Where She Went

Inner and Outer Battles

Would it never end? Was this what all wars were like? Was this what the deployed troops back home were feeling at this moment? Talia's senses felt completely burned out. All she could see were the figures rushing to get to safety, along with armor against armor and flesh against flesh as everyone pushed through the streets of Dale. All she could hear were the constant sounds of screams, battle cries, and screeches. The young woman longed to cover her ears, as she felt like she would live the rest of her days hearing that perfect echo of pure chaos in her ears.

Talia had her weapons drawn, but she was slashing aimlessly, trying to hit the enemy...which was much taller than her. She knew that she could never kill any of them, being so lowly skilled in fighting and being so low to the ground, but she could at least wound some of them. It was better than nothing.

The battle had gone on for hours now, and Gandalf had always kept the Terran by his side. As a result of getting caught up in the crowd, and being so short, Talia was hardly wounded at all. She suffered a few elbows to the face and a couple of steps on her feet. She doubted she would get any serious bruises from them, though she had narrowly avoided a black eye and the loss of a couple of her teeth. The young woman took yet another deep breath, and raised her Silver Sisters, which only seemed to grow heavier and heavier by the second.

Talia felt like she wouldn't live to see the next day. She felt like she was suffocating in the darkness of war, and the light of the world was fading with every second. The young woman knew that they weren't winning this battle, and it was more than likely that she would be among the piles of slaughtered beings by the time this was over.

The young woman made her way to a clearing, where she was sitting up against a wall, trying to catch her breath. She looked beyond to see Dain's army fighting right before the front gate of Erebor. Even through her exhaustion, Talia widened her eyes. The Dwarves weren't going to last. The Orcs were closing in on them on all sides, they were severely outnumbered. The young woman felt a sting in her eye. She wasn't sure how much longer Dain would be able to hold them off. How long would it be until the Orcs slaughtered them all and broke into Erebor and...her Dwarves. Was this the end for all of them?

...

Thorin was sitting completely still on his throne, with none other than his treasure on his mind. The size of it...as big as an open field. The yellow, shimmering shine of the gold in the light. The sparkle of the rainbow of colors of gems of all different kinds. It was beautiful. It was glorious, incalculable, incomparable. It was perfect.

The Dwarf king's thoughts were rudely interrupted with the stomping of footsteps. He hardly blinked, and he didn't even acknowledge Dwalin as he approached him. "Since when do we forsake our own people? Thorin! They are dying out there." the warrior pressed.

Thorin moved his head, if only a little, turning his gaze every which way, trying to get the gears of his mind working, with little success. It was hard. It was as if his brain felt...heavy. And he felt so tired. But the gold...it was just so much easier to think about. It processed through his mind so much smoother than anything else. If that was the case...then there couldn't be anything more important at hand, right?

"There are halls beneath halls within this mountain...places we can fortify. Shore up, make safe. Yes." Thorin stood from his throne and began to step towards Dwalin. "Yes." he rasped, his voice sounding like his thirst hadn't been slaked in weeks. "That is it. We must move the gold further underground, to safety." he insisted, turning around to head to the treasure room.

...

Dwalin shook his head. He couldn't believe what his friend and brother had become. This was not the Dwarf he had fiercely loved. This was not the Dwarf he would forever call king. "Did you not hear me? Dain is surrounded. They are being slaughtered, Thorin." he tried again.