Author's Note: Sooo... stats are back. Kind of. I guess. Not really, but close enough. It's still completely inexcusable how poorly FFN handled the situation, but I've come to expect nothing more from them.

I'm still considering whether to upload the missed chapters in quick succession, or continue uploading a week at a time. If anyone has a preference one way or the other, feel free to let me know in a comment, PM, or on tumblr. With all that being said — onward!

Recommended listening: Rimsky-Korsakov — Sadko

CHAPTER XVI: THE RAFT-ELVES

Still awash in uncertainty, Truva stood beside Legolas and Gimli in the main hall of Calengroth the following morning, relaying the company's parting words to King Thranduil. His expression was pleasant yet perfectly inscrutable, as though the conversation he and Tuva had shared in the kitchens the previous evening was a mere figment of imagination; he revealed not a hint of his motivations.

'It is grievous to see you depart so soon,' said he, 'and yet well I understand your desire to gain the splendour of Erebor so urgently – particularly you, Gimli son of Glóin.'

'I will relay to King Thorin and Durin's Folk the offer you have made, my lord, and anticipate working to build a more robust connexion between our peoples,' said Gimli. 'Though I do not believe it shall be an easy task, I suspect my brethren will see the benefit of such alliances… after a time.'

'We are, after all, remarkably close neighbours,' said Thranduil, turning then to Truva. 'As for you, Marshal of the East-mark, I hope that you soon uncover the mysteries that have been delivered into your consideration.'

'I cannot possibly surmise what the future is to hold,' said Truva, seeking to take his advice from the previous evening and play at diplomacy. 'Yet while my own personal history remains undiscovered, I should like to take a moment to speak in my capacity as Marshal – and as such, I do not think it amiss to extend an offer of camaraderie from my people to yours, my lord; though we have long been separated by distance and culture, I hope that the Elves of the Wood of Greenleaves might one day deign to consider the Eorlingas allies.'

'The horsemasters' defence of the Mark has long shielded these northern realms, and it would be remiss of me to disregard the significance of your southern campaigns,' Thranduil replied. 'Truly, I should like to forge a path of harmonious coexistence with Rohan, and I believe your own insight shall prove indispensable in that regard.'

'As Gimli cannot speak for his people, nor can I speak in full for mine,' said Truva. 'Yet I do believe Éomer King would be amenable to such cordial relations. I part these Halls with hope, my lord – something that has been in terribly short supply of late.'

'May you find it in even more abundance than you expect,' said Thranduil, with a placid smile upon his face. 'And so farewell, fair travellers; ever shall you be welcome here, so long as peace be upon us.'

Even Legolas bowed in unison alongside Truva and Gimli as the three companions took their leave of the Elvenking's Hall.

'There are not so many gathered to bid me goodbye as I anticipated,' said the Elf as they passed through empty passageways; indeed, not even the sons of Elrond had been spied that morning. 'Though in truth, it gives me some small sense of comfort. In recent years, a great many Wood-elves sought sanctuary in these caverns; their absence suggests they have returned to the forests beyond. It seems a new era of peace has arrived.'

Neither Gimli nor Truva spoke in response, however, for their own experiences within Calengroth left them with thoughts even more convoluted than when they first arrived.

Exiting the main gates, the trio stepped out onto the rocky precipice of the riverbank. Truva cast her glance upstream to where the Gûlduin crashed into Táwarnen. Even in the grey haze of overcast morning light, the Enchanted River appeared as glimmering nothingness – a void that called to her all the more strongly for knowing its power, and its past.

'We must be going,' said Legolas, laying a strong hand upon Truva's shoulder and guiding her away.

The three ducked their heads and began to trudge silently eastward along the riverbank, falling easily back into the rhythm the past weeks' travel had instilled in them. But the morning was not half gone before a small stream sprouted up on their left, trickling merrily along until it fed into a small bay ahead. Down below the bank's overhanging scarp, a cohort of fiery-haired Wood-elves – though the sons of Elrond stood also in their midst – worked to lash a handful of barrels of varying sizes and makes into an improvised raft. Elladan hailed the small company, and beckoned for them to cross the stream's delicate bridge and descend a ladder to join the Elves on the shallow, pebbly shore.

'King Thranduil has requested we escort you as these barrels are returned to Esgaroth,' he called as the company drew near. 'If you aid in rowing, we shall find ourselves upon the western shores of Aelinand before sunset.'

'From boat to horse, only to return to boat,' protested Gimli. 'I am not one to bemoan an adventure, yet I would say the modes of transportation on this current exploit leave a great deal to be desired.'

