A new day began at dawn.
The morning sun spilled across the surface of the Long Lake, stirring up a thin, ethereal mist that danced over the water.
Thorin Oakenshield and his company, who had intended to slip ashore under the shroud of night, were still sound asleep. The boat was a chorus of rhythmic snores, echoing across the silent water. They were simply too tired; the three-day trek through the haunted forest had drained their very souls.
It wasn't until past eight in the morning that Thorin, jolted by a nightmare of his father's torment, bolted upright. Seeing the position of the sun, his heart sank. "Wake up! Wake up!" he bellowed.
Dwarves are born with voices like foghorns. One by one, the rest of the party rubbed their eyes and sat up, groaning.
"We're late!" Thorin snapped, his face dark.
Balin, ever pragmatic, shook his head. "It likely makes little difference. Smaug has been awake for months. Whether we land at midnight or noon, he surely knows we are here."
"He's right," another Dwarf mumbled. "If he wants to burn us, a little darkness won't stop him."
The thirteen Dwarves began to argue back and forth about the risks of landing in broad daylight.
"I say we land now," Gandalf interrupted, puffing on his pipe. "Waiting here like sitting ducks is more dangerous. If Smaug decides to fly out, we'll have nowhere to hide on open water."
Thorin, desperate to reach his father, didn't need much convincing. "Fine. To the oars!"
The boat began to cra toward the distant shore.
On the bank, Bard had been waiting since first light. He had brought twenty of Dale's strongest men, all of them armed and alert.
After a night of heavy contemplation, Bard had made his choice. He would not assist Thorin in assassinating Smaug. The math was simple: Smaug had Stone Giants, Elven allies, a Skin-changer, and a hive of Goblins. A single Black Arrow was a fool's hope, and Bard wasn't willing to gamble the lives of every man, woman, and child in Dale on a grudge from two generations ago.
More importantly, he didn't trust the Dwarves. He knew their reputation—stubborn, isolationist, and obsessed with their hoards. Under Smaug, the region was actually functioning. Under the Dwarves? They'd be back to being subjects of a mountain king who saw them as nothing more than a source of supplies.
"Lord Bard, that looks like the boat," one of the men said, pointing toward the mist.
"Ready yourselves," Bard commanded. "Dwarves are prideful and quick to anger. We aren't here for a fight, but we won't be pushed around either. As long as they don't threaten our peace, we let them pass."
Most of Dale supported Bard. A small faction still harbored a romantic notion of "slaying the beast," but for the men on the shore today, prosperity beat vengeance every time.
At the bow of the boat, Thorin's eyes narrowed as he spotted the armed men waiting for them. "What is this? They're waiting for us!"
The Dwarves reached for their weapons. "How could they know?"
"Wait! Does this mean the dragon has seen us?" Balin asked, his voice trembling.
"Prepare for battle!" Thorin ordered, drawing Orcrist. The cold Elven steel shimmered in the morning light.
On the shore, the men of Dale shifted, their hands tightening on their spears. "They're drawing steel, Lord Bard!"
"Steady!" Bard called out. "Wait for my signal."
On the boat, Gandalf stepped between Thorin and the edge. "Put those away! If Smaug wanted you dead, he wouldn't send twenty humans. He'd just fly over and melt the boat. This isn't an ambush."
Thorin ground his teeth. "Then what is it?"
"A reception," Gandalf said. "Put the weapons down. They can see us. Don't start a war before you even touch the grass."
"They've clearly become the dragon's lapdogs," one of the Dwarves spat, looking at the humans with disdain. "What does it matter if we fight them? They are our enemies now."
Gandalf's head snapped toward the speaker. His eyes flashed with a sudden, dangerous intensity. "Put away your arrogant thoughts!" he hissed.
"If you treat these people like enemies, you won't survive the hour. You need their goodwill to reach the Mountain. Do not let your pride be the end of you!"
The Dwarves looked at the Wizard, startled by his sudden severity. Reluctantly, Thorin sheathed his sword. The boat touched the sand.