"Umm… may I ask," Bilbo said hesitantly from inside his barrel, peeking up at Luke, "how you were in the cells before us? And how you're here now?"
He genuinely couldn't understand it. Everywhere he went, this strange man kept appearing. It was starting to feel less like coincidence and more like magic—or worse.
Luke glanced back at him. "Let's just say," he replied casually, "I'm very good at traveling."
Bilbo frowned.
That… explained absolutely nothing.
Balin leaned closer to Bilbo and spoke in a low voice. "Do you know that man?"
Bilbo hesitated, then shook his head. "No… not really. I've already met him twice," he admitted, frowning. "And both times were… strange experiences."
That was the best way he could describe it. Nothing about Luke felt normal, and yet he hadn't done anything openly hostile either.
Balin studied Luke for a moment longer, then looked away. He didn't press the matter.
Whoever the man was, he was helping them—for now. And as far as Balin was concerned, as long as their quest wasn't being hindered, the details could wait.
As they neared Lake-town, Bard gestured lightly. "Hide. All of you."
The Dwarves didn't argue. They slipped back inside the barrels, pulling themselves low and still as the barge drifted closer to the docks.
Bard guided the barge in and tied it off at the fishing port. He jumped down onto the wooden planks and spoke briefly with a fisherman, gesturing toward the barrels stacked on the deck.
Inside one of them, Dwalin peeked through a narrow gap.
"I don't like this," he muttered. "He's pointing straight at us. I think he's selling us out."
Luke, standing calmly at the front of the barge, didn't even look back. "Relax," he said. "You're not worth much."
The words made a few of the Dwarves bristle.
Luke continued, unfazed. "Think about it. No one here knows who you are, and turning you in gets him nothing. If he wanted trouble, he wouldn't have taken my gold in the first place."
There was an uncomfortable pause inside the barrels.
As much as they hated to admit it, he wasn't wrong. To Lake-town, they were just a group of short strangers—nothing valuable, nothing special.
And certainly not worth more than the payment Bard had already been promised.
Then the fish were poured in.
Barrel after barrel was packed full, and the dwarves' expressions quickly turned sour as they found themselves buried under slabs of dead fish. Scales stuck to beards. The smell hit instantly—thick, oily, unavoidable.
Luke looked down at them, unimpressed.
"So," he asked lightly, his tone openly taunting, "how does the smell of fish feel now?"
It was a deliberate jab, fingers rubbing salt into an already open wound.
"Come down here and smell it yourself!" several angry voices snapped back at once.
Luke snorted.
"No thanks. I'm human," he said flatly. "And I don't need to sneak around."
Bard studied him for a moment as he guided the barge forward, eyes sharp and assessing. The man didn't look like a merchant, and Lake-town wasn't exactly a place people visited on a whim. Even their clothes were strange—well-made, but unfamiliar.
"So, if I may ask," Bard said carefully, "why does someone like you want to visit Lake-town? You don't seem to be here for trade. And it's not exactly beautiful enough to draw travelers."
"Nothing special," Luke replied easily. "I'm new to this place. Just wandering. No real goal."
"No goal?" Bard echoed, clearly unconvinced.
"Yeah," Luke said with a shrug. "No goal. I'm young, newly married—and these two are my beautiful wives."
Natasha smiled sweetly. Wanda nodded along, entirely unbothered.
Bard looked at them again, then shook his head slightly.
He had to admit it—this man was really enjoying his life.
That realization didn't sit well inside the barrels.
Twelve dwarves, packed tight and soaked in fish stink, had nothing better to do than talk.
"Those women are really his wives?" one muttered.
"What do they even see in him?" another scoffed. "He's all bones."
"Hah. My wife's got twice their figure," a third grumbled. "Too thin, the lot of them."
Low chuckles rippled through the barrels as the gossip spread from one to the next. Twelve voices, emboldened by darkness and confinement, found comfort in shared mockery.
Then a barrel jolted violently.
Luke had kicked it.
"You shorties shut up," he said flatly. "Don't compare my beautiful wives to your dwarf standards."
The barrel rocked again, hard enough to knock the breath out of whoever was inside. The laughter died instantly.
Maybe, in dwarven eyes, they looked strange. Maybe even scrawny.
"Stop talking," Bard said under his breath. "We're nearing the entrance."
His tone had shifted—careful, alert. The entrance was always a problem. Someone was usually watching, asking questions, being difficult. And smuggling twelve dwarves into Lake-town was not something he could afford to draw attention to.
The barge drifted closer to the gate.
Bard stepped forward and handed over the papers. The guards scanned them lazily, eyes moving from the documents to the barge itself—rows of sealed barrels, Luke standing openly on deck, Natasha and Wanda beside him.
"Hm?" one of the guards said, frowning slightly. "And who are they?"
"Visitors," Bard replied smoothly. "They wanted to see Lake-town."
The guard's gaze lingered on them. "Any weapons?"
He looked them over again. Their clothes were fitted, tight enough that hiding anything sizable would be obvious.
"No," Bard said simply.
The guard nodded. "Alright. You can go—"
Before he could finish, a hand snatched the papers away.
Bard stiffened.
The man who had taken the papers was already skimming the page, his expression turning sour by the second.
Bard's jaw tightened.
Alfrid—councilor to the Master of Lake-town. A petty man with sharp eyes, quicker suspicions, and a personal dislike for Bard that went both ways. Of all the people to be standing here, it had to be him.
*****
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