The Mage of Middle-Earth - CH - 37 (Patreon)

The next morning, as the company prepared for another day’s journey, a crow swooped down from the canopy of Mirkwood and landed on a nearby rock. Its black eyes glinted as it cawed sharply, drawing everyone’s attention.

Gandalf approached the bird with a knowing expression. “Ah, a message,” he muttered, untying a small, tightly wound parchment from the crow’s leg. The bird gave one last caw before taking off into the trees.

The company watched as Gandalf read the letter, his face growing serious with each passing second. Thorin frowned, sensing trouble. “What news, Gandalf?” he asked, his tone edged with concern.

Gandalf folded the parchment carefully and sighed. “It seems my presence is urgently required by the White Council. A dark force stirs in the south, a necromancer who threatens the balance of Middle-Earth.”

“A necromancer?” Balin repeated, worry creasing his brow. “You mean to say... dark magic?”

“Indeed,” Gandalf replied gravely. “This is no small matter. If left unchecked, his power could spread like a shadow across the land. The Council must act swiftly to confront this threat.”

The dwarves exchanged uneasy glances. “You’re leaving us?” Fili asked, his voice tinged with disappointment.

“For a time,” Gandalf admitted. “But fear not! You will not be alone. Jimmy Potter has traversed Mirkwood before. He knows its dangers and its secrets better than most. You are in capable hands.”

Sirius, leaning against a tree, raised an eyebrow. “Jimmy Potter, is it? I’ll never get used to that name,” he thought with a wry grin. Then, turning serious, he said, “Gandalf’s right. I’ve crossed these woods more times than I can count. Stick close to me, and we’ll make it through.”

Thorin stepped forward, his jaw tight. “We cannot afford to lose you, Gandalf. You’ve been our guide, our protector.”

“And I will continue to be,” Gandalf assured him. “But this task calls for me, Thorin. Trust in Jimmy, and trust in yourselves. Your journey is far from over, and I have no doubt you will rise to the challenges ahead.”

The company fell silent, digesting the news. Finally, Thorin gave a reluctant nod. “Very well. But make haste in your return.”

Gandalf smiled, a twinkle of reassurance in his eyes. “I will join you again as soon as I can. Until then, keep your wits about you and your swords sharp.”

With that, Gandalf gathered his staff and pack. He gave one last look at the company, then turned and disappeared into the shadows of Mirkwood, leaving the group to press on without him.

As the company ventured deeper into Mirkwood, the oppressive atmosphere weighed heavier with every step. The dense canopy above twisted and knotted, blocking out most of the sunlight and leaving the forest floor in perpetual gloom. A thick mist clung to the ground, swirling ominously around their feet. The air was filled with the sounds of distant chittering and the occasional creak of trees, making even the most hardened dwarves uneasy.

Sirius walked at the front of the group, his senses on high alert. Despite the daunting environment, his mind was elsewhere. The mention of a necromancer and the involvement of the White Council had stirred a fire within him. A powerful necromancer... that’s the kind of foe I was born to face.

He glanced back at the dwarves, who trudged behind him, weary but determined. But not now. These lads need me. Thorin needs me. I made a promise.

Still, the thought of roaming Middle-Earth, seeking out dark wizards and forgotten spells, filled him with excitement. He could already envision it: crossing great rivers, climbing towering peaks, and delving into ancient ruins in search of arcane knowledge. Once Erebor is reclaimed, my real journey begins.

As they continued, Thorin broke the silence. “You seem lost in thought, Jimmy,” he said, his voice low but steady. “What’s on your mind?”

Sirius smirked, snapping out of his reverie. “Just thinking about what’s next after we deal with that dragon of yours.”

Thorin raised an eyebrow. “And what might that be?”

Sirius shrugged nonchalantly. “Oh, you know, a bit of adventure, a bit of danger. Might even go Mordor.”

Balin, walking nearby, chuckled. “You’ve got a taste for danger, that’s for sure. But I’d say Smaug will be more than enough excitement for a lifetime.”

