Esgaroth

The gates of Esgaroth were more magnificent than I had imagined. Even the shingles of the houses gleamed in the light of the rising sun and announced the wealth that Smaug had brought to the city after his death and that of many of its inhabitants. I had known that the city had been rebuilt after its destruction well over sixty years ago - more ostentatious than ever before, and I was seeing that quite clearly now.

There was only one drawback to the whole affair: "We should have taken our boat with us," Gimli interjected. "How are we going to get into the city now? It's in the middle of the water."

"Do you see the pier, my friend?" asked Legolas, pointing with his right hand to a jetty that extended a few meters into the lake some distance away. A ferry was tied up at its end, and to it led a narrow path out of the woods, which soon joined a wider well-trodden road that led around the lake. "This is our path."

We had wandered through the caves for the rest of the night, finally making it back to the surface after what felt like an eternity. It couldn't have been many hours, however, because by the time we had set out, the night had already progressed. It had simply felt significantly longer - probably because I hadn't been able to see anything of my surroundings except for the glow of the lanterns.

This time Beleg took the lead, Legolas stayed behind with the third elf. He waited until Gimli and I followed Beleg, then they joined us. Single file, we followed the path down to the pier. It was so early in the morning that no one was here yet - except the ferryman, who watched us while rubbing his hands as we got closer and closer. His breath lingered in the air like little clouds, and it wasn't until we stepped onto the wood of the jetty that I saw the thin layer of ice near the shore. Yes, there was no denying it any longer: Winter was here. An extremely unfavorable time.

"A crossing for our group," I heard Beleg say. "Three castars more if you don't wait for more guests and start crossing right away."

The ferryman looked each of us in the face with scrutiny. "Three elves, a dwarf, and a human woman - truly an unusual traveling party. Too unusual."

"I would be interested to know what your mayor would say to your refusal to allow a delegation of your most important trading partners to cross," Legolas replied, standing next to Beleg. I raised an eyebrow. Again he surprised me. He had said almost nothing since our departure, but now he was as authoritative as he had been when the spiders had attacked us. I saw his father in him a little.

"No offense sire, but it's my job to ask questions."

"Not at daybreak."

"Have you not heard about the raids?"

I saw Legolas frown. "Raids?"

"For well over a week now, hordes of orcs have been appearing on the shore. They slew one of my companions and nearly made it to the city, but fortunately our guard was able to stop them in time."

"Indeed, we have not yet heard of this," Beleg said, now looking as troubled as Legolas. "But I can assure you that we are on an honorable mission."

"I will take your word for it," the man replied, waving us onto his ferry. "You asked for haste, and you shall receive it."

I quickly followed Legolas and Beleg, who had entered the ferry before me. It was not particularly large; many more people would not have fit on it anyway. The ferryman pushed us off the shore and we slid out onto the glassy lake. The sunlight made it appear almost as silvery as the underground lake we had passed on our way here.

When we were about halfway there, my eyes fell on something lying at the bottom of the lake. The water was not only smooth, but also so clear that you could see down to its depths without difficulty. It looked like... remains, but of a giant creature. With a furrowed brow, I leaned forward a bit more. Was that a claw there?

"Fascinating, isn't it?" Beleg had stepped up beside me. "He's still watching over his treasure, albeit from the bottom of the lake."

"He?", I asked.

"Smaug."

"Oh." I had taken my eyes off the claw when Beleg had addressed me. Now it wandered back to it. "These are Smaug's remains?"

"Yes. He fell into the lake that night after the arrow mortally wounded him."

Of course, I knew the plot of The Hobbit, but I had never really thought about what had happened to Smaug's remains. "I didn't think he was...well, that he was left there."

"Do you see his shimmering scales?" I nodded. "They have tempted many, but no one dares to dive down to him."

"Why? He's dead."

"Is he?" asked Beleg, his voice sounding teasing. I looked up. "I hardly think he would stay at the bottom of a lake of his own free will. As far as I'm informed, dragons don't like water." At least if I drew on my fantasy novel expertise I'd accumulated over the years. But that didn't have to mean anything here in Middle Earth.

"They tell stories about the divers who tried their luck," said a second voice. It belonged to the elf whose name I did not know until now. "Excuse my discourtesy, I haven't had a chance to introduce myself. My name is Galadhon."

I held out my hand, which Galadhon looked at blankly until I lowered it again. "Aspen," I replied instead. Some habits just never went away. "What kind of stories?"

"Well," the Elf replied, "many of the people from Laketown who tried to dive down to Smaug's remains told of a voice in their head that refused to let them go once they made their way to the depths."

"A voice?", I asked doubtfully.

"Smaug's voice," Beleg specified. "He seems to have crept into the minds of the men."

"Don't listen to any old wives' tales from the elves, lass." Gimli's voice snapped me out of my musings. "Look, we'll be there soon."

