The Mage of Middle-Earth - CH - 23 (Patreon)

The next day, Sirius Black woke up in a bed that was, by all accounts, more comfortable than anything he’d had in recent days. Though he wouldn’t call it luxurious—especially compared to the bed in his Hobbit Hole—it was a significant upgrade from the wet, rocky roadside they’d been camping on for the last stretch of their journey. He stretched his limbs, feeling the stiffness from days of travel start to melt away. The furs covering the straw mattress added a touch of warmth, and for a moment, Sirius allowed himself to savor the small comforts.

But then, he noticed how high the sun had risen, streaming through the small window. It was almost noon.

"Great," Sirius muttered to himself, swinging his legs off the bed. He had slept in later than intended, but that was no surprise—he had practically collapsed into his room the night before, right after dinner. It had been a proper meal for the first time in days, and after eating his fill, all Sirius had wanted was to sleep. It seemed the dwarves had different ideas, though.

As he made his way downstairs, Sirius felt a growing sense of unease. The common room of the inn looked like it had been hit by a storm. Chairs were overturned, tables were askew, and empty mugs and plates were scattered everywhere. It was as if a tornado had swept through during the night.

Sirius approached the innkeeper, who was in the middle of picking up broken pieces of wood from a shattered chair. The man looked oddly cheerful, despite the destruction.

"Morning," Sirius greeted, though he was more than aware that it was almost afternoon. "What... exactly happened here last night?"

The innkeeper looked up, wiping his brow, and grinned. "Ah, good morning to you, sir! Or, should I say, good afternoon! Your friends—the dwarves, that is—had themselves quite the party after you went to bed."

Sirius frowned. "A party?"

"Oh yes!" The innkeeper’s grin widened. "They bought drinks for everyone in the inn—food too. The entire village practically came down to join them! Haven’t had a night like that in years. They paid well for it too, don’t you worry. More gold than I’ve seen in some time!"

Sirius’s stomach dropped. "Gold? How much gold are we talking about?"

The innkeeper chuckled, clearly unaware of Sirius’s growing frustration. "A generous amount, to be sure. Your friends were most insistent on sharing their good fortune."

Sirius groaned inwardly. He had given the dwarves strict instructions to save their money for supplies and emergencies along the way. This was a long journey, and they couldn’t afford to be careless with their funds. But apparently, as soon as he had gone to bed, the dwarves had decided to throw caution—and their coin—into the wind.

He glanced around the inn again, taking in the mess. Chairs and tables weren’t the only casualties. It looked like the entire stock of ale had been drained, and there were several villagers slumped in corners, still asleep from what must have been an all-night celebration.

Sirius rubbed his temples, feeling the urge to bang his head against the nearest wall. Of course, the dwarves would throw a party. And of course, they would spend most of the gold they were supposed to be saving.

"Where are they now?" Sirius asked, his voice tight with frustration.

The innkeeper pointed toward the upper rooms. "Still sleeping it off, I imagine. They partied well into the night, and even your ever-so-serious Thorin was right in the middle of it."

"Thorin?" Sirius asked, blinking in surprise. He could imagine Bombur, Kili, or Bofur getting caught up in the revelry, but Thorin? The proud, stoic leader of their group, who rarely showed any emotion beyond a scowl?

"Aye," the innkeeper confirmed with a chuckle. "Even the stern one couldn’t resist the call of good drink and company. He was singing songs of Erebor, I tell you."

Sirius shook his head in disbelief. "Great. Just great."

He left the innkeeper to clean up the rest of the mess and climbed the stairs, heading for the dwarves’ rooms. Sure enough, when he peeked inside, he found most of the company passed out cold in various states of disarray. Bombur was snoring loudly, sprawled across two beds, while Kili and Fili were slumped together, still clutching empty mugs. Thorin, true to the innkeeper’s word, was in his room, out cold on his bed.

Sirius sighed. There wasn’t much he could do until they all woke up. He went back downstairs and stepped outside, hoping to find Gandalf—but the wizard was nowhere to be seen. Sirius wasn’t surprised. Gandalf had a habit of disappearing when things got too messy, leaving the rest to sort it out.