“Perhaps,” Sirius replied with a grin, “but you never know. Life has a way of throwing surprises at you.”

As they moved deeper into the forest, the terrain grew more treacherous. Thick roots jutted out of the ground like skeletal hands, and the path became harder to follow. Sirius led them through with confidence, his knowledge of Mirkwood guiding their steps.

“We’re nearing one of the darker parts of the forest,” Sirius warned. “Keep your eyes sharp and your weapons closer. This is dangerous territory.”

The dwarves exchanged uneasy glances but nodded, readying their weapons. Dwalin hefted his warhammer, while Fili and Kili tested the tension on their bowstrings. Thorin placed a hand on the hilt of Orcrist, his expression set with grim determination.

“Why does it feel like this place is trying to swallow us whole?” Kili muttered.

“Because it is,” Sirius said. “Mirkwood has a will of its own. It’s alive in ways you wouldn’t understand.”

Fili frowned. “Alive? You mean it can think?”

Sirius gave a small nod. “Not quite like us, but enough to make you wish you’d never set foot here. It feeds off fear and confusion. Stick close, or you’ll find yourself lost.”

The group pressed on, the silence broken only by the crunch of their boots on the forest floor and the distant, unsettling sounds of the forest. Sirius kept a keen eye on their surroundings, his wand hidden but ready beneath his cloak.

Sirius knew by now that the dwarves were a headstrong and unpredictable lot. They were driven by a thirst for adventure and an almost childlike curiosity, and their natural inclination was to do the exact opposite of what they were told. Over the course of their journey together, Sirius had come to expect their defiance. He found it frustrating at times, but it was also oddly endearing.

When he left them in a safe location deep within Mirkwood and sternly instructed them to stay put while he went hunting, he fully expected to return to an empty campsite. It was a practical choice, after all—Mirkwood was a dangerous and treacherous place, filled with ancient magic, hostile creatures, and an ever-present sense of disorientation. Sirius, with his experience navigating the forest, knew how to find his way back. The dwarves, on the other hand, did not.

“Stay here,” he had said, fixing them with a stern gaze. “This forest is alive, and it doesn’t take kindly to strangers wandering about. If you leave, you won’t find your way back.”

The company had nodded, some grumbling under their breath, but Sirius could see the glint of mischief and restlessness in their eyes. He had sighed inwardly, knowing full well that his words were likely to fall on deaf ears.

After securing the camp, Sirius set off, weaving through the dense trees with practiced ease. The hunt was fruitful; he managed to snare some rabbits and gather some wild herbs. But as he made his way back, carrying his catch, he felt no anticipation of a warm welcome from the dwarves.

When he finally reached the campsite, it was as he expected—completely deserted. The fire had burned down to embers, and their gear was strewn about as if they had left in haste. Sirius set down the stag and looked around, his lips curling into a wry smile.

“Well, what a surprise,” he muttered to himself. “Not a dwarf in sight.”

Sirius sighed as he returned to the empty campsite, a freshly caught rabbits slung over his shoulder. The fire he had built earlier had burned down to smoldering embers, and the absence of the dwarves was glaringly obvious. He tossed the rabbits to the ground and muttered to himself, shaking his head.

“I should’ve known,” he said, rubbing his temples. “Tell a dwarf to sit still, and they’ll find a way to climb a mountain instead.”

He glanced around the deserted clearing, noting the scattered footprints leading off into the dense forest. They didn’t even try to cover their tracks. Typical.

With a resigned sigh, Sirius sat down by the fire pit and began to rekindle the flames. He figured they wouldn’t have gone far—after all, Mirkwood was no place for wandering aimlessly, even for a group as headstrong as Thorin’s company. As the fire roared back to life, he stretched out his legs and leaned back against a rock.

“Let’s see how long it takes for them to realize they’re lost,” he mused.


[ Flashback ]


The dwarves sat around the campsite, trying to remain as calm as possible, though their natural restlessness made this a challenge. Despite their grumbling stomachs, they had complete confidence in Sirius'—or as they known him, Jimmy's—skills. He had proven time and again that he could find food even in the harshest conditions.

