Chapter Text
The weeks passed. The dwarrows began their trek through Mirkwood and the dwarrowdams tried to return to normalcy. Forra increased the weapons-training requirements for all her citizens. Forelle went back into therapy. Rhunda started sketching the designs for another expansion of the tunnels. Lark sharpened her knives and cursed the Company under her breath.
They caught wind of the Company arriving in Laketown after five weeks. Forra was not sure if she was relieved or disappointed.
The dwarrows spent two weeks in Laketown, and headed for the Lonely Mountain.
That was when her scouts saw orcs heading east.
That was impossible.
They hadn’t left the Misty Mountains in decades.
But the orcs, led by Azog and his son Bolg, skirted around Beorn’s land and Mirkwood, heading for Erebor. And this wasn’t some small hunt for Thorin’s head.
Azog was leading an army.
And behind him were Goblins.
Forra ordered every woman underground and for three days the dwarrowdams lived in perpetual silence as the two armies marched over their tunnels. She worried that some might find the cave as the Company did, though she had ordered it hidden after their banishment. It had been designed as a quick escape for any scouts that needed to run from bandits. It could still function, but anyone who doesn’t know it is there shouldn’t be able to find it.
Finally, after the sounds of stomping feet faded away, the women talked again. And there was much to talk about.
A battle was coming. That was for sure.
So what do they do?
The easiest thing to do was nothing. The orcs and goblins would clash with whoever stood against them, likely the dwarves and Men, and perhaps the elves just out of distaste. Difficult to say who would win. But the dwarrowdams could live on in hiding, unaffected. Forra supported this idea. It kept her citizens safe from orcs and males. Going into battle would be like lighting a beacon. Their secret would be out and everyone would know who they were. And if they lose? Marching after the goblins and orcs would lead them only to misery or slaughter.
But, as Lark voiced loudly, what if they won? Their army is fierce, well-trained, and their wargs would make them even more dangerous. It wouldn’t be ringing a dinner-bell to male marauders; it would be putting an axe to the throat of any hunter. It would win the women respect and power and perhaps even alliances. A successful battle could have every spoil they want.
It is an argument that went in circles. Forra and Rhunda wanted to leave it; it was not their business, they left the politics and actions of men long ago. Lark said otherwise.
And then, almost two months after reliving her trauma, Forelle spoke.
And she wanted to fight.
In Forra’s private war room, to the only family she had left and the two women who might as well be, Forelle voiced her support.
“We should go after them, Forra. We should fight the orcs just like the warriors of old. We will make our stand and show them all that we are fearless. That we are every bit as powerful as they!” Her voice was proud and strong and commanding. It was young, but steady and passionate.
“We cannot put our people’s lives at risk for political means, Forelle,” Forra says calmly, “And why do you want to fight alongside those men? I have seen them act as horrid as orcs. We do not need to prove anything to them, and you—“
“This isn’t about me!” Forelle shouted angrily. “This isn’t about any one of us! This is about Middle Earth and where we make our place in it!”
For the first time, Forra did not see her niece as the broken child she adopted. This girl—no, this woman—was every bit a queen. And a warrior as well.
“What we do will affect dwarrowdams for ages to come. Will we sit back in our beds as the males of our race and others fight monsters? How is that any different from the lives we had in Erebor or Ered Luin? We must fight! We must stand by them as equals and fight the evils of this world together!” She caught her breath and met her aunt’s eye. When she spoke again, her voice was solemn, but solid. “You told me that we left because males were sexist and bloodthirsty and that we could live better lives on our own. But we cannot cut ourselves off from the rest of the world. And we can’t live like cowards and let others die when we could make a difference!”
The other women were stunned by the youngest’s words. Forelle, the girl they once fed and dressed, mothered and raised, protected and healed, was now one of them.
“We can’t achieve equal treatment by hiding. We have to fight for it. And this is the time to do so.”
There is silence in the room and all eyes are on Forra. She rises from her seat and steps to her niece. She searches the younger’s eyes, and then nods.
