Erebor Rebuilt

[Earniel]

Thorin made his way down the Mountain towards the human encampment. He did not come down very often, almost only for the Council meetings. There was work enough in Erebor, and what more could a Dwarf want to live in than the renowned halls of Erebor, the Lonely Mountain? Pity the Dragon had been such a poor tenant, mind. It took much longer for the dragon-stench to clear than Thorin had realised. And a treasure didn't 'air' as easily as fabric hung out in the breeze.

In that aspect it sometimes was a relief to take the path down to the camp, and smell the fresh air. There were other smells here too. If the wind came form the Lake it still carried the faint smell of burnt wood, coming from the remnants of sunken Esgaroth. But with it came the sound of construction as well from the site where the new Lake town would stand. Thorin didn't know what they were going to call it. He shook his head. Trust humans to rebuild on such an open, undefendable place as the Long Lake! Why rebuild an obviously flawed design? But he had to admit, their tenacity was admirable.

There were smells coming from the ruins of Dale too. Several smells of stones that Thorin could identify by smell alone, and freshly hewed wood imported from Mirkwood. The Council building he was heading to, was one of the first stone buildings in New Dale; sturdy built but still sparsely furnished. He wondered if Bard had even built a house for himself yet.

~~~~

Rithelle checked her appearance in a mirror. She wasn't sure what bothered her to most, the mirror or her appearance. The hand-mirror, hardly worth the name, consisted of a broken shard of mirror-glas stuck on an unevenly cut piece of wood.

It was the best Rithelle could acquire for the moment, her old and pretty hand mirror now lost in the deep waters of the Long Lake. Along with pretty much all her jewellery except for the ones she had been wearing that night, which impacted her appearance as well. And afterwards she had had to barter what jewellery she had been able to save and now she felt bare. With habitual regret she remembered her wardrobe too that had sunk with the town. Live had been easier before the dragon.

She regarded the frown on her face in the mirror with annoyance. That frown was there a lot these days and she disliked how much older it made her look.

With a sigh she put away the mirror and rose. She was going to be late if she stayed here much longer, dwelling on the past. And that on her first Council meeting too. She had to leave now or she would have to run and Rithelle hated running.

She donned her mantle and picked up the slate with notes. Paper was scarce for the moment until the trade caravan came again. Rithelle would have to do with chalk and slate for the moment. She hurried towards the Council hall, briskly but without undignified running.

[Acalewia]

Celebfin had been scouting to see if the merchants would be able to make their way unheeded. She found another pile of ash. She wondered if she'd known them and what had happened. She wanted to discover what was doing this but there were never any clues. She saw nothing save a pack of very skinny and hungry wolves. She'd have to warn the Council about them. As she swiftly and silently made her way back to the camp, she noticed the pack had started shadowing her. The pack kept their distance from the elf but she knew they were waiting for someone to stray too far from the camp. She quickly made her way to where the Council would be meeting.

[Varnafindë]

Galadhlin sometimes wondered why Thranduil had chosen him as his representative on the Council at Dale. The King of Mirkwood might have chosen one of his own courtiers, not an Elf who had lived in Mirkwood for only a few hundred years. But perhaps he wanted one who had experience of living outside?

Galadhlin had lived most of his life in what was now known as Lothlorien. Lord Celeborn was his kinsman, so Galadhlin's sister had been one of Galadriel's ladies-in-waiting, until she got married and moved to Rivendell.

He had been married, too. His wife had been killed by Orcs - oh, more than a millennium ago. He still missed her. When he thought he had lost his daughter as well, he moved, away from everything - and a job as a raft-elf in Mirkwood suited him fine.

These days he spent almost as much time at Dale as on the river. He had put up a tent in the new city, to be able to stay there more easily. Not a house. He didn't mean to move in. Dale was a city for Men, and it was better for the Elder and the Younger Children of Iluvatar to have their separate societies and their own separate rulers. The Elves had come to this conclusion millennia ago.

But currently Dale needed a Council of all the races, until it could return to normal. It would take years, probably. King Bard had gold to pay for all that the city might need, but gold couldn't speed up the time it would take to get everything done.

And with all the people who had moved up from Lake-town, there would be the need for a very large number of houses. Most of them were the descendants of refugees from Dale from the time when the dragon first came - but even a few citizens of Lake-town itself had chosen to seek a new life in Dale. As long as they contributed to their new city, Galadhlin couldn't see why not.

The Council would meet again later today. Not an emergency meeting, just a regular one - at least, he hadn't heard of any emergency. Routine, then. The regular decisions that needed to be taken. And a report back to King Thranduil the next day, if there was anything interesting to report.

[Tessar]

Sanders took a deep breath and closed his eyes, willing down the surge of panic that was rising like a wave of bile in his throat and stomach. He stood very still for a moment, trying to clear his mind and slow the speed of his rushing thoughts.

The papers were gone.

Sanders shook his head and took another deep breath, forcing himself to remain calm despite the pounding of his heart. Getting frantic now would do him no good, and it was still possible there was some mistake. Despite his best attempts to focus his mind, Sanders found himself desperately trying to dig back through his memory and think of every time he had removed them from the locked box that sat on his make-shift desk. He had the only key, and was the only one who had touched the papers.

Opening his eyes and looking down at the mess of papers on his desk, Sanders began methodically sifting through them again, one by one, and carefully examining them. The trade-route agreements and supply delivery dates should have been about halfway through the stack, right under the letters of negotiation and above the shift-schedule. He had put them there almost a week ago, and hadn’t looked for them since then. He had them memorized and hadn’t needed to refer to them, but in preparation for the meeting today he had decided to pull them out just so he could present them if there were any questions.

