Lirel stood at the edge of the barge, her gaze lost in the shimmering expanse of icy waters that stretched endlessly before them. The waves were rhythmic and calm, their gentle laps against the sides of the ship like whispers from some distant, forgotten world. The cold air bit at her skin, but it was a familiar sting, one she had come to know over the years. She took a deep breath, the salt in the wind filling her lungs, and for a moment, it felt as though the past were calling to her—beckoning her back to the time when the sea was her companion.

Bilbo approached with his usual curious, earnest expression, his small steps sure even on the shifting deck. His voice broke through her thoughts, polite and respectful. "Have you ever been on the ocean before, madam?" he asked, his eyes filled with an innocent wonder. His words carried an almost reverential tone, as though the sea were something otherworldly—something not to be touched by someone like him.

Lirel's lips quirked into a smile, the kind of smile that was at once both warm and distant, full of unspoken memories. She reached out and gently patted the hobbit on the shoulder, her touch light but firm. "I have," she said softly, her voice carrying a note of nostalgia. "Once—long, long ago and far, far away." Her eyes seemed to flicker with the ghost of that far-off time, a time when she had sailed these waters with the stars as her only company, and the winds had been her only guide.

Bilbo blinked at her, clearly intrigued. But before he could ask more, she chuckled, her laugh a soft ripple in the stillness of the moment. "Also, don't call me madam," she added with a playful wink. "I'm barely older than you." The words were light, teasing, but there was a wisdom in her eyes that spoke of ages beyond the count of years, of secrets hidden beneath layers of time and experience.

Bilbo's cheeks flushed slightly at the gentle correction, but he nodded, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. He took a step back, clearly still processing the enormity of the encounter—of the woman who seemed to have lived lifetimes in the span of a single glance.

Bard approached, his brow furrowed, and his posture rigid with a hint of frustration. His eyes scanned the group, narrowing as they landed on Lirel, his voice tinged with annoyance. "Where is the payment you promised me, ma'am?" His words were curt, but the sharpness of his tone couldn't mask the underlying weariness of a man who had seen too much of the world and had no patience left for games.

Lirel's lips curled into a calm, knowing smile, her eyes flicking to the pouch nestled in her hands. Without a word, she reached inside her cloak and pulled out a small linen pouch, the fabric worn but sturdy. She held it out toward him, her fingers steady as she met his gaze. Her eyes softened as she spoke, her voice a gentle contrast to his sharpness. "Here you go, Bard," she said, her tone even, almost reassuring. "Now, please take us into Lake-town," she added with a nod toward the distant shore, where the outline of the town could be seen, hazy in the early morning light.

Bard's fingers closed around the pouch, his movements quick and practiced. He glanced inside, then tucked it away with a slight nod of acknowledgment. "I'll take you in, but we need to keep it low," he muttered, his gaze drifting toward Thorin and his company. His voice dropped to a warning tone as he continued, "You folks need to stay out of sight, though." He cast a quick, pointed glance at the dwarves, who stood off to the side, their rough-hewn forms a stark contrast to the delicate craftsmanship of the barge. His expression darkened slightly, his voice taking on a deeper edge. "The Master doesn't like dwarves in his town."

Lirel's smile remained, unshaken by the tension in his words. She had dealt with more than a few wary looks and distrustful glances in her time—those were things she could navigate with ease. Her eyes met Bard's, understanding his unspoken caution, and she nodded solemnly. "Understood," she replied, her voice calm but firm. "We'll keep to the shadows." Her eyes flicked toward Thorin briefly, noting the dwarves' quiet, watchful demeanor. They knew the stakes, and they would follow her lead, as they always had.

Bard gave a short grunt of approval, then turned toward the helm of the barge, his hands already at work. "Make sure no one spots us too early," he muttered to himself as the boat began to drift slowly toward the town. The low hum of the water against the barge seemed to fade into the background as the tension between them all lingered, thick in the air, though unspoken.

SCENEBREAK

Lirien had never truly hated fish before, but in that moment, she found herself loathing every last one of them. The pungent stench of the salted catch filled the air, thick and cloying, seeping into her very skin like a poison. It wasn't just the odor—though that alone would have been enough to make her stomach churn—it was the slick, oily residue that seemed to transfer onto everything it touched. Her once-pristine cloak now clung to her body, stained by the grimy fish scales, and her hair, usually flowing and free, felt weighted down with the foul scent. She could almost taste it on the back of her tongue, the fish's rank presence suffocating the air around her.

