Chapter 2: Returning to Erebor

Gailien watches as it soars through the air, landing directly in its mark. The effect is immediate and Smaug's cry of pain can be heard all the way to Dale. The dragon changes his target but his wing smashes into the wooden structure under their feet.

"Gailien!" Bard exclaims as they begin to stumble. Gailien reaches out for him and his own arm extends to hers, but their fingers barely touch as the structure underneath them gives way. Her feet leave the floor as it tilts vertical, sending both of them into the middle of the collapse. Wood snaps and crushes around them, billows of smoke and dust flying into the air.

Her body is jostled around, knocking into now unidentifiable pieces of the tower. Her forehead smacks against one piece, but it slices across her skin more than puncture it. She can't see Bard in the mess.

Finally, they reach the ground and the pair land on top of the remnants of what used to be the Wind-lance tower. Fortunately, they were on the highest floor or they would have been crushed underneath it, but they do not escape without injury.

Bard rolls off the wooden plank he landed on, his back aching. He grunts as he lands on his feet, already feeling his ankle cursing at him. But his pain is forgotten as in the sky, Smaug's body starts to fall. He did it. He aimed true. Smaug is dead.

A feminine cry of pain breaks his moment of victory. Bard climbs back onto the pile of rubble, following the sound of Gailien's groans and whimpers. He climbs high, shoving away boards and sheets to make his way to his companion. He lifts the large trap door and he sees her curled on, her hands over her stomach.

"Hey," he calls, kneeling down. "We did it, Smaug's dead." Gailien's face screws shut but she manages a pleased nod. Her forehead is covered in blood, a long but shallow cut tracking down past her right eye. Bard frowns, pulling at her arm slightly. She holds it tight in place, protecting something. Bard' frown deepens, realising that she is hurt. His eyes catch sight of something wet. Just to the left of her, there is a snapped wooden beam, its ends jagged, and covered in blood. He looks back down to Gailien's stomach and sees the growing dark patch on her already wet shirt, seeping out past her arms.

Cursing, he takes off his large coat, then his inner one. He rips the fabric lengthways, creating a long strip. Clearing away some of the extra rubble, he opens a space to work. "Come on," he urges, wrapping a hand behind her shoulders and guides her into a sitting position. "You're not going to die," he tries to comfort.

"I know that," she spits. "Doesn't make it hurt any less."

Gailien had landed on the wooden spike and it punctured her stomach, just above her right hip. Her arms are covered in blood from trying to hold it in. There is no easy way to explain how it hurts, only other than describing it as something sharp cutting into you.

She holds herself steady by gripping Bard's shoulders as he wraps the make-shift bandage around her torso. Her nails dig into his shoulder as he pulls the material tight, inflicting another bout of agonising pain. There isn't a part of her that doesn't hurt at this moment, but her stomach is the worst.

"Nice job," she eventually says, realising that they have indeed, managed to kill Smaug the Terrible. "I honestly can't believe that worked." She looks past Bard to the mountain. She still has no way to know if they are alive. If Bofur and Bard's children made it to safety. If she is all alone, or her family are still waiting for her return. If Thorin is alive. In her heart, she knows though. She knows that it would be cracking and turning to dust if there was even an inkling of doubt that they are not waiting for her.

"I thought you said you could see the future," Bard huffs, finishing tying her wound off. Gailien grunts, shifting onto her knees.

"I can," she answers through gritted teeth. "But the future isn't certain, and I didn't exactly see how this whole thing would end."

"Glad to know I put my faith in your uncertainty," Bard grumbles, pulling her to her feet. "The people will have fled to the mainland, you can get more medical attention there." Bard instinctively goes to put her arm around his shoulder, but she barely reaches his own stomach. Huffing once more, he bends down, his arm locking under her legs and back.

Gailien groans at the movement but there is a relief of being off her feet. "Your kids are going to be fine," she says to fill the silence. "An Elf that I know was with them. And so was Bofur."

"The same one that freed us from the cell? The prince?"

"No, that was Legolas. Tauriel was with them," she explains. "She has this beautiful red hair. And I actually quite like her – and I don't like many Elves."

"I thought you are an Elf."

"Doesn't mean I have to like them."

"You prefer Dwarves then?"

"Most of the time, but I'll admit that they are hard to like if you aren't willing to get to know them. But then so are the Elves…" Bard lets Gailien keep rambling. Her mind is trying to deal with the events that have just passed and keeping her talking will keep her mind awake. It is a distraction for the both of them from everything burning around them.

Eventually, Bard finds a boat and lays Gailien down in it. She rolls onto her left side, curling up as Bard begins to row them out. The woman falls silent after a while, as Bard continues to row through the night, early morning already upon them. Gailien watches just barely over the rim of the boat as the sky turns from black and ash to a pale blue, with spots of burning sunrise.

"You still alive down there?" Bard questions after a long period of silence.

"Unfortunately," Gailien mutters back icily.

"Not scared of death?"

"Not my own."