Had he taken them back to his own tent? No. Sanders shook his head again and grabbed his temples with his hands, as if trying to squeeze a memory out of his own head. He might have left them out on his desk and maybe someone took them by mistake, but almost as soon as the thought occurred to Sanders he dismissed it. He wouldn’t have been so careless, and no one would have dared take something from his desk without asking.

Glancing around him, Sanders took in the small tent that was his office. It was sparsely furnished with a make-shift desk, a large chest held closed by two padlocks, and two chairs. It was where he did all of his business for Bard, the leader of Lake Town since Smaug the dragon had appeared and been slain by the brave bowman. The guards who patrolled the rebuilding town knew to keep an eye on Sander’s tent, and until now nothing had gone missing, nor had any activity been noted about his tent except for his own comings and goings. Everyone knew better.

Taking his hands from his forehead, Sanders snatched up the now-empty box and examined it closely, his green eyes trying to pierce through the wood and dig out answers. The box was just a sturdy, hinge-fitted safe-box made of smoothed and oiled brown wood, with an inset lock of brass. There were no holes, and as Sanders prodded and pulled at its edges he discovered there were no weak points or hidden cracks. He had the only key… could someone have picked the lock?

Sanders tried to calm himself and reason through the problem. The trade routes were not such an awful secret, and the delivery dates were mostly regular. The contracts were basic and nothing more than you would expect to draft with a merchant. Anyone living in the rebuilding city of Lake Town would probably have been able to at least make a good guess as to the routs, and dates, of any arriving supplies.

Frowning, Sanders put the box aside and snatched up the remaining papers. As he flipped through them again without even seeing them, his mind raced. Who would take just the routs and contracts, while leaving the letters and work shifts? Someone who planned something unpleasant for one, or all, of the traders. But what, and why? There was nothing special planned for delivery that Sanders could recall; just the usual grains, spices, clothes, tools and other things the rebuilding city needed.

With a start, Sanders realized he was dropping the papers. With his heart pounding and blood rushing through his veins, Sanders gave a jerk as he tried to catch the papers, and simply sent them flying further away. Uttering a curse, he bent and began snatching them back up off of the floor, hardly caring that they were now wildly out of order.

A noise at the flap of his tent-office made Sanders’s head jerk up, and he almost cried out as Bard swept into his tent.

“A bad time?� Bard asked, his dark eyes reflecting little of the humor his comment might have implied.

Sanders let out a slow breath, pausing in his gathering of the papers. “A terrible time,� he agreed, pausing to take a deep breath before continuing, “Bard… we have a problem. Someone stole the trade routes and contracts.�

Bard’s reaction was minimal, but Sanders hardly expected an outburst from the steady, grim-faced leader of the rebuilding Lake Town. An arched eyebrow was the only indication Bard offered for his feelings.

“Are you sure they were stolen?� Bard queried.

“Yes,� Sanders nodded, his voice cracking just slightly. “They’re gone. I keep all of the documents locked in my safebox,� he waved to the empty box on his desk, “but they’re gone. I had them last week, and I’m the only one with a key… nothing else was gone.�

Bard did frown now, concern plain on his face. “You think something is going on?�

Sanders hesitated a moment, “I… I’m not sure,� he admitted. “But it doesn’t look good… should we tell the council? I mean, maybe we should send messages out to the traders… warn them to be aware, or maybe take different routes. But we need those supplies, so I don’t think…� Sanders shook his head, trying to clear his mind and speak a little more sensibly, “I’m afraid we’ve got the supplies coming in on a tight schedule, right when we need them. I’d suggest we change the delivery dates, but…� he raised his hands helplessly, the papers he had gathered rustling together loudly, “we need the supplies.�

“I can’t imagine… and I’ve been trying,� Sanders sighed, “why anyone might want to sabotage any of the traders or trade routes. I can’t think of any good reason, aside from maybe trying to put a halt to our construction. But who, and why?�

"If it had been some months ago, I would have suspected the old Master of Lake-town, or somebody working for him," Bard said. "He might have wanted to delay the rebuilding of Dale, just so that Lake-town would have an advantage over us - for himself to make the most of, of course.

But the new Master, who took over after he fled with the gold, is a better man. There is always the risk that even he may have some unscrupulous employees, of course, working without his knowledge."

Bard sighed. They didn't need this - certainly not right before the council meeting. The rebuilding of Dale was slow enough work without anyone trying to delay it.

Bard had known, from the day when he accepted the task of being their king, that there would be hard work and that they would have no time for pomp and circumstance for several years. As Girion's descendant, it was his duty to accept the task, but he was glad that most people just thought of him as their leader, and didn't expect a grand royal court just yet.

Except for some people, of course, mostly ladies, who were waiting for a grand palace with a great ballroom and splendid parties. Hmpff. They would have to make do with the communal building for now. For himself, he had put up a temporary shed with a study and a room for receiving visitors, that was all. He still slept in his tent.

So did Sanders, who hadn't even built himself a shed for his office, but just used another tent. And now someone had violated the privacy of that tent. For whatever sinister reason.

"Yes, I think we should warn the traders," he decided. "But not change any routes or delivery dates - it would disrupt our work too much. Just tell them to be doubly aware. Even to send more people, if new people can be added to the existing schedules. This is indeed a matter for the council." He sighed again.

"But how could it have happened?" Bard asked. "I would have felt easier about it if your box had been forced open. As it is now, somebody must have a copy of your key. Is it possible for you to change the lock - or even to have a new box made? You cannot trust anything important to that box any more."

Sanders bit his lower lip and picked the box up, examining it again. “It would have to be a new box, and… unless…� Sanders’ eyebrows quirked up and he looked up at Bard, a tiny smile playing at the corners of his lips. “We could set it as bait?�

Bard nodded slowly, immediately catching on to Sanders’ meaning. “Switch everything out?�

