Lake town was quiet at night, no rocking night life or drunken taverns creating scenes, just the lap of water against boats. Some fishermen still appeared to be moving around the lane ways of water, paddles dipping quietly and knocking against floating ice, but aside from a few flickering warm patches of light in windows it was clear that most people were in bed.

Boromir and Bard exchanged conversation, voices quiet and yet still carrying, but the words were mostly the kind of thing 'distant' cousins might have exchanged, awkward questions about family, kids, that kind of thing. They didn't have to fake awkward, it must have been very strange for Bard to talk about his children to a stranger, and when Boromir gave his sympathy for the loss of Bard's wife... there was no need to fake how uncomfortable that made Bard.

I wondered if perhaps the fishermen were actually following Bard after we'd weaved in and out of the houses for about five minutes, and that may have explained the conversation. Was Bard watched? I vaguely remembered something about that but I hadn't paid much attention. I hadn't really understood why they'd bother at the time.

Still, as we approached his house, they continued to follow. Bard gestured to us to go upstairs, glancing about a moment, following behind me.

"My children sleep." He said softly. "I do not expect any of you to stay silent- but keep voices low."

"We can do that." I reassured him.

It was hard though- boy were the Dwarves glad to see us. We came into a small kitchen area, the Dwarves huddled around a fire in the living room in blankets and clutching to warm drinks, their sodden clothing still hanging around the roof. There was a distinctive fishy smell to them all... and I wondered if they'd spent part of their journey in barrels of fish. If they didn't all look so tired and sour I might have actually asked.

"You made it!" Ori brightened.

"Must admit, we were a little worried..." Balin smiled, shaking his head, rising to shake Boromir's hand and clasp a hand on my arm. "Come and have a seat. Fire's strong and tea is hot."

"We brought food." I held out the wrapped piece of meat to Bard, who took it, smiling a little for the first time since this had all started.

Bard nodded, grateful, and carefully unwrapped it. "I will bring some on bread for us all. Keep-"

"-voices down, we know, we know." Gloin finished for him.

While he went to the table to cut bread, Boromir and myself were wedged in amongst the Dwarves, several blankets offered from those closest to the fire. They were still in their undergarments, long john type things, and seemed resonably dry.

"Going to need a comb soon." Bombur muttered. His attention wasn't on his ruined hair though, it was on Bard and the food, his stomach making loud gurgles. "That's not enou-"

Thorin jabbed him. "It is more than enough."

Bombur frowned, looking down, not looking convinced at all. He didn't even try to look grateful as Bard circled around us, handing out slices of bread with the cooked meat, his eyes going to the big chunk of meat still remaining.

"I will tolerate your presene," Bard warned us, as if he was aware of the situation, his voice low, "But only if you understand that my priority is to feed my children first. The rest must be saved for the morning and when they are fed, you will all get that remains, but I have a duty..."

"We do understand." Balin reassured him. "Don't we?"

There were grunts, nods, and Gloin said gruffly, "I too have a wee lad. No one will take that which you do not offer."

"Good." Bard nodded. He slid the last piece to me and rested down heavily beside me, sighing, looking exhausted as he reached up to rub his face. "Eat up quickly- we all need rest."

There was silence as everyone ate. It showed just how tired the Dwarves were, they weren't usually so easily ordered or silenced, and as they ate their megar offerings there were soft whispers here and there but that was about all.

"You would allow us a smoke, would you not?"

"Of course." Bard agreed. He smiled faintly again. "I think I may need one too. I have tobacco to share if you have pipes."

They did somehow, amazing considering how the Elves had stripped us all, but then I supposed wooden pipes weren't as much of a concern as weapons had been. Pipes appeared, sweet earthy smoke rising up to cast a little cloud across the ceiling, the smell of fish vanishing. One by one bodies relaxed, sighed, leaning back.

It was now that I finally saw Bilbo. He was fast asleep, bread and meat untouched beside him, curled up near the fire under a blanket.

"Poor lad. He's done good." Bifur grunted, his words mostly audible, reaching down to pat the hobbit's shoulder affectionately.

Maybe it was the smoke, or the sense of safety – if only for the night – but I felt the tension bleed out of my muscles and sagged forward, leaning on my elbows, gazing forward at the fire as it danced and placed. I sighed as my stomach settled down and shut my eyes a moment.

"Thanks." I said quietly, to Bard, "For taking this chance."

"There was not so much choice." He said quietly. "Even a father must do risky things to feed their family."

