CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

Man of the Lake

Farren didn't feel failure like she used to. She knew she couldn't have done anything for she had not been taught to heal black magic or to even deflect it. She was only young and still had much to learn. Though she had help supply a hand to bind Kili's leg and she had numbed him slightly for Balin to wrench the arrow head from the wound. And now she was wondering how on earth they were going to slay a dragon with no weapons? Apparently Laketown was not too far from here and Thorin had assured them that weapons would be available there.

It had been a miracle that Thranduil let her keep her own sword; as if he trusted that she would not do anything rash with it. Although she had just escaped an armed fortress and that was a rather rash thing.

A rock crumbled and a string was pulled back, Farren's sword rising in front of her and a single shout alerted the rest of the dwarves that they had company. A man, a young man with light stubble and a thick ponytail at the base of his neck, was aiming an arrow straight at Oin. The dwarf in question was emptying his boot of muddy water and looked up with a cry when Farren's voice disrupted the silence. An arrow flew through the air, its feathers whistling as it dug itself into the centre of a stick that Dwalin was brandishing, trying to knock the man off his feet.

Kili, gritting his teeth in pain, reached for a rock and aimed at the man's head but he was ready, drawing an arrow and shooting it faster than Farren ever could, knocking the stone from Kili's hand.

"Do that again and you're dead," the man hissed, aiming his next arrow right between Farren's eyes, who was pressing the tip of her sword to his belly. She curled her lip at him, releasing her sword and expecting him to lower his own weapon. He did not which gave Farren time to admire his bow, and his stance.

It was simplistic, made of pliable wood and horse hair, the arrows iron tipped and owl feathered. His quiver was leather and embroidered with brown twine, simple but effective.

His stance on the other hand was embarrassing. He was too tense, his shoulders up by his ears and his chest heaving in an effort to keep his bow up. Farren so dearly wanted to correct him, to relax his shoulders and to line the string by his lips, exhaling in composure before he let the arrow go.

How she missed her bow and that oh so satisfying of hitting her target dead centre. But she had her sword now, the legendary sword of her people and however little training she had in swordsmanship; she felt as though the weapon had been forged for her hands only.

"I know where those barrels have come from," the man muttered snidely, his gaze lingering first on her sword then on the floating barrels at the river's ledge.

"What of it?" she asked, stepping forward with folded arms and he looked at her dangerously,

"I don't know what business you had with the elves, but I don't think it ended well. No-one enters Laketown but by leave of the Master. All his wealth comes from trade with the Woodland Realm," he explained in a mysterious, quiet voice, "He will see you in irons before risking the wrath of king Thranduil,"

The stranger turned and walked away from them, kneeling down to untie a large fishing barge that was docked at the end of a small and rather rickety jetty. He boarded the barge and, with a smug smile, he tossed the fraying end of the rope to Balin. Farren had to admire his cheek and confidence against the dwarves but she had a feeling that he did not know which dwarves he was dealing with. She eyed his barge, scratched and had a small mast rising from the middle with a seemingly hand darned sail made from heavy canvas. However rotting and nasty the barge looked, it was made from heavy duty wood and looked big enough to hold several nets of fish.

"Offer him more," Thorin mouthed behind the man's back and Balin fumbled with the rope, bending down so he and the man were on the same eye line.

"I'll wager there are more ways to enter that town unseen," he uttered quietly with a twinkle in his greying eyes,

"Aye," the man replied hastily, intending to release the barge from the dock, "But for that, you will need a smuggler,"

"And for that, we'll pay double," Balin interrupted and the man's eyes flickered, his lips slowly stretching into a low smile and he studied Balin's face for any sign of lies. He then turned to Farren and hardened his gaze.

It was foggier than Farren had anticipated, even her expert eyes struggled to see how this man could manoeuvre his way through this ice ridden lake. She was stood next to him, watching his hands grip the ore and how he steered his boat,

"I am positive that I have come across you before," he muttered into her ear, not taking his eyes off the path ahead of him and the grumbling dwarves. Farren looked up into his face and racketed her brains, replaying two hundred years of journeying and trying to recognise his face,

"I have spent many a day wandering," she explained, "I have seen many faces and learnt many names, and unfortunately yours was not one I was taught," her neck flushed in anguish as he smiled,

"My name is Bard," he said, "And you are Farren, am I correct?" she merely hummed quietly in reply, her eyes squinting ahead and spying something she was not expecting. She turned in worry towards Bard, already seeing him hurrying towards where the dwarves and Bilbo were huddled in a tight circle, counting out money and arguing about how much they were short by,

"The money, quick," Bard said demandingly yet with a flash of uneasiness in his eyes, "Give it to me," and Thorin curled his lip,

"We'll pay you when we get our provisions," he said deeply, "but not before,"

"If you value your lives, you'll do as I say," Bard straightened up, raising an eyebrow at Farren, who rifled around her money pouch, huffing in defeat and ripping from her hip. With a disgruntled grumble, she tossed it precariously in Bard's direction.

"What now?" she asked when all the money had been counted and she saw Bilbo look thoughtfully towards the oncoming guard house, surrounded by lots of small wooden houses, all crushed together and separated only by rivers of icy water.

"Back to the barrels?" she heard him suggest and she counted the barrels, her eyes widening when she only counted thirteen.

"Unless you have another plan to conceal Farren," Thorin muttered, sighing angrily as he climbed into a barrel, gesturing for his dwarves to do the same, "This is not going to work,"

"It will, it will; trust me," Bilbo promised, poking his head above the barrel's rim to look Farren in the eyes, "You just have to say you're merely passing through and that you mean no trouble,"

"I'm not so sure," Farren nervously replied, looking towards where Bard was watching the conversation. Her eyes bore into his in frustration when he shrugged,

"I do not control the Mater's decisions," he explained, pressing into the ore to line them up with the gatehouse river, "Let's just hope we don't run into any soldiers,"