Bard was stunned by Gandalf's question. He rummaged through his memories and replied, "This morning, I did see that hobbit fishing rather boredly at the dock. After teaching him some fishing techniques, I went to help others in the town. I haven't seen him since."
Gandalf glared, then said worriedly, "Then he disappeared during that time. He wasn't in the inn when I left, and I just searched among the Lake-town contingent for a long time without finding him. Where could Bilbo have gone?"
Arthur frowned upon hearing Gandalf's words, but quickly relaxed.
He spoke gently, comforting Gandalf, "Don't panic, Gandalf. Bernal and Igon are still in Lake-town, and the Storm Legion soldiers are also there. Bilbo will be fine. Perhaps it's just his hobbit characteristic of being easily overlooked that made you miss him."
Gandalf sighed in relief and said, "I know, but saying it is one thing, I'm still worried."
Radahn said at this moment, "Arthur, I will lead the Red Lion Legion to guard Ravenhill and Dale. You can rest assured and go back to look for your friend."
Arthur nodded, then looked at Gandalf: "In that case, let's go back together. You go check the dock, and I'll ask Bernal if he found anything."
Thorin saw that the expressions of so many people on Arthur's side were not good. He walked over, learned the news of Bilbo's disappearance, and said, "Count me in too, Arthur, Gandalf. Bilbo signed the dwarves' contract, so I will be responsible for his safety to the end."
Then he looked at Bard: "Regarding the houses in Dale, you can just ask Dain."
Afterward, Thorin led a war goat, mounted it, and hurried to Lake-town with Arthur and Gandalf.
But when Arthur and his group arrived in Lake-town, it wasn't Bernal who greeted them, but Igon.
Igon looked at Arthur, who had just dismounted his horse Torrent, and his first words stunned the Elden Lord: "Bernal is gone."
"Huh?" Arthur's eyes widened. Bilbo's disappearance hadn't shocked him, but Bernal's disappearance made him feel something was amiss.
Before Arthur could conjure up a terrifying conspiracy, Igon pulled out a piece of paper with something scrawled on it.
Igon said, "But Bernal left a note saying that he found Bilbo wasn't at the dock and didn't know where he went, so he went to look for him and told us not to worry."
Arthur took the note and only breathed a sigh of relief after confirming it was indeed Bernal's handwriting.
After telling Gandalf the content of the note, he rolled his eyes at Igon: "Next time, don't pause like that. I thought something had happened to Bernal."
Time rewound to the morning.
Lake-town's dock gleamed with a cold, iron-gray light under the clear sky. Bilbo Baggins squatted at the edge of the water-soaked pier, a fishing rod across his lap, its line dangling into the calm lake.
His coat sleeves were stained with ash from smoking last night, and the wriggling earthworm bait in the clay pot at his feet had long since frozen stiff, just like his enthusiasm when he cast his first line three hours ago.
"Perhaps I should try blueberry jam as bait? Would the fish here eat that?" Bilbo mumbled, tugging at the empty fishing line, his peripheral vision glancing towards the entrance of Lake-town.
From there came the sound of wheels grinding over gravel, and Bard's hoarse, tired shouts were faintly audible: "Let the women and children get on the carts first! Wrap moisture-sensitive furniture tightly with tarpaulins!"
Bilbo's fingertips unconsciously caressed the golden ring in his pocket. A subtle tremor suddenly ran through the cold metal surface, as if a snake-like whisper seeped into his bones.
[They won a battle and are busy with other things… Thorin is thinking about how to distribute the gold in the Lonely Mountain, Dain is thinking about the fallen soldiers of the Iron Hills, and even Gandalf is busy with Arthur contemplating how to deal with that Dragon. Who would care about a hobbit who can't catch a fish?]
The fishing rod suddenly dipped.
"Got one!"
Bilbo leaped up excitedly, his boots slipping on the icy planks.
He stumbled, pulling hard on the fishing rod, but with great effort, only managed to drag up half a broken, rusty sword tangled with weeds.
This was left behind by an orc that had been thrown into the lake a few days ago.
Bilbo slumped onto the bench in frustration: "Oh, damn it."
And the enticement of the One Ring now echoed with particular clarity in his mind.
[What are you doing in Dale? Being a funny character at the dwarves' feast? Or being seen as a burden by the Redmane?]
But Bilbo seemed not to hear the incessant voice in his mind, continuing to cast his hook into the cold lake water.
It wasn't until noon that the clamor of Lake-town's migrating party gradually subsided. Bilbo pulled out the last piece of honey cake from his pocket and nibbled on it, suddenly realizing that only his lonely shadow remained near the dock.
In the distance, the soldiers of the Storm Legion were changing shifts, their iron boots clanking with the regularity of a clock's minute hand.
No way? Have all the people of Lake-town already left?
Bilbo was startled and shouted loudly, "Gandalf? Sir Bard?"
But his shouts were torn apart by the cold wind, with no response, leaving the hobbit in silence.
