A/N: I swear, the closer to the end I get, the harder these chapters are to write. Apologies for the delay. Thank you all for the lovely reviews on last chapter. It was (until this chapter) the hardest I've had to write. This next chapter's even a bigger doozy, as it' the long awaited Half a half discussion.


Despite the peaceful ending of the night before, the next day was a flurry of activity, starting with an anxious town meeting. Bard had apparently taken her words to heart, urging the town to evacuate, and the Master of Laketown was doing all in his power to downplay Bard's worries. Beryl wondered just how one person could be that colossally stupid. She finally had enough of their bickering.

"Are you truly that daft to the consequences, Master of Laketown?" Everyone gasped and quieted as she stepped forward, thumping her staff on the planks beneath her fuzzy feet. "Let's look at them, then, shall we?" Her bright stare took in all those around her. "Suppose we go, and find the dragon dead, or we manage our quest without disturbing his slumber. What happens? You have journeyed to the forest edge and back. That is all, your town will be here just as you left it, and no one gets hurt in the meantime.

"Now, suppose we go, and the dragon awakes? What then? Who lives in his shadow? Who would be the first to feel his wrath? I would rather see that fury vented on an empty town, than one full of people with no time left to run to safety."

"And you think the Elves will just allow us into their borders with open arms?" sneered the oily toad of a man. Honestly, Beryl wondered what possessed the people of Laketown to declare this man their leader. Someone like this wouldn't even be trusted to pull weeds in Hobbiton. She shrugged at him.

"Why not? They depend on you for trade. It would be very stupid to turn down allies that could wind up owing you valuable favors for a night or two under their trees. The cost to them is negligible, and possible rewards for succoring you better than good." Beryl was quickly cut off by the slimy insistent voice of the Laketown Master.

"Oh, that's all very well and good, speaking of what the Woodelves gain by giving us shelter. Your plan seems to benefit them more than us." There was a dangerous glitter in the Master's eye, but Beryl was still reeling from the amount of idiocy she just heard.

"Benefit them more? You must be joking, or do you really value your continued existence that little?" Beryl stood before the Master of Laketown, hands on her hips, staff cradled in the crook of her arm, and one fuzzy foot tapping as she regarded him with the same gimlet stare that cowered younglings from Hobbiton to Buckland. She held it long enough that the toad shifted uneasily on his ostentatious chair, and the crowd around began to titter.

"That is only if one scenario plays out. In the other, we will be left owing them for nothing." He sneered back.

"Oh fine, then. Should that happen, the Elves are welcome to recompense from my share. Can we please start moving people out of the town towards safety now?" The Master's eyes gleamed as if he'd won something, and Beryl wondered if she'd managed to step into some trap.

Though really, she felt her share of the treasure would be a very small price to pay if it saved even one of the children she'd met so far. She quite liked the ones she'd met so far in Laketown. In fact, she'd promised to ride herd on the children too young to help with the move while the townspeople packed. It wouldn't be the first time she'd sheparded littles.

She made her way through town using her staff like a shepherd's crook, gathering children as she went, and took them to a wooded area not far from the lakeshore. Rousing games of tag, red rover, and duck duck goose kept them busy and engaged until the daylight started waning. It was while she was helping a sweet girl named Tilda with her hair ribbons she noticed a familiar silhouette leaning comfortably against a pine.

"Daddy! Mistress Baggins braided my hair, isn't it beautiful?" Tilda's massive grin lit Bard's face up in a rare smile, even his eyes softened as he dutifully admired Tilda's new braids.

"Why am I not surprised this little firecracker belongs to you?" Beryl leaned tiredly on her staff, regarding Tilda now wrapped around one of Bard's long legs.

"Firecracker, eh? Did she behave for you?" Bard looked down at Tilda with mock severity, but she knew her father well, and that wide grin of hers never faltered.

"She behaved very well for me, gave me less trouble than most here, though I'm duly impressed with the general parenting here in Laketown." Beryl fondly tweaked one of Tilda's braids, making the little girl squeak. She looked up in time to catch an odd expression and a growing tension in Bard's casual stance. "Anything occurred to you since we talked, or are you just here to gather Tilda?"

"I've had an idea." Several adults had shown up to collect their children. Excited chatter filled the glade as parents heard all about the games played, stories heard, and excited finds as they roamed under the trees with a nature enthused Hobbit. Bard's low voice was hard to discern against that much background noise, but his solemn expression after the soft smile for Tilda told her it was one she probably wouldn't like.

"Alright, let's hear it." Beryl braced herself.

"Later, Mistress Baggins." Bard's mouth was a firm line, as he looked pointedly down at his daughter still clinging to his leggings. Now Beryl knew she wasn't going to like it.

"Alright, I'll meet you in the Leaky Dingy after the last child's sent home. You're buyin'." Beryl sent them off with Bard's laughter ringing in her ears.

Beryl sauntered into the tavern as the last trails of sunlight dropped into the first shadows of dusk. Bard was already at a corner table, broad shoulders propped against the meeting walls, and long legs folded comfortably one over the other and stretched under the table. She knew she was short and wouldn't need the legroom herself, but did he have to be so smug about it? Beryl hopped up in the waiting chair with a slight frown between her brows.

"Now, what idea has occurred to you that you're unwilling to share in front of young ears?" Bard took a long drink from his mug while he openly studied the halfling woman in front of him. Beryl took the time to order her own mug while she waited for him to choose his words. She got the feeling she was going to need it.

"I've asked for volunteers to stay behind in Laketown."

"What?" Bard cut Beryl's indignant screech off with a sharp and impateint wave of his hand.

"No, hear me out before caterwauling like a fishwife." Bard waited for Beryl to settle herself once again. "Your plan has merit, and will be a large part of why my idea will work, but neither one will work without the other. Some must stay behind to give the illusion of a town caught unawares."

"Bard, the whole point was to keep the dragon from barbecuing people!" Beryl hissed.

"I know that, so do my volunteers. It's one reason I had to start turning them away." She could see the satisfied smirk over his foaming mug.

"What is with you people?" Beryl sat back, thunderstruck.

"It's a matter of honor, at this point. You watch our children, worry over our safety, and are willing to put your share of treasure up as a guarantee against the Woodelves, even after having to escape from them in barrels. It wounded a lot of our men's honor that you'd do so much for a people you didn't know or owed fealty to. So, just enough of us will be staying behind to give truth to the ruse, and everyone of them has been given orders to head into the lake instead of trying to fight. It'll be believable enough in the cover of darkness."

"Bard, you can't stay behind! Who will take care of your children should something happen to you?"

"It's been arranged. If you like, consider this extra incentive to keep that dragon in the mountain when you go."

Beryl sat and brooded a while at the table even after had Bard left, and paid her tab. She really should have expected a man raised in a merchant town to drive a ruthless bargain. Now she had the added guilt of possibly orphaning some of the sweetest children she'd ever met. Tilda's wide grin and affectionate leg lock swam before her dazed eyes. She finally heaved a sigh and slid down from her chair, just in time to look over and catch sight of another worry. Beryl sighed. She wouldn't be seeing her bed anytime soon. There, wobbling in a chair against the back wall, sat a morose Wren cradling a child sized mug.