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Chapter 51: The Roadside Fortress
🕑 Added 2025-06-26 16:18:08 +0000 UTCHome lay behind, and the wide world ahead.
For the first time in his life, young Bilbo Baggins had stepped beyond the borders of the Shire.
That night, sleep did not find him. He lay down for a bit but soon sat up again, restless and wide-eyed.
He wasn't the only one awake.
Gandalf leaned against a boulder, puffing on his pipe, while Eric stood on a nearby ledge, scanning the dark wilderness ahead. His silhouette was still, but his eyes were sharp and alert.
Suddenly—
Raaaagh!
Unfamiliar howls and unsettling sounds echoed from the distant mountain valleys. The night air seemed to tense with unease.
"What was that noise?" Bilbo asked nervously. He had never seen an orc, let alone heard one before.
The sudden ruckus roused several dwarves from sleep, including Thorin himself.
"Orcs," said Fili grimly. "Nasty things. Judging by that racket, there's at least a few dozen nearby."
He glanced at Bilbo, who looked pale. "They're everywhere in the Wilderland. They love to strike at night, creeping in like shadows. Before you even realize it—gone. Just like that."
Bilbo gulped.
Everywhere?
Gandalf, still calmly smoking, glanced sidelong at Eric up on the ridge and gave a subtle shake of his head.
True, the lands had once swarmed with orcs. Now, things were... a bit less certain.
As the noises grew louder, more of the company stirred. Barlin began recounting tales of old battles and how Thorin earned his title Oakenshield, helping distract the hobbit from his growing anxiety.
Meanwhile, deep in the woods where even moonlight dared not reach, a group of orc scouts observed the glow of the company's campfire from afar.
"They're here," the squad leader growled. "The dwarf scum have been found."
He dispatched a few orcs to trail them and sent the rest racing off to deliver the message to their master.
And then—BOOM.
The storm came without warning.
By morning, the travelers rode through the downpour, rain drenching cloaks and beards alike.
"I say, Mr. Gandalf, can't you do something about this weather?" Bilbo grumbled.
"When it stops raining, it stops," Gandalf replied unhelpfully. "If you want someone to argue with the clouds, you'll need a different wizard."
"There are others?" Bilbo asked curiously.
"Indeed," Gandalf replied, glancing toward Eric, then hesitating. "Five of us in total. Myself, Saruman the White, Radagast the Brown… and two Blue Wizards whose names I doubt you'd remember even if I told you."
He looked at Eric again.
Bilbo noticed the glance this time and followed it. "What about you, Eric? Are you… one of them?"
Eric smiled. "Gandalf's quite right. I've nothing to add."
"…Alright," Bilbo said, unconvinced.
Gandalf carried on, speaking about Radagast—an eccentric who dabbled in herbs and tonics, much like Eric's alchemy setup, but mostly for the sake of healing injured squirrels and singing to hedgehogs.
Radagast lived deep in the woods, loved all creatures (unless they were birthed from the shadows, like giant spiders or wargs), and considered every life sacred—sometimes to ridiculous degrees.
Eventually, the rain eased. The company rested briefly before continuing their eastward journey. They crossed Bree, passed the last signs of civilized life, and moved beyond the Weather Hills.
On the way, Gandalf suddenly pointed ahead. "Ah, we're here. That's Eric's domain—Roadside Fortress."
"His domain?" one of the dwarves asked, surprised. "You mean to say he's a lord?"
That changed everything. A fellow lord traveling in secret? Just like Thorin himself!
"Well… you could say that," Gandalf said with a maddeningly vague smile. "Though not a typical one."
"So we're near your home now, Eric?" Bilbo asked, intrigued. Usually, it was Eric who popped round to Bag End. He'd never imagined visiting Eric's home.
"Yes," Eric replied. "Not far off the main road."
"Can we visit?" Bilbo asked, almost bouncing in his saddle.
"I'd be delighted," Eric nodded.
Bilbo turned to the others for support.
"Well, since Eric offered, I don't see a problem," Gandalf said, floating forward like a cloud.
The dwarves, already curious about their quiet companion, quickly agreed.
Still, they waited for one final voice.
Thorin.
"If the lord of the land welcomes us," Thorin said, meeting Eric's gaze, "then we'll gladly accept. And should you ever journey to a dwarven hall, you'll have the same welcome."
"Then it's settled," said Eric. "Let's head in. You're all welcome to rest and resupply here."
What they weren't expecting was the fortress.
Moments later, they stood before a massive gatehouse, jaws slowly dropping open.
Towering walls stretched out of sight in both directions. Smooth stone. Impeccable symmetry. No signs of time or weathering.
"This is your keep?" one dwarf asked in awe.
"I've never even heard of a city this size out here. When did this get built? How did no one know?"
"It's a marvel…"
"More magnificent than any human city I've seen."
"And you haven't even seen Minas Tirith," Gandalf chuckled.
"But how do we get inside?"
"Oi! Open up! Your lord's returned!" one dwarf shouted at the silent ramparts.
"No need to yell," Gandalf advised, stepping forward with casual familiarity. "There's no one manning the walls."
He waited by the massive iron gates, clearly expecting something.
Clank.
Eric pulled a hidden lever, and the gates swung open with a low rumble.
"Welcome to my keep," he said. "Rest as long as you like. You'll find no shortage of food, water, or comfort here."
The company's packs and ponies were quickly stabled. The dwarves wandered the pristine stone streets, admiring the square architecture.
"Whoever built this really liked right angles."
"Which is… oddly satisfying."
The clean-cut corners and orderly design tugged at something deep in the dwarven soul.
"Uh—what's that?" someone pointed nervously.
A massive iron golem clanked around the corner, patrolling the perimeter.
One dwarf tried to prod it with his axe. Gandalf quickly intervened.
"Don't. That's a defensive construct. Eric built them to protect this place. Based on what I've seen, one of those could flatten ten orcs without breaking stride."
"…Or ten dwarves," another muttered under his breath.
"You serious?"
They weren't convinced—until one of the golems turned to approach them.
It clanked forward on piston legs, towering above them, head swiveling unnaturally.
The dwarves immediately huddled into a defensive knot.
"We're guests! Invited guests!" they cried in unison.
The golem scratched its head. Then, from some hidden compartment, it pulled out a small red flower and handed it to the frontmost dwarf—Barlin.
Everyone froze.
"…Thank you," said Barlin, blinking. He accepted the flower with the solemnity of a knight receiving a medal.
"They're… surprisingly polite," he added, as if the entire panic hadn't just happened.
Another golem wandered over and handed another flower to a shorter dwarf.
"I agree," that dwarf nodded, pocketing it. "Good height, too."
"Alright everyone!" Eric called from inside the keep. "Quit hugging golems—I've got lunch ready!"
The dwarves looked at one another.
"Lunch?"
"Lunch?" Bilbo echoed, his mind snapping into focus like a steel trap.
He sprinted toward the hall.
"Wait for me! You said you cooked it yourself?!"
Indeed, he had—and that, for Bilbo Baggins, was the greatest miracle of all.
