“Khazad-dûm, the great wonder of the Dwarves.”

“Wonder?”

Not only the Hobbits, but even Boromir was curious.

He had grown up in Gondor, and as soon as he came of age, he went straight to the front lines, battling the Witch-king day after day. Forget the Dwarves’ underground kingdom. He had barely even seen a Dwarf in his life.

“Yes, a wonder,” said Gandalf, taking up the words. “A marvel no less than Wayfort or even the City of Waters. Even though now it’s nothing but empty, dust-covered halls, its grandeur is still beyond the imagination of most.”

“Exactly! Gandalf is absolutely right.”

Gimli immediately agreed, completely forgetting how the wizard had just been teasing him on the road earlier.

Most Dwarves are like that, quick to anger, but just as quick to forgive.

“When we reclaim Khazad-dûm, it will surely return to its former glory,” he said, already beginning to picture it in his mind.

Gandalf continued, “Balin often spoke to me about that. He’d bring it up now and then, even decades ago. But I never encouraged him to go, for there were still dangers lurking there. Going now would only lead to the same fate as those who came before.”

“But then, when will it be possible?” Gimli asked sincerely.

For any Dwarf loyal to the Free Peoples, there was no dream greater than reclaiming their homeland.

Gandalf looked deeply at Gimli and sighed. “Soon, Gimli. Be patient. Soon. You’ll see it in your lifetime. You will see it…”

As they chatted, the company pressed on. Before long, the sound of noise and commotion reached them, drawing everyone’s attention.

They had arrived at Midway Station.

“So lively! Should we find a place to rest?” Sam suggested.

“I’m hungry.”

“Me too,” Merry and Pippin chimed in.

For once, Gandalf agreed.

“There’s an inn over there, ‘The Halfway Tavern.’ Perhaps we can take a look.”

“Wonderful!”

Pippin clenched his fists and was about to dash off, but a noisy disturbance nearby caught his eye.

A crowd of residents had gathered, all speaking excitedly about something. Their emotions were clearly high, and their voices echoed through the tunnel, carrying far and wide.

“Quiet! Quiet!”

The mayor, standing on the highest spot, raised his hand. Gradually, the noise died down. After sweeping his gaze across the crowd, complete silence fell.

As the elected leader of the town, the mayor’s authority and reputation were unquestionable, enough to command the respect of the people.

Seeing that something unusual was happening, not only Pippin but the rest of the Fellowship were drawn in as well. They squeezed through the crowd, eager to hear what was being said.

Gimli craned his neck, jumping up in frustration. He tugged at the nearby townsfolk.

“Can someone tell me what’s going on? I can’t see a thing!”

Boromir looked down at the anxious Dwarf. “Want me to lift you up?”

“No! Never, don’t even think about it!” Gimli barked.

“Suit yourself,” Boromir shrugged.

Gimli huffed, indignant, but Dwarves always find clever solutions.

Moments later, he followed the Hobbits’ example and climbed up a nearby lamppost.

“Ah, that’s better. Though he’d best hurry up. This thing’s hard to hold on to…”

“Don’t get too excited. Nothing’s been decided yet!”

Once the townsfolk were quiet, the mayor began to speak.

“Even what the Elves say isn’t necessarily true. We must see with our own eyes and act with our own hands, not let a single rumor or message drive us into blind emotion.”

“Exactly!” Gimli shouted from his perch on the lamppost, the first to voice his approval.

His outburst drew attention from many in the crowd. At first, they thought him rude, but seeing it was a Dwarf, they forgave him easily enough.

“We must never blindly trust what Elves say!”

He kept going, which made Legolas below him feel a sudden urge to shoot him down.

Sensing his companion’s unfriendly gaze, he quickly added, “Uh, so can someone tell me, what news did you hear from the Elves?”

At that, every member of the Fellowship pricked up their ears, eager for gossip. But the townsfolk fell silent. No one spoke for a long time. Finally, a resident nearest to him opened his mouth.

“They said… Lord Garrett… has left this world.”

“What!?”

Clang.

Gimli lost his grip and fell straight off the lamppost.

Everyone froze, struggling to process the news.

“Gandalf?” Frodo looked up, hoping for a denial.

But Gandalf only shook his head slowly, as if he had expected it. He said nothing.

Aragorn stepped forward quickly, his tone sharp. “You knew already? What’s going on?”

“No. I didn’t know.”

“It must be a rumor,” Gimli muttered.

“I’m afraid not, Gimli,” came Gandalf’s low reply. “From the moment we set out… I could no longer sense his presence.”

Gimli lowered his head and said nothing more.

So that explained Gandalf’s foul mood. Something was weighing on him.

“I recognize you,” one of the better-informed townsfolk said suddenly. “You’re that grey wanderer, Gandalf the Grey.”

In the Free Cities, his name carried no small renown.

“If even you say so…”

“Don’t jump to conclusions,” Gandalf cut in. “That’s not the same as death. Tell me, where was Garrett last seen?”

“In the depths of the Northern Waste,” the mayor replied, clearing Gandalf’s doubts.

Gandalf paused for a moment.

This time, he truly wasn’t sure what to make of it.

The Fellowship fell into silence while the townsfolk continued their loud debates and discussions. Standing amidst the crowd, he listened for a while, only to realize that the people were actually planning to march into Mordor, capture Sauron himself, and force him to tell them what had happened to Garrett.

