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Seeing the situation unfold, Jimmy lightly tapped Bilbo's shoulder.
"Don't pity him," Jimmy said calmly. "Let me show you his darker side."
With that, Jimmy stepped forward.
"Bard. Greetings."
Bard looked up, surprised.
"And you are…?"
"Oh. I'm—"
"He is Jimmy," Thorin cut in coldly. "The eternal friend of all dwarves. What Jimmy says represents my will."
Bard's eyes lit up immediately.
A human. Someone who might be easier to reason with.
"Greetings, Jimmy," Bard said quickly. "The people of Dale are suffering from wounds and hunger. We truly need this work and the gold that comes with it. Please persuade the King Under the Mountain."
Jimmy nodded slowly.
"Hold on," he said. "Let me ask you something first."
He tilted his head slightly.
"If," Jimmy said evenly, "I were to ask Thorin to hand Dale over to me… what would you do?"
Bard froze.
"No one would recognize you as Lord of Dale," Bard replied stiffly. "You are not of Dale."
Jimmy smiled faintly.
"Neither are you."
His voice sharpened.
"You are people of Lake-town. When the dwarven reinforcements arrive, tell me… who do you think will be recognized as the rightful lord of Dale?"
Others didn't understand the weight of those words.
Bard did.
Numbers meant nothing here. From the dwarves' perspective, they were trespassers.
If the Iron Hills arrived and the dwarves decided to reclaim Dale by force… Bard's people would become invaders overnight.
Panic crept into Bard's eyes.
"No. You can't do this," he said urgently. "We share a common enemy. The Orcs."
He leaned forward.
"Jimmy, you're human too. You can't do this. If you want to be Lord of Dale, I can step aside."
He swallowed.
"I'll remain to assist you… to ensure fair treatment of the people."
Assist.
In other words, strip power quietly from the inside.
Jimmy laughed.
"Careful," he said. "You almost convinced me."
His eyes hardened.
"What if I refuse?"
Bard's voice dropped.
"Jimmy," he said slowly, "when people are driven into a corner… they will do anything."
He glanced at the walls.
"There are only a dozen of you."
The threat was clear.
Thorin's face darkened.
He drew breath to shout—
But Jimmy raised a hand.
"Easy."
Then Jimmy looked back at Bard.
"I hear you're skilled with a sword," Jimmy said casually. "And with a bow."
"Tomorrow. At the same time. You. A champion of the Wood-elves. And me."
His voice carried weight.
"We've killed Smaug. Don't mistake small numbers for weakness."
He continued calmly.
"This duel decides whether the dwarves hire your people… and how the Elves distribute their food."
Bard stiffened.
"Tell the Elvenking this," Jimmy added. "If he refuses the duel, or tries to break the agreement…"
Jimmy smiled thinly.
"We throw the white-gem ornaments into the forge."
His gaze was merciless.
"Tell Thranduil this isn't bluffing. If he wants to burn bridges, we burn them completely."
He took a step closer.
"Oh, and one more thing."
"You'd better fight with the intent to kill me."
His voice dropped.
"Because if you don't… what dies won't just be you."
"It will be your people. The Elves' white gems. And everything left of Lake-town."
"You're despicable," Bard spat.
Jimmy laughed.
"Despicable. Maybe."
His eyes were ice-cold.
"But when you let the Elves treat you like attack dogs… You should've expected this."
He tilted his head.
"Tell me. If we offered the Elves those gems in exchange for wiping you out… how many breaths do you think they'd hesitate?"
One. Two.
Or none.
Bard shuddered.
He had no doubt Jimmy would do it.
This man wasn't cruel for pleasure.
He was cruel because he understood people.
"I'll inform the Elvenking," Bard said hoarsely. "Let's see if you're still this confident when our forces surround you."
He turned his horse and rode away.
Jimmy watched him go… expression unreadable.
Jimmy returned and patted Bilbo on the shoulder.
"Well. You saw it, didn't you," he said calmly. "That's who they really are."
"When begging fails, they threaten. Why," Jimmy continued, voice flat. "Because of the treasure in Erebor, Desire without limits… that's what drives them."
"Will you kill them," Bilbo asked quietly.
Jimmy looked at him.
"If you had to choose," he said, "between them killing me, or me killing them… what would you choose?"
Bilbo fell silent.
After a moment, he sighed.
"Alright. But they are also enemies of the Orcs. If there's a way to avoid—"
"I know," Jimmy cut in. "And you heard it yourself. If I hadn't intimidated them, they would have attacked us."
He gestured toward the walls.
"There are barely a dozen of us. They could wear us down without losing a single battle."
His voice hardened.
"Their decision-makers must understand one thing: we are not prey."
"If they choose war," Jimmy continued, "we may die… but we will drag their leaders down with us."
He squeezed Bilbo's shoulder once more, then turned away.
"I'm going to try on my armor."
The new armor felt different.
Heavier.
Denser.
Stronger.
Mithril had been mixed into the plates. The inner lining was dragonhide. Its defensive strength had clearly risen to another level.
Only one flaw remained.
Heat retention.
…
The next day, the Elvenking arrived with five hundred Elves.
Bard came as well… along with over a hundred townsfolk.
Jimmy stood alone in the open ground, his cleaver resting against his shoulder, watching the Elves form ranks.
"You are brave," Thranduil said as he approached atop his great stag, "but also foolish."
He stopped several paces away.
"Why choose stubborn dwarves over the Elves?"
Jimmy glanced at Bard and the ragged crowd behind him.
Elven-style armor. Elven weapons.
The alliance had clearly tightened overnight.
Likely Thranduil's way of reassuring Bard.
Jimmy laughed softly.
"Foolish," he said. "I killed Smaug. Do you believe you're harder to kill than a dragon?"
He lifted his blade slightly.
"That gate is the only entrance. The white-gem ornaments are beautiful… pure… hanging above a roaring furnace."
He tilted his head.
"Do you think you have time to break through before they melt?"
His voice sharpened.
"And beside them is the Arkenstone. If every dwarf learns it was destroyed because of you…"
Jimmy smiled coldly.
"Dwarves and Elves would fight until one race vanished."
He locked eyes with Thranduil.
"You are a king. But even you couldn't carry that hatred."
He stepped forward.
"This duel exists to remind you of one thing: not everything is under your control."
"Do not assume you've calculated everything. Elves live long lives… long enough to forget what it means to die for something."
He raised his blade.
"Now. Choose your champion."
"If you win, Dale goes to Bard, as you wish."
"If you lose," Jimmy said evenly, "you honor the agreement you made with Balin."
Jimmy flicked his blade lightly.
"You plan well," Thranduil said coolly. "But Elves excel with the bow."
"That's fine," Jimmy replied. "Fifty meters is enough. I'll charge from fifty meters."
Thranduil's eyes narrowed.
"If you seek death, don't blame me."
"Beorik," Thranduil said calmly, "test the strength of the Dragonslayer."
"Yes," Beorik replied, striking his chest in salute.
Beorik was captain of the Wood-elf royal guard. Thranduil's most trusted blade. The strongest among them.
"Beorik," Jimmy said, stepping back, "remember this."
"The one who defeats you is called Jimmy Halstead."
Jimmy moved backward until the distance between them reached fifty meters.
An arrow was drawn.
A body lowered.
The battlefield fell silent.
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