Chapter 81: Lake-Town Final part.

[General POV]

"Aldril! You bastard, I heard you!" Glóin shouted from the privy.

"Stop yelling in my ear," Bilbo complained, who was helping Glóin up. With a strong push, using all his strength, he managed to lift Glóin through the privy, while Dwalin, from below, supported him to reach the opening.

After all, there was quite some height to overcome. The medieval drainage system was the one all the houses in Lake-Town implemented; all waste ended up in the lake, which, surprisingly, remained clean. This was thanks to the wide variety of fish and algae that inhabited it and fed on the waste, keeping the water pure.

Since the bathroom door was open, Aldril and Bain watched the scene with amusement.

"Ugh, how disgusting!" Glóin exclaimed with a grimace of disgust as he shook his wet beard. While doing so, he noticed Aldril's amused smile. Glóin pressed his lips together and, with a growl, pointed a finger at Aldril.

"Not one damn word, Aldril!" he threatened, his body trembling from both embarrassment and the cold.

Aldril raised his arms in mock defeat, but his smile only grew more teasing. "I won't say a word," he promised. However, both of them knew it was a white lie; of course, Aldril would tell his son Gimli all about the embarrassing situations his father had been through someday.

"Hey! Hurry up and help us!"

"Hurry up, I'm freezing!"

"Glóin!"

The dwarves' complaints were immediate. They had been in the lake long enough, and the lower half of their bodies was beginning to go numb. The cold temperature of the lake was no joke, and though their bodies were a bit more resilient than those of humans, allowing them to swim in such cold water for a time, they were running out of time.

Aldril's words may have promised he wouldn't tell anyone about this, but Glóin knew better than anyone: 'That bastard will surely tell everything,' was his thought at that moment. But hearing his colleagues' complaints, he put the matter of Aldril aside for the moment.

With a huff, he turned around and, alongside Bilbo, helped the other dwarves climb up. Although he wouldn't deny that it was an incredibly funny sight to see Dwalin's bald head poking through the privy, like a piece of dung rising up.

"Splash"

A light slap echoed along with a laugh. Dwalin's face immediately furrowed in irritation and anger.

"Nice ass, Dwalin," Fili teased, the culprit behind the slap. Being one of the youngest and most mischievous, he hadn't missed the chance to annoy the grumpiest dwarf.

"You damned brat!" Dwalin growled, glaring at Glóin and Bilbo. "And you two, not a word about this," he said, turning his gaze to Aldril and Bain. He could only swallow his frustration toward Aldril, who had his lips pressed together, struggling not to laugh. "Humph," Dwalin huffed as he was helped out of the privy by the others.

Next, it was Balin's turn, followed by Thorin and the rest of the dwarves. The younger ones, being more resistant to the cold, were the last to get out. The group now stood, soaking wet and shivering.

"Follow me. There's a fireplace upstairs where you can warm up," Bain said. Under the gaze of all the dwarves, he was the first to head up the stairs. What they didn't know was that, like Aldril, Bain was also struggling not to laugh.

"Let's go," Thorin said, being the first to climb the stairs. The others followed him, except for Kili, who stayed behind, clutching his stomach. "I'll be right back," he told Fili.

Fili, a bit concerned for his brother, asked, "Are you alright?"

"No, I drank too much lake water, and I might have accidentally eaten a piece of crap," Kili muttered before running off to the bathroom to vomit.

------

"What's that pretty boy doing here?!" Glóin exclaimed when he saw Legolas in Bard's house. His shout reflected what many of the dwarves were thinking, including Thorin, who was looking at Legolas with obvious distaste.

After all, that stupid elf had taken the elven sword Thorin had found in the trolls' cave. His resentment only grew when he saw it sheathed on the elf's back.

"Do I need permission to be here?" Legolas retorted with a disdainful smile. "The real question would be: what are you wet rats doing in this place?" he added, provoking the general disgust of the dwarves.

"Legolas," Sigrid murmured softly as she took his hand. The gesture eased Legolas' discomfort, and, ignoring the dwarves, he returned her smile. "It's okay," he whispered back to her.

"Heh..."

Glóin's mocking smile appeared when he noticed that the young human, who seemed to be the boatman's daughter, was the "pretty boy's" partner. In his eyes, Legolas had shown submission.

"Here, use these," Bard interrupted, stepping out of a room with loose clothing in his hands. "You can put your clothes by the fireplace to dry," he reminded them.

"Thank you, boatman," Dwalin said, taking the clothes. This action surprised everyone, as those who knew his temper looked at him in confusion.

"What?" he asked, frowning at their surprised looks. Realizing the reason, he explained: "The boatman has done much for us. Though we paid him, he could have turned us in, but he didn't. Also, he let us hide in his house." He clarified, earning Balin's approval, who nodded in agreement.

Bard felt grateful for the dwarf's words. It was well-known that dwarves were stubborn by nature, and for one of them to thank him was a surprise. Shaking his head with a smile, he pointed to the room at the back, "You can change there."

Nodding, all the dwarves walked to Bard's room. Their short, soaked figures were an amusing sight to the onlookers, especially Legolas, who mockingly watched the dwarves' forms.

"Do you need help with anything?" Aldril asked. Since the dwarves would be busy changing, he didn't want to seem ungrateful by doing nothing, so he offered to help.

