10. | WE'RE MORALLY AMBIGUOUS
"THERE'S AN ORC PACK ON OUR TAIL; WE KEEP MOVING." Thorin commands, looking as calm as ever despite the panic creeping into his voice. With good reason. We can't outrun orcs, nor outride them, and I have never learnt how to fly.
"To where?" Balin asks, his head cradled in his arms.
"To the mountain - we're so close." Bilbo utters, looking disbelieving. I agree. How can we give up now? I want my gold.
"A lake lies between us and that mountain. We have no way to cross it." Balin says, always the voice of reason. He's correct, but I have to disagree. There is a boat, which means there is a way to sail across. We just have to find it.
"So we go around."
"The orcs will run us down, as sure as daylight. We have no weapons to defend ourselves."
Thorin sighs, scrambling for an answer to his dilemma. We are soaking wet; thank Valar the weather is pleasant today. "Bind his leg, quickly. You have two minutes." He gestures to Kili.
I gasp, my brows furrowing in surprise. "You're hurt?"
He shrugs nonchalantly. "It's nothing. Just an arrow, I'll heal soon enough."
He speaks plainly, but his skin is pallid and pale, and he seems to wince with every wound he takes. I pull out a cloth and wrap it around his leg, stopping the blood flow. The wound seems oddly black, and strange. Has he been poisoned?
He sees my concerned gaze, and yanks his leg away, shrugging me off. "I'm fine!"
A shadow appears, a man drawing an imposing shadow over us. Dwalin grabs a stick, but an arrow appears there faster than I can think. Another hits the stone out of Kili's hand.
"Do it again, and you're dead." He says, raising his bow in warning. I squint, trying to make out a face. Who is he?
Balin steps forward carefully, his hands up in surrender. "Excuse me, but, uh, you're from Laketown, if I'm not mistaken? That barge over there, it wouldn't be available for hire, by any chance?"
"What makes you think I would help you?"
"Those boots have seen better days," Balin says, ever diplomatic. "As has that coat. No doubt you have some hungry mouths to feed. How many bairns?"
The man hesitates, clearly wondering whether telling the truth could be used against him. He must decide we look too stupid to try, and answers "A boy and two girls."
"And your wife, I imagine she's a beauty,"
"Aye. She was."
I wince.
"What's your hurry?" The man asks, eyeing Dwalin carefully, who has stepped forward rather threateningly. I pull him back; he rips his arm out of hand with a deadly glare.
"What's it to you?"
"I would like to know who you are and what you are doing in these lands." He would be a fool not to ask.
"We are simple merchants from the Blue Mountains journeying to see our kin in the Iron Hills." I sign, knowing how much I stand out in this story. I'm a woman, an elf, and I'm taller than any of the dwarves and Bilbo.
"Simple merchants, you say?" The man asks, raising an eyebrow. He eyes me apprehensively; I narrow my eyes at him.
"We'll need food, supplies, weapons," Thorin says, stepping forward. "Can you help us?"
The man studies us carefully, scrutinising us. "I know where these barrels came from. I don't know what business you had with the elves, but I don't think it ended well. I don't know why you have an elf with you, but I'd bet that the other elves of Mirkwood aren't fans of her. No one enters Laketown but by leave of the Master. All his wealth comes from trade with the Woodland Realm. He will see you in irons before risking the wrath of King Thranduil."
"I'll wager there are ways to enter that town unseen," Balin says, as the man throws him a rope as he continues working.
"Aye. But for that, you would need a smuggler."
"For which we would pay double."
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The man's name is Bard, and he has three children: Bain, Tilda and Sigrid.
Bilbo and I are the only people who bother to talk to him as we cross the lake, an odd pair. He's nice enough, and I have to admit I am starting to like him. He's shrewd, intelligent, but still polite. A certain elven prince could probably learn some manners from him.
He seems to know the lake very well, as he expertly maneuvers throughout the rocks without a hitch. The dwarves don't agree, though, as they yell frightful curses and panicked cries as he navigates, Dwalin especially getting angsty.
"We do not have to like him, we simply have to pay him. Come on now, lads, turn out your pockets."
I turn, throwing my last few coins onto the table as I join Bard, figuring I should probably find some way to not make him like us, so at least he'll feel remorse before selling us out. Despite enjoying his company, I am not stupid enough to think that he wouldn't hand us over to Thranduil without batting an eyelash — for that's what I would do.
I pull out a hairpin that I stuck in my hair from Mirkwood. I took two, but while one actually keeps my hair in place, the other just seems unnecessary. I give it to him; he looks at me, shocked.
It's pretty, with the typical elven design, and probably expensive. "For your daughters," I tell him, with a small smile.
