( IT IS HERE GerithorDunedain! I hope you and your judges enjoy!)

            In the face of fear a King stands at the forefront of his army and leads them with courage. I, a boy of ten, am telling myself this as I hide in an empty barrel that still smells strongly of rock salt and silverfish.

"Dragons... all the dragons are dead now, so it's silly to fear them. Great-Papa'r Bard killed the last dragon. Smaug... I won't have to fight any dragons whatever Uncle Dain says." I whisper. Dim rays of light shine through the slates. The smells of dried meat and spices mingle with the salty scent embedded in the wood. "Father didn't have to fight a dragon and he's a good king."

As if in response, Cousin Thorin's voice echoes in my head, "No, but he wouldn't hide at the thought."

Biting my lower lip I admit to myself Cousin Thorin is right, he often is. Brand wouldn't hide. He isn't afraid of anything: dragons, dangers, or death. He is a king, a warrior of Dale. "And so are you!" I whisper fiercely. "So you will get out of this barrel before someone finds you. Cousin Thorin will never let you hear the end of it." I nod to myself; it was a good point. I often give myself good points; it was simply a matter of following them.

Taking a deep breath, crunching a piece of rock salt between my teeth, I hook my fingers around the rim of the lid and lift it. I emerge and see shadows dance over the hanging meat, hide, and kegs of rum. The lid clatters into the stone floor as I see the flickering light beside me. Looking I see Father, sitting on a horizontal keg tightening his bowstring. He looks up at me.

"Why are you in the Barrel my boy...?"

"Uncle Dain was talk--"

"I know about Uncle Dain. Why are you in the barrel?"

I lick my lips and look down at my hands. "I wanted to be alone. To think. To find courage." My father lifts an eyebrow. He leans towards me, peers into the barrel and then to my eyes.

"Did you find some?"

I look down again and shake my head.

"Aye, that's because courage comes from within you, not in barrels or beds, Bard."

"How?"

He pauses. "Death carries an arrow for each of us, from that arrow there is no escape. However," Brand places a hand on my shoulder and waits until he has my full attention. "Until that time, one can fight dragons and battle armies fearlessly knowing you will meet Death as a warrior, and later as a king, with nothing to fear." He retracts his hand and looks down. I hear him clear his throat and see him hand out a bow I realize is my own. "Bard, you can't face Death with loose bowstrings."

➶➵➴

Fireworks and party favors are items of specialty from us Dale folk. There is no better time for showing off such spectacular lights than on the anniversary of Smaug's defeat. A time when grown warriors act like excitable children.

"You don't think there're still dragons," my father scoffs, leaning over the table towards Uncle Dain. A volley of firework crackle into the midnight blue sky, setting it aflame as townfolk cheer.

I sit at the far end of the table, picking leftover berry tart crumbs from the feast that I didn't get a chance finish. Crumbs that jump as the great Dwarf King smacks down his chalice.

"In the north!" He replied, ale-making his words smooth but not slurred. He pulls out a map, from somewhere unseen. "There must be dragons in the north."

Brand taps his sword's hilt. "Would we not have heard by now?"

"Nay, I believe they're in the mountains. Dragons are underground creatures, they like the warmth that's found at the mountain's heart, like us Dwarves."

"So we must dig them out." My father nods.

The chair beside me shifts as cousin Thorin slides in. Granted, he was forty years to my fifteen, but my father insisted that by all standards we were of a similar age by comparison. Reds and oranges catch on his black mustache and braided beard as another set of fireworks shatter into the sky.

"You're not adding much to the talk of dragons," Thorin comments lowly, setting a chalice of red ale in front of me. "It could be perceived as rude."

"I respect the battle of Smaug and those who defeated him. But I am tired of dragons." I sigh into the chalice, tracing the carved metal lines that form into a dragon head. The metal with its natural red tint reddened further with the array of fireworks, its ruby eye glints. "Why talk of hunting something long dead?"

