The ruins of Lake-town were deserted and empty.
The Master crawled out from under a pile of debris, sneezed, and shivered violently.
So cold.
"Everyone has left, Master. We should depart quickly too."
A familiar voice drifted from nearby.
Alfrid sat on the steps beside him, speaking to the Master in a steady, reassuring tone, a stark contrast to the arrogant attitude he usually showed the townspeople. Here, he almost looked mature.
Only in front of the Master could Alfrid feel a sliver of superiority, a faint satisfaction in his intelligence and status. This intoxicating feeling of manipulating from the shadows was a private pleasure. If he were in front of Bard, he could only rely on cheap tricks and brute authority to get his way.
The difference was all in their mentalities.
What they did have in common, however, was that one had a swollen eye, and the other had a matching one.
"Leave? Where to?" the Master grumbled.
"To the Lonely Mountain, of course. There's enough space there, plus weapons, and it can protect us."
"To the devil with that place full of orcs!" the Master cursed. He scrambled to his feet, rushed back into his house, and soon dragged out a large pile of his most valuable treasures.
"Master, where are you going?" Alfrid asked, watching him.
"Anywhere is better than here."
Splash.
The treasures were unceremoniously piled onto a small boat, and the Master began rowing northwest.
But that way was nothing but wasteland.
Alfrid watched the Master's retreating figure, opened his mouth as if to say something, but ultimately held his tongue. In the end, he gathered some treasures of his own and headed toward the Lonely Mountain.
At the ruins of Dale, the elven army of the Woodland Realm had assembled before the newly erected walls. Thranduil, mounted on his great elk, looked up with a flicker of confusion at the imposing stone barrier before him.
"Is the lord of this city present?" he called out, his voice echoing.
A head poked out from the top of the high wall.
"Of course I'm here."
"Levi?" Thranduil's brow, creased with concern, immediately relaxed into surprise.
Rumble!
The city gates began to rise.
"Don't just stand out there! Come in so we can talk!" Levi's voice boomed from the wall. "I saw you coming ages ago. Oh, and I created some iron golems. They're patrolling inside, but they're friendly, so don't be alarmed."
Thranduil nodded and, without hesitation, waved his troops forward. The soldiers began to enter the city.
The sound of their uniform footsteps was crisp and disciplined. When they encountered the iron golems, they parted smoothly around the constructs and continued their march without a single pause. Levi couldn't help but admire the sight. Soon, the army had spread throughout the streets and alleys, standing in perfect, silent order.
"Distribute the supplies," Thranduil commanded.
A group of elves sprang into action, handing out food and vegetables they had brought from the woodland to the refugees of Lake-town. As cheers erupted from the weary townspeople, Thranduil dismounted and met with Levi and Bard on the city walls.
Bard looked down at the scene below, his heart full. "Thank you for your generosity," he said to Thranduil. "I truly don't know how to express my gratitude."
Thanks to the pumpkin fields Levi had planted and the food everyone had brought from their homes, they had enough to eat, but their diet had been painfully monotonous. Thranduil had brought different supplies, including a good amount of wine, which was a welcome sight. As winter approached and the weather grew colder, they needed something to warm their spirits.
"Your thanks are not necessary," Thranduil replied, dismissing the gesture as a small matter. "I did not come specifically for you. I came to reclaim what belongs to me."
Levi watched the Elvenking with a half-smile. Elves, he thought, always had a way of cloaking their kindness in pragmatism, making it seem as if their good deeds were merely incidental.
Bard, however, only nodded gratefully. He didn't understand the nuances of elven pride; he only knew that these supplies were a lifeline.
"Speaking of which," Thranduil began, turning his attention to the wall, "I have heard no rumors of Dale's walls being rebuilt. Has something happened here that I am unaware of? This does not look like something that could be constructed in a few days, and..." He drew his longsword and tapped the stone beneath his feet. "It does not feel as though it were built stone by stone. It is more like someone used powerful magic to pull the stone directly from the earth, forming a seamless, natural wall."
Thranduil paused. Beings capable of such feats existed, but they were forbidden from openly displaying such power in Middle-earth.
"That was me, of course," Levi said, and promptly placed two stone blocks on the wall to demonstrate. "See? It's that simple."
"I see," Thranduil said, reluctantly accepting this unbelievable truth. "This is the legendary 'construction magic' I have heard tales of. It seems our ally is more powerful than I imagined." He then changed the subject. "I heard Gandalf is also here."
"Him," Levi pointed toward the Lonely Mountain. "He's having a chat with Thorin. It will probably be a while before he returns."
"Then I shall wait."
After a brief conversation, Thranduil descended to set up his camp. Bard went to organize the people of Lake-town. Levi, however, simply jumped from the city wall.
Whoosh!