It isn't that Gailien wants to die but the world seems like a really messed up place at the moment and with her Dwarves not around, she would be fine just crawling up into a cocoon until they are back. But she knows that she is going to be the one to go to them, so she doesn't.

But a small smile threatens at her stony face. It is over. It is all over. The dragon is dead, and the Dwarves can reclaim their mountain. Bilbo should have the King's jewel and Thorin can take his place on the throne. Dale can be rebuilt for the people of Lake-town.

The smooth rock under her ends as Bard guides to boat onto the shoreline. Gailien keeps one arm across her stomach, the other pushing off the floor of the boat as Bard anchors it into the earth. She begins to step over the side, but Bard lifts her over himself.

There are people congregating along the mainland. Some are sitting or tending to the wounded, others are walking around, handing out blankets or other necessities that they managed to take with them, and others stand around helplessly, without a leader.

There is still screaming as the injured claw along the ground or swimming to shore. Her ears hurt, hearing their pained cries and her lip gets stuck between her teeth as she watches people mourn over pale bodies. Was it even the right thing to do? To not stop the Dwarves? Was preventing something possibly worse, worth the carnage that it brings now?

Gailien stands in the water, the cold waves encasing her ankles. Bard marches forward, looking for his children. This is all her doing. Her literal doing. She had the power to stop this – to think of another way yet this is the only solution she could come up with. If she had escaped Braga's men, she could have warned the town. She could have warned the Dwarves to be more careful and they could have made a better plan.

Her knees fold underneath her and her pants become soaked. Her hands dig into the pebbles as people race past her to the shore. Their deaths are on her hands. She made the conscious decision to give their lives in order to save others. No. It's worse – something she hates herself. She sacrificed their lives, without their consent so her friends could go unhindered to the mountain. And that…that makes her the most selfish person to exist at that moment. Claiming her deeds were for the greater good when her main motivation was so that the people she loves could reclaim a piece of rock. She thought that because of her gift, she should be the one to decide these things.

"Gailien! Durin's beard, you're alive!"

Bofur runs down onto the shore, completely unharmed. Gailien looks up from the water, a true smile crowning her lips as her friend runs towards her. She stands, stumbling out of the water as the toymaker jogs to meet her. "Bofur!" They embrace in a tight hug. "Oh, I knew you would make it. Are Bard's children fine?"

"Oh, yeah. Bard just found them a few minutes ago," he assures. "You look like a right mess? Are you hurt?" Gailien nods, the wince returning to her face. Looking down at her stomach, Bofur follows her gaze. "How bad?"

"It's fine," she dismisses. "I don't want to stay here. We can take the boat back to the mountain. It'll take us maybe a day and a half." Seeking medical attention here would only delay her reuniting that she longs for. Bofur nods and the two climb back into the boat that she and Bard arrived in.

Bour takes the front, picking up the oar. Gailien sits behind him, also taking an oar. Her hands shake around it but if she doesn't, it will only take longer to reach them. With her body protesting every movement, the pair paddle back away from the people of Lake-town. She is glad Bofur has taken the front as she uses her face to exert her pain rather than her voice. The inside of her cheeks bleeds as her back teeth bite hard into them. Tears flow down her dirt and blood stained cheeks.

Bofur himself looks tired, the entire night spent against the rage of the dragon, running and escaping. As they paddle, Bofur explains that the Orcs had once again caught up with them, but Legolas and Tauriel had been hunting them. Legolas continued his search but Tauriel didn't want to leave the children and stayed to help them escape.

Bofur's voice starts to become a blur by the second day. Instead of a long sleep, they have small naps. She wishes that she could feel something normal like hunger but her stomach aches too much. The shoreline is not far away as her sight begins to blur. Slipping the paddle into one hand, she slowly pulls her shirt up. The bandage is soaked past capacity, blooding dripping down onto her pants.

Blinking away the dizziness, she grips the paddle tightly. She just has to make it to Erebor and Oin could help her. But her head begins to tip forward against a tire that she cannot push away. As she loses focus, her oar slips from her hands, a small 'plonk' sounding as it sinks into the water.

Her chin hits her chest and the forward centre of gravity sends her body off the small ledge seat. Bofur jolts, spinning around as there is a heavy thud. His own oar falls to the floor of the boat. "Gailien!"

He clambers to the back of the boat, rolling her onto her back. At first, he thinks that she might just be in a vision as it is not unusual for her to fall over (as she has many times before) but her eyes are closed and her body limp rather than the stiffness usually found.

"Oh, dearie me," he mutters as he eyes the stomach wound, she had dismissed earlier. He looks back towards the mountain, determining how far off it is. "Hold on lass," he says, climbing in her old spot but picking up his ore. "I'll get you there."

Gailien lies at his feet, still conscious but not in the state of mind to comprehend anything but the sickening gargle of her stomach and the warm patch surrounding it.

Just a PSA, Part 3 isn't going to be as long as the previous two and with a lot of chapters that are more to fill in the time since the movies' attention is split a lot but I hope it stays interesting enough! Also, this wasn't my favourite chapter to write so don't mind it please.