When Thorin and Gandalf returned to the feast, the great hall was roaring with a fiery, chaotic energy.
A large number of Dwarves and Elves were thoroughly drunk, staggering through the hall or passed out on the tables, muttering incoherently. Others had simply fallen asleep on the floor, their hands still clutching empty cups.
But the contest was far from over.
The two proud races had never conceded to one another, and any warrior still standing continued to drink, their competitive spirits fueled by ale and pride. The Men of Dale, swept up in the raucous atmosphere, gathered around to cheer them on. Some who could play instruments struck up lively, unfamiliar tunes. Finding the music a bit monotonous, others began to rhythmically bang their fists on the tables or clap and stomp their feet, adding to the joyous din.
It was a scene of pure, unbridled celebration.
However, the sight that first caught Gandalf and Thorin's attention was a large table off to the side, clearly the epicenter of the drinking contest.
"Hiccup," a Dwarf slurred. "This cup… is for our victory!"
"This is already the fifth time you've toasted our victory, Glóin," Levi said calmly, clinking his tankard against the Dwarf's and downing the large mug of ale in one smooth motion.
Glóin raised his cup, took a few deep breaths, but could not bring himself to drink.
Levi, however, was merciless.
"Master Glóin, are you trying to raise fish in that cup of yours?" he asked, a slight smile on his face. "If you leave that much in there, I'm afraid the poor fish will drown soon."
"You… you… what an insult!" Flustered and exasperated, Glóin steeled himself, tilted his head back, and drained the cup in a single, desperate gulp.
The next moment… thud.
The Dwarf could no longer sit upright. His eyes rolled back into his head, and he slid unceremoniously under the table, ale dribbling from the corner of his mouth.
"You're next, Balin." Levi refilled a fresh cup and pointed it at the elderly Dwarf, who was the only one of their company left standing. As for the others, they had long since been defeated and were snoring soundly, the bold declaration of 'no tag-teaming' they had made at the start now a distant, forgotten memory.
"No, no, no, I think I'll pass," Balin said, waving his hands frantically. "I have things to do, I'll be going now!"
He now understood what the Orcs must have felt when facing Levi on the battlefield. It was a kind of unshakable, bottomless despair.
"Haha, it looks like you're all having a good time," Gandalf said, sitting down. He picked up a cup of ale, voluntarily clinked it with Levi's, and drank it all.
Thorin crashed onto the bench and mirrored the gesture. "The stories did not do you justice," he rumbled, a newfound respect in his voice. "Your capacity for drink rivals your might in battle. It knows no limit." He then threw his head back and emptied his own mug.
Levi naturally drank a cup with them. "It's alright, I don't feel anything. But they look like they're getting a bit sleepy."
Hearing this, Thorin turned to look at Balin, who was forcing a very strained smile. While nodding in agreement, Balin secretly decided that these words must never reach the ears of those lying on the floor. The blow to their pride would be devastating.
As the last of the most valiant and battle-hardened Dwarves succumbed, a notification appeared in Levi's vision.
[Reputation with the Dwarves of Durin +100]
Levi paid it little mind. At his current standing, another hundred points were negligible. If he wanted to, he could probably ask Thorin for a lordship right now, and no one present would object. The same went for the Elves. As for Dale, he was already its lord. His reputation there was a given; the Men singing in the hall had already woven his name into their songs.
While the hall bustled with noise, it was quiet outside the gates. The Great Eagles, too large to move about comfortably inside, had gathered on the plains to feast on roasted meat provided by the Dwarves. Radagast and Beorn joined them, preferring the open air. Beorn's eating habits were similar to the Elves; despite his bear form, he did not care for meat, his own home consisting only of berries, honey, and bread.
The Lord of the Eagles had intended to return immediately after the battle, but Thorin had insisted they stay for a few more days to be properly thanked. Since they had nothing else to do and were being well-fed, they agreed.
On the silent, empty walls of Dale, Legolas stood alone, staring out at the dark battlefield, lost in thought. Just as he turned to leave, a figure blocked his path.
Thranduil.
Seeing his son safe and sound, the Elvenking's eyes seemed to regain a light that had long been absent. Father and son looked at each other in silence.
"I cannot go back," Legolas spoke first, his voice firm. He had exiled himself.