It must have been hard, leaving them here alone, knowing they were hungry, barely able to feed them. There wasn't anything I could think of saying to make it better. There were many things I'd have done to keep my boy fed as well, safe, in a home that was safe.

Boromir nudged me gently. "I should be buying you a dress. I forgot the power a weak woman has on men with swords..."

"Weak."

"If you would pretend to be weak then you would find it would go your way a great deal more than trying to force situations." Boromir gave me a light bump with his arm, sounding amused, adding, "Always trying to be as strong as a man."

"I am as-"

"You are no less skilled, do not mistake me, but men will still always be stronger in close combat." Boromir corrected. Then he grinned, adding, "If you were only a little more subtle with your strength of heart, and had hair the length of Eowyn, the world could be eating out of your hands."

I snorted. "I like this hair."

"Then buy a wig. I have seen them from your world."

"Say what you like to her, Boromir, but subtle battles of the womanfolk kind are clearly not her skills." Bofur grinned at me from across Boromir's side.

"It's a shame you didn't keep up the scrawny man act." Boromir commented lightly.

"Why? We got in bribe free." I relaxed.

"But now you are a known woman. They will expect you to wear a dress..."

"No." Oh god, my heart sunk at that, and I protested, "It shouldn't matter..."

"It will if you're genuinely trying to avoid drawing too much attention. They'll get bored of you if you wear a dress like all other women but if you continue to dress like a man? That will cause a stir and will draw far too much attention here." Bard spoke up. He shrugged. "It is done. We will find something for you. I doubt you have one of your dresses on you."

One of my dresses? Last time I wore a dress happily dress it was a wedding dress, the one I'd ordered from 'Rivendel Brides' mostly out of self-amusement, so no, I probably didn't. I sighed. Let it go. Okay. "All right."

"She doesn't sound too impressed, does she?" Fili chuckled and shook his head.

"Once again she's behaving more like a Dwarven woman than a human one." Kili spoke up. His smile was horribly forced, his skin still several shades too pale, but he was doing his hardest to hide it. The compliment was overshadowed for me by the way he looked.

There was no opportunity to question about it. Bard had stood, muttering, "Now- I have no room upstairs, and although it may be cramped you must all sleep down below. There is a storage room beside the toilet where you may all sleep. Wendy, you may sleep near the fire."

"It's cold down there." Bombur complained.

"Why does she get to be up here?" Dwalin demanded, shooting us both a look, adding, "Some of us do not have a head of hair to stay warm..."

"She's a woman." Ori whispered.

"Could have fooled me."

"Quiet." Bard hissed. "You'll do what I say or you'll be back down the toilet. Tomorrow the children will meet you all."

"Of course we will, we're all strangers, and we're able to keep warm." Gloin spoke up. "He has bairn to protect."

That quietened everyone. Gloin stood, rising slowly, and took another slow puff of his pipe.

"It won't be too cold below." Barn reassured them, as they took their clothing and shuffled downstairs, adding, "You will find a small coal fireplace and coal. It will take the chill off the room. It is a room designed for drying- it is well sealed from the cold."

"We'll manage." Thorin said quietly. Grateful, he nodded to Barn, and then vanished down the stairs.

Boromir vanished downstairs, hesitating a moment as if he was worried about leaving me, but I didn't feel all that threatned. Once he was gone Barn sighed.

"You will find blankets, but no bed, and that will have to do."

"It's fine." I reassured him quietly. "Really. You go, sleep, I'll sort it out. The fire..."

"I will give it several logs and then you can ignore it. The coals will remain hot and it will be easily woken in the morning." Bard was doing it even as he spoke, hoisting a couple of heavy looking logs onto the fire, and rewrapping the meat.

"Is there anything you need me to do?" I couldn't relax till I offered. "To make it easier. I can wake up and keep the fire going, if your children need more warmth, or get up early and … do something. Bring water. Anything. We're the ones forcing you into a difficult place."

Another tired smile, a shake of his head, responding, "I am so used to doing it all that I cannot even begin to think of what to ask. You are my guest- just sleep and sleep well. My daughters may rise before I do, perhaps, but they will wake me if they see you. You have a wound and it should rest a day, at least..."

"I don't want to scare them."

"Not much scares those three." Bard stood up now, done fussing over the fire, and held out several blankets. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight." I took the blanket. He vanished into one of the tiny doors, bending low, and I was left to set up a small bed out of the blankets I had. With a rolled up blanket for a pillow, my aching arm babied by staying on my side and using my other arm, I shut my eyes and fell straight into oblivion.

