Sorry for the delay, dear readers. Things have been pretty busy lately, and on top of that, the new semester at my university just started. I should let you know in advance that delays might happen more often since I'll be doing my internship. But I promise, if I can, I'll make it up to you later.
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—Bilbo's Perspective—
As we climbed the hill, we came across troll tracks different from the ones we had been following. Gilan spoke quietly.
"There are probably three or four trolls. What do you think, Fili?"
Fili, crouched over the tracks, studied them carefully before replying to Gilan.
"…Most likely. Trolls value their dens greatly. They gather everything they see as treasure and hoard it inside. When they travel in groups, they usually leave one or two behind to guard the den while the others hunt."
That was interesting. I always thought trolls were brainless brutes. This bit of knowledge might come in handy someday… Thorin was right, I really should keep a journal. Gilan nodded, then gazed at the top of the hill for a while before speaking again.
"You guys wait here. I'll go on alone, just in case. No offense, but your legs are too short—if we need to run, you'll be left behind. And you're not particularly skilled at hiding… at least not as skilled as I am."
Fili and Kili stared at him calmly. That surprised me. Dwarves usually flare up at such words—especially when their height is mentioned… or when elves are brought into the conversation. While I was mulling this over, Fili answered.
"We understand. We dwarves are great warriors. In close combat we cannot be beaten! That's why elves became masters of archery—because they feared to face us in close combat!"
He said this shamelessly, with immense pride… but Gandalf had told me rather different things. My instincts screamed at me to keep my mouth shut, and so I did. Fili went on, still full of himself.
"But the weakness of our strong bodies is that we cannot run long distances! A dwarf is like a battering ram. Slow to move, but when it hits—it hits hard."
Kili nodded proudly in agreement. To my left, Doğan—who had been listening quietly—spoke up.
"I understand. But going alone isn't safe either. Why don't you take Bilbo with you? Hobbits are good at hiding, and much quicker than dwarves—or even men."
I froze, staring at treacherous Doğan with a look of betrayal. He only smiled back at me, patting my shoulder as he added,
"I believe in you, Bilbo."
I met his chestnut-brown eyes, so full of trust. I opened my mouth to protest—to tell him I didn't believe in myself!—but the way he looked at me made the words die in my throat. Then, to my right, Bamsı burst out laughing and slapped me hard on the back. I stumbled and fell flat on my face.
AH!
THUD!
My trembling hand rubbed at the pain in my back. Judging by how much it hurt, there would definitely be a bruise!
"Hahahahaha! Doğan is right, Bilbo! It's time you stepped forward and showed us your talents!"
I turned and stared at Bamsı blankly. As if the bear incident hadn't been enough, now he wanted to send me into a troll den! At that moment, I truly began to think the Khuzaits were the most dangerous people in the entire world! With one last shred of hope, I looked at Gilan, who was lost in thought, praying he wouldn't take me. After a few seconds, he finally spoke.
"No. Bilbo isn't ready yet… I don't know what I'll encounter ahead. Going alone is safer. If something goes wrong, I'll blow my horn."
He pulled a horn-shaped instrument from his pouch. It had been given to him by İgris for emergencies, though it actually belonged to Balin. İgris hadn't been pleased when Gilan was ambushed during the raid, and decided precautions were necessary. I sighed in relief. A small hobbit like me had already lived through more than enough for one lifetime—I had fought in battles, killed men! I was probably the only Baggins to ever commit murder… and not just murder, but mass murder… though surely it doesn't count as murder, right? It was self-defense! If I hadn't killed them, they would have killed me or someone else in the group. Still, I should note—it was also the first time in my life I had vomited so much.
Meanwhile, Gilan began moving forward.
"I'll return soon. Stay back and keep hidden."
He disappeared into the forest. Haaaah… relief washed over me. For a moment I had feared he would change his mind. Turning to Doğan and Bamsı, I snapped.
"You're cruel! I'm a hobbit who's never left the Shire! It hasn't even been a month since I began my training!"
Doğan gave me an embarrassed smile, scratching his chin, while Bamsı grinned.
"The best training is practice!"
My eyebrows twitched. Fili joined in, making me shiver even more.
"He's right!"
…suddenly, I regretted ever leaving home. I had men in my own group who seemed ready to murder me and pass it off as an accident! My life wasn't safe here! Kili walked up and placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder.
"Calm down, Bilbo. We'll watch your back."
I sighed.
"I'm worried about what's going to be in front of me…"
They all laughed. We sat down in a quiet spot, waiting for Gilan's return, chatting idly. I looked around again—and then noticed something strange. The ground was wet and damp, though our campsite had been dry. It seemed a rain cloud had passed through here recently. I murmured softly to myself,
"Gilan's plan won't work…"
Kili's voice startled me.
