"The streams shall run in gladness,
The lakes shall shine and burn,
All sorrow fail and sadness
At the Mountain-king's return!"
J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit
Chapter 9: Firelight
I don't know how I slept, but I did. Legolas brought me word of the dwarves' escape downriver, and that at least brought me some comfort. But the nervousness that had begun in Rivendell was now knocking at all corners of my mind, and while I did not know what exactly, I knew something horrible was about to happen.
I tried to tell this to Thranduil, but he would have none of it. "Men will always prophecy doom when it suits them," he said.
So a night passed, and I slept fitfully. My dreams were of my nephew and nieces. They stood too close to the kitchen fire, and it burnt them. I woke sweaty and weeping.
Another day passed, and my anxiety grew. I was certain now that it was not just my imagination. I was not choosing to feel this way. Somehow I knew, I knew this was bad. I knew that if I didn't do something, it would all go horribly wrong, and we would lose. We would lose, and the world would be forever changed because of it. I felt it in my bones the way birds and small animals know a storm is coming.
I just had no way of explaining this to King Thranduil.
Two nights after the dwarves escaped and three after we had come to the Elven King's realm, the air felt heavy. There was a stillness, an expectation. I felt it in my chamber. I spent an hour throwing myself at the door. No one came, and the door didn't move. Finally, I collapsed against it, too spent even to weep.
The tension grew. My fingers twitched.
Then the earth shook.
I rose to my feet.
Thranduil came.
"I believe," he said, with the air of someone who does not believe, but knows, "the dragon has awakened."
"Yes," I said.
"You knew this would happen," he continued. "Yet you said nothing."
"It is not my place to tell you the future," I explained, because of course it wasn't. "Only to correct it."
Thranduil looked away. "My son is in Laketown. He followed a pack of orcs. The same that attacked your friends on the river."
Orcs. My mind raced. "The orcs shouldn't be there any more than your son should," I said quickly. "This is what I was telling you about. Smaug will go to Laketown."
Thranduil turned back to me. "Can you save him?"
"That's up to you."
Ten minutes later I was on a horse, my sword sheathed at my side. It was snowing. I was still wearing the absurd dress they had given me at the feast, and slippers, but there wasn't time to change.
Thranduil gazed up at me with all the emotion of a father and an Elf. "This horse will bear you faster than any other. Let him guide you at will, and he will take you to the bridges."
I nodded.
"Go with all the blessings of Elves and Men and all other good folk," said the Elven King. "Bring my son back to me alive."
"I promise you, I will do all I can to keep him safe," I said, then I turned the horse and held on for dear life, for he did not wait for me, he just sped away.
The journey from Mirkwood passed in a blur. We left the forest, skirted around the lake, and then we were on a bridge. On either side of me, the lake was tinted with moonlight. Ahead I could see the lights of Laketown. Despite our speed, I felt that all about me was still. There were no birds, no wildlife, no ripple of fish. Even the air we passed through felt warm. The snowflakes that landed on us seared like small flames.
It seemed only moments, it seemed an eternity, until we passed into the town. It was as quiet as the lake, yet the ground quivered through the horse's hooves. I did not slow the beast until we had reached the town square, a dock-like platform before the grandest of the dilapidated buildings.
I pulled tight on the reigns, and the horse halted abruptly. The earth shook again, and the horse neighed and reared up. I hushed him, then assessed the situation. What few folk were about appeared confused and uncertain and eyed me with suspicion.
Where is everybody?
I opened my mouth to speak, but the ground shook again, harder this time. I looked to the mountain, and there was fire coming out of it. Then the fire was in the air. It was spinning, trailing, growing slowly, but undoubtedly larger.
"DRAGON!" someone shouted, and my attention returned to the townsfolk. "DRAGON!"
There were screams and general panic. My horse pawed the ground uneasily, picking up on the unrest about him. I calmed him again, then shouted, "Yes, dragon! The dragon is coming! You must be ready! Where is Bard?"
No one answered. They stared up at me, confused and frightened.
And I realized how I must look to them: a stranger, on horseback, in a town of boats. My dress was from the woodland realm and suited neither for the snow nor the impending disaster. My hair was windblown, and I was wearing slippers.
Oh, well.
"Bard?" I asked again, loudly, "Where is Bard the Bowman?" I hoped my voice was projecting as much authority as I felt.
"My father has been imprisoned," said a young voice below me. I looked down to find a boy, just recently a teenager, and he looked up at me with as much fear and more boldness than the others.
