Chapter 14: Stealth

"Ouch" didn't really cover what Quinn was feeling at the moment.

Her sword fell from her grip as pain exploded in her upper arm. Her knees hit the ground a second after. She cried out and tried to put a hand over the spot, only to discover there was an arrow sticking out of her arm.

Yeah. Cause and effect, dumbass.

The sounds of the fight and the rush of the river faded as all of her senses converged on the injury. Nothing had ever hurt as bad as her arm did at the moment.

After a while, the ringing in her ears subsided enough that she could hear someone yelling her name. Heaving in deep breaths, she looked up to see Kíli fighting off an orc with one hand and beckoning her over with another. He'd almost reached the lever.

Quinn staggered to her feet as nausea boiled in her gut. She reached down to pick up her sword with her good hand, and swallowed as she realized it was covered in blood—her blood.

With uneven steps, she made her way over to the barrels. The dwarves that weren't fighting for their lives were watching her with concern.

"Get in!" Kíli shouted, then pulled the lever.

Now or never. Quinn mustered all of her strength and jumped. Just holding out her arms for balance sent another burst of agony through her injury. She landed with a jolt in an empty barrel.

Next to her, Óin held out his hand as the barrels began to drift through the open gate. "Give me your arm."

"Fix it please," she said, then screamed as the arrow gave a nasty jolt.

Óin tossed the broken shaft into the river. "That'll keep it from jostling around. We'll get you patched up soon as we—"

The rest of his sentence was lost in a roar of water as the barrels went over the small waterfall on the other side of the sluice gate. The momentum threw her against the other side of the barrel, and as she bounced back, her knees buckled.

Quinn slid down to the bottom and stayed there, knees against her chest, flinching every time a spray of cold water splashed in over the top. She braced one hand against the opposite side the barrel to try and keep her injured arm from bumping into the wood.

Around her, she could hear shouts and clashing weapons, but it sounded far away, like the barrel was fifty feet long.

Another jolt threw her sword against her shoulder, and Quinn nudged it away with a wince. She knew she should stand up and help the dwarves, but her body stayed frozen. The pain in her arm was overwhelming, and the thought of even having to look at another orc's bow made her nauseous.

So she stayed there, curled up and shivering with a strange ringing in her ears, until the current finally slowed and became calm.

"Everyone all right?" Thorin called, and received several grunts in the affirmative.

"I can't hear ya, I think I've got water in my ears," Bofur said. "My brain's swimming in it."

"Up you go, Ori," Dwalin said. "On your feet."

Something blocked out the sunlight coming into Quinn's barrel. She glanced up.

"There you are." Óin stuck a hand in.

Numbly, she took it and let him pull her out. A quick glance around informed her that they'd ended up near a stretch of rocky shore between the river and the forest. She stepped out of the barrel and fell face-first into the water.

The plunge into the cold river was more of a shock than she expected, and brought her back to her senses. Quinn surfaced with a gasp, spitting out curses and water. "Fuck, that's cold."

"Steady, now." Glóin took one arm, Óin the other, and they helped her to shore. The latter guided her over to a rock and made her sit.

"The arrow's buried deep," he said, examining her arm. "Could have been worse, though. A couple inches to the right and it would have cut an artery."

"That's bad, right?" Quinn wiped some river water off her face. "God, this is so much worse than a flu shot."

"I've not the tools needed to remove it. We'll have to bind it for now."

"Do it quickly," Thorin said as he passed. "We have an orc pack on our tail. We need to get moving."

Quinn took a deep breath and grit her teeth as Óin began winding a strip of cloth around her arm. The pressure only increased the pain radiating from her wound and made it start to throb horribly.

"Your first battle wound," Kíli came up and clapped her on her good shoulder. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I want to get this thing sawed off." She hissed through her teeth as Óin tied off the cloth. "Then it'd stop hurting so fucking bad."

