In the Ruins//Legolas

Chapter 8; The Dwarves Don't Like Durion's Old Friend

"Not so fast." Durion hears rustling of papers. "Consignment of empty barrels from the Woodland Realm. Only, they're not empty, are they, Bard? If I recall correctly, you're licensed as a bargeman, not a fisherman." The elf's heartbeat picks up.

"That's none of your business."

"Wrong. It's the Master's business, which makes it my business."

"Oh come on, Alfrid, have a heart. People need to eat!"

"These fish are illegal. Empty the barrels over the side." The voice commands and heavy footsteps fall onto the deck.

"You heard him. Into the canal. Come on, get a move on."

"Folk in this town are struggling. Times are hard. Food is scarce."

"That's not my problem."

"And when the people hear the Master is dumping fish back in the lake, when the rioting starts, will it be your problem then?" There's a tense silence hanging in the air for a moment.

"Stop. Ever the people's champion, eh, Bard? Protector of the common folk? You might have their favor now, bargeman, but it won't last." The mean voice spats out and walks away with the guards.

"Raise the gate!" The boat begins to move again.

"The Master has his eye on you; you'd do well to remember. We know where you live."

"It's a small town, Alfrid; everyone knows where everyone lives."

***

Bard docks the barge near his house and starts knocking the barrels over. As the dwarves realize what he's doing, they start climbing out of them by themselves and Durion stands up, Bard's coat in hand. One of the townsmen looks at the scene in shock and Bard slips him a couple of coins.

"You didn't see them, they were never here. The fish you can have for nothing." Then he turns back to the dwarves as he sips on the coat Durion handed him. "Follow me." As they walk a young boy runs up to them

"Da! Our house, it's being watched." Bard frowns and thinks for a moment, then nods to himself.

"The dwarves and the hobbit can get in under the house, but you won't fit." Bard tells Durion and the elf hums.

"I can use a rune." He tells Bard after a moment.

"Alright, wait here for a few minutes before you do. I'll tell my kids." And so he waited before drawing the Raidho rune and appearing in the middle of Bard's wooden house in the middle of a group of wet and angry dwarves. A teenage girl he appeared next to let out a small yelp and stumbled back. Durion lifted his hands in apology and sheepishly smiled.

"Da, you weren't lying! There is a magic elf!" The youngest girl, still just a child, laughs while staring at Durion with wide, gleeful eyes.

"I wouldn't lie to you, Tilda. Now come and hand these out." Bard smiled and gave the young girl some blankets. "It may not be the best fit, but it'll keep you warm."

"Thank you very much." Shivering Bilbo sighs in relief.

"A Dwarvish Wind-Lance." Thorin speaks, staring out of the window with wide eyes.

"You look like you've seen a ghost." The hobbit looks over the dwarf's shoulder.

"He has. The last time we saw such a weapon, a city was on fire. It was the day the dragon came." Balin sighs, looking at the weapon with painful nostalgia. "The day that Smaug destroyed Dale. Girion, the Lord of the city, rallied his bowman to fire upon the beast. But a dragon's hide is tough, tougher than the strongest armor. Only a black arrow, fired from a wind-lance, could have pierced the dragon's hide, and few of those arrows were ever made. His store was running low when Girion made his last stand."

"Had the aim of Men been true that day, much would have been different." Thorin grumbles.

"You speak as if you were there." Bard approaches the dwarven heir with suspicion.

"All dwarves know the tale."

"Then you would know that Girion hit the dragon. He loosened a scale under the left wing. One more shot and he would have killed the beast." Bard's son, Bain, spoke up.

"That's a fairy story, lad. Nothing more."

"You took our money. Where are the weapons?"

"Wait here." Bard turns and walks out of the house.

"Tomorrow begins the last days of autumn." Thorin speaks to the company in a hushed voice.

"Durin's Day falls morn after next. We must reach the mountain before then."

"And if we do not? If we fail to find the hidden door before that time?"

"Then this quest has been for nothing."

"Hey now, there's always next year." Durion shrugs. Bard then reuters and places a big, long package onto the dining table. He unties the strings and reveals a bunch of handmade weapons.

"What is this?" Thorin frowns, picking up one of them with disgust.

"Pike-hook. Made from an old harpoon."

"And this?"

"A crowbill, we call it, fashioned from a smithy's hammer. It's heavy in hand, I grant, but in defense of your life, these will serve you better than none."

"We paid you for weapons. Iron-forged swords and axes!" Gloin shouted and tossed the half-spear back onto the pile.

"It's a joke!" The other dwarves follow suit.

"You won't find better outside the city armory. All iron-forged weapons are held there under lock and key." The small glint of greed in Thorin's and Dwalin's eyes escaped Durion.

"Thorin. Why not take what's been offered and go? I've made do with less; so have you. I say we leave now." Balin tried to reason.

"You're not going anywhere." Bard jumped in.

"What did you say!?"

"There's spies watching this house and probably every dock and wharf in the town. You must wait till nightfall." After hearing that, the company settled down, all of them finding some corner to huddle up in. Durion himself sat on the floor in front of the fireplace. His back was leaned against the couch. His mind was suddenly fogged over by exhaustion. He barely registered Bard leaving the house before his eyelids slipped shut.