"Where will you go?" Thranduil asked.
"I do not know."
"Go north," Thranduil said, his voice taking on a distant, ethereal tone as a whisper of foresight came to him. "There you will find the Dúnedain. Seek out their chieftain. They call him Strider. There is much you can learn from him."
Legolas listened to these words, nodded silently, and turned to leave. He had only taken a few steps when his father called out his name, a rare awkwardness in his voice.
"Legolas."
The prince stopped.
Thranduil looked at his son's back and said, his voice thick with emotion, "Your mother loved you. More than anyone. More than life itself."
And so do I. The last words remained unspoken, but the sentiment hung heavy in the air between them, no longer needing a voice.
Legolas lowered his head. He turned sideways to give a slight bow, then placed a hand on his chest and extended it towards his father. Thranduil immediately mirrored the gesture, placing a hand on his own heart. In the Elven custom, it was an embrace shared across a distance.
With that, Legolas walked away and disappeared from sight.
Thranduil closed his eyes, taking a long moment to compose himself. For so many years, he had been consumed by the loss of his wife's heirlooms, forgetting the truly precious legacy she had left behind. As he turned to leave, his gaze fell upon another section of the wall, where an Elf and a Dwarf were nestled together, looking up at the stars.
The king's serene composure instantly shattered. A shadow of profound disapproval crossed his features, and he quickly changed direction, moving away from the sight.
The night, by turns quiet and raucous, passed.
The next day, the Dwarves, clad in polished armor and bearing their finest weapons, gathered in the vast meeting hall. Thorin, wearing a simple crown and a solemn king's robe, stood on a high platform before them. The coronation ceremony of the King under the Mountain had begun. Levi and the other leaders stood in a special guest section to observe.
Thorin glanced their way, giving a subtle nod.
Seeing the time was right, Balin raised his sword and shouted, "Long live the King!"
"Long live the King!" a thousand voices roared in unison as every Dwarf raised their weapon.
The coronation was swift and simple, as was the Dwarven way. Afterward, Thorin personally presented a golden circlet to the Lord of the Eagles, swearing an alliance for generations to come. Beorn also received considerable rewards and the sworn friendship of the Dwarves, which greatly challenged his old impressions of their race.
Following this, Thorin held a private council with Thranduil before the throne. He had Kíli retrieve a chest from the treasury. Inside, a collection of white gems glittered as brilliantly as starlight. After so many years, Thranduil finally had his wife's heirlooms back. With their return, the long and bitter feud between the Dwarves and Elves was, for a time, resolved.
Elsewhere, Levi was wandering through the now-cleared cellars. He had just finished helping the Dwarves repair the terrain damaged by the battle, using his abilities to reopen blocked passages and restore the mountain's structure. As he walked, he saw a figure sitting on a pile of treasure, staring blankly.
"So much treasure," Bilbo fretted. "To be honest, I have no idea how to use it all."
"If anyone heard you had such worries, they would be too jealous to sleep," Levi said, walking over. One-fifteenth of Smaug's hoard was an amount so vast it was difficult to comprehend. He had achieved gold freedom, at least for a while.
"This could fill ten of my houses! I don't want my home to be filled with gold," Bilbo shook his head. "By the way, Levi!" he said suddenly. "You have a use for this gold, right? I saw it, your golden apples are made of gold. You must need it."
"You're right. For me, the more gold, the better. Many of the things I need to do can't be done without it."
"Then I'll give it to you," Bilbo said nonchalantly. "I'll just take enough for my future. You can have the rest. You need it more than I do."
The hobbit casually decided to give away a fortune that could buy the entire Shire several times over.
Levi smiled. "Then I'll gladly accept, Bilbo. And if you have time, come visit Roadside Fort. Its gates are always open for you." He then crafted a full stack of Golden Apples on the spot, piled them in a sack, and handed them to the hobbit. "Take these. If you ever feel unwell, just take a bite."
Bilbo opened his mouth, then closed it. So that's how it was. The miraculous apples could be mass-produced.
With all necessary business concluded, it was time for farewells. Thranduil and the Elven army returned to Mirkwood. The Lord of the Eagles flew back with Radagast and Beorn. Gandalf and Bilbo, however, waited to travel with Levi.
