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A Few Steps 8
🕑 Added 2023-08-27 19:59:20 +0000 UTCInto the Fire
For one long, still moment, neither of them dared move, before slowly, almost cautiously, Michael extended his arm, marble-white fingers slowly moving towards the offered Ring. Unblemished, impenetrable skin met perfect, indestructible gold as Michael's fingers gently touched the One Ring to rule them all.
"Are you certain, Bilbo? You would offer this to me, freely?" Michael asked with a low rumble in his voice, and the hobbit was proud of himself of only hesitating for a brief moment before answering.
"I trust you, Michael. You're much more experienced at this whole 'adventuring' business than I, we both know that. I wouldn't know this thing turns you into a ghost if you hadn't told me. Who knows what it could've done to me if I had kept a hold of it?" he said, with some reluctance in his voice, even as a shudder ran up his spine at the thought.
Michael merely smiled though.
"Oh you would've been up to all sorts of mischief I would expect. However…"
The Titan's smile faded as his golden eyes tracked down to the band of gold still sitting on Bilbo's outstretched palm.
"You'd be one of the very few, very few indeed, to escape it's evil… but it would've left his mark on you, nonetheless. Awoken something… ugly inside you."
Michael frowned, and then his fingers fully closed around the One Ring, rising to his full height and Bilbo was surprised at how much lighter his hand suddenly felt, as if he had been trying to hold up a great weight instead of a small piece of jewelry. Pinched between thumb and pointer finger, Michael held the band of gold aloft, examining it with a keen eye.
"Perhaps it would be better for all then, if I were to destroy it. Right here and now." The Titan mused aloud, and Bilbo saw his fingers begin to squeeze.
The band of gold deformed ever so slightly under the god-king's immense strength and without even realizing it, Bilbo's hand came up to his chest, trying to rub away a sudden uncomfortable feeling in his heart. He could've sworn a tormented wail rang out in their dark corridor.
'Probably the wind. Yes, it's just the wind that's shrieking so.' Bilbo stubbornly thought to himself, even as he couldn't tear his gaze away from the Ring in Michael's grip.
"I could do it. Mayhaps I should do it?" Michael continued to wonder, before he shook his head, the pressure on the Ring relented and the shriek -the wind, Bilbo convinced himself again- finally abated as well.
The Titan looked at the band of gold on his marble-white palm and slowly shook his head, a morose look on his face.
"No. The tale is not yet finished and this piece of evil still has a part it needs to play. I will not stand in the way of this world's destiny." Michael eventually decided as he sunk to a knee in front of Bilbo again, locking gazes with the young Hobbit.
"But, not at the cost of my friend's suffering." He said with a comforting smile and he brought the Ring up between them.
Slowly, he cupped his other hand over the evil artefact until it was hidden from Bilbo's curious eyes and a frown of concentration furrowed Michael's stark white forehead. A pressure began to build, the tingle of magic leaving an odd tang dancing over the back of Bilbo's teeth, the curly hair on his head and feet billowing as gusts of wind began blowing around the two of them. From between Michael's fingers, lances of light a purest white shot outward, a blinding spectacle signifying the forces currently battling within his palms.
Bilbo had no way of telling how long the process took, utterly mesmerized by the show of power and light taking place in front of him, but eventually, the taste left his mouth, the wind abated and the shimmering pillars of light slowly weakened and retreated back under Michael's skin. When the Titan opened his hands, Bilbo was surprised to find that not much had changed.
The Ring was still there, small and shining and perfectly sized for his finger. The only thing that had been transformed was its color: where before it had been a deep, rich gold, now it had the same white-golden hue that Michael's eyes had, like fine marble soaked in purest sunshine.
"I don't understand? Did you remove the evil from it?" Bilbo whispered and Michael shook his head.
"No, the evil still lingers within and will remain there until the Ring itself is destroyed, unmade in the same fires that gave it form. It will take a great journey of unlikely adventurers, an adventure even greater than our quest for Erebor, to accomplish such a feat and it the reason why I have not sundered it whole right here. Stories are important, Bilbo, in some worlds more so than others. The destruction of this Ring, it's true destruction, will be the final chapter in a story that has been told for more than 3000 years. It will be the heralding of a new Age of this world and give shape to what comes after and I would not inadvertently shape it in my image as I have done to my own home."
"Ah, I see. I understand now." Bilbo said, not understanding at all, but nodding importantly nonetheless, just to make sure his friend didn't feel bad of course.
Judging by Michael's fond smile, the young Hobbit's bravado was easily noticed and Bilbo huffed a bit, refocusing back on the altered Ring.
"So, uhm… what did you do to it?"
Considering the changes Michael had made to his fine Hobbit hole, and even some features and buildings of Rivendell, merely altering something's color seemed rather tame for the former god-king. After all, he had done so plenty of times to an unwary Elf's precious hair when they had one careless joke too many about their Dwarven companions.
"Crudely speaking, I put a Light-condom on it."
"… what's a condom?"
"It's protection you put on for sex."
"… what kind of… intimacy requires you to put on a suit of armor?"
"… you know what, in hindsight the suit of armor analogy works much better, I should've gone with that in the first place." Michael said with a sigh and a shake of his head.
"Right. So you put armor on it?" Bilbo hastily agreed, eager to put the awkward conversation behind him, far in the past where all things are lost to the fog of memory.
"Indeed. The Ring reaches out to you, twists that which is already there inside of you to its own purposes. Even if you were a good person who took hold of the Ring with noble intentions, perhaps to use it for good, the Ring would twist your vision and thoughts until you became the very thing that you tried to fight against, and you wouldn't even realize. What I have done is instead enclose it within my own Energy. When it tries to reach out to you, it rebuffed by my barrier instead. You can still use it, but it will never harm you." Michael explained, offering the ring back to Bilbo.
The young Hobbit looked at it dubiously for a long moment, partly because of his newly gained knowledge of the terrible evil trapped within the band of gold, and in no small part because of Michael's earlier 'condom' comment. He'd rather not be… intimately engaged with ancient artifacts of unimaginable evil, a suit or amor for protection or no.
