"Where did you go to, if I may ask?" Thorin said to the old wizard.
"To look ahead," Gandalf replied, brushing a few stray leaves off his cloak.
"What brought you back?" Thorin pressed, arms folded, his tone edged with skepticism.
"Looking behind," Gandalf said calmly. "Nasty business; still, you're all in one piece."
Thorin snorted. "We managed to do just fine without you."
"Ah yes," Gandalf said with a faint smile, "but if it weren't for me, you would have never gone to the Shire and met Bilbo or Ben, now would you?"
"If you must know," Gandalf went on, gesturing with his staff, "I was quite nearby. While my friend Radagast the Brown is more adept at the mimicking of a barn-owl or screech-owl, I must say that I myself am quite the hand at throwing my voice."
"My plan had been to keep the trolls bickering amongst themselves," Gandalf explained, stepping over a fallen log, "as they like fighting each other almost as much as they like fighting everyone else. In doing so, they would forget the coming of the dawn, be turned to stone, and thus I would've saved the day!"
The wizard rapped the end of his staff against William's stone cheek with a dull thunk, as if to emphasize the finality of his would-be triumph. The troll's face remained locked in a look of confused horror.
"A needless plan, I admit," Gandalf said, shooting a pointed glance at Ben, "when you can summon sunlight itself."
"You snooze, you lose," I said with a grin, shrugging with mock innocence.
Gandalf gave a harrumph but said no more. Instead, he turned his attention to the troll statues, circling them with an inquisitive air.
"They must have come down from the Ettenmoors," he muttered, half to himself.
"Since when do mountain trolls venture this far south?" Thorin asked, his frown deepening.
"Oh, not for an age," Gandalf replied gravely. "Not since a darker power ruled these lands. In any case, they could not have moved in daylight."
"There must be a cave nearby," Thorin said, eyes scanning the trees.
"A task, I'm sure, we can tackle in the morning," I suggested. "Tonight has been thrilling enough. Let's get some sleep while we still can."
As excited as the dwarves were about finding troll loot, everyone agreed that it would be more prudent to wait until daybreak. And so the triumphant company made its way back to the camp, having overcome their first real challenge on the road.
---
After a quick but hearty breakfast of toast, omelette, bacon and coffee, we fanned out to search for the trolls' lair. Morning mist still clung to the trees like a shy ghost, and the air was thick with the damp, earthy scent of moss and pine. Soon, Bofur's delighted whoop from the east broke the quiet.
"Thorin!" Shouted Bofur. "We found the troll cave!"
We hurried to his side. The mouth of the cave was wide and jagged, framed by stone that looked as though it had been gnawed by time—or trolls. Inside, it stank of mutton grease and unwashed monsters. The dwarves began to look around the cave, finding a couple chests worth of jewelry and gold, scattered here and there, worthless to the trolls who only cared about feeding their bottomless stomachs. Many of the dwarves promptly began to bury the treasure.
"We're making a long term deposit!" Gloin answered when I raised an eyebrow. I didn't argue. Not my gold, not my mountain.
Gandalf, Thorin, and I walked deeper into the cave. The air cooled and darkened. Dust motes floated in the light of my softly glowing orb, and cobwebs clung to the low ceiling like drapes left to rot.
Then we found them—swords. Dozens of them. Most rusted, pitted, or bent beyond use. But two blades caught our attention. They lay side by side atop a slab of stone, as if placed there by someone who wanted them to be found. Their scabbards were etched with ancient runes, their hilts encrusted with sapphire and moonstone. Power hummed faintly from them—not crude enchantment, but a refined elegance that sang of starlight and sorrow.
Thorin inspected the two swords covered in cobwebs. He handed one to Gandalf, unsheathing them. The dwarf prince looked in wonder at the steel.
"These were not made by any troll," he exclaimed.
"Nor were they made by any smith among men," said Gandalf, looking closer at the markings on the blade. "These were forged in Gondolin by the High Elves of the First Age."
Thorin looked at the elvish blade in his hand for a moment, before his eyes trailed to Thror'sJustice by his side. Without another word, he placed the sword on the slab he found it in and walked away. Gandalf watched this but remained quiet.
He took one sword for himself, then turned to me with the other. "This one's yours."
I blinked. "I'm not a swordsman, Gandalf. I'd rather not divide my training. Magic already eats up all my time."
