Not even the most talented bard can recount every sword-stroke or spell-word spoken and hope to hold his audience in thrall by the end of it, for the dance of a battle is not in words but in deeds, in the movements of the body and the visions of the eye that a mere tale cannot fully express. I fought because I was fighting for my life, and more than that, I was fighting for a cause. I had will and I had power and I had strength, but more importantly than any of those I had desperation, and that was what finally allowed the turning point to come. As battle raged, as fire swept down from the sky onto elves and orcs and men alike, as elven bolt-throwers cast their massive arrows, as from somewhere came the war-cries of the dwarves from what sounded more than just twelve throats, I called for power, reached for it, let the Ring pour it into me and well out in puissant waves. I summoned magic and then to my surprise, and even that of the Ring, something outside of me and it answered my call. The blood of the earth. I had not looked for it so far from the mountain, neither of us had, and yet here it was, a whisper beneath rock, an ancient memory and a sense of potential. I felt the land around me as though it were part of me, a mere extension of my body, and when I stretched, it obeyed my will.

The earth cracked and groaned. It shook, and the force sent each and every creature to their knees. A great rent opened up in front of me, propelling me away from the Council, away from Elrond and the skill of his flashing blade. Their magic might yet have still touched me despite this distance, but I had already proven myself against that. Where the armies fought smoke suddenly billowed, and fires belched from underfoot with the slow crawl of stone recalling a time when it covered the land like a steaming sea. Orcs bellowed in fear. Even the dark and ferocious clouds seemed to pause and retreat a little.

From the earth I could feel where metal touched the ground, and flinging out my hands I wrenched the anchors of the great bows free from their moorings and summoned the rock to upend them, to rise like a wave and crush them into uselessness. Everywhere the soil and sward rucked up like a rug pushed out of place as I coaxed the cracks to grow, separating groups of soldiers from one another over chasms too steep and wide to cross even had any still been focussed on fighting and not the display of power happening before them.

I let my hands fall, panting for breath, my feet planted and only the strength I was drawing up through them from the ground preventing me from collapsing.

I became aware of the presence of the Nine. They were standing behind me, their blades out and darkened by wet blood. Here and there bodies lay, though not so many as those which even now I could feel pressing on the soil away where the main part of the fighting had been. The Nazgûl had fought their way through to me, and now faced the White Council across the empty gap of stone, ready to bolster me if they called more magic again. But for now the Istari and the elven Lord and Lady were recovering from the sheer magnitude of the working I had made. I had time to take stock, to array the battlefield and see how things stood.

The Dwarven battle-cries I had heard had not been from the Company alone. Many other dwarves had joined them and must have numbered hundreds or more. They had to be the aid King Dain had promised us, come at just the right time. Later I would learn that they had come across orcish scouts during their march and so found out about the great army coming our way. Knowing victory against such numbers to be impossible with his current force, Dain had ordered his band to make for Erebor at haste to warn us and lend his strength where it might serve to tip the balance. Indeed if not for him the fate of the Company might have been quite different.

With a massive, heavy thump, Smaug landed nearby. His wings were pierced through in several places by great arrows, but the chains that dangled beneath were melted quite through and despite that flying must have caused him great pain, in his anger he did not seem to have paid it any mind.

"You have shattered their defences against me," he said, his voice like thunder, and flames flickering in his throat. "They shall all burn for what they have done."

I winced. I felt heart-sick already from what this had come to; from all this needless death. I blamed myself; if I had been more careful I would not have been seen, and could have helped to protect Tyelcanár long enough to persuade him back to the mountain. Instead he was dead, returned to that place just beyond the world, and so were so many elves, and Dain's dwarves, and even orcs – though I had no love lost for them. Still I wished them no ill will if only they would stay in their homes, and it was Mairon's malice that had brought them forth, not any particular desire of their own to shed our blood. Well. Old grievances perhaps, but every race had their grievances against the others and I was heartily fed up of them.

