As Dori fell backwards out of the tree, Ori lunged to try and grab him, but fell out himself, crying out. "Mr Gandalf!!", hearing their pleas, the wizard quickly stuck out his staff the dwarf could grab on to, and kept a hold of it, with Ori hanging tightly onto Dori's foot. They were safe, for now.

The attack never made its mark; Azog was one step ahead. With the assist of his warg, he was faster, and both attacked Thorin first. Thorin managed to swing his sword, but he was thrown to the ground, then hit with Azog's mace as Fili and the others looked on in shock.

Saeril couldn't believe that Thorin would do such a thing. An opportunity that could result in death. He shouldn't, and couldn't, die now. She looked at her godsons, and then back to the wounded Thorin. She hovered herself above the fire, blowing at the flames towards Azog with huge gusts of wind, and landed on the ground a few yards away from the Orc, the reflecting blazes of the fire radiating from her figure. 

At the same moment, The White Warg clamped its jaws around Thorin. Fili's eyes widened in horror as he heard his uncle yell out in pain; the sound was foreign to him, for he'd always believed his uncle immortal, and yet here he was, at risk of being slaughtered before their eyes. Even Saeril felt herself vulnerable once she witnessed Thorin's agony. 

Dwalin tried to leave his place in order to assist Thorin, but the tree branches he held onto broke, swinging him over the edge and preventing him from reaching his king.