22.
"This place is familiar to you?" Thorin asked the Elf at his side, as they dragged their feet along the gravelly pathway that led to the span of a great bridge.
"Quite familiar," Celegorm sighed and it seemed to Thorin that a wound had opened in the Elf's eyes, growing more visible as they drew nearer to the curious dwelling of Men.
Night had fallen hours before, but the company moved on, making good use of the Elvish horses and encouraged by the sight that greeted them once the expanse of the Long Lake came into view. Esgaroth seemed to float on a sea of twinkling lights as a gentle breeze undulated the water and beyond it, the lake stretched as far as the eye could see.
Colorful fireworks erupted as the travelers drew nearer, blotting out the stars in a myriad of shapes that chased each other and hissed through the air. Crackers exploded and cheerful shouts drifted with the fragrant smoke, making the weary company wish that the last few miles would fold upon themselves and bring them closer to the merry-making.
"They hold a feast, just like my people do. It is a three day celebration to welcome the ripening and harvest season. This will be the culminating evening," Legolas told them.
Hungry and tired as they all were, the prospect of food and drink and cheerful people boosted the morale and the eagerness to cross the long bridge and join their own appetites to the noisy crowds. But before that, they could all take in the view of a settlement unlike anything else they had ever encountered, save for the eldest among them and the Elves, of course.
Lake Town rose from the calm waters on countless wooden pillars that supported a rectangular structure large enough to host an entire bustling city. From the quays, many wooden ladders descended to the mooring places of a veritable flotilla. Vessels of all sizes - from rafts to fishing boats to longboats and even a few cutters with their sails neatly rolled up - were anchored and tethered to the quays. Light poured through the pillars from what Thorin remembered as a large opening at the very heart of the city. The feast was no doubt held in the Great Hall but it would have rapidly spread throughout the Market Pool, where fireworks still issued from time to time.
The city had been constructed entirely of wood, light and efficient, each building carefully drawn to fit the others in a geometric puzzle that left only narrow alleys between houses. Lacking room to expand horizontally, the Men of Lake town had made their dwellings high and narrow, with three and four stories topped by shingled roofs. A few towers spiked skyward, flying the colorful banners of merchants and the town's councilors.
There had been a time when the island city had known greater and more prosperous days, as the old pilings that poked from the water all around the quays attested. There had been fires and decay had eaten through the wooden structure, but even by night, Thorin and his companions could see that the town was well-kept and trade had ensured its inhabitants a comfortable life. On each side of the Forest River and further south, the land had been tilled and cultivated, but few of the townspeople lived in the small houses and huts that dotted the fields. On that evening of celebration, everyone attended the feast but a handful of guards stationed by the gates, and the company advanced unchallenged until they stood right before the guards hut.
Legolas went forward on his own, offering to present them to the guards. As the Woodland Elf had expected, the men greeted him with deep bows and kind words of welcome that quickly gave way to astonishment when Legolas introduced his companions. Wide-eyed at the mere notion of 'King under the Mountain', one of the guards hurried over the bridge to herald the arrival of such mighty guests.
Thorin straightened himself and watched his fellow Dwarves doing the same. Although they were all weary, travel-stained and weather-worn and with hardly a coin to their names, Thorin believed that his brave companions had never looked fairer and more imposing as they all meant to leave a lasting impression on the citizens of Lake Town. He would not let the fair Elves with their bright eyes capture all the attention, Thorin decided, although one of the men stationed outside the gates seemed to recognize Celegorm and greeted him with a surprised smile.
Stable boys gave chase from the barns and sheds built not far from the shore and they took the horses, eager to promise the Woodland prince that they would be treated royally. Then, the gates opened and across the bridge, guards in ceremonial attire welcomed their guests, offering to escort them to the Great Hall.
As they strode across the only means of access to the island-city, Thorin saw curiosity and, in some cases, apprehension in his companions' eyes. Bilbo seemed wary and afraid that the wood beneath his feet would give way. Ori gazed about himself in fascination, his fingers all but twitching to draw what he looked upon or scribble his first impressions. But alas, he had lost his instruments and the book he treasured more than anything else at the edge of Mirkwood, on the dreadful day when they had been ambushed and captured by spiders. Fili and Kili took in the town with childish awe, their eyes darting about as though they could not wait to explore the place. Oin's expression was one of reserve and calculation, as he undoubtedly weighed the monetary potential of the settlement and whispered his impression to his brother. Balin and Dwalin had been to Esgaroth before and had a fair idea what awaited before the inner gates, but for Bofur, Bombur and Bifur, the town must have resembled something they could have only imagined and carved out of wood as a child's play thing. Dori fretted (as he always did) and Thorin spared him a sympathetic glance, knowing that the good Dwarf's concern stemmed from the speculative look in his brother's eyes. For Nori, a drunken city in the middle of a feast offered opportunities that he would have trouble resisting.