However, he trusted Michael and after a slight moment of hesitation, took up the Ring again from the god-king's offered palm. It was surprisingly warm to the touch, but not uncomfortably so. It was the warmth of a hearth in a well-loved home, or the warming feeling of sunshine pooling on your skin and Bilbo felt himself smiling as he took hold of the band of golden white.
Now that he held it again, he realized that the strange, heavy weight from before was gone as well. It no longer felt as if his hand was being dragged down by something far heavier and larger than he himself was, no matter the piece of jewelry responsible for the pressing feeling. It was a sensation he now only realized he had been bent under due to its absence. By contrast, the white-golden band in his palm was nearly weightless.
As he slipped it on his finger, he saw the shadows in the craggy corridor deepen and shift once again, as they had when he had first worn it in his mad scramble away from Gollum's grasping hands and biting teeth (all six of them!) and Michael stood before him as a figure of pure light, his features almost impossible to distinguish due to his brightness, save for the two spots of molten gold where his eyes shone with a warm fondness.
"How do I look?" Bilbo asked, surprised to find there was the slightest echo to his voice, as if the walls of the cramped tunnel they were standing in had fallen away to expose them to a vast emptiness instead, his own voice seemingly coming from somewhere far away from here.
"Glowy." Michael's voice came back tinged with humor and Bilbo looked down at himself in surprise.
While he was not made of pure light radiating outwards like a living sun, the Hobbit was surprised to find that he was indeed glowing. Draped over his skin and clothes, almost like a suit or armor without seams or plates, was a corona of white light suffusing his form.
"Huh. Well, that's new. Pretty, though."
"Your enemies will not think so, an added benefit of my protection. In this realm, usage of the Ring will inevitably draw the gaze of its master and his minions. So intertwined are they in this shadowy world, no magic or method save the utter destruction of both could prevent that. It's like trying to hide a coin amidst a dragon's own treasure. However, should his gaze be drawn to you now, it will do him no good as he shall be blinded instead. A being of shadows, his gaze cannot penetrate the light now surrounding you: he will see you much the same as you see me. For his minions, it would be as if they tried to stare into the heart of the sun." Michael explained and all this talk of shadowy masters and enemy minions made Bilbo swiftly take the Ring from his finger again.
To his own surprise, he found no sense of loss or wanting as he slipped the white-golden Ring into his pocket again without a second thought or a moment pause. He might not fully understand the impact the Ring had in the destiny of his world, or the apparent small role he himself had to play in that great tale, but he did understand that the protections that Michael had lain upon the cursed gold must have been great indeed and saved him from a terrible harm.
Feeling a lump in his throat, Bilbo shuffled his hairy feet (the curls going uncombed now after his perilous journey underneath the Misty Mountains) and with some difficulty looked the Titan in his golden eyes.
"Michael, I… thank you."
By Hobbit standards, it was rather lacking for an apology (he hadn't even offered so much as tea and cake with it after all!), but the sheer heartfelt emotion in his voice caused a wide and understanding smile to form on Michael's face as he slowly bent forwards, engulfing the small Hobbit within his large embrace.
"Of course, my dear friend."
Their escape from the remainder of the labyrinth underneath the Misty Mountains was done swiftly and easily, as Michael remembered the way outside and no goblins or Gollums stood in their path. Gollum had remained in his dark abode underneath the goblin warrens, truly alone now for the first time in 500 years and all the more miserable and poisoned because of it. As for the goblins, any that Michael had encountered on his way inside had been swiftly slain and served as a good enough warning for when he and Bilbo followed the way back outside again.
Standing outside in the open air was Michael's horse, the steed grazing unworriedly near the hidden entrance to the goblin lair, seemingly unbothered by the score of bodies that laid smoking and burnt in the entrance chamber where as small group of guards had stood before the Titan's arrival.
As Bilbo's own pony was with the rest of the company, Michael instead hoisted him up to sit behind him as he mounted his horse and then they were swiftly away, scaling down the wide slopes of the mountainside. Filled with underbrush and narrow gravel paths, they nonetheless went over the hills and down valleys with ease and speed, Michael steering his horse with expert skill and the steed confidently following its rider's orders.
As such, it did not take long for them to come upon the rest of the Company still resting in their dell of trees. They reacted with great cheer at the return of Hyperion and Bilbo, though in truth the cheer at Bilbo's return was mostly felt by Gandalf. Many of the Dwarves mere rather far more pleased with the return of a mighty god-king at their side, which is good thing to have guarding your back if you plan to have an angry dragon at your front. Besides that, they were very grateful that the had kept his promise and returned both their mounts and packs to them, not the least of which had been their rations, which are also good things to have when on a quest to face an angry dragon, perhaps (in a Dwarf's opinion) just as much so as a god-king.
Their interest in Bilbo's adventure was peeked however when it was Dori who clapped the Hobbit on the shoulder near hard enough to send the poor burglar sprawling to the ground.
"Well then? What became of you after you were torn from my back? Why did you not follow Gandalf's call?"
At the question, itself more curious than accusing if not for the naturally gruff expression resting permanently on the stony faces of Dwarves, many of the others paused and glanced Bilbo's way as well, who stammered briefly to answer the unexpected question.
"Call? What call?"
"Come now! Sight was lost to us in that darkness, but certainly your hearing did not leave you as well?" Bifur challenged with a smirk and Bilbo huffed as he planted his fists on his hips.
"I heard no calls, but sight was certainly not lost to me! Filled with stars it was! The goblins pulled me off your back Nori, and instead of throwing me to the ground, they threw me even further down below, to passages and ravines even deeper and more ancient than those of the goblin warrens. Upon my fall, I knocked my head and was out cold. When I awoke, there was no company or wizard or Titan to be found."