A little reluctantly, I removed my gaze from the dragon's remains, which admittedly were just as fascinating as Beleg had said. As I did so, it brushed Legolas, who stood motionless beside the ferryman, glaring at me intently. I hurriedly looked in the direction in which Gimli had originally wanted to direct my gaze.

The gates of Esgaroth were indeed much closer; soon we would be landing at the jetty that was directly in front of it.

The dwarf motioned us to come closer to him so that the ferryman would hear less of our conversation. Then he said, "Because of our unplanned... stay in Thranduil's halls, our original plans have been disrupted. I suggest that I ask around for my contact, whom we were supposed to meet in the city. But I can't promise that he hasn't already traveled on. He was on his way back to the Iron Mountains when he sent me the last message."

"I believe that is a wise suggestion," Legolas replied. "What was the name of the tavern where he was to meet us?"

"To the Lost Dragon."

"How appropriate," I interjected, seeing the corners of Beleg's mouth twitch.

At that moment we reached the jetty, Beleg paid the agreed price, and we left the ferry under the curious gaze of the ferryman. When we were out of earshot, Galadhon said, "He will tell anyone who wants to hear about our arrival."

"Yes," Gimli said, sounding highly displeased, "I have that feeling, too."

"We shall not dwell too long in Esgaroth." Galadhon glanced over his shoulder. "The orcs worry me."

"I agree," Legolas said, "follow me. I know the way."

As quickly and as discreetly as possible, we passed through the magnificent gate of the city. As we went by, I could not help but notice that it had been made of gold, and on the door had been recreated the scenes of Smaug's attack. An ultimate triumph to cast history in the gold the dragon had once so fiercely guarded. And yet... something about Esgaroth felt wrong. The feeling of eyes boring into my back hadn't let go since we'd spotted it in the distance, and only intensified now as we walked through the city streets, which were more narrow walkways that had been attached to the outsides of the houses.

Some residents were already on their feet, but paid us no further attention. They were busy preparing their daily business: Loading crates, barrels and bales of cloth were just some of them. Legolas led us until we reached a building that looked like what I imagined a medieval tavern would look like: Three stories high with many windows of stained glass edged with gold and a door above which hung a sign showing a dragon with an arrow stuck in its chest. Yes. Being inconspicuous was definitely not Esgaroth's strong suit. Maybe that was what was bothering me.

Legolas held the door open for us and one by one we put our feet inside the tavern. It, too, was still empty, except for two men who had apparently spent last night drinking too much and were glued to their tables. The counter was unoccupied.

Involuntarily, I had to swallow. My heart felt heavy. Everything about the tavern reminded me of the Golden Crow, and suddenly I was back in Minas Tirith in my mind, pouring beer into mugs, joking with Earun, and dismissing the slurred compliments of the guests, of which we had had more than enough. Was I homesick? For a home I had never wanted to accept as one?

Gimli stepped up to the counter and operated a bell that had been placed in the middle of it. A sound as if someone had just woken up and fallen off a beer barrel came from one of the back rooms, then a man with visibly disheveled hair came into our field of vision. It had to be the innkeeper or one of his stand-ins. "Yes," he said. "What can I do for you?"

The dwarf cleared his throat. "A traveler on his way to the Iron Mountains told me of your inn, to arrange a meeting between us. Where can I find him?"

The man blinked. "A traveler from the Iron Mountains, you say?" He ran his hand over his face, appearing not simply tired, but as if he had not found sleep in days. I sought Legolas' gaze, but he looked at the man with narrowed eyes. Apparently he was thinking something similar.

"Yes." Gimli sounded impatient. "If he has already moved on, perhaps he left a message for me."

"What was your name?" the man asked.

The dwarf folded his arms in front of his chest, "Gimli, Glóin's son."

"Oh." Now the penny seemed to have dropped. "Yes, I remember. Your friend told me you would pay me a good price for the information."

"Did he?" asked Gimli, and I could see he didn't buy a word he said. "I rather think he has already paid a good price to deposit the message with you."

"Well," the man grinned, revealing a row of teeth that were not in particularly good shape, "You might be right about that."

"Out with it, then." Gimli made no more effort to keep up the pretense, his grip on his axe tightening.

"Don't be so impatient, master dwarf. You must understand, we are in a precarious position."

"I see how precarious your position is," Gimli replied dryly. "The gold on the panes of your windows has stirred the pity in my heart."

The innkeeper gave him a dirty look before he turned with a sudden jolt and went back into the back room. A short time later he returned and handed Gimli a letter. With a brief thanks, the dwarf tore it open and skimmed the lines, which were written in the language of his people. Then he walked over to the fireplace that stood to the right of the counter and handed the letter to the flames. As he turned, I saw the worry on his face. "I fear we will not be able to turn our backs on the city as quickly as we had hoped."