“Utter nonsense!” he exclaimed. “Mordor’s armies number well over a hundred thousand! Its only gate, the Black Gate, is forged of steel and stone. Do you even understand the cost of trying to storm such a place? Do you have any idea what kinds of monsters dwell within?”

“We know, Wizard,” one of the townspeople replied. “And not only do we know, we’ve seen them with our own eyes. The army is right at the end of the tunnel. The Vales of Anduin has fallen into chaos. If you’re here to travel, I’d advise you not to go any farther. Stay here, or turn back.”

“What?”

Startled, Gandalf ignored the warning and strode quickly toward the end of the tunnel.

The others, too, had lost all thought of resting, and immediately followed.

Screech!

The end of the tunnel opened not into bright sunlight, but into a darkened sky, where Great Eagles clashed with monstrous beasts overhead. One of the creatures let out a piercing shriek that made everyone look up in shock. And it wasn’t just the beast. On its back rode a Nazgûl, radiating a dreadful aura. Sometimes it pursued the eagles. Other times it swooped lower, spreading terror.

Both the railings of the Sky Road and the walls below were lined with soldiers from the Free Cities. The commander of the valley was locked in fierce combat with a powerful orc army from who-knew-where. Attack and defense intertwined. It was pure chaos.

Thump.

As the monstrous cry echoed again, Frodo felt his heart seize painfully. A sharp agony burned in his chest, right where the Ring touched his skin. One of the Nazgûl in the sky seemed to sense it. It dove, riding its beast straight toward the mouth of the tunnel.

“Loose arrows!”

At that critical moment, a rain of arrows swept through the air, forcing the Nazgûl to veer sharply upward to avoid being struck.

“My kin!”

Legolas turned toward the direction the arrows had come from and recognized the banners. It was an elven host, come to aid them.

They were from the Woodland Realm.

“Back!”

Seeing how dangerous the situation had become, Boromir and Aragorn each grabbed two Hobbits, shielding them as they retreated.

“Does no one care about me?” Gimli shouted, running after them.

“If you don’t mind, I can,” said Legolas earnestly.

Gimli ran even faster, glaring back. “Don’t you try to lift me! I can run just fine on my own!”

Screech!

Another shriek tore through the air. As elven arrows struck the ground, a second Nazgûl dived downward, attempting to peer into the tunnel. The Elves had no time to react, but another army stepped up.

It was the Men, the Midway Station guard.

“Loose!”

Whoosh!

A storm of arrows blanketed the Nazgûl’s path, but the winged beast flapped once, soaring upward like the last one and retreating into the clouds.

Many of the human soldiers were trembling, visibly shaken by the Nazgûl’s aura of terror, but beyond fear and tension, what burned in their eyes was rage. Some deep, unknown fury gave them the courage to fight back, to strike at the Nazgûl despite the fear clawing at their hearts.

It even made the Nazgûl hesitate.

Why aren’t these mortals afraid?

Inside the tunnel, the Fellowship kept to the shadows, their hearts pounding. The others managed to stay composed, but the four Hobbits, unaccustomed to such horror, were terrified beyond words.

Frodo was not only frightened. He was in agony, as though something unseen were torturing him.

Boromir said urgently, “We can’t stay here. That Nazgûl must carry some foul curse linked to the Ring. It’s tormenting Frodo.”

“This road is unsafe,” Gandalf said grimly. “The orcs below are thicker than at the Crossroads.”

He thought for a moment. “We can descend from here. Under cover of the Free Cities’ army, we move south unseen, and then…”

Boom!

Before he could finish, a thunderous explosion echoed from the southern edge of Mirkwood. The sky flared with light, clashing against the storm clouds above.

“Dol Guldur…” Gandalf murmured, his heart sinking.

So that fortress was under siege too. The road through Rhovanion was no longer safe.

“We could take the Rohan Pass,” Boromir suggested quietly, watching the battle outside. “This war is larger than any I’ve seen. The Free Cities’ army alone must number at least twenty thousand, and the enemy twice that.”

“Mordor must have deployed its main force to attack here. But clearly, they’re struggling. The Free Cities’ defenses are too strong. Even if this assault lasts six months or a year, they’ll make little progress.”

“This is our chance,” Boromir said, turning to the others. “If Mordor’s armies are committed here, they can’t spare many to strike Gondor. We could take the Isen crossing, travel to Gondor, and seek my father’s aid.”

“No. Not that way.”

Before Gandalf could respond, Aragorn refused flatly.

He knew Boromir’s mind all too well. Even if they reached Gondor safely, such a move could destroy everything they’d fought for.

“Indeed, we cannot,” Gandalf agreed gravely.

The reason had been stated before.

“Then what road can we take?” Gimli demanded.

Gandalf sighed deeply, feeling an inescapable sense of fate closing in on them.

“We could turn back, take shelter through the City of Waters. There’s still a chance to remain unseen.”

“There remains one passage by which the enemy will not find us,” he added.

“But…” Gandalf’s eyes moved toward Frodo. “Whether we go on into danger or alter our path, that decision must rest with the Ring-bearer.”

Clang, clang.

The townsfolk of Midway Station, who had been arguing moments before, were now donning armor and rushing out in squads to defend the walls.

From the streets came the heavy steps of iron golems, clang-clang, as they marched toward the edge of the Sky Road, eyes fixed on the orcs below and the Nazgûl above.

Everyone fell silent, and all eyes turned to Frodo, waiting for the Hobbit’s decision.

—

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Completed at Chapter 405!

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep