Chapter 2, everyone!

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Chapter 2: Day 1 – Bard

Bard was tired.

His face had gotten new lines, deeper furrows that made him look and feel older, in his face. He was worn-out and he didn't think that he had gotten a good night's sleep since the Company of Dwarves had first arrived in Laketown, enchanting people with their tales of adventure and promises of riches beyond any Man's wildest imagination.

'A lot of good that did', he could not help but think bitterly as he stood outside his tent, watching the camp, the remains of the battlefield and in the far distance – being nothing more than a streak of red and smoke upon the lake – his home, Laketown. Everything was a sad sight to Bard's eyes. The tents in different shades of green, red and yellow looked like scattered leaves before Bard's eyes and the cold; mountain wind carried a rotten smell to it, a smell of corpses. He saw Men, Dwarves and Elves move around and between the tents, speaking and shouting. The air rang of three different languages.

His people had lost the most. Their town was destroyed and many dead or wounded. Bard appreciated the Elvenking's help and the assistance of the Dwarves from the Iron Hills, but he could not help but feel out of place during their meetings. They were noble folk, kings and lords, whereas he was nothing more than a mere Man being named King from a people that had nothing. Slaying a dragon had given him a title, but had not the Dwarves awoken the dragon, he would never have needed to do so and their town would not have been destroyed. Still, the alliance that had formed would do well for his people if the different parts could come to some sort of agreement now that the battle was over and their mutual enemy disposed.

Bard sighed and rubbed his eyes with one hand, his left, since his right was still sore after the blow he received during the battle.

"Da", he heard Sigrid's voice behind him say. "Your coat's done."

He turned around and graced his eldest daughter with a soft smile. She stood in the tent opening with his coat slung over one of her arms. The clothing was old and well-used, patched together one time too many. Yet Bard felt a little more at ease when he took the coat from his daughter and put it on. It gave him a protection against the cold wind that blew harsh and more fierce up here in the mountain than it had done when they had been living on the Long Lake.

"As good as new", he told his daughter and kissed her forehead. "Thank you."

Sigrid gave him a smile and he noticed for the first time that there were dark bags under her eyes and worry gnawed on his heart. What a good King he would be if he could barely look after his own family. Sigrid seemed to read his mind – she had always been the one of his children who picked up what he was feeling, no matter how hard he tried to hide it – and she put a comforting hand on his right arm, carefully so she would not hurt him.

"It will get better, Da", she said and her pretty face expressed a seriousness that made her look older. "We will manage. We always have."

Bard pushed back the pained expression that threatened to break loose. There was a difference between providing for a family of four in a town with a corrupt Master with too high taxes and to provide for a group of around hundred people and make sure that they have what they need seemed impossible to Bard at the moment. He had always been pessimistic, sometimes even being described as dour, but a hard life had made him like that and it was not going to change now when the situation of his people – his people – was dire.

"Where are your brother and sister?" he asked Sigrid, trying not to let his troubled thoughts show.

"Tilda is helping the women cleaning bandages and cooking what is left of the food. I was planning on joining her." Sigrid sighed and pushed back some strands of hair that had escaped her messy bun. "Bain went with one of the groups that were collecting the still wounded and the dead from the battlefield." She paused and continued in a small, frail voice: "They needed all the help that they could get."

Her words left a ringing silence, a silence only disturbed by the activities down at the main camp. There was no time for rest for any of them. War really was a terrible business, drained people and the world of life and of good, left a trail of red in its wake and of sorrow. Bard hoped that he would never live to participate in one again and he wished the same for his people. They did not need more pain and hardship.

"I'll walk with you", said Bard and put a hand on Sigrid's shoulder as he passed her, hoping to convey a feeling of assurance, of safety and of hope in one single gesture. "I have to meet with the people. Give me just a moment to fetch my things."

