Chapter 24: The Merchant of Esgaroth (Legolas)
c/w: minor discussion of prior human trafficking
(~***~)
Thranduil and Legolas were relieved to find that the Old Forest Road through Eryn Lasgalen still stood. The wood itself had been largely preserved, which was one small mercy. Lossrilleth found the ride through it especially uncomfortable, as her companions' silence was palpable. From the Old Ford to New Esgaroth, all she could feel from Legolas was one long, bittersweet ache.
It was almost too strange to bear, Legolas thought, walking through this familiar landscape, surrounded by young trees that could not recognize elves. The one ancient oak they passed that knew them still was slow with old age. It hummed low under his hand and then fell silent again. More than ever before, he could see that they no longer belonged here. This place would never again be home.
In New Esgaroth on the Long Lake, the 'Northmen' had little trouble discovering the whereabouts of the man called Eaben Masterson. (They had been relieved to learn they did not need to journey on to Dale.) He had set up a trading shop just outside the town center, they were told. He dealt mainly in gems and precious metals, but he could broker the sales of other valuables if desired. No one had seen a child with him, but then again, no one they spoke to had actually met the man. He'd managed to get his name around without showing his face overmuch, it seemed.
The three travelers each sent their own prayers skyward that they would finally find their girl here, safely guarded by the merchant. But their hopes were low. Legolas and Lossrilleth's sense of her presence had not grown as they got closer to the lake. Although Brigid had told them back in Anfalas that Eaben claimed to be helping Angharad find her parents, neither the man's ancestor nor his uncle in Minas Tirith made a good impression. At the very least, they hoped that he would know where she had gone.
(~***~)
When Eaben Masterson learned that a group of Northern horse traders had arrived all the way from Minas Tirith asking for him by name, he was gratified, but not that surprised. It was only natural that his fame was spreading. Since setting up shop in New Esgaroth, Eaben had tripled his wealth, using the legitimate business he set up with his remaining gems from the Collector as cover for more illicit deals. This was generally working out well for him, although crossing the wrong competing dealer had earned him a broken leg that was still bound up in a painful splint. His newest alliance with the corrupt local peacekeepers had taken care of that issue for good.
Eaben looked around his newly opened storefront with satisfaction. He thought it ought to impress the rough Northerners, who he thought might visit him today if the word around town was correct. He had invested in furnishing it, as he calculated that people would assume his wares were high quality if the environment looked expensive. New wool carpets. Dark wood chairs and jewel trays lined with cream-colored silk. A curl of blue smoke twisted out of an incense burner. He wished he had been able to get a shop with better light, but to his frustration they had been too expensive.
When the elves entered the shop, Thranduil's immediate impression was that it had been furnished by someone who was trying too hard. The small shop looked dim and crowded with a large, patterned rug and dark wood. To the elves it stank of charred wood. The old Master of Lake Town had been prone to such affectations as well, the old king remembered. He had greatly disliked that man. Stepping into the shop, he could remember the sickly-sweet smell that had radiated off the old Master's body, overpowering everything in his presence.
They had discussed ahead of time whether to question Masterson outright or to try to get information out of him more subtly. They had decided on starting out under the pretext that they were looking to do business and see what kind of feeling they got before asking him about Angharad.
"We would like to cash in some gems," Lossrilleth said as they approached the thin, red-haired man sitting at a desk that looked entirely too big for the space. "We have heard you can make such trades. Will you deal with us?"
"Yes, please show me what you are looking to trade," he said, feeling pleased that people knew to come to him for such matters after less than a year in his new home. The sweet tone in his voice sounded insincere to the elves.
Lossrilleth laid a few of their dwindling supply of lesser gems out on the silk-lined trays Eaben offered. Eaben nodded over the gems as he checked them with his looking glass. They did indeed look to be of high quality. From what little he'd been able to gather about his guests, the woman was shrewd. But he guessed he could still eke a bargain out of her.
"What business brings your people to the Long Lake?" he asked, thinking it was high time for the small talk phase of negotiations. "I imagine it has been a long journey for you."
"We came to trade horses and ponies." Lossrilleth said, sticking to their story. "We have come a long way from Anfalas." She tried dropping the name of his old hometown to see if the man reacted.
Eaben continued to focus on the gems but the wheels in his mind began churning. He had not had any significant enemies in Anfalas that he knew of, but he had been deep in the region's black markets for years. He began to wonder if these Northmen were looking for something other than King's coin for their gems, asking for him by name and dropping hints. He suspected he knew what it was.
