Chapter 20: The Real Weapons of Lake-town
And nightfall comes. But they have found the armoury. As thought, getting out of Bard's house was easy enough – even if she does feel a little bad about it. The company scoured the town, keeping well hidden from the guards and they start making their plan with the armoury now in sight. Half the Dwarves (plus Bilbo and Gailien) are to make their way into the armoury using the remaining Dwarves as leverage. Their opening is on the secondary story, through an unblocked window which faces one of the backstreets.
"I apologise in advance for your back," Gailien mutters to Fili as Dwain and Thorin make sure the coast is clear. Fili huffs in agreement.
"At least they're not sending Bombur up." Fili sighs. "Look, I just want to say sorry for Kili. He's being a git. I have an inkling why but..."
"Don't apologise," Gailien replies, keeping her head forward, not wanting Fili to know how much it has been on her mind. "He's upset. I just don't understand why he's taking it out on me specifically. I just hope whatever it is, doesn't last."
"I'm not sure either."
"Shh. Keep it down," Dwalin hushes the company. Fili and the rest of the first half of Dwarves are sent forward, lining up along the ground, creating a series of Dwarf-steps to the window. Gailien walks forward, preparing herself. Quick. Nimble. Lithe. A mantra that runs through her mind, feeling a little bad for being about to run across their backs but she doubts that she'll be the one to cause the most strain at least.
"Go, go, go," Thorin ushers Nori. The first Dwarf of the second half runs forward. He jumps onto the first Dwarf's back then to the next. They grunt under his weight, but the formation stays stable. "Next."
Bilbo is the next in line and follows Nori's steps, jumping up the Dwarf formation and leaps through the open window. Gailien takes a step forward, next in line. Thorin's hand rests on her back, waiting for Bilbo to clear. Gailien bounces her step as Bilbo moves away.
"Go," Thorin whispers, pushing her back slightly. Gailien runs with a light-foot, stepping onto the first Dwarf, then leaping onto the next couple and then finally onto Fili's shoulder who is standing under the window. He grunts a little under her weight, but she doesn't have time to apologise again as she bends over the window ledge, letting herself roll in.
The armoury is dark but the light from the stars and moon is enough to let them see clearly. Nori, Bilbo and Gailien wait for the rest of the second half to arrive, the rest waiting down below. With Thorin as the last to come, they begin to pile their weapons stock.
There is no time for pickiness – though she would have liked to find something resembling her twin blades – and every weapon that can be carried is. Gailien begins loading Bofur's awaiting arms with swords, axes, spear-looking weapons – anything they can get their hands on.
Gailien glances around, beginning to look around to carry some herself but she double-takes Kili whose arms are being loaded up by Thorin. Confliction runs through her, but Thorin has not forgotten his sister son's injury.
"You alright?" Thorin questions.
"I can manage," Kili says as Thorin loads a final sword into his arm. "Let's just get out of here." Kili heads to the stairwell and Gailien continues loading her own arms but the young Dwarf cries out in pain moments later. His leg gives way on one of the steps, followed by the weapons tumbling out of his arms, clanging against each other and the wood.
There is no way that nobody heard that noise. Gailien drops her own, knowing their secrecy is gone and sprints to the stairwell. "Kili," she cries. Kili lies in the middle where the stairs change directions, the weapons on the floor at the bottom. She drops to a crouch but doesn't have any time to help him as two guards arrive. One holds a blade to Kili's neck, and the other points his sword at her chest. Her hands slowly raise, showing her unarmed state.
Thorin glances down to the lower level as Kili shamefully looks at his uncle. He's going to be blaming himself now, she thinks. In a way, she is angry that Kili is refusing help and ignoring the wound – which is what led to this happening, but she would never say that out loud, let alone to Kili. There are times to keep your thoughts to yourself, and this is one of them.
The guard drops his sword, reaching forward and grabs the back of her neck like she is a dog. Gailien and Kili are dragged to their feet, and with no lack of force, are pushed out of the armoury, the weapons now forgotten. They are pushed back outside, and to her dismay, the company that was outside is now too be handled like a pack of wild animals.
The other guards bring out the rest of the company from upstairs, each Dwarf growling and snarling, but Thorin, to his credit, keeps his demeanour collected. Dwalin is causing the biggest fuss, yelling insults, and constantly fighting against his captor. Bilbo looks more terrified than anything.
It is like being captured by the Elves once more as they are led through the town that is no less alive than through the day. The guards continuously shove them forward, even when they are not resisting and Gailien fights back the urge to swing her elbow back into her guard's leg.
The people of the town begin to rally around them, large torches lit, and snow softly falls. The crowd start talking loudly, asking what has happened, throwing their own insults to the Dwarves or just plain curious. They are led by Braga into the small square before the town hall.
Alfrid pokes his head out of the door as the Dwarves are pushed into the centre, the guards forming a wall behind them. The door closes, then reopens, the Master adjusting his large winter coat as he storms out.
"What is the meaning of this?"
"Caught 'em stealing weapons, Sire," Braga growls with pleasure.
"Ah! Enemies of the state, huh?"
"A desperate bunch of mercenaries, if ever there was, Sire," Alfrid drawls, his neck hunched forward as usual.