He gave me a long look, then nodded slowly. "As you wish. But carry it anyway. Better it sees the light of day again than gather dust down here."
I took the sword and slung it across my back, feeling slightly foolish. I had never felt the same romantic pull toward blades that others did. For me they were all the same - big sharp cutty thing. Still, I could sense the spirit bound within it—watchful, ancient, noble. "Fine," I muttered. "But I'm holding onto it until someone better suited comes along."
As we turned to leave, Gandalf paused near a pile of bones and bent to pry a blade from the rock. Smaller, shorter—a dagger for a man, perhaps, but still forged with the same grace. Outside, he called out to Bilbo.
The hobbit came trotting up. "Yes?"
"This is for you," Gandalf said, holding out the blade. "An elvish dagger. It'll glow blue in the presence of orcs and goblins. Very useful in dark places."
Bilbo took it hesitantly. "I have my bow."
"And now you have a blade. Just in case something gets too close."
He nodded and tucked it into his belt with the quiet solemnity of someone realizing they were, indeed, part of something much larger than a dinner party.
We were just stepping away from the cave when the woods exploded.
A wild rustling. A shout. A screech. Dwarves drew weapons with sharp, synchronized efficiency, while Gandalf urged us all to arm ourselves.
Then, from between the trees, a sled burst through the undergrowth. Not pulled by horses, no. Rabbits. Giant ones. Twelve of them.
"Thieves! Fire! Murder!" cried a hysterically panicked voice.
"Radagast? It's Radagast the Brown!" Gandalf yelled to the rest of the company.
The eccentric wizard skidded to a halt before us, eyes wide beneath his moss-draped hat. The rabbits twitched nervously. The dwarves still held their weapons aloft, eyes flicking from Gandalf to the wild newcomer in disbelief.
"Explain," Thorin said tersely.
I looked to Gandalf, who merely rubbed his temple and sighed as though already regretting the morning.
"Here we go," I muttered.
---
Gandalf stood apart from the company, the soft glow of his pipe the only light near his grave expression. Radagast stood before him, fidgeting with his staff and glancing nervously over his shoulder.
"The Greenwood is sick, Gandalf," Radagast said quietly, his voice laced with unease. "A darkness has fallen over it. Nothing grows anymore—at least, nothing good. The air is foul with decay…"
Gandalf exhaled slowly, a plume of smoke curling into the morning light. "What kind of darkness?"
Radagast hesitated, then leaned closer. "Webs," he whispered. "Thick as ropes. Spun across the trees like a choking shroud. I followed the trail. Giant spiders, Gandalf. Some kind of spawn of Ungoliant—or I'm not a wizard."
Gandalf's eyes narrowed. "Spiders? From where?"
Radagast's tone darkened. "Dol Guldur."
At that, Gandalf straightened. "The old fortress? It cannot be."
"It very well can," came another voice—calm, firm, and certain.
The two wizards turned to see Benjamin Carter approaching. He stopped beside them, arms folded, expression serious beneath his glasses.
Radagast blinked at Ben with owlish curiosity. "And who might this be?" he asked Gandalf.
Gandalf gave a small, amused smile. "A strange new friend from very far away."
Ben nodded to Radagast. "Carry on, please."
Still unsure, Radagast glanced between them before continuing. "I went to Dol Guldur," he said, voice shaking slightly. "I had to see for myself. I felt it, Gandalf. A dark power… such as I've never felt before." He shivered, clutching his staff tighter. "The shadow of an ancient horror. One that can summon the spirits of the dead…"
His voice trailed off as memory overcame him. Then, softly, as if afraid of his own words: "I saw him, Gandalf. He came out of the darkness—the Necromancer. Only, I have a feeling he is something more."
Gandalf's brow furrowed. "But a mere human sorcerer cannot command such dark forces," he echoed, suspicious.
"Whoever said he was human?" Ben said flatly, his voice like steel.
Both wizards turned to him. Radagast looked stunned. Gandalf's eyes narrowed.
"What do you mean?" Gandalf asked.
Ben hesitated for the briefest moment. "I had a vision last night," he said, low and steady. "Of something terrible—"
A howl rang out, distant but close enough to freeze every heart in the Company.
Bilbo looked up sharply from where he stood near Bofur. "Was that a wolf?" he asked, voice thin.
"That was no wolf," Fili muttered, scanning the ridgeline.
