✓GLITTER AND GOLD⁰ ━ the hobbit

ten.

10. | WE'RE MORALLY AMBIGUOUS

"THERE'S AN ORC PACK ON OUR TAIL; WE KEEP MOVING." Thorin commands, looking as calm as ever despite the panic creeping into his voice. With good reason. We can't outrun orcs, nor outride them, and I have never learnt how to fly.

"To where?" Balin asks, his head cradled in his arms. 

"To the mountain - we're so close." Bilbo utters, looking disbelieving. I agree. How can we give up now? I want my gold. 

"A lake lies between us and that mountain. We have no way to cross it." Balin says, always the voice of reason. He's correct, but I have to disagree. There is a boat, which means there is a way to sail across. We just have to find it. 

"So we go around."

"The orcs will run us down, as sure as daylight. We have no weapons to defend ourselves."

Thorin sighs, scrambling for an answer to his dilemma. We are soaking wet; thank Valar the weather is pleasant today. "Bind his leg, quickly. You have two minutes." He gestures to Kili.

I gasp, my brows furrowing in surprise.  "You're hurt?"

He shrugs nonchalantly. "It's nothing. Just an arrow, I'll heal soon enough."

He speaks plainly, but his skin is pallid and pale, and he seems to wince with every wound he takes. I pull out a cloth and wrap it around his leg, stopping the blood flow. The wound seems oddly black, and strange. Has he been poisoned?

He sees my concerned gaze, and yanks his leg away, shrugging me off. "I'm fine!"

A shadow appears, a man drawing an imposing shadow over us. Dwalin grabs a stick, but an arrow appears there faster than I can think. Another hits the stone out of Kili's hand.

"Do it again, and you're dead." He says, raising his bow in warning. I squint, trying to make out a face. Who is he?

Balin steps forward carefully, his hands up in surrender.  "Excuse me, but, uh, you're from Laketown, if I'm not mistaken? That barge over there, it wouldn't be available for hire, by any chance?"

 "What makes you think I would help you?"

"Those boots have seen better days," Balin says, ever diplomatic. "As has that coat. No doubt you have some hungry mouths to feed. How many bairns?"

The man hesitates, clearly wondering whether telling the truth could be used against him. He must decide we look too stupid to try, and answers "A boy and two girls."

"And your wife, I imagine she's a beauty,"

"Aye. She was."

I wince.

"What's your hurry?" The man asks, eyeing Dwalin carefully, who has stepped forward rather threateningly. I pull him back; he rips his arm out of hand with a deadly glare.

"What's it to you?"

"I would like to know who you are and what you are doing in these lands." He would be a fool not to ask.

"We are simple merchants from the Blue Mountains journeying to see our kin in the Iron Hills." I sign, knowing how much I stand out in this story. I'm a woman, an elf, and I'm taller than any of the dwarves and Bilbo.

"Simple merchants, you say?" The man asks, raising an eyebrow. He eyes me apprehensively; I narrow my eyes at him. 

"We'll need food, supplies, weapons," Thorin says, stepping forward. "Can you help us?"