Sirius Black stood tall atop the grand gates of Erebor, his black robes fluttering in the cold mountain breeze. His presence commanded attention as the combined forces of Dale and Mirkwood stood at the ready, their weapons gleaming under the midday sun. A hush fell over the armies as Sirius raised a small white flag, a universal symbol of truce.
"People of Dale, Elves of Mirkwood!" Sirius called, his voice amplified by a simple charm so it carried over the distance. "I come to you with good news. The shadow that has loomed over your homes and hearts for decades—the fear of the dragon Smaug—no longer exists. The dragon is gone and has been for a long time."
The words sent ripples through the assembled troops. Whispers of disbelief, cautious hope, and outright skepticism spread through the ranks. Thranduil, the Elvenking, narrowed his eyes suspiciously, his hand tightening on the hilt of his elegant sword. Bard, the leader of the men of Dale, stepped forward, his brows furrowed.
"How do we know you speak the truth?" Bard demanded, his voice steady but edged with doubt. "For years, we have lived under the dragon's threat. What proof do you offer us that Smaug is truly gone?"
Sirius smiled calmly, his demeanor unshaken by the skepticism. "I understand your doubt, man of Dale. But tell me, if Smaug still resided within the halls of Erebor, would any of us be standing here now? The beast would have awoken long before now to defend its hoard. I have been inside the mountain. The treasure lies untouched, and the dragon has left these lands."
Thranduil raised a hand, silencing his own men who began murmuring among themselves. "And why should we trust the word of a stranger? You are no dwarf, yet you stand at their gates as their representative. Who are you, and what is your stake in this matter?"
Sirius chuckled softly, his sharp eyes meeting Thranduil's piercing gaze. "I am Jimmy Potter, a hobbit from a far-off land. I have aided Thorin Oakenshield and his company in reclaiming their ancestral home. My stake is simple: to prevent unnecessary bloodshed. I offer you my word, Elvenking. Smaug is no more."
The armies below grew restless. Bard and Thranduil exchanged a glance, each weighing the sincerity in Sirius's voice and the potential risks of dismissing his claim. Finally, Bard spoke again.
"If what you say is true, why not let us see for ourselves? Open the gates of Erebor and let us confirm the dragon's absence with our own eyes."
"I understand your concerns, Man of Dale, and you, Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm," Sirius began. "However, I cannot approve such an action without first consulting the King under the Mountain, Thorin Oakenshield. It is his kingdom, and the final decision rests with him."
Sirius turned and stepped inside the gates, leaving the armies to wait. He walked through the grand halls of Erebor until he reached Thorin and his company, who had been observing the scene from within. Thorin stood with his arms crossed, his brows furrowed in a storm of emotion.
"Thorin," Sirius began, "the leaders of Dale and Mirkwood request entry into the mountain to confirm the dragon's absence for themselves. It would go a long way to establishing peace and trust."
Thorin's face darkened, and he slammed his fist against the stone wall. "Peace? Trust? With the elves?" he growled. "Did you forget, Jimmy, that the so-called King of the Woodland Realm imprisoned me and my kin without cause? He left us to rot in his dungeons, and now he dares to ask for entry into my kingdom? Never! There is no way in hell I will allow an elf to set foot in Erebor!"
Sirius sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Thorin, I understand your anger, and I don't blame you for it. But this isn't just about past grievances. If we refuse them outright, we risk making enemies of both Dale and Mirkwood. Do you truly want war at your gates so soon after reclaiming your home?"
Thorin's gaze remained hard as iron. "I will not allow the elves to enter. The men of Dale—perhaps—but not the elves. Thranduil's presence alone is an insult to our ancestors, and I will not dishonor their memory by granting him access to Erebor."
Sirius nodded slowly. "Very well. But let me handle this. I will ensure your terms are made clear."
With that, Sirius returned to the gates and faced the gathered armies once more. He raised his hands to quiet the growing tension.
"I have spoken with Thorin Oakenshield, King under the Mountain," Sirius announced. "He has made his position clear. The men of Dale may enter to verify the dragon's absence, but the elves are not permitted within the halls of Erebor."
A murmur of dissent rose among the elves, and Thranduil's eyes narrowed dangerously. "This is an insult," the Elvenking declared. "We have marched here not out of greed but out of concern for the safety of all in these lands. Yet we are denied entry?"
"It is not my decision to make," Sirius replied firmly. "This is Thorin's kingdom, and his word is law within its walls. However, I urge you to consider this: the dragon is gone, and Erebor poses no threat to Mirkwood. There is no need for conflict today."
Bard stepped forward, his expression thoughtful. "If the men of Dale are permitted entry, we will verify the dragon's absence and report back. There is no need for further escalation."
Thranduil hesitated, his pride warring with reason. Finally, he gave a sharp nod. "Very well. But make no mistake—this slight will not be forgotten."
Bard, along with five trusted men of Dale, approached the towering gates of Erebor. The massive stone doors loomed above them, intricately carved with the history of Durin's folk. Bard's heart was heavy with the weight of leadership, but he masked his concerns with a calm expression. The five men beside him were similarly stoic, though the grandeur of the gates clearly left them in awe.
