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The guards quickly took hold of the company and dragged us out of the armory. We were taken right next door. The guards lugged us along to the stairs.
Their king shoved his way through the doors, distressed from being awoken. "What is the meaning of this?!" The master bemoaned.
We were shoved to our knees. "Caught them in the armory, trying to steal weapons."
"Ah! So, enemies of the state, huh?"
"A desperate bunch of mercenaries, if ever there was, Sire," Alfrid scoffed.
"Hold your tongue!" Dwalin shouted, ripping away from the grasps of the guards. "You do not know to whom you speak. This is no common criminal. This is Thorin. Son of Thrain, son of Thror!"
Thorin emerged from the crowd of dwarves. "We are the dwarves of Erebor. We have come to reclaim our homeland." The townspeople began to murmur amongst themselves. "I remember this town in the great days of old. Fleets of boats lay at harbor, filled with silks and fine gems. This was no forsaken town on a lake. This was the center of all trade in the north!" He turned away from the king to face the crowd. "I would see those days return. I would relight the great forges of the dwarves and send wealth and riches flowing once more from the halls of Erebor!" Cheers rose through the people of Lake Town. Smiles stretched over their faces, as hope filled their souls.
Bard tore his way through the townspeople that gathered around the company. "Death! That is what you'll bring upon us. Dragonfire and ruin. If you awaken that beast, it will destroy us all!"
Thorin looked displeased with Bard, but continued to work to sway the people. "You can listen to this naysayer, but I promise you this; if we succeed all will share in the wealth of the mountain. You will have enough gold to rebuild Esgaroth ten times over!" The crowd let out another uproar of cheers.
Bard took a step to stand on an old wooden box. "All of you! Listen to me, you must listen! Have you forgotten what happened to Dale? Have you forgotten those who died in the firestorm? And for what purpose?" He paused and pointed at Thorin. "The blind ambition of a Mountain King, so driven by greed, he could not see beyond his own desire!"
The master started his way down the stairs, moving closer to the company. "Now. Now. We must not, any of us, be too quick to lay blame." He turned to Bard with a menacing grin. "Let us not forget, that it was Girion, Lord of Dale, your ancestor, who failed to kill the beast. Hm!"
His associate followed him. "It's true, Sire. We all know the story. Arrow after arrow, he shot. Each one missing its mark," Alfrid remarked.
Bard took swift steps to the dwarven prince until his face was inches from Thorin's. "You have no right. No right to enter that mountain."
"I have the only right," Thorin hissed back. He turned away from Bard, giving his attention to the master. "I speak to the Master of the men of the lake. Will you see the prophecy fulfilled? Will you share in the great wealth of our people?" Thorin paused a moment. "What say you?"