'Come now, my friend,' said Legolas as he leapt aboard the raft. 'Would you delay the reunion with your kin? It shall be far swifter to travel upon the Táwarnen than on foot, hastening our arrival to Erebor – as well as the food and drink that awaits there.'

'Methinks you know too well what entices Dwarves: the prospect of victuals, and finding themselves upon land once more,' said Gimli. In attempting to follow Legolas onto the raft, however, the barrels wavered beneath him and he was nearly sent sprawling. He caught his balance only just in time.

Truva eyed the Dwarf's struggles with trepidation. Despite recent improvements in her seafaring skills, rafts were a wholly new affair to her. They seemed a good deal less than stable. But with their Beorning mounts long gone, she saw no other alternative, and so hesitantly boarded the raft after her companions.

The Elves cast off at once. 'Bend your knees, Marshal!' called Elrohir, passing Truva a pole as the raft fed into the main current and tumbled down the Forest River. 'Allow your movements to mimic that of the barrels beneath you.'

Truva reached out to accept the proffered oar. It was much like those the Beornings used to guide their skiffs, though perhaps slightly shorter, and it sported a paddle at one end. Struggling to abide by Elrohir's advice, Truva shuffled towards the raft's left side and mimicked the Elves' rowing movements, but nearly sent herself cartwheeling into the river instead.

'Steady,' said one broad-shouldered Wood-elf, who prevented her from falling overboard with a bracing arm. 'It is not so easy as some might think!'

'Thank you,' said Truva. Though she made no further comment, the Elf must have noted the unspoken curiosity in her eyes.

'I am called Nellon,' said he. 'An apprentice vintner for King Thranduil – one of few with any command of the Common Speech; thus I often find myself assigned the typically unpleasant duty of returning barrels back downstream – though I think it immensely more pleasurable to have company along.'

'Is that so?' Truva prompted.

It swiftly became apparent as to why Nellon knew tongues other than his native Sindarin, for he proved to be the most garrulous Elf Truva had ever encountered. He continued to chatter on about the Elvenking's wine stores – and indeed, about all of Calengroth and the Wood of Greenleaves – as the company forged down the Forest River. He did not seem to mind the task of filling Truva's portion of the conversation, allowing her instead to focus on paddling. More than twice he rescued her from a certain tumble.

Over time, however, Truva grew more comfortable with the precarious footing, and even began to feel as though she were contributing (rather than detracting) from the raft's progress. She threw her head back and took in the sight of towering oaks weaving their branches together overhead, casting the river into even darker shade under overcast skies. On occasion, she caught glimpses of Eryn Lasgalen residents, or their secretive flets high in the topmost branches of the trees, and when the company moored briefly for their noontide meal, the beautiful strains of a lyre graced them from above. Elrohir extricated his own instrument to play accompaniment.

As the afternoon progressed, however, these encounters grew fewer. Early evening drew near, and the sound of Táwarnen crescendoed – imperceptible at first, but ever increasing until it roared in Truva's ears. Ahead, the waters roiled and churned, crashing between jagged boulders as the river funnelled between narrowing banks. Rocky cliffs on each side rose up higher and higher, their overhang nearly forming a tunnel.

'I have seen more auspicious portents at a Dwarvish wake!' shouted Gimli over the thundering current, but the others were too preoccupied to hear.

Truva stared ahead, consumed by the sight; these were not the mild rapids she had encountered at the confluence of Anduin and Gladden River, or even at Sarn Gaber – which the trio had bypassed on foot. She frantically cast about for anything to seize hold of, but there was nothing.

'Lay flat upon the raft!' called Nellon. Truva dropped to her stomach at once, followed quickly by Gimli.

All too soon, they were in the midst of the storm. The Elves wielded their poles as readily as if they floated along any other calm stretch of river, shunting the raft away from boulder and bank with ease. But not even their self-assurance could mitigate Truva's fears. Barrels shuddered beneath her, and the ropes lashing them together strained, threatening to snap or splinter. Her trembling fingers scrabbled for purchase, but found nothing save the barrel chimes, which she clung to as the moments of terror stretched on endlessly.

'We are near the end!' cried Elrohir, yet even as his words reached Truva's ears, the raft gave a tremendous buck and sent her flying high into the air.

She was swallowed instantly, swept head over foot by the rapids. The impact knocked the breath from her, but she could not orient herself towards the surface, could not discern up from down. Panic ensnared her mind and a tightness seized her chest, lungs desperate for air. Truva flailed against the whirling current; not even Éomer's dogged training had prepared her for such a struggle.