From behind a jagged crag, a Warg burst forth, snarling and leaping into their midst. Dwarves shouted and scrambled as the beast lunged.
Dwalin met it head-on, swinging his gravity hammer in a wide arc. The weapon struck the Warg's skull with a thunderous crack, and the beast dropped with a faint whimper.
Another Warg emerged from the opposite side—fast and vicious. Kíli didn't hesitate. His Sunflare bow shimmered with magic as he let loose a glowing arrow of pure light. It struck the beast between the eyes, dropping it mid-charge.
Radagast gaped at the glowing bow and the still-humming hammer. "By the stars… What kind of weapons are those?"
"Enchanted," Thorin said grimly, turning toward the woods. "Warg scouts. Which means there's an orc pack close behind."
"Orc pack?" Bilbo squeaked faintly.
"We have to move," Dwalin growled.
"But the ponies—!" Gloin pointed. "They've bolted!"
"I'll draw them off," Radagast offered, moving toward his sled.
"No," Ben interrupted, his voice sharp.
All eyes turned to him as he stepped forward. "You and Gandalf need to go to Rivendell," he said to Radagast. "Lord Elrond, Saruman, and Lady Galadriel are already gathering there. They must be warned about what's stirring in Dol Guldur."
Gandalf stepped toward him, urgent. "Ben, what do you know?"
Ben shook his head. "You'll get your answers in Imladris. But we're out of time."
He turned to Thorin. "There's a threat rising that concerns all the Free Peoples of Middle-earth, Thorin. Please, you have to trust me. Go with Gandalf."
Thorin hesitated, jaw clenched. Then he gave a curt nod.
Ben took a breath and raised a hand. With a hum of magic and a gust of wind, his bike shimmered into existence beside him, gleaming like something out of myth.
Thorin stared. "What are you doing?"
Ben climbed onto the seat. "Taking care of the orcs."
Gandalf stepped forward. "Ben, don't be a fool! You can't take on an orc pack alone!"
Ben gave him a wide, mischievous grin as his glasses morphed into sleek, glowing goggles. The bike levitated off the ground, its thrusters humming with raw energy.
"Relax, Gandalf," he called over the wind. "I'm just going to have a little fun."
With a whoop of laughter, he shot into the air, leaving stunned dwarves, an open-mouthed hobbit, and two thoroughly bewildered wizards in his wake.
Radagast blinked furiously, turning to Gandalf. "Where did you find him?"
Gandalf sighed as he watched Ben vanish into the sky.
"In the unlikeliest of places," he murmured.
---
The wide, windswept plain stretched out beneath a pale, cloudless sky. Jagged rocks jutted from the ground like broken teeth, offering little cover across the barren expanse. Dust and dry wind swirled through the air as Yazneg, the orc commander, led his warg-mounted scouts across the desolate terrain. The wargs snarled low, uneasy, sensing something unnatural in the air.
Then it happened.
A piercing laugh echoed across the plains, breaking the stillness like a thunderclap. With a roar of displaced air, Benjamin Carter shot into the sky on his flying bike, a gleaming streak of metal and magic rising from behind a rocky outcrop. His coat snapped behind him like a banner, and his hair rippled in the wind. The orcs froze in confusion, their bestial mounts rearing at the scent and sight of the airborne stranger.
Ben climbed high above the plain, then banked into a wide, arcing turn. Inside his goggles, a magical interface flickered to life—the enemy positions lighting up red on a glowing mini-map. Below, the scattered orc patrol was exposed and clearly visible in the open landscape.
From the front of his bike, two barrels extended smoothly, glowing with etched runes that shimmered with heat and energy.
"Firebolt!" Ben shouted.
One of the barrels pulsed, then blasted a bolt of concentrated flame toward a trio of orcs riding close together. The bolt struck the earth just before them—and exploded in a violent burst of fire. A wave of heat rolled across the plain as scorched bodies were hurled into the air and blackened ash clouded the sky.
Panic erupted.
Arrows flew upwards from the orcs, but the bike shimmered with a translucent shield. The arrows pinged harmlessly away, deflected by runic defenses. Ben laughed again and swept low across the battlefield, his shadow dancing over the cracked rocks below.
At the ridgeline to the east, Gandalf and Radagast stood behind a rise with the dwarves and Bilbo clustered around them. All watched in stunned silence.
