"We are leaving at dawn. You and Eline will stay behind with Kíli," Thorin said, his voice firm but gentle as he stroked her hair. Talessa rested her head on his bare chest, her hands splayed against his warm skin, feeling the strong, steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
She struggled with what to say. Should she tell him about her visions? Should she even trust them herself? The images of fire and the echoes of terrified screams haunted her, but so did the radiant throne—a beacon of gold and jewels, shining as if it held all the light of the sun. She knew there was nothing she could say to stop him now, not when he was so close to reclaiming his home. A single tear slipped down her cheek, and Thorin wiped it away with a tender touch.
"There is no need for tears," he said softly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Soon, I will be showing you around our home. Erebor is the most magnificent underground kingdom you will ever see."
Talessa smiled, a sad, wistful curve of her lips. She thought of the vast halls and towering stone pillars, as tall as the mountain itself, that she had already glimpsed in her dreams.
After the company left, the townsfolk returned to their daily routines. Talessa and Eline, along with Fíli, Oin, and the unfortunate Bofur—who had woken up too late and missed the boat—stayed behind with the injured Kíli. His condition seemed to worsen by the hour, his groans of pain filling the small room. The mayor had promptly kicked them out of his mansion as soon as Thorin's boat disappeared from sight. With nowhere else to go, they begged Bard to take them in, knowing Kíli's state wouldn't allow him to travel further.
Now, the young dwarf lay feverish on a table, his skin damp and hot to the touch. Oin had sent Bofur to search for kingsfoil, a herb that might help, while Eline and Bard's two daughters tried to ease Kíli's fever with cold compresses and what few herbs they had. Still, nothing seemed to work.
Talessa stood by the window, staring out at the setting sun. Her thoughts drifted to the fleeting vision she'd had of Tauriel. That elf was supposed to save Kíli—but where was she now? She turned back to glance at the suffering dwarf, then gazed sorrowfully out at the bustling townsfolk below, all of them going about their lives with renewed hope for riches. Thorin and his company had likely already reached the mountain. She wondered how much time this town had left, and how great the cost would be when the dragon awoke.
Bard suddenly burst into the room, his expression stormy as he looked over the gathering. His sharp eyes fixed on Talessa.
"You knew!" he accused, his voice tight with anger. Though her veil concealed her face, Talessa felt as if he could see the guilt written across it. She straightened her posture, meeting his glare. She knew what he meant—Bard of Esgaroth was a perceptive man, and he must have pieced together the truth of the dreaded prophecy.
"It has been foretold for ages," Talessa said defensively, though her voice wavered with guilt. "It is meant to happen this way."
Bard scoffed, his expression incredulous. "Yet they left you behind. What kind of leader is Thorin, to abandon his people to burn and die?"
"Tessie, what is he talking about?" Eline interjected, but Talessa didn't answer. Instead, she stepped closer to Bard.
"Thorin didn't know," she admitted quietly. "But even if he did, it wouldn't have changed much. This is his destiny."
"And what of us?" Bard demanded. "What of the people here?"
Talessa hesitated, guilt clawing at her. "We can still help. We must warn the townsfolk—"
"No," Bard cut her off, his anger fading into resignation. "They won't listen. Not now, with their eyes blinded by Thorin's promises of gold. And even if they did, the mayor would never let them leave."
"Papa..." Sigrid stepped toward him, her voice trembling with worry. Bard pulled her into a protective embrace, but the weight of Talessa's silence bore down on the room.
"Father!" Bain's voice suddenly broke through the tense air. "The mountain—it's on fire!"
They all rushed to the window. Through the thickening dusk, flames could be seen flickering from the slits and cracks of Erebor, making it appear ablaze.
"It's coming for us," Talessa whispered, clutching Eline's hand. Her wide eyes remained fixed on the mountain, unable to look away.
The first screams came from the docks, spreading through the town like wildfire. Fíli grabbed a rugged knife and dashed outside to investigate. Moments later, he returned—followed by Tauriel.
The elf swept past everyone, her focus entirely on Kíli, who was now too delirious to distinguish reality. He reached for her weakly, calling her an angel. Tauriel knelt beside him, her worry etched on her face as she examined his wound.
Fíli quickly explained that orcs were attacking the town. Bard and his children paled. At that moment, Bofur burst into the room, a handful of herbs clutched in his hands.
"This is all I could find," he panted, his face grim. He froze when he saw Tauriel.
"Athelas," she murmured, her voice calming. "It is exactly what we need." She took the herbs from him and directed the dwarves to help hold Kíli steady while she tended to his wound.
"We're leaving," Bard declared to his children, ordering them to pack their essentials. He headed to the kitchen, grabbing his bow and arrow.
Talessa followed him, her panic rising. If he left the town, there would be no one to slay the dragon, as she was sure that was what she saw in her vision: Bard standing on the tower, firing that great black arrow.