By sheer luck, she gained the surface, though it offered little respite. Water continued to crash over her until she was sucked back down into the depths of the river. Searing pain shot through her right shoulder and neck; she had struck a rock.

Then her head was above water again. For a split second, she caught sight of the raft, as well as a glimpse of the Dwarf leaping from it. A cry of 'Gimli, no!' could be heard over the crash of water before the current submerged her once more, and again the world grew disorienting.

Yet in the next instant, a force dragged at the back of Truva's surcoat, then another – and she suddenly found herself face-down on the raft. She was able to breathe again, though at first her body expelled more water than it inhaled air, and she lay coughing and sputtering on the wooden barrels. Her throat and lungs burned, yet she managed to gasp out, 'Gimli?'

'Right here, lassie,' said the Dwarf. Truva flopped onto her back and spied him crouched beside her, drenched but in a considerably fairer state than herself.

'It was reckless for an inexperienced swimmer to enter such treacherous waters,' lectured Elladan, giving Gimli's back a few solid slaps.

'The result was the need to save two, rather than one,' said Legolas. He would not even look upon his friend, and instead gazed off sullenly into the forest's darkening gloam. His garb, too, was soaked.

'I could not stand about and do nothing,' grumbled the Dwarf.

Truva simply closed her eyes and lay still, for every last modicum of strength had been torn from her body. The others bustled about her, speaking reassuring words of the nearing of their destination, for the Forest River's waters had smoothed, and their progress was easy once more. When the weighted warmth of a blanket was laid over her, Nellon's voice declared: 'What is this, Marshal? Are you hurt?'

Truva's eyes snapped open to find the heads of her companions all clustered about her. Legolas bent nearer.

'May I?' he asked, helping her to sit up. His cold fingers drew aside the back of her tunic and inspected her shoulder where it had collided with rock. 'Minor bruising and lacerations, no more,' he concluded, 'though the morning will not be kind to you.'

As he pulled a salve from his pack and applied it to her skin, Truva gazed listlessly upon the banks of Táwarnen. The rocky scarps petered out and the trees thinned, giving way to swampy marshland. Amidst oak and alder, the shadows of true evening descended, bringing on the melodies of song thrushes to mingle with those of lapwings, whose music filled in for where the Elves played no longer.

All at once, the river opened before them upon a slight bay, the rocky northern bank of which jutted out as a crescent-shaped promontory into the vast lake beyond. Tremendous ash trees grew not only on land but in the water itself, their grey-barked trunks protruding from the shallows, bases swollen like bulbous gourds. Silver minnows and bream darted in the calm aquatic forest below, illuminated by a warm wash of lamplight.

Upon the lakeshore were clustered huts of golden reed, the long stems dried and woven into elegant patterns: braids and knots adorned wall, door, and roof alike. In the trees above, flets like those the travellers had encountered in Dwimordene were nestled in the highest branches. Every bole rooted in water boasted a circular dock.

Nellon directed the company towards the ash growing furthest into the lake, yet he did not moor the raft; instead, the Elves leapt one by one onto the dock. With a tense scramble, Gimli did likewise. Yet it was apparent such a feat was beyond Truva – for though she had greatly recovered already, still her legs trembled beneath her. With one deft movement, Legolas swept her into his arms and spanned the distance, setting her down again upon the solid planks.

When all save one Raft-elf had safely disembarked, the vessel was cast off once again. It drifted northward across the expanse of water with its singular guide.

'The barrels shall be taken to Esgaroth upon Aelinand,' said Nellon, pointing off into the distance, across gentle waves painted with the rich colours of sunset. Even in her lassitude, Truva felt compelled to blink and rub her eyes, for surely she was mistaken—! On the very surface of the lake itself, a veritable hamlet of wooden houses floated, connected to shore a short distance north of the Forest River by a long bridge.

'It is with great relief I see Lake-town still stands,' remarked Legolas. 'My father spoke of widespread devastation within the Kingdom of Dale – yet here it looks as though no war has fallen upon these lands at all.'

'The inhabitants of Esgaroth were forced to flee under a formidable onslaught of Easterling forces,' Nellon explained, 'and in coming to the city of Dale in the north, were again attacked. After the fall of both King Brand and King Dáin II Ironfoot, Men and Dwarves alike took shelter within Erebor.'