She tried her best to ignore Thorin's low growls of displeasure, his voice harsh as he complained about the cramped space and the lack of comfort on the barge. His patience, always thin, was fraying further with every passing moment. But Lirien couldn't fault him entirely; she shared in his discomfort. The oppressive, oily smell hung in the air like a cloak of doom, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to focus on anything else.

The low creak of the boat was the only sound until Bard's quiet voice cut through the tension, his words sharp and urgent. "Quiet down," he whispered, tapping his oar gently against one of the barrels with a quiet thud. His eyes were scanning the water ahead, his expression unreadable but serious. "We're approaching the toll gate," he added, his voice barely above a murmur, as though speaking any louder would draw unwanted attention.

Lirien's breath hitched slightly at the mention of the toll gate. Her eyes flicked toward the approaching silhouette of the town, where a stone structure jutted into the water—its massive wooden gates poised to allow passage only for those who could afford it. Her thoughts flickered to the Master of Lake-town, a man whose rules were as rigid as the stone walls surrounding the town. Even in the shadows, she could feel the weight of his influence pressing down on her. With Thorin's company aboard and the dwarves' well-known reputation, she knew it would be a delicate situation. Every movement now felt amplified, every whisper a potential trigger for suspicion.

Thorin fell silent at Bard's warning, his eyes narrowing as he too regarded the approaching toll gate. The tension in the air thickened, and even the water seemed to grow quieter as the barge drew closer to its fate.

As the barge gently came to a halt, the quiet was shattered by the distant murmur of voices drifting across the water, growing louder as the boat slowly came to a stop. Lirien leaned slightly over the edge of her barrel, trying to listen without being noticed, though her senses remained sharp as ever. She could make out the heated words of a man, raising his voice in a clear argument with Bard. Yet, she paid little attention to the verbal sparring at first, focusing more on the unsettling shift of the barrel she was nestled in. It was subtle at first, but it was enough to stir a deep unease within her.

Suddenly, the pressure on her barrel shifted again, a heavier weight now pressing against it. She knew it wasn't Bard. It was a guard—she could feel the shift of the barge as the man climbed over the side with practiced ease. There was a brief moment of stillness, then the sound of something large and heavy being dumped into the icy waters of the lake. A splash echoed across the water, and she felt the barrel tip slightly, her stomach lurching with the sudden shift in balance.

She glanced out from the narrow slats of her hiding place, barely catching sight of the guard, his form silhouetted against the pale light of the early morning. He was grinning down at Bard, the malicious sneer on his face unmistakable.

"When the people hear the Master is dumping fish back in the lake; when the rioting starts—will it be your problem then?" Bard's voice rang out, carrying with an edge of defiance that made Lirien's pulse quicken. He was challenging the guard, not just with words, but with the kind of resolve that made her respect him in that moment more than ever before. She could feel the weight of the threat in his tone, but also the quiet power that came from standing up for what was right.

The guard's voice was low, mocking, almost cruel. "Ever the people's champion, eh, Bard? 'Protector of the common folk.'" His words dripped with disdain, but the sneer that accompanied them only made Lirien's blood run colder. She could hear the bitterness in his voice, the way he was belittling Bard's noble stance. "You may have their favor now, Bargeman," the guard continued, his words dripping with malice, "but it won't last. The Master has his eye on you. You'd do well to remember—we know where you live."

The threat was clear, and Lirien's jaw tightened. She could feel her own anger flare up, a sharp, heated surge that was almost like a physical force. How could anyone wield such power over another and use it for something so petty? The injustice of it gnawed at her insides, but it was the implications of the guard's words that cut the deepest—Bard, the one who spoke for the people, who stood up against the system, was not immune. He was not safe.

Despite the burning frustration, something else stirred within Lirien as she listened to their exchange—an unexpected admiration for Bard. He wasn't just a man. He was a force of integrity, a man who had the courage to speak against a system that would crush him, even when the risks were so great. Lirien found herself thinking of him not just as an ally in this moment, but as something more—a friend. His bravery, his unwavering defense of the common folk, resonated deeply with her, sparking a rare warmth within her chest.

Though the air was thick with the threat of impending conflict, Lirien found solace in knowing that there were still those who fought for what was right, even if the odds were stacked against them. Bard's voice, though tense, remained steady, a sign of his resolve. And Lirien would stand by him—silent but unyielding, as long as the need was there.