Suddenly, the stillness of the forest was interrupted by the sound of rustling leaves. The dwarves turned their heads as a magnificent creature stepped into view—a massive white elk, its antlers branching out like a crown of ivory. The sight was so unexpected and awe-inspiring that even the most seasoned among them sat in stunned silence.

“That’s a royal elk,” Balin said in a reverent tone, breaking the silence. “Rare beyond measure. Even Thranduil, the Elvenking himself, rides one of these majestic beasts.”

The dwarves exchanged glances, some filled with awe, others with a spark of excitement. The tension in the air was palpable.

“What do we do with it?” Fili asked, his voice tinged with anticipation.

Thorin rose to his feet, his expression stern and resolute. “We kill it,” he said, his voice carrying the weight of his decision. “And we feast.”

The dwarves were taken aback but not entirely surprised. Thorin’s disdain for the elves was well-known, and the idea of striking a blow—symbolic or otherwise—against Thranduil was likely irresistible.

“But Thorin,” Balin said cautiously, “this could bring trouble. The elves hold these creatures sacred. If we kill it, we’ll be drawing their ire.”

Thorin’s eyes hardened. “Let them come. We owe the elves nothing. Their arrogance has cost us dearly, and I’ll not pass up this opportunity.”

Dwalin, ever the warrior, gripped his axe and nodded. “I say we do it. A beast like that would make for a feast worthy of kings.”

The younger dwarves, Fili and Kili, exchanged eager glances, clearly ready for action.

Balin, however, wasn’t convinced. “Thorin, we’re in the heart of Mirkwood. The elves are likely closer than we think. We can’t afford to provoke them now, not when our quest is still unfinished.”

As the group debated, the royal elk raised its majestic head, as if aware of the attention it had garnered. Its deep, intelligent eyes scanned the dwarves, seeming to sense the weight of their discussion.

Just as Thorin was about to issue his command, the elk bolted, disappearing into the dense forest as swiftly as it had appeared.

The dwarves, their usual caution overridden by the thrill of the hunt, sprang to their feet and charged after the white elk. Thorin led the way, his determination evident in his every stride. The creature moved swiftly through the dense underbrush, its white coat a ghostly blur among the dark greens and browns of Mirkwood.

"Don't let it escape!" Thorin barked, his voice carrying over the rustling of leaves and snapping of branches.

Fili and Kili kept pace, their bows at the ready. “We’re gaining on it!” Kili called out, excitement in his tone.

The chase led them deeper into the heart of the forest, where the air grew heavier, and the light dimmed to an eerie twilight. The trees loomed closer together, their gnarled branches intertwining like skeletal arms.

As they pressed on, the elk suddenly veered sharply and disappeared into a thicket. The dwarves skidded to a halt, their breaths coming in heavy gasps.

“Where did it go?” Dwalin growled, scanning the area.

“It’s too quiet,” Balin said, his eyes narrowing. “Something’s not right.”

Before anyone could respond, a chilling screech echoed through the forest, followed by the sound of skittering legs. From the shadows, massive spiders, each the size of a pony, emerged with terrifying speed, their many eyes glinting with malice.

“Spiders!” Fili shouted, raising his sword just in time to block a lunging creature.

The dwarves quickly formed a defensive circle, their weapons drawn. Thorin’s blade gleamed as he hacked at an advancing spider, splitting its carapace with a sickening crunch.

“Keep them back!” Thorin commanded, his voice steady despite the chaos. “Don’t let them surround us!”

Kili loosed an arrow into the nearest spider, hitting it squarely between its eyes. The beast let out a shrill cry before collapsing.

Dwalin swung his axe with brutal efficiency, cleaving through the legs of another spider. “There’s too many of them!” he yelled, his voice strained.

Balin thrust his spear into a spider that had gotten too close, his expression grim. “We need to retreat, or we’ll be overrun!”

As if to confirm his words, more spiders emerged from the shadows, their numbers seemingly endless. The dwarves fought valiantly, but for every spider they felled, two more seemed to take its place.