He cast his gaze across the lake to where the Lonely Mountain stood, its snow-capped peak just barely visible, painted amber by the last rays of sun: a solitary sentinel guarding the northern reaches of Aelinand. 'The Easterlings threw all their might against that impenetrable fortress, but no sooner had the news of Sauron's defeat come than they fled, failing to inflict any great destruction in their wake.

'Even so, the Aelrim have exerted immense effort to restore what damage was done, to recreate their home yet a second time. Dale did not fare so fortunately, however; you shall see how terribly that city was ravaged when you journey to Thorin's halls.'

Nellon ascended a ladder then, and while the others swiftly followed, Legolas lingered as Truva stared up at the swaying rungs of rope.

'You cannot climb,' he stated, turning round and motioning for Truva to climb upon his back. In better circumstances, she might have laughed at the absurdity of such an offer. Now, she merely clung to the Elf as he sprung up to the upper platform, favouring her injured arm.

Once the entire company stood amidst the treetops, they wove through a network of flets, connected by bridges of intertwined rope and tree branches. On occasion, they encountered small gatherings, and both Elven parties would exchange brief greetings in their own language before the travellers moved on.

They came at last to a flet on the shore's very edge – a flet so large its platform encircled the boles of several trees, and easily fit the entire company. Lanterns cast their soft glow amongst the foliage, dispelling the darkness that had settled in full. In the distance, the lights of Lake-town glimmered faintly. Here their hosts bade the travellers sit and rest, though there was no communal table to take their place before, nor any chairs to sit upon, for the tree boughs protruding through the flet were too many to allow sufficient space for such formalities. Instead, soft cushions were scattered about and rugs spread underfoot; a light meal arranged upon low tables awaited.

The soft voices of Elves singing in nearby abodes accompanied the travellers' repast, and Elrohir in turn graced them with ancient songs of the sea and wood, though Truva would not have understood their meaning had Elladan not whispered their translations to her. This music differed from that of Dwimordene, as it was not nearly so solemn, and was lighter in spirit than even that of Rivendell; yet it soothed Truva's wearied mind all the same, and lulled her towards slumber.

She awoke the next day feeling mildly refreshed, though her ribs were splotched blue and purple, and ached fiercely. Gimli was already about, his mood much brighter than oft it had been along their journey – enthusiasm easily attributed to anticipation of returning home, in spite of his trepidation at the outset of their journey.

'Many moons has it been since last I saw my sire, or tasted Dwalin's marvellous salted pork,' he exclaimed, sitting down to the elegant breakfast of the Elves. 'And I shall greatly enjoy speaking of developments at the Glittering Caves to those who voiced doubt when last I visited; perhaps a few might even reconsider my offer to join our new settlement.'

'May you often pass thus through Elven lands, travelling from Aglarond to Erebor and back, Master Gimli,' said Elrohir as he handed fresh bread and preserves to Truva. 'We shall miss your presence amongst us.'

'You will not come?' Truva asked, rather sorry to lose the company of Elrond's sons.

'I do not believe King Thorin would take too kindly to one Elf descending upon his citadel, let alone three,' said Elladan. 'We shall return to Calengroth, and thence to a land yet undetermined.'

'May we meet again ere too long,' said Gimli.

'To hasten your reunion,' said Nellon to the three travellers, 'the Raft-elves shall lend you a craft by which you might advance up the waters of Celduin to Erebor itself – and for use in any subsequent ventures, should they arise.' This last comment was spoken with a pointed glance towards Truva.

'Having come into these lands a stranger, I could not have hoped for such liberal generosity, even whilst in the company of one so august as Legolas Prince,' she replied.

'Perhaps they offer this vessel, not knowing we were the cause of another's destruction,' Gimli quipped as an aside to her. Truva smothered a grin as she feigned not to hear, saying to Nellon, 'I would consider it good fortune were I to have cause to return amongst the Halls of Thranduil King and the Elves of the Woodland Realm.'

'Eryngard shall ever be welcoming to those who come with peace in their hearts,' said Nellon.

Even as he spoke, a Raft-elf paddled a deep-hulled canoe towards the company and drew abreast of the circular dock below. This vessel was hewn from the trunk of a single ash tree and bore the design of both Elf and Dwarf. Graceful knots were etched from bow to stern, yet in looking closer, these revealed themselves to be Khuzdûl runes interwoven into woodland scenes. The prow was carved to resemble the Lonely Mountain peak itself.

To both Truva and Gimli's immense relief, it proved far less unwieldy than the wine barrel raft, and even the boat of Lorien. After a chorus of 'fare thee wells' and wishes of good fortune, the three travellers parted company with the Woodland Elves and sons of Elrond, and were soon circling about the northern shore's promontory. But within the calm, protected waters beyond, Gimli briefly pulled up his paddle.

