Chapter Twenty-One

This was one of the times in which Mirilas wondered how she had managed to get herself into such an odd situation. The white-haired dwarf and the bald dwarf stood beside her outside the armoury of Lake Town while Thorin and most of the other dwarves were inside, stealing swords and axes. She had been trying to decide whether she wanted the dwarves caught or not. She could easily call out and have them discovered in the process of robbing the armour, but they did still deserve a chance to reclaim their home. But, they had kidnapped her from her home. Thus far, they had treated her fairly kindly, aside from not allowing her to return to her family. Come to think of it, they would probably use her to negotiate with her father once (or rather, if) they reclaimed their home from the dragon.

Mirilas's thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a loud clang from inside the armoury. It sounded like a number of weapons were dropped.

Soon after, there were shouts heading their way along with the pounding of approaching footsteps. The guards were coming.

In very little time, the entire Company plus the elf were herded to a little, wooden plaza in front of the largest house in town, likely the Master's house. While the dwarves and the hobbit had been treated roughly and manhandled, the guards had not even raised a sword against the elf or even laid a finger on her. However, it was still clear that she was to go with them. She briefly wondered if they would dare use force against her.

The leader of the guards, which was apparent to everyone from his pompous helmet, stopped at the head of the group as a tall man of large girth strode out of the house. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded as he shrugged on a coat.

"Caught 'em stealing weapons, Sire," the lead guard said, looking back at the dwarves.

"Ah! Enemies of the state, eh?" the man said, looking over the dwarves.

"Looks like a bunch o' mercenaries if ever there was, Sire," Alfrid said contemptuously from behind the lumbering man.

"Hold yer tongue!" the bald dwarf (she really must learn his name) spat out. He walked forward from the semicircle of dwarves as he said with just as much contempt as the Master, "You do not know to whom you speak. This is no common criminal. This is Thorin, Son of Thrain, Son of Thror!" The people of Lake Town that were crowded around the outside of the guards surrounding the dwarves were all atwitter at this revelation.

"We are the dwarves of Erebor. We have come to reclaim our homeland...I remember this town in the great days of old. Fleets of boats lay at harbour, filled with silks and fine gems. This was no forsaken town on a lake! This was the centre of all trade in the North! 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!" By this point, the people were crying out in agreement with the dwarf prince.

However, a familiar yell came from behind them. "Death!" Bard made his way through the cros, the guards, and the dwarves to stand beside the dwarf prince as he said, "That is what you will bring upon us. Dragon fire and ruin. If you awaken that beast, it will destroy us all."

"You can listen to this nay-sayer, but I promise you this: if we succeed, all will share in the wealth of the Mountain," Thorin said, playing on the crowd's agreement with his goal.

Mirilas scoffed at the very thought of a dwarf sharing treasure with these people. Thankfully, it was covered up by the cries of the people, though Bilbo glanced her way.

"You will have enough gold to rebuild Esgaroth ten times over!" Thorin called out to the crowd.

Bard shouted over the people's cries, "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? The blind ambition of a mountain king? So riven by greed, he cannot see beyond his own desire!"

The Master played on the people's fears and said, "Now, now. We must not any of us be too quick to lay blame! Let us not forget that it was Girion, Lord of Dale, your ancestor, that failed to kill the beast!"

"It's true, Sire," Alfrid said accusingly as Thorin looked to Bard with judging eyes. "We all know the story. Arrow after arrow he shot, each one missin' its mark." The people were beginning to protest again.

Bard turned to face the dwarf prince as he said lowly, "You have no right , no right, to enter that mountain."

Thorin leaned in slightly and said lowly to the man, "I have the only right." He then turned back to the Master at the top of the stairs. "I speak to the Master of the men of the lake. Would you see the prophecy fulfilled?" Prophecy? There was a prophecy about their return? "Will you share in the great wealth of our people? What say you?"

The plaza was silent as the Master said, "I say unto you...WELCOME!" The Master spread his arms wide, and a great shout went up among the crowd. "Welcome! And thrice welcome, King Under the Mountain!" he continued. So the dwarf prince was a king now...

Just then, the Master looked over to her and made a small motion with his hand to the guard beside her. The guard tried to take hold of her arms in answer, but the dwarf beside her, the young, blonde one, shoved the guard back and placed an arm around the elf's waist. She doubted he could reach any more appropriate areas to hold her. At least, she would not be in the company of that obsequious, little grease ball of a man if she were with the dwarves, though she would greatly prefer going home.