The next morning the whole town had gathered along the docks of Lake-town.
Word had spread quickly during the night. The Company of Thorin Oakenshield was leaving for the Lonely Mountain, and the townsfolk came to see them off. Wooden walkways and balconies were crowded with people watching the departure.
The boat waited at the pier, already loaded with supplies.
Because of Luke's intervention during the night, no Orcs had managed to attack the town, and none of the Company had been harmed. The journey could continue without delay.
Luke stood near the edge of the dock, facing Bilbo.
"So, my friend," Luke said calmly, "be careful on this journey. You're about to see for yourself what happens when someone gains too much wealth."
Bilbo looked up at him, slightly confused by the warning, but he nodded anyway.
"I'll remember that," he said.
Behind him the Dwarves were already climbing onto the boat. Thorin stepped aboard first, followed by Dwalin, Balin, and the rest of the Company. They checked their gear and weapons while moving across the deck.
The townspeople began cheering as the ropes were untied.
"Good fortune to you!"
"Bring back the gold of Erebor!"
Bilbo climbed aboard last and turned back toward the shore.
As the boat carrying the Dwarves moved farther across the lake, the crowd slowly began to disperse. The cheers faded, and the docks returned to their usual rhythm of merchants and fishermen preparing for the day.
Only a few people remained.
Luke stood near the railing, watching the shrinking shape of the boat as it headed toward the distant Lonely Mountain.
Not far away, Alfrid was still standing there.
Luke noticed him after a moment and turned his head slightly.
"You want something?" he asked.
Alfrid flinched a little at being addressed so suddenly and quickly shook his head.
"No—no, Your—"
"Then go back to praising your master," Luke said flatly. "There's nothing here for you."
For a moment it looked like Alfrid might leave.
But he didn't.
He lingered, shifting his weight awkwardly. Alfrid was the sort of man who survived by attaching himself to powerful people, and after what he had witnessed the previous day he was certain of one thing—
This man was not ordinary.
Finally he stepped forward a little and forced a polite smile.
"Your Excellency," Alfrid said carefully, bowing his head slightly. "It seems we got off on the wrong foot yesterday."
Luke looked at him for a moment.
"Nah," he said calmly. "You tried messing with my family."
Alfrid stiffened.
"It's only because of my patience that you're still alive," Luke continued, his voice even. "Otherwise you'd already be meeting the god of death."
Alfrid swallowed and forced a nervous smile, nodding quickly as if agreeing with everything Luke had just said.
"Yes… yes, of course. A misunderstanding. Entirely my fault."
"But… we can talk," Alfrid said quickly, trying to recover his composure and show some usefulness.
Before he could continue, his knees suddenly hit the wooden planks of the dock.
Luke had not moved.
Yet the pressure in the air made it impossible for Alfrid to stand.
"Don't test my patience," Luke said calmly. "Even now I'm thinking about throwing you into the lake just so I don't have to look at your useless face."
Alfrid's face drained of color. His hands pressed against the planks as he struggled to breathe under the invisible weight.
"P-please—"
Luke's gaze shifted slightly toward him.
"Now," he said coldly, "fuck off before I change my mind."
The pressure vanished.
Alfrid scrambled to his feet without another word and hurried away down the dock, not daring to look back even once.
"Useless piece of trash," Luke muttered, watching Alfrid run off along the dock. "You wouldn't even be useful cleaning the bathrooms in my house."
There was open disgust in his voice.
Luke had no patience for men like that—spineless cowards who survived by clinging to power and flattering whoever sat closest to it.
Alfrid was exactly that kind of man, always bowing, always scheming, always trying to attach himself to someone stronger.
Luke's irritation faded the moment he sensed a familiar presence approaching.
He didn't even turn immediately. The feeling was clear enough.
"Hm," he said after a moment. "You know, it's really not a good habit. The second time we meet, you greet me with an arrow."
He turned slightly.
Across from him, on the roof of a nearby house, Tauriel stood with her bow drawn. The arrow was aimed directly at him, her stance steady and alert.
But the moment she released—
The bow in her hands suddenly changed.
The wood softened, the shape twisting until it became nothing more than a flower resting between her fingers.
"What—?" Tauriel stared at it, confused.
She hadn't even felt the change happen.
Then a voice spoke behind her.
"So," Luke said casually, now sitting on the roof just a few steps away from her. "Did you miss me that much you followed me all day?"
Tauriel turned quickly, eyes narrowing as she faced him.
Now she understood something.
The last time they had met in the Woodland Realm, Luke hadn't been serious at all.
He had simply been playing around.
*****
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