Chapter Seven: A Plague On Both Your Houses
As Thorin stared down at the lifeless and still body of his brother, he struggled to hold on to the reality that he was gone. If it were not for the bloody images of his brother struggling for breath as he choked on his own blood that appeared every time his eyes blinked, he would think the prone body lying on the cold alter was just sleeping. However, the memories that plagued his mind reminded him of the cold hard truth. Frerin was dead. His brother was dead.
His feet and shoulders ached from standing still for so long but neither hurt as much as the pumping organ with in his chest. His heart felt as if a heated sharp knife had punctured it. An arrangement of dying candles flickered around his body as lavender and sage wafted through the air and cleansed it from the scent of death. The sound of boiling wax filled the air as a particularly low burning candle reached the end of its wick and sputtered out. The faint light within the room grew dimmer and the pungent scent of smoke overpowered the herbal scents when the flame died.
Light footsteps sounded and from the corner of his eye, Thorin saw the movement of a hesitant body approach him from the eastern entrance of the shrine. A small breeze coming from the open way carried her scent to him and Thorin knew it was Asha before she even stepped into the glowing fire light of the candles.
It was not right. Everything about her presence was wrong, everything about this moment was wrong. It was nearing midnight. They were supposed to have meet each other in this same place only a few hours ago. They were supposed to have been wedded by now. In bed enjoying the others company in the bliss of their wedding night. But circumstances had changed. So instead of being together before an altar to be married, they were at an altar for a death. It was all so wrong.
"You should not be here," he said in a quietly, his tone empty of feeling.
Ignoring his words Asha closed in the remainder of the distance between them. Cautiously, as if approaching a skittish animal, Asha reached out to lay a hand on his forearm. It was limply hanging at his side but the moment her fingertips brushed the surface of his skin he stiffened and recoiled from her touch. A look of hurt flashed across her face as she looked at him questioningly.
"If other Durin's where to see you here there is no guarantee they would let you walk away so freely like your kinsman..." he paused for a moment before correcting himself, "...your fiancée."
Asha frowned at his words.
"I was led to believe it is you who holds that title?" she said quietly, doing her best to keep the quiver in her voice from manifesting too strongly. "Do you no longer wish for it?
She waited for his answer but nothing came from his pursed lips. He looked deeply into her eyes for as long as he could stand watching the brimming hurt that was to come from an answer that she did not want to hear. His eyes roved sadly across his brothers still body. All evidence of any spilt blood washed away from his hair and skin. But his face was too pale, no longer flushed with his youthful glow that Thorin always awed over such a cheerful complexion.
"I believe the events of tonight were an omen of what that title will bring upon us," Thorin said monotonously as he continued to stare down at his brother. "A curse that will bring nothing but death to those around us...it would be for the best."
Asha dug her nails into the palm of her hands as she focused on the sharp pain instead of the heat that burned her eyes. Gulping down the sob that was building in her throat, Asha took a step forward and again reached out for his arm. This time she was relieved when he did not remove himself from her touch.
"Thorin," she said meekly. "Please...please...don't do this."
She felt his arm stiffen beneath her grasp as he turned his head slowly to look at her. His blue eyes that always reminded her of the summer sky no longer held their warm gaze. They were hard and cold, like the frozen winters of the north, his icy stare forced her to take a step back.
"Don't do what?" he asked harshly.
"Don't give up," she said softly. "We can still be together."
"My brother is dead!" Their conversation having never risen above a soft tone until now made his shout sound like the roar of a lion as it erupted from his mouth. The window pains rattled within their frames as his words bounced and echoed around the small shrine. "It is easy for you to easily push it aside because what does it matter to you. You did not know him. He meant nothing to you. Just one less Durin in the world, one less enemy for your family…"
A resounding slap echoed around the room cutting Thorin's accusing words to be cut short. Asha's strike had been powerful and forced Thorin's head to the side. His cheek stung but he ignored it as he turned his head back to look at her. Her chest heaved as she breathed heavily, her hands clenched tightly at her sides as she glared up at him.
