The battlefield was still as the sun rose over the horizon, casting its golden light upon the broken remnants of the Orc army. Victory had been hard-won, and now the survivors began to gather their dead and tend to the wounded. Amidst the somber aftermath, a sense of relief and triumph slowly began to take hold.
As the men, elves, and dwarves regrouped, word spread of Thorin Oakenshield's coronation. Erebor, the Lonely Mountain, had been reclaimed and defended, and now it was time for its king to take his throne. The elves and men, captivated by the dwarves' determination and newfound camaraderie, decided to stay and witness this historic moment.
That evening, the gates of Erebor opened wide to welcome the armies of men and elves. Banners bearing the sigil of Durin fluttered in the mountain winds, and torches lit the path leading into the mountain's grand halls. The vast chambers of Erebor had been cleared of debris, and the throne room, once abandoned and desolate, was now alive with activity.
The treasure-filled halls of the Lonely Mountain glimmered with gold and jewels, casting an ethereal glow over the grand feast being prepared. Long tables were laden with roasted meats, hearty breads, and overflowing goblets of ale and wine. The air was filled with the hum of conversation and the sounds of dwarves singing their ancient songs.
Sirius Black, leaning casually against a stone pillar, took in the scene with a mixture of amusement and awe. "I'll admit," he said to Gandalf, who stood nearby, "the dwarves know how to throw a celebration. Though I could do without all the singing about gold."
Gandalf chuckled, puffing on his pipe. "They have much to celebrate. Thorin has reclaimed not just a home, but the pride and legacy of his people."
Sirius glanced at the center of the hall, where Thorin sat surrounded by his companions. Despite his exhaustion and injuries, the dwarf radiated an air of quiet strength.
Thorin caught Sirius's gaze and raised his goblet. "To Jimmy Potter!" he called out, his deep voice echoing across the hall. "A hobbit of courage and cunning, without whom Erebor would still be unclaimed."
The hall erupted in cheers, and Sirius raised his own goblet in return. "To the king under the mountain!" he replied, earning another round of applause.
The celebration reached its peak as the time for Thorin's coronation arrived. The guests gathered in the throne room, a vast chamber carved from the mountain itself. The walls were adorned with intricate carvings depicting the history of Durin's folk, and at the far end of the room stood the throne of Erebor—a magnificent seat of stone and gold.
Thorin, dressed in royal robes and bearing the sword Orcrist at his side, approached the throne. His companions, Balin, Dwalin, Fili, and Kili, stood proudly at his side. Gandalf and Sirius stood among the honored guests, alongside Bard and Legolas, who represented the men of Dale and the elves of Mirkwood.
As Thorin ascended the steps to the throne, Balin stepped forward, holding the Arkenstone—a gem of unparalleled beauty and a symbol of the kingship of Durin's line.
"With this stone," Balin said, his voice steady and reverent, "we honor the line of Durin. Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, you have reclaimed our home and restored our honor. May your reign be long and prosperous."
Balin placed the Arkenstone in Thorin's hands, and the room fell silent as the dwarf king turned to face his people.
"I am no longer the king in exile," Thorin declared, his voice filled with emotion. "Erebor is ours once more, and together, we shall rebuild it. To the men of Dale and the elves of Mirkwood, who fought beside us this day, I offer my thanks and my friendship. May this alliance endure as long as the mountain stands."
The room erupted into applause as Thorin took his seat upon the throne. For the first time in decades, the Lonely Mountain had a king.
As the celebration continued late into the night, Sirius found himself seated beside Gandalf near one of the roaring fires that warmed the hall. The wizard seemed content, his usual stern demeanor softened by the warmth of the occasion.
"You know," Sirius began, swirling the ale in his goblet, "I wasn't sure I'd stick around after the battle. But seeing Thorin on that throne… it feels right to be here."
Gandalf nodded. "You've played your part in this story, Jimmy. But there are always more tales to be told, and I suspect your journey is far from over."
Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Are you saying you've got another adventure planned for me, Gandalf?"
The wizard smiled enigmatically. "Perhaps. But for now, let us enjoy this moment. Such victories are rare, and they should be savored."
As the dwarves sang another rousing song and the hall filled with laughter and cheer, Sirius leaned back and allowed himself to relax. For the first time in what felt like years, he felt at peace.
And though the future was uncertain, for now, the mountain was safe, and their bond of fellowship was stronger than ever.
The morning after the coronation, the grand halls of Erebor were quieter. The echoes of the previous night's songs and laughter still seemed to linger in the air. Sirius Black, however, was not one to linger. He stood at the gates of the mountain, dressed once more in his travel-worn cloak, his sword sheathed at his side. The dwarves of Erebor, gathered to see him off, looked unusually somber.
Balin, standing at the forefront, stroked his beard thoughtfully. "It's a rare thing, Jimmy, for a dwarf to admire a hobbit so much. But you… you've earned a place of respect among us. Are you certain you must leave?"
Sirius nodded, his expression serious but kind. "I have other matters to attend to, Balin. There are places I've left behind, people I need to see, and promises to keep. But know this—I will never forget Erebor, nor the friendship of its people."
Dwalin, standing beside Balin, crossed his arms with a gruff huff. "You'll always have a place here. Should you ever tire of wandering, you know where to find us."
Even Thorin himself had come to bid Sirius farewell. The new king placed a hand on Sirius's shoulder. "You've done much for us, Jimmy. More than we could have ever asked. You leave as a friend of the mountain, and if ever you are in need, you have but to call upon the dwarves of Erebor."
Sirius gave him a faint smile. "I appreciate that, Thorin. But you've got a kingdom to rule now—no distractions, hmm?"