At that, the Dwarves stilled, their curiosity peaked and it was young Nori who eagerly prodded the Hobbit to continue with his tale, a sentiment quickly mirrored by the rest of the Company, Gandalf especially, his grey-blue eyes intent. Seeing they wanted to know all about his adventures after they had lost him, he sat down and told them everything-except about the finding of the ring ("not just now" he thought, Michael's ominous warnings about its great evil and important destiny still weighing heavy on his mind). They were particularly interested in the riddle-competition, and shuddered most appreciatively at his description of Gollum.
"And then I couldn't think of any other question with him sitting beside me," ended Bilbo; "so I said 'what's in my pocket?' And he couldn't guess in three goes. So I said: 'what about your promise? Show me the way out!' But he came at me to kill me, and I ran, and fell over, and he missed me in the dark. Then I followed him, because I heard him talking to himself. He thought I really knew the way out, and so he was making for it. And then he sat down in the entrance, and I could not get by. So I jumped over him and then ran into Michael, who did know the exit and swiftly led me to it."
The Dwarves quickly looked towards the Titan, who had quietly been brushing his horse as he listened to Bilbo's tale with a slight smile and feeling the gazes of the Company on him, he merely chuckled and shrugged.
"Not a word was a lie." He stated and the Dwarves elbowed each other in good cheer and slapped Bilbo on his back and praised him for his daring and his cleverness.
"What about guards?" they asked. "Weren't there any?" "O yes! lots of them; but Michael had turned them all to ash on the way in and none wanted to become the same when we were on our way out."
"What did I tell you?" said Gandalf laughing. "Mr. Baggins has more about him than you guess." He gave Bilbo a queer look from under his bushy eyebrows, as he said this, and the hobbit wondered if he guessed at the part of his tale that he had left out. It almost seemed as if the wizard had wanted to press him on the matter, but then his eyes flicked towards Hyperion who stood off to the side and the wizard withdrew slightly.
Or that was his intent, for Bilbo would not let him as he had questions of his own to ask, for if Gandalf had explained it all by now to the dwarves, Bilbo had not heard it. He wanted to know how the wizard had turned up again, and where they had all got to now. The wizard, to tell the truth, never minded explaining his cleverness more than once, so now he had told Bilbo that both he and Elrond had been well aware of the presence of evil goblins in that part of the mountains. But their main gate used to come out on a different pass, one more easy to travel by, so that they often caught people benighted near their gates. Evidently people had given up going that way, and the goblins must have opened their new entrance at the top of the pass the dwarves had taken, quite recently, because it had been found quite safe up to now.
"My thought had been to find a more or less decent giant to block it up again, or soon there will be no getting over the mountains at all, though that is quite a moot point by now, what with Hyperion's friends tearing down one of its peaks." Gandalf mused, gnarled hand thoughtfully moving through his silvery beard.
"R'grrrhg and his clan will keep an eye on the main roads and keep the Goblins from spawning too far. Should they come across one of their many hidden entrances and exits, they'll make sure to plug it with a boulder or two." Hyperion promised them and the wizard nodded as if being friends with an entire clan of giants was perfectly normal and not quite unusual.
Then again, Bilbo supposed, Michael was himself quite unusual, so something like that would in turn be perfectly normal to him.
It was a question as to how effective the giants would be however in spotting the secret entrances that the goblins used to beset on any unwary travelers, given how small the passages were to a giant's eye and many were cleverly hidden to boot. That was not the case however for the entrance which Hyperion had led Bilbo through however, and had been partly why he had been able to reach the despairing Hobbit so quickly.
Even Gandalf knew all about the back-door, as the goblins called the lower gate and as a matter of fact it was well known to anybody who was acquainted with this part of the mountains; but it took a wizard to keep his head in the tunnels and guide them in the right direction.
"They made that gate ages ago," he said, "partly for a way of escape, if they needed one; partly as a way out into the lands beyond, where they still come in the dark and do great damage. They guard it always and no one has ever managed to block it up. Well, not until Hyperion's friends come around to do to it what they did to Goblin Town!" he laughed.
All the others laughed too. After all they had suffered many an injury, to their pride as well as their bodies, but they had killed the Great Goblin and a great many others besides, and they had all escaped with their lives and even their packs and mounts intact thanks to Hyperion, so they might be said to have had the best of it so far. But the wizard called them to their senses.
"We must be getting on at once, now we are a little rested," he said. "Hyperion and his friends killed many, but even so they will be out after us in hundreds when night comes on; and already shadows are lengthening. They can smell our footsteps for hours and hours after we have passed. We must be miles on before dusk. There will be a bit of moon, but that matters little when we travel with a living sun." Gandalf spoke, getting a nod and a grin from Hyperion.
"A bit of moon?" Bilbo asked as everyone was bustling around to pack away their packs and mount their mounts.
"O yes!" Gandalf said in answer to more questions from the hobbit.
"You lose track of time inside goblin-tunnels. Today's Thursday, and it was Monday night or Tuesday morning that we were captured. We have gone miles and miles, and come right down through the heart of the mountains, and are now on the other side-quite a short cut. But we are not at the point to which our pass would have brought us; we are too far to the North, and have some awkward country ahead. And we are still pretty high up. Let's get on!"
"I am so dreadfully hungry," groaned Bilbo, who was suddenly aware that he had not had a meal since the night before the night before last. Just think of that for a hobbit! His stomach felt all empty and loose and his legs all wobbly, now that the excitement was over.
Thankfully, there were still his rations in the packs slung over his pony or he would've had to go back to the goblins and ask them nicely for some food.
'No thank you! They would have me for supper instead, and that's much than having none myself!' Bilbo thought to himself and as he supped on hearty bread he was once again thankful to have a god-king for a traveling companion, or all this adventuring would've been some dreadful (and hungry!) business indeed.
On and on they went, sometimes dismounting their ponies if the terrain became too steep or if they had to ford a small but rapid mountain stream. Even so, they made good time until soon the rough path disappeared. The bushes, and the long grasses, between the boulders, the patches of rabbit-cropped turf, the thyme and the sage and the marjoram, and the yellow rockroses all vanished, and they found themselves at the top of a wide steep slope of fallen stones, the remains of a landslide.