"Don't you dare say that I do not care about Frerin's death," she growled between her clenched teeth as hurtful tears built up in her eyes. "I would never wish for anyone to lose their life, Durin or otherwise. We have been both brought up with the offerings of poison. A poison of falsehood about each others family. It is a poison that has run through the veins of both our families for generations and tonight that poison took its first victim. I may not have known your brother, but I know he did not deserve such a fate. His death can be the first and the last if we bring our families together! Don't drink that poison. Not now. This is no longer just about us, it's for our families as well. If we let this feud continue to go on it may very well lead to war and then what? Who will be next? Your cousin, my mother, your sister?"
His eyes flashed with warning but she ignored it. Her balled fist relaxed as her hand moved to grab his and slowly she raised it to her chest to let his palm lay flat against her heart. She let him feel her heartbeat twice before continuing.
"As long as this is beating, I will always fight for us, for a chance to live a life with the one I love. I love you Thorin, I always will. I will never give in to the hatred..." her tears were now dripping from her lashes in large droplet. Like spring rain falling from fresh tree leaves, they fell from her long lashes in perfect spheres each time she blinked. Some landed on the floor while others brushed her cheeks. "Please...don't let the poison end us. Don't let this be the end."
For a moment it was silent as Asha gazed up at him. Her previous anger had washed away when the first tear had fallen. All that was left was a pleading desperation as her hazel eyes watched his features closely. For what seemed like an eternity for her, he only stared blankly back at her as she waited for some sort of sign that he was going to concede to her plea. But then he pulled his hand away and stepped back. As his boot let out a dull thud with his step, she felt a hard pressure in her chest. Her head began to move back and forth in slow motions before his words even formed on his lips.
"You are young and naive to think things will ever work out," he said in a strained tone to keep any emotion from his voice.
"Thorin...please...I need to tell…"
"There is nothing else that you could ever say that would change my mind." he said darkly.
"But..."
"LEAVE!" he shouted while pointing a finger to the door from whence she came. "Go. Go back to your family, go back to your fiancée. I want nothing more to do with you. You were correct about poison but you were wrong about what was the poison. The poison was you Rashava. You poisoned by mind, blinded me with fantasies, and seduced me into the silly ideals of love. My family was right all along. You Brimir's are nothing but a bunch of conniving illusionists and I will never let a drop of my blood be mixed with someone of the likes of you."
Her body flinched before going rigid as she stare at him in horror. Only a single, solitary tear now traced her cheek and chin as she stared at him. Finally, her head began to move. First to the left, then to the right as she slowly shook it in disbelief.
"You don't mean that," she said in a choked whisper. Her words barely audible by the lack of breath she could muster from her lungs. "You don't mean that," she repeated as her hands clenched at her stomach.
Thorin took one heavy footed step forward. His body turned toward her in a preparatory stance that one would take before striking out an attack.
"Every damn word," he said darkly.
His words sent her fleeing. Like a dove startled by a sound. The rustle of her dress, the scrapping of her shoes as she stuttered a few steps back before finally turning her back to him and running away. The faint sound of her steps becoming more muffled with distance until even the sound was no longer there as her light steps hit the grass outside the shrine. He watched her from the small space the door that was left ajar allowed him to see until she was no longer within sight. It was only then that he felt the plunging pain within his chest. For a moment he thought he had been stabbed through the chest despite the fact that no a soul was in sight. Even with this logic, he was forced to look down at the hand that had instinctively grasped at the pain to find nothing but blood free skin and a hole free shirt.
It was then that he realized the pain he was feeling was nothing else than heartache. Stronger than anything he had ever felt before. Stronger than he felt those months searching for her, stronger than when he found out she was betrothed, stronger than when he realized she was a Brimir, and even more painful than when he watched the life seep from his own brother.
Thorin leaned against a small balcony that overlooked the black lake that pooled at the bottom of the mountain and reflected the starry night above. He watched the small lights of the city of Dale slowly extinguish as the hour grew later. Despite the slumbering city far below Erebor. The mountain itself was just beginning to reach its apex of life for the night.
