The Mage of Middle-Earth - CH - 18 (Patreon)

Sirius—still in the guise of Jimmy Potter the Hobbit—arrived at the Prancing Pony in Bree after another long day of farming. The familiar atmosphere of the bar was a comfort to him, and he found himself enjoying the company of the locals, sharing stories and sipping ale. He'd always loved the simplicity of the Shire and Bree, though the occasional flash of his past still haunted him. Tonight, however, he intended to drink and relax.

As he leaned back in his chair, laughing at a joke from one of the Bree folk, something stirred in the back of his mind. His ward. It was the subtle tug on the magical barrier he had placed on the door of his Hobbit hole. It wasn’t urgent—more of a gentle nudge, indicating that someone was standing outside his house. Sirius’ senses sharpened. Although he was a little tipsy, he could handle whatever awaited him back at home.

Without hesitation, Sirius downed the rest of his ale, excused himself from the bar, and slipped into a dark alley. A quick Disillusionment Charm concealed him from view as he focused on his destination. With a sharp crack, he Apparated directly into his Hobbit hole, reappearing within the cozy underground home. His head buzzed slightly from the alcohol, but the familiar surroundings quickly grounded him.

He approached the front door, his hand resting on the knob, and prepared for anything. When he opened it, he found himself face-to-face with a stocky dwarf who had a bald head, thick beard, and an air of confidence that bordered on arrogance.

"Dwalin," the dwarf said gruffly, giving a small bow. "At your service."

Before Sirius could reply, Dwalin pushed past him and entered the house without any further invitation, making himself at home. He immediately began raiding the table, helping himself to whatever food was laid out as though he owned the place. Sirius’ eyebrow twitched in annoyance, but he decided to play along. Something was happening here, and it was better to observe.

"Who are you, and why are you here?" Sirius asked, trying to keep his voice steady as Dwalin wolfed down an entire loaf of bread.

Dwalin didn’t bother answering. He was far too preoccupied with his meal, taking bites of cheese and meat in between gulps of ale. Sirius felt his patience wearing thin, but before he could press the issue further, the doorbell rang again.

This time, when Sirius opened the door, an older dwarf stood on the threshold. The dwarf had a long, gray beard and hair, a more reserved demeanor compared to Dwalin. He introduced himself with a brief nod before stepping inside and immediately head-butting Dwalin in a gesture Sirius could only assume was some sort of greeting. The sound of their skulls meeting was loud enough to make Sirius wince.

"Ah, Balin, finally!" Dolin grinned as he clasped his companion’s arm.

Balin gave a curt nod and proceeded to help himself to the food on Sirius’ table without a word of explanation. Sirius, growing more agitated, was about to demand some answers when the doorbell rang again. Two younger dwarves—Fili and Kili—burst in, greeting Dwalin and Balin enthusiastically.

And then the doorbell rang once more. And again.

More and more dwarves started arriving, each one larger and more boisterous than the last, until Sirius’ cozy Hobbit hole was packed with them. They filled the room with their raucous laughter and loud chatter, raiding his pantry and devouring everything in sight. While they were dwarves in the eyes of men, to Sirius, now in his hobbit form, they looked like hulking giants, easily towering over him.

His eye twitched as he watched the contents of his pantry disappear, though he took comfort in the fact that this was only a fraction of his real food stores. Most of it was safely stored in the time-suspended trunk in his secret compartment. But still, the sight of his carefully cultivated produce and stock being ravaged was almost too much to bear.

Sirius clenched his fists, teetering on the edge of his temper. Just as he was about to snap, the doorbell rang one final time. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door, and there stood Gandalf, his towering figure casting a shadow over the threshold.

"Ah, Jimmy," Gandalf said with a warm smile, as if all the chaos in Sirius’ home were completely normal. "I see you’ve met our company."

Sirius exhaled slowly, forcing himself to calm down. He gave Gandalf a tight smile, grateful that he hadn’t used any magic or displayed his immense physical strength in an attempt to remove the dwarves from his home. With Gandalf here, things could get complicated if Sirius blew his cover as an unassuming hobbit.

"Yes," Sirius replied through gritted teeth. "Quite the... company."

Gandalf entered the house, giving a knowing glance to Sirius before turning to address the group of dwarves. They had already made themselves far too comfortable, but it was clear that Gandalf had orchestrated this meeting for some reason.

As Sirius watched the dwarves continue to feast, he silently thanked every deity he could think of for his restraint. The last thing he needed was for Gandalf to suspect anything more about Jimmy Potter. But deep down, Sirius couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever was happening here was the beginning of something big—something that would disrupt his peaceful life in the Shire.

