All the men broke into the old armories of Dale. Bard and the people of River Town had joined Thranduil in the fight for the mountain.
Aza could only watch as things began to fall apart. She sat on a stone and stared at her hands. They were hard and calloused, a few splinters here and there from odd trees. She began to pick at them and remove the small slivers of wood.
"You could end it…we could end it…just give in," a heat had taken up combat with her mind. The energy she had touched in her confrontation of Smaug was beginning to weaken her.
She hadn't slept in three days and had eaten in less. If she had been amongst trees and growing things, this wouldn't have been a problem. She could have gone on longer without feeling weary. However, winter was almost upon them and the city of Dale was not teaming with life as it had in the days before the dragon.
Just to keep moving she had to draw on energy from far away, but it was like eating dry bread and expecting full nourishment. It wasn't enough. Even then, when it came, the energy carried with it terrible feelings. As though it was warning her.
"Accept me…give me what I want…and I will give you power-."
"Lady Aza!" Tilda had finally found her. She sat next to the woman who had just looked up.
"Tilda," she gave the girl a small smile.
The young girl asked quietly, "Are we really going to war?"
"It would seem so." She looked at the swarming men and the weapons they picked up. Under her breath, she murmured, "It's terrible to watch."
"But can't you just use your magic to make us win?"
Aza's eyebrow raised in surprise, "What makes you think that?"
"You have magic. Can't you make the earth swallow them up? Or call down fire-!"
"No!" Aza shouted. The image had filtered into her mind of Smaug emerging from her and burning all in sight. "No," she said a little bit calmer. "I can't. My magic is with plants. Beyond that I am useless. I can heal, but to fight…" She thought of her years of training with Radagast and Gandalf. They had never explored using her gifts in that manner.
"I see," Tilda pulled her knees to her chest.
A commotion of movement and noise came from just byond their vision.
"Let me through! Make way!"
Aza stood, recognizing the voice. She ran, leaving Tilda behind. She ran past men practicing their swordplay on dummies. She ran past women and children sewing clothes. She ran right into the heart of the city. There she saw Gandalf dismounting.
"No. No." Alfrid shouted, "Oi you! Pointy hat! Yes, you! We don't want no tramps, beggars, nor vagabonds here. We got enough trouble without the likes of you."
Without thinking Aza stepped forward, "Keep your foul tongue in your head, Alfrid."
Upon seeing her he took a step back. He had not forgotten the sound punch she gave him after Smaug's attack.
"Aza," Gandalf turned to her. "Who's in charge here?"
"Who's asking?" Bard said, stopping.
Gandalf turned to him.
Aza stepped forward, "Bard, this is Gandalf, my master."
"You must set aside your petty grievances with the Dwarves," Gandalf said to Thranduil. "A war is coming. The cesspits of Dol Guldur have been emptied. You're all in mortal danger."
Bard stepped forward, "What are you talking about?"
"I can see you know nothing of wizards," Thranduil stood. "They are like winter thunder on a while wind," he pouted a glass for himself and Bard, "rolling in from a distance, breaking hard in alarm. But sometimes a storm is just a storm." His gaze fell on Aza. She knew he was putting her under that category.
While she wasn't, technically, a wizard she had been raised by them. She had been taught by them. When she had come to him about her concerns of the forests, he had brushed her off and ignored any future words from her about the state of the forest.
"Not this time. Armies of Orcs are on the move." Gandalf warned, "These are fighters. They have been bred for war. Our enemy has summoned his full strength."
"Why show his hand now?" Thranduil asked.
"Because we forced him. We forced him when the Company of Thorin Oakenshield set out to reclaim their homeland. The Dwarves were never meant to reach Erebor." Gandalf left the tent, Thranduil, Bard, and Aza close behind him. "Azog the Defiler was sent to kill them. His master seeks control of the Mountain. Not just for the treasure within, but for where it lies. Its strategic position." He gestured to the gates of the mountain. "This is the gateway to reclaiming the lands of Angmar in the North. If that fell kingdom should rise again, Rivendell, Lórien, the Shire, even Gondor itself will fall."
Thranduil, not at all disturbed by this news, asked, "These Orc armies you speak of, Mithrandir where are they?"
Gandalf looked to his apprentice. Then he said, gesturing to Aza, "Ask my apprentice. She has been sensing their approach for days."
Aza's head snapped to Gandalf. "That's what I have been feeling?"
"What is it?" Thranduil asked, his voice still seemingly uninterested.
"In order to spare food I have been trying to draw energy from far beyond Dale. What little I could find, was fill of…" Aza trailed off, trying to find the words. "The most terrible of feelings. Like all the trees and grass have been trying to tell me something terrible is coming."
Thranduil raised an eyebrow at her.
Taking a deep breath, Aza continued, "What the plants have been telling me matches what my master says. You cannot dismiss this."
The whole company, apart from Gandalf, looked at her with odd eyes. They looked at her as though she were talking nonsense. It was a demeaning look, as though her words meant nothing to them.