There had been many times during the quest when Bilbo later questioned the validity of his actions; deciding to get all the dwarves into barrels, and then cling on for dear life down a roaring, twisting river, all while not getting killed by orcs and elves, was one of them. It was a miracle that he hadn't drowned, and an even greater miracle that he and all of the dwarves had managed to get out alive.

There was a certain point in the river where the current slowed to a near halt and the shoreline was within paddling distance; after checking the opposite shore for orcs, everyone made their way to the riverbank, climbing out of the barrels with no end of appreciation (Bombur, it seemed, was most grateful, and in no way did Bilbo blame him, after seeing all the rolling around that he went through) and slogged their way to dry land to dry off as much as they could.

Kili had the most difficulty; as soon as he limped a good distance, he fell onto his feet, exposing an open wound on his leg where an orc arrow had struck. Bofur and Fili came to his aid.

Glad to have solid earth beneath his feet, Bilbo took off his overcoat and laid it on a large stone to dry, shivering with the cold that came with its removal…wait.

Where did he put it?

Dread rising up within the core of his being, he patted the pockets of his overcoat with increased desperation. Please, don't have fallen into the river, he thought…but then he remembered. He pressed his hands to his waistcoat, and felt metal in one of them. A sigh of relief passed his lips.

"Oi, Bilbo," Nori asked as he emptied a boot full of water, "Where's Elsa?"

Elsa. As much as he hated to admit it, he had forgotten all about her in the chaos that led to this place. How could he? "Oh, fool that I am," he stammered, "She's probably still back there!"

"How did you lose her?" Bofur questioned, "You told her your plan, right?"

"Yes," Bilbo explained, "Well, sort of; I just told her to stall for time. I just…sort of improvised the rest. Look, we've got to back and find her."

"We can't," said Thorin, "there's still an orc pack on our tail, and Durin's Day is nigh upon us. We have to get to Erebor."

"How? A lake lies between us and that mountain," Balin asked him, "And I doubt that we'll be able to use those barrels to get there in time."

"And that orc pack will run us down as sure as daylight," added Dwalin, "If we try to go around it, with no weapons to defend ourselves."

"Yes, but what about Elsa?" Bilbo questioned, "We can't just abandon her to the orcs!"

"Elsa went on this quest of her own free will," Thorin declared with an all too dreadful air of finality, "She knew the risks."

But then, they heard a voice shouting out from the top of the cliff on the other side of the river. They looked up, and any anxiety that had before festered in Bilbo's chest was washed away. He and the dwarves cheered at the sight of Elsa waving at them from the top of the cliff. Constructing an arch of ice, she made her way across the river and back into their company.

Bilbo stepped forward. "Elsa, I am so sorry for leaving you back there," he said, "I should have…"

"No no, it's alright," Elsa replied, "It was easy to find you; all I had to do was follow the trail of bodies." That earned a laugh from many of the dwarves.

"What about the orcs?" Fili asked, "How did you get past them?"

"I got them lost," she explained, "long enough for me to get ahead. But they'll catch up to us soon enough." She looked up for a brief instant, and her eyes widened in fear. Bilbo looked to see what she saw; it was a grim-faced man with long black hair, dressed in a worn leather coat, aiming a long arrow made of black metal right at them—or rather, right at Elsa.

Dwalin rose up, holding a stick, and charged right at the archer, only to find his weapon of choice thrown out of his hands by the archer's shot, while a knife that Kili held up to throw was also taken from his hands, all within a few seconds. The archer knocked another black arrow to his bow and re-aimed it at Elsa, saying, "Try anything else, witch, and you're dead."

Realizing the position they were in, everyone raised their hands in a signal of surrender. Bilbo noticed the air around them getting more and more frigid, and the ground becoming frostier and frostier. "Elsa," he whispered, "Calm down!" Fortunately, she managed to take some deep breaths, and the cold receded.

She then addressed the archer, "Please, we don't mean you any harm."

"Then tell me," the archer said, never taking his aim off of her, "What are you doing here?"

Balin stepped forward, though cautiously, "Excuse me," he said, "But um, you're from Laketown, if I'm not mistaken? That barge over there, it wouldn't be available for hire by any chance, would it?"

Thankfully, the archer lowered his bow off of them. "Why? What does it matter to you?" he asked.

"We are simple merchants from the Blue Mountains," Balin lied, "Seeking to visit distant relations in the Iron Hills."

