How I Leave You

All That Glitters

We're in free fall.

But falling is never the worst part. It's always the landing.

I don't remember the last time the air was knocked out of my lungs like this. I forget how to breathe. Somewhere far away, thousands of feet hit the ground running. Running towards us.

Get up.

You have to get up.

"Run," someone yells, hauling me on my feet.

There's a ringing in my ears. Go, it says. Flee.

The creatures are upon us before we get to escape. In the dark cavern, they drag us by our feet over bridges hanging over an abyss whose ground is covered in darkness.

How are we going to get out of here?

Where even is here?

Little by little, torches light up the path in front of us, revealing where we're being taken. My stomach turns at the sight. There, on a throne made of bones, sits the most disturbing creature I've ever laid eyes on. Warts and oozing wounds decorate his body, whose fat competes for the space left within his already outstretched skin.

"Bring my prize," he calls out, his voice as ugly as himself. "Bring the trophies to the Goblin King."

The Goblin King. What an unfitting name.

"Let go of me," I tell my capturer, writhing against the ropes he ties to my hands.

"The Goblin King is gonna like you," he says, looking at me with hunger in his eyes.

I headbut him hard enough to make him fall over the edge of the platform. He screams all the way down.

"Who was that?" the Goblin King calls out.

Two other goblins push me forward. Aulë be damned, I didn't think this through.

"One of the prisoners, sir," another goblin says.

"A pretty one. Why, you're no dwarf. What are you?" The Goblin King leans forward in his throne. His breath smells like rot and decay, and I feel like throwing up. "Doesn't matter. You will be the crown of my jewels."

"I'll be the death of your days."

My spit lands at his feet, and he shrieks.

"Strip her!" he orders, his entire demeanor shifted. "Strip the she-devil!"

Someone grabs my arms, holding them outstretched to my sides. A hundred hands are upon me, touching me, ripping me apart.

"Release her," a dark voice proclaims.

Its authority is loud enough to make the goblins hesitate, if only for a moment. Thorin shakes the goblin-hands off him before stepping forward.

"And who are you?" the Goblin King asks, tilting his head.

"Untie her, unless you want to find out."

"Thráin, is it? No, it cannot be. He's long been missing in the Wild."

Thorin's father, missing? For how long?

"I said, release her."

At this, Thorin unsheathes something from his side.

No, it cannot be.

The Orcrist? A sword of my peoples? Did he take it at the cave of the trolls?

"The Goblin Cleaver."

The Goblin King falls back on his throne with so much weight I half think he'll tip it over. The other goblins scream in terror at the sight of the steel in Thorin's hand.