Disclaimer: I don't own the Hobbit.

Chapter 22: Bootlegged

The bond that links your true family is not one of blood, but of respect and joy in each other's life.

—Richard Bach

"Jesus!" Gemma exclaimed, putting her arms in the air in surrender as the shadow man pointed an arrow right at her head.

"Who?" The man asked, confused, and despite the situation Gemma just had to laugh. Once she started she couldn't really stop; his response was just too damn funny. This, of course, made the shadow man, plus the rest of the Company, question her sanity, and he tightened his grip on the bow.

"You're from Lake-town, I presume?" Balin said, pulling the attention off of Gemma, thankfully. God, the lack of sleep was really getting to her; she was losing her mind! "Say, that barge there," Balin pointed to what was indeed an old wooden barge moored just up the river, "it wouldn't happen to be available for hire, would it?"

Deciding that the Company was not a direct threat, the man lowered his weapon and stepped down from the boulder. He stepped out of the shadows, and Gemma couldn't help but think that he was rather handsome, if not a bit beaten down. And he was human! Gemma was beginning to think that regular old humans didn't exist in this world; Gandalf, of course, didn't count, as he was magical and probably not even technically human– or, as they said in Middle Earth, from the race of Men.

Beginning to load their empty barrels onto his boat, the bargeman replied, "And why would I help you?"

"Well," Balin replied, his voice smooth and friendly, "those boots and that coat have seen better days, and I'm sure you have some hungry mouths to feed. How many bairns?"

"A boy and two girls," the bargeman replied curtly.

"Oh, and your wife, I'm sure she's a beauty?"

This caused the bargeman to pause. Touchy subject, moving into bad territory, Gemma thought. "Aye, she was…"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean…" Balin trailed off, trying to remain open and kind. Gemma was actually quite impressed with his negotiations, though apparently others were not.

"Oh, come on, enough of the niceties," Dwalin grumbled, folding his arms. Gemma shot him a glare. Now was not the time to insult any more people. Their Company already had an extensive track record of that, they didn't need to add more names.

"What's your hurry?" The bargeman asked.

"What's it to you?" Dwalin shot back tersely.

"Honestly, Dwalin, be quiet," Gemma muttered to him.

"I would like to know who you are, and why you are here." It was a reasonable request, after all.

"We are simply merchants from the Blue Mountains, travelling to visit our cousins in the Iron Hills," Balin lied smoothly, and again Gemma was impressed. The old dwarf should consider becoming a diplomat, Gemma thought. He could lie through his teeth, but had a natural trustworthy nature, probably due to the fact that he looked like the shorter version of Santa Claus.

"Simple dwarf merchants, hmm? And what of the woman? She is no dwarf."

"Well, thank you for noticing," Gemma quipped. "I'm just a friend along for the journey." She honestly couldn't think of anything else, lame as that sounded. Actually, it was technically true. Still the man looked at her with obvious disbelief. "What, is it so odd to think that a woman can be friends with dwarves?" Gemma chose not to mention Bilbo, as that would just lead to further lying and explanation, and the hobbit was a pretty terrible liar. "What is with this place? Everyone is so racist."

"I did not mean to offend, my lady. It's just, from what I've heard, dwarves are a rather secretive bunch, not prone to including outsiders." Well, Gemma reflected, he wasn't wrong.

"We need supplies and weapons," Thorin cut in, bringing the conversation back to the matter at hand. "Can you help us?"

"I know where these barrels are from," the bargeman replied. "No one enters Lake-town but by word of The Master, and all his wealth comes from trade with the Woodland Realm. He would have you in irons before risking the wrath of King Thranduil."

"Ah, but I'm sure there are other ways in," Balin said. Gemma could hear desperation beginning to tinge his voice.

"Yes, but you would need a smuggler."

"For which we would pay double," Balin declared, and Gemma knew he had the bargeman hooked. There was always a price.

"Alright," the bargeman finally conceded, "get in quickly."

So the Company boarded the barge, uttering many hasty thanks. Soon they were off, gliding across the water. A heavy fog quickly enveloped them, and chunks of ice were visible in the water below. Quick introductions were made, and the bargeman, whose name was Bard, even gave Gemma a quick kiss on the hand. Thorin didn't seem too happy about this, but Gemma didn't care; she was just glad to meet another person of the same species. It sort of reminded her of home, though Bard was nothing like the men in Washington, in their business suits and constant state of rushing. In fact, she rather wished that more men at home were like Bard.