"Why? Why wouldn't Gilan's plan work?"
I flinched—when had Kili gotten so close? Never mind… thanks to him, everyone was staring at me now. I spoke in a calm voice.
"Look around, Kili. Everything is wet and damp. It must have rained here not long ago."
Doğan crouched down, scooped some soil into his palm, kneaded it, then walked over to the bushes to inspect them. Finally, he said,
"Bilbo's right. Starting a fire with this wood and brush will be very difficult."
I sighed again. Was it too much to ask for things to go smoothly, just once? Well… Gandalf will handle it. I hope. Together we sat, waiting for Gilan's return, chatting quietly.
—Gilan's Perspective—
I kept following the troll tracks. The further I went, the fresher they became. I was on the right path… Honestly, this world was far more enchanting than I expected. At first, I hadn't wanted to come at all. After all, I had lived a long life—and died. I had seen countless adventures. Meeting Halt had been the turning point of my life. I could have been a knight, but I refused, for the Rangers seemed far more exciting to me—mysterious, stylish. I still remember the day I ran from home to follow Halt. That day, I became an apprentice. Later, I became a fully equipped Ranger. When Will joined us, we embarked on many adventures together, worked with the Skandians, and eventually I replaced Crowley, becoming the Commander of the Rangers. That was the peak of my career. I never regretted anything… though there were sorrowful times, of course. But mine was a life lived to the fullest.
And yet, when I learned that my old teacher had come here, I couldn't stay behind. I have a fair idea of why he came. Halt and Lady Pauline married late, and they had no children. Will and I may have been like sons, but it's not quite the same. Still, Will, being an orphan, shared a father-son bond with Halt, and Lady Pauline loved him as her own.
Now, here we are, in a world of ugly orcs, pointy-eared acrobats, mad wizards, and stubborn dwarves—a world locked in a battle between light and darkness. And all this… just to help a young man build his kingdom. To be fair, though, if the information given to us is true, he's a solid man. From the very first moment, İgris was honest with me. He never hid anything. At least, that's how it seemed. And he is brave—always taking the front lines, always drawing the strongest enemies to himself. Accepting death is one thing, but having no fear of death—that is a terrifying trait. Such men have unshakable minds; in war, they do the most dangerous, unexpected things.
İgris is one who enjoys fighting—but he isn't a madman. He thinks, he acts deliberately, though in the heat of battle he lets instinct guide him, wielding every part of his body as a weapon. He is not a knight, but a warrior. When I once asked him if he was a knight, he laughed and told me,
"I am no knight, Gilan. My teacher was, but I never swore the oaths. I never saw myself as one. I wear heavy armor for reasons: it's safer, my hybrid side lets me barely feel the weight, it looks imposing, and it frightens my enemies. Even the title 'Black Knight' was something given to me by those I helped and saved—it spread as rumor. Honestly, I like the title, but I am not tied to knighthood. Of course, some of my ideals align with knightly codes… but that's about it."
This man is far too relaxed. Still, our journey has only just begun. If I know my teacher, he won't trust İgris just yet, not with only second-hand sources to go by. This journey is also a test—to see who İgris really is. For now, I must focus on my task.
As I moved forward, I scanned my surroundings, and I didn't like what I saw. Judging by the ground, it had rained heavily yesterday or the day before. Everything was wet and damp. Lighting a fire would take too long, be too difficult. Looks like we'll be relying on old Grandfather Gandalf's talents!
The brush grew thicker, the space between trees narrower, until I reached a rocky, jagged area. I slowed my pace, moving with care. A strong, heavy stench reached my nose. I could never forget that smell—it was one I'd encountered countless times. The smell of blood.
Before me lay a cave, its entrance crowned by the roots of a massive tree. From within, I could hear sounds—snoring.
ZZZZZZZZZZZ
I crept closer. Then, suddenly, another sound.
SMACK!
"AHHHHHHHHH!"
After the high-pitched scream, a deep, booming voice thundered,
"I TOLD YOU TO STOP SNORING, FOOL! YOU'RE WAKING ME UP!"
I held my breath and froze. The sun was still up, but I dared not alert them. As I listened, I heard another voice—shrill, childlike.
"YOU'RE AWFUL! –SNIFF– BECAUSE I'M SICK I CAN ONLY BREATHE THROUGH MY MOUTH! –SNIFF SNIFF–"
Then I heard another voice, deeper, calmer, and more mature.
"AHH! WOULD YOU EXCUSE ME? I'M TRYING TO SLEEP HERE!"
