"I understand, my lord."
One of the townsfolk finally plucked up his courage. "I already swore my life to the fortress. If my lord says this dragon is safe, then I'll trust it with my life as well." He hesitated, then blurted out, "May I… touch it?"
"You may. Go ahead," Eric replied, holding the hatchling a little closer.
The villager took a deep breath, hand trembling as it reached forward. He gave the tiny dragon's head the gentlest tap before quickly snatching his hand back as if he had just touched hot iron.
The baby dragon blinked, clearly bewildered. It had barely leaned in to enjoy the touch before it was gone.
The man released his held breath in a whoosh, then turned toward the gathered crowd. "Everyone, believe our lord's word. This dragon is harmless!"
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Many stared at the hatchling with wide eyes, curiosity sparkling in their faces. More than a few looked ready to try their luck at petting it too.
Eric waved them off. "That is quite enough. The little one has only just hatched. If you crowd it like this, you will frighten it."
A collective "Ohhh…" came from the townsfolk as they reluctantly dispersed, though nearly every head still turned back to sneak glances.
News spread quickly through the settlement. A dragon, and not one bent on burning fields or stealing sheep, but gentle enough to sit in the lord's palm? Such a thing turned every conversation into rumor and debate. And since most villagers had far more spare time than work these days, gossip spread like fire on dry grass.
Of course, the curious soon found themselves disappointed. For as they pretended to stroll past the hatching shed, Eric had already prepared a special talisman: the Dragon Amulet. With a shimmer of magic, the drowsy hatchling was drawn into it.
The artifact, taken from an old Dragon Rider's cache, created a pocket dimension where the dragon could safely rest at its master's side. But the amulet had one quirk. Time within it stood still. Growth and development halted the moment the dragon was inside.
That meant it could only be used sparingly. If Eric wanted his dragon to grow into a mighty beast, it would have to live outside the amulet. Yet for now, with the hatchling still helpless, Eric preferred to keep it close. Safety came first.
Once satisfied the amulet worked, Eric released the dragon back inside his castle, feeding it scraps while pondering its name.
"Now then, what should I call you?"
Naming, as it turned out, was one of Eric's greatest weaknesses. He could face down armies, build fortresses, and carve mountains, but a name? That was like striking an unbreakable wall. Still, Eric had never met a wall he could not tunnel through with enough persistence.
He stroked the hatchling's soft skin, still pink and scaly only in patches. Inspiration struck suddenly. He clapped his hands.
"Blush. That will do for now."
It would be a temporary name, he decided, until something more fitting came to mind.
The hatchling, of course, did not care. It was too busy gnawing on a strip of beef jerky Eric had given it, working its tiny jaws like it was chewing through a fortress wall.
After spending two more days in the fortress, ensuring Blush was in good health, Eric tucked the dragon back into the amulet and set out once again. He stepped through the Nether Gate, boarded his boat, and began the icy voyage toward Dale.
During the journey he made a troubling discovery. The amulet failed inside the Nether. No matter how much he tapped or muttered, the dragon could not be summoned there, as if the realm itself rejected it. That would complicate things later.
But for now, the icy tunnel carried him swiftly onward, and before long, the Nether Gate at Dale shimmered open. Eric emerged back into the bustle of the city.
The place was even livelier than before. Groups of miners with pickaxes strolled the streets, laughing and chatting as if heading out on holiday. Curious, Eric stopped a passerby, who explained they were all part of the road-paving project.
"That road is so well built, my lord," said an old man later that day. He and Eric sat together on the steps outside his home, sharing biscuits in the sun. "If I weren't so old, I'd have joined the workers myself."
Eric nodded, breaking his biscuit in half and offering it to the man. "Many are more eager than I to see it finished. It will make life easier for all."
The two sat like neighbors, chatting pleasantly. Eric never stood on ceremony, and the old man, at his age, had long since stopped worrying about pride or appearances.
"This biscuit is excellent," the man said with a smile. "Even with my teeth, I can taste the flavor. It must be expensive."
"Expensive? I have no idea. I only know it is delicious," Eric chuckled, pointing toward the corner shop. "The baker gave it to me as a gift. He nearly packed up his whole store to send with me, but I only accepted two pieces."
It was true. In Dale, Eric was treated like a walking feast hall. Every shopkeeper seemed desperate to press food into his hands, as if worried he might starve.
"And tell me," Eric asked curiously, "did you always bake such sweets? I hardly recall seeing them in Lake-town."
The old man shook his head. "Back then, life was too hard. Honey and milk were luxuries. Most of us barely had grain enough to live." His voice softened. "The last time I tasted something so sweet… it was many years ago."
"Then eat more of it now," Eric said firmly. "There is plenty, and there will always be plenty."
The old man smiled faintly and shook his head. "At my age, I prefer plain foods. But the young ones… yes, they will love it."
Their talk was interrupted when a baker happened to walk past with a basket of bread.
"You there, stop a moment," Eric called.
"Lord Eric," the man bowed quickly.
"How much for that loaf? I'll take one."
The baker brightened. "My lord, take them all!" He shoved the basket into Eric's arms without hesitation, already planning tomorrow's sales pitch: Bread fit for the Lord himself!
Eric sighed. "I only wanted one."
"My lord, one is not enough. Please accept them all. These are my finest work, the best I have ever made."
Eric reluctantly accepted the basket, but fished out a small pouch of silver to pay. Before he could hand it over, the baker had already vanished down the street like a thief who had just robbed him.
Eric shook his head in disbelief, then glanced at the bread. It was familiar. Cram, the hard travel bread once common in Lake-town. But unlike the dry bricks he had bought from Dwarves in the past, these were soft, filled with honey and cream. Just looking at them made the mouth water.
He passed one to the old man, who at first hesitated, then accepted. "Perhaps a sweet thing once in a while is no sin. At my age, if not now, then never."
The man bit into the loaf and closed his eyes in delight. "Delicious."
Eric smiled and tasted one himself, storing the rest away.
It was at that moment another figure approached and dropped down beside them, leaning on his staff with a sigh. His long grey robes were rumpled, and his staff clattered against the wall like a broom tossed aside.
"Good morning," Gandalf greeted casually, as if he were just another neighbor.
The old man nodded politely, but Eric narrowed his eyes. "Good morning? Do you mean you hope my morning is good, or that it is good no matter what, or that you yourself are feeling especially good this morning?"
Gandalf blinked, caught off guard.
Eric continued mercilessly. "Or perhaps you mean that any morning at all is good enough, just by existing?"
The wizard's mouth twitched. In his head one thought rang out: You dare use my own trick against me?
"All of the above, I suppose," Gandalf muttered. Then his eyes drifted to the bread in Eric's hand. "That looks rather tasty. I have not yet eaten today."
Eric sighed and broke off half of his biscuit, handing it over. Gandalf ate it in a single bite, then folded his hands into his sleeves like a smug villager, still eyeing the bread.
"You are impossible," Eric grumbled, giving him a loaf as well.
Gandalf tore into it with relish. "Quite good. These bakers are improving by the day."
"Abundant grain makes for bold bakers," Eric replied.
"If only all lands could be so fortunate," Gandalf said wistfully.
"That day will come," Eric said simply.
Once the bread was gone, Gandalf finally spoke of his true errand. "I visited Thorin this morning. Erebor's industries are recovering well, but they have run into difficulties. Thorin asked me to find you. He wishes to meet, either in the Mountain or here in Dale."
Eric brushed the crumbs from his hands and stood. "Very well. I will go to him. My schedule is not so crowded."
He bid farewell to the old man, who rose shakily with his staff and bowed low to the dark figure walking away.