He deployed his elytra, ignited a firework, and shot into the sky, flying toward the Lonely Mountain.
"Bilbo, take this."
In the treasury of Erebor, Thorin took out a gleaming mithril shirt and personally helped Bilbo put it on.
"No blade can pierce this mail. It is as fine as the armor Levi wears. Perhaps you will have use for it."
"But I'm not a warrior," Bilbo protested, feeling uneasy. "I'm just a hobbit."
"This is a gift. A symbol of our friendship."
Even with the dragon's curse twisting his heart, even as he muttered "I will not part with a single coin," Thorin still gave away a treasure that could buy the entire Shire.
"Thorin."
At that moment, an old man appeared at a rather inconvenient time, calling to him from across the hall of gold.
"Did you call for reinforcements?" Gandalf asked, his steps vigorous as he walked over. He patted Bilbo's shoulder, then fixed his gaze on Thorin.
"Of course, Gandalf," Thorin replied. "The day I found the Arkenstone, I contacted Dain. He is already leading the army of the Iron Hills here. They should arrive today. With our army at the gate, no one will take Erebor's treasure. Not a single coin."
Gandalf's brow furrowed. "You have changed, Thorin."
"Have I?" Thorin raised his head, his tone light and airy. "You're right. I am no longer the petty dwarf lord I once was. Now, I am the King Under the Mountain, and all the treasure in this entire mountain is mine."
"You..." Gandalf's expression grew grim. This was bad. It was exactly as it had been with his grandfather. The wizard recognized the symptoms immediately. It was dragon-sickness, a curse that afflicted the royal bloodline of Durin's folk whenever they set foot in the Lonely Mountain. Its allure was nearly as potent as the One Ring itself.
"Thorin, you are sick," Gandalf pleaded. "Put down that stone. There is still time."
"You want me to put down the Arkenstone? The very thing I have worked so hard to find? You want me to give up being King Under the Mountain?" Thorin scoffed. "I will pretend you are joking, Gandalf, but only this once."
With that, he turned and walked away.
"Without that stone, are you not still the King Under the Mountain?" Gandalf called after him.
"Whether I am king is not for a mere wizard to decide. You have no right to tell me what to do, Gandalf."
"I..." Gandalf was so angry he could barely see straight. He rushed to catch up. "What are you going to do?"
"I am waiting for Levi," Thorin said. "Rather than waste my time with a wizard who advises me to abandon the fruits of my journey, I would rather speak with the person who contributed most to it."
"Wait for him? What for?"
"Levi said the mountain's ore is not enough. He must have gotten lost and failed to find the right chamber. I will guide him there myself."
Not enough ore? Gandalf thought of the iron golem army he had seen in Dale and couldn't help but stroke his beard. His anger mysteriously subsided. That might actually be true. However, he didn't say anything. Let Thorin figure this one out for himself.
After a few more words of encouragement for Bilbo, Gandalf left.
In front of the ore warehouse, Thorin signaled for Kili to open the gate and walked inside with confidence.
"Levi simply cannot imagine our reserves," he boasted. "To him, a single blacksmith's shop worth of ore is a great deal, but our minerals are like mountains..."
His words caught in his throat.
Thorin rushed forward and gripped the railing, his knuckles white. He stared at the vast, empty warehouse, and his breathing hitched.
"I... I might have gotten lost as well." Shaking his head, he took several deep breaths, a sudden shortness in his chest. "Kili, close the gate. I need some fresh air."
"Alright," Kili quickly complied. He couldn't be sure, but he thought he heard a tremor in his uncle's voice.
A moment later, Levi landed gracefully on the wall of Erebor, right in front of them.
"Hello there."
"Not well," Thorin replied, his face grim. "I'm sorry, Levi. I believe the dragon may have eaten our ore reserves. I cannot agree to any more of your requests."
It was the most diplomatic excuse he could muster. In his mind, he silently chanted, one-fifteenth, one-fifteenth... But the thought of the treasure, his treasure, being given to an outsider made his blood boil.
"That's fine," Levi said with a shrug. He was a little disappointed, but at this point, his preparations were mostly complete.
"I just saw Gandalf walking back," Levi noted. "Did you two have words?"
"That wizard said some things he should not have and took his leave. At least he still has some self-awareness."
"Oh?" Levi's interest was piqued, but before he could ask more, the gates of Dale rose, and rows of golden-armored soldiers poured out.
"Those are... elves?!" Thorin's head whipped around. "Close the gates! Sound the alarm!"
The warning bell of Erebor began to ring, and dwarves came running, grabbing their weapons.
"It's the elven army," Dwalin growled, seeing the host outside. "What are they planning?"
"What else?" another dwarf spat. "Those despicable elves saw the dragon was dead, and now they've come to claim our treasure!"