"I'M TRYING TO SLEEP TOO! BUT I CAN'T BECAUSE OF THIS IDIOT! GIVE ME ONE REASON NOT TO KILL YOU RIGHT NOW!"
"–SNIFF– BECAUSE –SNIFF– YOU PROMISED MY MOTHER!"
While they kept bickering, I slowly backed away. I had no intention of stepping into that cave. We had located their lair; all we needed was to bring Gandalf here. Then a little hocus-pocus, puff!—the troll problem would be over. I turned back, quickened my pace, and after seven or eight minutes I caught up with the group. Kili was the first to speak.
"Gilan! You're back, what did you find?"
I answered calmly.
"I found the troll den. I'm certain there are three trolls inside, but I didn't go in, only overheard their argument. Now we need to return to camp and bring Gandalf with us. The faster we finish this, the better! We can't even light a fire—everything's damp and soaked. This area was hit by heavy rain, though the road we came from was dry…"
Everyone nodded except Bamsı. I looked at him—he had crossed his arms and was thinking—then he spoke.
"You all go back! I'll stay here and make sure they don't leave."
I considered it for a moment, but dismissed it as unnecessary. Cave trolls can't walk in daylight. Just as I was about to speak, Doğan suddenly moved behind Bamsı, shoved his arms under Bamsı's, and locked him tight. Bamsı was stunned. Doğan spoke in a firm, commanding tone.
"Absolutely not! You think I don't see through your plan? Gilan said we're going back, so we are going back!"
Doğan started dragging Bamsı away. Bamsı struggled.
"Brother, I just wanted to see what kind of creatures these trolls are! I swear I'll just look from afar! What harm would a little peek do?"
Doğan kept dragging him, speaking even as I stared in disbelief.
"SHUT IT! I PROMISED ALTAY! NO TROUBLE, BAMSI! YOU'RE A GROWN MAN NOW, YET STILL DON'T LEARN! BILBO! FILI! PLEASE TAKE MY SWORD AND SHIELD! I'LL BE HOLD THIS BEAR!"
"BROTHER! PLEASE LET ME GO! I SWEAR I'LL BE GOOD!"
Bilbo and Fili glanced at each other in confusion, then shrugged and picked up Doğan's weapons from the ground. They followed him as he hauled Bamsı off. Kili looked at me, shrugged as well, and said,
"Interesting fellow. Dwalin and Gloin will get along with him just fine."
I sighed, then moved ahead, joking lightly.
"Igris would like Bamsı too. I'd bet my bow that if he were here, he'd storm that cave with Bamsı and fight the trolls."
Kili chuckled. Still… even if I joke, I don't think Igris would charge headfirst into a troll den… probably…
We hurried back the way we came. Within twenty-five to thirty minutes we reached the camp. Everyone was already packing. Khuzait women were gathering belongings, the men were preparing the horses. I was stunned and went to find Halt. The others followed. Halt was with Thorin, Balin by their side. I asked curiously,
"Why are we packing? Weren't we going to rest?"
Halt sighed, visibly downcast. He glanced at Thorin, so I did too. Thorin's face was shadowed, both angry and grim. He spoke in a low voice.
"Bifur and Nori's condition has worsened. Their wounds are either infected or poisoned. Gandalf couldn't give a clear answer… luckily our destination is close. If we don't reach Rivendell soon, it will be too late for them! I've already lost one of my men—I don't intend to lose another!"
I sighed as well. Gandalf could heal minor wounds, perform first aid, but healing magic was not his strength. True healers were exceedingly rare. Even Gandalf admitted there were only two high-level healers in the entire continent: one, a human mage in Gondor; the other, an elven sorceress serving Lady Galadriel. Beyond them, only a handful of novices existed—and their healing skills were meager. Healing magic relied on the favor of nature spirits. How the Gondorian mage had won such favor, I truly wondered.
"I understand, but the trolls are right in our path, and night is falling. Gandalf needs to handle this."
Gandalf stroked his beard, smiled at me.
"Come, show me the way. The others will follow."
I nodded and turned to Kili and Fili. Since their arrival they had been silent, their spirits weighed down. Clearly this was affecting them.
"Kili, Fili. You'll guide the group to the cave."
Fili nodded.
"Understood."
I took Gandalf and we moved quietly through the dense forest. Gandalf began to speak.
"How far are they?"
"At most thirty minutes. How long will it take you to deal with the trolls?"
Gandalf smiled.
"Not even three minutes."
I blinked, surprised. Wizards truly were useful. Gandalf continued the conversation.
"Gilan, I've never heard of someone of your caliber, let alone an entire elite unit like yours. Where do you come from? How did you meet Igris? And where exactly are the Khuzait and Vaegir kingdoms? Will you tell me?"