“And so we will,” Forra said clearly. She turns back to her friends, and ordered loud and fierce, “Ready the wargs. The dwarrowdams are going to war.”
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Thorin knew they were losing.
The orcs and goblins were unrelenting and endless. When Beorn and the Eagles arrived, he had found a thread of hope, but the monsters kept coming. There were just too many.
His Company were fighting heroically and the three armies of men, elves, and dwarves stood together, but across the battlefield he saw what he expected to be his end.
Azog.
Astride his massive white warg, the pale orc was slicing a path straight to Thorin. The King Under the Mountain stood alone, separated from his friends and family by both ally and foe. He would face his enemy alone.
But out of the corner of his eye he saw a trace of movement above the battlefield. For the split second he turned to see, a horn was blown.
On the cliff where Thranduil and his elven legion once abandoned the dwarves of Erebor, were the dwarrowdams.
Hundreds, armed, armored, and war painted, sat upon their loyal wargs, ready for battle.
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Forra glanced at the smaller warg near Shakar’s paw.
“Find Bilbo,” she told Ravaro, “Keep him safe.” And the brown creature raced off.
She looked back, gazing at her army. Some were scared. Some were grim. Some were grinning fiercely.
All were loyal to her and would die for each other.
And over the sounds of the war below, she bellowed to her soldiers, “These orcs know little of us save for our taste! Show them no mercy! Show them no kindness! Show them that we are warriors unlike all others and fight for your place in this world! Let them feel the fire of the dwarrowdams! And let them burn in it!” Her roar reached the hearts of her warriors and ignited a flame. This day would be remembered through history.
Forra Hammerfist, Queen of the Tunnels, charged into battle with her army behind her all of the way.
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Thorin could not believe his eyes. Nor could most of the elves, men, dwarves, orcs, or goblins.
Gandalf, well, he had seen weirder things.
The dwarrowdams slammed through the ranks of monsters, swords, axes, and hammers swinging. Their wargs crunched and clawed their way into battle. The orcs and goblins had never seen a force so fierce.
For this was a very special time for the dwarrowdams. The Week was upon them, a time when their ferocity was peaked. Old wives will tell tales that when females live together for long enough, their Weeks sync. After decades of close quarters, the dwarrowdams were timed to the second with each other. And bloodshed, in one form or another, was inevitable.
But Thorin could only pay so much attention. Azog was still coming for him, getting closer every second. He was closed in by ranks, fighting off orc after orc and had nowhere to run as the white warg neared. Unflinchingly, Azog slid off his steed, eager to do battle alone. As he approached, Thorin prepared himself.
The fight was quick.
Azog swung, Thorin jumped back. Thorin swung, Azog parried. As blood rushed in his ears and the battle roared around him, Thorin moved too late as the pale orc swung back, and his mace hit him full in the chest. He flew back, landing hard, air gone from his body. His mind flashed back to the cliff so many months before. This time, his love was not there to save him.
With foggy eyes, Thorin watched as Azog bore down upon him, and raised his mace.
Out of nowhere there was a figure in black standing over him, and over the shoulder of the form he barely saw a black and silver hammer slam into Azog’s jaw, sending him reeling. The figure, with billowing silver hair flying behind it, went after the pale orc, striking him again in the face, and roaring like a beast as blood splattered from the monster’s mouth. Azog fell to the ground, trying to rise on his elbows, as the warrior raised her hammer.
With a swing to crack a mountain, she crushed the pale orc’s skull under her hammer. Thorin watched, disbelieving, as Forra returned to him, and offered her hand. He yelled a warning as the white warg crouched to leap behind her, but mid-air the beast was intercepted by another, a huge black warg, and Azog’s beast was torn to shreds. That is when Thorin fainted.
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Forelle happened to find Fíli and Kíli in the battle, and fought by their sides, a triangle of death. As Fíli cleaved enemies with his thick twin blades, Forelle sliced and diced with her nimble long swords. They guarded Kíli as he shot with his bow, the three flowing and fighting as if they were born to.
