The Sacrifice: The Story of Dis, Part 3~ Míriel

Disclaimer:  All people (Except Korin) and places are taken from J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings.  The story is taken from Appendix A “Durin’s Folk”

~~~

Thráin’s company was now completely fenced in by Orcs and trees.  Each Dwarf brandished his sword more carefully, knowing that one misguided stroke could cost them their lives or those of their comrades.

            It was not long before Dis heard a sharp, pained cry.  She turned her head to see Balin standing over the body of his father, Fundin.  Pure anguish was etched onto his face.  Balin collapsed onto his knees next to Fundin’s body and began to weep. 

            Thorin rushed over to his friend and tried to get him up.

            “Balin, I am deeply sorry, but it is no use.  You shall mourn him properly later, but now you must fight.  Fight for him.”

            Balin nodded at this statement and wiped tears from his eyes.  He looked down at his father and whispered in the tongue of the Dwarves.

            Dis knew what it was he was saying, she herself had uttered it many times before.

            “I will avenge you.”

            That was why she was here, was it not?  To avenge people like Korin and Fundin; and to fight for those who could not.

            The fight in the woods raged on.  It seemed to Dis that it would never end.  Dwarves and Orcs alike were bring slaughtered, but no matter how many Orcs were killed, there were always more to take their place.

            Dis fought with all her might.  Orcs fell before her blade, for the lust of battle was upon her.  Her blade shone in the darkness of the day.

            A shout came from several yards away.  Dis looked up to see that an Orc had cloven Thorin’s shield in two.  Now he was vulnerable to the deadly sword of the Orc.

            Thorin hewed at the Orc with his axe.  The Orc fell with a withering cry before another jumped into its place.  Thorin killed that one as well, and while he had a quick moment apart from the fight, he ran to the nearest tree.  Taking up his axe, he hewed at one of the oaken branches.  It fell with a loud thud to the ground.

            The next Orc that challenged Thorin was soundly clubbed by Thorin’s new shield.  He wielded it almost as skillfully as his axe, using it as a club and a shield.

            “Thorin Oakenshield!” cried Frerin.

            That cry was quickly taken up among the Dwarves, encouraging them in what seemed to be an endless fight.

            Suddenly, an Orc swung hard at Dis, sending her sword out of her hand, and the force of the blow knocked her to the ground.  She held up her shield just in time to wield off the next incoming blow before scrambling away.  She put her hand behind her to prevent herself from falling; then yanked it back with revulsion.  Her hand was covered with sticky red blood.

            Dis looked down in horror at the body she had touched.  Her head then snapped up at the sound of the Orc approaching.  She looked about frantically; then she picked up the axe of her fallen countryman.  She stood up just in time to deliver a jarring blow to the neck of the Orc.

            Dis brandished her axe and continued to fight.  She disliked the axe immensely, not being particularly handy with it, but until she could get to a sword, this would have to do.

            She heard Frerin cry her name.  She turned to see an Orc ready to deliver a mighty blow to her throat.  Terror chocked her, and she stood motionless.

            But as the Orc swung, Dis saw Frerin running to her side.  He leapt and shoved her out of the way of the blade.  In that moment, the world stood still.  Frerin was not the one sacrificing himself; it was her mother.  History was repeating itself; and once again Dis could do nothing to stop it. 

Time sped back up.  The Orc’s bladed sliced through Frerin’s neck.  Both head and body fell lifeless to the ground.

            Dis lay on the ground in shock, heedless of the events around her.  It had happened again.  Another innocent had died trying to save her.  She should have died; not her mother who had been her father’s right hand.  Not Frerin, her sweet brother who had never done anything mean or spiteful in his life.  Yet there they lay; dead, one in the past and one in the present.

            She heard later what events had transpired while she lay in shock. Thorin, who had seen Frerin fall, had jumped upon a fallen tree and hewed at the neck of the Orc.  The Orc had then fallen, dead.

            Somewhere in the fog of her mind Dis heard Thráin call all remaining warriors to him.  She somehow managed to rise and walk over to where they were gathering.

            “Frerin, I’m so sorry!” she thought as she walked.  She had never meant for it to be like this.  Frerin had helped her, and she had gotten him killed in return.  She longed for him to be alive now, to be able to laugh with her over her silly stunt. 

            But he was gone.  And she was to blame.

            She came at last to where the Dwarves were quickly gathering.  She wanted to scream, to weep, to do anything to release the dam of emotions inside her, yet she could not.  Years of training held her emotions at bay.  They would properly mourn their dead when the battle was over.

The warriors were finally gathered.  They had won the fight in the woods.  All the Orcs were either dead or fighting in the valley of Azanulbizar. 

Thráin readied his warriors, and they began to march to rejoin their comrades in the valley.

Dis took one last look over her shoulder as they left.  She selfishly wished that Frerin’s death had not been so swift, that perhaps she might have begged his forgiveness as he died in her arms.  Instead, she was left with the guilt and burden of his death.

~~~