He chuckled and sat next to her. "I saw you out there, fighting those orcs. You—"

"Could use some improvement," Fíli said, coming up next to his brother. "It looked like you were trying to swat a fly with your sword."

Kíli mimed the wild swinging movements she'd used, and despite the pain, Quinn found herself smiling. Being shot in the arm sucked. But if she had to go back, she'd do the same rather than have one of the dwarves get hurt.

Behind them, Bifur uttered something in the dwarf language that sounded like a warning, and everyone tensed up and turned towards the forest.

Someone was standing on the rocks above them, an arrow nocked in his bow. Quinn looked around for the nearest thing she could hide behind. She was done with arrows for the day.

The man aimed the arrow at Dwalin as the he stepped forward, holding a big stick he'd found somewhere. "Not a step closer, dwarf."

"We mean you no harm," Balin said, hands held up in a gesture of peace. "We are travelers, unarmed." He glanced at something farther down the river that Quinn couldn't see. "You are from Lake-town, correct? That barge over there wouldn't happen to be for hire, would it?"

The man frowned at them for a moment, then lowered his bow. "I'm charged with bringing those barrels back to Lake-town. Help me move them, then we'll talk."

Balin nodded, and the dwarves went down to the banks and began hauling the barrels out of the river.

Óin patted her back before he went. "You just rest your arm for now."

"Don't need to tell me twice."

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see someone approaching, and held back a grimace as she realized it was Thorin. "Hey," she said, half-turning towards him.

"I saw what you did, back there," he said, coming to a halt in front of her.

"Yeah." She scratched her nose, embarrassed. "Kinda lost my balance getting out of the barrel."

"You took an arrow for Kíli."

"Oh. That." She straightened a little. Maybe this was how she proved herself as a slightly-less-incompetent-ancient-warrior. Though she wasn't sure an arrow in her arm was totally worth it.

"You have my thanks. You saved his life."

Quinn shrugged her good shoulder. "It was nothing."

Thorin crossed his arms. "My nephew's life is worth more than nothing, and I'll thank you not to treat it as such."

Geez, I really can't say the right thing around this guy. "I-I know that. I just meant..." She swallowed, finding it hard to make eye contact. "I don't regret what I did."

"I won't forget it, either." He gave her another short nod, like he had in the dungeons, then left to help with the barrels.

Quinn let out a long, slow breath. She couldn't decide whether that was a point for her, or a point for him. Maybe it was a point for Kíli, who currently had zero puncture wounds.

A few minutes later, Bilbo came up to her, holding her sword. "Found this in one of the barrels. I think you might need it."

"Thanks, man." She smiled and slid it into the sheath at her hip. At least it hadn't been her sword arm to get shot.

"Was Thorin giving you a hard time?" He glanced over at the dwarf, his eyes lingering on him for a few seconds.

"Uh, no? Maybe. It's kind of hard to tell with him."

"He is rather...enigmatic." Bilbo turned back to her. "How's your arm feeling?"

"Well, the arrow's still in there, so better by the second." She turned it towards him. "Wanna sign my bandage?"

"Sign it? You mean write my name?"

"Yeah. But you gotta write 'Lil B.' I'm gonna try and make that a thing."

Bilbo made a face at her, like he usually did when she said something extra confusing. But before he could respond, Fíli whistled and beckoned for them to join the group farther up the banks.

Quinn and Bilbo made their way up the rocky slope. At the top was a stone dock and a small barge filled with barrels. The man from before was standing next to the boat, speaking with Balin.

"I would like to know who you are and what you are doing in these lands."

"We are simple merchants from the Blue Mountains journeying to see our kin in the Iron Hills," Balin replied with a smile.

He glanced at Quinn and tilted his head. "Simple merchants, you say?"

Well, she was standing there in full armor with a sword strapped to her hip and a bandage around one arm. All the dwarves turned to look at her, and she was simultaneously surprised and irritated that they trusted her to come up with her own cover story. She said the first thing that came to mind. "I'm...a bodyguard."