"Anfalas, I know it well, it is a long journey indeed," Eaben hedged. The woman kept a cool face, but he noticed a look pass between the two fair men behind her. "I once lived there, in fact. But my ancestors were once the masters of old Lake Town and I felt the call of my homeland." Eaben thought he must sound profound. He had heard Northmen were superstitious. He expected this ancestral call might impress them.
"It is said there were once many peoples who lived in these lands," one of the fair men commented. "We have heard tales of a dragon killed and a great battle between men, dwarfs, and even elves."
Eaben felt a dark pleasure well up in his chest. He was sure now. The Northern traders were after something only he had dared to bring to market: gold and gems gathered from the bottom of the lake, where the last skeletal remains of the dragon could still be found. They had heard of him all the way from Anfalas. He was giddy. Everything was going so well. He could endure even the broken leg for this triumph. Now to reel them in.
"Indeed, it is true, such people once lived here. My own ancestor lived here when the dragon was killed and sunk into the lake with a fortune embedded in its hide." Eaben was enjoying himself. He wanted to impress his guests before they started haggling over the dragon treasure.
Lossrilleth tried to redirect him again. Surely this arrogant man would be crowing to everyone if he had an elf child in his care.
"Dragons and elves! Who can believe it," she laughed. Lossrilleth was remembering Amity's attitude towards her people. "Isn't it just an excuse so that we don't have to admit to losing so much knowledge since the time of our ancestors? 'Elves made this' indeed." She let out a sharp breath of disbelief through her nose and made a show of looking back at Thranduil in consternation for bringing up superstitions.
Eaben was a little thrown off guard. He looked back towards the tall man who had spoken about the peoples of old. Perhaps the woman's own company was keeping her in the dark about their true objectives. She must be too fragile for the truth, he decided.
"But elves are real, madam," Eaben told her, trying to sound sympathetic to her ignorance. "My ancestor the master of the Lake Town once traded as equal partners with the elves in the woodlands and their King Thranduil. I have even met an elf myself!" Eaben said with triumph. He began reciting a meaningful phrase in Quenya, but he was interrupted.
Thranduil did not need to hear this imbecile finish speaking in unintelligible Quenya before he decided that it was time to switch tactics. All they were going to get out of him this way was bluster.
"I am Thranduil," he said, conjuring the voice of authority that he had once spoken with daily. He tried to keep his face neutral, but he could not keep his displeasure from his eyes. One of his hands was resting on a sword hilt. "I believe the elf you speak of is my granddaughter. Where is she?"
Eaben felt a blade of ice stab his gut. It could not be true, could it? He had been counting on the elves being banned from returning to Middle Earth. All the records suggested that to be true. But in the seconds that followed the Elvenking's challenge, Eaben's eyes darted to the three people sitting in his store and suddenly everything about them that he had shrugged off as foreignness took on a different meaning. His gaze caught on the other fair man and felt the ice travel into his lungs. The man – the elf – was surely the father of the girl he had sold. The resemblance was uncanny. How had he not seen it before?
But Eaben Masterson, above all else, was a survivor. His brain began coming up with solutions to keep him alive before he could even formulate the idea that he needed to do so.
"Praise the One, I was sure you had all gone West," Eaben said breathlessly. No point in trying to cover up his shock. Better to use it in his act, as they had surely seen him forget to breathe for a few seconds. "We searched the old forest and consulted every record in the region but there was nothing left."
Eaben feigned sorrow and disbelief. "But you are months behind her now! It seemed the only option left was to travel to the Grey Havens to see if a sentinel remained. As you can see, I was badly injured and could not go on. I was forced to hire a caravan heading West to bring her there – at my personal expense, but I was glad to do it," Eaben wove his tale even as he spoke it. He had moved his bound leg out from behind the desk so they could see it.
The three elves traded glances as the man turned around to walk to a storage trunk in a back corner in an exaggerated hobble. The feeling of this man was like oil on water.
Eaben returned to his seat and held up Angharad's dress he had collected from the fisherwoman along with the girl. When the woman (surely her mother) took in a pained breath Eaben saw an opening.
"It was not practical for journeying. I'm afraid she forgot it when she left," Eaben said, feigning sympathy for the mother as he handed the garment to her. "She missed you," he simpered.
Lossrilleth thought there was something fake about the man's expression of sympathy, which only made her angry. She doubted her daughter would 'forget' the last memento she had of her family as she set out on a long, arduous journey to the Grey Havens in the company of strangers. Still, they needed his cooperation, so she gave him a weak smile.
"Tell us about the caravan," Thranduil insisted. He didn't half believe that there was a caravan, but perhaps this slick man would make a mistake they could use to force him to be truthful.