Sirius's path led him to Dale, the city of men that had flourished under Bard's leadership. As he arrived at the gates, he was greeted warmly by the people, who had come to know his name and deeds during the battle. Bard himself met Sirius at the city's entrance, his face lighting up in a rare smile.
"Jimmy Potter," Bard said, clasping the traveler's arm. "You're a hard man to forget. What brings you to Dale?"
Sirius reached into his cloak and retrieved a coin, holding it up for Bard to see. It was a peculiar piece, its surface etched with intricate designs that glimmered faintly in the light.
"I was given this coin years ago," Sirius explained, turning it over in his fingers. "By a wizard I met in Hibbiton. He said it would lead me to answers when I was ready. It's connected to Dale, isn't it?"
Bard's expression shifted, his brow furrowing as he studied the coin. "That's… impossible," he murmured. "This is an ancient token of Dale, from a time before Smaug's shadow fell upon us. It was said to be lost when the city was destroyed."
Sirius arched an eyebrow. "Well, it wasn't lost, then. The wizard must have had his reasons for passing it to me. What does it signify?"
Bard hesitated, then gestured for Sirius to follow him. "Come. There's someone you need to speak with."
Bard led Sirius through the bustling streets of Dale to a quiet, unassuming building. Inside, an elderly man sat hunched over a table covered in scrolls and maps. His eyes, though clouded with age, lit up with curiosity as Bard placed the coin before him.
"Master Aldaric," Bard said, "this traveler has brought something you'll want to see."
Aldaric picked up the coin, his fingers trembling slightly. "By the stars…" he whispered. "This is a token of the old council of Dale. A symbol of trust and unity among the leaders of men, elves, and dwarves. Where did you find this?"
Sirius explained the encounter with the wizard in Rivendell, describing the cryptic words the man had spoken. Aldaric listened intently, his expression growing more thoughtful.
"This token," Aldaric said slowly, "was given only to those who held the trust of all three races. It's not just a coin—it's a key. A key to something hidden long ago."
"Hidden where?" Sirius asked, his curiosity piqued.
Aldaric glanced at Bard, then back at Sirius. "I believe the answer lies deep within the ruins of Esgaroth, the city on the lake. But beware—there are tales of dangers that still linger in those waters."
As Sirius and Bard left the building, the sun was beginning to set over Dale. The city's warm glow seemed to reflect the determination in Sirius's eyes.
"You're not going to wait, are you?" Bard asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.
Sirius smirked. "I've never been one for patience. Besides, if this token leads to something important, I'd rather not leave it lying around for someone else to find."
Bard clapped a hand on Sirius's shoulder. "Then you won't go alone. Dale owes you more than we can say, and if this journey brings answers, I'll see to it that you have the help you need."
Sirius nodded in gratitude. "Thank you, Bard. Let's see where this coin takes us."
As the stars began to dot the night sky, Sirius couldn't shake the feeling that this was only the beginning of another grand adventure. Whatever lay ahead, he was ready to face it.
Sirius sat by the fire, turning the coin over in his hands. Its surface gleamed faintly in the firelight, and the intricate symbol etched into the metal seemed to shift with the flickering flames. It was a small, unassuming object, but it had followed Sirius since his arrival at Dale years ago, a silent companion on his journey.
He remembered the day he found it vividly. Back then, Dale was nothing more than a desolate ruin, its buildings charred and crumbling from the dragon's wrath. Sirius had been searching for a place to rest, somewhere he could call his own while he planned his next steps. In one of the least damaged buildings, he'd begun clearing away debris, brushing aside broken wood and shattered stone.
Amid the rubble, his hand had brushed against the cool surface of the coin. At first, he thought it was a simple relic, perhaps a keepsake left behind by one of the city's former inhabitants. Its design caught his eye—a curious emblem of interlocking shapes, almost like a star surrounded by runes he couldn't quite decipher. But beyond that, he thought little of it. He had slipped it into his pocket, treating it as nothing more than a trinket.
Now, years later, Sirius was beginning to understand that the coin was far from ordinary.
The first time he noticed the coin's significance was at Rivendell. During his visit, he had wandered the halls of Elrond's haven, marveling at the beauty and wisdom contained within the ancient elven architecture. In one room, his attention had been drawn to a tapestry hanging on the wall. There, woven into the fabric, was the very same symbol that adorned the coin.
Sirius had paused, the coin in his pocket suddenly feeling heavier. "What is this?" he had muttered to himself, his eyes tracing the lines of the symbol. The elves had noticed his curiosity but offered no clear answers, only cryptic remarks about the symbol's ties to ancient alliances and forgotten secrets.
The second time the symbol appeared was at Erebor. As the dwarves led him deeper into their mountain kingdom, showing him the vast treasures hidden within, Sirius had caught sight of the emblem carved into a stone pillar near the treasury. It was subtle, almost hidden, but unmistakable.
"Balin," Sirius had asked, pointing to the pillar, "do you know what this symbol means?"
Balin had frowned, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "Aye, I've seen it before. It's an old mark, tied to something older than Erebor itself. Some say it's a sign of trade routes, others a marker of allegiance. But its true meaning… that's a mystery even to us."
Now, sitting by the fire, Sirius felt the weight of the coin in his palm. It was no longer just a trinket. It was a piece of a puzzle, one that spanned the lands and the people he had encountered.
Author's Note:
Enjoying the story?
Consider joining my to get early access to more chapters and exclusive fanfictions! Even as a free member you will get one extra chapter and you'll receive early access to chapters before they're posted elsewhere and various other fanfictions.Your support helps me create more content for you to enjoy!
Join here: (dot)com(slash)Beuwulf