As the sun dipped below the horizon, its glow slowly faded, yet the city of Dale did not sink into darkness.
The streets blazed with light. Torches encased in iron and glass lined the roads, their flames burning steadily, making the city glow like a beacon in the night. Dale had become a city that never truly slept.
Passersby caught sight of the familiar black armor and the long sword at Eric's side. One by one, they bowed or inclined their heads respectfully. Not only the townsfolk of Dale, but even visiting dwarves paused to offer their respect to the lord who had stood with them in their darkest hour.
That evening, Eric followed his memory through winding streets until he arrived at Bard's modest home. Firelight still glowed warmly through the shutters. Clearly, Bard had not gone to bed.
"What keeps you awake tonight?" Eric asked as he pushed the door open without ceremony and sat down across from Bard's desk.
"Finances," Bard admitted, setting aside his quill. He had long grown used to Eric's sudden appearances. Rising, he fetched a kettle and poured steaming water, placing a cup of tea in front of his unexpected guest.
"Do you want something to eat with it?"
"No, I am not hungry."
Eric sipped, then gestured for him to continue.
"The road between Dale and Lake-town has been finished for some time. It is more popular than we imagined. On the very next day after its opening, men were already hitching their carts at the gates, running back and forth between the two towns for profit. Some manage several trips a day.
"Meanwhile, Erebor's cooperation has gone smoothly. A few with the talent have already learned new crafts there. The number of smiths and artisans is steadily increasing."
Bard scanned the reports on his table while speaking, then stopped mid-sentence. Something in Eric's expression caught his attention.
Eric was peering at him through a gold-rimmed glass lens, murmuring softly. "Human. Thought. Senses. Spirit. Motion…"
Bard frowned. "What are you muttering about?"
"Your elemental makeup," Eric replied simply, lowering the lens. "Never mind. Continue."
"…Right. As I was saying, there is also land by the road with favorable terrain. We could expand housing and buildings there as an extension of the city."
"Do it," Eric said.
"I will send word."
The truth was, governance in Dale was not overly complex. With two leaders whose names carried such weight, the townsfolk behaved responsibly, and crime was nearly nonexistent. Every soul in Dale had lived through the age of fire and shadow. They needed no reminders to value order.
"Oh, one more thing," Bard added. "When you have a moment, you should visit the central square. Something new has appeared there."
"I will."
The conversation did not last long. When the tea was finished, Eric left the little house, lens in hand, studying every person and object along the way.
Onlookers watched curiously as their armored lord wandered about, peering through his glass as though examining invisible secrets. Some scratched their heads, baffled. Eric, however, was far from confused. He was learning.
People, after all, carried more than flesh and bone. Beyond the basic elements common to all, each individual bore unique qualities, and these manifested strongly in those with skill. A smith, for example, seemed to glow with the essence of "tools."
The differences between races were even clearer. Dwarves often radiated "stone," "metal," and "ore." As Eric muttered with amusement, "No wonder their heads are as hard as iron."
After a full circuit of the city, he raised his eyes to Dale's highest point: the great hall upon the hill. It had changed since his last visit. The palace was nearly fully restored, though a few corners remained rough, awaiting the mason's polish.
If Bard had ordered its reconstruction, then all the city's basic needs must already be met. The man was too practical to waste effort otherwise.
Eric climbed the palace steps, gazed over the handiwork of the builders, then looked down upon the city shining with firelight. His gaze fell to the square below, where something caught his eye.
"A statue?"
Descending quickly, he soon stood before it, tilting his head in surprise.
The likeness was uncanny.
It was him.
The statue captured a moment of history. At its base, a massive dragon's head lay carved in stone. Upon it stood two figures. In front, clad in black armor and wielding a sword, was Eric. Behind him stood Bard, bow in hand and the black arrow slung across his back.
The craftsmanship was exquisite, lifelike to the point of breathing. Whoever the sculptor was, he had been a master.
Eric lingered long before the monument, then eventually moved on, continuing his study of the city until dawn.
Knowledge had increased.
Morning came with a knock at Bard's door.
The man himself answered, calm and alert as ever. Eric wondered, not for the first time, if Bard even slept.
"I saw the statue," Eric greeted. "A fine piece of work. Was it your idea?"
"No," Bard replied. "One of the craftsmen suggested it, and the townsfolk voted to have it built."
"Ah. A fine decision."
Eric slipped inside without waiting for an invitation, settling into the chair by the window. Looking out toward Lake-town, he said, "Since the people have grown used to the new road, it is time to extend it further."
"You mean…?"
"Prepare yourself. We go to Lake-town. I will set the foundation for the next stage."
"The next stage?" Bard's eyes sharpened. He could guess what Eric meant.
That very morning, after leaving affairs in order, the two men stood at the western edge of Lake-town where the road ended. Beyond lay the dark forest, its shadows thick and endless. A ground road would mean endless clearing.
But Eric rarely bothered with obstacles.
"And now?" Bard asked cautiously.
"Now, watch."
Eric produced a block of stone. Stepping lightly, he placed it beneath his feet. In an instant, a pillar of stone thrust upward into the sky.
High above the land, Eric surveyed. To the left stretched the Black Forest's shadowed ridges. To the right, the autumn light burned upon golden trees, and beyond them lay the hidden halls of the Elvenking.
"Yes. This height will do. It will not trouble the elves."
And with that, he began.
Stone spread outward from the pillar's crown, forming a vast platform that cast shade upon the earth below. Bard craned his neck until it ached, watching in speechless wonder. By the time Eric glided back down with his Elytra, the road builders who had labored on the old road could only gape.
This time, the road did not remain level. It curved upward in a steady slope, climbing into the sky.
That evening, Bard found himself in a Lake-town inn, massaging his sore neck as he ate supper. Across the table sat a seasoned road worker.
"By tomorrow, you will understand why I said your legs might tremble," Bard muttered.
The worker snorted. "I have built roads all my life. What path could frighten me into weak knees?"
"You will see," Bard said. "I only hope enough men have the courage to work on it."
"I will," a voice piped up.
It was Alfrid, popping out from nowhere, as was his habit. The other diners groaned in unison. The man had a gift for appearing at the worst moments. Still, months of hard labor had blunted his worst faults, and though still irritating, he had earned a grudging tolerance.
"You?" Bard arched an eyebrow.
The worker beside him was less polite. "What courage? Do you mean when you hid in women's clothes?"
The hall burst into laughter.
Alfrid's face flushed crimson. "It takes courage to wear a dress, I will have you know! Not every man has the guts!"
The laughter doubled. Even the serving girl laying down her tray hid a smile.
Bard pinched the bridge of his nose. His head throbbed.
"Do what you like," he sighed. "But I have no time for this nonsense. Our lord has given me more than enough work."
He pushed his plate aside. "Now, if you will excuse me, I must begin drafting safety guidelines for high-altitude construction…"