"Hold your tongue!" Dwalin exclaims. He steps forward in front of the company. "You do not know to whom you speak. This is no common criminal. This is Thorin. Son of Thrain, son of Thror!" He steps closer to Thorin, gesturing out to him. Balin steps aside as Thorin stands forward with Dwalin.
"We are the Dwarves of Erebor. We have come to reclaim our homeland." The honey-sweet voice, the voice of a King. Gailien cannot take her eyes off him. The townspeople begin murmuring amongst themselves at the new revelation. Thorin turns to address them. "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 centre of all trade in the north!"
The crowd cheer in agreement and Gailien feels her heart lean out towards him. There are moments through their travels when Thorin seems like anything but a King; the days where his guard is let down and he laughs with the company. But then there are these defining moments where she couldn't be prouder to place her loyalty in him.
"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!"
The crowd cheers loudly, being stuck in the cycle of poverty their entire lives – only knowing stories of the wealth that once ruled this land. Thorin Oakenshield is a name that reminds them of these tales, reminds them of a time they never knew but long to have.
"Dragonfire and ruin," Bard states, pushing through the crowd. "If you awaken that beast, it will destroy us all."
"You can listen to the naysayer," Thorin counters, "but I promise you this: if we succeed all will share in the wealth of the mountain." The crowd begin to once again murmur with delight. Thorin holds his arms out. "You will have enough gold to rebuild Esgaroth ten times over!" The crowd continues in the cheers until Alfrid starts speaking once more.
"Why should we take you at your word? We know nothing about you. Who here can vouch for your character?" The crowd falls silent as nobody knows what to think. Thorin bows his head slightly. Nobody will take the Dwarves word as they are biased, and Bard certainly will not speak up. Gailien lifts her head as she realises that she can.
She steps forward, preparing her voice to be loud and clear. "I am Gailien, an Elf from the Woodland realm and I can vouch for Thorin Oakenshield." The entirety of the town looks to her, including Thorin who slowly turns around. "There is no one on this earth that I would rather place my trust in."
Gailien holds her chin high and her shoulder back, trying to mimic the confidence Thorin has. She figures adding her heritage will do something good since Bard had emphasised the relationship this town has with Mirkwood. Bilbo steps forward as well, though a little more hesitantly. "Me too. We have both travelled far with Thorin and if he gives his word, he will keep it."
Thorin nods slowly at them with deep appreciation and their audience seem to take their declarations.
"All of you!" Bard cries. "Listen to me, you must listen! Have you forgotten what happened at Dale? Have you forgotten those who died I the firestorm? And for what purpose?" He turns to Thorin with a blazing glare. "The blind ambition of a Mountain King, so riven by greed, he could not see beyond his own desire!"
"Now, now," the Master settles. "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, who failed to kill the beast. Hm!"
Gailien must admit, while the Master does not seem the wisest of what Men have to offer, he knows enough to spin a conversation for his own benefit. It is no wonder he holds his title.
"It's true, Sire," Alfrid adds. "We all know the story. Arrow and arrow, he shot. Each one missing its mark."
Bard curls his lip, stepping close to Thorin. "You have no right. No right to enter that mountain."
"I have the only right." Bard doesn't let his glare drift but Thorin takes control, turning around 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?" The Master hesitates. "What say you?"
"I say unto you…welcome!"
The crowd cheer and the Dwarves (and company) are no longer captives, instead, being celebrated by the people. People walk up to Thorin, thanking and celebrating his name. Thorin smiles kindly at them, nodding his head. Bofur is the most content Dwarf of the situation, a large grin on his face as he starts talking loudly to anybody who will listen of his own (dramatic) adventures with the company.
Though this night has pushed Gailien into a solemn train of thought. She does not smile as the rest of the company do. Instead, the skin of her forehead and eyes crease deeply as she steps away from the group. The Lonely Mountain peaks in the distance and inside, a dragon that has lain asleep for sixty years. She always knew that they would be facing Smaug, but she never truly thought much to the context. She didn't even think about Lake-town before Mirkwood.
What if Bard is right? What if they unleash a monster that they cannot stop? They are thirteen of (neither the brightest nor strongest) Dwarves and a Hobbit and deformed Elf. She has not yet seen the events of them reaching the mountain and she isn't sure if she wants to. What would she do if she sees destruction? What could she do?
There is the Dwarvish wind-lance and the Black Arrows, but she has no idea if any even exist anymore. Even if they do not wake it in the coming days, but when they have an army by their side – there is still going to be death.
But the prophecy she made, many months ago – the one filled with the growing power of Mordor. If that is to become truth, then there is a possibility that evil will seek out the power of the dragon. Gailien starts to believe that is Gandalf's reason all along. That Thorin is a means to an end. Not that Gandalf doesn't care about them, but that when the opportunity arose, he's taken it. They are a corner of a painting.
"Are you alright?" Gailien nearly jumps from her skin as Bilbo appears at her side. "You not joining in on the festivities and I know you're one for a joyous atmosphere."
"I am fine, thank you for your concern, Bilbo." Her gaze flickers between the mountain and the Hobbit. "Just lost in thought about something. I'll come over now."
Gailien turns, following Bilbo back to the company, but not without giving the mountain one last worried gaze.