Bard of Laketown

Part Thirty-One

PART THIRTY-ONE

BARD'S POV

I don't understand why Areya is trying to convince the dwarves to leave for the mountain as soon as possible. Does she not want to stay with me? Did the kiss this morning mean nothing to her?

She is sitting with Fili and Kili, telling them one of the tales of the elves. They laugh loudly and she smiles at them, her eyes sparkling. I feel a twitch of jealousy, then feel like a fool, because didn't she tell me she loved me? 'Gi melin,' I whisper quietly.

And although I've not even known her for one month, I love her too. She is so different from anyone I've ever met. I understand now that it could be a good thing, for me to love again. I've never even tried to love somebody, until I met Areya.

I know that I said I would go to the mountain with them, but it will be different with the dwarves there. Thorin will call us 'weak-minded.' I walk out the door and stand outside, taking deep breaths. I need to clear this from my head.

Bard of Lake-town. Bard the Bowman. He is not supposed to think this way. He is a level-headed man, strong and brave, thinking things through. He never speaks what's on his mind, and never fears anything. I put my hands in the pockets of my coat, and scuff my boots on the ground.

All I want is to leave this town, with it's confining rules and thick gates.

If I had the money, I would travel to Gondor, or Rohan, where the kings rule with compassion and wisdom.

I would be free of Girion's shadow, start over, make a better life.

I slam my fists on the wall, knowing that the others probably heard, but I don't mind. I run down the dock, the wind drawing tears from my eyes. "What can the barge-man be doing at this time in the morning?"

"Bard, what are you doing? Is the devil after you?"

I ignore the shouts and laughter which accompanies them.

I run all the way to the gate and rest my face against the wooden post that stands against one side of the gate. My chest is heaving, the cold scratching the inside of my throat.

I hear voices coming toward me, and I shrink back into the shadows. It's two of the fishermen, discussing the quest of the dwarves.

"I hear that the elves are travelling to the mountain as well," one says. "The king wants some of the mountain's wealth for himself."

"Aye. The orcs are going too, hundreds of thousands of them. This will be the biggest battle of our time," the other replies.

I draw in a sharp breath. If all of these armies are fighting for Erebor, will any of the wealth promised to us even make it here? The one chance we had at rebuilding our town, to make it thrive, and it's tossed into the wind.

"Bard?" says a soft voice by my ear.

It's Areya. I don't turn to look at her. She will be fighting against me in the battle. I have to make her hate me, and then if we have to kill each other it will not be as hard.

She sits down beside me and takes my hand. I pull it away. I know I'm hurting her, but it must be done. I close my eyes for a moment. "Go with them now. I am staying here." My words are harsh, my voice stiff.

"I will not leave without you."

"Go. It is what must be done." I turn away, my back facing her. I can hear her sigh, the creaking of boards as she stands up and walks away. It must be done like this.