"Yes, of course," the man said as he began to rummage through his desk. Eaben was looking for paper and pen, pretending to be disorganized to give himself a moment to think. He had an idea… Finally, he began writing some names down on the paper. He could vaguely recall a caravan that had gone through town some months ago and described it for the elves, including some notes on a falsified route.
Handing the paper to the woman, who was closest to him, Eaben said, "Can you meet me at the Old Crow tavern later today? There are some messenger networks among the business folk here. I will see if there is any way to get a message to the caravan any faster than you can travel to them."
The elves reluctantly agreed. Thranduil was of half a mind to tie the man to his own chair and interrogate him before he could flee. He decided it would be prudent to regroup with his company before taking such an action, which would surely bring forbidden attention to them. Torturing a merchant in the middle of a human city in broad daylight was not the kind of subtlety the Valar had demanded of them.
Lossrilleth suggested to Eaben on their way out that they should discuss how much he had spent on Angharad's care, hoping that she could entice him with the prospect of getting paid, encouraging him to speak with them again.
They made their way back to their herd of ponies, talking quietly amongst themselves.
"We cannot trust anything he says," Legolas noted in frustration.
"No, not at all," Thranduil agreed. He wished he could command someone to stay and watch the door, following Eaben discreetly to see where he went. But he could not do so anymore, and they were too recognizable to try such a thing themselves.
Lossrilleth chewed on her lip and ran a hand over Angharad's dress.
"I have this feeling…" she began, her gaze distant. Snapping back into the present, she continued, "I think we should sell all the ponies. Right now, before we meet him again. I have this feeling that we should be able to travel fast."
The older elves agreed to follow her intuition. They brought her to the market, letting her find someone interested in taking a whole herd immediately with a reasonable discount. Legolas and Thranduil continued discussing the situation with Masterson while she negotiated.
"I would have liked to interrogate him further, but I did not wish to cause a scene without speaking to you first. Ignoring the Valar's instructions surely would not end well," Thranduil commented, glowering. As the hours passed, he had begun questioning the decision not to threaten the truth out of the man in his own pretentious shop.
This was another strange experience for Legolas. He had assisted in plenty of interrogations. Thranduil had never waited to hear his opinion about it first.
"What do you think awaits us at this tavern?" Legolas replied. "He could be fleeing as we speak. He may never meet us there. He clearly knows something, but I do not know how to squeeze it out of him without resorting to violence and making a scene."
Thranduil agreed, but neither had a better plan than to see what happened at the Old Crow. If that did not work, they might have to take drastic measures and hope that the powers that be would be lenient with them. It was not a good thought. When Manwё and Varda gave a direct order, it was not something that should be ignored.
They arrived a few hours later, packed to leave town and begin chasing a caravan – or do whatever they needed to do. The three waited uneasily outside the tavern, standing near their horses. They were in no mood to go inside and get jostled by a half-drunk crowd, especially if Eaben wasn't even going to show up.
The afternoon sun shone down harshly on them, low enough to cast long shadows on the ground. As the ellyn talked, Lossrilleth looked up the street, hoping Eaben would show up again. Despite the glare of the sun behind them, Lossrilleth could see a group of uniformed men gathering far up the street, the sun glinting on the pommels of their swords and their horses' tack. She thought they might be some kind of policemen or peacekeepers – they didn't look quite as formal as soldiers.
Off to the side, someone was talking to one of the uniformed men. Lossrilleth leaned to try to catch sight of the speaker. Something felt off. He moved forward a little and Lossrilleth caught sight of Eaben gesturing down the street towards them. He passed the armed man something small.
"We need to leave," Lossrilleth said urgently, interrupting Legolas's and Thranduil's conversation. They looked at her sharply and started scanning their environment.
"Now, my lords, immediately, we need to leave," she urged them, untying their horses as rapidly as she was able. "Masterson is up that street pointing a group of armed men in uniform towards us. He just passed them something small – it could easily have been a purse."
With speed only elves are capable of the three travelers were on their horses and trotting down the town streets. Once they turned the corner onto an empty looking alley pointed toward the edge of town, they urged their horses into a gallop.
Thranduil and Legolas were of one mind about where they were going. This had once been their homeland. As they had seen on their way to New Esgaroth, Eryn Lasgalen had been preserved as hunting grounds. They would have to abandon their horses, but if they could get to the forest, they should be able to disappear so completely that the treacherous Masterson and his henchmen could never find them.
They finally found their way through the maze of tiny side streets and out of the city, trying to cross the miles between New Esgaroth and the forest's edge as swiftly as their mounts could bear. Not a mile behind them, the armed men emerged from the city as well. In the empty fields between the lake and the wood, the three riders were easy to see. The men surged after them.
The elves fled to the sound of horses' hooves thundering behind them.
(~***~)