“I have had enough of this lippy lakeman." Dwalin snarled to his kin, his arms folded across his cheast. "I say we throw him over the side and be done with him.”
Bilbo turned towards Dwalin, shaking his head lightly. “Bard, his name’s Bard.”
Bofur blinked in surprise. “How do you know?” 
Bilbo sat down, still hugging himself for warmth. “Uh, I asked him.” Dwavres could be so infuriating.
Dwalin frowned, then moved towards Thorin. “I don’t care what he calls himself, I don’t like him.” 
Balin was busy counting what gold they had left. “We do not have to like him, we simply have to pay him. Come on now, lads, turn out your pockets.”
Hotheaded as ever, Dwalin remained skeptical. “How do we know he won’t betray us?”
Thorin glanced towards his nephews and Saeril, then back to tattooed dwarf. “We don’t.”
Balin counted once, then twice. Then three times. They hadn't enough. “There’s, um, just a problem: we’re ten coins short.”
Thorin instructed Gloin to give up what coin he had, and in that same moment, the Lonely Mountain came into view. The company was breathless, and each member rose just to catch a glimpse of their homeland. 

"Only alright?" Kili attempted to read her features, but he did not have to. "I won't let you blame yourself," he sat himself up a bit more in order to keep better alert, and then he too caught a glimpse of the mountain. This was the mountain he and Fili had only heard stories of, seeing it firsthand was nothing short of breathtaking.

- - -

Thranduil was far from apologetic. “And I did. I freed his wretched head from his miserable shoulders.” In passing, he kicked the orc's corpse to stop the legs from shaking. “There was nothing more he could tell me...the dwarves are of no concern to me. Not anymore.”