The Ur and Ri families were holding a hill together when Lark found them. Whip in one hand, axe in another, she stood between Nori and Bofur. The two lines were a little surprised when the warrior approached them on the warg, but were happy for any assistance.
Many of the dwarrowdams had jumped off their wargs after the initial charge, believing they could do more damage separately. Most stayed near each other, but others told their mounts to support whomever needed it. One of these was Rhunda, who was fighting by Thranduil and Tauriel, the red heads reigning painful death upon whatever entered their fiery eyes.
Bilbo, of course, was unconscious for most of it, as well as invisible, but that didn’t stop the small warg from finding him. The best nose in his pack, Ravaro guarded the hobbit and tore any enemy nearby to shreds.
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They had won, the elves, men, and dwarves had been victorious.
But the cost had yet to be decided. Thorin remained unconscious in his cot, the same one that held his nephews and Forra’s niece. Rhunda placed a gentle hand on her queen’s shoulder as the warrior sat hunched over Forelle’s unmoving form.
“She’ll make it, Forra. She’s just as stubborn as you are,” she said quietly. Forra’s tears flowed silently.
She had failed to protect the one person who mattered most. Forelle had been hit over the head by the blunt pole of an orc axe while defending Kíli late in the battle. The brothers had stood over her, protecting her, until being injured themselves.
She had saved Thorin’s life. She had rescued the King Under the Mountain and killed the orc that had nearly broken his line. She could be held in the highest regard.
She couldn’t give less of a damn how people held her.
So she sat vigilant by her niece, helping the medics where she could even with the dwarrows.
A few tents over, Nori was unconscious, and much more gravely injured. For the second time in her life, Lark was crying. She sat by his cot as Oin operated, sobbing as Bofur clutched her. None of them knew why his injury upset her so, but they knew it was certainly not the time to ask. Dori and Ori were too busy fretting themselves. When Oin had done all her could, he went to help others, telling the Ri and Ur families to fetch him if Nori awoke. Dori and Ori were extremely confused by the dwarrowdams state, but as her crying quieted the youngest son of Ri approached her.
“E-Excuse me, miss?” he asked shyly. Lark gazed over at him. Bofur held her closely, trying to offer what comfort he could.
“Yes?”
“You and our brother…if I may ask, how do you know each other?” Lark swallowed hard, but smiled weakly at the boy.
“How much do you know about your father, Ori?” she asked, regaining herself. Ori gave a surprised and distasteful look, as did Dori.
“Why does it matter?” Dori asked haughtily when Ori didn’t answer. Lark searched his eyes for a moment before answering.
“Because we share the same one.”
The dwarrows gasped and stared wide-eyed.
“An abusive, drunk, cheating deadbeat, wasn’t he?” she said with half-hearted humor. They gazed at her in shock, Ori’s mouth hanging open. Lark sighed, “I was named after my mother. Our father and my mother were together a few years after Nori was born. After my mother became pregnant, he went back to Kori, and eventually Ori was born.”
“Did he ever…Did you…” Dori stuttered. He knew his mother’s second husband had been a right bastard, but he hadn’t expected another child.
“I never saw him. He never sent money. I never even knew his name until I became an adult and mother told me. I went searching for him to get revenge for her, but…” her eyes flicked to Dori’s and a dark smile crept up her features, “Nori beat me to him. I saw him get arrested for it, but I had no idea who he was, so I let myself get caught pickpocketing and met him in prison.” She giggled before she spoke again. “And he offered to break me out.” She turned back to Nori with a pained smile, but her tears were gone. “He probably has only heard of me through thief gossip, but we’d never met before you were in prison.”
“Were you one of the guards?” Bofur asked, having removed his arms from her sides. She nodded.
“And the lady who gave you baths,” she chuckled. The dwarrows all turned bright red. Ori tugged on his knit clothes, feeling naked. Bofur’s mouth became horribly dry.