"WHAT?" I squawked.
"That bargeman has been nothing but trouble." I reared the horse around to face a gouty man on the stairs. "I put him away where he could sow no more dissent."
"Dissent? Are you kidding me? Who are you?"
"I am the Master of Laketown. Who are you?"
Instead of answering him directly, I turned back around to face the boy. I racked my stretched and strained memory, came up with a name. "Bain," I said. "Your name is Bain."
"Yes," he said in shock.
I searched the skies again. The glow was getting fiercer, closer.
Where is that damn bird?
And then I knew. I knew with the certainty that had been bleeding from me since I had left Rivendell. I was the bird. I was the missing bit, the gear that would set all the rest winding in the right direction again.
"Where are the prisons?"
Bard's son pointed beyond the Master's hall to a row of low shacks at the opposite end of the town from the bridge. "Lady?" Bain's small hand reached tentatively towards my horse. "There's more. I don't know…"
"Tell me," I said quickly. "I'm here to help. I can help your father."
"Then I'll get it for you," Bain said, and ran off.
Whatever "it" was, there wasn't a doubt in my mind it was worth the wait. I turned my horse in a circle, looking up and about me.
"Listen to me!" I shouted. "I am Scilla, the Seer of Rivendell. The dragon is coming! There is nowhere to run! There is nowhere to hide! Your only chance is to fight. You must take up arms! Cut the bridges!"
"We have no weapons!" shouted a man. "The Master has them under lock and key."
When I whirled again to face the Master, it was with all the fury I had ever felt in my life. "You fool," I said coldly. "Arm them. And pray they defend you."
"I will not…"
"ARM THEM!" I shouted, and then it seemed the Master's word did not matter, for a guard had appeared with bows and spears and swords.
On the guard's heals was Bain, and he was carrying a spear – no, an arrow, an enormous arrow – in one hand. He held it up to me, and I accepted it gingerly, suddenly aware I was holding in my hand a legendary weapon.
"A black arrow," Bain explained unnecessarily. "The last one. Father had it hidden in our kitchen."
I turned back to the Master. "I hope you burn." And then I kicked the horse, and we were gone in the direction Bain had pointed us in.
In such a small town, the ramshackle prison was not far. I dumped myself to the ground, then ran past the few guards into the narrow walkway that ran along the front of the cells.
"Bard!" I called. "I'm looking for Bard!"
"Here!" a voice called back. I raced towards it.
A sniveling, snotty man stood before the cell door, twirling a ring of keys on his finger. "Who are you? This man is a lawful prisoner of the Master, and-"
"Oh, shut up," I said, reaching the cell. I stopped dead in my tracks "Bard? You're Bard? You're Bard?!"
"Yes, who are you?" said the man inside.
"Of all the things I wasn't expecting," I muttered to myself. Then, to the bowman, "I'll explain later. You have a dragon to kill."
The snotty man sputtered. "Bard? Kill a dragon? You must be mad. Smaug the Terrible has slept for generations."
My patience was now spent. I bore down on the man. "You stupid, stupid man. That dragon is coming. He will be here any moment, and this man" - I pointed at Bard – "is all that stands between this town and destruction. Now give me the keys so I can let him out, or we are all going to die."
The man didn't budge. "These keys?" he asked calmly. "So he can what, finish what his ancestor Girion started? I suppose you're trying to tell me that old legend is true."
I shook my head violently. "What old legend?"
"That Girion hit the dragon. That he knocked loose a scale, and Smaug has a weak spot now."
"I don't know anything about Girion-" I began.
"What do you know?" demanded Bard.
I looked at him. "I know there's a patch in the hollow of Smaug's left breast as bare as a snail out of its shell."
His face hardened. "Get me out of here."
I nodded and elbowed the snotty man in the face. He went down with a muffled cry, and I snatched the keys from his greasy fingers.
As I worked at the lock, Bard asked again, "Who are you?"
"I'll explain when this is over," I promised, as the lock clicked out of place. I swung the door wide. "Let's go."
Bard bolted out of his cell and ran ahead. His legs were longer and faster than mine, and I struggled to catch up. Outside of the cell, I snagged the back of his shirt to pull him to a halt.
I held up the black arrow. "Where can you fire this thing from?"
"How…?"
"Later. Where do we need to go?"
"The Master's tower. There's a windlance at the top." He grabbed my hand and stepped as if to run again, but I held him back.