"Yes, keep the dwarves and the elf prince from killing each other," Bard muttered with a half-smile, then turned to the kitchen to help his daughter prepare the dishes. They would have a large meal today, and with guests, more plates needed to be prepared.

"Wait," Aldril said, stopping him. "Take this venison. I don't want the dwarves to finish off your food supply." As he spoke, he pulled a generous amount of venison from his storage ring, which they had obtained from Beorn.

Bard accepted it without hesitation. "Thank you," he replied. He had heard of the dwarves' insatiable appetites and had planned to serve them small portions, but now he could use the venison to feed his children, who would enjoy a day without fish.

As Bard headed to the kitchen, Aldril looked up. He noticed the Black Arrow, which was being used as a rack for some ingredients, and it struck him as a strange sight: an arrow capable of piercing the tough scales of a dragon, now reduced to a mere food holder. If any of the dwarves saw it, they would be outraged. How could one of their great creations be used to hang ingredients?

"Is that a dwarven crossbow?" a nearby comment interrupted his reflection. Curious, he turned his gaze toward Thorin and Balin, who were observing a dwarven crossbow from afar.

"Dwarven crossbow?" Tauriel whispered beside him, also fixing her eyes on the tall tower of the bell tower, where the crossbow rested on the roof.

"Isn't it common to see them?" Aldril asked, taking the opportunity to clarify his doubt.

Thorin shook his head and looked away toward him. "No, it's not common," he replied, his eyes lost in memories. "The last ones my people made were destroyed by that dragon," he continued. "The city of Dale had some that we gifted them. But the dragon destroyed them in his attack as well."

"That's true," Balin interrupted. "When we left Erebor, the city of Dale was burning." In a melancholic tone, he continued his tale. "It was the first place the dragon attacked, so it was natural for the crossbows to be destroyed."

"The dragon knew what it was doing," Thorin added. "It was known that elven steel and the dwarves' Black Arrows were the only way to pierce a dragon's tough scales."

"That's why it attacked Dale first," Balin added. "Girion, the king of Dale, gathered his men to defend the city, but it was useless." Sitting in the winged chair by the window, Balin's eyes unfocused, lost in memory.

"Girion used all the Black Arrows available, but it no longer matters," Thorin continued. "If only he had been a better shot, things would have been different."

In the corner of the room, Bard, who had been listening to the conversation from the window, suddenly stepped forward. Looking at Thorin Oakenshield with a smile, he commented: "You speak as if you lived through it yourself."

"Because I was there," Thorin replied, his voice laden with memory. "I saw with my own eyes how their arrows missed." In that moment, he understood that Erebor was doomed; despite their resistance, they could do nothing against the dragon's might.

"Then you must also know that Girion wounded the dragon in the abdomen, near the left wing!" Bain interrupted, full of energy. "He just needed one more arrow, and the dragon would have fallen!"

"That's just a legend, boy," Glóin responded from the fireplace. "If that were true, the adventurer Tindomiel would have killed it." He threw a bit of cold water on Bain's enthusiasm.

"That elf..." Bard murmured, looking at his son and nodding. "It might just be a tale, son," he added, noticing the disappointment on Bain's face. "But it could also be the reason why that elf managed to drive it away."

"Dinner's ready!"

Their conversation was interrupted by Sigrid, who cheerfully placed a venison stew along with plenty of fresh vegetables and fruits, as well as some glasses of water, on the table. The sight of a table overflowing with food was unusual for this household but was nonetheless welcome.

Thorin, now dressed in loose-fitting clothes, looked at the dwarves. "Let's eat and hope our clothes dry before we leave," he said. "Leave your weapons by the fireplace."

-Mirkwood-

"Finduilas?!" Thalwen exclaimed, embracing one of her old friends with great joy. "It's rare for you to visit. What brings you to my kingdom?" she asked curiously.

"Thalwen!" Finduilas returned her embrace warmly. Both beauties were like two golden suns—the youngest of the Noldor alongside one of the few Vanyar still dwelling in Middle-earth. Their presence brought harmony and brightness to the surroundings. "You can probably guess the reason for my visit."

"The son of Túrin," Thalwen replied, her radiant smile still present as she guessed the purpose of Finduilas' visit. "I fear to tell you that he has already departed. His inevitable confrontation with the dragon is about to take place."

"That's exactly why I rushed here. I can't leave him alone; I can't allow the son of Túrin to fall."

"I understand your reasons, Finduilas," Thalwen said with a distant look. "But Galadriel must have already informed you. The boy must face this trial without aid."

-Dol Guldur-

"You must hurry, Mithrandir. The dark shadows of Sauron are spreading toward Erebor," Galadriel said, her delicate voice conveying both power and wisdom. "You must warn them of the danger."

Breathing heavily, Gandalf nodded. "I will depart at once, Lady Galadriel." He wasted no time, and with Radagast's help, he set off in haste toward Erebor. He had to warn them about the approaching orc army, and if possible, assist Aldril in defeating the dragon. Otherwise, it would be extremely dangerous if the dragon aided the orcs.

Gazing toward Erebor on the horizon, Galadriel, her eyes slightly weary from her battle, softly murmured to the wind, "May the blessing of the Valar be with you, Aldril. I hope you can survive the trial of your existence."

***

Filthy orcs! 

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