The arrow... that was now hanging from the ceiling of the kitchen, being used as a herb rack. She quickly climbed onto a stool and yanked the arrow down, holding it tightly to her chest. She took a wild guess, piecing together fragments of the stories she had heard. Bard has to be a descendant of Lord Girion, the former leader of Dale—the man who had failed to kill the dragon so many years ago. Now, as fate would have it, his great-grandson would be the one to finish what Girion could not.
"You can't leave," she said firmly, blocking the man's path. "You have this arrow for a reason. You're the only one who can change the fate of this town."
Bard looked at her, displeased.
"We'll take your children to safety," she insisted, "but you must stay. That's how the prophecy really ends—you fixing what your ancestor couldn't. Slaying Smaug."
To her relief, something in her words seemed to resonate. Bard took the arrow from her hands, his eyes shifting to the windlance on the tower in the town square.
"You take them," he said at last. "Keep them safe, no matter what."
Talessa barely had time to nod before Bard dashed out the door, only for Bain to run after him moments later. She reached for the boy, but he was too quick.
"We have no time," Tauriel said, rising as she finished binding Kíli's leg. "We need to leave."
"What about the orcs?" Eline asked, peering out the window. It was almost completely dark now.
"There was another elf," Bofur informed them. "I believe he's handling them."
"Legolas..." Tauriel murmured, but she shook her head, refocusing on Kíli. Though he insisted he could walk, he was still too weak, and Fíli and Oin had to help him downstairs.
Time had indeed run out. As they left the house and filed into an abandoned boat, an earsplitting roar shattered the air. A fiery blaze consumed the town in moments, the dragon's fury spilling out in waves of destruction. Now that he had lost the mountain, Smaug turned his wrath on this lonely town.
Tauriel guided the boat silently through narrow canals, dodging burning buildings and panicked crowds. Talessa kept her eyes fixed on the windlance, searching desperately for any sign of Bard. The smoke was too thick, obscuring everything, and she couldn't tell if the man had made it or not. She clung to the hope that at least his son had found him and they were safe together.
Smaug circled the town above them, deliberately targeting areas where he could cause the most destruction.
"Look!" shouted little Tilda, pointing to a burning roof near the town square.
"It's Papa!" Sigrid cried, grabbing her sister's hand. Eline reached out and pulled both of them closer as they watched Bard, now being targeted by the dragon.
They sat frozen with awe and terror as Bard leaped from building to building, narrowly avoiding dragonfire raining down around him. He was getting closer to the tower. Talessa wondered if Smaug recognized him, realized whose descendant he was. The dragon seemed fixated on Bard, as though driven by a personal vendetta against Esgaroth's bargeman.
A collective sigh of relief ran through the boat as Bard finally reached the tower, but it was short-lived. Smaug slammed his massive body into the structure, causing the upper floors to collapse. Still, Bard held on. They could just make out a smaller figure climbing up after him. As Smaug turned again, ready to finish the job, the figure reached Bard—it was Bain.
Sigrid and Tilda buried their tear-streaked faces in Eline's chest, their sobs heartbreaking as they watched their father and brother prepare for what seemed an impossible task.
From the boat, they saw Bard fastening the broken windlance, with Bain helping to steady the shattered pieces. Together, they aimed the arrow at the oncoming dragon.
It felt as if time itself had stopped as the gleaming black arrow soared through the air. Smaug didn't even try to avoid it. The arrow struck true, piercing deep into his chest. The dragon roared in pain and disbelief, a pitiful sound that echoed over the burning town. His enormous wings faltered, and he plummeted into the lake below.
There was a deafening crash of splintering wood as his body struck a lonely boat on the water. A massive splash followed, then silence as Smaug's golden-scaled form sank beneath the surface, dragged to the depths by his own immense weight.
Bilbo and the dwarves watched from the outlook as Esgaroth burned. Their shoulders slumped, their faces heavy with sorrow. Their friends were down there, and they had no way of knowing whether they would survive Smaug's carnage. Some of them glanced toward Thorin. He wasn't looking at the town. Instead, his gaze was fixed on the mountain, a dazed smile spreading across his face as he held the Arkenstone tightly in his hand.
Bilbo's stomach sank at the sight. The dwarven king's own nephews— and his lady Talessa—might be burning right now, yet Thorin seemed utterly unfazed. A surge of anger and disbelief bubbled up in Bilbo, and he opened his mouth to confront him, but his eyes met Balin's, who shook his head firmly, silently urging him to hold his tongue. This was not the time.
Suddenly, the dwarves erupted into shouts, and Bilbo spun back toward the town just in time to see the great beast Smaug plummet from the sky, crashing into the lake below. The dragon never emerged again. Relief surged through him, and his worry eased slightly, though it did not vanish entirely.
Moments later, a flock of ravens burst through the clouds, flying straight toward the Lonely Mountain.
"The ravens of Erebor are returning to the mountain!" exclaimed Gloin, his voice filled with awe.
"Before long," added Balin, "the whole of Middle-earth will know—the dragon is dead." He shouted the last part with a triumphant fervor, and the dwarves burst out in cheers.