"Wait," I told Smaug quickly.

"Wait for what?" he said, but held back. The great barrel of his chest heaved with his breath; I suspected he was more worn than he would wish anyone to know. It was impossible for me to tell how long the battle had raged – I had quite lost track of time – but he had not had cause for such exertion for over a hundred years.

"For me to talk to them," I replied, nodding to the members of the White Council who had regained their feet and were watching us warily from across the divide.

I walked towards them, getting as close as was possible, crossing my arms over my chest to show I was not about to cast any great magics. "I want to talk to Gandalf," I called out.

They conferred a moment, and then the others stood aside so that Gandalf the Grey could come forward. He looked worn and filled with sorrow, leaning heavily on his staff as he approached me. We faced one another, meters apart, but still just close enough to speak without having to shout.

"Bilbo Baggins," Gandalf said. "I am sorry for what has been done to you. For what I was too blind to see. If any of the brave hobbit I once knew remains, then I apologise to him from the bottom of my heart."

"Gandalf, I'm still me," I said, with a certain amount of exasperation. "You can't have been told the whole story of what's happened, for clearly there's been some sort of misunderstanding. I am not some kind of Dark Lord. I'm not evil, and I don't know why you're acting as though I've died.Let's talk about all this sensibly and perhaps we can all get out of this without any further loss of life."

"Would that I could believe it," Gandalf said, looking if possible even more weary. "But I know now what you carry; what you must have found far beneath the Misty Mountains. Perhaps you are still yourself and it has allowed you to believe you control it, but no mortal creature on this earth could master that Ring. Even I, if I managed it, would be utterly changed by it. It casts a darkness over everything it touches."

"Haven't you told me before that hobbits are surprising creatures?" I said. "I mastered the Ring, and I have been using it to help our Quest! When Thranduil captured Thorin and tried to kill the rest of the Company, I rescued them and saw to it they got the justice that no-one else in Middle-Earth seemed willing to see done! I talked to Smaug and persuaded him to make a pact with the dwarves! Erebor is theirs again! Everything would have been fine if not for the armies that decided to camp out on our doorstep!"

Gandalf momentarily closed his eyes, looking pained. I wished he would believe me. I wished he would look past what Mairon had done with the Ring and see it for what it was; just a tool to be used for good or evil, a helpful companion that would do as it were bid. I wished he would see that peace in the present was better than war, than deaths repaying ancient deaths and debts. The Nine had I was sure once done great ills, but not of their own devising. They too were simply loyal servants.

"And what of the Company?" he asked. "What have you done to them, and to their minds, to make them accept the presence of a dragon?"

"Nothing!" I protested, but I could see he did not believe me. Gandalf might have spoken highly of my courage and strength of heart once, but it was clear he did not believe those to be enough to master the One, and thus he would never believe me, thinking every word a lie not my own. I stared at him with a heavy heart.

"What then?" I said. "What is it you hope to achieve here? Are you going to kill us all, all the dwarves, the Nine, Smaug, me? Do you think you can?"

"I would give anything that it not be so," Gandalf said with great sadness. "But to allow evil this foothold... when we have just seen the first new-born Fire Drake in three thousand years... allow this, and there will be more to come. Evil will grow in strength until it covers all the lands in a second darkness and all our hopes will wither."

"I don't want to kill you!" I shouted. "I don't want to, but I will see it done if you won't leave! We will win, all of you will burn, and then where will your hopes be?"

To this he made no reply, but turned and walked slowly back to the rest of the White Council. I waited, watching them carefully in case they turned to renew the attack. I could not make out their words but I could tell that they were having an argument, and allowed myself to think that perhaps they would listen to some kind of reason and retire from the field. Even if it was only to go away and plot to see me dead in some other way, that would still be better. It would give me time as well – I suspected they thought there had only been the one dragon egg, and knew nothing of the others. It was clear I was going to have to put my own plans in motion quicker than I'd thought no matter what the outcome of this day.

