Rapid Rescue

At dawn, after a brief rest, Wayne set off for the Lonely Mountain. 

The previous day's battle in the Woodland Kingdom had ended in victory, but not without significant cost. The orc army that assaulted the elven realm numbered 15,000. Despite Wayne's overwhelming power and the advantageous terrain, the elves suffered dearly. The casualty ratio stood at seven to one. Over 2,000 elven warriors were wounded, with more than half requiring extensive rehabilitation to recover. Among the injured, 500 were left permanently disabled, and another 400 to 500 gave their lives defending their homeland.

This heavy toll left the Woodland Kingdom's forces diminished. With only a fraction of their army fit for duty, King Thranduil could at most send 2,000 soldiers to assist the dwarves of Erebor. Even then, such aid would only come if the Kingdom Under the Mountain still stood—otherwise, sending reinforcements would be futile.

Thus, Wayne's mission was not merely to fight; he was also tasked with scouting the situation at the Lonely Mountain and reporting back to Thranduil. The elf king, though noble and willing to set aside old grudges, needed to protect his people. He could not risk their lives in vain.

Determined to waste no time, Wayne departed at first light. Although he had initially wanted to leave the night before, he had exhausted much of his magical energy and needed rest to properly control his magic flying carpet for the long journey.

After twenty hours of flight, Wayne approached the Lonely Mountain. But before he could reach the dwarven stronghold, he noticed a large group of figures moving hurriedly in the dark below. They carried no torches and bore little to no supplies, supporting one another as they fled in a state of desperation.

Chasing behind them were orcs mounted on wargs, holding torches aloft and cackling as they hunted their prey. From time to time, they would catch a lone dwarf and kill him with sadistic glee. 

Wayne's heart sank. Recognizing the dire situation, he swiftly descended, piloting his flying carpet toward the fleeing dwarves.

As Wayne approached, it became clear that the pursued figures were dwarves, fleeing for their lives from the orc riders. Wasting no time, Wayne activated his alchemical arsenal.

He began with a volley of bombs, raining explosions on the orc cavalry. The dwarves below, hearing the blasts, realized that reinforcements had arrived. Their fear began to fade, replaced by hope. 

Wayne followed up with precise shots from the Bow, though he now used regular arrows instead of enchanted ones. Each shot struck its mark, killing orcs mid-charge with deadly precision. In just moments, the tide of the pursuit began to shift.

With newfound hope, the fleeing dwarves stopped running. They gathered whatever weapons they could find and turned to face their pursuers. Seeing their kin fighting back, Wayne continued his assault, thinning the orc numbers further from the skies.

During the chaos, Wayne spotted a familiar figure among the dwarves: Balin, the elder dwarf and trusted member of Thorin's company, accompanied by two other members of the original expedition.

When Balin and the others recognized Wayne flying above them, their spirits soared. Having traveled with Wayne for months, they knew his strength and abilities well. With him leading the charge, the orc pursuers stood no chance.

Without uttering a word, Balin picked up his weapon and joined the battle, moving in perfect coordination with Wayne. Together, they countered the orc pursuers with swift, decisive strikes. Despite a few casualties among the dwarf refugees, they successfully eliminated the mounted orc cavalry. 

As the battle concluded, the dwarves gathered to tend to the wounded. Balin, his face streaked with dirt and blood, wiped the sweat from his brow. A deep cut ran across his cheek, the torn flesh turning outward, but the old dwarf had no time to tend to it. He marched over to Wayne, urgency etched into every line of his face. 

"Wayne, the Lonely Mountain is under siege." 

"The Witch-king of Angmar and four other Nazgûl are leading the assault. We managed to hold the mountain for two days and one night, but earlier this afternoon, the defenses finally broke." 

Balin's voice wavered slightly as he continued, "There were just too many of them. And the Ringwraiths—they use magic, terrible magic. Thorin and Dáin refused to abandon the mountain. They stayed behind with the warriors to buy us time." 

