Chapter 58: The Front Hall Gate

"Lady Galadriel."

Eric gave a respectful nod, though he honestly had no idea why the Lady of the Wood had sought him out.

As she stepped closer, Eric could feel a gentle yet overwhelming sense of divinity radiating from her presence—as if her very gaze could wash clean the darkest corners of the soul.

Almost involuntarily, he lifted his head and met her eyes.

If he remembered right, Galadriel's gift of foresight surpassed that of any other Elf or wizard. She saw farther, clearer, and deeper into what might be.

And in that brief moment, her own gaze instinctively tried to peer through his eyes—into what lay ahead for him.

But then... she faltered.

She saw nothing.

"Your future... is clouded by uncertainty."

Her voice, melodic and calm, broke the silence.

Eric wasn't sure if that was meant as a compliment or a forewarning. So, he said nothing at first.

Still, while she couldn't glimpse the depths of his future, she could sense the possible threads interwoven with others' fates. Especially when those threads were tightly knotted with danger.

"This expedition," she continued, "has too many paths leading to ruin. But with you among them... perhaps some things can be set right."

"I wish you luck on your journey, Eric, the adventurer."

She gave the faintest of smiles. "When all of this is over, you're welcome to visit Lothlórien. You'd find it... illuminating."

There was a flicker of something more in her eyes—curiosity. For someone who had lived thousands of years, it wasn't often she encountered a future so veiled in blankness.

When he visited the Golden Wood, she thought to herself, she would try the mirror.

"Thank you," Eric said sincerely, "for your blessing. I'll come, if fate allows."

Galadriel nodded once more, and before Eric could blink again, her luminous presence had vanished—like sunlight retreating behind a veil.

"Eric!"

A voice called out below the steps.

Eric turned to see an old man in a grey robe, hurrying toward him. Gandalf, breathless and irritable, wasted no time.

"We need to move! Thorin and the others are already miles ahead. And catching up won't be easy."

"The Elves say they took the high pass," he added grimly. "If the orcs have returned there after all these months, we might be walking straight into a trap."

Eric frowned. "That pass again, huh... Let's hope it's still clear."

He turned to fetch his horse, but Gandalf stopped him with a raised hand.

"No need for that now. Better leave your mount in the Elves' care. The path ahead isn't fit for hooves—too steep, too narrow... and there may be tunnels."

Eric sighed. "So, it's back to crawling through holes in the ground. Wonderful."

"Think of it as cardio," Gandalf said with a wink.

They set off at once, tracing the dwarves' trail through the misty peaks.

Meanwhile…

Far ahead, Thorin's company had just escaped a rather violent game between mountain-sized stone giants, who had taken a playful interest in hurling boulders at each other—and nearly at the dwarves as well.

Now, drenched by an endless storm and exhausted to their bones, the company needed shelter.

"I see a cave!" cried Fili from up front. "Looks safe!"

Thorin squinted. "We'll rest here. No fires. We move at dawn."

"But Thorin," Balin interrupted cautiously, "we should wait for Gandalf and Eric."

"Plans change," Thorin said curtly.

That night…

The dwarves were snoring like thunderclouds, sprawled out across the cold cave floor. Even Bofur, who'd volunteered for the watch, was nodding off, chin bobbing toward his chest.

Bilbo blinked awake in the shadows. He sat up, quietly gathering his pack and walking stick. He tiptoed toward the cave mouth.

"Where are you going?" Bofur suddenly asked, wide-eyed and fully alert.

"Home," Bilbo muttered.

"You... you can't. You're one of us now."

"No, I'm not. Thorin was right. I shouldn't have come. I left on a whim, and it was a mistake."

Bofur's voice dropped. "You're just homesick, that's all."

"You don't understand," Bilbo snapped, voice cracking. "You're dwarves. You live on the road. You don't put down roots. You don't have homes."

Bofur's expression fell.

"I—I'm sorry," Bilbo stammered, realizing too late how deeply he'd cut.

But Bofur didn't lash out.

"No... you're right," he said softly. "That's exactly why we're on this journey. To find our home again."

He put a heavy hand on Bilbo's shoulder. "May all the world's luck go with you, Bilbo Baggins."

"Wait. What's that?"

Bofur's eyes widened as Bilbo's short sword began to glow faint blue in the dark.

It was Sting—and its light meant one thing.

"Orcs," Bofur whispered.

More accurately—Goblins.

The dwarves' ability to find the worst possible rest stops was uncanny. The cave, seemingly safe, was actually the front entrance to Goblin-town—a sprawling, foul maze beneath the mountains, home to the twisted cousins of Orcs.

"Wake up! Everyone, get up!" Thorin shouted, leaping to his feet.

But it was already too late.

CLANG!

The stone beneath them gave way with a loud crash, revealing a chute. The entire company tumbled down into darkness, bumping and thudding as they slid.

SPLASH!

They landed in a heap—right in the middle of a goblin swarm. Hundreds of small, deformed creatures with yellow teeth and warty skin rushed at them from every direction. The dwarves fought back fiercely, but they were outnumbered. In moments, they were overwhelmed and dragged off deeper into Goblin-town.

Only Bilbo remained, unnoticed, curled into a tight ball.

Small, quiet, and oddly camouflaged by his travel-worn cloak, Bilbo's Hobbit nature kept him hidden. Even the goblins' sharp noses missed him.

But just as he peeked up and thought the danger had passed, a lone goblin—probably late to the party—spotted him.

It shrieked and lunged.

In the struggle, Bilbo lost his footing and tumbled off a ledge—straight into the shadows of a deep pit.

And disappeared.

Elsewhere…

Back at the cliff edge, Eric stared up in awe.

Mountain-sized stone giants were tossing boulders like toddlers with oversized toys. Their enormous bodies shook the peaks, voices rumbling like avalanches.

[Rock Giant - HP: 80000/80000]

"These things make dragons look like puppies," he muttered.

"From a raw power standpoint, yes," Gandalf agreed, climbing up beside him. "But don't worry. They're not terribly bright. And they couldn't care less about the affairs of Middle-earth. Sauron never controlled them. Even Morgoth couldn't."

"They're true neutrals," the wizard said with a shrug.

Eric chuckled. "Wish we had a few on our side."

"No use trying. They'll ignore you, no matter how politely you ask."

Eric adjusted his pack. "Then let's move before they accidentally step on us."