Middle Earth Gamer

Promises of Fire and Gold

Promises of Fire and Gold

As the Company is brought in barrels to the shores of Long Lake, they're met by Bard, who stands, bow drawn and aimed at them, with an expression of cold suspicion.

"Do not move," Bard orders, his gaze fixed on Thorin. "Who are you?"

Thorin steps forward, glancing cautiously at Bard's drawn bow. "We mean you no harm," he says, voice even. "We are travelers, in need of food and rest."

"Travelers," Bard repeats, his tone edged with doubt. "Travelers from where? Those mountains?" He gestures with his head. "If you are, then you've brought nothing but trouble to Lake-town."

Thorin's expression hardens slightly. "We are going to the mountain. But we have no quarrel with you."

Bard doesn't lower his bow. "Then explain why you are dressed as vagabonds and sneaking into my town," he says, voice steely.

Taranis steps forward slowly, raising his hands. "Look, we're just trying to pass through," he says, voice steady but calm. "We don't want trouble – only food and a warm place to rest. We're willing to pay."

Bard looks at Taranis, clearly unconvinced, and studies the rest of the Company. After a moment, he lowers his bow but keeps a cautious expression. "Follow me," he mutters. "But keep your heads down."

As they move quietly through the town, Bard leads them through Lake-town's wooden alleys, wary of any watchful eyes. The sound of water lapping against the town's stilts mingles with the occasional murmur of voices from within homes and the distant clatter of wooden doors.

"It's a miserable place," Bofur remarks quietly, looking around. "Half the houses seem as if they're falling apart."

"That's what happens when men forget their purpose," Bard mutters, overhearing him. "When they allow greed and corruption to poison their town."

Thorin raises an eyebrow at Bard's tone. "You speak as if you know this town's troubles well."

Bard doesn't look back. "I do. The Master of Lake-town has seen to that. He's more interested in lining his own pockets than in helping his people."

Taranis exchanges a look with Balin, sensing Bard's disdain for the Master. "It sounds like Lake-town's seen better days," Taranis says carefully. "You don't seem too keen on following this Master of yours."

Bard glances at him, his eyes narrowed. "Lake-town is my home. And I will protect it – even from you, if I have to."

The Company falls silent as they approach Bard's house, each of them weighing his words.

As they enter Bard's humble home, Bard gestures for them to stay quiet, shutting the door firmly behind them. His children approach, wide-eyed at the strange group of dwarves and men.

"Da?" Bain, Bard's son, asks, looking at the Company with confusion and intrigue. "Who are they?"

"Friends, Bain," Bard says, putting a reassuring hand on his son's shoulder. "They just need a place to rest."

"Friends?" Bain echoes, his gaze curious as it drifts over the Company. "They don't look like friends from Lake-town."

Taranis smiles slightly at Bain's innocent remark. "We're not exactly from here, no," he admits, exchanging an amused glance with Bofur.

Just then, Bard's daughter, Sigrid, pipes up with a hint of concern. "But Da, if the Master finds out..."

Bard silences her gently, his eyes darkening. "The Master need not know."

Once Bard's children retreat to their room, the Company gathers around Bard. Thorin speaks first, his tone diplomatic but firm. "We are grateful for your help, Bard," he says. "But we will not linger longer than we must."

Bard's eyes narrow. "Just tell me one thing: what business do you have in the mountain?" He glances at Thorin and then at Taranis, his expression suspicious. "There is only death and ruin there."

Thorin's jaw tightens as he steps forward. "Our business is our own. But if you must know," he says, voice low, "we seek to reclaim our homeland."

Bard's expression shifts, his voice becoming edged with disbelief. "Your homeland? And you think you can face that dragon?" He scoffs slightly, shaking his head. "Smaug is no pet; he is death incarnate."

There's a tense silence as Bard's words sink in. Balin speaks up softly, glancing at the Company. "We are well aware of the dangers, Bard. But we cannot turn back now."

Bard's gaze flickers between them, troubled. "You would do this for gold?"

Thorin's voice is steely, unwavering. "It is not about gold. It is about our people – our right to live free."

Bard sighs, shaking his head. "You're fools, all of you," he says quietly. "But it's clear that nothing I say will change your mind."

Thorin nods slightly, showing a rare glimpse of respect. "Thank you for your help," he says. "When we have reclaimed Erebor, you will not be forgotten."

Later, as the Company moves through the armory with Bard's help, their search for weapons is interrupted by the appearance of Lake-town's guards, led by Alfrid, the Master's sly advisor.

"Who do we have here?" Alfrid sneers, eyeing the Company with open disdain. "Visitors?"

Bard's expression is tense as he tries to cover for the group. "I was merely taking these travelers to the markets. They mean no harm."

Alfrid's gaze is skeptical. "No harm?" he scoffs. "These dwarves look more like brigands to me." He looks directly at Thorin, suspicion evident in his gaze. "What's your name, dwarf?"

Thorin stands tall, meeting Alfrid's gaze head-on. "I am Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, King under the Mountain," he declares.

Alfrid's mouth falls open, and for a moment he is speechless. But then he sneers, regaining his composure. "A king, you say? And what business does a king have in Lake-town?"

Thorin replies, voice steady. "To reclaim what is rightfully ours."

Bard watches, troubled, as Alfrid smirks and turns to leave, no doubt to report to the Master.

Later, as the Company stands before the Master of Lake-town, Thorin steps forward once more.

"We are the Company of Thorin Oakenshield," he announces boldly. "And we seek the mountain – to reclaim Erebor from the dragon Smaug."

The Master listens, intrigued but cautious. "And what does Lake-town have to gain from this... venture?" he asks slyly, eyes gleaming with interest.

"If we succeed," Thorin promises, "Erebor's wealth will be shared with Lake-town. Your people will no longer go hungry. They will have gold and silver beyond their wildest dreams."

The Master's eyes light up with greed. "Gold and silver, you say?" He glances around at the eager crowd, who murmur excitedly at the promise of prosperity.

Balin steps forward, addressing the people of Lake-town. "If you help us," he says warmly, "you will all have a share in the wealth of Erebor. A new age will begin for Lake-town."

The townsfolk cheer, swept up in the promise of riches, while the Master claps his hands together with a gleeful smile. "Very well!" he proclaims. "You shall have safe passage – and Lake-town will prosper once again!"

As the crowd cheers, Bard watches from the shadows, troubled. He pulls Taranis aside, voice low. "This is madness," he whispers. "Do you truly think you can succeed?"

Taranis meets his gaze, his expression resolute. "We've come this far," he says. "We can't turn back now."

Bard shakes his head, his gaze filled with worry. But he says nothing more as the Company prepares for their journey, their eyes fixed on the distant mountain where destiny awaits.