In Time

Chapter Thirty-Two

They departed the Provincial House a short while later to begin the trek toward Erebor. The snow stopped shortly before they left, but there were still several inches coating the ground and it shifted softly beneath Amara's feet. The sun's light bounced off the white blanket to temporarily blind her, so she tightened her fingers about Thorin's as they crested the first rocky slope.

From their vantage point, Amara could see all the way to Ravenhill. At least, she thought the stark stone tower rising in the distance was Ravenhill. She glanced over at Thorin, only to see him staring at it as well, and that gave her the answer.

"Come," he gave a gentle tug on her hand, "we still have a long way to go."

The sun had melted most of the snow from the peak and the slope leading down to the plains. Rocks and pebbles skittered with each footstep, clattering down ahead of the Company. The wind picked up, howling as if in warning along the valley. Amara gave up trying to keep her hair out of her eyes, as now sooner did she drag it away from her face, than another sharp gust tore through to send it in all directions once more.

The plains were windswept and battle scarred, with huge tracts of soil just ripped from where it belonged. There were ditches and gullies, broken arrows and sword pieces littered the sandy, rocky ground. She was thankful when the wind blew through, for it carried away the foul, brimstone stench of orc carcasses rotting even under that weak sun. She assumed some of the freshly dug patches of earth were the graves of elves, dwarves, and men who fell in the battle.

Thorin's fingers tightened about hers as they finally crested the last peak and Erebor was now within his grasp once more. In the daylight, the devastation wasn't quite so thorough. The pile of rubble at the entrance had been split in half to allow entrance into the city, and the shouts and clanging of workers and their tools rolled toward them.

"It looks as if Dáin and the others opted to come back here first," Balin said, his white beard and hair fluttering like cotton in the wind. "Perhaps it's a bit more—ah—inhabitable this time around."

Thorin nodded slowly, his, "Perhaps," soft and distant.

She glanced over at him. His gaze was locked on Erebor's entrance even as his fingers tightened about hers further. She gently squeezed his hand back. "It will be all right."

He nodded. "I know it will. But—"

As they finally reached Erebor, Amara was stunned by the sheer size of the façade. It seemed to reach the sky, and to her surprise, it wasn't black stone at all, but instead a gleaming sea green labradorite, into which the full-body likeness of two dwarves (she assumed Thorin's father and grandfather) had been carved, along with elaborate khuzdal runes. She couldn't help but gape up at the front, even as Thorin said, "Mind your steps, amrâlimê. I should hate to see you break an ankle on the rubble."

"Thorin, this..." she forced herself to look back at him, shaking her head, "this is amazing..."

"At one point, Erebor was the most powerful kingdom in Middle Earth," he told her with no little pride. "And now you see why."

"I knew Erebor was powerful, but I had no idea just how grand that scope was."

They reached the edge of the obsidian walkway that led into Erebor and Thorin stopped. His palm grew damp against hers. "When I left here that morning," he said, his voice and deep, "I fully intended to never set foot inside it again."

"We don't have to go inside right at once," she told him.

"No. It's fine." He took a deep breath and they followed the others into the city.