A Shot in the Dark (Thilbo - Bagginshield)

Chapter 32

He had never wanted to be a hero.

That was a fact. When other little boys were fighting over who got to be the legendary hero or the great king, Bard had been happy enough to be the loyal sidekick. His brothers had always wanted to hear stories of powerful warriors and wise lords and their adventures; Bard had been happy enough to hear about the Man who caught a magical fish who could grant wishes. As he grew older, it became something of a running gag in town over how practical he was. 'Fisherman Bard,' they used to laugh, 'he dreamed of being a commoner and it came true!'

Bard didn't mind the jokes. He laughed along when he heard them too. It had been his dream to grow up and marry and have a family. He didn't need to be a hero or a king; he was happy enough as a fisherman and a husband and then later a father.

That was part of the reason why he recoiled at Bilbo's suggestion that he would become the Lord of Dale. Not only was he the worst candidate—most fishermen from dirt-poor villages were—but he also had no interest in the job. He didn't like being the center of attention, or the one that everyone turned to in a crisis. He got stuck with that job most of the time, yes, but that hardly meant he liked it. He was happy to be just another face in the crowd; just another nobody going about their daily life.

"You're being a coward again," Mari would probably tell him if she was still alive. Before she became his wife, she had been his best friend; the only girl who had played with the boys no matter how many times her mother scolded her. She had known him better than anyone and would have seen right into the heart of his objections within seconds.

"You're afraid of failing," she would have said while rolling her blue and green eyes at him. "You're afraid of getting someone killed or hurt. You're afraid you won't be able to feed your people or protect them from another dragon. And finally you're afraid you won't be able to live up to Bilbo's words. Isn't that right, darling?"

He would have nodded and shrugged like he always had when faced with her sharp observations. "Right again, my love, like always."

In return, Mari would have flashed her devious grin and tossed her brown braids back in triumph. "Damn straight I am and don't forget it!"

By Eru… he missed her so much. There was not a day that went by that he did not think of his wife in some little way. He saw it every day when he looked at his children—the way Sigrid moved when she cooked; the curve of Bain's smile and his eyes; how Tilda always knew when he was lying—and they always brought her face to mind. But sometimes, when he was stressed or worried or angry, her voice would whisper to him comfort or advice.

"You can't let your fear of failure hold you back from being the Man you are meant to be," Mari would have advised, patting his check. "You have to take a chance and step out of your little world one day."

"But I could get our children hurt," he argued back in his mind because if he was going to fight with the voice in his head then he could at least win the disputes. "I could get everyone hurt or killed if I tried to rebuild Dale."

"Or you could do something great for our children and the people of Lake-town," his wife countered. "Bard, you know that Lake-town is crumbling and things will only grow worse under the influence of the Master. You know that rebuilding Dale is the only way to give them a chance at a future."

He knew that. He knew, even as he denied it so fiercely to Bilbo and the others, that in the end he was going to have to rebuild Dale. Not because it was pre-destined or because he wanted to be some heroic lord, but simply because it was his best chance to save his children from going hungry.