"But how can we trust you?" Alfrid said loudly, stepping forward so the whole square could hear him. "You cannot expect the people of Lake-town to believe you just because you speak a few grand words. For all we know, you are nothing but thieves."
The crowd shifted again.
A few moments earlier some had looked hopeful, but Alfrid's words planted doubt.
Murmurs spread through the gathered townsfolk as they looked back and forth between the guards and the Dwarves standing in the middle of the square.
"He's right."
"They tried to steal from the armory."
"How do we know they are who they claim to be?"
Thorin stood still while the whispers grew louder. His expression did not change, but his eyes moved slowly across the crowd.
"You doubt my claim."
"Of course we do," Alfrid said loudly, gesturing to the crowd. "If anyone besides you Dwarves can confirm your story, then perhaps we might believe you. Otherwise you are just a band of strangers making grand claims."
The people of Lake-town murmured among themselves. Some nodded in agreement. Others watched the Dwarves more carefully.
Before Thorin could respond, a smaller figure suddenly pushed his way forward.
Bilbo stepped out from the crowd.
"I can vouch for them," he said.
Several people looked down in surprise.
"A Hobbit?" someone whispered.
Bilbo straightened his coat nervously but continued.
"These are not thieves," Bilbo said. "They are the Company of Thorin Oakenshield. They are traveling to the Lonely Mountain to reclaim their home."
Alfrid frowned. "And why should we believe you?"
"Because I traveled with them from my home," Bilbo replied, trying to steady his voice. "I've seen what they've faced. They are not thieves."
The crowd murmured again.
Thorin stepped forward, his voice rising so the whole square could hear him.
"I would see those days return," he said. "I would relight the great forges of the Dwarves and send riches and wealth flowing once more from the halls of Erebor."
The words spread through the square, stirring excitement among the people.
But another voice cut through the noise.
"Death!"
Bard pushed his way through the crowd.
"That is what you will bring upon us!" he said sharply. "Dragon-fire and ruin!"
He stopped in front of Thorin, holding his gaze.
"If you waken that beast, you will destroy us all."
Thorin's expression hardened.
"You can listen to this naysayer," he said, turning toward the crowd. "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!"
Bard turned back to the crowd quickly.
"All of you, listen to me!" he said urgently. "Have you forgotten what happened to Dale? Have you forgotten those who died in the firestorm? And for what purpose?"
His voice grew stronger.
"The blind ambition of a Mountain-king so consumed by greed he could not see beyond his own desire!"
The Dwarves protested loudly.
The crowd shouted back, many now siding with Bard.
The Master of Lake-town raised his hands to calm the noise.
"Now, now," he said smoothly. "We must not be too quick to lay blame. Let us not forget it was Girion, Lord of Dale—your ancestor—who failed to kill the beast."
Thorin and Balin slowly turned toward Bard, surprised.
Alfrid stepped forward eagerly.
"It is true, Sire," he said. "We all know the story. Arrow after arrow he shot, and every one missed its mark."
Bard glared at Thorin.
"You have no right to enter that Mountain," he said.
"I have the only right," Thorin answered sharply.
Then he turned away from Bard and addressed the Master.
"I speak to the Master of the Men of the Lake. Will you see the prophecy fulfilled? Will you share in the great wealth of our people?"
Thorin spread his hands toward the gathered crowd.
"What say you?"
"I say unto you—"
The crowd seemed to hold its breath.
For a moment the square was completely silent. All eyes turned toward the Master of Lake-town.
Then suddenly the Master threw his arms wide in a grand gesture.
"Welcome! Welcome! Thrice welcome!" he proclaimed loudly. "King under the Mountain!"
The crowd erupted.
Cheers burst from every side of the square as the Master bowed deeply before Thorin. With a sweeping motion of his arm, he invited Thorin and the Company to enter the Hall.
"Enter!" the Master said grandly. "Be honored guests of Lake-town!"
The people shouted and clapped, excitement spreading through the crowd as the Dwarves were escorted toward the hall. Lanterns swayed overhead while voices echoed through the wooden streets.
Bard stood still among the crowd, watching the celebration with a troubled expression.
The people of Lake-town were cheering, welcoming Thorin as the King under the Mountain, but Bard could only think of the shadow of the Lonely Mountain and the fire that slept beneath it.
Then a voice spoke quietly beside him.
"Don't worry," Luke said, appearing next to Bard as if he had always been there. "The dragon won't attack Lake-town as long as I'm here."
Bard glanced at him sharply.
"How can you say that?" he asked. "Have you seen a dragon? Smaug is not something you stop with clever tricks. If they wake that beast, nothing will stop it."
Luke shrugged slightly.
"Well," he said calmly, "maybe nothing… for most people."
"But I can," Luke added. "Trust me."
*****
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