Gemma found a spot off to the side, and sat down. Thorin came and sat beside her, and Gemma leant her head on his shoulder. Damn, she was tired. Gemma began to fiddle with one of the tiny braids in Thorin's hair. "So um... are we going to talk about what happened in the cell in Mirkwood?"

"I didn't think there was much to discuss," Thorin replied, and Gemma's heart sank. She removed her head from his shoulder and looked away so that he wouldn't see the redness in her face. Of course he wouldn't want her. He was a king after all, and she was some scarred girl with a mental disorder or two who had burst into his life at the most inopportune moment, and could end up leaving just as easily. Not that she had really wanted to leave. Much as she missed home, she had been starting to consider, especially after what happened in Mirkwood, but before that too... well she had thought that staying awhile might not be so terrible. Maybe she should add "delusions" to that growing list of what was wrong with her. After all, they'd only know each other a short time...

She felt rough hands cup her face and turned her head back to face him. There was an odd look in his eyes, one that Gemma couldn't read. "No Gemma, that's not what I meant at all," Thorin told her lowly, as if he could hear her thoughts out loud. "You misunderstood. I only meant that I didn't think there was much to discuss as I had thought I'd made my feelings quite clear." He leaned in closer when he said the last part, and his eyes darted down to her lips.

Gemma felt incredibly relieved, more than she should. Why did she feel so strongly for this infuriating dwarf king anyway? What, exactly, were those feelings? She shouldn't feel that strong about it all, considering they'd only kissed once (well, technically three times of you counted that last peck on the cheek and considered their continued kiss after stopping for air a separate one. Semantics). She supposed that had to be remedied. Gemma leaned in a little closer two and said, "You know, I don't really think you did. Maybe you should... clarify on these feelings of yours." They were nose to nose now, and Thorin closed the gap. The kiss wasn't like their first; that had been all passion and pent up emotion, while this one was sweet and soft. His hands still cupped her face and, still wrapped in his fur coat and now beside him, Gemma was overwhelmed by that distinctive pine wood smell that she associated with Thorin. She closed her eyes and breathed in. While not as intense as their kiss in the cell, this one was still equally intoxicating and over too soon.

"You know," Gemma said in a sultry and slightly shaken voice once they'd pulled apart, "as romantic as that was, we're still going to have to talk about this." She yawned deeply. "Just maybe after I uh... take a bit of a nap. I think I'm so exhausted that I'm starting to see double." Though, if she was seeing double of Thorin, she wouldn't exactly complain.

Thorin left Gemma slumped against the side of the boat still huddled up in his fur coat. He stood to the side and watched Bard expertly steer his vessel through the murky waters.

"Look out!" Bofur called from the bow, pointing towards a large mass that had suddenly materialized out of the fog. Upon further inspection, Thorin realized that they were pieces of old ruined buildings looming up from the lake. Bard, unfazed, guided his barge between the ruins as if it were sense memory.

"Are you trying to drown us?" Thorin demanded, still not fully trusting their new guide.

"I was born and raised on these waters, master dwarf," Bard replied, looking Thorin dead in the eye. "If I were going to drown you, I would not do it here." Thorin didn't know what to say to that, so he head up to the front to sit with the others, who were discussing Bard's payment.

"Sooo... you and Gemma, eh?"

Thorin looked up, surprised by the unexpected question. It had come from Bofur, who was trying with all his might, it seemed, to keep from grinning like an idiot. He was failing.

"What?" Thorin said ineloquently. He could feel his face heating up under the stares of his Company men. Out of the corner of his eye he glimpsed Gemma, still curled up against the side of the boat, asleep. He shook his head; Mahal, she was distracting.

"Oh honestly, Uncle, we're on a boat," Fili teased with a roll of his eyes. "It's not exactly private, we all saw you smooching."

"Personally, I was under the impression that the two of you could barely tolerate each other," Kili said, and the other dwarves nodded their agreement, "but I suppose that isn't the case anymore." His nephew had the nerve to wiggle his eyebrows suggestively. Thorin would have been angry if he wasn't so embarrassed. He wished Gemma were awake, so she could at least share in his awkwardness. She probably would have handled it with ease, and a fair bit of snark, but Thorin didn't know how to deal with this.

"It's nothing to be embarrassed about, lad. You've won the favour of a fine woman," Balin prodded, to more chuckles from the Company. Since when had they all been this comfortable around him? He thought most of them held a bit more respect and, quite frankly, fear of him. Apparently not. And yet, he found that he did not mind so much. These people were more than his kin; they were his closest friends.