"Can't be helped. This will be too difficult for the horses and ponies to cross; we shall go by foot." Gandalf declared, but Hyperion shook his head.
"Even without the burden of a Dwarf or Hobbit or wizard on their back, this is treacherous terrain indeed; just leading them on through here risks them breaking a leg. Better they walk on air instead of stone at all."
And with those words he spurred on his stallion and the great steed took a step over the rocks and gravel and did not so much as disturb even a single pebble. Where its shod hooves slammed down, it did not meet the earth, but instead struck against an invisible barrier a few inches off the ground and as easy as if it were walking across the plains of Rohan or patrolling the squares of Gondor's inner rings, the horse advanced down the slopes of the mountain in a straight line.
After a brief pause of bafflement, the others in the Company spurred on their mounts as well and found that they too were suddenly lighter than air, hooves clopping against invisible air instead of stumbling over sharp rocks and so on they rode down the mountainside.
Though all were confused by the sound of jingling bells, even as none among them dared question it. Probably a by-product of Hyperion's magic, many reckoned and while they may not know a Titan's mind very well, they had enough experience with Gandalf and with tales told about the wizard to know not to disturb someone's concentration when they were concentrating upon magic.
It was only said wizard who was aware of the barely suppressed shaking of Hyperion's shoulders and the slight chuckles that escaped him and when the aged Istari managed to steal a glimpse at the god-king's face, he saw the Man was grinning widely at a joke only he understood.
However, while the journey itself was remarkably easy, their destination was anything but, as they soon came upon the edge of a climbing wood of pines that here stood right up the mountain slope from the deeper darker forests of the valleys below.
"No way forwards it seems, only down." Thorin mused darkly, before shooting Hyperion a somewhat wary glance, worried the Titan would simply spur on his horse once more and lead them all straight off the cliff side and into the open air.
He trusted the Man's abilities, but he was a Dwarf and as a being of rock and stone he didn't trust the open air; not when he was suspended right within it with the earth waiting hungrily far, far down below.
"Well! that has got us on a bit," said Gandalf; "and even goblins tracking us will have a job to come down here quietly." "I daresay," grumbled Bombur; "but they won't find it difficult to send stones bouncing down on our heads."
The other Dwarves were quick to agree, but Bilbo, born and raised in the Shire and thus quite a stranger to treacherous mountainsides and their various trapped terrains didn't understand.
"What? How?" he questioned, and it was Fili who answered.
"Watch." The Dwarf simply said, before briefly hanging almost sideways in his saddle as he scooped up a large pebble, or perhaps a small stone from the ground, one which seemed to fit comfortably in his hand.
Elven eyes may excel at archery as no other, but Dwarven eyes had no equal when it came to the workings of stone and Fili was quite adept even at range. Briefly his gaze narrowed as he glanced back the way they had come, before he drew back his arm and let it whip forwards with great strength and speed.
The stone shot from his hand like a blur and impacted the rock-covered slope some few dozen feet above them. At first, Bilbo didn't understand why the young Dwarf had thrown the stone, as rubbish and small pebbles rolled away from the impact. Comprehension slowly dawned on him as soon larger bits of split stone went clattering down and started other pieces below them slithering and rolling; then lumps of rocks were disturbed and bounded off, crashing down with a dust and a noise. Before long, a small section of the mountainside seemed to shudder and heave until one of the largest boulder was sent loose.
It bounded down towards the edge of the slope where they were standing on and only Michael's presence at his side kept Bilbo from leaping from his saddle to find shelter behind the nearest tree. The large disturbed stone went bounding and spinning past their watching company, smashing aside some of the smaller trees before it sailed beyond the edge of the ravine, falling down into the ravine far below with a distant crashing sound.
"As I said, they won't find it difficult to have the same bouncing down on our heads!" Bombur repeated after a brief silence and Bilbo quickly agreed with wide eyes.
"Nonsense! We are going to turn aside here out of the path of the slide. We must be quick!"
Gandalf prodded them along and they rode now as fast as they were able down the gentle slopes of a pine forest in a slanting path leading steadily southwards. At times they were pushing through a sea of bracken with tall fronds rising right above the hobbit's head; at times they were cantering along quiet as quiet over a floor of pine-needles; and all the while the forest-gloom got heavier and the forest-silence deeper. There was no wind that evening to bring even a sea-sighing into the branches of the trees. Eventually the shadows had lengthened so much that they seemed to wrap around and cover the Company completely, so Hyperion increased the light gently beaming from his skin, a Man-sized lantern riding in their midst and that kept the gloom at bay and provided light for their ponies to find their footing.
After what seemed ages further they came suddenly to an opening where no trees grew. The moon was up and was shining into the clearing. Somehow it struck all of them as not at all a nice place, although there was nothing wrong to see.
All of a sudden they heard a howl away down hill, a long shuddering howl.
It was answered by another away to the right and a good deal nearer to them, then by another not far away to the left. It was wolves howling at the moon,wolves gathering together!
There were no wolves living near Mr. Baggins' hole at home, but he knew that noise. He had had it described to him often enough in tales. One of his elder cousins (on the Took side), who had been a great traveller, used to imitate it to frighten him.
During one of Michael's tales which he had told Bilbo in Bag End using his life-like Light constructs, he had told the tale about how he had fought the Goddess of Death herself, back when he was still a Man and not yet a God himself. The Goddess had had a powerful ally and while Michael had not fought the giant wolf Fenrir himself, after his ascension had peered into the minds of his friends who had and the sight had terrified Bilbo to his core.
The gargantuan monster that leapt with maw opened wide towards a tall blonde Man wielding a lightning-clad hammer had made the sweat stand out on his back and his toes. It looked large enough to swallow Bilbo whole and the whole of Bag End with it!