I stayed silent for a moment. The matter was complicated—even I didn't fully know how I ended up here. But it wasn't my place to reveal the truth; this concerned Igris. And deceiving someone as old as Gandalf wouldn't be easy. Igris had warned me: beneath his warmth, Gandalf was shrewd. Best to tell half the truth…
"We come from very far away—beyond Middle-earth. As for how I met Igris… you'll have to hear that from him. I can't tell you."
Gandalf looked at me, thoughtful but silent. I, however, was curious.
"Gandalf, how many archers in Middle-earth are on my level—or Halt's?"
Gandalf thought for a moment.
"Among men, a few good archers exist, but none as skilled as you. I know no human who can shoot arrows mid-air. But elves… they're another matter. Many are highly gifted with the bow. In truth, all elves are skilled archers, though only some surpass your ability. For instance, Lord Elrond and some of his captains surpass you. Likewise, Lady Galadriel has more than a dozen of equal caliber. But if you ask me who is the finest of all—it would be Legolas Greenleaf, prince of the Woodland Realm. He is swift, agile, unmatched in stealth and ambush. By nature, elves blend perfectly with the wild."
Hmm… nothing I didn't already know about elves. Human, as expected, fell short. After all, our training was unique. Even in my own world, only fifty Rangers serve actively, with two or three in reserve.
"One ranger per province"—that rule had stood since our founding. Still, this Legolas intrigued me. If we meet, I hope for a friendly contest. Yet there were things I still wanted to know. Who knew when I'd next be alone with Gandalf?
"Gandalf, how old are you?"
He looked at me, smiling.
"Does it matter?"
"I'm just curious."
His smile turned playful.
"Older than you, my dear friend—that's all you need to know. Hahahaha!"
… I already disliked wizards.
"Then tell me about Sauron."
Gandalf stiffened, his gaze sharp, his voice dark.
"Why do you want to know about him?"
I shrugged.
"Curiosity. He once terrorized Middle-earth. Besides, we've got some time before we reach the cave. I figured I'd learn a bit of history. My profession requires me to gather all kinds of knowledge—you never know when it will prove useful."
Gandalf walked in silence for a while, deep in thought. After several minutes, he began.
"He was a shadow from beyond the ages. The faithful servant of Melkor—the first Dark Lord—master of fire and forge, a spirit sharpened in deceit and treachery. His name once was Mairon: 'The Admirable.' In the earliest days he loved order, sought beauty. Yet his pride was ensnared by Melkor's grandeur, and from then on he fell into darkness, losing all light.
For centuries he shifted forms: sometimes a fair ruler, sometimes a giant clad in black armor. Yet whatever mask he wore, in his eyes burned an unyielding fire of will. Those who saw him understood: this being desired only dominion, nothing else. No friends, no mercy, no peace. Only lands in chains and souls on their knees."
Gandalf paused, collected his thoughts, and continued, voice unwavering.
"In the Second Age, he wielded words so subtle that even the elves were deceived. As Annatar, the 'Lord of Gifts,' he ensnared their hearts with golden promises and masterly lore. Thus he guided the forging of the Rings of Power. But with his own hand, he made a single ring: the One Ring. Into it he poured not only power, but a fragment of his very being. The Ring became a chain that both exalted and enslaved its master.
Sauron was not merely a warlord—he was a tyrant of wills. He knew men's weaknesses, kings' pride, heroes' fears—and bent them all to his purpose. For him, sharper than any sword, was the weapon of deception."
When Gandalf paused, I spoke.
"But he's dead, isn't he? The Alliance forces killed him, and they burned his corpse with dragonfire."
Gandalf fell silent for a moment, then smiled faintly.
"Yes… everyone believes he is dead."
At that I frowned. The way Gandalf spoke carried subtle meaning.
"What do you believe, Gandalf? You don't sound like you want to share your true opinion…"
He looked pensive, hesitant. After a minute or two of silence, he said,
"Signs I've seen lately, events I've lived through… they trouble me."
He stopped, took a deep breath. Then suddenly he looked ahead, smiled, and said,
"Ah! I believe we've arrived. The cave, isn't it?"
Gandalf struck his staff to the ground and strode forward quickly. I stood staring after him. He had cut himself off mid-sentence, but I understood enough: Gandalf suspected Sauron was not dead.
And what he told me about Sauron unsettled me deeply. He was far more dangerous than I had imagined. Was he powerful? Perhaps. But what made him truly terrifying was his ability to twist men's minds at will. Enemies like that are the deadliest of all.
Have I made a mistake coming to this world? My life suddenly became so much harder! Haah… dear Jennifer, I miss you, and your delicious cooking. I only hope all this torment will be worth it in the end…