“Not everything,� Sanders said, his face flushing a little with sudden enthusiasm for his idea. “I could duplicate the remaining documents, and forge some new ones. Let’s make a public show of sending out letters to the merchants. We won’t really change the dates but we’ll let the news get around town that all of the routes and delivery dates have been changed. I’ll make some new, fake schedules and maybe we can catch a thief if someone tries to come in again.�

Bard hmm’ed quietly, going over the plan in his mind. It couldn’t hurt, but would the thief be so easily fooled?

“This is something we must bring before the council. We should go now… come, let’s discuss this further as we go,� Bard finally decided, sweeping his arm out and pulling the tent’s hanging doorway open.

Sanders nodded his agreement, moving through the opening and blinking in the daylight. It was so much brighter than in his tent-office. His mind was still buzzing with ideas for catching the thief, but beneath it all he still felt a sense of dread. Someone had taken the documents, but for what purpose?

[Earniel]

Thorin arrived first at the council building, perhaps unconciously hoping that if he arrived a bit earlier, things would be over more quickly and he would be able to leave earlier too. All these meetings were most of the time such a human way of wasting time. Somehow much of it consisted of saying the same thing in as many different ways as possible. The Elves probably didn't mind since they too loved talking just as much. But Thorin was a Dwarf and he preferred to waste time his own, more efficient way.

Back at the Mountain they had just repaired the main underground water resevoir and he needed to check the masonry before the filling started. The inspection was not wholy necessary - he was far more at home at a forge than with architecture and mortar - but for some reason his men preferred him to personally inspect every bit of renovation that was undertaken in the Mountain. He trusted his architects and masons well enough -after all, Dáin had send his best- but if Thorin was one day to rule the Lonely Mountain, he would have to learn what kept the roof up over his head for starters.

His father had warned him beforehand that now would follow an age of rock and mortar, rather than hammer and sword. DaÃ*n had actually been looking forward to it, the old badger. But he had left out the former would include working closely with Elves and Men. Thorin was actually fairly optimistic about it, despite his many grumbling on the subject. The Mountain and Dale had once been good allies and there was nothing to suggest they couldn't be so again. This Bard-fellow at least was a man after Thorin's own heart. He got down to business. And he had killed the dragon. Always a good point in mind of a dwarf.

Pity he wasn't too sure about the Elven King of Mirkwood. You never knew where you stood with Elves. Thorin II had made peace with the Elves on his death-bed and all Dwarves would continue to respect that. And so far the Elves had been true to their word, indeed. The supplies rendered were generous enough even for Dwarven standards. Yet disputes between Dwarves and Elves just kept on happening throughout history. And history is only ignored by fools. You never knew with Elves.

[Acalewia]

Celebfin moved between the tents that housed most of the refugees. Building shelter had been Bard's first task, but many of the people here were still living in tents. The wolves had stopped shadowing her once she reached the camp and she knew they would continue to watch the camp. Celebfin was troubled by all the reports of disappearances and the finds of ashes that didn't seem to belong. Which was why she'd been outside of camp scouting to begin with. A pair of children ran past, laughing. It made Celebfin smile at their innocence. She headed towards the main part of Dale where the Council would meet. She wasn't on the Council itself, but she hoped to catch Bard himself or even Galadhlin, a fellow elf and friend. Hungry wolves would prove to be a danger, especially if they were hunry enough to venture into the camp in search of a meal.

[Midge]

Siléma felt the panic rising in her again. She tried to make herself breathe deeply. She was in the garden behind their home in Dale, her basket nearby. She had to get this work done - their survival depended upon it. But how could she concentrate?

Her oldest boy, Humed, had been gone for more than a week now. She and her husband, the smith, knew he had dreamed of joining the river merchants when they'd lived in Laketown, and most of the people they'd spoken to about his disappearance thought he'd left on his own to do just that.

But there were just things that were WRONG with that theory. She listed them to herself:

1. Humed knew how much his parents needed his help getting settled in Dale
2. He'd always put his family first in the past - even more than the girl he'd voluntarily left in Laketown
3. Siléma and the smith didn't have a problem with his apprenticing under the merchants
4. Humed was a sensible boy, who didn't have a penchant for following youthful desires
5. Siléma recalled a conversation she'd had less than a month ago where Humed was adamant that he knew the future he wanted and was willing to work and wait for it

She knew it was possible that Humed had done just what he'd insisted he didn't feel the slightest need to do, but it seemed extremely unlikely. Which naturally filled her with a powerful fear for what had actually happened to her boy.

As she was standing there in her stupor, she watched Bard pass by her house through the alley-way from the front to the back. He was deep in conversation with his secretary and seemed very concerned. She couldn't hear what they were talking about, but at one point the secretary got a little agitated and cried out something that included the words "council meeting today!"

Of course!, Siléma thought. I shall bring this issue before the council! Perhaps they can help. After all, we don't have any shirriffs or guards assigned yet - maybe this will make them consider a few. Or something. At the least, Bard is a good man, and his influence over Dale is wide. He could at least get more information for me.

With the new determination to make it to the council meeting before it ended, she plucked up her basket and set to work with renewed vigor. She HAD to get this done and fast!

[Earniel]

Arriving early may feel like saving time, Thorin pondered, but it sure made one feel like losing time as he waited for the other council members to turn up. He inspected the new masonry of the council room as he waited. He found it a little rough at the edges, but surprisingly well-made by human standards. There might be hope for Dale after all.

And while a Dwarf is said never to be bored when surrounded by rock, he was still glad when another person turned up. It was the new councillor, the woman from Lake-Town that the new Master had introduced last meeting.