Bringing up the rear of their procession, Amrod and Amras appeared as though they could not decide whether the town was interesting or unbelievably ugly and their brows drew together as they likely wondered how everything had been constructed with the rudimentary means of Men. Legolas walked by Thorin's side with the confidence of one accustomed to the place while at his right, Celegorm seemed the sheer antithesis of confident. Thorin's disquiet grew as he observed their supremely arrogant companion (as Kili had often called him) stride uncertainly, his eyes skipping restlessly from one guard to another and his jaw clenched.
Whatever bothered the usually immovable Elf seemed to grow exponentially as they stepped inside the city and were guided along the narrow streets. People of all ages came to see them and greet them with raucous cheers as the wondrous news of their arrival spread through the entire festive gathering. As men and women and children poured in, parting before them and then thronging after them, Thorin saw that Celegorm had become stiff with panic, scanning the crowd frantically and with such rapid eye-movements that he appeared to be gripped by a seizure. Intrigued, Thorin touched the Elf's arm gently and gasped as Celegorm all but jumped and glared at him in confusion. Quite confused himself, Thorin gave the Elf's arm a comforting squeeze and saw Celegorm attempting to calm himself. But, as they advanced, it was still plain to see that the Elf wished he were no bigger than Bilbo and not the tallest of them, standing out for the people to gawk at and to greet him by name, in some cases.
Thorin could do little but add the uncharacteristic behavior to the other mysteries his Elven friends would have to reveal sooner or later. It would be later, as they passed through a packed market and hoped that the inner quays would hold against the enthusiastic crowd. Shouts of "The King under the Mountain has returned!" and "All hail the Dwarf King!" and "The Heirs of Durin come to take the Mountain!" burst from many throats and were picked up with renewed vigor as the Dwarves strode by, puffing themselves up and smiling proudly.
Although he did not feel undeserving of such a favorable welcome, Thorin had seen too much doubt and mistrust elsewhere to let the praise go to his head. It pleased him greatly that the people of Lake Town greeted him as the stuff of legend, but as they rode the wave of enthusiasm to the doors of the Great Hall, Thorin also wondered if the frenzy was not induced by inebriation more than anything else. The crowds were probably excited by such unexpected guests and surely, they would soon turn into the greatest attraction the feast had to offer.
The great double-doors were parted and Thorin strode inside the Great Hall with the pride and confidence that lay deeply ingrained in the blood of his line. He took in the long table, arrayed with all manner of food and drink that made the Dwarf's stomach clench with hunger. But he squared his shoulders and his eyes swept over the colorful crowd of men seated at the table as they all rose to watch him curiously. Among them, a group of Woodland Elves scrambled to their feet, astonished to see their prince step inside as well.
"I am Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror King under the Mountain! I return!" Thorin cried in a thunderous voice and a hush fell over the entire assembly. Then, the crowd at their backs erupted in a loud cheer that seemed to shake the very foundation of the city and the leaders of Lake Town picked it up, welcoming the Dwarves into the hall and making room for them at the table.
…
Dawn was approaching rapidly, but the feast carried on and the men of Lake Town seemed to have a bottomless appetite for drink and revelry. Thorin felt his eyelids droop and his head began to swim with exhaustion and no small amount of ale. His kinsmen and companions were no better off, save perhaps Dwalin who ate and drank and showed no sign of ever tiring from it. Before long, the Dwarves would have to be carried to the lodgings that the Master of Lake Town had commanded to be prepared for his guests. A whole house for the honorable Dwarves, in the outer row and facing the fabled Lonely Mountain, the pudgy man had boasted and even though Thorin disliked the oily looks of him, he gave his thanks courteously and drank to the man's health.
