The Mage of Middle-Earth - CH - 34 (Patreon)

The arrival of the giant eagles transformed the battlefield in an instant. Sirius could only watch in awe as a whole flock of the great birds descended, led by a massive eagle, their mighty wings stirring the air with a strength that was both terrifying and magnificent. The eagles swept through the ranks of orcs and wargs, their talons flashing as they grasped the snarling beasts and hurled them effortlessly off the cliff’s edge.

Sirius glanced at Gandalf, who stood calmly amid the chaos. The wizard’s serene expression was enough to reassure him—these majestic creatures were indeed allies, likely the reinforcements Gandalf had anticipated all along.

With the orcs now scattering in fear, the eagles turned their attention to the dwarves, whose tree was dangerously close to toppling over the cliffside. One by one, the eagles swooped down, their massive claws carefully gripping each dwarf and lifting them to safety with ease.

Sirius held his breath as he watched Thorin, slumped and barely conscious, being gently carried off by one of the largest eagles. Another eagle came for him, its golden eyes meeting his with a look of understanding and kindness. With a soft beat of its powerful wings, it swooped in and lifted him from the treacherous battlefield.

As they rose high above the ground, Sirius marveled at the view below. The orcs were now in full retreat, their cries fading into the distance. Beneath them stretched the vast wilderness, serene and unbroken, as the eagles carried them away from danger and into the night.

Sirius couldn’t help but envy the dwarves and Gandalf, who had ridden atop the eagles in true grand style, while he himself had dangled awkwardly from talons like some oversized rabbit. It would have been far more impressive, he thought, to ride atop the great bird and feel the rush of wind firsthand, with the added benefit of collecting a feather or two without dangling midair.

As they finally touched down in a lush valley surrounded by mist-shrouded peaks, the eagles released their cargo, and Sirius set foot on solid ground with a mix of relief and lingering awe. Gandalf approached the eagle leader, Gwaihir, and extended a respectful bow. “We owe you our deepest thanks, Lord of the Eagles,” Gandalf said. “Your intervention saved us from a grim fate.”

Kili, with his usual boldness, piped up, “But, couldn’t you just carry us over the mountains? We’d be done with the orcs for good!”

Gandalf turned to the young dwarf, a hint of a smile softening his expression. “The eagles are not our servants, Kili. They helped because we were in dire need, but they are creatures of their own will, not ours to command.”

Sirius, fascinated by the eagles and their powerful presence, stepped forward with his own request. “Might I, perhaps… have a few feathers as a keepsake?” he asked, his tone respectful and genuinely curious. “If it’s not too much trouble, of course.”

Gwaihir observed Sirius for a moment, then gave a single, approving nod. He spread his massive wings with a graceful sweep, and three enormous feathers drifted down, each nearly as long as Sirius’s arm and gleaming with a faint, mystical sheen.

Holding the feathers in his hands, Sirius could hardly contain his excitement. These weren’t just any feathers; they were from a creature of legend, carrying who knew what kind of magic within them. He wondered what enchantments he might unlock from them. His mind spun with ideas as he carefully secured the feathers, determined to study their properties in detail once they had a moment’s peace.

The company settled into a camp nestled in a small clearing along the misty mountain slopes, not far from a bubbling stream that ran down the rocks and widened at the river’s mouth nearby. They chose this spot as it offered a water source and some semblance of safety, though Sirius couldn’t shake the sense that they were too exposed, with clear lines of sight to the horizon in all directions. Still, the dwarves were exhausted, and the crisp air and steady flow of water offered a small bit of comfort.

Thorin, recovering from his wounds but still visibly weary, lay propped against a tree, stirring as he regained full consciousness. His eyes opened slowly, meeting Sirius’s gaze, and a look of recognition dawned on his face. Despite his pride, he managed a grateful nod. “Jimmy,” he began, his voice rough but sincere, “I owe you my life. Without your courage and quick action, I’d be lost.”

Sirius, slightly taken aback by Thorin’s rare expression of gratitude, shrugged with a small smile. “We’re in this together,” he replied. “And besides, I wasn’t about to let some pale orc decide your fate.”

Thorin gave a soft chuckle, though wincing as he did, and extended his hand in a gesture of camaraderie. “Well, you have my thanks. The line of Durin does not forget such things.”

As the dwarves arranged themselves around the fire and took turns resting, Sirius kept a watchful eye on the surrounding landscape. The open space felt vulnerable to him, and he found himself instinctively positioning himself near the edge of the camp to keep an eye out. Gandalf joined him after a while, his staff softly glowing in the dim evening light.

“You have a mind for caution,” Gandalf observed, following Sirius’s gaze across the rocky landscape.

“Maybe a bit too much,” Sirius admitted, his brow furrowed. “It’s just… the terrain here is unforgiving, and we’ve seen how determined Azog and his lot are. I’d rather not be caught off guard.”

Gandalf nodded thoughtfully. “Your instincts serve you well. But take heart; the eagles’ aid will have set us well ahead of the orcs. Tonight, at least, I believe we are safe.”

Reassured but still alert, Sirius settled down by the fire, his new eagle feathers tucked away safely. As the night deepened, the dwarves shared quiet tales and songs, their voices mingling with the soft rush of the stream, and for a while, the company found a brief peace amid the wild, mist-shrouded mountains.

While the dwarves rested, Sirius ventured quietly from the camp, eager to explore the nearby mountain terrain for anything remotely magical. He moved carefully, keeping an eye out for any plants, fungi, or creatures that might hold the potential he sought. His mind raced with possibilities—Middle-earth might be a world less familiar to him, but he knew that nature was often a reservoir of untapped power. If he could find the right ingredients, he could potentially create potions that would be far beyond the limited medicine he had seen among the mortals of Middle-earth.

