Follow on from chapter 3 :)
I hope you enjoy.
X

It truly was an amazing thing to watch as Bilbo did something that – as far as he was aware – only she could accomplish. Bring out the gallant side of the weaseliest little weasel he knew.

"Let them pass," Alfred ordered Percy who visibly relaxed with relief. Bard couldn't blame him. Alfred may be a a little lackey but he was a vindictive one. Using every little bit of power he had to make life difficult for everyone. Except his wife. For some unknown reason Bilbo seemed to bring out the gentleman in the little toad.

"Raise the gate,"

Relief swamped Bard as he pushed off and steered the barge through, Alfrid's eyes heavy upon him. He was glad of his wife's intervention. He wouldn't have put it past the other man to have dumped the fish back into the lake. He wondered if the Dwarves could swim. It was a good thing the situation hadn't led to him finding out.

Bilbo had held a bone deep fear of the water once upon a time. Insisting that Hobbits did not swim. It was not the done thing. Muttering under her breath about Tooks and Brandybucks. He had found his own way to convince her to learn to swim. Pleasurable ways that involved moonlight on water and very little clothing...

Bard looked to his wife. She had slumped beside him and was leaning again his leg, her eyes were drooping once again and whatever energy she had mustered to face Alfrid had quickly deserted her. Her teeth were chattering violently despite her tensed jaw. He knew his coat could not be doing much to keep her warm, the cold having seeped into her Bard needed to get her in front of a blazing fire and get something warm in her.

Sensing his eyes upon her she looked up.

She was so pale it frightened him, but he knew there was nothing to be done for it until they got home.

She smiled wanly up at him.

"You, my love, are a dangerous woman," he told her, taking a hand from the tiller to stroke her hair, she leaned into the caress before he took his hand away, it wouldn't do to have them drifting into oncoming river traffic.

"I don't know wh-what you m-mean," she stammered attempting a proud look but failing miserably as her teeth began to clash together once again and and she set her jaw stubbornly.

She muttered about not having the Dwarves ending up in the river.

Looking at his wife Bard couldn't care less about the comfort of the Dwarves. He wanted to badly to wrap himself around her and keep her warm. But he couldn't. So he focused on getting them home.

Bard swung his wife's small body into his arms, her head flopping wearily against his shoulder. He could feel the chill of her skin through his clothes and he noted again that she was lighter than was healthy for a Hobbit. Living in Laketown he knew she tended toward leaner than was usual for her kind but he had never known her to have so little on her bones.

"Keep the fish," he told the wide-mouthed dock worker and called for the Dwarves to follow him. There was little doubt that they would be spotted by someone and Bard only hoped that that someone wouldn't care or was so far into their cups that they thought it a dream. He weaved through alleys and backstreets trying to avoid anyone who would be too sober or interested in his business. He didn't stop until his son came dashing around a building, spotted him and came running up.

"Da, our house, it's-" he stopped, dropping his eyes from Bard's face for the first time and taking in the bundle in his arms, in a split second he saw what - or rather who - Bard was carrying.

"Is that Ma?" his son didn't wait for a response "What's the matter? Is she hurt?"

"She'll be fine once we get her home. Now what is it son?"

"Our house, it's being watched," the boy spoke with less urgency than when he had arrived, all of his concern now focused on the form in his arms.

Bard cursed himself. He should have known the Master would have his spies at work. The man seemed to have nothing better to do. He unconsciously tightened his arms around his half-asleep wife and tried to think. He glanced about. Looking for inspiration as much as checking for any prying eyes. Empty streets and wooden houses surrounded them. And then he looked down.

It looked like he would be getting an answer to his question.

He turned to the Dwarves at his back who all levelled him with a suspicious gaze. He had a feeling he would regret bringing them here but it was done now.

"Can you swim?"

He was not happy about trailing Bilbo through the streets but she had insisted that the Dwarves would need the time to get to their house and that by not going straight home they were showing there was nothing to rush about and if the Master's lackeys were so focused on spying on them they hopefully wouldn't notice the Dwarves. He had been quick to point out that there was something to rush about. Like his quickly sickening wife. But there had been no arguing with her so he had left the Dwarves several houses from his own to slip into the water and make their way there.

As she would not allow him to take her straight home he took her to the one place that made perfect sense under the circumstances. The apothecary.

