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Jimmy woke before dawn, fastened his armor, set the blade at his waist, and lifted the heavy saber into his hand.
He pushed the door open.
"Oh. Of course." someone groaned. "Jimmy is fully armed again."
"Move out."
An elven escort formed up and guided the company toward the waterways leading to Lake town, the settlement lay outside the Woodland Realm's borders, yet its lifeblood flowed through trade with the Wood Elves, which gave them more influence than any banner ever could.
"Do you really think there will be a fight?" Tauriel asked quietly as she walked beside Kíli.
"Absolutely," Kíli replied, patting his quiver. "Whenever Jimmy gears up like that, something always happens. Want to make it interesting. Let us see whose aim is better."
"Competing with elves in archery." Tauriel laughed. "That sounds like a joke."
"Watch closely." Kíli grinned. "Dwarves can shoot too."
She glanced at him, then at Jimmy.
"Well," she said lightly. "You are tall, for a dwarf."
"I am still a dwarf." Kíli protested. "Just a taller one."
She smiled. "Compared to him, you are not."
Ahead, the channel came into view.
"That is the waterway," Legolas said. "You will take the boats. We will move along the banks."
Jimmy stopped abruptly.
His head tilted.
"I smell orcs."
He vanished forward in a burst of motion.
"Wait," Legolas called out. "Careful, human warrior, do not rush into friendly fire."
Too late.
The dwarves were already drawing weapons, Kíli had an arrow nocked.
"You are joking," Tauriel said under her breath. "That is impossible."
"Rule one of the company," Kíli replied calmly. "You can always trust Jimmy."
A howl split the air.
Wargs vaulted over the low wall ahead.
Jimmy's blade was already in motion.
Steel swept through the air.
One strike, one kill.
Warg or orc, it did not matter, nothing survived a second blow.
"Battle stations."
Elven bows sang.
The sound of drawn strings rippled down the line.
Arrows flew.
The Wood Elves lived up to every story ever told; calling it accuracy did not do it justice. Arrows slipped past allies by inches, curved through gaps, and struck charging orcs with perfect timing.
It was not shooting.
It was art.
Jimmy watched with genuine admiration as the arrows moved; the way they moved felt like an extension of their bodies.
He did not notice that Legolas was watching him the same way.
The fluid blade works, the constant motion, every part of Jimmy's body a weapon, beautiful and lethal at the same time.
The elves had not seen him fight the web shooters.
Now they understood.
"Is he always like this?" Tauriel asked quietly.
"Worse," Kíli replied. "When we reached the skin changer's cabin, he got irritated, broke the orc army, and chased them for over a hundred miles."
"This time," Kíli added with excitement. "He wants to challenge Smaug. Become a dragon slayer."
"Enough." Thorin cc snapped, cutting down an orc. "Do not spread foolish talk."
"Right," Kíli muttered.
They reached the waterway.
The dwarves boarded the boats while the elves and Jimmy split the banks, orcs rushed from both sides, but the line held.
Jimmy barely needed to swing now.
He grabbed fallen weapons and hurled them across the channel, crushing orcs mid charge, his blade resting on his shoulder as if this were a stroll.
The current carried them forward.
Toward Lake town.
Toward the mountain at last.
The Wood Elves were proud by nature, and being outpaced was not something they accepted easily.
Bows snapped again and again, arrows flying in flawless arcs, yet even so, they were always half a step behind Jimmy.
Then he jumped.
Splash!
Jimmy plunged straight into the channel, blood washing off his armor in red ribbons as the current carried it away. If this moment were written in the language of systems, it would read something like this.
You have led allied forces through multiple victories.
Experience gained.
Elven reputation increased to the highest respect.
Jimmy surfaced, scrubbed the remaining grime from his armor, and vaulted back onto one of the boats with ease, the elves following in the vessels behind.
Somehow, Kíli had ended up on one of the rear boats as well.
His eyes had not left Tauriel even once.
Anyone could see what was going on.
"He is always like this," Tauriel asked quietly, nodding toward Jimmy.
"What," Kíli said. "Oh, the fighting, yes. He does not lose."
Ahead, Legolas raised a hand.
"Lake town is just ahead. As agreed, we will escort you this far only. The orc host has reached the river, we must return and prepare."
"You will need to," Jimmy replied calmly. "What comes next will not be easy."
Legolas inclined his head.
---
Lake Town welcomed them with open arms.
With an elven prince present, no one questioned the dwarves' arrival, respect came quickly, doors opened, food was provided, and supplies were gathered.
If Jimmy had not been conserving his strength for what lay ahead, the Master of the town would have thrown a celebration for the entire city.
At dawn, Thorin was already preparing to leave.
"Wait," Bilbo said anxiously. "Did not Gandalf tell us to wait for him here?"
"We do not have the luxury of waiting." Thorin Oakenshield replied sharply. "The time of the secret door is approaching. If we miss it, everything fails."
Bilbo swallowed and turned to Jimmy.
"Jimmy, what do you think?"
Bilbo had heard the stories in Lake town, whispered fears of fire and ruin, of a dragon that could not be challenged, and the truth weighed heavily on him, especially knowing his role.
His fingers brushed the ring in his pocket, drawing a small measure of courage.
"Time does not stop for anyone," Jimmy said. "But do not worry, Bilbo. I will cover you."
He clenched his fist slightly, feeling the familiar tension beneath his skin.
As long as something bled, it could be killed.
Having reached an agreement, the company set out.
---
They stood before the mountain at last.
Erebor.
"According to the map, it should be here," Thorin muttered, staring at bare stone. "It has to be here."
"I think you should look over there," Bilbo said, pointing.
A stone stairway rose along the mountain's side, winding upward, the rock face carved into the likeness of a dwarven king, solemn and eternal.
"Well done, Bilbo," Thorin said, pride creeping into his voice. "You are becoming a true burglar."
They climbed.
"This is it," Thorin said, holding the key, facing a smooth stone wall. "When the thrush knocks, when the setting sun of Durin's Day strikes the grey stone, the keyhole will appear."
"And until then." someone asked.
"We wait," Thorin replied. "This door obeys ancient rules. Only the right moment reveals it."
Balin packed his pipe, struck a light, and smiled.
"Then let us enjoy the view while the sun does its work."
The mountain loomed above them, silent, ancient, and watching.
The dragon slept within.
For now.
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