„And reflected on the faded tapestries now; the chill, uncertain sunlight of those long childhood hours when you were so afraid."- Before the summer rains, Rainer Maria Rilke
In her hand she held clutched tightly the warm mug that Master Bard's daughter had given her. The young girl had at first been startled and slightly in awe at the dwarves' arrival, but then the girl had been raised from her astonishment and had seemed timid and intimidated at the image of the rough and battle-hardened dwarves, especially Dwalin who had been carrying a harsh and angry expression since they'd had to make their way through the underground sewers and excrements of Lake Town and had entered Master Bard's home through his water closet. Seeing the slightly fearful expression of the young girl and remembering her awe when she had first met the company, Laurel had laid an appeasing hand on her shoulder as she had passed by the girl and once she had looked at her, Laurel had smiled a comforting smile, wishing not to cause their hosts too much distress. The young girl had seemed thankful and had come to Laurel first to give her a dress, that the girl had stated was hers and freshly washed, a blanket and a warm mug with a spiced warm beverage. Laurel had changed into the blue dress with its white skirt that was slightly tight at her chest but that otherwise fit her perfectly. She now sat at the window while Thorin stood beside her looking out of the window was a look of disbelief.
She furrowed her brow at the dwarves' expression. She looked to her side out the window to see what held Thorin's disbelieving with such ferocity. Following the path of his eyes, she was met with the sight of a weapon on top of a tall tower that stood central in the settlement. The edges of the tower had been worn away and appeared crumbled like ruins, but her interest was held by the large black bow that stood at its centre, aimed towards the Lonely Mountain, which's silhouette she had glimpsed on the far eastern horizon. She heard him mumble: "The dwarfish wind lance". She was just about to address him and ask him what had caused him such visible distress when Bilbo preceded her, mumbling while taking a sip from the steaming mug: "You look like you have seen a ghost." Thorin wrenched his gaze away from the sight in the window that had so astounded him to look over his shoulders at her cousin. For a few moments, the dwarfish king did not answer to her cousin's comment. Balin came up behind them and answered for his superior: "He has." Laurel furrowed her brow and listened in interest as Balin started his tale:
"The last time we saw such a weapon, a city was on fire. It was the day the dragon came. The day that Smaug destroyed Dale. Girion, the Lord of Dale, crowded his bowman to fire at the beast. But a dragon's hide is tough. Tougher than the strongest armour. Only a black arrow fired from a wind lance would pierce the dragon's hide. And few of those arrows were ever made. The stores were running low when Girion made his last attempt."
Laurel had looked down into the contents of her mug, as the occurrences of the day ran through her mind's eye, accompanying Balin's narrative. She imagined a city burning like a torch on fire, with its spreading like the quickest and most flighty gale. She imagined the desperation of the archers as they shot at the beast, their aims well and true, only to see the menace utterly unimpaired. She imagined Girion, standing at the tallest tower of the city, firing black arrow after black arrow with unending hope to save his town. A hope which would prove fruitless.
She tipped her head back and looked towards Thorin with a hooded gaze, as he stated after Balin had finished his tale: "If that man's aim had been true, much would have been different." She could detect the acerbity and the bitterness in his words and once more she could feel his longing that his past had been different. Oh, how many regrets Thorin possessed. His past, his loss, his exile, the death of his grandfather and the disappearance of his father... her. She closed her eyes as she was reminded of his words and she could not help but to feel resentment and to wish that he could let go off all that caused him regret, all that caused him pain. That he could let go off the hold he had on her.
The wooden floor groaned beneath them as they heard footsteps approach them and the four of them simultaneously looked towards the source of the sound to find their host standing before them and looking at Thorin with a guarded and wary expression. The man stated: "You speak as if you were there." Laurel's spine straightened as she perceived Bard's suspicion towards them, but she soon relaxed once more as Balin was able to dispel it by stating: "All dwarves know the tale." She rested her back against the wooden wall of Bard's home and continued to look at the bow, which had caused such melancholy remembrance in Thorin, all the while thinking that they had to be more cautious of what and the manner in which they talked in the presence of the bowman.
"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." She looked towards Bard's son as he had started to speak, in intrigue. She furrowed her brow in annoyance when she heard Dwalin chuckle condescendingly behind the boy and he stated in a mocking tone: "It is a fairy tale, lad. Nothing more. There is nothing to believe in it." Chagrin raised within her and she stated in a low voice: "There is no harm with believing in stories. It gives one hope or perhaps a little solace, if nothing else." She recalled all the times when the tattered book of stories that lay in her home had given her solace from her childhood sadness. When they had offered her as an escape from mundane and at times cruel reality. She did not believe that there was anything wrong with believing in stories, how could she when all her life she had adored them. She saw Master Bard smiling a small and grateful smile at her. But then his gaze was pulled away from her when Thorin stepped before her and stated in an intimidating and demanding tone: "You have our money. Where are the weapons you promised us?"
