Words that shocked everyone.
Lord Garrett left this world?
The commander of Dale, who had been listening on the side, froze for a moment, unable to immediately react.
Did she mean that kind of "leaving this world"?
For Men, the phrase "to leave this world" was essentially a more refined, euphemistic way of saying "to die." Just a little more elegant and dignified than saying someone "died."
"What do you mean by that?"
Thranduil raised an eyebrow.
At times, even Elves themselves could be confused by their own kind's cryptic, meaningful riddles, let alone Men or other races.
But the one even more confused and anxious than him was the commander of Dale. He couldn't sit still any longer. Throwing caution aside, he moved closer to press for an answer.
Yet no answer came, and none could.
"This is beyond the reach of my power," Galadriel admitted the limits of her strength.
Thranduil reminded the commander, "Do not trouble yourself trying to interpret visions beyond our sight. What matters now is the task before us."
"I trust my allies. Do you not trust your own leader?"
The commander nodded, suppressing the turmoil in his heart for the time being.
"I'll cooperate with this operation," he replied.
And thus, another great regional war began.
But that was not all.
In a quiet manor somewhere in Dorwinion, an unremarkable vineyard owner noticed the unrest brewing in the East and pressed his temples, feeling a headache coming on.
"Barely a few decades have passed, and there's war again?"
So he mounted his horse, pulled on a cloak to conceal his identity, and set off westward alone along the Wine Road, recently refurbished by the free city artisans, traveling under his personal name, with no attendants. Lately, things had been happening far too frequently. Even if "last time" was decades ago, for an Elf, that wasn't long at all.
Still, so much had changed.
In the past, few would travel this road alone without guards or great confidence in their own skill.
But recently? Some bold human merchants even traversed it unguarded.
How... astonishing.
---
"This really is troublesome."
West of the Misty Mountains, on a desolate highland, Gandalf lit his pipe and smoked as he pondered.
Behind him came clanging and shouting. Boromir was giving Pippin and Merry a swordsmanship lesson. But, as usual, the two were up to mischief. With a clever trick, they tripped Boromir and sent him tumbling to the ground, surprising him thoroughly.
"For the Shire! Take him down!"
The two Hobbits pounced, pinning Boromir beneath them as he struggled to rise, and failed.
"Hahahahaha..."
Soon even the serious, deep-thinking Captain of Gondor was swept up in their playfulness. Laughing, he wrestled and joked with them, unbothered by his fall or their sneak attack.
Aragorn, watching the scene, especially Boromir, couldn't help but laugh as well.
Boromir, truthfully, wasn't hard to get along with. Though of noble rank, he had no airs about him. At heart, he was kind, gentle, and easygoing.
It was only the crushing weight on his shoulders, that unbearable pressure, that was his greatest weakness.
Sighing at the thought, Aragorn rose to his feet.
For now, the fellowship's mood was harmonious. Everything seemed well.
Except for Gandalf.
In recent days, his face had grown grave, as though he'd learned something troubling, or sensed something dark approaching.
Hmm... best not to disturb him.
"All right, you two, that's enough."
Aragorn moved toward the Hobbits, reaching out to pull them apart and end the scuffle.
But as fate would have it, he tripped, and the next moment, the mischievous Hobbits switched targets and "defeated" him too.
"Oof!"
He landed flat on his back with a groan. Lying there, he couldn't help but laugh, shaking his head helplessly.
"We can't go south."
Gandalf's words brought the laughter to an abrupt halt.
"The men of the Dark Lands don't know to whom they owe allegiance, and Saruman's army has vanished without a trace. In the end, it's a tremendous hidden danger."
Gimli suggested, "Then why don't we just take the northern route over the High Road?"
Gandalf nodded slowly and replied with dry sarcasm, "Indeed, an excellent idea, Gimli. If you hadn't reminded me, I might have completely forgotten that there's such an obvious, world-famous shortcut up north. What a perfectly timely suggestion."
His tone was oddly sharp, and though he was speaking to Gimli, his gaze was distant, his thoughts clearly elsewhere.
The Dwarf blinked, confused.
"What did I do to offend him this time?" he muttered under his breath.
But, unexpectedly, Gandalf stood up and continued, "Very well. We can try it. Time to move out, everyone. Northward. If we're lucky, we'll stay under the protection of the Free Cities the whole way and enjoy the ever-changing scenery along the road."
Pippin piped up, "And if we're not lucky?"
"If we're not," Gandalf said evenly, "I'll toss you off the road myself, so you'll learn what comes of speaking ill-omened words."
Pippin fell silent, speechless.
"He seems to be in a bad mood," Pippin whispered to Merry.
"You're telling me. But that's wizards for you, strange tempers, moods that shift like the wind."
"Just bear with it. Maybe he didn't sleep well last night. Once he's had a nap, he'll be fine again."
"Makes sense," Pippin said earnestly, nodding.
Then, shrugging off the moment, he hurried to catch up with Gandalf.
And so the company headed north, following the high mountain road. Eyes wide, they marveled at the view as they climbed higher and higher, making their way toward the far side of the range.
"I've never been this high up before!"
"Me neither!"
The Hobbits leaned over the railings to peer down below, exhilarated by the breathtaking sights they knew they'd remember all their lives.
Clank, clank...
As they walked, they occasionally passed iron golems patrolling along set routes, another curiosity that fascinated them.
Even Gandalf's mood seemed to lift once they were on the road. He found time to chat and share bits of lore as they went.
"Traveling this way is a pleasure. Since it was first built, I've walked this road no fewer than a hundred times. Most of the time, it's been a peaceful, leisurely journey..."
"Ah, we're here. Look ahead."
When they reached the foothills of the Misty Mountains, he raised his staff and pointed forward.
Before them stretched a vast tunnel, deep and wide, glowing with countless warm yellow lights. Inside, figures moved to and fro, talking and trading.
"This is one of the Sky Road's most important waystations, Midway Station. It used to be a goblin den, until Garrett led a force to drive them out completely. After that, they reshaped the terrain and carved the rock to make it level and fit for building. Later, Midway Station was founded here. Every year, countless merchants and travelers pass through, and it's become a bustling, prosperous settlement. Many even choose to settle and make their lives here."
"Incredible," murmured Frodo, staring wide-eyed at the enormous town carved into the heart of the mountain.
Gimli gave a small snort.
"That's because you've never been to a dwarven kingdom, Mister Baggins. Whether Erebor or the newly reclaimed halls of the Grey Mountains, both are far grander than this. Outsiders call our home the underground realm."
"I've heard of it," Frodo said. "Bilbo told me stories about the Lonely Mountain, the great dwarven kingdom of Erebor..."
Gimli's expression softened with pride.
"Bilbo had good taste. I know he was long ago granted the title Friend of the Dwarves. My elders still speak of him often, the brave Hobbit who ventured into our halls."
He paused, then added quietly, "But even Erebor represents only a part of our people's glory."
Frodo tilted his head, curious.
"There's an even greater dwarven city than Erebor?"
"Yes," Gimli said slowly.
And then he spoke a single name.
"Khazad-dûm."