None of the wolves howling now to the night could ever hope to even compare to the great size and ferocity of mighty Fenrir, who dwarfed even old Drauglin, father of werewolves and murderer of Galadriel's brother Finrod Felagund. Even his terrible spawn, most dreadful of all werewolves, Carcharoth, who had been destined to slay the noble hound of Orome the Hunter, Huan - trusted companion to Luthien on her quest to save Beren, whose hand was devoured by Carcharoth's poisoned bite - appeared as a mere pup compared to the mountainous size of great Fenrir. For it had been foretold that Hel's hound, famed as Hrodvitnir and known as the monster of the river Ván, Vánagandr, whose sons Sköll and Hati chase the sun and moon across the sky, would grow so large and so terrible that he would slay even mighty Odin, King of Asgard in a great battle during Ragnarok, a clash which would decide the fate of the gods themselves and see the warg sons of Fenrir finally swallow their prey whole.
These too were wargs that now hounded the company, and while they could not hope to chase and eat the sun and moon, Bilbo personally thought they had much better odds and chasing and eating a poor Hobbit far removed from his safe and comfortable Hobbit-hole. While the sight and sound of Fenrir had been terrible to behold even in his own living room, at least that had only been an image, the raging howls of the enormous wolfs fearsome, but ultimately fake.
Not so were the howls now ringing out in the forests and shadows around him. To hear it out in the forest under the moon was too much for Bilbo. Even magic rings are not much use against wolves-especially against the evil packs that lived under the shadow of the goblin-infested mountains, over the Edge of the Wild on the borders of the unknown. Wolves of that sort smell keener than goblins, and do not need to see you to catch you!
"What shall we do, what shall we do!" he cried. "Escaping goblins to be caught by wolves!" he said, and it became a proverb, though we now say 'out of the frying-pan into the fire' in the same sort of uncomfortable situations.
"Stay close to Hyperion and I!" Gandalf quickly called out.
He would've told them to try and climb the surrounding trees, as wargs, for all that they are great hunters and trackers, are not great climbers (no thumbs, you see), but that would mean leaving their horses on the forest floor and he was not keen to lose them so shortly after having them miraculously returned to them.
The sounds of the wolves were many, but the wizard had to trust that the might of his companion was greater still. Even so, Michael seemed not to worried; in fact, he looked more interested and almost excited rather than concerned, which in turn worried Gandalf a great deal.
"Swords out! Kock bows if you have them! The light of the moon and Hyperion should be enough to guide your arrow. Shields! Shields! Keep them low, they'll try to bring down the ponies first by tearing at their throats!" Thorin began calling out, spurring his pony to circle around the assembled Company, trying to get them in a fighting shape, recalling on his own military experience.
It worked with those that shared similar experience, but despite what the other races might think, not all Dwarves are warriors and soldiers and not many could be found amongst Thorin's company. His efforts weren't aided by the ponies, shrieking and startled as the sounds (and smells) of wolves came nearer and nearer, in some cases acting just as frightened as their riders.
Bombur, far too rotund to sit comfortably in the saddle even when literally walking across air, grumbled and decided to hop off entirely, a sturdy axe held tight in a white-knuckled grip and old Balin was quick to follow, exclaiming a whole litany of old-man grumblings that impressed even Gandalf. Not keen to abandon his brother, Dwalin quickly dismounted as well, taking up position besides Balin, war axe grasped in each hand and a fearsome snarl on his face, eyes glinting in the low light of the moon and Hyperion's skin.
Just at that moment the wolves trotted howling into the clearing. All of a sudden there were hundreds of eyes looking at them. In a minute there was a whole pack of them yelping all round the moon-lit clearing, with eyes blazing and tongues hanging out. This glade in the ring of trees was evidently a meeting-place of the wolves. More and more kept coming in (hundreds and hundreds it seemed to Bilbo's frightened eyes), though they refrained just yet from entering the glade properly, the sight of the glowing man sitting calmly in its center tugging at their instincts and telling them that this would be a difficult prey to tear and rend.
Instead, they went and sat in a great circle right at the edge of the glade; and in the middle of the circle was a great grey wolf. He spoke to them in the dreadful language of the Wargs. Gandalf and Hyperion understood it. Bilbo did not, but it sounded terrible to him, and as if all their talk was about cruel and wicked things, as it was. Every now and then all the Wargs in the circle would answer their grey chief all together, and their dreadful clamour almost made the hobbit fall off his horse.
"What are they saying?" he whispered despite himself, not even sure if he wanted the question answered.
Calmly, Hyperion translated for him and the rest of the company nonetheless.
"These Wargs and the goblins we escape from have an arrangement of sorts. They often help one another in wicked deeds. Goblins do not usually venture very far from their mountains, unless they are driven out and are looking for new homes, which they will now have to do with the destruction of Goblin Town. However, sometimes they also go on raids, especially to get food or slaves to work for them. Then they often got these Wargs to help and shared the plunder with them. Sometimes they rode them like men do on horses. Now it seems that a great goblin-raid had been planned for tonight. The Wargs have come to meet the goblins and the goblins are late. Probably on account of their Great Goblin having been turned into a puddle and their home into a heap of sundered rocks. Naturally, the Wargs aren't happy." Hyperion explained and some of the Dwarves' expressions grew dour.
"I imagine they will be even less happy when they discover that it was thanks to us that the goblins are late at all." Balin said grimly.
"They planned a raid? That's terrible! Those poor people!" Bilbo said instead, the sight of the sheer amount of matted fur and glistening teeth gripping at his heart, even if he had no idea that there even lived people in these rugged parts that could be raided in the first place.
Gandalf was the one to explain this time, though his eyes remained fixed upon the grey leader of the assembled Wargs.
"In spite of the dangers of this far land bold men had of late been making their way back into it from the South, cutting down trees, and building themselves places to live in among the more pleasant woods in the valleys and along the river-shores. There are many of them, and they are brave and well-armed, and even the Wargs dare not attack them if there were many together, or in the bright day. But now they had planned with the goblins' help to come by night upon some of the villages nearest the mountains. If their plan had been carried out, there would have been none left there next day; all would have been killed except the few the goblins kept from the wolves and carried back as prisoners to their caves."
"What dreadful talk!" Nori exclaimed, not only because of the brave woodmen and their wives and children, but also because of the danger which now threatened their company.