Perhaps in the end it was my most recent show of force that convinced them. They were very powerful, and to be honest I was not actually all that certain that we would win. There were great sorcerers amongst the Nine, but none of them were Maiar. Smaug was injured and tired. I did not know how much more was left in me – I had been holding the Council off alone for some time. But I looked strong, and perhaps they still thought the orcs who even now had withdrawn out of bowshot of the elves to regroup were under my own command. The wizard in white came forth, looking haughty and proud and glaring at me.

"This is not over," he told me.

"It is enough for now," I replied. He turned, white robes billowing, and he and the rest of the White Council headed back into the ruins of the elven camp.

"That was dealt with very peaceably," Smaug growled, clearly dissatisfied. "And what of the elves? Do you intend to let them run too?"

"Haven't you killed enough of them to satisfy your bloodlust?" I snapped. Having Gandalf react like that towards me had been a blow, even if in the end I hadn't had to kill him or any of his companions. I was hardly feeling my best.

"You have an unfortunate habit of mercy," the dragon said. "Mercy is not how wars are won."

"I'll be merciful if I please," I replied. "If you disapprove, then perhaps you should break our oath now, because I have no intentions of changing."

"They will return in greater force, with greater plans and devisings, with works of war, and where will your mercy be then?"

"And I shall have time to build too," I reminded him. I began to follow the line of the crevasse around towards the other armies. The ranks of elves had been reformed with their backs to their camp, an elegant curve facing both orcs and dwarves, with small knots of Lakemen amongst them. I saw Bard the Bowman with another group of human archers, noticeable by their homely garb to stand against the shining armour of the elves. There was movement though now, runners coming forth from between the tents and spreading some word to the assembled soldiers. Slowly, as I walked, they began to retreat.

I wondered whether King Legolas had agreed to this command which clearly originated from the Council – if he was in fact in much shape to agree to anything. Loss of a hand certainly would not kill an elf, but the flow of blood would have weakened him, perhaps been enough with the shock of it to cause a faint. I could not imagine him as I had seen him countenancing this. Still, I was glad of it. Now I had simply to deal with the orcs, and with Mairon in whatever weakened form he might choose to appear.

Seeing this departure of one enemy from the field, Smaug must have felt all chances for immediate revenge gone. I suspected that, having landed, he was not eager or perhaps not able to take to the skies once more, and so he turned his back on the fissured wasteland I had made of the lake's headland and stalked back towards Erebor, his head held high and his demeanour proud, admitting no weakness. The Nazgûl continued to follow me, however, and I had no wish to stop him. The dragon had done more than I might have expected from him.

We reached the dwarves before we could get to the orcs. Another great crack in the earth separated them from that last army, and they were clustered around it debating how to get across. When they saw me coming, a great susurrus of curious voices went up and very quickly a group was coming out to reach me. With great relief I saw that Thorin was amongst them, along with Fili, Kili, Dwalin and Balin. They had not survived entirely unscathed however, for an elven arrow had pierced the meat of Kili's shoulder and his arm was thus bound up in a makeshift sling, and Fili had a deep gash across the left side of his face that had bled freely, matting his beard and trickling down the side of his neck. It had crusted over now though, and thankfully the blow had missed his eye.

"Bilbo!" Thorin said, pulling me forward into a crushing hug as soon as I was within range.

"I'm glad you're not hurt," I said, feeling a heavy weight lift off at the comfort of his strong arms wrapped around me. "The rest of the Company? Are they...?"

"All well enough," Thorin replied. "Though I cannot say what might have happened had you not forced this halt to the battle." He gave a little laugh. "I almost cannot believe the evidence of my own eyes. To sunder the earth like this..."

"It came as something of a surprise to me as well," I confessed. "But this is not over."

"No," Thorin agreed. "The elf cowards have fled, but the orcs still remain. Their numbers are great, but we are stronger."

"Aye," said one of the other dwarves, whom I did not know. "We are stone, and they shall break upon us like waves against the shore."

"Bilbo, this is Dain Ironfoot, King of the Iron Hills," Thorin said. "King Dain, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, Master of Ruthukhmuzûm, and mysanâzyung."

Dain looked me over. I do not know how I appeared in that moment, what influence the Ring might be having on it, but it seemed to impress him. He himself was grey-haired and heavily muscled, the sides of his head shaved to leave a strip up the middle that was slicked up with animal fat. His armour did not have a great deal of decoration, save the runes cunningly and unobtrusively engraved upon it. If I had no now been looking for them, I doubt I would have known that they were there.

"So, how do you intend to approach our little problem?" he said, indicating the orcish forces with a wave of his battleaxe. "Since it seems we have you to thank for this crevasse in our way, perhaps you'll fancy closing it back up for us."

"These orcs aren't here on their own," I replied. "There is another power behind them, the one which commands and motivates them. If I can deal with that, then it's possible the orcs might leave without the need to resume battle."

"The elves have proven more cowardly today than these rakhâs," Dain said. "Tis unnatural. What you say seems a good explanation, but then how will you draw it out?"

"I have the power to walk unseen by most," I replied. "But Mairon the sorcerer will see me. I think he will wish to confront me, and perhaps trick me, but I think I can return the favour." This was not entirely true. I was exhausted, and my reserves of power that I could draw from the Ring were depleted. This would be as much a bluff as my threats to the White Council, but I had to try. I couldn't make the earth move to my command again in such a massive way, and Smaug was no longer in the fight. The dwarves were confident, but so very few in number compared to the small sea of orcs and goblins and wargs on the open plain before us. If I did not do this, we would all be lost anyway.

Thorin looked at me with evident worry. "This plan is dangerous," he said. "But I know you, my stubborn hobbit, and no words of mine would keep you from it. Is there anything we might do to help you?"

"Only keep yourselves safe," I replied. I embraced him one last time, and kissed him with a heat and sweetness that stirred the fires of my determination and steeled my resolve to see this ended for the sake of everything I cared about. Then with reluctance we parted, and I stepped into the world of shadows with the ease of a breath.

The Nine were watching me there, and Angmar most of all, with cruel eyes and the distain I had come to expect of him.

"I remember our bargain," I told him. "I don't expect you to come with me any further, to fight your old master."

"Perhaps you will die," he mused. "And we shall be free to return to his side."

That would please him, but I was not so sure, looking at the others, that the same would hold true for them. The same cruelty that Angmar lauded, and hated the lack of in me, had surely been turned upon them as much as any other servants under Mairon's control. "And will any of you come with me?" I asked them.

"I do not think I could raise a hand against the one who was once our master," Khamûl said. "But I will lend you my strength at least." Nods and murmured agreements came from the other wraiths. Angmar looked at them with scorn, but said nothing.

"Thank you," I replied. I could feel their sincerity through their Rings, feel them, solid and ancient and faithful. It made me feel a little better about what I was about to do.

I had enough power left for small things, even without the Nazgûl. Reaching out my hands, I called the stone to obey my will, and a small spur of rock moved outwards from where I stood to bridge the gap. I crossed, leaving the Nine behind, but knowing that eight of them remained with me at least in spirit. Overhead the dark clouds roiled, and within them I could see strange shapes moving. I had the sudden impression of an eye, huge, lidless, all aflame, searching the field of battle for me. I made no attempt to hide from it – I had come forth to confront it.

The armies of orcs and dwarves seemed very far away, stuck in a moment, placed out of time. Or rather, I was, called here to this reckoning by the Ring and by the Maia, weakened, but still a creature that had been unto a god. The shadows took shape in front of me, like the black and oily smoke that comes from a flame when cooking fat drops upon it. A fiery shape lurked within, watching me.

