Third POV
When Bard arrived home, he found the dwarves gone.
"Da," his son Bain said. "I tried to stop them."
"How long have they been gone?" Bard asked urgently.
While they talked, Miranda stood in a corner quietly. Waiting.
~*~
Suddenly, there were shouts and torches were lit.
"What is the meaning of this?" Laketown's Master asked.
"We caught 'em stealing weapons sire," one of the guards said.
"Ah. Enemies of the state, ehm?" The Master of Laketown said.
"A desperate bunch of mercenaries, if ever there was, sire." Alfrid said.
"Hold your tongue!" Dwalin growled. "You do not know to whom you speak. This is no common criminal. This is Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror!" There were murmurs throughout the collected crowd and the master's eyebrow's rose.
"We are the dwarves of Erebor," Thorin said. The murmuring grew louder. "We have come to reclaim our homeland. I remember this town in the great days of old. Fleets of boats lay at the 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!" There were murmurs of agreement and joy in the crowd as Thorin continued his speech. "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 crowd cheered.
"Death!" Bard's voice rose over the roar. "That is what you will bring upon us! Dragon fire and ruin. If you awaken that beast, it will destroy us all."
"You can listen to this naysayer," Thorin countered. "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!" The crowd cheered.
"All of you!" Bard called. "Listen to me! You must listen! Have you forgotten what happened to Dale?" The crowd murmured. "Have you forgotten those who died in the firestorm?!"
"No," said an old woman shaking her head.
"We haven't," a gravelly voice cracked.
"And for what purpose?" Bard asked. "The blind ambition of a mountain king, so riven by greed he could not see beyond his own desire!"
The murmuring in the crowd intensified but then the Master of the Town spoke. "Now, now! We must not 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! Hmm?"
Thorin stared at Bard. "It's true, Sire." Alfrid said. "We all know the story. Arrow after arrow he shot. Each one missin' its mark." The murmurs in the crowd quickly turned in favor of the Master.
Bard walked up to Thorin and said in a low voice, raw with emotion. "You have no right. No right to enter that mountain."
"I have the only right." Thorin said looking up at him. "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 looked around at the people, there was a glint of greed in his eyes as he licked his teeth and spoke. "I say unto you, welcome! Welcome! And Thrice welcome! King Under the Mountain!"