A Single Dream is More Powerful Than a Thousand Realities

Desolation, Hopes, and Dreams

The clouds were clearing away, the bright blue of the sky peeking through, when their boat reached the far shore of Long Lake.

The sun cast a gentle warmth on the backs of the company as Bard hopped ashore and appraised the sloping cragged and prickly hillside that rose steeply upwards, the blackened remnants of trees dotting the hillside. He admired the new life that had begun to spring as well. He noted the small saplings, blooming brilliant green as the frost of Autumn had not yet touched their young branches.

He heard birdsong and his eyes traveled upwards towards the flittering wingspan of thrushes twittering overhead (something he had not seen in many a year). The gentle thrum of crickets swelled within the trees and he felt the cool breeze against his cheeks.

And hope swelled within him. For if life could spring forth after the wroth of the dragon had descended upon this place, then certainly he could hope that the will of a wizard, the resolve of a hobbit and her dwarves, and the determination of the elves and honorable men of Laketown would be enough to secure their survival.

They were like the saplings, pushing upwards, growing stronger each day.

Just so long as they had hope.

Bard cast his gaze towards the company as they slowly moved from the boat, grabbing packs and supplies in an orderly line. Thorin had been the first to embark from the vessal, after Bard, and he quickly organized the dwarves into an efficient mass of moving muscle, his natural leadership taking command of the situation.

"Get the supplies unloaded, we don't have a moment to spare," He barked quietly, but forcefully, his gaze shifting towards the sloping hills. "We can make it to the upper ledges by nightfall if we're careful and move quickly."

The dwarf with the hat, (Bofur was it?), hopped from the boat onto the rocky shoreline and reached in, grabbing the little hobbit, under her arms like a child and lifted the protesting creature onto dry land near himself.

"I could have gotten out on my own you know," She remarked a slight scowl on her face, though even Bard could tell that it was a halfhearted gesture. He noted the way her eyes crinkled around the edges and flashed with mirth.

Bofur only laughed, "Aye lass, I know that you're quite capable of takin' care of yerself, but I'll be keepin' me eye on you. Best accept that yer family now and be done with it." He ruffled her air affectionately and she snorted in annoyance two soft patches of pink alighting her fair cheeks and tried to step away, nearly tripping over Thorin's coat that pooled at her feet.

Bofur chuckled and steadied her, but Bard didn't miss the way Thorin's jerked towards the hobbit, his expression twisted into worry as he watched the small creature tip backwards. The dwarf king's eyes lingered the hobbit, scanning her face carefully, eyes assessing.

Bard knew that look well.

It was the same look he had given Freida when they'd first started courting.

Bard's heart suddenly ached for his wife, her rich mahogany curls, and startlingly fierce green eyes. She was a spirited and beautiful creature who brought light and joy to Bard's life, even amidst the trials of destitution.

And here he stood now, observing that same look of careful adoration and reverence that he once held, marring the features of a king.

Bard was also certain that the young Lyla Baggins did not fully understand the depth of the dwarf's affections for her.

Nor, too, he surmised, did the dwarf himself.

'Freida' He thought wistfully, a deep ache hollowing out his heart.