"So small and weak," Mairon sneered. His voice had a similar power and charm as Smaug's, with the same crackle of fire at its heart. Was this a property that all Maiar had, or simply those of the flame? It mattered little to me. I had faced Smaug without fear, and I faced Mairon just the same. "What are you, tiny little thing?"

"I am a hobbit," I replied. "Not that it matters. I am as much the Master of the One Ring as I am that."

"There is only one Master of the Ring," Mairon said. "And soon you will be screaming to me for mercy."

The Ring itself was uncertain. I could feel it wavering, confused, recognising this old power from which it had been born, but which it had not felt in many thousands of years – such a vast stretch of time for me, but not at all for its old Master. But for all that, the Ring had not been with Mairon for so very long as that past its forging before a mortal king had rent it from his finger, taken it, lost it, and let it lie in mud and beneath water where the years and an element which was its antithesis had slowly begun to wear that old loyalty away. And now I'd won it, and bent it to my will, and what was left of Mairon now after time and the White Council had had their way with him was perhaps not so very familiar to it after all.

This is a trap, it told me, whispering into my mind. A misdirection. Look not to what is seen, for the blow will come from elsewhere.

I would not have spotted it otherwise, and Mairon must have been counting on that. The shadows of this ghostly realm boiled and leapt behind me, stretching out fingers and tendrils to grasp and hold me, but not quickly enough. I dodged them, raised a hand and called what little strength remained from the Ring and the Nazgûl to conjure a shield against the darkness. It was golden light, the buttery gleam of Smaug's hoard, and black hands battered against it and could not break through. Nor did the blows possess the cruel power I had feared – Mairon had been relying on surprise, and with that lost it was plain he had bluffed as much as I. Coming here at all had been a gamble, so recently beaten, and now this gamble was lost. I did not need to hold my shield up long before the shadows were melting away again, and the fiery shape of Mairon was glaring at me with startled rage and hatred.

"Many powers have risen and fallen in the years of my defeat," he told me. "Many have thought themselves mighty, yet time crumbles them as it does the highest mountain and I endure. Think yourself the victor for now, but know that what is mine will come back to me."

With a flash of red light he was gone, and overhead the foul and stormy clouds began to clear with abnormal swiftness. It was all so much easier than I had expected that I knew not quite what to do next.

A little way away, the orcish army was reacting with surprise to the disappearance of their protective darkness overhead. They milled around, what must be clan chieftains or leaders of some kind shouting orders, to little purpose. Some of them had banners strapped to their rough saddles, fluttering in the cool breeze. One orc, tall and muscular, riding a grey warg with a banner of a white mountain on a black field, spurred his steed all of a sudden, riding out towards me. In the way his eyes roamed back and forth over the grass I knew he could not see me, but he was searching for something all the same.

"Hidden Power," he shouted in the Black Speech, the Ring translating for me as it always did. "The Chieftain of the Mountain Clans asks that you show yourself. We'd know who made the Master leave!"

He was a fearsome enough sight, this orc; blind in one eye, loops of spiked metal armour seeming half embedded in his flesh, a bear pelt on his back with its long claws coming up to cup his shoulders, and armed with a fearsome serrated sword. But compared to all I had faced, he was only one orc, and I was curious.

"Here," I cried, allowing myself to become visible and hoping he spoke the Common Tongue. I had not yet worked out if the Ring would allow me to speak other languages as well as understand them.

He drew up his warg before me, dismounted, and set his weapon down. "Not a wizard then," he said. "We know their colours. Who are you, Mighty Spirit, to make a God run?"

"Bilbo Baggins of the Shire," I replied, though knowing what he heard would likely not be that, not after being warped by the Ring's own sense of dignity. "Master of the One Ring."

He looked to my hand; I lifted it up to let him see where the One gleamed golden, somehow making itself known even through the metal of my gauntlet. The orc made a shocked sound.

