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Lóni
He stood back and held his column until the battle turned furious in front of him. Bidding farewell to his brother, he lead the warriors forwards.
“Take care of thy other eye—I would feign have thee see me when victory is won.”
“For Balin then! Farewell.”
Náli's last words made him indeed think more of himself than of his brother now. Lóni knew that Náli will be fine, he could get out of many tight spots before. He was the one to lead his company victoriously through the Battle of the Five Armies, standing by Trór's side in the great battle for the first time.
As he rushed forwards, Lóni thought how similar things were once again to that day. But now it was Lóni, and not Náli, who was to support Trór's back. But the sounds of battle, always so similar, seemed even more similar to that day to Lóni. The clash of arms, the shrieks of the goblins, dim and distant howling of the wolves. On the far left, somebody even shouted "Moria! Moria!" just like the Dwarves of Dáin did in that battle long ago.
The Dwarven host moved forwards and rushed into the black tide.
The gloom was almost like on that day, too. As if seeing it in front of himself, Lóni could recall it: the great bats were covering the skies - how lucky we are today, Lóni thought, that the vampire carrion-eaters are not here.
He could hear shrieks from the far right, as one of his fellow warriors fell to the ground and a vampire bat descended upon him.
The Dwarven axes shone in fierce anger. And for a brief moment Lóni could notice Trór in front of the ranks, just like he was on that day.
"Let go!" Lóni cried, rushing to the fallen, but his brother dragged him to the side. "He is dead. Come! We have to follow Trór."
How are you, Náli, Lóni thought. Now it is me who has to follow Trór. You are right, I should take care of my other eye... I need it to keep it on Trór.
"Moria! Moria!" the cries echoed. They clashed. Trór was amazing, swinging his axe and thrusting his spear. The goblins surrounded them. At that moment, Náli gave out a battle cry and rushed forth.
"What happened!" somebody cried.
Lóni saw it too. The black tide moved forth and swallowed Trór. The Dwarves in the first ranks rushed to his aid.
"Brother, watch out!"
Lóni realised he made a mistake. His blow had been too hasty and fell harmlessly on a shield. He could only see a blurry motion of an axe being swung towards him from his right side. Instinctively, Lóni sought to deflect the blow, but only half succeeded. He could feel the blade cutting the flesh on his face, before he managed to push it away. But the pain overwhelmed him, he could not see, he fell to his knees and awaited the final blow.
Lóni could not be completely sure what was going on ahead of the bulwarks, but it was obvious to him that the goblins are rushing to crush the vanguard, to crush what was left of Trór and those who were defending him. Yet there was no way Lóni himself could stop them now.
He heard a strange noise and then a gurgling sound which no doubt came from the goblin in front of him. He managed to force his eyes open and through the mist and blood blurring his vision, he could notice it: a hail of Elven arrows fell from above.
"Take arrows!" he cried, taking his own very old shortbow. "Stop them! Shoot them!"
He was not the only one in the line to carry a bow. The Dwarves around him, who were standing in the back, were armed with ranged weapons too and now they sent their hail of arrows into the ranks of the Orcs. It worked: the attackers were distracted from their attempt and forced to pull back. Lóni knew it could not last, but it might at least give Trór and those around him time to put themselves together.
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