Sirius—who had become more and more irritated as the dwarves continued their chaotic feast—glanced at Gandalf with a mixture of frustration and disbelief. The dwarves, with their reckless abandon, stomped across his dining table, passing plates to one another, throwing bread rolls and chunks of meat like children in a food fight. The mess was appalling, and Sirius, used to a more refined lifestyle, found their lack of manners unbearable.

"I don’t think I like eating with dwarves," Sirius muttered under his breath as he watched one of them throw a chicken leg at another, only for it to be caught midair and devoured in one bite. "They have no class."

He shot a glare at Gandalf, who stood off to the side, observing the scene with a calm smile. Unable to hold back any longer, Sirius approached the wizard, lowering his voice but making no attempt to hide his irritation.

"You know, Gandalf," Sirius began, "they're eating through four months of food in one sitting. Four months."

Gandalf chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "I can see that, my dear Jimmy, but don't worry. This is an important gathering, and it won’t be for nothing."

Sirius raised an eyebrow, not entirely convinced. "Important? Why? What's going on?"

Gandalf’s expression softened, and he gave Sirius a reassuring nod before leaning in to explain. "You see, Jimmy, we are here because we need a burglar."

"A burglar?" Sirius echoed, confused. "What on Middle-earth do you need a burglar for?"

The wizard sighed, as though preparing for a long story. "These dwarves," Gandalf gestured to the chaotic group still wreaking havoc on Sirius’ food supplies, "are on a quest. A rather dangerous one, I might add. They need to reclaim something that rightfully belongs to them—a treasure of immense value. However, there’s... a rather formidable obstacle in their way. A dragon, to be precise."

Sirius stared at Gandalf in disbelief, feeling like he'd walked into the middle of a story he wasn’t sure he wanted to be part of. "A dragon. You brought dwarves into my home to recruit a burglar to steal from a dragon?"

"Not just any burglar," Gandalf said with a knowing smile. "You."

Sirius blinked. "Me? You must be joking. What on earth would make you think I’d be a suitable burglar for this—this absurd quest?"

Gandalf chuckled again, as if the answer were obvious. "Well, you've traveled across most of Middle-earth, have you not? You know how to navigate places most wouldn’t dare enter. And you've had quite the collection of adventures—some that only a burglar could manage."

Sirius frowned, realization dawning. He had made a point of keeping his cover as Jimmy Potter the Hobbit, a well-traveled and adventurous soul, but this was not what he had in mind. He was supposed to be living a peaceful life in the Shire, not being dragged into a heist against a dragon.

"Wait, wait—so because Jimmy’s been around Middle-earth and had a few adventures, you thought it made sense to sign me up for this?"

"Precisely," Gandalf said, looking quite pleased with himself. "You're perfect for the job. The dwarves need someone who knows the land, someone who can get into places unseen, and someone who’s got a touch of daring. And you, Jimmy, are all of that and more."

Sirius stared at Gandalf, the weight of the situation slowly sinking in. He glanced over at the dwarves, still engaged in their chaotic, messy feast, laughing and shouting as they shoved more food into their mouths.

"You can’t be serious," Sirius muttered. He felt the urge to yell at the dwarves, to throw them out of his house, and to go back to his quiet life. But the look in Gandalf’s eyes—calm, steady, and far too knowing—made it clear this was no ordinary request. Something was at play here, and whatever it was, it was bigger than just him.

"You’ll be well compensated, of course," Gandalf added, sensing Sirius’ hesitation.

Sirius sighed, rubbing his temples. "This is madness."

Gandalf placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Perhaps. But it's the kind of madness the world needs right now."

Sirius took a deep breath, knowing there was little chance of saying no. "Alright, fine. But those dwarves are cleaning up every last crumb before they leave.

After much back-and-forth, Jimmy Potter, or rather Sirius Black in his disguise, finally agreed to be the burglar for the company of dwarves led by Thorin Oakenshield. Thorin, the once and future king under the mountain, had offered him a generous share of the treasure—one fourteenth, to be precise. Though Sirius had little need for gold, his curiosity was piqued by the sheer size of the hoard that lay in Erebor.

Sirius leaned back, listening to the dwarves' raucous chatter, and decided to probe deeper. He was curious about their claim to the treasure they sought. “So, how much gold do you have stashed away in the mountain?” he asked, his tone light but his mind racing with possibilities.