Durin's day was upon them and parades of guests willing to travel so late in the season, had been arriving from all corners of the dwarf lands. All clans and all families with some relation to Durin had made a pilgrimage from their respective kingdoms, villages, and strongholds to celebrate as a whole.
Durin's day was a sacred holiday to his family. It was the reason why so many descendants of Durin flocked together in a mass migration to the Lonely Mountain. It was a day to celebrate the coming of new beginnings and letting go of past mistakes and hardships. It was a day that was hallowed and praised.
But while laughter, music, and other ambiances of celebration rose up to sound in Thorin's muffled ears, Thorin felt none of the usual excitement that he would on such a day. At the moment he only wanted to sulk in glumness. His brother had been buried weeks ago and while he had just began to finally feel human again, the celebration was too much.
He had tried at first. Shared a drink with his cousin Dáin, sampled some pies with Víli, he had even danced with his sister. But then he had overheard a dwarrowdam gossiping with several other women only a few feet away and after hearing the contents of her gossip, he could no longer bring himself to try. It was the reason why he had come up here to seek out solitude, as he was not wanting to burden or dampen his sullen state onto the joys of such a day.
Asha was to be married. That fact he already knew. He had set it in stone when he sent her away that dreadful night. He had been stupid, grief stricken, and spoke untruths. Not long after he had realized what he had truly done and the next morning had set out to take it all back. But her family had already left. Departed in the dead of night to retreat to their home in the north.
Since then he had crafted many a letter to express his self aborance and regret. But he could never find the write words. So many times he wondered if there were any right words that could ever right his wrong. He thought he had time. But according to the gossiping women, the wedding would no longer take place in the spring.
Three weeks. Less than a month. He looked up to the sky where the full moon shone down like a beacon. Not even enough time for the moon to wane and wax again before she would be married. Married his brother's murderer. At that thought, Thorin's gaze fell from the sky as anger built into his chest. He spat out into the air as a gutteral curse flew from his lips. His fingernails dug into the carved stone he was leaning on and he only loosened his grasp when the slickness of his own blood made his grip slip.
A reflected brightness caught his eye. Tracking its source, he found himself staring down at the Long Lake that stretched southward. On the western side a white orb was displayed on its smooth surface. The moon. Reflected perfectly in the abnormally stillness of the water's mirrored surface. His eyes traced its circled edge until they drifted away to the shore line the reflection was located near. It was then that his thoughts turned to the face that he had forbidden from his mind.
As the image of Asha wandering along a similar shoreline was painted across his thoughts, Thorin immediately began to muster the feelings of hatred and loathing he had felt that day only three weeks ago. But the image of her was so pure and innocent that he faltered. Then with a heavy sigh, he gave up. It usually worked. It would have worked under any other circumstances. But the news of her wedding was too fresh, too sudden. The wedding in which she would be married to Ivor, not him. She more than likely despised him. It was no wonder that the wedding was moved up. Why wait to move on from a man who did not want her? It surprised him that Ivor was even still willing to marry her after having been touch by a Durin. Perhaps Ivor truly was the better man.
On a day that was meant to let go of regret and loss, Thorin found himself bathing in desire and need to go back and fix everything. His mind told him to move on, to which he desperately wished for. But his stubborn heart, that pumped his even more stubborn Durin blood, pleaded for him to hang on.
Thorin stood in the shadows of the entrance into the throne room as he watched his grandfather Thrór pace back and forth as the handful of councillors, including his father Thráin, watched their king with unease. While they had done well to hide his sanity's demise in the past year from outsiders, this small group was acutely aware of the once mighty and analytical man that was now decaying into weakend paranoid hermit. They had done well to hid it thus far but they still worried when the rumors would begin.
He had been absent from all celebrations and gatherings over the warmer season in the past year. It was a decision made by the council as they feared one of the other kingdoms would notice. But it was an unnecessary decision as Thrór refused to leave his mountain, convinced that his horde of gold would be taken in his absence. At first it was by his enemies, but now he even accused his loyal council members and his very own son just the other day.
