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Maron almost fell backwards as the door shook against the weight of the horde of Orcs. He could see Nali's face in his mind as he fell, and he could see the blood flowing over the floor of the chamber.
'I did not even thank him...'
His head snapped up as he heard wood shattering. His grip tightened by instinct. His mind began to race again, though his tired feet were firmly planted. He thought of his Uncle's kind smile and thoughtful words. He knew he would do this deed, and him proud to have raised him.
"For my Uncle..." he mumbled as his axe met crude steel. He threw his weight into his movements, and it seemed to do well against the hefty body of an orc. But his pride and honour fueled him less than what he could have hoped, and soon he felt a sickening blow to his middle. His knees gave way and he toppled to the ground.
He could hear all the shouting around him, and the maelstrom of arrows let fly and clanking of metal, but it grew distant. Maron gave a small smile as he thought of his Uncle's smithy and the dream of moulding truesilver on its anvil.
"Aye, 'twas a nice dream..." he said, closing his eyes.
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