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Chapter 49: The Banquet
🕑 Added 2025-06-26 16:16:10 +0000 UTCThe so-called expedition naturally referred to the Erebor Quest.
It wasn't long before Gandalf shared everything that had transpired in Bree—including his encounter with Thorin Oakenshield and growing concerns about the strategic risks tied to Erebor. He spoke freely, whether or not Eric fully understood the details.
Clearly, Gandalf saw Eric as one of his own. That was the only reason he'd lay out the entire situation so candidly.
"Thorin, son of Thrain, heir to the throne of Durin's Folk, is already marching eastward from the Blue Mountains," Gandalf explained. "He's gathered a band of dwarves and plans to rendezvous at a place near the borderlands—a village called Bywater. From there, we set out for the Lonely Mountain to reclaim the Arkenstone."
"With the Arkenstone in his hands," Gandalf added, "Thorin can rally the dwarven hosts and launch an assault on the dragon. If all goes well, Erebor will be ours again."
Eric simply said, "Sounds like a decent plan."
Indeed, that was the original idea behind the Erebor expedition. It was just that… well, the results had been less than perfect, historically speaking.
Gandalf nodded, continuing with a twinkle in his eye. "You may have heard that Smaug sleeps atop a mountain of gold. The treasure hoard beneath Erebor's halls is so vast, it gleams like a second sun. Uncountable."
"Join the quest, help the dwarves reclaim their home," the wizard offered. "And fifteen percent of that treasure will be yours."
Gandalf had done his homework. He knew Eric wasn't just some random wanderer. The man had a stronghold, some followers, and likely more to come. He wasn't someone who acted without purpose—though at times, he did show a peculiar habit of helping others simply for the sake of good.
Still, even idealists needed provisions and coin.
As for Gandalf himself—he never counted himself in any reward. For him, stopping evil was the reward.
Eric nodded. "I'm in."
Only then did Gandalf exhale, visibly relieved. Having Eric's power behind this expedition made the whole endeavor far more secure.
"Excellent," Gandalf said quickly, as though worried Eric might change his mind. "April the twenty-fifth, evening. We meet at Bag End, in Hobbiton. Don't worry about directions—I'll mark the door myself."
"There'll be a banquet."
"Got it," Eric said with a chuckle.
Looking at Gandalf's smug "I've already arranged everything" face, Eric couldn't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for Bilbo. The poor hobbit had no idea what chaos was headed his way.
Still… it was a little funny.
While Gandalf departed immediately for the Shire, Eric stayed behind to prepare. He cleaned out his pack, tossing spare bricks and leftover building materials into his storage vault, making room for more essential travel gear.
He packed golden apples, emergency potions, Lembas bread, rations for weeks, hay blocks for his horse, spare armor, tools, enchanted weapons, arrows, and a well-balanced set of utility items for all possible survival scenarios.
By the time he was done, his inventory grid was nearly full.
Two days later—after inspecting his territory and setting up basic auto-defenses, Eric finally saddled up and rode out.
He took it slow. The last thing he wanted was to accidentally arrive before Gandalf and ruin the wizard's dramatic entrance.
A Few Days Later – A Sunny Morning
The Shire, Hobbiton
"Good morning."
Bilbo Baggins puffed gently on his pipe, offering a polite nod to the peculiar old man standing at his doorstep.
"What do you mean by that?" the old man narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Do you wish me a good morning, or do you mean it is a good morning? Or perhaps you're just stating that it could be a good morning, whether I want it or not?"
"All of the above, I suppose?" Bilbo replied, brow furrowed.
Something about this fellow was definitely odd.
He was disrupting a perfectly peaceful morning and playing word games to boot. Bilbo silently hoped the man would get on with his business—and go away.
"I'm looking for someone to join an adventure," the man said.
Adventure?
Bilbo blinked.
Oh—this was that sort of person. Probably one of Eric's acquaintances. They were all a bit strange, frankly.
"From Bree heading west, I doubt you'll find many who enjoy adventures," Bilbo said dryly. "You're in the wrong place. But I do have a friend who might suit your needs—though I assure you, it's not me."
"Good morning to you," he added hastily, trying to close the door.
But Gandalf wasn't done.
"You do know me," he said, tapping his staff against the ground. "You just haven't matched the name to the face. I am Gandalf."
"You've changed, Bilbo Baggins. You were different as a child. Much more… interesting."
"Well then," he said with finality, "It's settled."
With that, Bilbo slammed the door shut and threw the bolt.
CLUNK.
"Let's see you talk your way past that," he muttered.
But then…
Zzzzzz…
Gandalf's staff traced a glowing rune—a stylized "F"—into the wooden door, the magic seeping into the grain.
Bilbo's peaceful day had just begun to unravel.
That Evening
Bilbo had just pan-fried a lovely fish when—
Knock knock.
"Dwalin. At your service."
"Ah… Bilbo Baggins. At yours," Bilbo replied, flustered, straightening his waistcoat.
To his astonishment, Dwalin strode in and immediately helped himself to Bilbo's dinner.
"Um… I wasn't really expecting company tonight…"
Ding-dong.
"Balin. At your service."
Then—
"FÃli and KÃli. At your service!"
"You must be Mr. Baggins," one said cheerfully.
"No, no, you've made a mistake!" Bilbo began to panic.
"That's my mother's hope chest—please don't put your muddy boots on it!"
Too late.
"Nice sword you've got," one dwarf commented, unsheathing it. "Dwarven craftsmanship. Exquisite quality."
Swish—swish.
The steel gleamed as he tested its weight, causing Bilbo to backpedal in horror.
"Hey! Hands off! That was a gift from Eric—put it back!"
"Eric?" another dwarf murmured. "That name rings a bell…"
Ding-dong.
Bilbo opened the door again—and immediately regretted it.
A tide of dwarves surged in like a flood. Bilbo had no time to react before the hallway was packed.
Behind them, the old wizard peeked in through the doorway with a smug grin.
"Gandalf," Bilbo groaned.
A raucous banquet soon filled Bag End. His pantry emptied at terrifying speed, while the dwarves sang rowdy songs about smashing crockery and ruining carpets. Bilbo nearly fainted from stress.
"There's still one more," a dwarf remarked mid-verse.
"No—two," Gandalf said, eyes fixed on the door.
"He will come, won't he?"
Just then—
Ding-dong.
Everyone froze. Then slowly turned to Bilbo.
"You're the host," someone prompted.
Bilbo sighed. "Alright, alright—but if it's another bizarre guest…"
Creaaak.
The door opened, and a tall figure stepped through—draped in bloodied linen, clad in black steel armor. The air seemed to darken around him as he moved, his boots heavy, his presence immense.
He looked like someone who had walked out of a battlefield… or maybe straight into one.
Instantly, the dwarves jumped up. One grabbed a chair. Another reached for a blade. Someone pulled a fork from the drawer like it was a weapon. Another tried to haul Bilbo behind him.
Combat reflexes all around.
All… except for Bilbo.
"Eric!" Bilbo's face lit up like a lantern. Arms open wide, he grinned from ear to ear.
"Oh, this is the best surprise all day! Welcome, welcome! I didn't think you'd actually come visit—though, well, as you can see…"
He turned to introduce everyone—
Only to find his home on the edge of a bar brawl.
"What are you all doing!?"
