Saving Durin {Hobbit/Thorin}

Chapter 27: Is that an olive or...?

Chapter 27:

Always have hope, especially when you find question objects in your pocket

We coast across the icy waters of the Lake in a surprisingly graceful way for a wooden barge. The bow of the ship keeps a constant speed as it effortlessly pushes away the chilling ice and murky water. I keep to the center of the boat, as far from the water as possible, which isn't very far at all. My teeth chatter in the cold, as my body is neither ready nor suitable for the weather here. Noticing my obvious discomfort, Thorin pulls my back into his chest. His arms wind protectively around my shoulders as I lean my body into his. I escape into the warmth that his chest radiates, as he burrows into my own warmth. My cheeks and the tip of my nose are painted a flush pink due to the cold, and my hands cuddle up inside my tunic in order to avoid frostbite.

The boat travels blindly through the thick fog of the winter morning, breaking away ice, but unable to break the darkness beneath our feet. Suddenly, the mundane scene of the past hour flees as old stone ruins slide dangerously close to the barge. Given the lack of things to do in the small space on deck, I am not the only one who notices.

"Watch out!" Bofur shouts to the bargeman as he expertly guides us through the ruins. I release a sigh of relief, my tense body collapsing back into Thorin's chest. However, when I relax, he tenses up in anger.

"What are you trying to do, drown us?" Thorin shouts at the man. Great way to start a relationship, Thorin. Yelling at the man. Brilliant, just brilliant!

"I was born and bred on these waters, Master Dwarf. If I wanted to drown you, I would not do it here," the man reassures Thorin, anger absent in his tone. I silently praise the Valar for bringing someone into this journey who does not have anger issues.

"Oh I have enough of this lippy lakeman. I say we throw him over the side and be done with him," Dwalin yells.

"He's the lippy one?! Dwalin, don't be a hypocrite," I shout at the dwarf. Thorin pulls me further into his chest, probably in an attempt to shush me.

"Ohh, Bard, his name's Bard," Bilbo pipes up angrily. I grin at my hobbit, who stands at my side.

"How do you know?" Bofur asks, genuinely confused.

"Uh, I asked him," Bilbo sassily replies. I giggle at the hobbit, loving the sass that I tend to rub off on people.

"I don't care what he calls himself, I don't like him," Dwalin whispers, very obviously, into Thorin's, and therefore my own, ear. My anger bubbles at the stubborn dwarf's words.

"You literally just met him," I remind him, a suppressed anger underlying my tone. Honestly, Dwalin has to be the most stubborn creature I have ever met. Even Thorin pales in comparison to Dwalin's pigheadedness, and that's saying something.

"We do not have to like him, we simply have to pay him. Come on now, lads, turn out your pockets," Balin prompts us. I pull away to Thorin, digging into my pockets and boots in an attempt to find anything of value. The effort is almost pointless as I look at all the junk I pulled out of my pockets. In my left hand, three silver coins shine in the misty light of Erebor along with a pin and a rose pedal. My right hand holds three pebbles, a shell, and an old olive. At least I hope its an olive. Thorin, looking over my shoulder stares down at the loot I dug out from the depths of my clothes; his face reflects confusion as he turns to look at me. I just shrug before placing the three coins by Balin. Almost immediately, I am grabbed up again by Thorin, my head now resting on his chest.

"How do we know he won't betray us?" Dwalin asks from our sides.

"We don't," Thorin logically, and surprisingly not brazenly, replies. The bald dwarf turns away from us, clearly unhappy with Thorin's response.