A Raven glided over the lake, a fresh fish in its beak, its eyes bright and curious as it looked at the hobbit sitting on the dock who hadn't caught a single fish all morning, then flapped its wings and flew towards Ravenhill.
Bilbo's fingertips delved deep into his pocket; the golden ring shimmered with a strange glow in the darkness.
[They don't need you anymore, but the Elves of Rivendell never forget their guests. Let those brave warriors guard their glory. By the time they're drinking celebratory wine in the Golden Tree Territory, you'll already be warming your frozen toes by Elrond's cozy fireplace!]
"Yes, Rivendell… I can still go to Rivendell." Bilbo stood up in a daze.
As Bilbo trudged north along the icy lakeshore, he was completely unaware that he was stepping into the domain of Mirkwood.
At first, there were only a few silver threads among the tree branches, like cobwebs condensed from morning mist gently brushing his curly hair, but as he went deeper, more and more trees wrapped in spider silk appeared before his eyes.
A hint of dread flashed through Bilbo's heart. His hand, which had been caressing the One Ring, immediately recoiled as he reacted to his surroundings.
"It's just some spider silk," he muttered to himself, feigning composure. He turned around, only to find the path behind him covered by an immense amount of spider silk.
Then, Bilbo's hand, which had been continuously touching the One Ring, moved to the brass short blade at his waist. As Bilbo touched it, the short blade flashed with a faint, imperceptible golden light. The warmth emanating from the hilt completely cleared Bilbo's still-muddled mind.
At the same time, a faint rustling sound came from above, and vast shadows were cast on the ground by the sparse sunlight.
The One Ring suddenly grew hot in his pocket at this moment: [Put me on, and those eight-legged monsters won't smell your fear!]
But if Bilbo truly put it on, the One Ring would voluntarily slip from his finger when Bilbo was surrounded by those large spiders.
Bilbo's thumb was already against the ring, but Arthur's voice suddenly echoed in his mind, making him recoil as if shocked by electricity.
At the same time, the golden light that had just faintly lit up on the brass short blade completely dimmed.
Six calf-sized spiders descended from the treetops, their chelicerae opening and closing, dripping fluorescent green venom that corroded wisps of blue smoke on the forest floor.
Bilbo turned and ran wildly, but his outer coat was stuck to a tree trunk by spider silk. He decisively cut off his coat with the brass short blade and fled.
Bilbo, relying on his hobbit instincts, squeezed into a tree hollow, but looking up, he found the cave walls covered with dense, cocoon-like objects, gently rising and falling with his breathing.
He trembled, covering his mouth to prevent making any sound, but his heart was frantically praying that someone would discover his tracks and find him.
But the only response to his prayer was the clicking sound of spiders rubbing their chelicerae outside the tree hollow, a rhythm that seemed to say, "Dessert… fresh dessert…"
Bilbo unconsciously reached into his pocket again. The One Ring voluntarily rolled into his palm. A scene instantly flashed in the hobbit's mind: Arthur and Gandalf raising their wine glasses at a celebratory feast, Thorin and the dwarves of the expedition's laughter piercing like knives.
And at this moment, the large spiders also discovered the hobbit hiding in the tree hollow. The light from the entrance was gradually blocked by their terrifying bodies.
The One Ring's whisper was wrapped in honey-like sweetness: [Put me on, and you can elegantly pass through their feast, or stay here and become a breeding ground for larvae…]
Bilbo's fingertips pressed against the ring again, but this time he wasn't trying to put on the One Ring. Instead, he suddenly tucked the One Ring into a more personal inner pocket.
"To hell with your breeding ground!"
Bilbo, in a rare display of ferocity, cursed fiercely, then pulled out the tinderbox he used to light his pipe last night from his baggy trousers pocket.
He grabbed the burning tinderbox and threw it at the spider cocoons. The spider silk bundles immediately ignited, illuminating the tree hollow in an instant.
The spiders shrieked and retreated in the flames. Bilbo seized the opportunity to rush out of the cave entrance.
…
The cold wind at the dock stirred up fine snow. Bernal stepped quickly on the icy wooden planks.
He intended to go and pick up the hobbit who always liked to shrink into corners, and, just as Arthur often teased Bilbo, he would joke a bit about the "Hobbiton gourmet" and then carry him onto his warhorse to leave with Bard and the others.
But the dock was empty now, with only half a frozen earthworm bait dangling from a fishing hook.
"Bilbo?"
Bernal tried calling out, but his voice also dissipated in the cold wind.
Where did he go?
Bernal frowned, finding a wide footprint, unique to a hobbit, on the icy snow near the dock.
He was certain the footprint belonged to Bilbo, so he followed it.
The footprints became erratic as they passed through the reeds, and scratches on the ice showed Bilbo had stumbled and fallen.
Bernal picked up a crumb of honey cake with teeth marks near a broken dead branch and was instantly speechless: "Even when running around, he doesn't forget his snacks. He truly is a hobbit."
He looked up and saw the footprints extending north, and their end was Mirkwood.
Arthur, your friend is truly a troublesome fellow.