That seemed to fly with the archer. He shrugged and continued moving barrels into the barge.

Thorin stepped forward. "We need food, supplies, weapons. Can you help us?"

The man glanced at him, then turned and looked pointedly at the barrels. One finger traced a scratch where the wood had been pierced by one of the orcs' arrows. "I know where these barrels came from."

"What of it?"

"I don't' know what business you had with the elves, but I don't think it ended well. No one enters Lake-town but by leave of the master. All his wealth comes from trade with the Woodland Realm. He would see you in irons before risking the wrath of King Thranduil."

Shit. Quinn glanced around at their group, and it hit her that they were basically all fugitives. That would have been pretty exciting, except being a fugitive usually involved getting shot at.

"I'll wager there are ways to enter that town unseen," Balin said.

"Aye. But for that, you would need a smuggler."

"For which we would pay double."

Quinn turned to Ori and whispered, "Wait, you guys have money?"

He looked up and nodded. "Do you have that in your world?" he whispered back.

"No, we do. I guess it just never came up before." She shrugged. "We've never really had to buy stuff before."

The man seemed to be mulling over Balin's offer. After a moment, he gestured to the barge. "Get in."

Sighs of relief filtered through the group as they all stepped onto the boat. With the barrels, it was a little bit of a tight fit, but they made it work. The man untied the boat and pushed off, and they began drifting down the river.

It took a couple hours to reach the lake. As the barge moved farther out, a dense fog settled on the water, and the temperature dropped. The cold somehow made her arm hurt even more. Quinn hissed through her teeth and walked over to the back of the boat, where the man was steering the vessel.

"Hey." She leaned against the side of the barge, and he glanced at her. "Do you have tweezers, by any chance? I got this arrowhead stuck in my arm, and I'd really like to get it out."

"I'm no healer. I'm afraid I cannot help you with that."

"We'll find a proper healer once we reach town," Óin told her from where he was sitting by his brother.

"Where are you from?" the man asked, making her turn. He was considering her with more interest.

"Uh…" Quinn propped one hand on the side of the barge. "Somewhere out west. You probably haven't heard of it."

"I'm only curious as to what a human warrior is doing traveling with a group of dwarves." He looked her over again. "Especially one with such finely-made armor."

She resisted the urge to fidget. The pain in her arm was making it hard to focus on a decent lie. And if the meeting with Thranduil had taught her anything, it was that bullshitting wasn't always the way to go. "What's with the Twenty Questions, Will Turner? I thought smugglers weren't supposed to ask questions."

"When you live in a place like Lake-town, you learn to be suspicious. And my name is Bard, not...Will Turner."

"Okay, Bard. So what's this Lake-town place like? It sounds kinda sketchy."

"Sketchy?"

"Shady."

Bard tilted his head. "I'm not sure what you mean. But you will have to be careful. Parts of the town are dangerous, and there are spies in unexpected places."

"Sounds shady to me. Are we gonna sneak in through the sewers or something?"

"There are no sewers." He rested one hand on the tiller. "The town is built directly on the lake."

Quinn stared at him. "You're shitting me."

Bard shook his head with a slight smile, seeming to at least understand that phrase. "We have wooden beams reaching down to the bottom of the lake. Those help support the buildings."

"That is so cool." She straightened and turned towards the front of the boat, searching the fog for any sign of the town.

At that moment, the fog did part, but it wasn't a town that caught her attention. To the left, a vast shape appeared. Several of the dwarves fell silent, some even standing up to get a better look.

Quinn had grown up near mountains, so they were nothing new to her. But seeing this peak towering in the very near distance was strangely awe-inspiring. She couldn't help but think back to the pillar where the eagles had dropped them off, and how the mountain had been nothing more than a bump on the horizon here.

Now, it was undeniably real, and close enough to make her realize that the quest was almost at an end. Their next step, after getting through Shade-town, was to fight the dragon. Goosebumps rose on her arms that had nothing to do with the weather.