Sigrid nodded and wrapped her arms around her middle as the wind picked up speed. There had been snow in the air for a couple of days now and the fires had kept burning through along the camp, though sometimes dying as the cold winds were unmerciful. Bard added that to the heap of trouble that would make life hard for his people. They could not live in tents when the winter came, would not survive in their already weakened state. Bard told himself to voice his concerns at the next meeting, praying that the gold the Dwarves had promised in exchange for the Arkenstone would start being transported from the mountain so that the Men of Laketown could rebuild their town so that they would have somewhere to live when winter truly came.

It was chilly inside the tent, a tent housing four people. It was not much, but Bard would take it before sleeping outside. He had been unyielding in that question, that his people should have shelter over their heads though their supplies were scarce. The Elvenking and the King of the Iron Hills had understood their need and gracefully given them tents and food in exchange for help with the wounded and for fighting a war. Bard supposed they thought his race weak, though they never said so to his face. The Elvenking was polite and charming enough, while the Dwarf King of the Iron Hills – who acted as the leader of the Dwarves since no one yet knew what would become of Thorin Oakenshield, the King under the Mountain – was a pleasant, but rough fellow. Bard felt that he could offer very little during their gatherings, but he knew these lands and he knew of how to live in poverty. He also now knew how to kill a dragon and that had gained him respect amongst Men, Dwarves and even Elves.

Bard did not bring his bow and arrows with him, but opted for a simple knife which he fastened to his belt. With his arm, his use of the bow was limited. Lastly, he bent down and stuck a hand under his mattress. He felt the soft material of the pouch and pulled. He straightened up, grimacing ever so slightly at how stiff and sore he felt.

The Arkenstone shone even though there was no strong light in the tent. The white surface of the gem was smooth and it looked as if thousands of suns were captured in it, thousands of snowflakes or pieces of glass with tints of rainbow. Bard had never seen such a beautiful thing, but while he could appreciate its cold beauty, he did not deem it worthy to go to war for. He had been prepared to fight for gold, but unlike the Dwarves, he thought of his people and how they had been promised that gold, needed it. The Dwarves' greed was another matter.

Bard put back the jewel in the pouch and tucked it away in one of his pockets. There was still a bit of a disagreement of what to do with the beautiful stone, the Dwarves' heirloom and Bard was rather safe than sorry and kept the stone close.

As he and Sigrid made their way down the small hill, Bard's thoughts drifted away to the Hobbit, the tiny little man that had helped create an alliance, no matter how frail and bitter it was. He wondered if he had survived.

Father and daughter separated in camp. Sigrid gave her father a quick hug before hurrying away to assist the women in their duties. Bard made his way between the tents, inspecting and inquiring if there was something he could do to help. The Men greeted him with nods and friendly shouts. Even if he had been chosen to be King, there was still difficult to forget that they had grown up together, living in the same town under the same conditions. It made it a bit hard to adapt to new titles over just a couple of nights. To the Dwarves and Elves, it seemed not to matter who he was. They were courteous to him, but it was also very clear that they did not answer to him.

Bard spent the following hour helping fixing wagons; look over the dead and offer condolences, talking to the wounded and clean armor that later was taken to the many smiths spread around camp. It gave a feeling of comradeship and Bard felt almost content as he sat with men he had known since childhood and sorted out armors, talking, but not laughing. There was still no mood for laughing, the remains of the war still hanging above them, signs around them that they could not ignore.

"King Bard?"

Startled, and a bit unused to his title, Bard looked up. An Elf stood before him, dressed in a golden armor and his fair face was serious, his eyes sad and his voice carrying a melancholic tune to it. Bard wiped his hands on his coat and tried to stand as tall as the Elf.

"Aye?"

"King Thranduil requires your presence immediately. A new council is to be held."

Bard resisted to quirk his lips in bitterness. The camp may hold one King too many, but there was no illusion of who was in charge. Bard nodded to the Elven warrior and said goodbye to the men he had been working with. They nodded back, paying little attention to the Elf. A couple of days ago, the sight of an Elf would've made the Men speechless, but now it was an all too common sight.

"Lead the way", said Bard and the Elf inclined his head towards him ever so slightly.

Secretly, he thought:

'Why me?'

So, that was Bard!

Next chapter should be up in a couple of days.

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