“You stole my lock picks, you bitch,” Nori joked weakly. The dwarves spun to him.
“You’re alive!” Ori cheered.
“And we now have a sister,” Dori said, trying to sound annoyed but failing.
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Oin ran to Thorin’s tent as soon as he was done with Nori, followed by a concerned Balin and Dwalin. He began checking over the four unconscious patients when he noticed the blood dripping from Forra’s arm. Most, including Rhunda, had thought it had been a splatter from an enemy, but the blood was far too fresh to be from the battle. Oin stepped to her side and checked her arm as Rhunda, Balin, and Dwalin watched the others.
“Ma’am! You’re injured!” he said as he grabbed her elbow. The other heads in the room snapped to the queen as she caught the doctor’s arm in a vice grip.
“Do not touch me!” she shouted, shoving him away.
“Forra, stop!” Rhunda exclaimed as she stepped in front of her. Forra’s eyes were dark, and Rhunda knew she was not all there. She had known her friend to slip into darker memories when pained. “He means no harm. Let him help you.”
Forra glared, but sat back down, grumbling. Balin and Dwalin watched from afar, more than a little stunned. They had seen warriors react badly when startled, especially after battles, but it was something knew to see it in a woman. Oin, having seen it more than either of them, approached cautiously.
“Ma’am, if you would please take off your coat I’ll stitch that up as quickly as I can.” She huffed through her nose, nostrils flaring, and began to peel off her black leather garments down to her tunic.
The dwarrows gasped when they saw how far her scar went. The twisted burn tissue continued down the right side of her neck, passed her collar bone and disappeared beneath her shirt, but the skin of her entire right arm, from her biceps to her fingernails, was red and disfigured. She snarled at the sound of their shock. Oin quickly shook himself and began to sew the cut across her muscled upper arm closed.
The tent was silent for a few moments, no one knowing what to say or where to begin.
“It was the dragon fire,” Forra admitted gruffly. The dwarrows nodded quickly.
“What?” Thorin muttered weakly. The others snapped to him in surprise, and having finished his work with Forra, Oin rushed to his side. “The Halfling?” he coughed.
“We do not know,” Balin said sadly. Thorin’s eyes widened for a moment, before he crumpled into his cot.
“I sent a warg out to find him,” Forra said. The dwarrows looked back at her, once again stunned.
Thorin opened his mouth to speak, but a distant howl cut him off.
“That’s Ravaro!” Rhunda cried. Not ten seconds later the smaller warg walked through the tent flaps, a flustered looking hobbit on his back.
“Bilbo!” Thorin shouted, and winced at the exertion. Bilbo beamed and jumped towards him, hugging him gently. There were tears in each of their eyes.
Balin quietly explained to the dwarrowdams what had taken place, from their rushed wedding in Laketown to the fight over the Arkenstone. As he spoke of their journey, the lovers quickly apologized and forgave each other over and over again, kissing between words.
Forra gently pet the ward behind the ears. After the battle was over, the dwarrowdams had to jump to protect their furry friends, as their allies could not tell the difference between their wargs and the orc’s. It had been a little tense at first, but when the wargs settled down and got the treatment they needed from the dwarrowdams, the elves, men, and dwarrows noticed them domesticity. The uninjured ones even helped transport medicine and wounded warriors. But the tunnel queen felt horrible for Ravaro. Would he ever be allowed in to Erebor? Unlikely. The Shire? Even less. The pup would lose the only two riders he’d ever had.
Bilbo began to explain how he’d been knocked out by a stray rock and didn’t wake up until after the battle was over, and the warg was licking his face like a lost dog. He and Thorin snuggled close and spoke meaningless comforts and romantic words, and the other dwarves in the room did their best to ignore them.
“Oh Mahal, get a room,” Kíli mumbled. Thorin sat up at the sound and Oin jumped to the boy’s side, checking him over. “I take it we won?” The others nodded. His grin grew until he glanced at Fíli. A pit fell in his stomach. “Is he…”
“He’ll live,” Oin filled in. Kíli gulped. He was lying in a cot on the far side of the tent, Fíli between him and Forelle, and Bilbo and Thorin on the other end.
