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Chapter 53: A Famous Landmark
🕑 Added 2025-06-26 16:20:11 +0000 UTCElsewhere…
The two had walked for quite a distance when Gandalf finally cooled off enough to speak.
"We have no choice, Eric. Whether those dwarves agree or not, we must go to Rivendell. The moon-runes on that map can only be read by Elrond, the Lord of the Valley. Without him, we'll never complete this journey."
"We'll need the elves' help."
He paused, then looked over. "Eric, when the time comes, I want you to help me convince them—however you see fit."
Eric nodded easily. "If that's what it takes, I'll do it."
"But where are we going now? Aren't we heading back?" Eric asked, glancing up at the darkening sky.
Gandalf hesitated before replying, "I'm not quite ready to see any more dwarves tonight. You go on ahead—I'll scout ahead a bit more, then catch up."
Eric raised a brow but shrugged. "Alright."
Clearly, the old wizard was still sulking.
Turning on his heel, Eric made his way back toward camp.
Back at the ruined shack...
Bilbo was carrying two steaming bowls of stew, intending to bring them to Kili and Fili, but when he arrived, the two dwarves stood frozen in place, staring at something.
"What's wrong?"
"We're missing two horses," Fili said grimly. "There were seventeen. Now, only fifteen."
Besides the fifteen used for riding, the other two had been packhorses—laden with gear and supplies.
"Should we tell Thorin?" Bilbo asked.
"Not yet," Kili replied, grimacing. "He'll worry, and you know how he gets…"
"Also," Fili added with a sigh, "Eric's weird-looking horse is gone too."
That one was loaded with half the group's camping gear and a suspiciously heavy chest. If they didn't recover it, they were in serious trouble.
"You're supposed to be a burglar, aren't you?" Kili turned to Bilbo. "Help us figure this out."
Resigned, Bilbo set down the bowls and began examining the area.
"These trees… they've been uprooted," he muttered nervously, crouching beside a toppled oak.
What could possibly have the strength to pull a tree out of the earth like a weed?
"I agree," Kili murmured, narrowing his eyes. "Wait—what's that over there?"
Faint flickers of orange danced in the distance.
"Is that… fire?"
"Trolls," Kili said grimly.
He turned to Bilbo, dead serious. "Time to shine, Mister Baggins. Mountain trolls are slow and thick-headed. You're tiny—they won't see you coming."
"Me?! Oh no no no no, absolutely not—"
"Don't worry! We'll be right behind you."
And with that, Bilbo was promptly shoved out of the bushes with a squeak.
"…Fine," he muttered, dusting himself off. "Fine. I'll do it."
But Kili and Fili weren't entirely reckless. While Bilbo approached the fire, they quietly rushed off to alert the others.
A short while later, the whole company of dwarves huddled behind the treeline, anxiously watching Bilbo's every move.
Until… he was spotted.
A troll snatched him up like a doll and held him in the air.
"Any friends lurking nearby, little rat?"
"No," Bilbo said firmly.
"Liar."
"I said no!" Even dangling upside-down by his ankle, Bilbo refused to sell out the others.
That was enough for Kili. With a shout, he burst from the bushes, sword in hand.
"LET HIM GO!"
"CHARGE!" Thorin bellowed, his voice like thunder as he led the attack.
The dwarves surged forward as one, weapons swinging, their war cries echoing through the trees.
Though it was chaotic, there was a clear rhythm to their assault. Each dwarf moved in harmony with the next, covering each other, striking together. This was what made dwarves such a feared force in Middle-earth—not size or strength, but coordination and sheer tenacity.
"TAKE THIS, YOU UGLY BRUTE!"
CLANG!
A war hammer slammed into a troll's skull—but where it would've crushed a man's head like a melon, it only knocked out a few yellowed teeth.
Their skin was absurdly thick, more stone than flesh. Even the strongest dwarf strikes only managed to draw shallow cuts or elicit pained howls.
Still, the trolls were being worn down. Slowly but surely, they were losing ground.
Then, disaster.
Two trolls grabbed Bilbo by the arms and legs.
"Drop your weapons," one roared, "or we rip him in two!"
All eyes turned to Thorin.
He looked at Bilbo, whose eyes were wide with fear.
Then without hesitation—CLANG—he dropped his sword.
The others followed suit.
Thirteen dwarves, surrendering their only chance at freedom… for the sake of one hobbit.
Now bound and sitting beside a bubbling cauldron, the dwarves muttered curses through gritted teeth.
"I'm not being turned into stew by a bunch of oversized potatoes," Bofur hissed.
"We need to hurry," one troll grunted. "Dawn's not far—I'm not turning to stone over some undercooked dwarf!"
That made Bilbo perk up. He stood, drawing their attention.
"No, no, you're doing it wrong," he stammered. "Dwarves need to be—uh—skinned first! Yes, very important step!"
A chorus of horrified dwarves erupted behind him.
"You what?!"
"You little—!"
Thorin kicked the loudest offender to shut him up.
Bilbo ignored the outrage and kept improvising, trying to buy time. He glanced around desperately.
And then—movement.
A shadow atop a boulder. A man clad in dark armor raised a finger to his lips.
Stay quiet.
Then, in the blink of an eye, he leapt down—
THWACK!
A single strike. One troll howled in agony, clutching its burning side. The mysterious warrior's blade had not only pierced its stony hide—it ignited it. The fire spread rapidly, the troll toppling and rolling in agony.
The dwarves blinked in shock.
A second troll lunged, and again, the black-armored figure struck—another burst of flame, another scream of pain.
"THEY HAVE BACKUP!" a troll roared.
The third troll, however, was still on the move. It charged the armored figure, its massive fist raised like a battering ram.
"BEHIND YOU!" Thorin yelled.
But Eric—yes, it was Eric—only smiled.
He raised one hand.
BOOM!
The punch landed, but Eric didn't budge an inch. The earth cracked beneath him, but he stood tall, completely unfazed.
"What in the name of Moria—" a dwarf whispered, slack-jawed.
Eric's enchanted armor shimmered. Forged from Netherite alloy and enchanted with knockback resistance, it absorbed the blow completely.
He deflected the next strike with a clean parry, then danced between the trolls with uncanny precision. Each dodge was timed perfectly, every movement seemingly preordained.
It was like watching someone who knew the future.
Though he could've easily bulldozed them with brute force, Eric moved with elegant efficiency—using his old-world combat instincts to their fullest, almost showing off as he toyed with the enemy.
"Slippery little worm!" one troll bellowed.
But the cleverest of them paused, backing away with a trembling snort.
He had seen this before—in stories whispered among trollkind. Of a monster known only as Gold-Gobbler.
A spectral demon who hunted solitary trolls and ogers, burned them alive, and devoured their treasures.
"No… no, you're the Gold-Gobbler!" the troll shrieked, pointing at Eric with a shaking hand.
The dwarves exchanged confused looks.
"…Gold what now?" whispered Ori.
Eric cocked his head. "So that's what they're calling me."
He flicked the blood from his blade.
The trolls screamed.
"RUN!"
But before they could—
CRACK!
"Let the dawn take you!"
Gandalf stood atop the boulder, staff raised high. With a thunderous crack, the stone split apart and a blinding shaft of sunlight pierced through the forest.
The trolls froze mid-step.
CRACKLE...
SHHHK...
Three towering statues now stood where the trolls had been—still caught in the act of fleeing.
"Gandalf!" Bilbo gasped.
The wizard scratched his beard. "Oh dear… looks like you didn't really need me after all."