'Look down, Marshal,' he said, pointing towards the lake's shimmering surface.

Truva peered into the beryl-hued waters, only to spy the dark, rotted piles of an old city. Amidst gold and glittering gems scattered across the lakebed – though the nature of these was obscured by the water's colourless depths – lay sprawled the ivory skeleton of an immense beast. Its long tail and spindly fingers stretched nearly the entire length of the now-vanished city.

'Smaug the Terrible,' Gimli half-whispered, eliciting a shiver from Truva; the tale of Erebor, Esgaroth, and the dragon's assault had been one the Dwarf had shared along their journey. She was glad when they forged on quickly, and soon came to the Lake-town bridge. There, a newly-constructed guard box stood occupied by two armoured soldiers. A shout rang out as soon as the travellers were within hailing distance.

'Halt!' came one guard's cry as he stepped forth from the box. 'Who goes there, and what is your business with Esgaroth upon the Long Lake?'

'I am Gimli son of Glóin, of the House of Durin!' called the Dwarf in response. 'I travel with my companions, Legolas of the Woodland Realm and Marshal Truva of Rohan. We pass on our way to the Lonely Mountain, to greet my kin and seek an audience with King Thorin III Stonehelm.'

'Master Gimli!' said the guard. 'Many hearts will rejoice to know you have come again into the Kingdom of Dale so soon. Will you not stay a while, and greet the Master of Lake-town? The children did love your stories of distant lands, when you graced our humble tables last…'

Gimli reserved his answer momentarily, for the travellers' canoe passed beneath the wooden slats of the bridge then, forcing them to duck low and draw their oars in away from the heavy piles. A cart clattered deafeningly overhead.

'Nay, I have pressing business in Erebor,' said Gimli, when they emerged on the other side. 'But I am certain to make berth at your docks ere too long – and at that time I shall gladly join in whatever revelries you concoct.'

'Pass then swiftly, to hasten your return!'

Beyond Lake-town, the travellers' progress proved more expeditious than the southern legs of their journey had been, for the calm waters of Long Lake were far easier to navigate. Even as morning wore into afternoon, the northern shore came slowly into view, and their canoe became one more in a parade of vessels streaming up and down the outlet of Running River, bearing goods southward towards Esgaroth or the lake's eastern reaches, or northward towards the looming crags of the Lonely Mountain.

Then, as day shifted to evening, the lights of villages began to twinkle all along the water's edge. By nightfall, the trio had made camp on the outskirts of a town settled about the mouth of the River, though they did not enter the cluster of buildings for fear of creating a fuss; Dwarves were common enough in these parts, and Truva would not draw so much as a second glance, but Legolas was sure to engender curiosity. And so they built a surreptitious fire and tucked into pasties provided by Nellon that morning, and enjoyed the display of boat lights drifting by.

'I suppose we shan't evade making a stop at Dale on the morrow,' Gimli remarked when they had settled in, their cloaks more than sufficient to keep the mild spring night chill at bay. 'Where once the Celduin merely circled about the city, the Bardings have spent several generations expanding upon the opposite bank; there is no longer any passing undetected.'

'I do not think the new King of Dale would take too kindly to a snubbing on our part, as it is,' Legolas agreed.

'Do you think it will delay us greatly?' asked Truva.

'I cannot rightly guess,' said Gimli. 'I have spoken with Bard son of Brand but once, though I deemed him to be a just and reasonable figure, well worthy of his ancestors. Perhaps he shall spare us all ceremony, and send us quickly on our way.'

But Gimli's prediction did not seem as though it would prove accurate. The travellers set out in the earliest hours of the following morn, hoping to pass by Dale whilst the King was still abed, yet no sooner had they gained the city's battlements – still badly damaged by the ravages of war – than a deafening fanfare sounded. This trumpeting continued even as they passed beneath the tremendous portcullis, crowded with guards, and came upon the main docks just beyond. There, a grand company of councillors and advisors was assembled about King Bard, for he (like many such leaders) had grown accustomed to rising especially early of late. He stood tall and proud, garbed in fine raiment of light blues and greens, with his black locks beneath a silver crown flying in the breeze off Long Lake.

'A messenger from the settlement downriver brought news of your coming,' the King called as the travellers' canoe drew abreast of the docks. His voice boomed with a richness and great confidence for one so young, and he proffered a wide smile. 'It seems your attempts at evading notice were unsuccessful, and for that I am most sorry.'

