouse the fire in this dwarf's heart. A harsh scream ripped from Bofur as he charged forward. Dwalin was hard on his heels.

Bofur pounded toward Thorin, who was still struggling with his opponents. The long legged Dwalin beat him to the king, killing the orc from behind, but that did nothing to slow Bofur's rage. He swung his pickaxe into the nearest spawn of Mordor and did not stop. For if he stop, he would not be able to start again.

Soon enough, though it seemed like years to Bofur, the battle ended. The orcs were pushed back and destroyed. The field before Lowertown was filled with dead orcs and wargs and some dwarves as well, not nearly as many thankfully. The ground was slick with blood. The only noise now was the cries of the wounded and the dying.

It was the largest attack on this side of Ered Luin for as long as Bofur could remember. A gurgling chuckle pulled him from the miner's shock, he looked up to see Dwalin about to finish off a dying orc.

"Hold, Dwalin," A deep, regal voice sounded. Thorin strode forward. The king had cuts and bruises but did not appear to be more injured walked up to the orc his lieutenant held captive. Bofur was not sure what he planned, he was beyond caring, but was strangely rooted to where he stood.

"Why did you come here," The dark dwarf demanded. "What did you seek?"

The black monster continue to laugh with its last breaths, "We know *cough* he's here. We want his head."

"Whose?" Dwalin demanded, but it was too late. The orc had spent its last breaths; they would learn nothing more from it.

Bofur had moved on, scanning the bodies, looking for one in particular. He found what he sought after over an hour of searching. His voice cracked into a sob as he pulled his dead kin into his arms. Another of his dwindling family was gone. Bofur and Bombur were truly alone now.

Bombur. His younger brother had slept late and was probably woken by the warning horns. The ginger dwarf had no idea what had happened. How was Bofur going to tell him they had lost another.

Their family must be truly cursed.

He turned Bifur's face to his shoulder. Bofur's breathe caught as he spied the ugly axe in his cousin's head. the shaft of the weapon had broken off, leaving the end of the blade stuck to the left side of the blacksmith's forehead, leaking only a single trail of blood.

What had they ever done to deserve losing so many in this world? Bifur was a kind dwarf. The blacksmith had more patience than most would ever associate with the reportedly angry race. He enjoyed books and charming lasses. His elder cousin was always ready to share an ale with his family and friends, laughing long into the night.

A hand to his shoulder shook the miner from his grief. He looked up, not caring about the tears in his eyes to none other than Thorin Oakenshield. Strangely it felt like Bofur had seen more of Thorin in the past day than he had since the king moved on to his road.

"He was a good warrior," Thorin said quietly. "and a better friend. He will be missed," he finished, before giving Bofur's shoulder a squeeze in sympathy and moving away.

Bofur said nothing, for there was nothing to say. But he did feel. The miner almost brushed it off as his imagination. Until, wait. There it was again, the beat that bounced beneath his fingers.

Thump thump

"Wait," Bofur whispered, pulling Bifur closer. He held his hand over the blacksmith's mouth. "Wait," He shouted louder, causing Thorin to look back at him.

"He's breathin," Bofur looked at Thorin with desperation, pleading to be believed. "He's breathing," He said again. "Please help."

With a look of pity, the kind returned to the grieving dwarf's side, if only to pretend to humor him and put the his delusion to rest. Although it seemed harsh, the sooner his false hope was vanquished the easier it would be for the miner to move on rather than drag it out.

Thorin hovered his hand over his forge mate's mouth and nose. For a moment there was nothing as he expected. Until he felt it as well, meeting Bofur's eye with a look of shock.

"That's not possible," He said to himself. But it was there, the gentle breath of blacksmith brushed his fingers. Placing his fingers to the other's neck, Thorin felt a steady pulse. "That is not possible," he said again.

But it was. Bifur who had fallen, taking a blow meant for him, still lived.

Much shorter chapter, but I felt this was where it needed to break. Please let me know what you think, lots of angst should be coming up.