"Things have really changed."
Eric paused at the edge of the market square, taking in the bustle of Dale.
Compared to Roadside Keep, this place thrived with far more people. Given enough resources and homes, the refugees had slipped seamlessly into the city, reviving it almost overnight.
Merchants called out their wares. Guards patrolled the walls. Families filled the houses. Children ran laughing in the streets.
This was Dale now—alive again.
The city even had traders in abundance, something Roadside Keep had always lacked. Unlike the ramshackle community, Dale's people had kept their old customs and ways of trade. They handled wealth with care, balancing it so that coin flowed properly instead of pooling uselessly in hoards.
True, coin still changed hands, but the standard of living had risen for everyone. What used to be the ceiling for Laketown was now the floor for Dale. Even the lazy or less skilled managed to live decently here, while those who worked hard enjoyed even better lives.
Bard, for all his reputation, was not the sort of man who clutched wealth until it rotted in his hands. Nor was he the sort to hoard blessings for himself, hiding opportunities in fear that others might prosper. That sort of selfishness was best left to dragons.
And Bard, like Eric, had already faced one of those. Neither had come away corrupted.
They had slain the dragon and spilled its blood, yet neither man had become like it. They understood wealth had to move—not scattered foolishly into the wind, but guided sensibly, so that it flowed without breaking the dam.
"Lord Eric, this is for you!"
A small boy ran up and thrust something into Eric's hands: a bright little box wrapped in colored paper, tied with a string.
Eric crouched, curious. "And what might this be?" He ruffled the boy's hair.
"My own gift! You just pull the string, and it will go pop and open to show what's inside!"
Eric chuckled. "Is that so? Thank you, lad. I'll open it carefully. I'm looking forward to the surprise."
The child nodded vigorously and bolted back toward his home, grinning all the way.
Carrying the little package, Eric asked for directions and soon wound his way through the streets until he found Bard's house.
He blinked at the modest dwelling. "Your place really doesn't stand out, does it?"
Bard shrugged as he opened the door. "It keeps the rain off. That's good enough."
Inside, Eric found nothing but the furnishings of an ordinary family home. Without being told, no one would guess that this was where Bard the Dragonslayer, deputy leader of Dale, lived.
"But the hall at the top of the city—why not live there?" Eric asked, thinking of the vast stone building that dominated Dale's heights. Calling it a hall was generous understatement. Palace would be nearer the truth.
"It's not ready." Bard shook his head. "And besides, there are still families without proper roofs over their heads. How could I ask them to work on that enormous building for me? We'll think of such things only once everyone else is secure. Besides, I am no king, only Dale's steward. That palace is yours, should you ever want it."
Eric snorted. "As if I needed another house."
He sat down near the hearth, still smiling faintly. "But it's odd. Apart from planting my banner, I don't feel like I've done much here."
Bard's eyes widened. "Not much? Eric, you've done more than anyone else alive. The walls that guard us, the iron golems patrolling our streets, the enchanted seeds that turn barren soil fertile, the strange building magic that shapes stone and timber like clay… every true foundation of this city came from you. All I've done is guide what you've given."
"Anyone could have done that."
"Not as well as you."
"All right, all right." Eric waved him off. "No need to get humble on me. What, you think Alfred could have done better?" He barked a laugh. "That man would have pawned the city before the mortar dried."
Bard chuckled. He was a capable man, Eric thought, though curiously lacking ambition. Not that he was without dreams—once, before the war, he had even wanted to run for the office of Laketown's Master. But circumstances had buried that plan, and now, standing beside Eric, the man seemed content to step back and let the stronger lead.
"You're really fine with that?" Eric asked. "This was your ancestors' city. Had Smaug not destroyed it, you'd be lord of Dale now. Yet you yielded the claim to me without so much as a quarrel."
Bard shook his head. "It was my choice. What claim did I truly have, when the city lay in ruins? I could have done nothing with a pile of ash. Better to place it in the hands of one who could breathe life back into it."
Eric leaned back, thoughtful. To him, Dale had been a matter of timing. In truth, if he wanted, he could build a dozen such cities with ease.
He changed the subject. "Laketown and Dale lie too close to be treated as separate. They should be united."
"Then unite them," Bard said simply. "Put them under one rule."
Eric's lips quirked. "Very well. From this day, you are the governor of both Dale and Laketown."
Bard blinked. "Governor?"
"Yes. The one who handles their day-to-day running."
After a pause, Bard nodded. "All right then. I'll do it."
Anyone else handing him two cities with a wave would have earned an argument. But Eric? Bard accepted without fuss.
And so, with barely a few words, the fate of two towns was sealed. Laketown became part of Eric's realm, its fishermen soon teaching Dale's folk the art of their slightly crooked-looking rods, while fish and other river goods became the town's enduring specialty.
The decision was enormous, yet both men treated it lightly. Eric because land meant little to him, Bard because he had learned to take such things in stride.
After a moment of silence, Bard gestured to the box Eric still held. "That trinket you've been carrying—what is it?"
"A gift from a child," Eric said, holding it up and shaking it gently.
Bard's eyes lit in recognition. "Ah, one of Laketown's toys. You pull the string, the box pops open, usually with a sweet or a trinket inside. By the sound of it, I'd say yours has—"
"Stop!" Eric cut him off, clapping a hand over the box. "Don't spoil the surprise."
Bard raised his hands innocently. "Very well."
Eric shook his head, laughing under his breath. "You're a rare one, Bard. A man who values home above gold and crowns. If more men thought as you do, the world would be a kinder place."