"Merciful stars," Radagast muttered, having already sent his rabbits off. "What is that wonderful contrivance?"
"A flying fighting mount, apparently," Gandalf said, eyes narrowed in fascination.
Ben spun into another pass and shouted, "Arrows!"
The second barrel glowed, then fired three luminous bolts of magical light. The arrows slammed into a lone orc and its warg, skewering them in flashes of golden light. They collapsed mid-gallop, their corpses tumbling across the rocky ground.
Yazneg screamed orders, but the orcs could do little against an enemy who flew, who struck from above with light and flame, and who couldn't be reached with bows and arrows. Some turned to flee, galloping toward the hills. Others tried to scatter across the plain. It didn't matter.
Ben was merciless.
From above, he rained destruction—each strike clean, precise, devastating. The rocky plain lit with flashes of fire and light as one group after another fell. Some of the fleeing orcs stumbled across the retreating dwarves—but Kíli was ready. His arrows of light streaked through the air, felling two wargs in quick succession. Beside him, Bilbo loosed a bolt of his own, catching another in the neck with surprising accuracy.
At last, the company reached a craggy crevice nestled beneath a cluster of boulders—a hidden entrance to safety. Gandalf and Radagast led them in, but not before the group turned to glance one last time at their airborne defender.
Ben hovered above the plain like a blazing star, framed by the sky.
Then, hooves thundered.
From the west, a host of Elven riders crested a rise, glinting in silver and grey. At their head rode Lord Elrond, eyes narrowed as he took in the burning battlefield and the stranger in the sky. The orc remnants turned to face the new threat, only to be quickly cut down by Elven arrows—swift, elegant, and deadly.
Ben turned one last time in the air, locating the final enemy markers vanishing from his map, then angled his bike downward.
He descended smoothly, the hum of runes grew quieter as the bike touched down gently on the rock-strewn plain before the Elven host.
The elves drew their bows, uncertain.
"Hold," Elrond said, raising one hand.
Ben pushed up his goggles, revealing a windswept face and a calm, amused smile.
"Hello there!"
---
[ALTERNATIVE VERSION]
The Wizard, the Bike, and the Wargs Who Regretted Everything
"Where did you go to, if I may ask?" Thorin said to the old wizard, arms crossed and one eyebrow trying to out-frown the other.
"To look ahead," Gandalf replied mysteriously, casually brushing off his cloak as if returning from a brisk stroll rather than orchestrating cosmic sneakiness.
"And what brought you back?" Thorin pressed, clearly not buying the cryptic cloak-swishing routine.
"Looking behind," Gandalf said serenely, and then added, "Nasty business. But everyone's still in one piece. Except the trolls. They're several pieces. Stone ones."
Thorin snorted. "We managed just fine without you."
"Ah yes," Gandalf said with a knowing smile, "and if it weren't for me, you'd still be poking around Erebor like angry tourists with no tour guide and no snacks. And don't forget Bilbo—or Ben."
"You're welcome, by the way," I called.
"I was nearby," Gandalf continued, gesturing vaguely with his staff. "While Radagast the Brown is more adept at sounding like a constipated barn owl, I've always been quite good at throwing my voice."
He stepped up to one of the stone trolls and gave it a light tap on the cheek. Thunk.
"My plan was to keep them arguing until the sun turned them into garden ornaments," Gandalf said, with the tone of a man describing his third-best chess strategy. He gave me a look. "But apparently, some people like to improvise with lasers."
"You snooze, you lose," I grinned, tossing him a mock salute.
Gandalf harrumphed with the flair of a man whose dramatic rescue was stolen by a glowing hover-bike and a guy named Ben.
"They must've come down from the Ettenmoors," he said, poking around the statues.
"Since when do mountain trolls come this far south?" Thorin asked, as if the trolls had violated zoning laws.
"Not since a darker power ruled these lands," Gandalf intoned ominously. "You know, evil monologues, dramatic cloaks, that kind of thing."
"There must be a cave nearby," Thorin mused.
"Let's find it in the morning," I said. "Tonight has been… troll-heavy."
---
The next morning, we enjoyed a breakfast that was heavy on bacon and caffeine. The dwarves looked suspiciously cheery. Bilbo looked suspiciously traumatized. I looked like I needed more coffee.
Bofur whooped from the east. "Thorin! We found the troll cave! And it reeks!"