Thorin could not remember the last time he even saw his grandfather free of the mountains walls. At the end of August Thorin had even wondered if Thrór would ever feel the sun on his skin again. But then Frerin died. And for the first time, Thrór was focused on something other than gold.
Revenge.
"We need to make our move before they can again," Thrór muttered.
"My Lord," came the voice of one of Thrór's most trusted council members. "You cannot go to war with the Brimir's. Their armies are too strong. Where we are rich in gold and precious jewels here in Erebor, they are rich in well trained soldiers and weapons in Dhom."
At the mention of gold, Thrór whirled on his feet to look at the man who had spoke.
"That's it," he said with a revelated tone. "They want the gold. They want to rob me of every single coin…"
Thorin could not find it in himself to listen any longer. He quickly turned around and walked away, his mind at a buzz with what the future would bring. What if they did go to war with the Kingdom of Dhom? All Brimir's were trained to fight from a young age not matter gender or status. Their number of population was smaller but the ratio of soldier to civilian was much greater than those of Erebor.
Just as he was nearly out of the main hall leading to the throne room. A soldier from the sentry at the front gates bumped into him. If it were not for the strikened panic in the man's face, Thorin would have reprimanded him for being so careless but upon seeing the mans wide eyes as he failed to excuse himself to continue his race towards the throne room. Alarmed and curious of the urgency in which that man emitted, Thorin quickly followed after him.
"My Lord," the guard said in a breathy voice as he gave a rushed bow and addressed the king.
"What are you here for?" Cried Thrór. "This is a private assembly."
"I am sorry my Lord," the guard said as he took a step back and looked to where Thráin stood.
Thráin took a step forward and gave the guard a calming look yet still gave warning to be quick and concise.
"I apologize, but a messenger from Dhom has arrived." he said quickly. "He carries urgent news from the North and begs for an audience with the Lord of the Lonely Mountain...he is a...he is a Brimir."
All bodies within the room went still as they all looked at the King who was looking uncommonly sane. But then manic smile came to the king's face.
"Let him be brought forth," commanded the king, "...in chains."
It was a pitiful sight as the guards brought the messenger forward. He was filthy. His hair matted and oily while his skin was several shades darker because of the mud and dust caked in layers upon his skin. His attire consisted of thin leather boots, black woven pants, a deep maroon tunic and thin overcoat that one would wear around the house or late autumn. The coat was shredded and in no terms, acceptable for traveling in the harsh weather of winter. Perhaps in the warmer, more southern areas but they were sparse for Erebor's lands and Thorin shuddered to think how the bitter winds of the even more northern lands that belonged to the Kingdom of Dhom would feel. He looked haggard. Dark circles of exhaustion created purple shadows beneath his hazel eyes which drooped from exhaustion themselves.
The moment he was brought before the king he fell to his knees and bowed his head. A grand gesture for one who was not his King and a Durin. But when the man remained on the ground and only lifted his head, Thorin concluded that perhaps it was more out of weariness than gesture.
"Lord Thrór," the man began in a weak voice.
"King Thrór," Thrór corrected.
Thorin could see the man faintly grimace at his grandfather's haughtiness.
"King Thrór," the man corrected, his voice no longer weak but instead strained as if struggling to resist growling out the title. "My name is Ghom and I have come on behalf of the Kingdom of Dhom and bring a plea from its King himself. We understand our relations have always been...estranged. But as our closest ally...distance wise, we beg of you to give us aid. An army of goblins and the foulest of beasts that lurk beneath the earth has come to our doorstep. Dhom is under seige and our forces are dwindling. King Rangar has already been severely injured and our first line of defense has been breached. I myself just barely made it through to travel here unlike my fellow messengers that were sent out to call for aid." The man slowly and unsteadily stood on his feet to meet the king's eyes. "Will you return the call that my King has requested?"
