Disclaimer: I do not own the Hobbit, the Ravens, Óin the Dwarf or anything else here, those belong to the Tolkien family; I'm just making my own story for fun here.
Fight Óin Fight
It was a quiet day at the Lonely Mountain. Óin, son of Gróin and brother of Glóin, was at a window watching the sights of Dale and Lake-town as the Men who inhabited both cities went about their daily business. Seeing that all was well there, his eyes strayed towards Ravenhill, the home of the Raven friends of the Dwarves.
Suddenly, to his shock and disgust, he saw that a band of small Goblins, armed with bows, possibly left over from the Battle of Five Armies, were firing arrows at the Ravens flying around their old home. Already five Ravens had died. Óin was roused to a righteous fury, and grabbing his axe, he ran out alone to face the horde.
He gave a great battle cry, and the Goblins turned in surprise at his approach. It was a little rash, one Dwarf running recklessly out to face even a small band of Goblins, but Óin was also brave and willing to protect his friends. And as he charged the dirty killers, he heard in his head the wisdom of Roäc, the Raven leader and an agent of providence for the Dwarves of Erebor, who was also an authority on the ways and culture of the Dwarves.
To give to the all, sometimes the few must sacrifice their lives, Roäc had said. But we must never forget their sacrifice, for one must be grateful to be enlightened.
Óin yelled at the Goblins and raised his axe, soon cutting through and killing them. They swept out their scimitars, but still they were no match for the righteous boldness of a brave Northern Dwarf.
The path that a Dwarf must lead to please their Maker, Mahal, is a straight path. To walk it, one must have control, passion, and diligence.
The gallant Dwarf continued to take out more Goblins, and then more.
Your arms and hands must become your control and diligence, and the song of your axe your passion.
Some of the larger and stronger Goblins started to fight Óin, meaning that he had to fight harder and even more warily.
A Dwarf can carve a path through a mountain, and in more ways than one.
The Goblins looked like they were about to overwhelm him, but Óin still continued to battle them. Then, a big Goblin who might have been the leader of the band, stepped forward and challenged Óin to a duel. Óin accepted.
The Orc was mostly fresh and fell and full of guile, while Óin was beginning to get tired from all the fighting, but the duel was fairly even for some time. The fight lasted about one minute, though it felt like five minutes to Óin, until, finally, the Goblin chief unsheathed a jagged knife the smaller Orcs were fond of using, and slashed at Óin's lower right arm, trying to disarm him. The Dwarf cried out in pain, but he still refused to back down, now wielding his axe with his left hand.
At last, after about thirty more seconds, Óin's axe met the chief's neck and took his head off cleanly. The other goblins looked dismayed, and made a run for it, abandoning their attack on Ravenhill, though Óin chased them for a little bit and slew a few more on the way. When the last of them had disappeared, he shouted, "That's right! Don't come back again, or you'll get worse next time, you ugly Goblins!"
Shortly afterwards, Óin was using his healing ointment to tend to his arm wound, which was not too deep, nor was it poisoned. Roäc himself had flown down to thank him for saving the Ravens.
"You have indeed done a valiant deed for those who serve as your people's messengers, Óin son of Gróin," he squawked.
"I remembered some advice you once gave my people and I some time back," said Óin, "about how a Dwarf must handle himself in life in order to achieve the path that all Dwarves take to please Mahal."
"Indeed," said Roäc, sounding pleased, "The balance of Dwarven culture and religion is delicate, and it must be nurtured. All free life deserves a chance to live, from the greatest of the Ainur to the smallest of the insects. They must all be protected equally."
As the Raven leader said this, Óin noticed another bird, none other than the old Thrush that lived by the Lonely Mountain and helped Thorin and Company against Smaug the Dragon. It alighted on Óin's right hand and gazed at his healing wound. Óin, who was well read and highly intelligent, understood this to be a sign that the bird was as grateful as the Ravens for his intervention to help others besides just Dwarves, even in the face of injury.
Óin the Dwarf gave the Thrush a little peck of a kiss on the head and released it into the sky again. It did not return for some time, but as it flew away, Óin could hear it singing its praises to him and all of Durin's Folk.