'I hope you shall not take it as any reflection of our regard for you, milord,' said Gimli. 'We are weary from our long journey, and longed only to reach our destination all the sooner – nothing more.'

'Nay, Master Gimli, I would never dare accuse you of any lapse in manners. Glad I am to see you returned, and I welcome your companions to the Kingdom of Dale – woeful though the state of our capital is at this time – with equal joy.'

'As for those of Calengroth, we were deeply grieved to hear the loss of your father, King Brand Bain's son,' said Legolas, stepping first onto the dock. 'My father Lord Thranduil extends his profound sympathies. May such misfortunes never shadow your reign, or the reigns of your sons.'

'Well met, Prince Legolas,' said Bard. 'Had I known earlier than yesterday eve that so estimable a presence was soon to grace my docks, I would have urged my craftsmen to hasten their repairs.'

'Many lands in varying states of ruin have I visited in these past months, and come to believe that what once might have been a point of shame is now an indication of valour,' replied Legolas. 'Though if any assistance can be lent by my people, we offer it; long has the symbiotic relationship between Eryngard and Arnad-en-nand flourished, and recent circumstances have only served to demonstrate how intertwined the prosperity of one is with the other.'

'I thank you for your kind offer, and will give it thorough consideration,' said King Bard, turning then to Truva. 'Yet what of this third companion? You are neither Elf nor Dwarf, nor a Man from my lands. You wear the livery of Dol Amroth and bear their dark hair; are you of those people? What brings you so far from your home, and in such strange company, soldier?'

'In truth, my lord, I hail from the lands of the Riddermark,' Truva clarified, stepping forward and bowing low. She stifled the amusing notion of having travelled so far, only to discover her origins lay at the outset of her journey. 'I serve Éomer King as Marshal of the East-mark.'

'A shieldmaiden of the horse-lords!' cried the King. 'Do rise, brave warrior, for I have heard tales regarding your peoples' deeds during the War; indeed, I believe it is I who ought to bow before you!' And to the great astoundment of all onlookers, he did so.

'I beg of you, milord, there is no need for such deference,' Truva pleaded. 'I am a mere emissary, and come bearing the greeting of Éomer King, which is thus: that he regrets it is only now an overture has been made for the first time, and that – though the threat of Sauron seems fallen from our shoulders – it is never unwise to establish bonds of good will, even in times of peace.'

Perhaps King Bard knew of the southern conflict, perhaps he did not; but it would not do to spook him by laying a new conflict at his feet in the very same motion as extending a hand of friendship. Truva made no mention of Pelargir.

'It is with immeasurable gratitude the region of Dale accepts King Éomer's offer of allyship,' Bard replied, 'and eagerly return the gesture tenfold. There are a great many things I wish to consult with you regarding, yet you must forgive me; I believe I impinge upon your time. It is not I whom you seek – you make for the Lonely Mountain.'

'Yes, my reunification with the House of Durin is eagerly anticipated,' said Gimli, already inching back towards the canoe. Perhaps his perception of the King's consideration would prove accurate, after all.

'Then I will keep you no longer,' said King Bard. 'Go now to your people, though I hope we may see each other again before too long.'

'Farewell, Lord of the Long Lake,' said Legolas as he followed Gimli into the craft. 'May the reconstruction of your city and the lands beyond be swift and successful.'

Truva was last to clamber into the canoe before Gimli cast off, leaving King Bard and his counsellors to wave their goodbyes upon the docks. Even as the travellers surged forward between old battlements on one side and high-walled stone buildings lining the river upon the other, curious citizens leaned from windows and porches to catch better sight of the strange companions. Some even waved in greeting, pulling colourful scarves from about their head to flutter on the breeze.

'Hello, Master Dwarf!' they cried, or exclaimed amongst each other at the sight of an Elf, but especially to see the two together. Little children could be glimpsed along byways and secondary docks, staging mock battles between bow-wielding Elves and Dwarves bearing feeble staves – which were in actuality the nearest stick at hand, being the closest approximation to an axe they could find.

The Bardings paid little attention to the travellers' unassuming third companion, which suited Truva just fine; she was content to merely observe. Her heart was wearied by the sight of pile upon pile of rubble and debris: the remnants of residences and towers and shops that had fallen victim to the Easterlings' onslaught. Happy as she was to receive the citizens' cheery salutations, some small part of Truva's heart was thankful when they passed through the northern battlements, which lay in utter ruin, and looked towards the looming mass of Erebor.