"Dead? Have the Thrushes given you no news of forgotten serpents of the deep?" Thorin chuckles.

"None yet." I smile. "If our fathers had their way, they might send a flurry of Thrushes into the mountains to seek them."

"Ah, let them dream. They yearn for adventure and glory."

I snort, a sound covered by the boisterous laugh of my father. I glance over to the men conspiring in low tones over the map. An entourage of snowy-haired dwarves crowds at the opposite end of the table shouting over each other. I look back to Thorin. "It seems our great-grandpa'rs took the last of such glory to their graves."

A shadow settles upon Thorin's features. "Indeed," He says. "By the time the crown passes to us, the days of glory will be buried with them." The dwarf takes a long swig of the ale.

That sounds lovely to me...But I'm not a Dwarf...

I look to my father, leaning over the table, attention completely upon the King of Erebor as he speaks the hope of dragon hunting.

How the peace chokes him...

I place a hand upon the slumped shoulder beside me. "Take heart dear cousin. There'll be dragons for us to fight yet."

Pinks and reds dance upon Thorin's face as he smiles, nearly hidden by his bushy mustache. "Aye. And our fathers will crawl out from the grave to smite them."

We laugh together, the sound melts into the commotion of fireworks and chatter. The townspeople tell tales of Smaug, our fathers murmur of hidden serpents, while Thorin and I speak of different kinds of dragons.

➶➵➴

Year 3017

A messenger flanked by orcs comes from Mordor. A handful of warriors and I ride with Brand to meet them. They greet us, saying they have come in the name of Sauron. A name that sends a chill up my spine. They're pale white with the blueish tint of death, grimy as though they had crawled up from their graves, black liquid or blood dripped around their teeth.

If Brand is repulsed by them he doesn't show it, I only hope I look so stoic in front of my men. The orcs hold their weapons and look at us, and our horses, with hungry gazes and I remember tales of the slaughter their kin have wrecked upon Middle Earth, tales that had me huddled under my blankets as a boy.

"And why have you come to Dale." Brand asks good-naturedly.

The eyeless messenger speaks in a voice several pitches too high. "Have you seen or heard of any Hobbits around these parts?"

"Hob-- Hobbits?" Brand laughs. "Hobbits haven't come into these lands since the days of Smaug."

The creature grins, every skewed tooth is a fang. "Is that so? You are lucky; Hobbits are sly, thieving creatures."

"We know well enough of the ways of Hobbits. But why should your master care of the wee-folk?"

"One has stolen something from him, a priceless treasure, a ring. Priceless in sentimental value. He seeks it's safe to return."

"Well," Brand says shrugging his broad shoulders, as though the conversation were between allies. "As I have said, we have seen nary hide nor hair of the little folk. If one were to come into Dale... well, due to our previous encounter with their kind, we owe them a debt of gratitude." Brand's eyes twinkle.

"Ah! But of course." The creature goes on. "And word of the arrival of such a hobbit, would, of course, reach our ears?"

Brand simply smiles.

The messenger continues. "Our Lord's hand stretches across Middle Earth to unify us under one banner. Many battles will be had, many kingdoms will collapse before him, and allies will be needed... friends. And Sauron rewards his friends most favorably."

Brand straightens up; arms cross over his chest resembling a standing bear. His gaze betrays nothing and his horse snorts with equal disdain. "Well, I will have to discuss such matter with our neighbors, King Dain and the Dwarves of Erebor."

"Yes, of course! We were going to pay our respects to the Dwarf King under the mountain. Perhaps by the time, we return you will have come to a decision."

"Perhaps."

They turn and leave, and it isn't till they're out of sight that Brand kicks his horse towards the fortress of Erebor.
"Assign patrols to the outskirts of the territory, extra watches on Redwater. Bard, come with me, we must call a Feast of Preparation."

It is our custom to discuss battle plan over food and drink which often last long into the night, sometimes days. But why would we be preparing such a feast?