Whispers got my attention, at first, soft whispers that were just a few feet away. I opened my eyes to see two girls nearby, the older one trying to hush the younger as she asked questions, but by the lack of shock or fear I had to assume Bard had already warned his girls about me.

"Why did she cut her hair?"

"Quiet, that's rude..."

"But why?"

The older girl must have seen my eyes were open, she nudged her little sister, scolding her, "Now you woke her," and came across slowly. "Hello... sorry, she's just curious."

"I'm not offended." I sat up slowly, cringing a little as the slightest bending of arm made my shoulder ache again, cursing Boromir for provoking it again. I got why he did it... but it was still sore. "Hello. I'm Wendy."

"I'm Sigrid and this is Tilda." Sigrid looked around thirteen, though she could have easily been younger, the maturity in her face might have been brought on by loss of her mother. "There's a toilet downstairs if you need it. Pa told us you and some friends were hiding here."

"Yes, and sorry for how crowded that might make it..." I reached up to touch my shoulder, sighing, the entire area somehow aching away now.

"Are you hurt?" Sigrid asked quickly. "Do you need Pa to look at it?"

"It was a week ago- it should be healing. It just had a rough day." I reassured her. Then, to the younger girl who still clearly had questions, I added, "I cut my hair because it was easier to keep clean while travelling." Not a total lie, plus it was an answer that didn't provoke too many questions in a young mind, it

"Oh." Tilda seemed to accept this. "I don't like washing my hair when it's cold. It's cold all the time. Can I cut mine short?"

"You don't mind me combing it in front of the fire after though." Sigrid smiled at that, grasping her little sister, giving her a squeeze.

"It's nice but my head is cold." I admitted. "There's not enough hair to warm it."

The stairs creaked, Bard's voice calling, "You bothering our guest?" and he appeared at the door with a sack over one shoulder. "Excuse them, they were curious."

"It's no problem." I liked them already. "Tilda just wanted to know about my hair. It is unusual."

"That it is." He agreed. He dropped the heavy sounding sack down on the table. "We have potatos plenty."

"Good." Sigrid hurried over, grabbing an apron, her sleeves rolling up. "I can make soup. It'll make meat go further."

Tilda had inched closer to me, reaching out, shy and curious all at once. When I showed no sign of anger she let her small hand touch my short hair, stroking it, before withdrawing her hand as her face lit up. "It's nice and clean."

Bard smiled, though it was a sad smile, watching her as she fussed around the kitchen. She did look very small, the apron seemed very large for her, and I caught the small sigh. He lifted a knife. "Do you want me to peel..."

"No, pa, you get more potato than you get skin." Sigrid responded, lifting a bucket, and thrust it at him. "We need water. Tilda, come help..."

"But I wanted to talk to Wendy!" Tilda had remained near me, hovering about, half shy and half curious. She was clearly wanting to touch my head again. "Her hair is really nice and fluffy."

"You're not cutting your hair." Bard warned her. "Go, help your sister, and leave Wendy to get up and get dressed. Here." He strode across and held something out. It was a bundle of cloth, the top being a dress, a woman's dress, smelling a little old and musty but still quite beautiful with green woollen fabric. He gazed down at it with that mixture of grief and affection. "You can wear this. I already spoke to Sigrid, she doesn't mind, as long as you care for it."

"Was this your wife's dress?" I suddenly didn't want to take it, not because it was a dead woman's drss, but because … dresses were always passed onto daughters. Hand me downs were a way of life for communities with poor or limited resources. I knew Sigrid would wear it one day. "I couldn't wear it."

"You can wear it." Sigrid called. "I'm too small for it. You don't have to wear raggy men's clothing while you're our guest. Ma... well, she would have made sure you wore something warm and comfortable."

I wondered how long it had been since she'd died. They seemed to struggle still, but there was still that trace of smile, memories no longer causing just pain... that point in grief where they could also smile.

I also knew it'd be rude to reject it. "I'll care for it while I'm here. I'll be careful with it and return it after."

"That's all you need do." Bard agreed, letting me take the dress, adding, "I have a cloak also, with a hood, to protect you from the chill of the winds while outside."

"My offer of help..." I stood slowly, careful, and stretched.

"I will accept it." Bard reassured me. "Think on that after you have woken properly and dressed. The girls know how to cook. Your shoulder..."