"I am Bolg," he said. "Son of Azog the Defiler, who was killed by a stone-burrower in that battle." He nodded towards the dwarven army on the other side of the little canyon. "What are your orders, ufûrz-shakh?"

"You'll obey me as easily as that?" I asked him. Although I hoped it could be so simple, it seemed suspicious.

"We follow the strongest," Bolg told me with a shrug. "So long's they respect us. Wizards don't, otherwise we might have done what they said after they drove the Great Shadow out of the tower. But they just want to kill us so," he spat on the ground, "that to them."

"For now I simply want you to go home." I said.

"Would rather stay and spill dwarf-blood, but alright."

"The dwarves are moving back into Erebor under my protection," I told him sharply. "And the dragon's."

This seemed to give him pause. "Well," he said. "If they're showing proper respect to the gods, that's another story. Wouldn't have thought it of the burrowers – they're thieves, and thieves don't learn lessons less they're taught them. But they do say some knew better, back in the old days." He nodded to me respectfully, and leapt back onto his warg with surprising grace. "The clans'll break the muster. But we'll come when you call, ufûrz-shakh."

And so saying he rode off, back to the hoard, barking commands to the other chiefs. Slowly the army turned and began to march away the way they had come, leaving me thankful and just beginning to feel the depths of my exhaustion.

I wanted nothing more than to sleep for a week – to sleep with a genuine need for it that I hadn't truly had since mastering the Ring. But of course before that could happen there were other things that had to be done. Dain Ironfoot and his dwarves were welcomed into our halls, and after some initial hesitancy, Dain had declared that he had come too far and fought too hard to be afraid of any dragon, so that none of his warriors could refuse to enter without being shamed. Not that they need have worried – Smaug himself was taking his own rest, curled up in the foundry with the nine remaining eggs, recovering his strength.

We might not have had the stocks of food appropriate to celebrate our victory and our guests, but at least the surroundings helped to make up for that. Not many of Dain's dwarves were old enough to have memories of Erebor, and for those that were those memories had faded with the passing of the years. Erebor retaken, lit by the natural glow of strange rocks and by clean-burning oil, was something magnificent to behold.

Many were the questions Dain had for us of the journey that had led us to the mountain, of our deal with Smaug, and the days leading up to the final battle. Answering them meant Thorin and I did not have a chance to slip away until very late, when talk at the tables was beginning to die down, and we were not the only ones leaving for our beds. However we were soon curled up close together beneath the furs in Thorin's chambers, too tired for anything save our well-deserved slumber.

The next day I woke late, feeling much refreshed. I left Thorin still dreaming and went to find the Nine, knowing I still had to deal with Angmar. His punishment had merely been delayed, for he was not yet willing to hold from acting against me, and thus my lesson was yet unlearned. I found them holding guard by the main gate, its stones thrown down by Smaug in his rush to avenge Tyelcanár's death. The winter sun was just beginning to edge its way over the horizon, painting the bottom of clouds in gold.

"Good morning, lord," Khamûl greeted me. "It seems the danger is past."

"For now," I replied, looking around for Angmar. He stood off to one side, still one of the Nine, but set apart by his steadfast loyalty to Mairon. I approached him, and he turned to face me as stoic as ever. "You know what comes next," I told him.

"Return to my exile," he said, his voice a dry rasp. "Yet I am surprised your mercy will permit it of you."

"Don't mistake mercy for foolishness," I said. "Anyway this is as merciful as your actions have allowed me to be."

"You still have much to prove," he sneered. He might not have meant it as useful advice, but it was true despite that. I knew that to fulfil my promise to Smaug and to myself I would have to do much, and not all of it I would be happy with. But for my vision of what could be, of a Middle-Earth free from war, that had moved past old and petty tribal rivalries, it would all be worth it.

Reaching out through the connection of the One Ring to his of the Nine I brought my will to bear, and commanded him away, back to his lonely grave.