Bard looked down at the dwarf and for a moment studied him with an unreadable expression, slightly alarmed by the dwarf's demanding and authoritative tone. "Wait here." Bard stated with a hard voice and descended the stairs they had ascended to enter his home. Seeing the man's absence, Balin, Thorin, Fili and Kili stood in a circle and Thorin stated with a whispered voice, still attentive to the fact that Bard had not gone far: "Durin's day falls tomorrow." Balin continued: "We must reach the mountain before then." Kili asked in a frantic and anxious whisper, his hair clinging to his forehead that glistened with sweat and his young face still as pale as when they had extracted the arrow from his leg: "What if we don't? What if we don't find the entrance by then." In response, Fili spat with a hard voice: „Then it was all for nothing."
The dwarves looked up from their conversation when they heard the wooden stairs groan, announcing Bard's return. The man walked towards the table with a long, black package beneath his arms that he laid on the kitchen table and opened to reveal a vast array of tools. Laurel sat with Bilbo on one end of the table, as the dwarves surrounded Bard on the other end and picked up the weapons to inspect them. She saw Fili muster Bard disbelievingly as he picked up a heavy hammer which was slightly rusty from age. „What is this?" She heard Thorin state, indignant. Bard proceeded to explain the weapon to Thorin, which had been made from old fisherman equipment and he finished his explanation by stating: „They are heavy in hand, I grant you. But they will be better to protect your life then none." She saw her leader's face contort with aversion at the crude weaponry and he flung the metal harpoon that he'd held in his hands back onto the pile of tools. The dwarven king crossed his arms on his chest, angered that he had been offered weapons that would not serve him for fighting Smaug, and spat through gritted teeth: „We paid you for weapons. Iron and axes. This is a joke."
Bard looked at the dwarven king with equal chagrin and stated: „You'll find no better weapons outside the city's armoury." At the sound of those words, she saw Dwalin give a long look to Thorin and she closed her eyes as she realised the intention of the dwarves who had all grown uncharacteristically quiet and slightly appeased after their tumultuous indignation towards the bowman. Her indignation at the perilous plot and their disregard of Bard's warnings about the Master flamed within her and she was unable to sharply call out: „Thorin!" At the sound of the dwarf's name, Bard's head snapped towards their leader. Laurel saw him furrow his brow in confusion and then his gaze moved to her and the sinking realisation came to her that he'd never heard their names before. She quickly continued with what she wished to say, her voice trembling slightly, so as not to rouse more suspicion within Bard: „You have made do with less." She met his grey-blue eyes with a confident and fierce gaze, telling him silently to not go to the city armoury and risk detection by the Master of Lake Town, reminding him of all that Bard had told them about the villainous reign of the man. He held her gaze for a few moments, but the pursing his lips in indignation he looked away and walked away from the assembled company.
„We are leaving." Dwalin stated in a final tone and in response, Bard exclaimed loudly: „You are not going anywhere!" Her eyes widened and alarm flooded her in fear that he had discovered their deception and the dwarves' true identity. She felt self-deprication that she had so carelessly revealed Thorin's name and that she had been so impetuous. „The Master has spies watching my house. And in every corner and wharf of the town. You must wait until nightfall." With a unanimously disgruntled groan the dwarves sat at the table and they proceeded to await nightfall when they could leave Lake Town.
He paced backwards and forwards on the front porch of his home, almost as if the motion could chase away the feeling of premonition and recognition that had taken a hold of him when the dwarf's name had been revealed to him. „Thorin," he muttered under his breath, the name of the leader of the company he had encountered on the edge of Mirkwood Forest and had smuggled into Esgaroth.
He couldn't understand what it was about the name of the dwarf that seemed familiar to him. Almost as if he was a mythical and well-known figure from one of the tales that his grandfather had told him during his infancy. Like he was a protagonist of one of those well-known stories that young Laurel had defended so vehemently.
