There were few people that Thorin Oakenshield trusted. He trusted his kin, but that was it. After losing the Lonely Mountain, the dwarves of Erebor were looked down upon by many races of Middle Earth and elves had a special place of distrust in Thor...
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Oreliell looked up at the mountain as the dwarves gathered their few belongings. The journey up to the mountain wouldn't take long. Once the dwarves were ready, Oreliell began leading them up the large hill.
She had to keep a slower pace, but she didn't mind. She listened to the dwarves talk about the mountain and how spectacular Erebor looked just from the outside. They talked about their families, lightly wondering if they had survived the dragon. Oreliell tried to block those bits of conversation out, but the thought was weighing heavily on her mind.
Were they all alive? Had anyone been hurt? Where were they now?
She hadn't realized that they had come to the entrance. She slowed to a stop, staring up at the grand stone, even though it had mostly been destroyed by Smaug. Around her, the dwarves exchanged looks before running inside. Before he crossed over the threshold, Oin turned to look at her.
"Well don't just stand there, lass!" he called. "Come on!"