With a deep groan, the gate opened just enough to allow their entry, revealing the dim glow of the mountain's interior. The flickering light of torches cast long shadows on the stone floor. As soon as Bard and his men stepped inside, the gates closed behind them with a resounding thud, the sound echoing through the cavernous halls.
Waiting to greet them was Balin, an elderly dwarf with a long white beard and a kind yet shrewd expression. Clad in richly embroidered robes of deep green and gold, he bowed slightly, his demeanor one of cautious hospitality.
"Welcome to Erebor," Balin said, his voice deep and resonant. "I am Balin, son of Fundin, counselor to King Thorin Oakenshield. It is my honor to show you the halls of our kingdom."
Bard stepped forward, inclining his head. "Thank you for allowing us entry, Balin. It is a relief to see that Erebor is free of the dragon's shadow."
Balin's face softened. "Aye, and may it remain so. Come, let me show you what we have reclaimed."
The group moved deeper into the mountain, following Balin through the winding passages. The halls were alive with the activity of some dwarves—carried tools for repairs, others hefted crates of supplies, and a few simply watched the newcomers with curiosity and guarded expressions.
The men of Dale marveled at the architecture, their eyes tracing the intricate carvings of mountain peaks, rivers, and runes that adorned the walls. Even Bard, who had seen much in his time, couldn't help but be impressed.
"This place is a wonder," one of the men murmured to Bard.
"It is," Bard replied quietly. "And it is a reminder of what Dale once was, and could be again."
Balin led them to the great hall, a vast chamber supported by towering columns that reached up into darkness. The ceiling was studded with crystals that reflected the torchlight, giving the impression of a starlit sky. At the far end of the hall, a throne of black stone sat empty, its presence a silent testament to the dwarves' reclaimed sovereignty.
"This is the heart of Erebor," Balin said, his voice reverent. "From here, our king will rule, and from here, we will rebuild our legacy."
The men of Dale nodded respectfully, sensing the weight of history in the room.
Balin then guided them to the treasure room. As the heavy iron doors creaked open, the men's breath caught. Before them lay an ocean of gold, silver, and jewels, spilling across the floor in glittering heaps. The wealth of Erebor was beyond anything they had ever imagined.
One of the men whispered, "It's enough to build any cities a hundred times over."
Bard, though awestruck, remained composed. "This is the wealth of generations, hard-earned by the dwarves of Erebor. It is a sight to behold."
Balin smiled faintly. "Aye, but it is not just gold that makes a kingdom strong. Dale prospered when we dwarves ruled here, and we would see it prosper again."
He turned to Bard, his tone earnest. "We remember the friendship between our peoples, Bard of Dale. When Erebor thrives, so does Dale. And let me tell you this—unlike the elves, who are ever careful with their trade, we dwarves are generous in trade. There is much we can offer each other."
Bard nodded thoughtfully. "I appreciate your candor, Balin. I, too, wish for the friendship between our peoples to be restored."
The men of Dale explored the treasure room for a time, their expressions shifting from amazement to determination. The sheer wealth of Erebor was a reminder of what Dale had lost—and what it could regain.
When the inspection was complete, Balin escorted the group back to the gate. As they walked, Bard spoke quietly to him.
"Balin, I must admit, I feared what we might find here. But seeing your people reclaim their home fills me with hope. Perhaps this is the beginning of a new era for our kingdoms."
Balin placed a hand on Bard's arm, his expression warm. "Hope is a fine thing, Bard. And with wisdom and goodwill, I believe we can achieve much together."
As the gates opened to let them out, Bard turned back to Balin. "Thank you for your hospitality. I will speak well of you and your people to those outside."
Balin inclined his head. "And we will speak well of you, Bard of Dale. Go in peace."
The men of Dale stepped out into the sunlight, their faces solemn yet determined. They made their way back to the gathered armies, where Thranduil waited with an air of impatience.
"Well?" the Elvenking demanded.
Bard raised a hand to calm the murmuring crowd. "There is no dragon in Erebor," he announced. "The mountain is free."
A cheer erupted from the men of Dale, their relief palpable. The elves, however, remained subdued, their sharp eyes narrowing as they regarded the mountain.
Thranduil stepped forward, his tone skeptical. "And what of the treasure? Did you see it?"
Bard met his gaze evenly. "The treasure is as vast as the legends say. But it belongs to the dwarves, and it is not our place to covet it."
Thranduil's lips tightened, but he said nothing.
Sirius, watching from the gates, stepped forward and addressed the crowd. "Let this be a day of peace. The dragon is gone, and Erebor is restored. Let us not tarnish this moment with conflict."
The armies of Dale and Mirkwood began to disperse, though the tension between the dwarves and elves remained. Bard approached Sirius, his expression grateful.
"You have my thanks, Jimmy Potter. Without your efforts, this day could have ended in bloodshed."
Sirius smiled faintly. "The future of these lands depends on unity. Let us all work towards that goal."
Author's Note:
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