As the man finished his message, silence filled the room. Thorin could see the man's chest moving quickly as he looked desperately at Thrór. Thorin noticed a pale missshapened spot near his breast pocket. It was then, as he watched the material move against his chest, that Thorin realized the color of his shirt was not maroon. It had once been a soft creme but had been stained maroon. Dyed nearly entirely from blood.
A cold shiver ran down his spine. Dhom's first line of defense was gone. While he had never seen Dhom with his own eyes, he had heard stories, seen drawings, and heard the famed rumors that its walls were unbreachable. Apparently they were just that, rumors. Thorin swallowed thickly. It would have been at least a three day journey if Ghom had not stopped to sleep and rest. How much more could have been lost in that amount of time? For King Rangar to call for aid, let alone from Erebor, he must be desperate. He must truly believe the Kingdom will fall.
A chilling cackle erupted from the mouth of Thrór as it filled every crevice of the room. Thorin was brought from his ponderings and moved his attention to register what was before him. Thrór had his head tilted back has he continued to laugh in amusement while the rest of the room watched him. Finally as his merriment died down, Thrór lowered his head to look at Ghom. Flecks of spittle decorated his lips as his mouth curled into a crude snear.
"My Kingdom has no alliance with yours," he said, his voice full of mockery. "I have no reason to help you. Why would I risk the lives of Erebor, to aid the spawn of Brimir?"
Ghom's eyes widened with disbelief for only a moment before they narrowed in anger. Thorin could see his hand clench in an effort to keep from shaking and when he spoke, he could hear the strain in the man's voice to keep his temper in check.
"We are also Khazad. We are one in the same. Created by Mahal, forged in the same manor. Would you truly let thousands parish because of a rivalry? Does it not bother you that those of your race would die by the scourge of the earth?"
The mention of thousands dying seemed to have little effect on Thrór as he looked at the Brimir with boredom. His eyes moved down to the arm rest of his throne. A lazy finger traced a gold vein that ran through the dark marbled stone.
"It would be one less opponent for Erebor," he answered.
"We are not your enemy," Ghom said through gritted teeth.
"Yet your monarchy freely slays my grandson in cold blood," Thrór growled as crazed eyes flickered from armrest to Brimir. "That does not sound like the actions of an ally."
"Father," Thorin heard his own father's voice address Thrór.
Thrór looked at his son, his cold eyes not changing in the slightest.
"I myself have good enough reason to deny the Brimir's as it was my son, your grandson, that was murdered. I could care less if every Brimir was wiped clean of this continent," his blue eyes moved accusingly to Ghom before moving back to his father. "But to condemn the entire Kingdom? There are more than just Brimir's who call Dhom their home. Descendants from other families reside within those walls, and while I do not care for whom they choose to surround themselves with, they are still innocents, they are, as this man said, Khazad."
Thrór stayed silent as his eyes bore into his son. For a moment, Thorin thought his grandfather was considering, but then something shifted. Something within his eyes changed and turned to something else. No longer where they the Durin famed bright blue. No; they had darkened in shade and there was something sinister, something serpentine, lurking behind.
"Of course you would encourage this," he said in a scaly tone. "You want me to face an army, you want me out of this mountain."
Thorin's eyes flickered around the room and he could see the alarm in everyone's eyes. He looked to Ghom and saw him staring at Thrór in confusion as he listened to the accusations being thrown at Thráin.
"I don'tー" Thráin attempted to defend himself but his father stood as a roar rumbled from his chest like the roar of a fire drake.
"YOU WANT MY GOLD," he bellowed. "What easier way for you to seize my throne, take my crown, the arkenstone, and the precious metal within the vaults of this mountain than by having me leave my trove unguarded."
Again, silence entombed the room. Suffocating and bearing down upon all those present. All eyes were fixed on the crazed and feral face of King Thrór. No one moved, no one dared to speak. That was, until the dreaded reality was voiced by Ghom.
"You're mad," he said in a hushed whisper.
Thorin moved his attention, as did all within the room. The Brimir was stiff as his eyes were opened wide and staring at the crazed man in disbelief. As if realizing he had just spoken aloud, Ghom closed his gaping mouth and looked cautiously around the room. Suddenly aware that this was information he was not supposed to know, he took a step back.