Normally, he would have disregarded this inkling he'd felt at the sound of the name, thinking himself silly and overcautious for minding such details. But now the sensation that coursed through his veins was too strong to be dismissed and he felt that he needed to know why the name had invoked such familiarity. He once more repeated the name under his breath and walked across the porch like a wild and restless animal. Then suddenly he felt a pulling at the nape of his neck, while simultaneously recalling the dwarves' disbelieving and awed gaze at the Lonely Mountain where Durin's line had previously reigned prosperously but which was currently the seat of Smaug. His eyes widened as that thought crossed his mind and he recalled the story of the Durin Line that his grandfather had always told him. Recalled that his grandfather had portrayed the line of the late King Thror to be just and valiant as the dwarven lord's reign had been until he had fallen under the influence of his gold and with his greed had attracted the dragon. And he recalled with a sinking sensation, the prophecy his grandfather had always recited in a grave and solemn voice at the end of the tale. The last line of the poem kept repeating on a continuous loop in his mind.
The realisation packed him with a ferocity that took his breath away and as he pondered over the implications, would his suspicion prove true, that this event could have he grew cold with fear. Shaking his head, he tried to rationalize that perhaps it was only his exhausted mind causing him to overimaginate, but he needed to be sure. He needed to see that wall carpet. The turquoise fabric that his grandfather had shown him so long ago when he was an impressionable youth.
„Master Bard," he was roused from his thoughts by the dulcet voice and he looked over his shoulders to see Miss Laurel coming out of the house and towards him. Her step faltered when she saw his grave expression and her delicate features contorted with something akin to concern as she moved towards him asking: „Are you well? You are pale as a sheet." As he looked at her, a sinking feeling of betrayal expanded within him as he realised that she had known the truth and had actively participated in the deception. As he realised that she was part of the undertaking that would bring so much ruin, more ruin and misery than her young mind could fathom. She recoiled when she saw his expression and he knew that he was looking at her with hurt and anger clear on his features. He saw her blue eyes widen and just as her lips parted to once more address him, the door opened behind her and they both look back to see his son coming out of his home and ask: „Father?"
His features set themselves with determination and he moved towards Laurel, grabbing her wrist and pulling her with him as he moved towards the tapestry vendor. As he passed his son, he stated in a low whisper: „Don't let them leave." He felt her stiffen behind him, but he paid no mind as he determinedly stormed towards the acquainted vendor. Throughout the entirety of their trajectory, she asked him where they were going with increasing alarm. He rued to treat the girl, whose kindness he had perceived with a mere look into her eyes, so harshly. He tried to appease himself by believing that she had not known, that she knew nothing, that she did not know what consequences her actions and that of her leader could have. Yet he still pulled her roughly with him, because he needed to enlighten her, he needed to enlighten himself.
He only let go off her wrist when he arrived at the shop and the vendor greeted him: „Hello, Bard." Looking towards the fair red-haired woman, the man smiled appreciatively and asked: „Who's the bird?" Bard started to search the items of the shop frantically and in response to his hurried and slightly desperate motions, the vendor asked him: „What are you searching for?" „There was a tapestry, an old one." He moved towards the pile of fabric and started to search through it. As he was about to move on to another corner of the shop, his eyes caught a glimpse of a familiar turquoise fabric. His hands grasped for it, like it was a life-line and he pulled it from beneath the other heavy fur. With quick steps he moved towards the wooden counter and spread the tapestry on its surface. He passed his shaking hands over the fabric to straighten it and then his hands moved over and revealed the name 'Thorin'. Stern eyes looked up at him, as he looked at the stitched likeness of the Durin's son. He exhaled and his brief feeling of triumph at having found the tapestry was blown away from the realisation of the danger he had brought into Lake Town and the consequences that he had, albeit unknowingly, encouraged. He looked to his side to see Laurel looking with a wide-eyed expression at the tapestry. Sensing his gaze on her, her eyes came to rest upon him and her features contorted with guilt and apologetically.
He was about to address her and ask her if she knew what dire consequences her actions held when he heard, people talking outside about dwarves and a prophecy: „These dwarves they will fulfil the prophecy. The prophecy of Durin's folk." He saw her ivory forehead wrinkle in confusion at the fisherman's words and then he started to say while looking her in the eyes, which grew more frightened and alarmed during the poem's progression:
King beneath the mountain,
King of carven stone,
The Lord of silver fountains
shall come into his own.
The bells shall rang in gladness
at the mountain king's return,
but all shall fail in sadness,
and the lake will shine and burn
He saw her frightened look and he shook his head as he stated: „If he goes into that mountain, it will be misery and death he will bring upon us." She slung her arms about her form and with a shake of her head she told him: „You won't be able to stop, Thorin. He cannot see anything beyond his own desires."
Determination seized him and he ran past her. From the sound of her footsteps behind him, he knew that she was following him to stop Thorin Oakenshield's intentions.