Honour For Bastards

Chapter 19 - Plans and Deeper Meanings

Bard disappeared down the stairs to the lower level of his house, meanwhile the Dwarves took the opportunity to whisper amongst themselves.

"Tomorrow begins the last days of autumn." Thorin said cautiously, ensuring that Bard's children did not hear them.

"Durin's Day falls morn after next. We must reach the mountain before then." Balin was imperative. 

"And if we do not? If we fail to find the hidden door before that time?" Kili asked with growing concern.

Fili, who stood close by his side spoke next, a frustrated edge to his voice, "Then this quest has been for nothing."

The Dwarves fell silent as Bard returned, a bundle wrapped in cloth tucked under his arm. He laid the bundle on the table and loosened the wrapping to reveal a pile of hand-made weapons. None of which resemble anything any of the Dwarves had seen in battle. They looked more like tools than anything. A few of the Dwarves picked up a weapon, expressions of disgust evident on their faces.

"What is this?" Thorin held up a long pole with a hook curved on the end.

"Pike-hook. Made from an old harpoon." Bard explained, he could tell the Dwarves were not pleased, but he tried his best to sell the items before him. 

"And this?" Kili asked skeptically, holding a large mallet looking thing in his hand. 

"A crowbill, we call it, fashioned from a smithy's hammer. It's heavy in hand, I grant, but in defense of your life, these will serve you better than none." replied Bard, he looked crestfallen at the Dwarves and their disgusted appearances. 

"We paid you for weapons. Iron-forged swords and axes!" Growled Dwalin. 

"It's a joke!" scoffed Bofur. The Dwarves tossed the poor excuses for weapons back on the table with a clatter. 

"You won't find better outside the city armory. All iron-forged weapons are held there under lock and key." gritted Bard.

The Dwarves were still not pleased. Thorin and Dwalin caught eyes, a plan hatching silently between them.

"Thorin." Balin pleaded. Bard looked up at the mention of that name, but he could not place where he'd heard it before. "Why not take what's been offered and go? I've made do with less; so have you. I say we leave now."

"You're not going anywhere." Bard cut off sharply.

"What did you say!?" Growled Dwalin defensively. 

"There's spies watching this house and probably every dock and wharf in the town. You must wait till nightfall." The Man explained.

Laire stepped forward to support him, "He's right, if we leave now we'll be caught the moment we step out that door. If we wait til nightfall, then I can get us out of here quick and unawares."

Begrudgingly, the Dwarves agreed to their reason and settled around the house, impatiently awaiting the fall of darkness. Bard stepped out of the house for a moment, Laire thought to follow him, but decided against it. Judging by his expression, she thought he might appreciate the time alone, after all she felt guilty for asking this of him, but she had been desperate. Kili moved to a bench against the wall and gingerly lowered himself to a seated position. He glanced around quickly for any prying eyes before timidly inspecting the wound. The blood had begun to seep through, not enough to be serious considering the arrow head was still there, but had he taken a better look he would have noticed the black tinge soaking into the cloth. 

Laire scanned the room mindlessly, anxious to leave for the sake of Bard and his family, but nightfall was still a few hours away. Her vision drifted carelessly around the room, but focused in on Kili who was peering at his leg with a grimace. It was then she remembered his wound that she had not been properly able to attend to earlier. She rose from her seat and weaved around the others, doing her best to draw as little attention to herself as possible. "How is yer leg?"

The question startled Kili who jerked in his seat and quickly covered the injury with his hand. "It's fine." He answered shortly.

Laire raised a skeptical brow, "Aye, so ye won't mind me taking a look then, will ye?"

Kili subtly turned his leg further away from the Ranger, who caught the small movement. "You don't need to. As I said, it's fine." His voice was firm, clear that he had no intention of letting her inspect his leg.

Laire drew her bottom lip between her teeth, something she often did when she was debating something. She ignored the nagging in the back of her mind that said to push him further, but for his sake she surrendered. Instead she found him a fresh bandage and water and instructed him to clean it and change the bindings, and to tell her if it becomes infected. Leaving her instructions, she returned to the large table next to the kitchen and set about helping Sigrid prepare supper. 

She knew the true reason Kili would not let her check his injury; he did not want to appear weak in front of his kin, especially Thorin. Since their first night in company at Bag End, Laire had watched as both the young Princes did all in their abilities to prove themselves to their Uncle. She understood them though, as royalty they had so much to prove, they were the future leaders of a proud race. But Laire understood them on a more personal level; all her life she'd been looked down on as a Bastard, as though she was worth no more than the dirt beneath one's feet. Her shame hung like a heavy cloud above her head, and she felt she always had so much to prove not only to the world, but to her father. She owed him everything, and she was desperate to prove to him that she was more than a consequence of a foolish mistake. But Arathorn never made her feel that way, he treated her no different than he did Aragorn for the few years he spent in his life. Laire had never been a mistake in his eyes, not once, and he did his best to prove that to her everyday. But it never stopped the young woman's insecurities, and she doubted anything ever would. For who could ever see true worth in a Bastard half-breed.