Dressed in the Woodland garb but by no means welcome in the group of Woodland Elves, Celegorm and his brothers drank and laughed and seemed determined to uphold Noldorin pride in terms of stamina under inebriation. The twins had rosy cheeks that reminded Thorin of their dark-haired brother and even Celegorm's mood had lightened. Whatever had kept him on edge had been washed away by copious amounts of Dorwinion and it seemed to have loosened his charms as well, judging by the state of Thranduil's son at Celegorm's side.
"Where do you suppose that grump Bard is?" Thorin heard someone asking and he turned to the group of merchants and guards that crowded around a particularly self-satisfied looking young man. "Of course he couldn't be bothered to attend the feast, the stuck up captain. He had to go out on patrol this very night and what's worse, he took my brothers with him, too. As if anyone else needs to suffer from that man's depressive seriousness! I pity the fool, he'd want to know that his Elf came back," the young man declared flippantly.
"Hush! Hold your tongue! There he is right now," one of his companions elbowed him. "Have you conjured the old storm-crow or what?"
Thorin turned his head in the direction of the men's furtive glances. He saw a tall, grim-faced archer striding into the hall and his weather-beaten clothes gave him away in the throng of fancy clothes and peacock attire of his townspeople. The man still carried his weapons and a great longbow slung across his back, but what drew Thorin's attention above all else were the man's eyes. Wide and stark in a deathly-pale face that stood out even more under his uneven stubble, those eyes roamed over the crowd in a desperate attempt to find someone.
As though yanked back by invisible hands, the man stumbled to a halt and all strength seemed to bleed out of his limbs when he finally discovered the one he sought after. Thorin did not have to follow the bowman's raw and wild look to guess whom it was addressed to, but the clangor of cutlery and a shattering glass of wine drew his attention toward where Celegorm and his brothers sat. Or rather, Amrod and Amras sat, gaping at their brother as Celegorm threw his chair back and his own eyes were burning coals in a colorless face as he saw the man who stared at him.
As though a whip had snapped through the air above their heads, the conversations faltered and the two figures frozen in that dramatic stare-down quickly drew everyone's attention. To Thorin's surprise, Celegorm wavered and braced himself against his brother's shoulder, lowering his eyes and letting out a hissing sigh. But he snapped upright in the same beat and kicked the fallen chair out of the way, shoving carelessly past the people that blocked his way to the still and stunned figure by the doors.
Not even a whisper passed through the hall as the entire assembly held their breath in wonder. They watched the Elf stumbling to a halt before the captain of Esgaroth's guard and his tall frame was wracked by a shudder.
"Bard…?" they heard him croak uncertainly and Thorin wished he could see Celegorm's face. He had a fair idea of how bright his eyes blazed and he began to understand the Elf's trepidation upon returning to a town he had visited years before. He had obviously left unfinished business behind and that business stared him down, causing Celegorm far more distress than battle and bloodshed had ever brought him.
The man was entirely obscured from view, but when Celegorm whispered his name and raised a visibly shaking hand to try and touch his face, Bard flinched. His own hand shot up and caught the Elf's wrist, holding it so tight that his knuckles blanched. Celegorm shivered and his arm went limp in the man's vise-grip, but Bard released him and all but pushed the offending limb away. Without a word, the man spun on his heels and fled from the hall, his heavy footfalls echoing through the stunned silence. Bard left Thorin and his company to gape in wonder and worry at the crumbling Elf before them.
Celegorm seemed to shrink into himself and half-turned toward his brothers, his face an picture of aguish and self-loathing. Thorin had been right to believe that his eyes blazed, but not with such terrible pain as the Elf hid behind one badly shaking hand. Celegorm issued a faint cry and then wrenched himself in motion. He ran after Bard and they could hear him shouting after the man as he drew away, leaving Men and Elves and Dwarves and even one sleepy little Hobbit to gape and wonder what on earth they had just witnessed.
Thorin saw the Mirkwood prince rising from his seat, his face pinched with worry and confusion. Amrod and Amras sprang past Thorin and meant to pursue their troubled brother, but the Dwarf's hand shot out and caught one of them.
"No. Don't go after him," Thorin said gruffly.
"But… let me go!" the Elf struggled. "You saw him, he needs us!"
"Let him be," Thorin insisted, unsure exactly why he was doing it, but glad that his demand gave the brothers pause.
The two frowned at Thorin and then exchanged hard looks with one another, understanding slowly dawning in their eyes. In the end, they did let their brother be and days passed before anyone saw Celegorm again.