The table is set and King Dain arrives full of spirit even without fermented drink. "Align ourselves with Sauron? The despicable, despicable! Of course, he came to us, his rag-tag group of low-lives can't find a hobbit much less win a war! Asking for my answer, as though it's even a question, told me to think about it! I'd cut off his head and send it to Sauron himself! That'd be answer enough I suspect." He says as his Advisor follows after him looking concerned. "To even think that we would accept such an offer from slimy flea-bitten fools." Wrath, indignation, and excitement. The news has returned the King to his youth.

"We must prepare. Extra watches, preparing the younger men and Dwarves. It will take all we have." Brand says, and Dain nods sagely.

"I pity any single creature of Sauron that dare taint our lands with their black filth. They will taste the finest metal that the races of Middle Earth have to offer."

"Yes," Brand agrees. "We shall send word to the Elves as well."

I lean in and whisper low into Thorin's ear, "They aren't planning on declaring war with Sauron. We don't even have the hobbit... have we?"

Thorin gives a subtle shake of the head. "But I don't think Sauron will leave us much choice."

I feel a hand thump unto my shoulder and look up into my father's eyes. "You and Thorin will join us Brand."

I blink, then nod. "Of course, father. I'll follow wherever you lead."

➶➵➴

Where ever you lead... A decade later and those words haunt me...

I lean back in my father's seat at the head of the table. Cleared of the feast that had transpired. Chairs where trusted warriors, my sons, and their sons had sat before drinking and being marry are now empty. There's just me, Thorin, and my grandson Brander. A crack like lightening sounds as red and yellow light flash through the windows, followed by cheers.

"What happened next?" I hear the enthusiastic whisper of my grandson. Sitting on my knee, a strong lad of ten.

"Then, a kingdom of men came from the east in the name of Sauron. On boats, they crossed River Carnen and Redwater. The Dwarves and men marched out to meet them. King Brand and King Dain, lead them on, fighting together with the might of bears and the swiftness of wolves. Steel clashed against steel. Through the day, through the night they fought."

"Three days we battled," Thorin broke in, sitting beside me where his father once sat. "We cut them down with our superior weapons and skill. But their numbers replaced those that fell and forced us back through the valley, through the villages." His expression darkens. "They lit the roofs of the houses on fire, and they sang 'The Dragon has returned! The red dragon has come to claim the Lonely Mountain!'."

"What happened to the elves?" Brander asks. "No one ever talks about them."

There is a moment of thick silence as another set of fireworks goes up into the sky. Reds flash through the windows, etching out the head and neck of a dragon into the dimly lit room. I sigh, "They were fighting their own battles and could not aide us as they would have."

"But Brand and Dain made do without them," Thorin said taking a long drink from his dragon chalice.

I chuckle and readjust Brander on my lap. "I was to lead my archers, including your pa'r and uncles, piercing armor in the day and lighting the night with flame. On the third day, the sky was shrouded in black clouds and smoke. We stole moments of sleep only to steady our aim. We were pushed back to the Gates of Erebor, it was obvious we would have to retreat into the fortress. Dain and Brand stood together, facing the horde of Easterlings with nothing but my red arrows and the arrows of my few remaining men to back them as the people of Dale retreated."

Thorin broke in "Nothing can breech Erebor, no outside force can crush it. We had spent generations preparing for a such a time, food, drink, weaponry. We had enough to last a year of siege, still do. But it'd be for not if those rats got through the gate."

My finger tap the back of Brander's shirt at the memory. "During the retreat, Brand and Dain stood as a stone wall between the Easterlings and our retreat. Three days and nights they fought, and at the gates of Erebor they continued to battle as a legion. When one shouted commands the other would guard their back. Brand commanded the coalition to retreat into the fortress, and Dain commanded the gate be shut. In the midst of the second command..." I take a deep breath and let it out slow. "Brand the was cut down by an Easterling's axe."

Thorin takes up the story.