"We need food, supplies, and weapons," Thorin added. "Can you help us?"

"Since when do merchants associate with witches?" the archer questioned.

"She is NOT a witch," Bilbo stated. He moved forward to defend her, but Elsa restrained him, shaking her head.

"The woman is simply a friend of ours from Bree," Balin told the archer, "You have nothing to fear from her."

"And what would you want from me?"

"Passage to Laketown, of course; we'd be willing to pay handsomely."

The archer seemed to consider the offer for a moment. He then deposited his arrow into the quiver, and then stated, "Help me get those barrels onto my boat, then we'll talk."

Sometime later, they had succeeded in rolling the barrels over the rocks and onto an aged sailboat docked nearby. The whole procession had been done with little conversation, none of the company save Balin daring to say a word to the stone-faced man; through him, they learned that he had a small family consisting of a son and two daughters. It wasn't until the last barrel was rolled into upright position on the boat's deck that Bard spoke; "Simple merchants, you say? I know full well where these barrels come from," he said, indicated the places of damage on the barrels. "I don't know what business you had with the elves, but it looks like it didn't end well. Besides, no one enters Lake Town but by leave of the Master. All his wealth comes from trade with the Woodland Realm; he would see you in irons before risking the wrath of King Thranduil."

Then Thorin replied, "I bet that he wouldn't."

"What makes you say that?"

"Just take us straight to him," the Dwarf King explained, "and you will see."

Bilbo and Elsa looked at each other, worry evident on both of their faces. What was Thorin thinking of doing? Balin glanced over at him with that same concern, but Thorin's expression seemed to alleviate his fears; he knew what he was doing.

A few hours later, and Bard (Bilbo had asked his name earlier) steered the company through fog-laden waters and past the colossal ruins of what must have been an ancient city of some sorts, chunks of ice glancing off the side of the barge. Amidst the grumbling of the dwarves, Bilbo managed to find a seat next to Elsa; she seemed lost in thought, staring off into the grey mist.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"I'm fine," she replied, but something in her eyes said otherwise. There was a moment's pause before she spoke again; "Bilbo," she asked quietly, "You once asked me if I ever thought of home; if you had the chance just to see, even visit your home again, would you take it? Just to make sure everything is okay?"

Bilbo hadn't thought about this in a long while; most of his concern thus far had been the quest itself and…it. "Well," he mused, "right now…maybe, if only to make sure the Sackville-Bagginses haven't robbed me. Why do you ask?"

"Well," she started to explain, "When I left Arendelle, I thought I was keeping everyone safe from me. But lately I've been thinking, what if I was wrong? What if leaving Arendelle was a mistake, and I just made everything worse? What's worse is that I have no idea at all; maybe I'm wrong right now, and maybe my sister's handling the kingdom just fine, or maybe…"

"Wait; hold up a minute," Bilbo interrupted, "What do you mean? Your sister is handling a kingdom?" But then he realized what that meant.

Elsa, clearly seeing this, said to him, "Please don't bring it up to anyone else."

"Oh, of course," he agreed, "I understand. But why is this so important now?"

She then explained to him what Thranduil had said to her back in the Woodland Realm, of the Star Gems' power, and of his offer to her.

"But," Bilbo started, "What would that mean to Thorin? Going behind his back and stealing something like that?"

"I know, that's what I told Thranduil," she said, "But now…I just don't know. I left without ever thinking of the consequences of my actions. I abandoned everyone…I abandoned my sister…"

"Hey," Bilbo suggested, "How about we talk to Thorin about this when this is all over? Maybe he'll understand, and let you use them?"

Elsa gave a faint smile at the suggestion, but then it faded. "What if he doesn't?" she wondered.

Just then, the dwarves slowly rose to their feet, awe and emotion in their faces; rising above the fog in the distance, illuminated by the light of a setting sun, was the shape of a towering mountain.

"We're approaching the toll gate," Bard said, "They won't let you through so easily, Master Dwarf."

"All I need is to speak to the Master," Thorin replied.

"You'll wind up in chains before that happens," Bard said. "What do you have to say to him that will change his mind, hm? What makes you think you will be able to see him in the first place?"

"That is for me to know, and for you to find out."

Elsa, meanwhile, leaned in close to Bilbo and whispered, "I hope he knows what he's doing." Bilbo couldn't agree more.

