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Jimmy nodded, his gaze fixed on the distant glow rising from Lake-town…
"Yes. War is coming," he said quietly. "I can see Orc cavalry."
…
They were the vanguard.
Orc riders burst into Lake-town, Wargs snarling beneath them, blades raised as they cut down anyone in their path.
The Master of Lake-town had secretly prepared a group to slip into Erebor: greedy men, hoping to seize treasure for themselves. Instead, the moment they left the town, they ran straight into the Orc cavalry.
Ironically, thieves were forced to play the role of defenders.
They didn't hold long… but their screams were enough to wake the town.
The great bell of Lake-town rang out. Alarm spread across the water, and the entire settlement sprang into motion.
The Orcs were mounted, but their mounts were Wargs… beasts that could swim.
Lake-town, built atop the lake itself, had only a single land bridge connecting it to the shore. There were no walls elsewhere, no fortifications beyond that narrow approach.
The long causeway stretched forward, two watchtowers standing on either side.
As the Orcs surged toward it, the Master did something unexpected… he opened the armory.
Weapons were handed out. The townsfolk were ordered to hold the bridge, to block the Orcs coming from land.
Bard claimed one of the watchtowers.
Arrow after arrow flew true. One man, one bow, holding the entire passage.
Half the Orcs were pinned down, unable to advance even a single step.
The rest were barely held back by the second tower. The defenders there were disorganized, panicked… but anyone who reached the gate was met by spears thrusting from within.
If things continued like this, Lake-town might have held.
But the Master didn't believe in "might."
With the help of Alfrid, who had narrowly escaped death, he loaded every piece of gold and silver onto a boat… and slipped away in the chaos.
He never believed Lake-town could withstand the Orcs.
What he didn't expect… was how his escape would inspire them.
The Orcs couldn't swim. But Wargs could.
If the mounts entered the lake, Lake-town was finished.
"All Wargs," the Orc commander roared, "into the water. Swim for the town."
The beasts surged forward, churning the lake as they closed the distance.
Shoot them. From that range? Impossible.
Even the Black Arrow couldn't reach that far.
Watching the Wargs swim across the lake like enormous water rats, the Master screamed in terror… and that scream drew them straight to him.
Four or five Wargs leapt onto his boat, their weight dragging it lower and lower.
The vessel had already passed its safe limit.
The Master froze. That boat carried everything he had stolen over the years. One wrong move, and it would sink.
If it went under, the gold would be lost forever.
He was afraid.
The Wargs weren't.
One powerful leap—
The boat capsized.
"AUUUUU!!"
The Master's scream cut off abruptly.
The lake swallowed both him and his fortune.
Now unopposed, the Wargs surged toward Lake-town.
Attacked from both front and rear, even Bard couldn't hold the line anymore.
He had no choice but to withdraw.
Inside the town were only the elderly, the wounded, and children. If the Orcs broke through, it would be slaughter.
"Charge!!!"
The Orcs seized the opening and stormed into Lake-town.
But Orcs didn't know the streets.
The townsfolk did.
Once inside, the Orcs' losses actually increased. Desperation made the people fight harder… and there was nowhere left to retreat.
They fought for one reason only.
Survival.
Enraged, the Orcs changed tactics.
They began to burn houses.
Then they waited outside, weapons ready.
Crude… but devastating.
The flames struck at Lake-town's greatest weakness.
From the watchtower, Jimmy saw fire climbing into the sky.
More than half of Lake-town was already burning.
It could no longer shelter its people.
The townsfolk were driven out of Lake-town by Orcs and Wargs alike.
Bard pulled his bowstring until his fingers bled… but even so, the Orcs completed the final sweep.
They had suffered heavy losses. Yet the survivors were still more than enough to slaughter what remained of Lake-town's people.
The Orcs regrouped, weapons raised.
"Charge."
Before they could move—
Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh…
Hope descended from despair.
From the forest, countless arrows erupted into the air.
A formation of Wood-elves emerged at the tree line, their volleys raining down with deadly precision. Razor-sharp shafts tore through flesh, pinning Orcs and Wargs alike to the ground.
The battlefield transformed into something grotesque… a field bristling with arrows, as if reeds had suddenly grown from blood-soaked earth.
"We're saved."
"The Elves have come."
"Thank the Elves."
…
"It's over," Jimmy said quietly. "Lake-town has been reinforced by the Wood-elves. Which means our danger starts now."
He looked toward the forest, eyes narrowing.
"Everyone prepare yourselves. They didn't come unprepared… and they won't honor promises easily."
"That can't be right," Bilbo said hesitantly. "He's the Elvenking."
Jimmy gave a faint, humorless smile.
"Bilbo, this is where you and the world differ. Strength is the foundation of equal negotiation. Without it, negotiation becomes confiscation."
He continued calmly.
"Even kings aren't above that."
He turned to Thorin.
"This isn't a righteous war. If possible, I won't act. I suggest you do the same. Once the dwarves from the Iron Hills arrive, this crisis ends."
Thorin nodded.
"I don't wish for this war either," he said firmly. "But dwarves do not submit."
"Of course," Jimmy replied. "You're still the same dependable Thorin. Push us too far… and your blade will answer."
Thorin turned to the others.
"Everyone. Prepare to forge armor for Jimmy."
He gestured toward the armories.
"Our supplies are more than sufficient. But none of our armor suits him properly."
"That's not urgent," Jimmy said. "Mine can wait."
"It is urgent," Thorin snapped. "No dwarf allows an ally to fight without proper armor or weapons."
His tone softened.
"Especially when yours was destroyed slaying Smaug."
Jimmy sighed, then nodded.
"Alright. I'll leave it to you."
Thorin led the dwarves toward the forges.
…
Elsewhere, the Elvenking surveyed the surviving people of Lake-town.
With a wave of his hand, wagons laden with grain and vegetables were brought forward and pushed into the crowd.
Elves began tending the wounded. With the Master dead, they attempted to negotiate… only to find no one in charge.
The crowd was in chaos.
Some searched desperately for family. Others tended the injured. Still others wept openly among the ruins of their homes.
Food was accepted without hesitation… but when the Elves tried to find a representative, none could be found.
As night fell, the Elves withdrew slightly.
"Tomorrow," they decided. "There's no urgency. And tonight, even if these people wanted to pressure the dwarves, they wouldn't be able to act."
…
"Why," voices cried the next day, "why are we no longer receiving food?"
"You gave it to us yesterday."
"How can you abandon us now?"
"Please… have mercy."
The Elves stood firm, their gleaming armor and raised shields forming a line.
"Listen to us," one of them called out. "We are not withholding aid. We must first count your numbers so our supply caravans can deliver enough food."
He gestured to the crowd.
"Choose someone to speak for you. Someone responsible. Without order, some will starve while others hoard supplies. That cannot be allowed."
The crowd fell silent… uneasy, uncertain, and leaderless.
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