~~~

As Rithelle entered the Council Building, she was surprised to see the son of the King under the Mountain was first and alone. She had feared to have been last and with hurrying had actually arrived before most others. It was odd that neither Bard or his secretary had arrived yet; the Master of Lake-Town had told her they were usually the first ones to arrive. She hoped no unforseen new trouble had detained them.

"Master Dwarf," she greeted him politely with a small curtsy and took her seat at the table.

[Varnafindë]

Time to go to the Council meeting, Galadhlin decided. If he went now, he might even arrive before King Bard did. Not likely to arrive before the Dwarven Prince, though - Thorin was often the first to arrive, and usually tried to be the first to leave, too.

Galadhlin had the impression that Thorin often was impatient with the Council discussions. But how could you make a good decision without going over the points for and against it? Laying out the reasons for wanting to do something was important. And those who wanted to do things differently should be allowed to have their say as well.

King Bard was doing a good job on the Council. There weren't a lot of hard feelings - at least most of the time. Galadhlin guessed that everyone was making an effort to avoid unnecessary quarrels. There was so much to do with all the rebuilding, and better to use one's strength on the important tasks ahead.

Just around the corner from the Council building, Galadhlin noticed a figure that he recognized. Celebfin. He had known the woman for less than a century, but she had become a good friend - and close friends with his daughter, too. The two women were about the same age.

"Greetings, Celebfin," he called out to her. "Out on any particular business today?"

[Acalewia]

"Galadhlin," Celebfin greeted with a smile. "I was hoping to catch you before the Council meeting. I was out scouting this morning and I found more of the strange ash. There is also a pack of wolves stalking outside the camp. They followed me for a time, but kept their distance. I thought the Council should be warned of them before they become brave enough to venture into the camp in search of food," She had known Galadhlin for some time and she looked up to him like a father. Celebfin was as close to his daughter as she was him. "I found no clues as to what is causing these ashes to appear,"