To his relief, the dwarves exchanged puzzled looks, shaking their heads. “None of us knows for certain!” Kili exclaimed, his mouth still full of roast chicken. “We’ve never set foot in the treasury. There are tales of its size, but no dwarf has seen it since the dragon took over.”

This revelation brought a sense of calm to Sirius. If the dwarves had no idea of the mountain’s true wealth, they would likely never suspect that he had already collected a significant portion of that treasure when he had fought Smaug. In fact, it seemed the dragon had disappeared along with a vast amount of gold, leaving the dwarves in the dark about what was truly there.

Sirius couldn't help but reflect on that fateful encounter with Smaug. Even in his weakened state, he had managed to defeat the beast—a feat that now felt almost absurd given his current strength. With his magic restored and his body youthful once more, he was more than capable of handling any threats that might lie ahead, including a dragon. He could hardly believe he had faced a creature so formidable back then, yet now it felt like a mere footnote in his storied life.

“Did the people of Dale even know what happened to Smaug?” he pondered aloud, tapping his fingers on the table. It had always been his understanding that the townsfolk were left in the dark about the true nature of the dragon's demise. His thoughts drifted to the treasures he had taken from the lair—gold that now filled his enchanted trunk, alongside dragon meat, bones, blood, and scales. Each piece a remnant of a past adventure, safely stored and preserved, untouched by time.

“Do you think we’ll find any of it?” Fili asked, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “The old tales say that the hoard was endless, but who knows?”

Sirius shrugged, maintaining his air of nonchalance. “You never know what lies beneath the mountain. But if there’s treasure to be had, I assure you, I’m more than capable of finding it,” he replied cryptically, allowing a smirk to dance on his lips.

Thorin, who had been listening quietly, nodded in agreement. “We shall see soon enough. But remember, our priority is to reclaim our home first. The treasure can wait.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow, a playful challenge brewing in his mind. “Oh, I’m sure I can help with both,” he said, the anticipation of adventure igniting his spirit.

As the dwarves continued to devour his food, laughing and sharing tales of their ancestors, Sirius felt a sense of purpose growing within him. He was no longer just Jimmy Potter, the humble Hobbit farmer; he was a part of a grand quest, and the allure of treasure and adventure danced tantalizingly in front of him.

In truth, the gold wasn’t what truly enticed him. The thought of visiting Mirkwood once more, with the possibility of encountering old acquaintances like Legolas or even Thranduil—despite their less-than-friendly history—stirred something in him. And then there was Dale, the town that had grown rich and prosperous since the fall of Smaug. Sirius wondered how his old friends there fared and if they still remembered him. The journey seemed to offer the perfect blend of adventure and nostalgia, not to mention it appeared to be relatively safe. Smaug, after all, was no longer a threat. To Sirius, it felt like a walk in the park with the added bonus of a hefty payout.

And so, reluctantly, but not without a tinge of excitement, Sirius agreed.

The dwarves, in their usual boisterous manner, cheered and slapped him on the back, offering heartfelt thanks and promises to repay him not only with treasure but for the massive amount of food they'd devoured earlier. Sirius only grumbled in response, knowing that gold was hardly necessary given the state of his enchanted trunk and its endless storage. Still, it felt good to be acknowledged, even if the feast had left his home in a mess.

As the night stretched on, the dwarves told grand stories of their ancestors—of the majesty of Erebor before Smaug, of the craftsmanship of old, and of the splendor of the Dwarven kingdom under the Lonely Mountain. Thorin spoke with such fervor that even Sirius found himself lost in the tales of old. Though he had seen much of Middle-earth, he had never fully explored the vast history of the dwarves. Their resilience, their loyalty, and their longing for home reminded him of something he, too, once had.

The fire crackled as the stories wound down, and the dwarves drank deeply of their ale, the warmth of camaraderie filling the room. Sirius, for all his misgivings, felt a flicker of something long dormant—a sense of belonging, perhaps. He had spent so much time hiding, pretending to be someone he wasn’t, that he had almost forgotten what it was like to be part of something bigger.

Tomorrow, they would set out on their journey to Erebor, and the road ahead, while familiar to Sirius, promised adventure anew. Whether it was the thought of treasure, the chance to revisit old haunts, or simply the pull of the unknown, Sirius knew one thing for sure: his quiet life in the Shire was about to be left behind.

As the dwarves finally settled down, snoring loudly in various corners of his home, Sirius couldn’t help but smile wryly. He had lived many lives in many worlds, but this—this was something he hadn’t expected. And perhaps, in the depths of his heart, he was ready for one more adventure.

With a glance at the embers in the hearth, Sirius whispered to himself, “Here we go again.”