painless wounds ;; the hobbit

the warning ;;

Cyrille stared up at the Mountain. Her plan to was to sneak inside, before they finished building the wall, but apparently they work quickly. The huge stone wall was complete.  They probably felt threatened by the elven soldiers. They were protecting their gold.

Cyrille was feeling less and less confident about her plan.

Scratch that. She would go in the front door.

"Excuse me?" she called, standing in front of the massive wall of stone, comprised of ill fitting pieces precariously stacked on top of one another. "Bilbo?" she said, hoping he would hear her.

Thorin suddenly appeared behind the wall. Cyrille could see him through a little gap between the stones. "Thorin?"

"What is your business here, elf?" he spat. 

"I'm a friend of Bilbo's, actually." she answered. Of all the dwarves who could've answered, she got King McBroodypants. "Remember me?"

"Yes, indeed, the elleth who imprisoned me and my company."

"And saved your company multiple times afterwards." Cyrille reminded him. "Drop it already, and let me in. I don't suppose there's a door? I want to be inside before the war starts up." she began craning her head to see an entrance.

"Wait." Thorin said. "What was that?"

"I asked if there was a door." Cyrille answered dryly. "Is there one? I'd rather not wander around in the darkness forever."

"No, No. About the war. What war?" 

Cyrille continued to pace in front of the wall, still scanning for a door. She spoke quickly. "Did you not call for your Dwarf friends? They will surely arrive at dawn. The Elvenking is waiting in Dale with his army along with the people of Laketown."

Thorin blinked. "And I'm guessing you plan on stopping this war?"

"No, King Thorin." Cyrille said, coming to a stop. "My friends are headed to Mount Gundabad to confirm our suspicions of an oncoming orc attack. Many armies will be fighting for your mountain, Dwarf. They will not care it it belongs to you or any of that shit, they will take it, and you will lose. You will not win this war alone."

When Thorin stayed silent, Cyrille went on. "If the orcs are coming, which I assume they will, they will kill all your kin, and the elves, if you fight apart. The only way is if you fight together, side by side. Then, and only then, you will have a chance."

"But it is not certain that the orcs will arrive. You cannot confirm anything." The King shot back.

Cyrille took a breath. "That is true, but it is always best to remain prepared for anything."

Thorin turned away after a moment. "Very well. You may enter. If you can."

Cyrille scowled. How would she get over this wall? She would have to climb. She cracked her knuckles. Slowly, but surely, she began to climb.

___

Multiple POVs.

The elderly wizard rode southeast, grey robes billowing behind him, atop a white mare. He was headed to Dale.

The wizard galloped into the city, pushing past civilians. He needed to get to their leader.

He was stopped by a man in a black robe, with black hair and crooked teeth. His posture was hunched, and his frame was rail thin. He has a unibrow. The man sneered. "We have no need for vagabonds or thieves here. We have already suffered enough. We cannot spare food or clothes for your elderly body. Go back to where you came from, shoo!"