It was a bizarre collection of smells that greeted them when Bain pushed open the door after a quick knock. It was a combination of sweet and bitter mixed with the musk of the lake water. Drying herbs – some grown in boxes of Woodland Realm soil and others imported at great cost and difficulty – hung from the rafters while others filled glass jars as leaves or distilled into potions. Several barrels of pipe-weed were also to be found in the shop. In fact the men of Laketown were more likely to pass up the need of medical aid for a pouch to keep their pipe going for a week.

"Bain, be a good lad and get some supplies," he shuffled his wife in his arms and managed to get into his pocket without dropping her. He handed his son a coin and sent him off, "come back here once you are done,"

Bain left the shop as the Herb Mistress stepped from the back room and took in his coatless form and the small figure draped in his arms.

"Why, Mistress Bilbo," the Herb Mistress had a soft spot for his wife. According to Bilbo they had bonded over the lack of greenery Laketown had to offer, "Whatever have you done to yourself?"

Bard would have answered himself but Bilbo rallied herself and spoke as best as she could.

"It was a hard journey home," she spoke hoarsely, nuzzling sleepily into his shoulder.

He would be finding out all about this return journey as soon as he could. She had left him with a caravan of travelling merchants – genuine merchants – and had returned with a group of the most disreputable Dwarves he had ever seen.

"Topped off with a dunk in the river," he added, with a raised brow and an unapproving look down at his still damp wife.

"She should be in her bed, not being dragged around the town like a sack of potatoes," Bard accepted the reproachful glare thrown his way, inwardly cursing the Dwarves and hoping they caught something during their trudge through the lake.

"I wished..." he spoke through his teeth, there was no point in getting into it with the Herb Mistress. He took a deep breath and started again. "I wanted to know, Mistress, if there was anything you could make for her. To help," the woman rolled her eyes.

"Typical man," she muttered, "all flustered at the thought of sickness,"

Bard tried to push down the offence he took at her words. After all he was more than capable of caring for the ill without any help. Especially his wife and children, thank you.

"A warm bed and rest is the best medicine for your wife at the moment. She has built up a little stock of remedies at your home. No doubt you have everything you need and your girl will know what to mix for her mother," she told him bluntly, "Come back to me if she does not improve or Sigrid finds herself in need of assistance,"

"Aye I will do so,"

He adjusted his hold on Bilbo and lifted her higher into his arms.

The Herb Mistress cast him a shrewd look. He knew from talk that she did not approve of men in general. It had been whispered that she had used her skill to do away with her husband – an abusive drunk – and was always prone to believing the worse of the opposite sex.

"Rest, mind," she told him, arms crossed in front of her, face pinched and stern.

"Aye, rest,"

What did the woman think he was going to do? Ravish his sick wife as soon as their bedroom door was closed?

"Really, Bard," the woman let loose a long-suffering sigh, "I don't know what you were thinking,"

Neither did he, he should have just taken his wife straight home and left the Dwarves to fend for themselves. Trouble. That's what they were.

"My thanks, Mistress," he nodded his head towards her and using his back to push open the door he left the shop.

"Rest, Bard," was the last thing he heard being shouted after him before the door swung closed.

He rolled his eyes.

He looked to the side of the door to see his son standing there panting and holding a sack.

"Did you get everything?" he asked as they started for home.

He tried to keep his gait steady and even to not jostle the bundle in his arms too much.

"Yes Da, everything,"

They turned the corner of the street taking in the keen eyes watching them. After a few minutes of walking they climbed the stairs leading to their home.

He couldn't help but whistle for the attention of the two men 'fishing' down below.

"Tell the master I am done for the day," he called down to them.

A huff of laughter came from Bilbo and he stepped into their home, his son closed the door behind them with a firm click as the bolt was pushed home.

"Da," he heard Tilda call.

"Father, I was-" his eldest daughter's words were cut short as she paused in her approach, her eyes going wide as she realised that he wasn't holding a sack in his arms.

"Ma!" his youngest too had noticed who was with him.

"Mother!"

Both of his daughters rushed to him, bombarding him with questions.

"Sigrid, take your mother, there's a good girl," he passed his wife to his daughter who accepted the weight willingly, not even staggering under the slight burden she presented.

He watched his daughters head straight to their small fireplace and they both sat on the floor before. Huddled around there mother.

"My darlings," he heard his wife mutter, "You're both more beautiful than when I left," she coughed violently.

"Change your mother into something warm, Sigrid," he told his daughter as he made his way to their small water closet.

He had guests to let in and then possibly throw out again.