Bard walked forward, interrupting the moment. "The money. Give it to me, quick."

Thorin shook his head. "We will pay you when we get our provisions, and not before."

"We are almost at the outpost. If you do not wish to be caught by the guards, then you'll do as I say."

Quinn followed him to the center of the boat. "So what's the plan, here? How are we sneaking in if there's no sewers?"

Bard glanced around at the dwarves and hesitated. "I know a fisherman. Sells his catch for cheap. If you hide in the barrels and we fill the rest with fish—"

The dwarves erupted into protests.

"We've spent enough time in those damned barrels!"

"How'd you like your head shoved in a bucket of fish, you mangy bargeman?"

"Yeah, that idea sucks," Quinn said.

Bard's face reddened, and he hissed for them to quiet down. "How else do you expect to pass through unnoticed? There are no lids on these barrels—"

"Just flip them upside down," she said, gesturing to the closest one with her uninjured arm. "Then it looks like they're closed."

He stopped and blinked. "I hadn't thought of that."

"That'd work," Glóin said amongst approving murmurs from the dwarves."

"Classic Wind Waker move," Quinn said. "You guys can thank me later."

"Do it quickly, then." Bard gestured for them to move, sending a nervous glance up ahead. Through the fog, the outline of a couple buildings was visible.

They moved swiftly, helping each other under the barrels with surprising coordination for the limited space. Soon, they were all out of sight inside the cramped containers.

As they drew closer to the town, the smell of fish became more and more evident, along with another pungent scent she couldn't identify.

"I owe you one, Quinn," Bombur whispered from the next barrel over. "I like fish well enough, but I'd not like to be buried in it."

"I got you, Big B."

Bard kicked her barrel. "Quiet! We're approaching the gate."

She muttered a few choice words into her forearm, then fell silent. A few minutes later, the creak of a gate opening was audible.

"Halt!" called a man once they had passed through the gate. "Goods inspection! Oh, it's you, Bard."

"Hello, Percy. Here are my papers."

"Thank you very much. Anything to declare, today?" Footsteps creaked on wood.

"Nothing, except I am cold and tired and ready for home."

"You and me both." A small thump sounded. "Well, it appears everything is in order. You're free to go."

"Now, hold on just a second," a new voice sounded. "Percy, my friend, are you going to let these barrels go without checking them first?"

Quinn nearly smacked her forehead. Are you fucking kidding me?

"Hello, Alfrid," Bard said stiffly. "I wasn't aware you went anywhere without the master."

"Well, he's a busy man. And I've got to help keep an eye on things, make sure rules are being followed." There was the noise of rustling papers. "'Consignment of empty barrels from the Woodland Realm,' it says here. How can we make sure these barrels are truly empty?"

Quinn tried to shift as quietly as she could in the narrow space. Worst case scenario, I jump up, Batista Bomb this Alfrid guy into the lake, and run like hell.

Even worse case scenario, Bilbo had to break us out of jail again.

"You're wasting your time, Alfrid." The barge floor creaked, as though Bard was stepping between him and the barrels. "We're not due for another shipment from the elves until next week. And there's not much else I could be picking up between here and there, unless there's a high demand for river rocks."

A minute of tense silence passed. Finally, Alfrid said, "The master has his eye on you, Bard. You'd do well to remember—we know where you live."

"It's a small town, Alfrid." Bard moved back to the tiller, and the barge began to move again. "Everyone knows where everyone lives."

Ten minutes passed, and no one else stopped them. The sounds of civilization—conversation, footsteps, livestock—began to fill the air.

Quinn let her head fall back against the side of the barrel and breathed out a sigh of relief. "Holy shit."

Her idea had actually worked. They'd made it in.

Wow, one of Quinn's plans actually worked for once! We'll see how long that lasts!

Thanks as always to drwatsonn for reviewing. I hope you all enjoy this chapter, and I'll have the next one up soon.