"It's all right." I reassured him. "It's not bleeding now."

"Still, I'll get some hot water for you to clean it out, but first... the water for the girls." He grasped the bucket tighter and vanished downstairs.

"You can dress in our room." Sigrid called. "There's a tub of hot water... well, it might be warm by now, but it's still clean and soapy. We washed yesterday- you don't need to worry about dirtying the water so you can strip completely and take your time."

After relieving myself downstairs, the dwarves still snoring away apparently, I ended up in their room. The cold of this area, this town, it clung to the room even with the fire going just a few metres away, and it was pretty uncomfortable to take clothing off.

The tub was just big enough to stand in, which was the point, probably the right size for a kid to sit in if they wanted. I didn't have much choice but to dirty the water, which made me pretty embarrassed, the colour of things coming off me...

I hadn't been able to wash with soap for so long though, so honestly grateful for hot soapy water and a cloth to clean myself from head to toe.

Tilda appeared, much to Sigrid's embarrassment, openly curious as she snuck into the room and watched me. In this society I knew, from my time in Minas Tirith, that this was quite normal. Girls and women bathed together in families, shared the same water, and the shame thing my culture had was absent.

"Why are you hairy between your legs?" She asked. "Why do you have lines on your belly and legs and arms?"

"Tilda!" Sigrid called, flustered sounding, adding, "I am so sorry... she only sees me bathing... she doesn't remember... Ma. I can come get her out if you want."

Was it that long ago that Tilda had no memory of her mother bathing? Sympathy welled up for them both.

"It's okay." I called. Then, as I tried to get over my embarrassment at being so openly stared at, I answered as I scrubbed a dirt encrusted patch, "All women grow hair on their legs, under their arms and between their legs when they become a woman..."

"Why?"

"I don't know." I admitted. "Maybe it's to help us stay warm."

She giggled, clearly approving of that, and shuffled over to sit on her bed. "What about the lines? You got scars too..."

"The lines are from when I was carrying a baby." I responded, gazing down to the stretch marks, most of them faded, but still there. "Scars are from when I got hurt."

"How?"

"Tilda, stop bothering her, and come help me peel..." Sigrid called.

Bard's voice appeared too, the thump of boots on the floor outside the door, warning her, "Tilda, come out, stop bothering our guest..."

"What?" Tilda stood up, taking her time as she wandered out, competently oblivious to her poor flustered father as she opened the door and peered out. "She's my friend now."

His boy was there too. With Boromir. The two men and the boy stared at me just a moment before Tilda was yanked out and the door shut.

Bard quickly shut the door, his face red, calling, "Please... forgive her... she has no idea of proper behaviour... Tilda!"

I was still standing there, soapy, naked and dripping, but all I could do was grin even as my face warmed in embarrassment. It was too funny. Tilda's innocence was adorable. Maybe it was time to end bathing though. Quickly I finished up, checking my shoulder, frustrated when I found that the skin around the wound had gone a shade of red that probably was not a good sign.

Infection was a likely and logical outcome given all the things that wound had been through, and the way it hadn't been able to heal properly, and I wished I'd thought to clean it before I'd dirtied the water with everything else. This wasn't my world. We didn't have antibiotics here... an infection was more serious. I would have to take it more seriously and care for it better.

Once I had dried myself enough, I dressed, the dress two parts- one thinner wool under dress that was a creamy white, probably the natural shade of the wool it was made from, and the other made to go over it. The undergarments were long, like leggings, but without any binding around my chest it made busts go all kinds of upward.

Well, perhaps not so much, but I'd been living without cleavage for so long that even a hint of it seemed like a lot to me.

The soft over dress was heavy, though not unbearable, soft and a little worn here and there with use. The hem of the sleeves had little bees and flowers stitched around them, hiding worn sleeves but also adding a personal touch from the woman who had worn it before myself, the neckline's hem lined with a similar pattern of flowers. A long row of buttons tightened the dress along the front, holding it in place, but it was still a dress designed for warmth and practicality as much as beauty.

Gloves were included, apparently but I found a pouch inside to put them in for the moment. Once I had my boots back on I found myself suddenly 'womanised' again.

Tilda was getting a talk to, when I came out, Boromir's grin on his flustered face showing that he'd seen it all.

Oh well.

"You look like a woman, Wendy, I do not know you at all!" He exclaimed, coming to me, arms open as he tried to capture me in his arms. "I think it's time I treat you as such."

