Golden Thrones and Moonlight Veils (HOBBIT FANFICTION)

Laketown

After arriving in Esgaroth, Thorin and his company quickly realized they were not welcome. The bargeman, Bard, hid them in his home, making them promise not to reveal themselves to any of the townsfolk. Thorin bargained for more weapons, and Bard left to procure them from Durin-knows-where. His older daughter served the dwarves tea made from nettle leaves, while his younger daughter and son pestered the company with questions they had no business asking.

Thorin stood by the window, staring at the Lonely Mountain, its tall form looming on the horizon, almost close enough to cast its shadow over the town. His gaze lingered on a Dwarvish windlance perched atop a rickety tower. He remembered the last time he had seen one—in Dale, the once-bustling and prosperous city by the mountain's foot. He had still been considered a young dwarf when Smaug came, but the image of the burning town and the screaming people lived vividly in his memory. The former lord of Dale, Girion, had fired two black arrows from a windlance, but they failed to slay the dragon. Dale and Erebor had fallen, and the memory of that day still haunted Thorin.

Bard returned about an hour later with a sack full of rusty old blades, patched-up axes, and some barely functional lances.

"What is this?" Thorin demanded, his anger rising as he grabbed a fish-pike-looking stick from the pile. The other dwarves looked at the weapons, incredulous.

"We paid you for weapons!" Gloin snapped indignantly.

"This is a joke!" Bofur yelled, tossing the axe he had picked back onto the table.

Bard shrugged, clearly unimpressed by their outrage. He told them it was all he could gather and that they wouldn't find anything better unless they raided the city armory. The dwarves huffed and grumbled, their frustration palpable.

"Thorin, let's take them and go," Balin urged, trying to ease the tension. "We've made do with less, and we still have some of our swords."

"You can't leave the city before nightfall, or you'll be captured," Bard interjected, prompting another round of protests from the company.

✧

The sun was sinking steadily as Talessa and Eline reached the ferryboat. They had been fortunate, encountering no other living souls on their long walk, though both were acutely aware that the orcs could not be far behind. Talessa paid the old ferryman the fee for the crossing and the hefty entrance tax. They told him they were visiting distant relatives, but the man barely seemed to care.

As he rowed across the smooth, dark lake, Talessa leaned over the side, staring into the water. Suddenly, the lake lit up, the surface turning orange-red, as though it were blazing hot fire. Screams of pain and fear pierced the air, echoing through the night. She gasped as she saw something moving beneath the water, which now shimmered more gold than yellow—a massive winged beast, its shape monstrous and terrible.

"A prophecy," a man's unfamiliar voice rose above the chaos of the screams, but Talessa could see only the dragon. "The lord of silver fountains, the king of carven stone, the king beneath the mountain, shall come into his own. And the bells shall ring in gladness at the mountain king's return, but all shall fail in sadness, and the lake will shine and burn."

Her vision shifted. She saw a tower, a great crossbow atop it, and a man releasing an arrow, his face pained and sorrowful, before the tower was engulfed in flames. Then, the scene changed again. She saw Thorin and his thirteen companions standing on an overlook before a massive, metal-forged gate. Their faces were dirtied with soot and sweat, but they smiled, victorious.

Talessa gasped and came back to her senses, the vision dissolving like mist.

"What happened?" Eline asked worriedly, glancing toward the ferryman, who remained oblivious, focused on his rowing.