We followed the sound—and the smell. Inside the cave, the air was rich with troll funk and regret. The walls were decorated in the classic "Hoarder's Dungeon" aesthetic. Glittering treasure mixed with bones and questionable stew pots.
The dwarves immediately began burying valuables. "For safekeeping!" Ori insisted.
"You're literally burying it under other treasure," I pointed out.
"Exactly! Hiding it in plain sight."
I let it go. Not my treasure. Not my kingdom.
Deeper in the cave, we found weapons. Lots of them. Most were rusted relics or troll toothpicks. But two swords stood out—placed neatly atop a stone slab, gleaming like they'd been waiting for their next adventure.
Thorin unsheathed one and nodded. "Not troll-made. Too elegant. Too… stabby."
Gandalf inspected the runes. "Gondolin craftsmanship. Elves of the First Age. Comes with at least three tragic backstories and a ballad."
Thorin gave it a look, then respectfully returned it to the slab. Gandalf picked up the other and handed it to me.
"This one's yours."
I blinked. "I'm more of a 'zap-it-from-afar' type."
"Carry it anyway. Never know when you'll need a dramatic sword moment."
Fine. I strapped it to my back like a cosplayer and immediately felt 7% cooler.
Gandalf dug up a smaller blade and tossed it to Bilbo. "Elvish dagger. Glows blue if goblins are near. Also makes toast. Kidding."
Bilbo accepted it with wide eyes and a muttered, "How is this my life?"
Then the forest exploded.
A wild rustling. Screeches. Panicked yelling.
"Wargs?" Bilbo squeaked.
No. Bunnies.
A sled, pulled by twelve over-caffeinated rabbits, crashed through the underbrush like a furry hurricane. Onboard: one wizard in bird-poop robes.
"Fire! Thieves! Intruders! I've misplaced my hat!" Radagast screamed.
"It's on your head!" Gandalf shouted.
"Oh, splendid!"
Thorin stared. "Explain."
Radagast launched into a story involving spider webs, decaying forests, and something called the Necromancer.
Gandalf puffed on his pipe, resisting the urge to sigh himself into the void.
Radagast turned to me. "And who are you?"
"Just a tourist from way out of town," I said. "With better gadgets."
Then a howl cut through the air like a badly tuned violin. Dwarves drew weapons. Wargs charged into camp.
Dwalin leapt forward, swinging his gravity hammer with gusto. It crunched into a warg skull like a judge's gavel. Case closed.
Kíli followed up with a glowing arrow from his Sunflare bow. It struck true, with an elegant pew, like an elven microwave.
Radagast gaped. "What… what are these weapons?"
"Blessed by engineers and probably divine caffeine," I said.
The ponies, being sensible creatures, bolted.
"We're outnumbered," Thorin growled.
"I'll draw them off," Radagast offered.
"Nope," I said, summoning my bike with a dramatic shimmer. Cue music. Cue lights. Cue everyone staring like I'd pulled a dragon out of my sleeve.
Gandalf groaned. "Ben. No."
"Ben. Yes," I replied, sliding on my goggles like the world's nerdiest superhero. "Time for a light show."
I shot into the sky like a firework fueled by spite and good intentions.
---
The orc pack had just enough time to say, "What the—" before I rained magic fire down on them like a very angry weather pattern.
"Firebolt!" Boom. Orc kebab.
They tried to shoot back. My shield deflected everything like a magical umbrella.
"Arrows!" I yelled, firing glowing bolts of light into their ranks. The orcs panicked. Some ran into each other. One accidentally punched his own warg.
From afar, Gandalf watched, mouth slightly open. "He's… actually doing it."
Radagast whispered, "I must acquire one of those bikes."
Eventually, the orcs scattered—some fleeing, some face-first in the dirt. The dwarves joined in the cleanup. Even Bilbo scored a solid hit and promptly looked both proud and faint.
Then hooves thundered.
Elves.
Lord Elrond led a squad of archers with impeccable timing and even better cheekbones. They saw me descend in a blaze of glowing tech.
The elves aimed their bows. I flipped up my goggles.
"Hello there," I said cheerfully.
No one moved.
Then, finally, Gandalf spoke behind me.
"Welcome to Middle-earth's weirdest Tuesday."
---
To be continued. With more rabbits. Possibly musical numbers.
Which version did you like better?