"Take him to the dungeons," Thráin announced, his voice echoed around the room.
Ghom looked wide eyed to Thráin, then, he bolted. To the dismay of the Brimir, his escape was cut off as guards surrounded him and took hold of his arms. He let out an anguished cry as they began to drag him away.
"Please," he shrieked.
Gone was the annoyance, gone was the pride, gone was the dislike of his task to beg his rivals. All that was left in his voice was anguish and sorrow as he choked on sobs and a trail of desperate tears began to flow.
"I have to go on, I have to find aid. Please, I have to go," he begged. "They will all perish! I swear I will say nothing, you can kill me when it is all over, but please do not condemn them!"
His eyes moved wildly around the room. They moved to Thrór who waved him off and began to walk up the dias and slumped in his chair as he murmured to himself. They moved on to Thráin.
"They will moved on!" he shouted. "There is no gold in our mountain. They will grow tired and restless, they will shift their eyes south...to Erebor. If you attack now at least you would have others to help you fight!"
Thráin looked at him, the smallest glimmer of pity in his eyes. "That is a chance we will have to take."
Ghom lost all will to fight as his body slumped in defeat. His hazel eyes cast down to the floor as he let himself be dragged away, not even giving an effort to move his feet. As they removed him from the room, his eyes lifted just enough to let himself take in Thorin who was still silently watching from near the door. A glimmer of recognition fell across his face and his body suddenly went rigid, his feet ground into the floor. The sudden resistance caught the soldiers off guard and they came to an abrupt halt as Ghom stared at Thorin with a new light within his eyes.
"You," he said quietly. "You were the reason why she told me to come here instead of the Iron Hills like her father commanded. She said you would help, she said you were different…" A hard look came over his face. "I guess she was wrong about you after all."
With that said he let himself be taken away, not bothering to resist or look back. Thorin was left standing. His once crossed arms hanging loosely at his sides as he failed to fully react.
Asha.
She could be the only person he referring to. It had been months since he let his mind wander to her...willingly. It was then that the true reality hit him. Asha was there, she was in Dhom, and he was here in Erebor, doing nothing. His eyes flashed to the slumped form of his grandfather and gritted his teeth. For the first time in his life, he felt the loathing and spite Brimir's felt for Durin's. He resented the famed stubborness of Durin's. It was enough to make him do something that he had only ever done once in his life, betray his family and go against their instructions.
Thorin could not recall the last time he had been in the dank dungeons of Erebor. The musty smell of rotted hay and mildew filled his nostrils and forced him to cringe. The dim lighting from the few lit torches hanging from the wall did just enough to keep him from running into a wall and avoiding the puddles of water that accumulated on the floor. He finally reached the end of the way and found himself in front of the cell that held the inmate he intended to speak with.
"Come to gloat about the demise of the Brimir's," he asked without looking up. "You are not the first...and I doubt you will be the last."
"I do not take any pleasure in hearing of the deaths of women and children," Thorin replied.
At his statement Ghom looked up in surprise. After taking him in he nodded.
"Then why are you here?"
"I sent one of the fastest ravens to the Iron Hills," Thorin offered. "Aid should be on its way within two days time."
Ghom gave a grave smile and let his head fall back as he looked blankly up at the ceiling. "Two days and another five for them to arrive...it was a kind gesture. Pray to Mahal they will not arrive too late."
Thorin could not reply. His throat was too tight. So he just nodded and walked away. His mind was numb and as much as he wanted to muster an army and ride to Dhom, he knew it was impossible. So he could only do one thing, one thing that he had been taught by the woman he once loved…
Still loved, his heart whispered.
Hope. It was all he could do. Hope that all would be well that the majority would survive until forces from the Iron Hills could arrive in time. And if not...perhaps it was a selfish thought, but he thought if there would only be one survivor, it would be her.
"Dhom has fallen."
