"Gandalf, long time no see!"
Night settled softly over Dale's highlands as a troop of dwarves clanked into the reception hall, boots and laughter echoing off stone. The long tables were trimmed with lanterns, and the air smelled of roasted meat, yeast, and smoke.
"Oh, I am glad to see you at a time like this." Balin, bearded and grey, pulled Gandalf into a warm embrace. "You've no idea how cooped up I've felt these days. I've been itching to get out. When I heard Levi was marching on Goblin-town a few days ago, I even had my armor on. But luck was not with me. When we drew lots, I was the only one who pulled 'stay behind.'"
"That is a pity, Balin." Gandalf considered a moment, then smiled. "When I am done with my current business, travel with me next time."
"Wonderful." The old dwarf brightened at once.
"Come on, the food's ready, and Levi brought good wine!" Bofur waved from the far table, and the two made for the noise.
The hall soon swelled with merriment: songs rising in rounds, laughter bouncing from beam to beam, the clink of tankards, and the clatter of plates.
Bzz—
Foam spun in the air as a dwarf blew a tune through a polished drinking horn, doubling it as an instrument and trophy. More laughter followed.
"Let me drink to your victory." Gandalf found Levi and tapped cups with him.
Levi lifted his cup and took a measured sip. "What are your plans?"
"Me…" Gandalf's eyes drifted, the spark of celebration dimmed by thought. The East weighed on him still, especially the matter of the Blue Wizard. That voice-craft, that brush with corruption, rang a warning bell he could not ignore. "I cannot shake the feeling something about this is ill-omened. Perhaps Saruman might hold a clue."
His voice lowered. "My premonition tells me it is not over."
He grimaced. "I do not like this, and I do not want to do it, but I should not keep ignoring certain signs around Saruman."
"I see." Levi nodded.
Gandalf had long thought of himself as a helper among the wizards sent against Sauron, steady and patient in method. When Lady Galadriel proposed him to lead the White Council, he stepped aside, saying his wisdom was not yet sufficient for such weight. Saruman took the mantle, proud to prove his strength and knowledge exceeded Gandalf's, though Gandalf cared little for such measurements.
The more one lacks a thing, the more loudly one proclaims it.
Yet history shows that some honors are not claimed by shout or show. When the wizards first came to Middle-earth, Círdan, bearer of the Ring of Fire, placed it in Gandalf's keeping. When the White Council formed, Galadriel, bearer of the Ring of Water, put forward Gandalf's name again. Even beyond Middle-earth's shores, a power no less than the one Saruman served had said that Gandalf, though chosen later, was not therefore lesser.
It was not hard to imagine Saruman's state of mind. The desire to rule grew year by year, as did jealousy and the need to control. Through open slights and hidden jabs, Saruman tested boundaries. Gandalf chose to ignore it. Let the work be done. The rest could be as it pleased.
Bend, and bear it.
But now…
"Since I already know some part of it, I cannot blind myself and pretend it does not exist." Gandalf's eyes steadied. "I have to take certain of Saruman's actions seriously, even if I cannot affect much."
"Where there's a stir—oh, I mean, if you need anything, come to me." Levi raised his cup in agreement.
Gandalf narrowed his eyes to answer, when a clatter cut across the room. A nearby table jolted, and Bard slid sideways, eyes rolling, a trace of foam still clinging to his lip.
"Oh!" the dwarves howled.
"Victor: Bombur!"
Apparently, after discovering Levi could not be felled by drink, they had found a new target. And someone had paid the price.
"This will not do. I had better even the score." Levi slung a cask over his shoulder with one hand and strode into the fray. "You have knocked out my deputy. Who is doing the work tomorrow?"
Does that mean me? Bard thought vaguely as the table erupted in louder cheers under Levi's arrival.
Gandalf shook his head, though a smile pulled at his beard. "This is good, too," he murmured. "If only this peace could last."
Would it? No one knew.
Early the next morning, Bard woke with a groan and a grip on his head. He forced himself together and took long steps for the palace council chamber.
"I really should not have drunk that much…"
Dale's towns had few problems compared to other places. The baseline was already high. Even if management vanished, the city would still grow day by day. But because of that prosperity, a new challenge emerged for anyone with ambition. Maintaining the baseline was easy. Progress and stability were the test.
At his usual worktable, he found someone had beaten him. Levi was already there, waiting for some time, idly handling a few matters.
"Have some milk." Levi did not look up from the city map, but gestured to the cup set by the main seat.
Bard did not hesitate. He downed it in a gulp. The headache cleared. Vertigo vanished. Strength returned. "Much better."
The aches of overindulgence unwound, leaving him light-footed and alert.
"I see a plan to expand farmland," Levi said, still studying the map. "But I think wheat and potatoes are enough. Let's plant some other things."
"What things?"
"Sugarcane. Grapes."
They rose, passed through the hall where a few dwarves still snored, and stepped into golden fields beyond the walls. In a newly moistened plot, Levi knelt and pressed the first grape seed into the earth. Bard hammered in the first trellis, its frame catching morning light.
That year, Dale welcomed two new arrivals: grapes and sugarcane.
It was not long before white sugar reached the markets. Then it reached every household, turning into a happy habit. Pastry chefs and inn cooks took to their benches like composers, testing sugared glazes and honeyed crumbs, steaming puddings and crisped crusts. Laughter followed the smells down the lanes.
Meanwhile, paper production leapt. Ledgers multiplied. Notices brightened doorways. Schools filled their shelves.
Traveling merchants and visitors were astonished by the novelties. But none were as astonished as the people of Dorwinion.
"Aren't those our grapes?"
"When did they plant so many?!"