“Forelle! Is she okay?” he asked desperately. Oin didn’t answer. The other dwarves glanced at Forra, who glared at the ground.
“I’ve been told you and your brother defended her,” she said, gazing at Kíli with mild suspicion. He nodded blankly.
“Ye-yeah. She got knocked out…protecting me.” His face whitened. “I never… Oh Mahal, if she—“
“It wasn’t your fault,” Forra said. “No one is to blame but the orc. You got him, didn’t you?” Kíli swallowed, his throat dry, and tried to remember.
“Ah, no, Fíli did. Cut the ugly bastard’s head right off.”
“Good.”
Thorin gazed at Forra, her scars and muscles and bloodied hammer.
“I must thank you,” he said, “for coming to our aid. We owe you a debt.”
Forra looked back at him, mildly surprised with a cocked eyebrow.
“Let’s call it even. We hate the orcs just as much as you do,” she answered, “Besides, that’s a warrior’s job isn’t it? Saving damsels in distress?” She gave a half-grin, and Thorin returned it.
“We can be allies, then?”
Forra nodded. She glanced back at her niece, bandaged and bruised, and sighed.
“You said—“ Thorin coughed. “You said she was your niece?”
“Yes.” Her eyes didn’t leave the blood-stained wrap on Forelle’s head.
“Her parents?” he asked evenly. Forra was silent for a few moments and Rhunda was worried he had crossed a line. Forra’s temper was usually even, but that went out the window when her niece was involved.
“Her father beat her mother to death in Ered Luin before I could stop him. So I stomped his ass.” The dwarrows’ eye brows jumped and they shared a look.
“My condolences,” Thorin offered. “If there is anything I can do—“
“You can not be a thick-headed misogynist like your fore-bearers,” she said unflinchingly, and turned back to him. “You could treat women as equals and not second-class citizens.” She glanced at Dwalin. “Or delicate objects that desperately need you to protect them.”
There was an uneasy silence in the room until Thorin spoke.
“I will do what I can.”
She snorted.
“Guys!” Kíli exclaimed, “Fíli’s moving!”
Indeed, the Crown Prince was stirring. His brow furrowed and his eyes fluttered open.
“K-Kíli?” he asked weakly. His brother was at his side in a second. They were relieved at the sight of each other.
“How do you feel?” Thorin asked his nephew.
“Like I got hit by an oliphaunt,” Fíli answered. He smiled at the group in the medical tent, but paled as he saw the girl in the next cot.
“She…is she...?”
“We do not know,” Oin answered. The princes gazed at her fearfully, sharing a look.
“How was she in battle?” Rhunda asked plainly.
“Incredible,” Fíli snapped his head up to look her in the eye, and appeared as if he’d seen Mahal himself. “She was a whirlwind with swords. Saved my skin more than once.” Kíli nodded in agreement. A small smile crept up Forra’s face. Forelle had wanted to make an impact. She had succeeded.
But was it worth it?
Kíli added “She cut this one goblin right down the middle! I could see its brains and everything! I’ve never seen someone so beautiful fight like that!”
The dwarves all chuckled, even the dwarrowdams, but suddenly Forra’s head snapped to Kíli.
“Wait, what did you just say about my ni—“
“Did you just call me beautiful?” Forelle’s eyes popped open.
“Forelle!” the dwarrowdams exclaimed. Forelle gave a big but pained smile.
“’Morning. What did I miss?” she joked, but broke into a fit of coughs that racked her body. Forra kneeled at her side with wet eyes.
“Don’t push yourself. You gave us quite the scare,” she said. Her niece laughed, and for the first time in a long time, Forra felt relieved. Forelle smiled at her aunt, and then looked around at the dwarves in the medical tent before meeting Forra’s eyes again.
“So…what happens now?”