But Levi had one last matter to attend to. He stood on the walls of Dale, a slight headache forming as he looked down at the large group of townsfolk gathered below. They waited in silence, their eyes fixed on him.
"The townsfolk are all waiting for your instructions," Bard said, coming to stand beside him. "After all, the actual lord of this place is you."
"I may be the actual lord, but they are not my actual subjects," Levi mused.
"No," Bard shook his head. "They are all sincerely willing to acknowledge you."
As if to confirm his words, a notification appeared.
[Population has reached the standard. Conditions for establishing a faction have been met.]
Levi opened the faction map. It showed his two territories, Roadside Fort and Dale, separated by an entire mountain range. The continuity was terrible. Perhaps I can build a road, he thought. A very, very long road. Or... something faster. Those were thoughts for later.
"Bard, are you sure you want me to be the lord?" Levi asked.
"None of us have any objections," Bard replied instantly. "This is what we all unanimously want. You are the lord now."
"Alright," Levi nodded. "Then, I, the lord of Dale, will now issue my first command."
The townsfolk below listened attentively.
"I appoint Bard as the regent of Dale. All subsequent matters will be handled by him. He has my full authority." Then he turned to Bard. "And I am entrusting you with the management of my share of the treasure for the reconstruction of this city."
"As you command," Bard said with a bow.
[Territory Regent Appointed: Bard]
The townsfolk cheered.
"By the way, my lord, what about Lake-town—" Bard began, already stepping into his new role.
Levi physically recoiled. "Don't, don't call me 'my lord'. I'm not used to it. Just call me Levi."
"Alright, Lord Levi."
"What did you say?"
"Lord Levi."
"Hmm?"
"Levi."
"That's more like it," Levi nodded. "Lake-town isn't my territory. The Master ran off, and the deputy has disappeared…"
"I'm here!" a familiar voice shouted from the crowd below.
Thump!
He was immediately knocked unconscious and dragged away again.
Ignoring the commotion, Levi continued, "Lake-town needs a new Master. Bard, you grew up there. The people trust you. It should be you." He gave Bard a meaningful look. "To be honest, worldly power and wealth are not of much use to me. It's better to leave these things to someone who is more skilled at them."
Bard looked at Levi, a strange feeling dawning on him. This legendary man cared little for power or wealth. He felt joy and sorrow, but his emotions always seemed somewhat detached, as if he were playing a grand game. It was like a king pretending to be a merchant. The joy was in the experience of playing the part, not in the profit. After settling these matters, Levi became a hands-off lord on his very first day. All he wanted was to go home.
With Gandalf and Bilbo, he set off. When they reached the Misty Mountains, the three of them walked straight up the most dangerous pass. Not a single Orc or Warg showed its head. The silence was absolute.
"Anyone home?" Levi shouted into the dark entrance of Goblin-town. There was no response. Before leaving, he took out some stone blocks and sealed the main gate shut.
After crossing the mountains, they parted ways at the crossroads. Levi headed for Roadside Fort, while Gandalf escorted Bilbo to the borders of the Shire.
"We must part here," Gandalf said, his gaze serious.
"That's a shame," Bilbo replied. "I quite enjoy traveling with you both."
"Bilbo," Gandalf said softly, stepping closer. "Do you really think your escapes were all due to mere luck? That magic ring… it should not be used carelessly."
Bilbo froze. "I… I don't know what you mean…"
"Do not take me for a fool," Gandalf cut him off, his voice low but firm. "I know you found one in the tunnels of Goblin-town. I have been watching you."
Defeated, Bilbo sighed. "Alright. I understand. I will be careful."
"You are a very fine person, Mr. Baggins," Gandalf said, his tone softening. "But sometimes, it is the small folk who must change the world, because they have no other choice."
Bilbo didn't understand, but he nodded. After a final handshake, he turned and walked towards his home.
Meanwhile, Levi had already arrived at Roadside Fort. Returning after more than half a year, he noticed something new. On an open space not far from his walls, a few crude tents had been erected.
This piqued his curiosity. He walked over.
"Hey, you over there! What are you doing here?" he called out.
The people in the tents startled, stopping their work and emerging. When they saw Levi's face, their numb expressions slowly transformed into ones of joyful, tearful surprise.
"It's the lord! The lord who saved us is back!"