"I knew they were up to no good!"
The dwarves erupted in a flurry of curses.
Soon, the elven army halted before the walls of Erebor. Thranduil rode forth alone and looked up at the dwarves on the rampart.
"Thorin, son of Thráin! I have heard that you reclaimed Erebor."
"Your news is late," Thorin said, his face a mask of contempt. "What do you want? If you came only to congratulate me, then I accept. If there is nothing else, I suggest you get back to your forest immediately!"
The shout echoed across the valley, and the dwarves behind him raised their fists in support.
In response, Thranduil simply waved his hand. The elven army drew their bows as one, their arrows aimed at the top of the wall. The dwarves instantly ducked for cover. Thranduil gestured again, and the elves lowered their weapons with the same flawless precision.
He glanced at Levi, who gave him a slight nod. Only then did Thranduil speak again.
"I come without hostility. Return the treasures that belong to my people, and I will withdraw."
"You will not get a single coin from me!" Thorin roared.
"Thorin, we cannot win this," Balin whispered, tugging at his sleeve. He was one of the few who supported returning the elven jewels.
At that moment, Gandalf emerged from the elven ranks. "That treasure will be your ruin, Thorin!" he shouted up at the wall.
"They did belong to them in the first place, did they not?" Levi added calmly.
Thorin's face twitched, and he ground his teeth. Just as he was about to retort, Bard stepped forward.
"Thorin, King Under the Mountain," he called out. "Do you remember the kingly promise you made to me? I ask you to fulfill it now. Return the treasures of the elven people."
"Never!"
With that single word, the negotiations were over. Everyone fell silent.
"Is this your final answer?" Thranduil asked, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword. "I ask you one last time: do you want peace, or war?"
Thorin did not answer. A thrush landed on his shoulder and chirped in his ear. A slow smile spread across his face.
"I think I know the answer," he said, looking into the distance. "Reinforcements have passed through Dale. They are here."
As Thranduil prepared to order the attack, a war horn sounded from a hill behind Dale. A column of heavily armed dwarves appeared, their war chariots and heavy crossbows aimed forward. The elite army of the Iron Hills had arrived.
The people of Dale, knowing nothing of the feud, saw only reinforcements for their dwarven allies and opened the city gates for them.
From the front of the formation, Dain Ironfoot, Lord of the Iron Hills, waved to Thorin. Overjoyed, Thorin was about to shout:
"I choose war!"
Thud!
A flying kick sent Thorin sprawling, the words dying in his throat.
"This is no time for talk of war," Levi said, standing over him. "Lie down."
The sudden turn of events stunned everyone into silence. A few dwarves opened their mouths to protest, but when Levi drew his sword, they scrambled backward. When their most powerful ally, the living legend who could solve any problem, suddenly turned against them, their courage failed them.
"Thorin! Hey!" Dain was still shouting from the hill, confused by the lack of response. "Are you there?!"
No one paid him any mind. All eyes were on Levi.
Below, Thranduil's eyes widened in shock. Gandalf nodded, a grin spreading across his face. A few seconds later, the dwarves on the wall recovered and began to inch toward Levi.
"L-L-Levi, what are you doing?" one stammered.
"Calm down!" Balin pleaded. "Listen to me and put away your sword. If Thorin has offended you, I will apologize for him! We all will!"
Bilbo, however, was not afraid. He walked past the other dwarves and looked up at Levi. "You won't hurt him, will you?"
Levi sheathed his sword. "Of course not. Look how scared you all are."
At that moment, Thorin stirred. He pushed himself up, his face a storm of fury, but before he could speak, a deep rumbling shook the earth. In the distance, the ground collapsed, and giant worms erupted from the earth, their maws crushing rock and soil.
Wide tunnels now led directly to the battlefield, and from them poured a tide of countless orcs and giant beasts.
"Center army, advance! Form ranks!" Dain roared, his attention snapping to the new threat. "Fight to the death!" The dwarf army raised their shield wall and lowered their spears, standing firm before the elven host.
The elves, in turn, pivoted to face the orc army. This was the unspoken rule of the Free Peoples of Middle-earth: no matter their conflicts, when the Great Enemy appeared, they would stand united.
From a distant mountaintop, Azog sent flag signals, commanding his forces. "Damn it," he snarled. Despite his advantage, he was still furious. "Where did all that lava underground come from?" It had incinerated several of his precious were-worms, forcing him to alter his plans.
But it was a minor setback. The orc army surged forward, a black tide covering the land.
In Dale, Bard rushed to organize a militia.
On Erebor's walls, Kili yelled, "I'm going to fight! Who's with me?"
"Me!"
"We're going too!"
The dwarves roared their approval.
"Stand by," a cold voice commanded. It was Thorin.
