Rue (A Thorin Oakenshield/Hobbit Fanfiction)

34

The man had a firm grip on his bow, his aim unwavering. Thorin and Talia exchanged a glance, but no other dwarf dared to move. Based on his garb, he had to be from Lake-Town, the sole obstacle that sat between them and the mountain. So Balin seized the opportunity, seeing a small boat tied to the dock on shore.

"Excuse me, but..." Balin stepped forward, his hands raised in humble surrender. "You're from Lake-Town, if I'm not mistaken? That barge over there, it wouldn't be available for hire, by any chance?"

The King and Queen watched the encounter carefully. Though they were wary of the position the bowman had them in, Balin had always been the smartest of their ranks. He was trying to solve their predicament, using a diplomacy only a royal advisor could.

When the bowman continued to hold his weapon against them, the pair's hope began to dissipate. Then, he released the taut string, turning away from the Company and starting towards his barge. But Thorin, Talia, and Balin knew they could not let this chance pass them by. Following him to his small boat, they decided that the man's silence would suffice for agreement to discuss the matter. 

"What makes you think I would help you?" He said, beginning to move the waterlogged barrels from the dock to his barge.

"Those boots have seen better days, as has that coat." Balin observed, nodding to his worn attire. "No doubt you have some hungry mouths to feed. How many bairns?"

"A boy and two girls."

"And your wife, I imagine she's a beauty?"

The bowman paused momentarily, sparing a glance at Balin. From the look in his eyes, Thorin didn't need him to answer to know what he had lost. 

"Aye. She was."

Balin's face fell, realizing his mistake. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"Oh, come on, come on. Enough with the niceties." Dwalin said, stepping forward before Talia could stop him.

"What's your hurry?"

"What's it to you?"

"I would like to know who you are, and what you were doing in these lands." The man replied, narrowing his gaze. Something about the waterlogged dwarves told him that their travel was far from innocent in intent.

"We are simple merchants from the Blue Mountains, journeying to see our kin in the Iron Hills."

"Simple merchants, you say?"

Thorin stepped beside Balin before he could question them further. "We need food, supplies, weapons. Can you help us?"

But the bowman spared the dwarf a glance. "I know where these barrels came from."

"What of it?"

Talia watched the conversation carefully, remaining in the shadows. She knew that her appearance would raise even more questions, for she was a dwarf with no beard. And as Tauriel had said, there was only one Half-Blood in Middle Earth with her looks. If the heirs to the throne of Erebor were discovered, there was no chance the man would help them.

"I don't know what business you had with the Elves, but I don't think it ended well." The bargeman responded, glancing at their soaking wet clothes and hair. "No one enters Lake-Town but by lead of the Master. All his wealth comes from trade with the Woodland Realm. He would see you in irons before risking the wrath of King Thranduil."

He hopped into his barge, throwing the rope to Balin. The elder of their group was quite pleasant to talk to, which made a part of him want to help. But he hadn't told them that the Master would love to see him in irons as well, for their feuding was extensive. He hated the Master more than most, but the Master returned that hatred just as strongly.