I shook my head. "Horse. Else we'll never get there in time."
He looked at the beast uncertainly. "I don't ride."
"I do. Hold on tight."
Thranduil had outfitted the horse with a second sword, a bow, and a full quiver. Bard grabbed the last two, and when we were secure, I kicked at the horse, and he took off at full speed.
A good thing too, because that's when the dragon came.
He came with a burst of fire, a graceful fumbling of wings and smoke and destruction. There was screaming around me, and parts of the world were now ablaze. There was nothing but flame and fear and turmoil.
Yet I felt none of it. As I guided the horse over the difficult planking, around the townsfolk and through the smoke, an uncanny calm settled over me. I realized, with the shock of one not really paying much attention to her own emotions, that I had found my balance. It wasn't that I knew where to put my feet, it was that I knew, for the first time since coming to Middle Earth, where to put myself.
Behind me, Bard's hands were clasped tightly about my waist. Thranduil's bow, also in his hand, was digging into my side. I held the black arrow myself, of the two of us the steadier on horseback. We paid little attention to the scattered townsfolk, or the orcs, who seemed little less frightened than the humans.
At last we reached the Master's hall, and Bard scrambled off the horse ahead of me. I vaguely noted the Master himself still on the steps. I hoped the men had rallied and were preparing what defenses they had. There couldn't have been much.
Bard made not for the hall, but for a set of buildings close to it. At the back of one was a rickety ladder, and this we climbed to the top. The roof was slate and slanted and slippery, and my Elven slippers had no grip. I still held the black arrow in my left hand. With my right I drew the sword Gandalf had given me back in Rivendell. Bard fitted an arrow to his bow, and Smaug descended on us.
Bard fired. It had no effect, of course, but it caught Smaug's attention, and as he turned in the sky for another pass at the two small humans foolish enough to challenge him from a rooftop, he drew the orcs up from below.
We were running then, and I suddenly had a task. Ahead of me, Bard let arrow after arrow fly at Smaug. We ran and ducked and cringed inwardly and outwardly as fire came at us. But we were faster than the fire, and Smaug seemed to have difficulty breathing it at this angle. I had my own task. As the orcs came at us, I knocked them from the roof one by one. They were steadier on the slate than I, and my feet slipped and skidded, and I thought that I would fall. But not until Bard killed the dragon. I had to stay on the roof until then.
Smaug's fury filled the sky above us, he spun away, then back in, and something about that seemed to recharge him. Bard sensed the danger before me, and reached back to grab my arm before throwing us both across the space between this building and the Master's house. We landed awkwardly, and I nearly fell right off again. My sword fell as I reached to grab hold of a shingle, and I was weaponless, save for the black arrow, which of course wasn't mine. Behind us, the orcs were burnt to a crisp.
Bard pulled me up, steadied me, then traded his bow for the black arrow. In front of us was a contraption like two crossbows set opposite each other. It was this that Bard set the arrow to. He drew the arrow back, muscles straining, and looked up to find his target. His face froze in horror, and with a dread that slipped down my spine like ice in the burning air, I turned to find Smaug hovering in the air before us.
"So you think to challenge me? You who are a lesser son of lesser men? Your forefathers could not defeat me in their greatness, and that greatness has not survived the generations to be passed down to you. Take your children and flee, Bargeman, or watch them burn."
Bard didn't flinch, didn't respond at all. Instead he studied Smaug, surveyed his chest area. I hoped he'd find what he was looking for quickly.
Fortunately, this dragon liked to talk. "Daughter of the Latter Ages," he purred, and I realized he was speaking to me. "Why waste your time trying to save this town of filth and ruin? There is no hope for you here, no happy ending, only sorrow."
I didn't ask how Smaug knew who I was. I only looked at Bard. "You can do this," I said, and he nodded.
"Perhaps you can," the dragon admitted. "But even so, even if she is right, you will not come out unscathed. And you, Daughter, I promise you, if you remain, you will live, but your heart will break into a thousand pieces, and you will know sorrow incomparable. But it need not end that way. I can give you what you want. I can send you home."
"Smaug," I said. "Go fuck yourself."
The dragon roared, he reared up, and I saw his chest light with coming obliteration. I dropped the bow and ran, the fire surrounding me, ran right off the edge of the roof. For a moment my feet scrambled in midair, and then I plunged in a cloud of fire and smoke into the depths of the lake.