"Yeah, that'd be the day!" I retorted, ducking out of his embrace, and turned to see Bard and boy flustered as they tried to act natural. "Sorry about that..."

"You look lovely." Bard reassured me. "Tilda should know better."

"Well, you wanted me to come out, and now you're angry because I did it! I don't want to help anyone cook now." Tilda protested, upset, even stomping her foot as she stormed off to the room before any of us could talk.

Sigrid dropped the knife, sighing, and went to the room. "I'll talk to her..."

"No, leave her." Bard sighed. "She's got to learn that there's some things you shouldn't do... and she'll come out when she's hungry. I'll get that water out of the room before it creates a chill. You both sit- we'll all talk about your plans when the Dwarves are ready. Bain- go knock again."

"They were snoring before." Bain seemed unable to look at me, the poor kid flushing as he caught my eye, but given his age... he was probably around fourteen... it was probably going to be a while before he could be relaxed around me after this. He was almost glad to leave the room.

Moments later Bilbo appeared, blinking at me in the dress, and he smiled and came to sit beside me and Boromir near the fire.

"You look nice" He commented.

"Thanks." I responded. "You look well rested."

Bilbo did, he had colour back in his face, he was relaxed, and clearly in a better mood than he had been for a while. "It was hard to sleep in Mirkwood. Slept better than I have for days."

"Is everyone else still asleep?" Boromir asked.

"That they are, sleeping like a bunch of hairy babies, and I wouldn't dare wake them till they're ready." Bilbo nodded. "I suspect Dwarves aren't so comfortable with water journeys."

He rose again, wandering across to where poor Sigrid was alone, and without a word took up a knife and joined her.

"You don't have to help..." Sigrid told him.

"I've missed cooking." Bilbo responded. "Really. I used to cook all my own meals before all this." His hands were fast, peeling the potato quickly with the knife, and it was a pretty beautiful job- barely the potato was touched at all. "Hobbits eat seven times a day, usually, so we have plenty of practice."

"Seven times!" Sigrid shook her head. "So much food..."

"It is a lot of food, I've realised, but I did not think anything of it before this adventure." Bilbo agreed. He continued to help her, his speedy work hurrying the potatoes along, until they were all done and being washed to go into the pot. "Hobbits always eat like that. We have a trick, actually, if you'd let me demonstrate..."

He demonstrated with a potato how he could peel it in a few seconds- first boiling it, then dunking it in icy water for a few seconds, before literally pushing the potato peel off with a quick squeeze.

"I didn't know you could do that!" Sigrid exclaimed.

"We eat a lot of these." Bilbo explained. "Hobbits do, I mean, so we learnt quicker ways to prepare them."

"What's are hobbits like?"

Tilda reappeared, sneaking out, hugging the wall a little as she listened to Bilbo chatter on about his home, his larders, his home, Sigrid caught on every word. She started to help again.]]

I stood to help, but Boromir gave me a gentle shove back down, carefully peeling the hem off the dress to one side as he peered at the wound.

"It's infected." He frowned, concern replacing his good mood, gently probing it. "You have not been cleaning it."

"It's just a little infected. I'll clean it carefully when I have some boiling water." I reassured him. "Not a problem."

"You will sit still while I do it." He muttered. "Then I will decide if it is a problem or not. That is an order, warrior Wendy."

"Yeah, yeah, Captain Boromir..."

"Captain?" Bard asked, reappearing with another bucket of water, pouring it into a cauldron over the fire. "Of where?"

"Gondor." Boromir responded. "Wendy is from a different place again. We'll need hot water to clean her wound."

"Aye, I know, and I'll make sure you get some hot water before this becomes soup." Bard responded. "I am Captain of the Laketown Archers. You fight with a sword, I assume...?"

"That I do." Boromir agreed. "You need more water?"

"Two more buckets."

"Then I'll assist you- one journey and we can talk." Boromir shot me a look. "You stay resting. That shoulder needs rest."

"Yeah, yeah." I responded, repeating myself, tempted to argue. No point. Boromir was clearly determined to care for me... was it the dress? Perhaps it was.

Dwarves appeared soon before the soup was ready, lured by stomachs, crowding into the room and stunning the girls. They must have had a little warning but there was no real way to prepare anyone for thirteen hungry, grumpy, restless Dwarves that nearly took up all the space around the table.