"They ordered me to evacuate the civilians. We escaped through a hidden tunnel, but orc cavalry caught our scent midway through the escape. That's when we ran into you." 

Wayne's expression darkened. The mention of Thorin Oakenshield and Dáin Ironfoot staying behind weighed heavily on him. The absence of Kíli and Fíli in the group was also troubling. 

"Are they intending to let the line of Durin die here?" he muttered, brows furrowing. 

"How are Thorin and Dáin holding up?" Wayne asked with concern. He knew that Thorin was not just an ally but a crucial figure—he had entrusted Wayne with several high-level tasks, and his survival was imperative. Dáin Ironfoot was equally significant, playing a vital role in the future Fellowship of the Ring.

Balin sighed deeply, his voice heavy with sorrow. "His Majesty Thorin and Dáin swore they wouldn't flee the mountain again. They vowed to live and die with Erebor, no matter the cost. They retreated into a narrow passage deep within the mountain, hoping the confined space would give them an advantage against the orcs." 

"We escaped through a secret tunnel, but the orc cavalry pursued us. That's how we ended up here."

Wayne nodded slowly, though his mind raced. Thorin's decision to fight in the mountain's depths was strategic, but it came with risks. Worse still, Robin, Wayne's faithful Deathclaw, was too large to navigate the mountain's cramped tunnels. This concerned him—Robin's sheer power on an open battlefield could turn the tide, but confined spaces limited the beast's effectiveness.

"What happened to my Deathclaw?" Wayne asked. "Did Robin stay behind, or did it escape with you?"

At the mention of Robin, Balin's stern demeanor softened, and a flicker of admiration crossed his weathered face. The old dwarf, who barely came up to Wayne's waist, gave the witcher a reassuring pat on the leg. 

"Robin fought like a demon, lad. If not for him, we wouldn't have lasted half as long. That beast of yours held the city walls and even managed to delay the Witch-king and the Nazgûl. Without him, we'd have been overrun by the orcs on the first day." 

Wayne allowed himself a rare smile at the thought of Robin in battle. He knew the Deathclaw's strength—on the open battlefield, few could match it. Robin's presence had been pivotal, forcing the orcs to either detour around the mountain or commit their best forces to breaching the walls.

"It makes sense now," Wayne mused aloud. "With Robin defending the gates, the orcs would need the Witch-king and the other Nazgûl just to have a chance at breaking through. Without them, even a thousand warriors wouldn't stand a chance."

With a hint of pride in his voice, Balin said, "Wayne, don't worry. We dwarves are not ungrateful. When we decided to divide our forces, we allowed Robin to leave the battlefield on his own. We saw him flee with our own eyes, and not a single orc dared to pursue him."

"From what we could tell, he seemed to be heading toward the ruins of Lake-town."

Hearing this, Wayne gave a satisfied nod. He patted Balin's shoulder reassuringly and said, "Continue along this path and seek refuge in the direction of the Woodland Kingdom."

"The orc army didn't only target you—they also attacked the elves. But we fought them off and secured a victory." 

"King Thranduil has already decided to send reinforcements to the Lonely Mountain tomorrow morning. Meet them along the way, share everything you know, and help arrange shelter for the refugees you brought."

Wayne's gaze met those of the weary but determined dwarves, his words steady and firm. "I'll head to the Lonely Mountain now."

"Whether Thorin and Dáin are still holding the line or not, I'll do everything in my power to rescue them. And when the Elven reinforcements arrive, we'll crush the orcish schemes and wipe out the darkness spreading across the North."

Wayne's conviction resonated deeply among the dwarf refugees. The fire in his voice sparked a flicker of hope within them, and they cheered, their spirits lifting.

These dwarves had only fled the battlefield under Thorin's and Dáin's direct orders. Were it not for the need to preserve their kin and legacy, they would have chosen to remain and fight to the bitter end.

They were warriors, descendants of warriors, and the fire of their ancestors still burned in their hearts.

Each one of them longed to stand and fight the orcs, to meet their foes head-on, and if necessary, to fall on the battlefield with honor.