He ventured deeper into the shadows of the trees, where the ground grew damp and mossy, and soon spotted a cluster of strange, pale mushrooms growing in the shade. Their caps glistened faintly, and Sirius recognized the look of a bioluminescent variety, similar to a rare fungus he had seen once in the Forbidden Forest. Kneeling, he carefully picked a few, tucking them away in a small pouch. These might come in handy for potions with illumination effects, he thought, or even as a base for healing draughts if their properties were compatible with what he knew.

Moving further, he came across a patch of herbs with silver-streaked leaves, giving off a faint, pleasant aroma. They reminded him of dittany, a powerful healing plant in his world. Perhaps these leaves could speed up recovery or soothe wounds? He took a few cuttings, making mental notes of the plant's appearance and scent.

As he continued, Sirius began to appreciate the sheer diversity of flora in Middle-earth. Here, every valley seemed to hold its own microcosm of plant life. Near a shallow stream, he discovered a plant with deep blue flowers, its petals waxy and smooth. Perfect for potions to counter infections, he guessed, recalling how plants with similar appearances were used by healers in his world.

Sirius also knew he was onto something larger. If he could identify the magical and medicinal potential of these plants, he could create potions that would benefit not only his own companions but potentially entire villages they might encounter. Recreating potions from his world—perhaps even modifying them to suit the properties of these new ingredients—could offer untold benefits to the people of Middle-earth.

After a while, his pouches weighed down with samples, he headed back to camp. The dwarves were still deep in rest, and Gandalf, noticing Sirius’s return, gave him a nod of approval, perhaps already guessing what Sirius had been up to. Settling near the fire, Sirius began sorting through his finds, feeling a sense of purpose. He had found a way to bring a small piece of his world into this one—something that might make a real difference.

As the company resumed their journey at a gentler pace, mindful of Thorin’s still-healing injuries, Sirius found himself with the perfect opportunity to continue his quiet foraging. Each day’s journey brought them through new landscapes, revealing plants and herbs unique to each area, and Sirius carefully added to his growing collection.

Though he longed to experiment with these new ingredients—to see how they might transform into potent elixirs—he knew now wasn’t the time. Brewing potions required concentration and a stable environment, neither of which he could manage while they trekked through forests, crossed streams, and climbed rugged terrain. So, for now, his focus was solely on gathering.

He moved with quiet precision, collecting herbs with silver-edged leaves, vibrant flowers with an earthy scent, and roots with hints of unfamiliar yet promising aromas. Each item he collected held potential, but he was careful not to reveal his purpose. Middle-earth had its own types of healing methods, and the last thing he wanted was to draw attention to his unusual skills. He kept his findings discreetly tucked away in his pack, treating them as simple “herbal remedies” should anyone ask.

Sirius’s mind brimmed with ideas. Once they reached the safety of civilization again, he’d begin his experiments, testing these ingredients for their magical properties. Perhaps he could find ways to ease pain, heal wounds faster, or even protect against the harsher elements of this world. It would be something he could contribute beyond sword and spell, a tangible gift he could leave behind.

For now, he simply walked on, collecting quietly, and keeping his plans as carefully hidden as his ingredients. While the others focused on the road ahead, he looked forward to the day when he could set up a cauldron, call upon his family’s long-forgotten magical knowledge, and brew potions that could benefit the people of this land.

As they pressed onward, Thorin steadily regained his strength, though he still moved with caution, his hand occasionally grazing the wound that had nearly cost him his life. The company kept to a slower pace, but even with their quieter, more calculated movements, the familiar shadow of danger seemed to creep ever closer.

It wasn’t long before they sensed they were being tracked once more. This time, however, it wasn’t Azog’s familiar band; instead, the company found themselves pursued by a new group of orcs, their shrill calls echoing across the hills, growing louder with every passing hour.

The dwarves exchanged tense glances, hands hovering near their weapons. Though they were determined to stand their ground if necessary, there was an underlying unease. They didn’t know the size of the enemy force or how far the orcs’ reach extended, and with Thorin still recovering, a direct confrontation felt like an unnecessary risk.

Gandalf sensed the company’s anxiety and, with a few quick glances at the surrounding landscape, guided them off the main path. “This way,” he murmured, his voice low but commanding. They moved in a single line, weaving through dense underbrush and following the twists and turns of a narrow, overgrown path. Sirius moved close to the back, keeping an eye on their rear, his senses heightened for any sign of pursuit.

After what felt like an endless march, Gandalf led them to a secluded hollow, hidden beneath the canopy of thick trees and surrounded by boulders that created a natural fortress. The sounds of the forest began to muffle the distant calls of the orcs. The hollow was secure, well-protected by the surrounding landscape.

“We’ll take refuge here,” Gandalf whispered, nodding approvingly as they settled into the shelter. “The rocks and trees should help mask our scent and sound, at least long enough to throw the orcs off our trail.”

Relief washed over the group, but their vigilance remained. As the night deepened, they posted watches and kept low to the ground, each member of the company listening intently to the sounds of the forest around them.

Sirius scanned the perimeter, his mind racing. He didn’t want to use his magic unless absolutely necessary, but he mentally mapped out several defensive spells he could summon if the orcs stumbled upon them. His elvish-made sword rested on his lap, glinting faintly in the moonlight.

The hours wore on, and though every crack of a branch or rustle in the foliage kept them on edge, no orc appeared. It seemed Gandalf’s choice had worked—at least for now.