Outside the window, the sky gradually darkened, deep purple twilight draping over the rolling hills and forests.
Inside the compartment, Rove was holding a piece of linen, meticulously polishing his frying pan.
"Um..." Harry finally couldn't help but ask. "Rove, why do you carry a cooking pot with you everywhere?"
"It's a shield," Rove answered without looking up, his fingers gliding over the black coating on the bottom of the pan. "In the chaos of close-quarters combat, a good pan can block an Orc's scimitar, and then later cook a steaming pot of mushroom soup by the campfire. Harry, remember: versatility is the key to a Ranger's survival."
Ron was struggling to swallow the last bite of the rock-hard rye bread. Hearing this, he nearly choked. "But it's a frying pan."
"It's a round shield," Rove corrected. "It just happens to have a handle."
At that moment, the compartment door was shoved open.
Three boys walked in.
The one in the lead was pale, with a pointed chin and pale blond hair. His eyes held an innate arrogance.
Behind him stood two boys built like barn doors. They had short necks and long arms, and they looked eager for trouble.
> [WARNING! Hostile Faction Creature Detected!]
Rove's movements paused. His gaze shot through his bangs, quickly scanning the three intruders.
> [Target 1: Draco Malfoy]
> [Race Identification: Human -> Corrupted Sindar Elf]
> [Traits: Noble Bloodline, Tainted Soul, Refined but Weak Physique]
> [Danger Level: C (Noble with zero combat experience)]
> [Target 2/3: Vincent Crabbe / Gregory Goyle]
> [Race Identification: Human -> Troll Whelps]
> [Traits: High Strength, Low Intelligence, Meat Shields]
> [Danger Level: C+ (Brute Force)]
"Is it true?" Malfoy didn't look at Rove; his gaze landed directly on Harry. "They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment. So it's you, is it?"
"Yes," said Harry, feeling a flicker of discomfort as he looked at the boy.
Malfoy looked Harry over, then swept his gaze toward Ron, the corner of his mouth curling into a sneer.
"Oh, this is a Weasley," Malfoy drawled. "Red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford."
Ron's face turned scarlet instantly, his fists clenching until they cracked.
"You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter," said Malfoy, extending a hand. "You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."
Harry looked at the hand, preparing to refuse.
Suddenly, a rough, powerful hand (calloused from orphanage chores) intercepted the gesture, seizing Malfoy's hand in a vice grip.
"Is this what you call etiquette, Corrupted One?"
Rove stood up. He was taller than most boys his age, and now he looked down at Malfoy with an imposing presence.
Malfoy froze. "Who are you? Let go!"
He tried to pull his hand back, but the grip was like iron; it didn't budge an inch.
"Rove Baggins." Rove's voice was calm, but the pressure in his hand was steadily increasing.
> [System Notification: Skill Activated - Basic Strength Lv2]
> [Check Complete: Strength Overpower!]
"Ah!" Malfoy's pale face flushed red. "Let go! You barbarian! My hand!"
"Your hand is soft, noble." Rove stared into Malfoy's eyes, his tone pitying. "A hand that has never held a sword makes for a handshake that is pathetically weak. How do you expect to protect your kin with hands like these? With arrogance?"
"Crabbe! Goyle!" Malfoy screamed in pain.
The two Troll-like henchmen reacted immediately, winding up their thick fists to charge.
"Watch out!" Harry and Ron cried out.
Rove's left hand snatched the "shield" from the table.
CLANG!!!
A massive, deafening sound.
Rove slammed the cast-iron skillet onto the small compartment table with vicious force.
The noise reverberated in the small space, ringing in their ears. The solid wood table now had a visibly deep dent in the center.
Crabbe and Goyle skidded to a halt, stunned by the sudden violence of the sound. They looked at the frying pan deeply embedded in the wood, then at Rove's cold face, and felt an instinctual fear.
Trolls might be stupid, but they knew what kind of object could crack their skulls like walnuts.
"Back off, filthy creatures." Rove released Malfoy's hand and shoved him into the two hulks. "Unless you want to taste the fury of the Riders of Gondor."
Malfoy stumbled back into Crabbe, cradling his hand which now bore red finger marks. Tears welled in his eyes as he glared venomously at Rove.
"You'll pay for this! You... you lunatic! I'm telling my father!"
"Go ahead and tattle." Rove sat back down, picked up his rag, and resumed polishing the pan. "But before you do, get out of my territory."
Malfoy gritted his teeth, but looking at that pan, he didn't dare make another threat.
"Let's go!" he roared.
The trio retreated from the compartment in a sorry state, nearly tripping over the carpet at the door.
The door slid shut.
The compartment fell into a dead silence.
Harry and Ron gaped, looking from Rove to the dented table.
"Merlin's beard..." Ron swallowed. "Rove, you just... That was a Malfoy, and you just crushed his hand until he cried?"
"Just teaching a whelp who doesn't know the height of the sky some manners." Rove calmly put away his frying pan. "In the wild, if someone extended such a limp hand to a Ranger, they'd have been dragged off by Wargs long ago."
> [Quest Complete: Repel the Provocateur]
> [Evaluation: Since words cannot enlighten a Corrupted Elf, physical means must be used to shut him up.]
> [Reward Settlement: Strength +1 (Your grip strength can now crush walnuts.)]
A warm current flowed through the muscles of Rove's arm. He clenched his fist; it definitely felt stronger.
"Furthermore," Rove looked at Harry. "The Ring-Bearer does not need to ally with those who have pledged themselves to the Shadow. Your destiny lies on the side of Light."
Harry didn't really understand "Ring-Bearer" or "Shadow," but he understood that Rove was helping him.
"Thanks," Harry said quietly. "That was pretty cool."
"Cool?" Rove raised an eyebrow. "No, that was dangerous. If they had actually attacked, I would have been forced to use more radical measures."
He patted the wand at his waist, his eyes grave.
"Alright, gentlemen." Rove stood up. Through the window, he saw scattered lights in the distance and a vast, dark body of water. "Change into your robes. We have arrived."
The train began to slow, the wheels screeching against the tracks.
"Ahead lies the terminal." Rove took a deep breath. "And the starting point of our campaign."
"Don't forget your weapons," he said to Ron, who was pulling on his robes. "And keep an eye on your rat. I do not wish for it to sell us out to Sauron at a critical moment."
Ron fumbled with his buttons. "Who is Sauron?"
"You will know in time." Rove slid the compartment door open. The corridor outside was already packed with noisy students.
But in Rove's eyes, it was a chaotic army assembling for war.
"Stay close to me," Rove looked back and instructed. "Do not fall behind. No one knows what lies hidden in the mist."