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A white horse carried a Grey-robed wizard into the camp.
Gandalf surveyed the scene before him… and frowned.
Order. Cooperation. Calm.
This was impossible.
Dwarves despised Wood-elves. He knew this better than anyone. Even the Elves of Rivendell had been dragged into that resentment.
Yet now, Elves stood openly within Erebor's territory.
How.
Had Thorin been killed?
"Who's in charge here," Gandalf called out. "Who commands, Which of the Elves is responsible?! Where is Thranduil?!"
"Hey! You! With the pointy hat," someone shouted back. "What are you yelling for. Erebor doesn't feed idle mouths."
"Who is in charge?"
"What do you want," Bard demanded, stepping forward. "I am Bard. Lord of Dale. Who are you?"
"Where are the dwarves," Gandalf pressed. "Where is Jimmy! Where is Jimmy?!"
"He's in the inner city," Bard replied cautiously. "He'll come out shortly. And you are."
"I am Gandalf the Grey," the wizard said firmly. "Member of the dwarven company. Where are they?"
…
Once Gandalf confirmed the dwarves were alive and well, he headed straight for the Elven camp.
The one overseeing matters there was Prince Legolas.
Thranduil had already returned to Mirkwood.
Protecting stubborn, hard-headed dwarves clearly annoyed him. Leaving Legolas behind was easier than watching the situation unfold firsthand.
Out of sight. Out of mind.
…
"Wizard Gandalf," Legolas greeted politely. "I have heard your name often. Meeting you is indeed worth celebrating."
"I greet you as well, Prince of the Elves," Gandalf replied. "But I must ask… what in the world happened here?"
Legolas did not conceal anything.
He explained the entire sequence of events.
From negotiation to coercion. From duels to deterrence.
By the end, Gandalf was silent.
Jimmy had convinced Thorin.
Thorin had not been corrupted by the Arkenstone.
Smaug was truly dead.
This was… unprecedented.
"Extraordinary," Gandalf murmured.
"When will the dwarves come out. I need to speak with them."
"Hey. Gandalf," a familiar voice called.
The tent flap was pulled aside.
Jimmy stepped out, Kíli beside him, grinning.
"Sorry," Jimmy said lightly. "You're late."
Kíli's attention, however, was fixed elsewhere.
Tauriel.
Somehow, despite everything, the two had found their way back to each other.
Jimmy glanced at Legolas… with a hint of pity.
Never wear green hats, he thought. History had proven that lesson enough times.
"Jimmy," Gandalf said with relief. "This might be the best sight I've seen in weeks."
He sighed.
"Everything lately has been disaster after disaster. The Necromancer of Dol Guldur has returned… and it is Sauron."
The words froze the air.
"The Orcs of Moria now serve him," Gandalf continued. "They intend to seize Erebor. To restore Sauron's dominion."
He spoke without pause, as though unburdening himself.
Perhaps having someone reliable before him made it easier to speak freely.
When he finished, Legolas, Bard, and Kíli stood stunned.
Orcs alone were already overwhelming.
Add Sauron to the equation…
"Gandalf," Jimmy said calmly, "sounds like you've had quite the journey."
He tilted his head.
"You plan to enter the inner city and speak with Thorin."
Gandalf frowned.
"Why hasn't Thorin come out?"
Jimmy exhaled.
"That's… complicated."
He gestured toward the mountain.
"You know how much treasure lies within Erebor. And Thorin has only thirteen dwarves under his command."
He continued evenly.
"Even the people of Lake-town outnumber them several times over."
"If the inner city opens," Jimmy said, "the dwarves can't watch everything."
"As for the Elves… we're allies for now."
His eyes sharpened.
"An alliance built on white gem ornaments hanging over a furnace. One slip away from destruction."
The meaning was clear.
Peace existed.
Because fear did.
Fragile.
Wasn't it?
That was the truth of it.
Until the dwarves of the Iron Hills arrived, Thorin could only remain on guard against everyone.
Jimmy never bothered sparing anyone's pride. Facts were facts. If someone wanted to turn hostile, the solution was simple enough… cut them down.
As for trying to threaten Jimmy by using Kíli as leverage—
That idea belonged in the same category as kidnapping a bear cub to negotiate with its mother.
You might get revenge.
But you would never make him drop his blade.
…
Gandalf stood in silence.
So this piece… was a painted surface. Thin enough to shatter at a touch.
"Very well," Gandalf finally said. "I'll speak with Thorin in detail."
He paused, then looked at Jimmy with interest.
"But what truly intrigues me… is how you killed Smaug."
Jimmy raised an eyebrow.
"Why do you assume it was me?"
"Because you are the strongest," Gandalf replied without hesitation. "If anyone could kill Smaug, it would only be you."
Jimmy shrugged.
"Fair enough."
"I crippled his wings," Jimmy said casually. "Once he was grounded, a fire-drake became nothing more than an oversized beast."
He gestured lightly.
"My cleaver and Blade pierced his scales easily enough. After that… it was simply a matter of time."
Then he added.
"There is something I want you to examine."
Jimmy retrieved a crystalline mass from the Horadric Cube.
A dense, dark-red stone pulsing faintly with heat.
Smaug's dragonfire core.
Gandalf's expression shifted instantly.
"This contains immense dragonfire energy," he said slowly. "Yet it is remarkably stable."
He looked up.
"Where did you obtain it?"
"From Smaug's skull."
Gandalf drew a sharp breath.
"Smaug was the last true fire-drake of Middle-earth," he said gravely. "Records of slain dragons are scarce. Whatever this object is… You will have to study it yourself."
He hesitated.
"But do not attempt to destroy it."
"The energy within is vast. If it were to rupture, it could reduce a wide region to nothing but ash."
Jimmy nodded.
"I'll remember that."
He tucked the core away.
"Shall we see Thorin?"
"Of course."
…
After several days of repairs, Erebor's inner fortress had largely been restored.
Gold and gems still lay scattered across the halls, untouched.
Thorin's focus had been clear.
Armor. Siege engines. Stone throwers.
And storage.
Rooms were cleared and reinforced to house grain and weapons.
"Welcome, Gandalf," Thorin said solemnly.
Seeing the king steady and clear-eyed, Gandalf finally relaxed.
"Seeing you well puts my heart at ease," Gandalf said warmly. "Tell me… the Arkenstone. Has it been recovered?"
"Of course," Thorin replied.
He drew it forth.
"I keep it close at all times."
The Arkenstone shimmered, starlight swirling within like a slow-moving nebula.
A marvel.
Gandalf examined it carefully… then exhaled.
There was no trace of corruption.
No whisper. No shadow.
That alone defied expectation.
"Congratulations, Thorin," Gandalf said sincerely. "You have fulfilled your ancestors' dream. Erebor is yours once more. Smaug is defeated."
"All thanks to reliable Jimmy," Thorin said firmly.
Jimmy scratched his head and laughed.
"It's nothing," he said lightly. "You did say I'm forever a guest of the dwarves. That's enough for me."
Thorin nodded.
Then Gandalf's expression darkened.
"There is more," he said. "Bad news."
"War is coming."
"Yes," Gandalf continued gravely. "The Orcs of Moria, led by Azog, march toward Erebor."
"They now serve Sauron."
"If they seize the Lonely Mountain, they gain an unassailable stronghold."
"From there, Middle-earth burns."
"Advance or retreat, all roads would serve them."
"The shadow of war will fall upon every land."
The hall fell silent.
Gold glittered uselessly in the torchlight.
What mattered now was steel.
And time.
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