"If it's any consolation, looks like it's winding down. Mostly, the Wargs are angry and puzzled at finding us here in what's supposed to be their meeting-place. They have decided we're friends of the woodmen, and have come to spy on them, and that we'll take news of their plans down into the valleys, which really pisses them off, because then the goblins and the wolves will have to fight a terrible battle instead of capturing prisoners and devouring people waked suddenly from their sleep. So they have no intention of going away and letting us people be on our way."
"Then why have they not yet attacked?" Thorin spoke through gritted teeth, Orcrist clenched in his hand and Hyperion simply reached over and tapped its graceful blade with a marble-white finger, indicating its lack of shining glow.
"They're waiting for goblin soldier to come down from the mountains."
"But they could come at any time! You said yourself, they venture out when forced from their home or planning a raid! They had already done the latter and now you've done the former as well! Before dawn this whole area will be swarming with goblins!" Bombur cried.
"Indeed. We must rid ourselves of these wolves ere their goblin allies arrive and be on our way." Hyperion said, before he simply dismounted from his horse and began making his way toward the gathering of wolves, despite the disbelieving and warning cries of the others.
Startled at the commotion, the circle of wolves quickly shifted their attention, heads held low to the ground and lips peeled back to show fearsome fangs glinting with streaks of saliva. The grey-furred leader of the pack drew himself up large, a deep growling coming from his chest as his furious eyes glinted in Hyperion's approaching light.
"Ho there! Is there a rider named Azog amongst you? He is a pale orc, lost an arm, about yea heigh?" he called out of nowhere, stunning both wolf, Dwarf, wizard and Hobbit alike.
"Hyperion? What is this of Azog the Defiler?" Thorin called out in a sudden rage but the Titan sussed him with a calming gesture.
"Relax Thorin, just checking something."
He turned back towards the grey wolf, entire posture still nonchalant despite the array of claw and fang arrayed before him.
"Well?" he pressed and the leader of the wargs tilted its head at the Titan, sharing confused glances with its brethren, before responding with a series of barks and snarls that sent the hairs on Bilbo's arms and feet standing on edge.
"I see. Thank you, that's good to know. Now then, with that resolved, me and my companions must be on our way and you will let us pass."
Hacking grunts and howls, almost like laughter, came from the assembled wolfs, but the grey-furred Warg merely growled again as he bared his fangs. Only he was experienced to hear the threat in the mans simple request and see the danger underneath his carefree stance.
He commanded for silence in his pack with a sudden, loud bark that sent Bilbo falling right out of his saddle in fright, before studying Hyperion with an unnerving intelligence.
Once more a string of growls, huffs and barks came from the large Warg and the Titan nodded his head.
"I understand. We have trespassed upon your lands and foiled your plans for an easy meal among the villagers in the valley below. Naturally, you wish to be compensated, no?"
The gray wolf hesitated a trick of some kind, but eventually it gave a slow, considering nod.
"Well, payment you shall receive!" Hyperion called out in good cheer, to the utter confusion of the wolves and the indignation of the Dwarves.
"Hey now! Just a moment, a moment I say! Paying wolves? Why, I have never heard of such a thing! Not to mention that we have not even been paid yet! Paying wolves before Dwarves? What madness!" came the calls of Bombur and similar complaints went up from the others as well, their fear of the Wargs briefly forgotten in favor of their fear from missing out on payment.
"Be at ease, everyone! I do not intend to pay these fine wolves with gold. What use is coin to one who has only teeth and no thumbs? No, I have a price far greater! Come, wolves of the Wild! Come forwards, one at a time and receive a price none amongst your kin have received ever since your ancestors fled from far-flung Tol Sirion! I swear onto you, after you have all received your gift, I shall personally lead you into the valleys down below towards the woodsmen and farmers you had set your sight upon and you will need not share them with either goblin or even me!" he called out to shocked gasps from the company.
"Michael!" Bilbo called out, hurt in his voice as he stared at his friend with wounded eyes.
But the Titan merely glanced over his shoulder, a sly grin on his face and he sent them all a gleeful wink that managed to soothe their worries somewhat; even if they were just as confused as the Wargs right now, they trusted in their friend that he would bring no harm to Man.
Slowly, cautiously, the leader of the pack of wolves stepped forwards on large paws. He was a large one: while not as large as Huan, who rivalled a horse in size, the old Warg was certainly large enough to make the ponies nervous and had a jaw so wide Bilbo thought it could swallow a Hobbit whole.
Just as carefully, Hyperion extended its hand towards the enormous wolf's head and seemingly frozen in place, the giant Warg kept completely still. Closer and closer the Titan's hand inched towards the matted fur until, after long, breathless moments, it finally touched it. Slowly, Hyperion moved his hand up and down through the matted fur, before steadily increasing his rhythm.
A steady thumping sound began to sound out throughout the clearing and the grey-furred Warg was surprised to find that it came from his own hind leg stamping against the ground in time with the scratches behind his ear and under his jaw.
Images began to overtake his vision: of being a far smaller pup, not yet as large as he would end up growing, his littermates around him, and elder wolves moving in and out of their burrow, sometimes smelling of blood, their own or another's. There is no kindness amongst the Wargs, who are descended of the evil-spirited werewolves that fled from Tol Sirion, the watchtower of Sauron before his Master's fall, but neither are they wholly malevolent beings, such as wights and dread spiders. More than beast, yet lesser than say the Eagles. Even so, despite their dark ancestry and harsh living, even an animal knows the comfort of a good den, the warmth provided by brothers and sisters, the protection of parents and the comfort of a filled belly.
All these images, these sensations, even these smells, seemed to ring throughout the old wolf's body, a tide of unknown, pleasant warmth pooling into his body, all spreading like waves from the point where the odd Man was still scratching his cheek.
Oh, what a great feeling! The Man had spoken true: surely no werewolf or Warg since the sundering of Beleriand had ever been bestowed anything even close like this before! This was something that no amount of man flesh or midnight raids had ever brought his pack. This… satisfaction, it was wholly foreign to the aged Warg and he was the oldest wolf amongst the large gathering here.