He looks shocked as he begins to thank me, but I'm cut short as the Lonely Mountain comes into view, an even larger shadow against the sky. The dwarves are all stood as they stand in silence, staring up at it. Thorin even looks slightly tearful.
Bard turns to the dwarves, taking the money, warning us of the guards ahead.
Barge gets us through the guards rather skilfully, if I might say. First fish, then through the sewers, though it is extremely humiliating. Tilda and Sigrid are sweet, as they give us blankets, warmer clothes and a hot drink as I try to huddle by the fire, completely exhausted.
My bones ache from both the cold and the heat, and I'm starving hungry, a feeling I'd got used to before this quest. My skin is turning black and blue from where the orc hit me, and from where Legolas trained me. Of course, I'm grateful to him, as those skills could keep me alive in a fight, but it still hurts.
I don't seem to be in as much pain as Kili, though, who winces every time he moves. Every time he sees me looking, he pretends to be doing something else, but I grow increasingly worried about him.
"A dwarvish windlance," Thorin suddenly gasps, staring into the window where a Lance stands in the tower, pointing at the sky.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," Bilbo questions, sipping his tea.
"He has. 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 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." Balin narrates.
"Had the aim of Men been true that day, much would have been different." Thorin says. I roll my eyes; I know the story, and it was not Dale's fault the dragon came.
I know from rumours that dwarves are always slow to admit their mistakes. They will repeat them over and over, until eventually one dwarf will stand and break the cycle. Their hatred of elves led them into dungeons in Mirkwood, and their love of gold will only rain havoc upon us all. But — well, I love gold just as much.
But the gleam in Thorin's eyes as he looks at the mountain does not seem completely sane to me. He has barely said a word to me since we left Mirkwood — only glaring distrustfully.
"You speak as if you were there." Bard says, suspicious.
"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."
"That's a fairy story, lad, nothing more," Dwalin chuckles with a pained grin. I wince internally.
Thorin seems to realise we're on dangerous ground, as he strides up to Bard, looking serious. "You took our money. Where are our weapons?"
Bard nods, before leaving quickly. Thorin looks over to me. "You don't approve."
I sigh, leaning in to talk to Thorin quietly. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"
He gives me a sharp glare. "You ask now?"
Embarrassed, I blush a little, trying to not be overwhelmed by the dark intensity his eyes hold. "It's just — a dragon, you know? What happens if it wakes?" Hearing the story had definitely changed my perspective on a few things.
Dwalin pipes up, stepping forward to talk to Thorin. "If you're too scared to help us, lass, then feel free to stay in Laketown. Or, since you're so friendly with the elvenking, you could go stay in Mirkwood."
I flinch, recoiling as he speaks his mind, no dwarf or hobbit defending me. Thorin even seems to agree. "What did you agree to do?" He asks, suspicious. "Why didn't Thranduil lock you up? Why did that prince seem so worried when you fell?
Well, I hadn't known Legolas had begun to like me at all, after our horrendous training session, but apparently he did have some feelings. Dwalin and Thorin seem quite intent on humiliating me further, but Bard returns, carrying his weapons. I am glad for the interuption; I am seething with rage.
"What is this?" Asks Thorin in disgust, holding up a musty hook.
"Pike hook. Made from an old harpoon."
"And this?" Kili holds up some kind of hammer.
"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."
The dwarves begin to complain, as Bofur throws his weapons onto the table. I don't bother, I have a feeling I probably won't need my weapons. Thorin will never let me go near the mountain, not while he thinks I'm allied with Thranduil.
"Why not take what's been offered and go? I've made do with less; so have you. I say we leave now." Balin asks, and I agree again. These can't be that bad, surely?
"You're not going anywhere." Bard says, as cries of outrage spark among the dwarves. ""There's spies watching this house and probably every dock and wharf in the town. You must wait till nightfall."
It seems fair enough, but he sends a furtive glance at Thorin. Does he know something? He rushes out the door, leaving us inside.
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"As soon as we have the weapons, we make straight for the mountain. Go, go, go!"
Nori steps over the dwarves and into the armoury, with Bilbo following. I quickly step into the dwarves too, climbing through the window with as much elvish grave I can muster.
I grab every weapon I can, loading into Fili and Kili's arms. Daggers, swords, axes - I take three throwing knives for myself, hiding two in my boots and one on my belt. I don't bother with a sword, as I know I need more practice.
All of a sudden, there is a loud clanging noise, as we look around, and see Kili has fallen over. His leg must not be as healed as he thought. I scramble for the window, about to run, but there are guards appearing at every corner, and a spear is leveled at my chest.
