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.
"Drama queen," I mutter under my breath, though Thorin hears it. His chuckle shakes my head as it lays on his chest, so I lean away. Looking up, our eyes meet and we fall into silence. It's not like our eyes battle in any fashion, we just stare at each other in analysis. Why we do this, I can't say, but it continues on for minutes.
"There's, um, just a problem: we're ten coins short," Balin coughs from behind us, breaking us out of a trance.
"Gloin. Come on. Give us what you have," Thorin commands, all of us knowing who continually cheats out on his part.
"Don't look to me. I have been bled dry by this venture! And what have I seen for my investment? Naught but misery and grief and-" Gloin begins, before noticing the rising mountain above our heads. I whip my head around for my eyes to meet our long desired home. Erebor. The Lonely Mountain. All the dwarves sitting come to stand, as if in respect to their homeland.
"Bless my beard. Take it. Take all of it," Gloin stutters. I grab Thorin's hand, looking up to see him gaze wholly at the mountain. A smile paints my face as I stare upon my One, who looks complete for the first time since the journey's beginning.
"The money, quick, give it to me," Bard demands, killing the moment. His words snap Thorin back to reality, his hand coming to grasp mine more presently.
"We'll pay you when we get our provisions, but not before," Thorin replies. It would be a reasonable thing to ask if Bard wasn't smuggling us in. He deserves whatever we can give to him in thanks for his help.
"If you value your freedom, you'll do as I say. There are guards ahead," he says, causing us to turn and look upon the frozen town in the distance. Even from this distance, I can see its dilapidated state and hollowing presence. I shutter.
"Into the barrels," Bard commands, though none of us move. "Now please!" That sends us all moving, up and into the barrels. We all take our previous positions, though Sidel shares a barrel with Bilbo this time. Thorin launches himself into the barrel first, getting comfortable before he gestures for me to get in. I slide into the barrel, feet first before finding the most compacted position to stay in. Of course, this happens to be straddling Thorin's lap, which is nothing but awkward. We avoid eye contact at all costs, though it's difficult as I am also leaning over him. Like I've said before, Thorin continually gets us into awkward situations, in more ways than one.
I feel the barg pull to a stop on a dock, though it is not tied down. The muttering of voices reaches my ear, but I cannot make out their words due to the thick wood of the barrel and Thorin's breathing in my ear.
"Shh, what's he doing?" Dwalin whispers from a nearby barrel.
"He's talking to someone," Bilbo says, clearly having a peephole to look through. He continues with words that send fear into all of us: "And he's...pointing right at us! Now they're shaking hands."
"What?" Gloin asks from another barrel. I am surprised that we have not been heard yet, truth be told.
"That villain! He's selling us out," Dwalin actually shouts. I groan out in annoyance, accidentally right near Thorin's ear. He squirms underneath me, his eyes finally meeting mine. I gulp at the growing temperature within our barrel, as we get closer, and closer, and closer to kissing. That is, until pounds of dead fish are poured on our heads.
"Ahh!" I yell as the first fish falls hard on my head. I crumple into Thorin as a seemingly innumerable amount of fish are thrown into our barrel. I bury my head into Thorin's hair, and his head nuzzles my hair, as we try to block out the fishy perfume.
The barge begins to move again, clearly after the other man was done pouring fish on us. I'm not going to lie; that surprise has made me bitter.
"Oh god," Dwalin mutters, accurately describing my feelings in two words.
"Quiet! We're approaching the toll gate," Bard whispers harshly at us.
"Well this is romantic," I mutter into Thorin's neck. He chuckles at me, nuzzling my neck sweetly with his cheek and nose.
"Halt! Goods inspection. Papers, please. Oh, it's you, Bard," a new man shouts, seemingly the gatekeeper. His words confuse me to no end: is it normal in Laketown to own a barg?
"Morning, Percy," Bard greets, stopping the barg next to the supposed gate.
"Anything to declare?" Percy asks, lacking suspicion in his voice. From what I am hearing, Bard and Percy must be friends.
"Nothing, but that I am cold and tired, and ready for home," Bard replies, clearly trying to progress quickly through the gate.
"You and me both," Percy admits. It's quiet for a few minutes, the only sounds I hear are Thorin breathing and the occasional shifting of fish above me due to gravity.
"Here we are. All in order," Percy breaks the monotonous silence with words of good news. However, as usual, some stupid force counters the man's good news.
"Not so fast," I hear from the barrel. Both Thorin's and my own breathing stop at his words.
"Consignment of empty barrels from the Woodland Realm. Only, they're not empty, are they, Bard?" the new man addresses the bargeman. Feet of multitude humans shuffle towards us with his words: "If I recall correctly, you're licensed as a bargeman, not a fisherman."
What is up with dumb people today? First Dwalin shouts when we're clearly trying to hide. Now, the man has come to the genius conclusion that the "bargman" does not fish, but directs a barg. I would never have expected that.
"That's none of your business," Bard responds, effectively hiding his fear of our discovery under fake confidence.
"Wrong. It's the Master's business, which makes it my business," the man replies. I can just figure that, from these words, the people here are suppressed under a dictator, suffering in the scraps of poverty while the Master eats only the best foreign food. Humanity can be disgusting, that I am sure of.
"Oh come on, Alfrid, have a heart. People need to eat!" Bard pleads with Alfrid to have some kind of human decency. With every passing word, my anger for the Master and his people grows, along with my loathing of this cold habitat.
"These fish are illegal," Alfrid restates before giving the dreaded command, "Empty the barrels over the side."
"You heard him. Into the canal. Come on, get a move on," another man yells to what I assume are soldiers. I hear the spilling of fish into the canal, and with the fish falls my hope for safety.
"Folk in this town are struggling. Times are hard. Food is scarce," Bard continues to indirectly plead with Alfrid.
"That's not my problem," Alfrid responds like any good servant of a dictator would. Do these men have no conscience?
"And when the people hear the Master is dumping fish back in the lake, when the rioting starts, will it be your problem then?" Bard threatens. Seconds pass with fish pouring into the canal, until suddenly, it stops with the single word from Alfrid: "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," Alfrid threatens Bard back. My regard for Bard suddenly heightens at this new development. I consider myself to be on the team of those who side with the common man. It looks like Bard and I have something we agree on.
"Raise the gate!" Percy commands, allowing Bard to begin rowing again. I sigh in relief, more than grateful for Bard in that moment.
"The Master has his eye on you; you'd do well to remember. We know where you live," Alfrid shouts from a distance away. I grimace at his words.
"It's a small town, Alfrid; everyone knows where everyone lives," Bard reminds him. A grin suddenly arises on my face at his sass, knowing we will get on just fine. Our movement down the canal this time is not hindered by any words or threats, so I relax into Thorin who looks less than pleased with the situation, but relieved at the same time.
Now to the utmost concern: how am I ever going to get the smell of fish out of my clothes?
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Saw The Desolation of Smaug yesterday and it was fantastic as always. This chapter is quite boring, but the next two should be much better, with a surprise guest appearance. Get excited, people. It's gonna be a party.
xo
Patagonian
~The "are you serious" look on Thorin's face at the end of the gif is killer~