"You sit down too, Pa, we'll bring it all over." Sigrid waved a ladle at her father as he approached, clearly in control, adding as she saw his face fall somewhat, " If you need to do something, take bowls over."

He did exactly what his daughter told him, dropping a large heap of clay bowls down, and then flopped heavily beside me. With a mixture of love, esasperation and sadness, Bard watched his girls chat to the hobbit and fend off hungry Dwarves without any need for his help. He shook his head.

"They're too used to living without my help." He said quietly, almost to himself, "I would not have accepted such a risky offer except... I need to spend more time here. With them."

"You can do that with more money, I guess..."

"I can pay another man to do the work several days a week for a few months without risking further hunger." He agreed.

So he basically wanted a weekend. Who could blame him for wanting that?

"If you want me to-"

"Stop offering help." Bard interrupted. "You will be asked, of course, but I will see your wound have a day of rest first. You must be a mother."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because once you have children it is easy to forget how to relax." He leaned back on his chair, slumping, shutting his eyes.

"I do have one." I admitted. "Just turned five. He is a handful..."

"A boy at that age always is." Bard chuckled, adding, "When my Bain was that age his mother was in constant anxiety about him slipping into the icy waters all winter- poor lad would want to run and play and would have to keep an eye out for a mother. He only got his freedom to be his age when she was pregnant again and could not chase him."

"Is he the oldest?"

"No, his sister is, but only by ten months." Bard responded. He gazed at the two of them, Bain had appeared as well, his sister chasing him off with the same ladle she'd used to fend off her father and the Dwarves with. "She lets him know she is the one in charge in this home..."

I liked her, this older girl, amused. She was fussing over the food, ignoring Dwarves, even as her sister asked them a flood of questions... sometimes slightly inappropriate and very innocent. Gloin seemed to be the one who got along with Tilda best, somehow, maybe it was because he'd already had a child. Lunch appeared, chunks of meat floating in thick soup rich with potato, onion and garlic, slabs of old crusty bread fried (without oil it seemed) piled up in the middle of the table. It was filling and good food.

After everyone had eaten, soup still left over by some incredible miracle, Balin, Dwalin and Bard discussed what was needed. Weapons, apparently, which Bard was clearly uncomfortable about.

"We mean you no harm but to go back on the road..."

"I understand." Bard responded. "That is not what has me concerned. Supply may be limited- but then you are all here for more than a few hours. It will not be something I can come up with in just a few hours, or even a few days, not without being noticed."

"Then it is lucky we cannot leave for at least five days."

"So long as you understand that I must take my time." Bard responded. "I have friends who will assist me- but we are all under close watch by the Master of this town."

"Good. Do what you can."

"Why are you under close watch?" Dwalin asked.

Bard straightened. "He is not a good man, he is a greedy man, lusting for food, for money and for innocence. But he cannot seem to understand how this may make people unhappy...he requires a person to blame."

"That's you." Boromir guessed.

"Who else? I do not threaten people, take their money, their gold or their children for his bed, and yet I still have loyality." Bard laughed, a dry laugh, no trace of real humor in his face. He added, "It threatens him to think that I could have any sort of power over people without resorting to his … his ways."

"Children for his bed?"

"They are not children, so to speak, but I have heard rumours that he will bribe deseperate girls with offers of food and coin for their family." Bard's voice lowered. Tilda and Sigrid weren't apparently listening, but Bain was, his young face older already with all these worries that his father carried. "Or if their family wrongs him, he will take what he wishes from their homes, his greed is bound by no honour or morality."

The Dwarves had hung onto every word, almost, although Thorin

"You're paying it too..." I realised. He was so resentful, so annoyed, and the look on his face confirmed it. Another big reason for him to want more money- he could pay it AND stay home. Protect his children and his home. Bard, although the Dwarves hadn't figured it out yet, was the heir to Dale. Basically... a Prince of sorts. People around here probably knew it, the Master of this town certainly knew it, so it would either threaten or inspire without much energy from Bard himself. "So he's still blaming you for how angry people are..."

"I would rather pay it in order to know this house is marked safe, avoid stirring up anger, and my friends know it. That is why you must all stay quiet, hidden, and not bring unneeded attention here." Bard frowned. "And let me do what I must at the pace I decide."

Of course he'd said this before, in different words, but it showed how anxious he was that we all 'behave' with how he needed to reinforce this. No one argued. Maybe now the Dwarves were a little more understanding, I hoped, a little more willing to put up with hungry stomachs and boredom.

Maybe.

Only six more days to go.