With all the extra hands that Dain had brought, it did not take long to rebuild the Great Gate back to its long-lost glory, not to mention the greater effort that could now be paid to the cleaning out of the old rooms and residences of the city beneath the mountain, and the surveying of the mines. Thorin had his own duties, spending much time with Balin, Dain, and Dain's own captains and advisors talking of treaties, trade and the potential immigration of dwarves into Erebor. Since Smaug was still slumbering, and none of the other eggs looked to hatch in the next few days, I had the task of venturing once more down to Laketown, to see how things sat with those Men.

Laketown itself looked little changed, and as the technical victor, and with a great part of my strength returned to me, I came this time over the bridge to the front gate, walking for all to see, with a guard of two Nazgûl behind me.

"I have come to speak to the Master," I called up to the watchman. "You know who I am."

I saw a messenger run for the streets, and waited patiently for his return, with whomever was chosen to risk the danger they must suppose my presence to pose. I was not, then, very surprised when Bard the Bowman stepped out from the postern gate and came towards me.

"Bard," I said. "I am glad to see you survived."

"I suppose you have come for a formal surrender," he replied, looking weary.

"You could see it that way," I said. "But I'd prefer to look at it as arranging the terms of peace between us."

"Many good men died in that battle," Bard said. "We weren't trained, we weren't soldiers. None of us had ever fought an orc before."

"I'm sorry for your loss," I replied. "You might not be inclined to believe it, but I did not call those orcs there. I would rather it had never come to battle at all."

Bard laughed; an unpleasant sound without mirth. "You weren't the one that held a sword to the Master's throat and ordered town guards onto a battlefield. No, it was our supposed allies who did that. Is that the 'good of Middle-Earth' elves claim to stand for?"

"Neither I or King Thorin want to see any more of your people slain. We want what we always have; peace. Prosperity. Trade. More dwarves will be coming to the mountain, and they'll need to eat. We have gold and gems and iron goods to trade for what we need. We might have won a battle, but we're not asking for tribute."

"So much for the warnings of the elves!" Bard said. "They've done more harm to us than you have. With those dwarves who've joined you, you could do anything to us you wanted, and that's not even mentioning the dragon! The elves couldn't bring him down, and they had more than just one Black Arrow!"

"Then you'll take me in to speak to the Master?" I asked.

"I have no doubt he'll agree to whatever you want," Bard replied bitterly, and let us into the town.

With a new treaty and trade agreement drawn up with Laketown, and Dain and Thorin finished their own talks, it was time for Dain to return to the Iron Mountains.

"Erebor is open to any of your people who want to come here," Thorin told him, clasping his hand King to King before the Great Gate. "The mines will reopen, all the old treaties will be drawn up anew, and we shall rebuild."

"I cannot promise many will want to live so close to a dragon," Dain replied. "But I shall be no obstacle to those whose hearts draw them here. It is a rare thing indeed that an old stronghold of the dwarves becomes ours once more. I never thought to see it."

"May the Ravens fly swiftly between us," Thorin said. "May your beard grow long and your axes bite deep."

"And the same to you, cousin." With that, Dain and his five hundred (albeit slightly fewer now in number than when they arrived) left for the long march back to the Iron Hills.

"What now?" I asked Thorin as we watched them leave, sunlight flashing on armour and axes.

"Now we wait for my sister," Thorin said. "She is the last of my family yet living; once she is here, we shall be married."

I felt a great happiness sweep through me, filling me up like golden honey. It was not that I needed any ceremony as a mark of our love; we were already bound as close as could be, and what were words and a ritual compared to the simple truth of our feelings? But this would make it real to everyone else as well, proclaim it loud to the world. It would shout our love from the peak of Erebor to the bottom of its deepest mine. It would be... eternal. Nothing on Arda could be better.

Well, perhaps one thing. My eventual goal. But there was much still to happen before I would have any chance of seeing that.