"Just don't go hurting her," Bilbo said, trying to look threatening, which only brought on more chuckles.

Would this torture never end?

Thorin looked to Dwalin, hoping the stoic dwarf would help bring back some order and end the teasing. Instead, Dwalin said, "You make a nice couple." That just about killed the dwarves.

"I have not won her," Thorin said to the Company. If anything, she had won him. "We only just... back in the Woodland prison..."

"You mean after all that yelling the two of you were doing? Never would've guessed that. I figured one of you would end up headless after all that fighting," Bofur whistled.

"Don't worry lad, we're only teasing," Balin said. "We all love Gemma. We're happy for you. Now about this payment..."

Thorin was glad that Nori was a bit of a miser. Reluctantly, the ginger-haired dwarf gave up the well-endowed coin sack that he had managed to hang on to, which was able to cover the cost of the bargeman's help.

A chill hung in the air, and to Thorin it felt like a sign; time was running out to reach the mountain. If he was correct, Durin's day arrived in two days' time. They would leave for the mountain on Durin's day. From Lake-town it was only a few hours' trek to the mountain, leaving them with more than enough time. After all this travelling and all the delays they'd encountered, Thorin was surprised they'd made it in time. Despite having two extra days, Thorin worried that something else would delay them. Something would go wrong; it always did. He had half a mind to go right through Lake-town without pause, straight to the mountain, but they could not. Kili was wounded and they were unarmed. Still, every nerve-ending in his body tingled with trepidation.

They were so close to the end of their journey, and yet Thorin felt as if they had a long way to go yet.

A gentle hand on her shoulder woke Gemma from a surprisingly peaceful dream. At first, she thought it was Thorin, but the figure above her was much too tall. It was Bard, and he offered a hand to help her up, which Gemma accepted. Wordlessly, she followed him to the front of the barge, where the Company sat. Gemma was not blind to the glances she received from the others. So they knew about her and Thorin; Gemma couldn't really find it in her to care. In fact, her mouth stretched into a grin at the thought.

"Quick, give the money to me," Bard said.

"We will pay you when we get our provisions. Not before," Thorin replied.

"There are guards ahead. If you value your freedom, do as I say."

Out of the fog appeared the edge of Lake-town, a desolate and rickety looking place resting on the water. They were headed towards a gate house. "I vote we listen to him," Gemma said. "I rather enjoy my freedom."

And so Gemma found herself squished into a barrel. Bilbo and the dwarves had it easy; Gemma was much too tall for this. She listened to Bilbo's play-by-play of whatever was going on between Bard and the guards, and hoped she hadn't been wrong in believing that the bargeman could be trusted. All they had to ensure that he would not betray them was his word, and from what Bilbo was saying, it sounded like that didn't mean much.

"He's selling us out," Dwalin growled.

That turned out to be untrue. Rather than being captured, the Company was bombarded from above with a sudden onslaught of… fish. It was an ingenious plan, but, surrounded by the stinking, scaly bodies, Gemma couldn't really appreciate it too much.

"We're approaching the toll gate," Bard told them. "Be silent."

Seconds later, Gemma heard a kind voice shout out, "Goods inspection! Papers please! Oh, Bard, it's you. Anything to declare?"

"Only that I am tired and cold and ready for home," their crafty smuggler replied.

"I hear you. Here we are, all in order," the kind old voice said.

"Not so fast," a rather unkind voice interrupted. Gemma held her breath. "Empty barrels from the Woodland Realm," The voice read. "Only they're not empty, are they, Bard? I thought that you were licensed as a bargeman not a fisherman."

"That's none of your business."

"It's the Master's business, which makes it my business."

"Oh come on, Alfrid. People need to eat." Bard sounded nervous, but then Gemma was an expert at detecting that sort of thing in a man's voice. She hoped this Alfrid was not so skilled.

"These fish are illegal. Empty the barrels."

"You heard 'im," another voice said, "into the canal." Not good. Gemma felt her barrel being tipped, the fish above her starting to slide out. Not good at all.

"Times are hard, people are starving. What will you do when the people hear the Master is wasting fish? When the riots start, what then?"

There was a pause, and then, "Stop." Oh yes, Bard was quiet a crafty bargeman indeed. Gemma heard the gate being raised.

"The master has his eye on you," that nasty voice said to Bard. "You'd do well to remember we know where you live."

