"To tell you the truth," Luke said, leaning back in his chair, "I've had so many adventures that if I started telling all of them, it would take days. So I'll just tell you about one world."
Tilda sat close, listening with full attention.
"In that world," Luke continued, "humans could turn into zombies if they were bitten. And once they turned, they would bite others and spread it."
Tilda tilted her head. "What's a zombie?"
Luke thought for a moment. "Imagine a person whose mind is gone," he explained. "Just an empty body walking around slowly, biting anyone it finds. If they bite you, you turn into one too."
"Very unpleasant creatures. Hard to reason with."
Tilda's eyes widened as she tried to picture it.
Luke nodded slightly. "Some bad humans created the disease first. They wanted to control people. But things didn't go the way they expected."
Bard watched the scene for a moment.
Luke sat casually at the table, telling stories while Tilda listened with wide eyes. For a moment, it almost looked like a normal evening.
But Bard had already seen enough to know the man wasn't normal at all.
Shaking the thought away, Bard brought a big sack and opened it.
Inside were the weapons he had promised the Dwarves as part of their agreement.
Iron hooks. Short blades. Old swords with worn hilts. Farming tools that had clearly been sharpened again and again to serve as makeshift weapons.
The Dwarves stepped forward—and their expressions hardened immediately.
Dwalin picked up one of the iron tools and turned it in his hand with visible disgust.
"Where are the weapons you promised?" he growled. "These are plough irons and boat hooks. Not proper weapons for Dwarves."
Several others murmured the same. They had expected axes, war-hammers—something worthy of battle.
Bard remained calm.
"These are the best I can get without drawing attention," he said. "Real weapons are controlled by the Master. The guard keeps the armory locked."
Thorin stepped forward slowly, his gaze steady.
"We are not thieves," he said. "We are proud Dwarves"
Bard met his eyes but didn't look impressed.
"Then perhaps you should have brought your own weapons."
Before the tension in the room could grow any further, Balin stepped forward.
"Thorin," he said calmly, "we should make use of them. It is better than nothing. In our situation we cannot expect the finest weapons."
Bard, who heard the name, frowned slightly.
Thorin.
It sounded familiar, like something he had heard long ago. But he didn't press the matter.
"Yeah," Luke added casually from where he sat, "you should use what you have."
The Dwarves didn't look convinced. These tools were hardly worthy weapons, and they all knew it. They were heading toward Erebor and they might soon face a dragon. This was not something they could afford to take lightly.
Thorin said nothing more, but the look exchanged between him and a few of the others made their intentions clear.
They would find better weapons.
Even if it meant taking them.
Bard noticed the look but chose not to question it.
"You will leave for the Mountain tonight," Bard said instead. "The Master's men are watching the roads and docks during the day."
He gestured around the house.
"Until then, you can stay here."
Then he turned to his son.
"Bain, keep an eye on them. And don't let them wander."
Bain nodded.
But the moment Bard stepped outside, several Dwarves exchanged quiet glances.
They were already planning their next move.
***
As the Dwarves gathered in a corner of the room, whispering among themselves about sneaking into the Master's armory to take proper weapons, Luke remained where he was.
He stood near Bilbo, watching them with mild curiosity.
Nearby, Natasha and Wanda had been cornered by Tilda, who was asking them endless questions—most of them the kind only a child could think of.
Luke glanced toward Bilbo.
"So, Bilbo," he said casually, "what do you think? Do you think this party can actually succeed in its goal?"
Bilbo looked up at him, a little startled.
"Umm… what exactly are you asking?" he said carefully.
Very few people knew where they were truly heading. Their journey to Erebor, to reclaim the Lonely Mountain, was not something meant to be spoken of freely.
Luke shrugged slightly.
"Nothing serious," he said. Then he tilted his head toward the Dwarves across the room.
"What do you think of Thorin?"
Bilbo glanced toward the group of Dwarves gathered around Thorin. They were speaking in low voices, clearly planning something, their faces serious.
"Well…" Bilbo hesitated. "He's their leader."
Luke waited.
Bilbo rubbed the back of his neck before continuing.
"He's proud," he admitted quietly. "Sometimes too proud. But he cares about his people. Everything he's doing… it's for them."
Across the room Thorin stood tall while the others spoke around him, his posture steady, his eyes focused on the task ahead.
"He carries a lot," he added. "More than he lets anyone see."
Luke watched Thorin for a moment, then nodded slightly.
"Pride," Luke said. "That can be both strength and weakness."
Bilbo frowned a little. "What do you mean?"
Luke looked back at him.
"There's a mountain ahead filled with more gold than anyone can imagine," Luke said calmly. "Gold like that has a way of changing people."
Bilbo went quiet.
He didn't understand how Luke seemed to know so much about their journey. Almost no one knew their real destination, yet this man spoke about it like it was obvious.
Luke continued, his voice still casual.
"And soon you'll see it," he said. "How gold can change someone completely. Greed has a way of twisting people until even those closest to them can't recognize who they've become."
Bilbo frowned slightly, glancing again toward Thorin and the others.
Luke looked back at him and gave a small shrug.
"Well," he added lightly, "let's just hope your friend remembers why he started this journey in the first place."
*****
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