Silence followed the announcement given to the representatives present. All heads bowed down, even those from Erebor silently gave half hearted prayers up to the heavens.
"Grór and his army had been stalled and by the time they arrived, the enemy had breached their last defenses and were swarming the deepest parts of the stronghold. Their army managed to break through enough to aid some who lived in the outer regions of the stronghold, but those who dwelled in the deeper parts where trapped." Lord Frilar explained. He looked around the room at each person's face before continuing. "I have a sum of nearly four hundred refugees being housed in my estate and on my lands. But I do not have enough resources to take them in indefinitely. I need volunteers willing to take them in and give them the resources necessary to get back on their feet. They will need money, homes, and land."
A rumble of murmurs filled the air as emissaries and lords discussed amongst themselves. Occasionally an offer to take in a portion of the refugees or submit a donation was given by various groups and accepted with a grateful bow from Lord Frilar as he kept notes on a page.
Thorin looked to his father who was standing silently beside him. Thráin felt his sons stare and spoke without even looking at him.
"Your grandfather would not allow a single soul to enter," he said hollowly. Thorin opened his mouth to counter it but stopped when his father turned to him. "We have enough problems keeping his illness from the others and nearly everything sets him off. Having a mass of strangers, especially from Dhom would be too much risk."
Again Thorin moved to make a protest, but another voice from a Lord across the room rendered him silent.
"What of the royal family? Where is King Rangar and his family?"
Voices stilled again as all looked to Lord Frilar, but it was King Grór that answered.
"Reports from the survivors say that Rangar passed away from his wounds not but three days after receiving them. As for his family...sources say they were located within the deepest parts of the Kingdom." A ringing began to sound in Thorin's ears as he heard the words of his great uncle. "In an effort to keep the army from moving on to wreak havoc on any others, all entrances were collapsed or blocked off. No soul could have possibly escaped from such a mass. Food would have been scarce as most stores where located outside of the sealed off portions. It most likely will not take long before the goblins resort to...other sources of food." The implication of his words sent a cold shudder through everyone who listened. Several looked as if they would be sick. Grór himself bowed his head as if ashamed of the fate he had given those left behind. "We can only hope that their deaths came swiftly," he murmured softly.
Thorin starred forward without truly seeing. He could not believe it. He heard the words but the reality of it was beyond nightmares. She was there. She was part of those left to be feasted upon. Her bones would be picked clean and there would be no telling what they would do to her before they devoured her body.
He barely made it outside before spilling the contents of his earlier breakfast onto the frozen grass outside the door. He heaved until there was nothing left and then he continued to let out dry heave after dry heave. He fell to his knees and brushed a shaky hand across his dampened forehead where he had broken out in cold sweats. With shaky knees he attempted to stand before falling back down to the ground. Giving no other attempt to stand, he braced his arms on his bent knees and began to rock himself as his hands grasped at his black tendrils of hair. He did not care about the onlookers as he gave out an anguished cry the echoed throughout the courtyard. Asha was dead and it was all his fault.
It was a story of tragedy. Two houses that could not find peace. Two lovers that were torn apart because of the hatred of each house. Even when loved ones were lost could they not find a resolution. And when the demise of one came, the other sat back and did nothing because of a feud the could not put aside.
And it was an unfortunate fate for the Durin's that they did not rise to the call of aid. For the curse in which the Lord Frilar spat upon the houses came true. Their feud became their downfall. The Brimirs had already met theirs and unbeknownst to the Durin's their downfall would soon fly over their Kingdom not long after. For it was one year later that a Fire Drake heard tell of the illustrious treasures buried underneath the protection of the Lonely Mountain. A mountain that was easily accessible now that the Kingdom to the North that once stood between him and the mountain was nothing more than a sealed tomb for the house of Brimir.
Ok so this was the last chapter before the epilogue. Hoping to have it up by tomorrow at the latest. Possibly tonight if my internet will stop lagging. If you are enjoying this keep an eye out for the first chapter of the next installment of the Fortune series. I am hoping to have that posted today or tomorrow as well.