"What?" they cried, disbelieving. "Are we to stand by and watch?"
"I said, stand by!" Thorin repeated, then turned and walked back into the great hall, disappearing into the shadows.
Just as Levi was about to follow him, Bilbo stopped him. "Levi, do you have any rope?"
"No, but I can make some."
"Oh, that's perfect," Bilbo said, automatically ignoring the part he didn't understand. "I cannot just stand here and do nothing."
Taking the rope Levi crafted, Bilbo secured it to the rampart and slid down.
"Bilbo," Gandalf said, running to meet him. "You are joining the battle? Good. Stay by my side."
Thranduil watched the hobbit with newfound respect. "For a halfling, you are quite brave. If I am not mistaken, you were the one who stole the prison keys from under my nose, were you not? Very impressive."
"Thank you," Bilbo replied, unsure if he was being praised or scolded.
Seeing Bilbo descend, the dwarves on the wall grew restless. "No, I have to go too!" Kili declared, but Balin grabbed his arm.
"No, Kili. The king has not given the order." Kili clenched his fists but did not move. Their loyalty bound them to the wall.
At the front line, the orc vanguard crashed against the dwarven shield wall.
"What about the elves?" Bilbo asked Gandalf. "Are they not going to fight?"
Thranduil answered for him. "Elves do not yield to dwarves." Then, in a flash, rows of elves drew their long knives, ran up the dwarves' shields, and leaped into the fray, their surprise attack halting the orcish advance. They moved with an unearthly grace, some even fighting from the tips of the dwarven spears.
When the elves began to fall back, Dain roared from behind, "Charge! Dwarven courage allows no one to charge ahead of us! Lads, follow me!"
Swinging his heavy hammer, Dain was the first to charge out. "Welcome to the mountain!" he bellowed, smashing an orc's head with every blow. Thranduil followed, his own long knife a blur of silver.
But even with their leaders at the fore, the advantage of numbers began to tell.
"Where is Levi?" Gandalf muttered, growing anxious. "Where has our strongest fighter gone?"
"You sit in this magnificent hall with a crown on your head, yet you are more lowly than ever."
Before the king's throne, Dwalin's eyes filled with tears as he spoke to Thorin.
"Get out," Thorin hissed, his voice dangerously low. "Get out before I kill you myself." He drew his sword and drove the loyal dwarf away. But the words of his companions echoed in his mind.
I hope you're not like your grandfather.
That treasure will be your ruin.
Madness hides in their bloodline.
Just another mad king.
I think it's time you sobered up.
Levi...?
Thorin looked up to see a figure standing in the empty hall. "Don't think you..." he began angrily.
"This is for our friendship!"
Thud!
Levi rushed forward and punched Thorin squarely in the face, sending him crashing to the floor.
"You..."
"Stop talking nonsense and drink!" Levi produced a large bucket of milk, pinned Thorin down, and began pouring it into his mouth.
"Enough!" A moment of clarity flashed in Thorin's eyes as he gasped for air. His will began to fight back against the dragon-sickness, but his body was still pinned. "I don't think it's enough!" Levi declared, continuing to pour.
"Stop!" Thorin roared, a surge of strength allowing him to push Levi away. "I said stop! I've already figured it out!" He wiped the milk from his mouth and shouted, his voice hoarse with emotion. "Listen carefully! I... am not my grandfather!"
Clang!
He tore the crown from his head and threw it to the ground. The King Under the Mountain put on his helmet.
His eyes were clear. He looked at Levi and said in a deep, steady voice, "Let's go out and fight."
A horn sounded from Erebor's walls, its call echoing across the battlefield, followed by the joyful ringing of the warning bell. The gates of the Lonely Mountain opened, and thirteen dwarves charged out, their spirits ablaze.
"Haha, Thorin, I finally see you!" Dain cheered. Seeing his kinsman restored filled him with new strength.
"Kill!" Thorin yelled, charging at the front, Orcrist in one hand and his oaken shield in the other. Kili and Fili flanked him, clearing a path for their king.
The tide of battle began to turn. Gandalf, fighting on the front lines, couldn't help but look back toward the mountain.
Finally, he saw him.
From the open gates of Erebor, a warrior in black armor, holding an elven longsword, emerged into the sunlight. The orcs around him instinctively fell back, their weapons trembling in their hands.
A slow smile spread across Gandalf's face.
"I was waiting for you."
The armies of the Free Peoples, humans, dwarves, and elves, stood united. Their commanders, Gandalf, Thranduil, Dain Ironfoot, Bard the Bowman, and Thorin Oakenshield, took their places. Against them stood the dark host of Azog and Bolg, outnumbering them five to one. And now, their final champion had arrived.
The battle for the Lonely Mountain had truly begun.