The guards drag us through the streets, like criminals. I'm used to how men like this act, so I'm sure I can escape if I have to, but I feel that abandoning the company would only anger Thorin more, especially as he already seems to be glowering at me from the corner of his eye. I wonder if that was Thranduil's plan, to make the dwarves distrust me, though what he has to gain, I'm not sure.
In the town square, the guards surround us, but not that securely. There is plenty of space to duck and run, but I know it would hurt Thorin's pride to be chased from this place like a fugitive. He is a king by right, and it has long been his wish to be treated as one. And the closer we get to the mountain, the closer we get to his dreams being fulfilled, the more fear I can see in his eyes that the thought that anything could ruin in. Namely me.
"What's the meaning of this?" The master says as he strolls out of his house. His clothes are fine, his hair is styled and he wears expensive accessories. Why do the people of this town have so little, while he has so much? I begin to feel for this poor town, more and more, knowing too well the trouble that men like this can be.
"We caught 'em stewing weapons, sire." A guard says.
"Enemies of the state, then." The master declares, prepared to return inside.
"This is a bunch of mercenaries if ever there was, sire." the man next to the master reminds me a little of a weasel. His hair is greasy and black, his clothes even blacker. He's hunched, and his face seems to be controlled into a permanent sneer.
"Hold your tongue. You do not know to whom you speak. This is no common criminal; this is Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror!" As Dwalin steps forward, I wonder if Dwalin considers that his own job within the company. Announce Thorin to everyone and anyone. Especially when we're running from the elves, and the orcs, and everyone else. Is he serious?
Thorin has no choice but to step forward. "We are the dwarves of Erebor. "We have come to reclaim our homeland. I remember this town and the great days of old. Fleets of boats lay at harbor, filled with silks and fine gems. This was no forsaken town on a lake! This was the center of all trade in the North.
"I would see those days return. I would relight the great forges of the dwarves and send wealth and riches flowing once more from the halls of Erebor!"
The men begin to applaud, as the master watches, thinking. Suddenly Bard walks forward, standing out amongst the crowd. "Death! That is what you will bring upon us. Dragon-fire and ruin. If you awaken that beast, it will destroy us all."
Is he right? Are we doing the people of Laketown for our selfish desires? I often complain about the men in power, how they cover riches at the expense of anyone else. Am I turning into them? Are my dreams turning me selfish?
But surely there is a time, when I just choose my own desires over others? Think only of myself? Is that not what the rest of the world does?
My inner voice nags at me, coiling around my neck like a serpent. How can I complain about the rest of the world when I act the same? Am I not a hypocrite? And haven't I chosen myself for my whole life? Perhaps now it's time to do the right thing, not whatever I want.
"You can listen to this naysayer, but I promise you this; If we succeed, all will share in the wealth of the mountain. You will have enough gold to rebuild Esgaroth ten times over!" Thorin announces, as the people cheer once more. I flinch, as the story of Dale becomes a stark reminder of what happened before. I thought Thorin had learnt from his grandfather's mistakes, but here he seems to have no problem with him. Surely he can see what went wrong before, or history will just repeat itself.
"All of you! Listen to me! You must listen! Have you forgotten what happened to Dale?! Have you forgotten those who died in the firestorm?! And for what purpose? The blind ambition of a mountain-king so riven by greed, he could not see beyond his own desire!"
I flinch, as that description of Thorin seems to become more true every second. I never would have thought it, but he seems a little strange today.
"Now, now, we must not, any of us, be too quick to lay blame. Let us not forget that it was Girion, Lord of Dale, your ancestor, who failed to kill the beast!"
I sigh, wondering when it will become less rare to blame a person for their ancestors mistakes. And doesn't the Master agree? Why is he agreeing with Thorin and not his own people?
"It's true, sire. We all know the story: arrow after arrow he shot, each one missing its mark."
The crowd changes tune quickly, yellowing profanities at Bard, as he surveys the crowd grimly. "You have no right,' he tells Thorin. "No right to enter that mountain."
I don't hear Thorin's response, but it's clearly unsympathetic as he turns away, looking up at the master. "I speak to the Master of the men of the Lake. Will you see the prophecy fulfilled? Will you share in the great wealth of our people? What say you?"
The master thinks for a moment, before smiling. "I say unto you, welcome!" At that, everyone begins to cheer.
But as Thorin turns, smiling to the people, and the dwarves smile and cheer among themselves, I can't help the sinking feeling in my gut that we are doing the wrong thing.
a/n: fuck, this chapter is kinda awful, can't lie. i've kinda given up on editing so i'm just publishing the first drafts now; it's very noticeable. but oh well... i guess that's how it is. i want to finish g&g by november, and publish fire and fate by december so i'm kinda trying to update more often. there's about five chapters left, so i'll try update on saturday and maybe?? also sunday.
lyra x