With nothing better to do, Sirius leaned against the side of the inn, watching the townsfolk go about their day. He hadn’t expected the journey to be easy, but this was turning out to be more complicated than he had planned. The dwarves were good-hearted, but they had little sense of restraint when it came to food, drink, or spending gold.

Sirius shook his head with a rueful smile. "This is going to be a long trip."

It was almost evening when the dwarves finally began to stir from their drunken slumber. Groggy and disoriented, it took them a while to gather their bearings. One by one, they emerged from their rooms, rubbing their eyes and muttering complaints about headaches and dry throats. Sirius, who had been up for hours, watching the sun slowly sink toward the horizon, kept his expression neutral, though inside, he was brimming with irritation.

After a brief and somewhat painful discussion among the group, they agreed to stay at the inn for one more night, to allow the dwarves to fully recover. Sirius grudgingly accepted this, but silently swore that this time, he would keep a close eye on them. They had already caused enough trouble with their impromptu party, and he had no intention of letting them run wild again.

Sirius leaned back in his chair in the common room, watching the dwarves closely as they ordered their meals for the night. He didn’t plan on blinking, let alone leaving them unsupervised. "One night is all I have to manage," he muttered to himself, "Then we're back on the road, and I can worry about bigger things—like goblins, trolls, and elves."

As the dwarves sat around the table, eagerly digging into their meals, Sirius found his thoughts drifting to the promise of gold waiting for them at the end of this journey. When he’d first agreed to help them reclaim Erebor, it had been about more than the riches. But now, after seeing just how reckless and impulsive the dwarves could be, the thought of his share of the gold was becoming a comforting motivator.

"I'm definitely getting my share," he thought with conviction. "After all this, it's not just a reward—it's compensation for dealing with these reckless idiots."

The dwarves, of course, didn’t seem to notice Sirius’s growing frustrations. They laughed and joked as though nothing had gone wrong, and to them, perhaps nothing had. For a dwarf, a night of revelry was simply another way to pass the time—gold spent on food and drink was never wasted in their eyes.

Thorin, though still somewhat hungover, was the only one who remained quieter than the rest, though Sirius could see a faint glimmer of amusement in his eyes as he observed his kinsmen.

"We’ll start fresh in the morning," Thorin said, almost as an apology, when he caught Sirius’s eye.

Sirius just nodded. There was no point in lecturing them. He had quickly learned that dwarves wouldn’t change their ways, no matter how much sense he tried to make of things. For them, life was about the moment, and they enjoyed every moment to the fullest.

The next morning, true to their word, the company was back on the road. The sun was still low in the sky when they set off, ponies laden with supplies and dwarves in surprisingly good spirits despite the previous night’s antics.

Sirius rode near the back again, taking up his self-appointed role as the unofficial shepherd of the group. His frustration from the night before had simmered into quiet resignation. He knew better now than to try to shout or scold them. It wouldn’t matter. To the dwarves, everything that had happened was just "good fun," and they would carry on as they always did.

As they traveled through the village, the company was met with an unexpected reception. Villagers lined the streets, waving and shouting words of encouragement, as if the party were returning heroes rather than setting off on a perilous quest. Sirius, still in his hobbit form and riding near the back, watched in bemusement as the dwarves soaked in the attention.

It quickly became clear that in their drunken stupor the night before, the dwarves had shared the entire story of their journey with the townsfolk. The tale of reclaiming Erebor from Smaug had clearly captured the imagination of the villagers, and now they were all fully invested in the success of Thorin and his company.

"Take back the mountain!" one man shouted, raising his fist into the air.

"Slay the dragon!" cheered another, his voice filled with admiration.

Even the children, who had gathered near the edges of the road, stared wide-eyed at the dwarves, pointing and whispering to each other. For them, the thought of killing a dragon was the stuff of legends and bedtime stories. Seeing a group of dwarves embarking on such a quest filled their young hearts with awe.