Lake Town certainly seemed to earn its name; it was a sprawling collection of wooden houses and other buildings literally set on the surface of the lake, supported by pillars going deep into the water itself. Waterways served as roads and boats as transports in this place.

True to Bard's word, the welcoming committee, led by a pale man with slick hair and an oily voice named Alfrid, wasn't very generous when they arrived. "Now you've done it this time, Bard," Alfrid said, "Since when do you bring passengers with your shipments?"

"These people have business with the Master," Bard explained.

"The Master sees no one unless he allows it," Alfrid retorted.

Thorin stepped forward. "Let me speak to your Master," he asked, "it is of urgent business that I must speak with him."

"What's your name, and what business do you have with him?"

"Take me to the Master first," the Dwarf King demanded, "then I will talk."

"I'd do what he says," Bard advised, "It sounds like he's serious."

"I only answer to the Master," Alfrid said again, "And he will decide what to do with you." He then turned to the guards nearby and ordered, "Arrest them, on account of…trespassing!"

The guards did as they were told, taking the dwarves and clasping their hands in thick handcuffs; some, particularly Dwalin, were eager to fight back, but a quick look from Thorin had him complying along with the rest, to everyone's silent confusion. The guards escorted them through winding paths through the town, drawing the attention of every man, woman, and child that they passed by. Elsa could feel their prying, curious eyes; it brought back images of when she first left the palace…

Conceal, don't feel.

Eventually, they came to the steps of a towering mansion, probably where the Master himself lived; by this time, a huge crowd had gathered, curious to see what would become of the company, who had been forced to the front.

The Master then stepped out of the doorway; he looked to Elsa like a most repugnant human being, with stringy orange hair flayed over a wispy bald head, crooked teeth, and eyes that squinted at the group insidiously. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded. "Who are these people and what are they doing here?"

Elsa suddenly had flashbacks to the Goblin Tunnels.

Alfrid stepped forward. "Pardon me, sir, but these dwarves insisted on seeing you personally."

"And you had them brought here instead of locking them away?"

"I was looking to get your approval on what to do with these…trespassers!" the lackey replied, "Their leader looks to be a downright insurgent, sire."

Dwalin could stand it no more. "Hold your tongue!" he barked, "You do not know of whom you speak! This," he gestured to Thorin, "is no common criminal! This is Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thrór!"

At this, Thorin stepped forward, and everyone's attention was right on him; excited whispers abounded in the crowd. "We are the Dwarves of Erebor," the Dwarf King declared, "And we have come to reclaim our homeland."

Was this it? Elsa wondered. Was this Thorin's plan, all along, to expose them all here and now? She looked over at Bard, and saw the surprise and rage upon his face.

Thorin went on; "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 center of all trade in the north! I will 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!"

At this part of the speech, the crowd roared with approval. But then a new voice shouted out.

"Death!" Bard replied, stepping away from the crowd, "That is what you will bring upon us! Dragon fire and ruin. If you awaken that beast, it will destroy us all!"

Thorin seemed undaunted. "You can listen to this naysayer," he continued, "but I promise you this: if we succeed, all will share in the wealth of the mountain. You will have enough gold to rebuild Esgaroth ten times over!"

Again, the crowd cheered and hollered at Thorin's words. But Elsa noticed the operative word if, and it filled her with dread.

Bard would have none of it. Shouting again for the crowd's attention, he stated, "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 driven by greed he could not see beyond his own desire!"

The Master then spoke up from atop the staircase. "Now now, we must not any of us be too quick to lay blame. Let us not forget," he said, pointing straight at Bard, "that it was Girion, Lord of Dale, who failed to kill the beast!"

"It's true, sire!" Alfrid concurred, "We all know the story! Arrow after arrow, each one missing its mark…"

Humiliated, Bard stepped forward to Thorin, and said something to him; what it was, Elsa couldn't tell over the arguing of the people behind her.

Thorin then turned back to the Master. "I speak to the Master of the Men of the Lake," he said, "Will you see the days of glory return? Will you share in the great wealth of our people?"

The Master's eyes glanced upwards for a bit, lost in contemplation. Then, he turned to the guards, and said to them, "What are you waiting for? Release them, for they are welcome! Welcome and thrice welcome, King Under the Mountain!"

The crowd erupted into applause as the guards went to each member of the company and unlocked the handcuffs. Elsa, meanwhile, couldn't help but feel conflicted about the whole affair; in fact, there was a part of her that wished the Lake Master had said otherwise.