Without any real say from himself, he allowed the Man's touch to bring him low to the ground and then he rolled to his side. Normally, exposing his belly or throat like that would be an extreme vulnerability, even amongst his closest packmates and long-learned experience almost saw him springing back up and away from the Man, even if he had to abandon that strangely pleasant touch.
But then the Man's hands moved to his belly instead and the waves of warmth increased a hundredfold!
"Who's a good doggo? Who's a good boy!"
I am! The aged Warg couldn't help but think. He was, after all. He had planned clever raids for his pack, and had kept their bellies fed now that Men had slowly begun moving back into this rugged region of the world again. He had managed to ensure the cooperation of the goblins for their raids, enlisting their crude swords and cunning hands for the betterment of himself and his pack, and now that they hadn't shown up, he had secured something that no amount of goblins could ever hope to offer!
However, after several long moments, the feeling faded as the Man moved away and the old wolf rose to his paws again, tongue lolling from his large maw, panting yet feeling stronger, more content and more filled than he could ever remember being in his entire strife-filled survival.
The rest of the pack was extremely suspicious and several loped over towards him, checking him with careful sniffs and relating to the others in surprise that their leader was in perfect health, quite literally, despite his advanced age. Strength flowed in him, and even now the matts and knots in his fur had been untangled, giving his coat a far better shine than any of the others sported.
Jealousy and greed swiftly rose within the rest of the pack and they fell over each other, snapping and barking and demanding loudly from Hyperion that they were good boys as well and deserved their gift in turn as well.
So entranced were they in Hyperion's gift and in getting it before their brethren, even turning on each other, that they completely forgot the existence of the company in the clearing, who all stood in abject bafflement and completely forgot to make their escape until a slim figure made of wispy white light appeared at their backs.
"Pst! Mount back up and follow me!" it said in Hyperion's voice and the Dwarves quickly did as they were told.
The spirit danced away from where the real Hyperion stood, leading them through the dark pine trees and right to the edge of the ravine. Their mounts stamped nervously, but before they could whinny in fright, a white glaze overcame their eyes and the pony bearing Thorin stepped right over the edge of the slope.
And then took another and another and soon it was trotting out over the ravine far below.
The other mounts swiftly followed as well with unerring steps, their eyes and minds gently shielded from the impossible feat they were performing and soon their canter sped up in a trot as they climbed higher and higher, the earth disappearing down far below them.
Up and up they climbed, turning towards the northeast, towards the end of the mountain range and leaving it behind them. They passed a great rocky shelf that stood atop the highest peak, where several large, flattened rocks stood and there the Lord of the Eagles rested upon his Eyrie, roused from sleep by the clamoring of the Wargs still remaining with Hyperion.
An Eagle's eyes are sharp, able to see even the smallest things at a great distance. Their keen gaze could look at the sun unblinking, and could see a rabbit moving on the ground a mile below even in the moonlight. Yet, even so he could not believe what his eyes were seeing now, as a small troupe of ponies and two horses galloped right passed his eyrie, nearly bowling him off completely as hooves stamped out silently on the air itself.
Upon the backs of the ponies rode an equal number of Dwarves, all screaming and wailing in terror and grabbing onto the rains and saddles and manes of their steeds in fright. One of them was particularly small, perhaps a child amongst them as he did not even sport a beard. At their front, on one of the horses rode a figure that the great Eagle recognized; an aged man, pointed hat clutched in one hand, gnarled walking stick clenched in the other, the robes he was wearing blown up to above his knobby knees while his great silvery-white beard was up and in front of his face.
Even so, Gandalf must've recognized his indignant squawk of surprise, as the wizard tried to look over his shoulder (incidentally looking over his left instead of his right and thus addressing empty air instead). He tried to move the beard out of his face, but instead almost lost his pointed hat so he gave it up, making it so that his voice only reached the Lord of the Eagles very faintly and muffled.
"My deepest apologies, Gwaihir! But I can't see where I'm going, only that I am where I need to go!"
And off he galloped into the night sky, the terrified group of Dwarves speeding after him as they left the eyries of the Eagles behind. The Lord of the Eagles smoothed his ruffled feathers with a hum.
"Wizards." He stated, as if that explained everything and he supposed in a way it did.
"But then what is all that racket about down below?" he groused as he turned away from the flying Dwarves, turning his keen gaze to the forest down below.
What was happening was that Hyperion was spreading his gift of scratches and belly-rubs with abandon, being truly generous with his promised prize for the assembled wolves. The mood in the clearing kept increasing as each wolf found his belly full, his spirits lifted, his body strengthened and his fur cleaned and free of knots, for many the first time they ever felt something like this for the first time since they were pups still.
While the rest of the company almost caused Middle-Earth's first mid-air traffic collision, the grey leader of the pack called his brothers and sisters back to some semblance of order, yapping and barking and even nipping at heels and biting in tails as he pried the host of wolves off the strange but generous stranger.
He had indeed given them a mighty and precious gift, but his promise had not yet been fulfilled. His body was in great spirits and he felt quite up for a raid even without Goblin aid.
The rest of the promise! He called out and enthusiastic to see what the strange Man would deliver them this time, the rest of the pack joined in with howls of their own.
Instead of looking worried, Hyperion merely smiled and nodded and led them down the mountain side, towards the nearby villages that men had begun to make for themselves amidst these rugged wildlands.
Enthusiastic and filled with an energy they had not felt since they were still pups, the entire Warg pack howled and barked as they loped down the mountains, none of them even questioning at this point how the Man easily kept pace with their loping strides. Indeed, he ran at the very front of them all and seemed to turn it all into an impromptu game, challenging them to races and tests of agility as they crossed rock and brook and leapt over tree and root.
As you can imagine, it caused quite a commotion and the villages were roused long before the Wargs neared the closest hamlets.
A people as rugged as the lands they had made a home in, the men had quickly rallied at the calls of the wolves and in quick order had formed a militia. Able-bodied men were gathered and armed as best as possible, while the elderly, the women and the children were gathered in the largest longhouse.