Sirius, though, couldn't help but feel a little exasperated. The last thing they needed was to be attracting more attention to themselves, and now it seemed as though the whole village was rooting for them.

Sirius glanced toward Thorin, who was riding at the front of the group with his usual stoic expression. Though the prince didn’t show it, Sirius could tell that the support of the villagers had lifted his spirits. Even the rest of the dwarves seemed to be standing a little taller as they rode through the town, their beards bobbing with pride.

As they neared the outskirts of the village, an older woman approached, waving her handkerchief at the group. "Go on, you brave lads!" she called out in a shaky voice. "Give that dragon what for!"

Balin, ever the gentleman, tipped his hat to the woman. "We’ll do our best, ma’am," he said with a polite bow of his head.

As the company continued on, Sirius let out a long sigh. It was becoming clearer with each passing day that this journey was going to be far more unpredictable than he had imagined. Still, there was something oddly heartwarming about seeing the villagers’ enthusiasm, even if they didn’t fully understand the dangers involved.

And so, with farewells echoing behind them and the road stretching ahead, the company pressed on, the weight of their quest growing heavier with every mile they traveled.

Sirius had his reasons for joining the dwarves’ quest, reasons far more personal than just gold or adventure. His real goal was Dale—the city that had held a special place in his heart. Though in his hobbit form no one would recognize him, Sirius longed to see what had become of the people he once knew. He had left Dale so many years ago, but it had been a vibrant, growing city when he departed. The idea that time had changed it, that perhaps it had expanded or faced hardships, filled him with a mix of hope and concern.

When they had first crossed the Last Bridge and Sirius saw the new village that had sprung up from what used to be barren land, it struck him how much could change in so short a time. If this place could thrive so quickly, what could have become of Dale? Had it continued to flourish? Or had it faced wars, famine, or other trials? The unknown tugged at his curiosity.

He could see Dale as a stranger, without the burden of his past identity. He could meet its people—check on those he had once cared for—without them ever knowing it was him. It was a bittersweet thought, but one that made the long journey worthwhile. The hope of seeing familiar faces, of knowing they were doing well, gave Sirius an inner motivation that he kept close to his chest.

As they continued their journey along the East Road, the dwarves’ constant grumbling returned to the forefront of Sirius’s mind. He had quickly learned that no matter what the circumstance, a dwarf would find something to complain about. Today, the absence of Gandalf was the main topic of their complaints.

"Where’s that blasted wizard gone now?" Dori muttered, tugging at the reins of his pony. "He just up and disappears like it’s nothing!"

"It’s not the first time," grumbled Bofur, adjusting his hat. "He’ll come back when it suits him, no doubt. We’ll just have to carry on without him for a bit."

Sirius, riding at the back as always, smiled to himself. He had grown used to the dwarves’ constant bickering, and it no longer bothered him as much as it had at the start. In fact, he found it somewhat amusing.

"You’ll get used to it," Sirius said lightly, steering his pony a little closer to the group. "Gandalf always has his reasons, even if he doesn’t share them with us. Besides, we’ve managed well enough on our own so far, haven’t we?"

Thorin, who had been riding silently at the front, glanced over his shoulder at Sirius. "We’ll manage just fine, hobbit. With or without the wizard."

There was a hint of pride in Thorin’s voice, the same pride that kept him stoic while the others grumbled. Unlike the rest of the company, Thorin never complained. He bore the weight of his royal blood and the responsibility of reclaiming Erebor like a mantle, and Sirius could respect that.

Still, as they continued their march along the road, Sirius’s thoughts drifted back to Dale. What would he find there? Would it still be a city of life and growth, or had the dragon’s shadow already cast its darkness over the land? He wondered if any of the old families still lived there, or if the face of the city had changed completely. The only way to know was to keep moving forward, toward the answers that lay somewhere beyond the Lonely Mountain.

For now, he would remain patient. They still had many miles to go before they reached their destination, and Sirius knew that for all the dwarves’ complaints and distractions, the road ahead was bound to grow more dangerous with every step.