"It's a small town Alfrid," Bard replied cheekily, "everyone knows where everyone lives." Gemma decided that she liked Bard.

A few quiet minutes later, Gemma felt her barrel being tipped out. Bard helped her to her feet as the others emerged from their barrels. "Follow me, quietly," Bard ordered. They did.

"What is this place?" Bilbo asked.

"This, Master Baggins, is the world of Men," Thorin replied.

It was sad, Gemma thought. The people of Lake-town were clearly struggling. On the inside, the town looked even more rough and rundown, as if a good gust of wind could turn the whole place into tooth picks. Gemma had once visited Venice, and the canals running through this place reminded her of the city, but the resemblance stopped there. Lake-town held none of the Italian city's vibrancy. Everywhere was dark and dank and dirty. These were the first humans Gemma had seen in Middle Earth. She hoped they were not all so unlucky.

They moved through a small marketplace, keeping their heads down. They townspeople took no notice of them, or if they did, they said nothing. Gemma got the feeling that the Master of Lake-town was not exactly well-loved by his people.

"Da!" A voice called, and a young boy ran up to Bard. "The house is being watched!"

Bard paused for a moment, then said, "Follow me, I have a plan."

Gemma and Bilbo shared a look. No doubt this plan would be just as ingenious as the last, and yet, Gemma had a feeling it would be just as bad.

She had been right of course. Well, almost. This wasn't as bad, this was worse.

"Oh come on, hurry up," she called to the dwarves ahead of her, who were slowly making their way up the plumbing pipe that led to the toilet in Bard's home. She waited with the rest of the Company, treading water to stay afloat under the house. The water was freezing, as it was nearly winter, and Gemma was certain that she would catch her death if she did get warm and dry soon. She wished she had clothes to change into. Losing her bag in the river was not something she was very happy about. No bag, no gun; she was pretty much screwed.

"Da, why're there dwarves comin' outta our toilet?" a young female voice called as Gemma finally clambered out into Bard's home, with the help of his son, Bain. Gemma was shivering like a leaf.

"Will they bring us luck?" another younger female voice asked.

Bain led Gemma upstairs to the others, where Bard gave them patchwork blankets and dry clothes. "Sigrid," the bargeman called to a young woman in her teens, which Gemma presumed was his daughter, "could you find the Lady some clothes?" The girl nodded and ran off. Gemma tried to dry her hair off with the blanket.

"You're not a dwarf," a little voice said. Gemma looked down to see a little girl of maybe six years old, Bard's other daughter, standing at her feet.

"No," Gemma agreed with a laugh, squatting down to the girl's level, "I'm not a dwarf. My name is Gemma."

"I'm Tilda!" the girl told her.

"Well, Tilda, it is a pleasure to meet you," Gemma said in mock seriousness, shaking the little girl's hand and making her giggle.

"Here," Sigrid returned to the room and handed Gemma a burgundy smock and overcoat. "You're nearly the same height as Ma was. It should fit."

Gemma looked to Bard. "I can't take this. It was your wife's"

"She would want you to have it. Always helping others, my wife was."

Gemma nodded her thanks, and left the room to change. The clothes were foreign and the fit felt unusual, but they were warm and dry, so she couldn't complain. Sigrid took her wet clothes from her and left them to dry by the fire, where the other dwarves were warming themselves. Gemma was still cold, but she steered clear of the hearth, instead coming to Thorin's side by the window. The dwarf king stared out, far into the distance.

Gemma said nothing, she just watched Thorin. His shoulders were tight, his eyes anxious, like he was preparing for battle. Gemma rested her hand on his shoulder, a show of silent support. She followed his gaze out the window, off into the distance, to the silhouette of the Lonely Mountain, standing tall against the light of the rising sun.

AN:

So that was a pretty long chapter. Mostly filler, some fluff, some humour, even a bit of angst, sort of. This is really just to set up for the next big event of the story, which will happen soon. I'm going to twist the order of events in Lake-town a little bit to fit this event, so don't be surprised if some things happen before they should. I think you guys are going to like what's coming. That's all I'm going to say.

Also, I've made Tilda younger than she is in the movie, simply because I had this image of her in my mind as this bubbly little six-year old like one that I used to babysit. It's really not going to make a difference, but I just felt compelled to write her as such. Plus, I will definitely be limiting the amount that Alfrid is in the story, because he just made me cringe whenever he was on screen.

Thank you again for all the awesome reviews. We're almost at 200! Happy Easter to those who celebrate it, and to those who don't happy regular old weekend!

Review?