While ready, the men were understandably fearful and many grasped their weapons in a panicked grip, thoughts on the family that was secured in the chieftain's house.
Yet what they saw emerging from the forest's edge, from amidst the trees they had hewn for their cabins, was a sight that caused some of them to drop those weapons entirely.
Out at the front of a massive wolf pack ran a tall Man with perfect marble-white skin, leaping and dodging with impossible speed and grace, roughhousing with Wargs that could rival a pony in size (as thirteen Dwarves and one Hobbit could now attest to). A terrifying sight by all accounts and usually arrows would've been sent flying and men running towards their fellow with a great hollering and shaking of weapons to try and scare off the Wargs and keep the stranger from their reaching fangs and swiping claws.
What stayed their hand this time was the sheer joy radiating from the scene. The man was laughing with an enormous smile on his face and the Wargs' tongues were lolling from their maws, not in slavering hunger, but in the carefree look a content dog would sport. Tails were wagging even as they raced with the Man and it was clear to all that this was not a chase but a game.
Perhaps stranger still, was that the man was winning. As he closed in on the stunned group of woodsmen, they saw that there was no sweat on his brow, or even dirt on his fine clothes. He wasn't even breathing hard, in contrast to the panting Wargs, who all came to a halt several dozens of feet away from the wary humans.
"Halt, stranger! What is this? Do you intend to use your sorcery to send these creatures against us?!" the chieftain called out suspiciously, and the tall Man stopped petting a particularly large grey wolf to approach him with leasurely steps.
As he drew closer, the woodsmen realized that this was not merely a tall Man; their chieftain could be said to be tall, a large and rugged man, amongst the biggest in their little community. Yet as the stranger came to a halt in front of him, they realized that even the chieftain only barely even reached the other Man's chin.
Between his unique appearance and strange powers over the Wargs, many amongst them began to question whether he was a Man at all.
"Be at ease. I come in peace and with an offer."
A dark frown overcame the chieftain's face.
"We have very little gold, stranger. Too little for your tastes, I would imagine." He stated as he hefted his axe a little higher, fearing this strange wizard was here to extort his village under the threat of a Warg attack.
The immensely tall Man merely smiled instead.
"Good! I have no use for gold and the same of course goes for my companions as they have no need to spend it. But! I have promised them I would give them a gift. As I have to move on from these parts as I am on a quest, it falls to you to provide this reward instead."
Now the chieftain was really worried; wolves have little use for gold, its true as it did not fill their bellies. Man-flesh, on the other hand…
"What would reward would you ask of us stranger?" he tried, hoping that keeping the obviously powerful wizard talking would stay his hand, at least for the moment.
It seemed for naught however, when the tall Man turned and whistled towards the largest of the Wargs, a wolf with grey fur.
"Come, Bigby!"
At the Man's command, the large wolf loped over, but his tongue was lolling carelessly out of his large maw, his tail was wagging lazily and his eyes did not hold even a trace of malice the chieftain had expected to see. In truth, despite the creature's size, he found it difficult to believe this creature any more savage than some of the hounds they used to protect what little cattle they had from the hunger of eagles and wolves alike.
"Now, what you must understand is that Bigby here is a good boy-"
And so Hyperion instructed the chieftain and his people on how to properly reward the assembled Warg pack with treats and scratches. It was a slow process as the people were of course frightened and wary and many a Warg found their gifts paltry in comparison to the warmth-filled touch of the Titan.
But a process it was and after several long (and very strange) days, Man once again proved that it can adapt to anything, as nary an eye was batted as the people went about their day in the small villages, often having to step over and around the immense wolves lazing the day away.
A compromise had been reached between Bigby and the human chief: no Warg would ever feat upon Man-flesh again and would indeed forage into the surrounding wolves, keeping enemies at bay and relaying news back towards the humans. In turn, they would be generously paid for this service in the form of belly-rubs and dedicated fur-care.
It was a good deal for all parties involved, once the humans got used to the idea and they surely could use the aid of the large wolves in this dangerous part of the world, in the Mountain's shadows and on the border of the known regions.
As time would go on, this agreement between the two parties would be kept and honored even after generations had passed, children being taught the proper 'payment' by their parents and pups being taught what is and isn't prey by the rest of the pack.
Foreseeing this, Hyperion impressed upon the people of the small villages that these enormous wolves could no longer be considered true Wargs, as those were dark beings bred from vicious wolves and given intelligence by the malevolent spirits that had inhabited their forebears.
Now they were large, intelligent beasts with wants and needs of their own, but with no need to be malevolent as long as they received the same security and comfort all living beings seek out and have a right to.
As such, they required a new name, to signify the departure from their evil ancestors.
"What should we name them then, Lord?" the chieftain had asked on the last day that Hyperion had stayed in their village, his hands sinking deep into the fur just behind the ears of Bigby, who sat at his side with a content look on his face as his tail thumped against the floor of the chieftain's hut.
A mischievous smile grew on the Titan's face and thus the villages on the edge of the unknown regions could forever more count on the protection of their mighty Doggos.
Fun Fact: Jackson knew that "Riddles in the Dark", would be the lynchpin of The Hobbit films, so he absolutely had to nail it. That's why it was the first scene they shot. Normally, scenes are broken up, but to get everyone immersed in the world, it was shot like a stage play, wherein the actors ran the entire scene from start to finish over and over again. They shot from all the different angles you see in the film, and then everything was cut together in the editing room, and the result is easily the best thing about the film.
AN: I like doggos, what can I see. I just didn't like the idea of Micheal just straight up murdering a bunch of Wolves, even if they are sentient and evil. So I had him redeem them instead. It's actually a topic that will come up in a future discussion with Gandalf on the nature of creatures and whether or not a being can be intrinsically evil when it is capable of thought and emotion. It's a big discussion that Tolkien himself wrestled with and there's even a Wikipedia article on it called Tolkien's Sentience Dilemma: wiki/Tolkien_sentience_dilemma
Comments
Tomuk95
Awesome chapter thank you:)