"King Dain only grew in ferocity. No foe escaped him. He, a Dwarf who had fought in the Battle of the Five Armies," Pride swelled in his voice. "Fighting as though he were in his prime."

"What about the gate?" Brander asks Thorin.

Thorin leaned in. "I kept only a Dwarf-sized space between the gate, ready to shut and lock it. I cried out to him, 'Dain! Come into Erebor, the gates are open for you!'."

"Did he not hear you?" Brander asks.

Thorin shakes his head. "He told to me to shut it, and as he did two arrows found their mark in his shoulder." He pauses and leans back, his eyes misting. "But it took the horde of them and even more arrows to bring the dwarf King to his knees. The gates were closed and locked before he fell."

"Then," I interjected. "The Siege of Dale begun. Boulders, Arrows, for seven days and nights we fought them. Until the Thrushes came with news of Sauron defeat. Remember that Hobbit who stole Sauron's ring of sentamentality? Well... his name was Frodo, he threw the ring into the fires of Mount Doom, destroyed Sauron, and freeing all of Middle Earth."

"And boy--!" Thorin's voice booms and he lifts his chalice victoriously. "We took up our swords, and our bows, and our axes once more. OPEN THE GATES! We roared, Bard and I leading the army out of the heart of the mountains. OPEN THE GATES! AND LET THESE YELLOW-BELLIED FIENDS TASTE OUR STEAL!" He bellows, Brander beams up at him, laughing.

"And we forced THEM back. Away from our gates, away from our villages and lands, tearing them down until they were ashes."

"And that was the end of the Siege of Dale." I finish with a chirp. I look into Brander's sparkling brown eyes. "So don't every fear Brander, there will always be dragons to fight. Some may have scales, others may be large, and others may be small and come as a friend. But they'll always exist."

Brander hops down onto the floor and wraps his arms around me in an hug. "Why don't you tell this story more often?"

"Bah...!" Thorin huffs. "It's the festival of Smaug's defeat, not Sauron's."

"Well, I'm telling cousin Berem." He replies scampering towards the doors.

"It won't be as good as ours!" Thorin calls after him, the closing door echos in reply and Thorin chuckles into his chalice taking another sip. I held my chin, finger tapping against my lip. A comfortable silence grows between us as the fiery explosions continue outside.

"Ye know Bard," Thorin says. "I think our fathers were the lucky ones."

I lift my gaze to his. "How so...?"

"You and I have had our greatest victory early. There's nothing but bird-song and peaceful days as far as the eye can see. How shall we entertain ourselves now?"

"Ah yes," I muse. My words come back to me. I'll follow wherever you lead...

"Well," I say, straightening up in my father's seat. "We could always find ourself a Hobbit. It appears they attract adventure."

Thorin's mustache and heavy side-burns pull upward in a grin. "Aye, first a dragon, then a Dark Lord. What would the next hobbit bring?"

"Well," I smile. "In the words of a wise Dwarf. There must be dragons further north."

=====================================================================

Hello my Lovies!
This was a labor of love X'D It's the first time doing an all-male cast with canon characters and I admit I'm quite proud of how it turned out!

word count: 2,963

If you didn't see in the description, The amazing art in the cover was a commission (thanks to my mom, she wanted to celebrate XD) by Jay Lockwood Carpenter (his facebook is linked in the description as well, check him out! He was so mature and sweet and just all around lovey!)

LOOK AT THE DETAIL! THE CLOTHES, THE HENNA, KING DAIN, THE ARMOR, THE EXPRESSIONS!! And he got it done so quickly, 2 and half weeks specifically. He's amazing and I'm so grateful to him for doing it and my mom for gifting a commission for me :'D

Thanks to ThatOneWriter2001, Crimson-n-Clover, and CalebRyanWriter for all the encouragement <3

It was rough, especially with my grammar-check yelling at me about my UK spelling of 'axe'. 

Hope you have a lovely day and enjoyed reading!