Leaving aside Gandalf’s astonishment for now.

During the time when he fell deep into the earth, battling the Balrog from the dark underground lake all the way up to the mountain peak, the members of the Fellowship were forced by circumstances to push through their grief and move eastward, seeking aid from nearby Lothlórien.

However, they hadn’t gone far before being stopped by a group of border wardens.

The leader of these wardens was Haldir, an acquaintance of Garrett’s, who led them to a watch-platform on the border and arranged for them to rest there temporarily, while they discussed what to do next.

Since a messenger from Rivendell had already come to the Golden Wood before the Fellowship set out, bringing news of their mission, Lothlórien’s attitude toward them was friendly. They were willing to offer help.

But as the captain directly responsible for the safety of Lothlórien’s borders, Haldir was cautious, especially unwilling to reveal the route into the heart of the forest to a Dwarf.

Not everyone enjoyed the kind of reputation Garrett did, one that would make others drop their guard and welcome him even before his arrival.

Especially not Dwarves. Haldir proposed that Gimli be blindfolded on the way in, which naturally angered Gimli and led to several quarrels with the Elves.

Finally, at Aragorn’s suggestion, everyone agreed to be blindfolded, putting an end to the argument.

Lothlórien clearly regarded the Fellowship as very important. The Lord and Lady of the Galadhrim came out together to meet them.

Seeing the Fellowship safe and sound, both elven leaders breathed a sigh of relief.

Had Gandalf been there, he might have noticed that Galadriel looked weary, as though her power had been overtaxed.

But sadly, he was not there.

“The Great Enemy already knows you have entered this land. If you still hope to move in secrecy, I fear that hope is in vain,” said Celeborn.

“Dol Guldur, Mordor, and a rebel host forged by Saruman himself are now besieging the nearby cities. Were it not for the Men of the river vales holding fast, even this land might not be at peace. Moreover, the enemy forces hidden in Khazad-dûm have joined Dol Guldur’s host to attack the town led by Beorn’s descendants. The road ahead is perilous. And you… As I understand it, your company set out nine in number, but only eight stand before me now. Tell me, where is Gandalf? I had hoped to speak with him.”

The company fell silent.

It was Galadriel who answered in their stead.

Gandalf had fallen into the abyss.

As their silence lingered, Galadriel used her power to share with each of them what she perceived, the visions and feelings that stirred in their hearts.

Each saw something different, a glimpse of a possible future, or words that seemed to come as guidance.

The Fellowship needed rest.

The Lord and Lady understood this and did not press them further, ordering quarters prepared for them instead.

Only then did the Fellowship finally feel they could breathe again, and had time to reflect on what had happened over the past few days.

“I still can’t accept it.”

Somewhat unexpectedly, Sam was the first to speak.

He gently stroked the sword Garrett had given him, engraved with Garrett’s name and a message of blessing, his eyes distant.

Frodo stared at the same sword, lost in thought.

“That beautiful and noble lady said she could no longer sense Gandalf’s presence… that he had fallen into the depths of the earth, and perhaps… was gone.”

“Then Garrett too…”

“Our journey’s only just begun, and already it’s come to this.”

“Keep your spirits up, Sam,” Frodo said softly.

But it was only comfort in words. He didn’t know what else to say.

In truth, his sorrow and confusion ran deeper than anyone else’s, though he did not show it.

—

Late at night, Frodo stared blankly at the stars, lost in thought.

A persistent idea took root in his heart, one he couldn’t shake.

The journey had only begun, yet Garrett and Gandalf had already fallen. If things went on like this, there would be more sorrow, more partings.

If only none of this had happened, or if all of it could fall upon me alone, sparing the others.

“Frodo.”

Boromir quietly approached. Remembering his earlier behavior, his desire for the Ring, Frodo felt a flicker of wariness, but soon realized it was unnecessary.

Boromir sat beside him, speaking gently.

“Whether it’s Gandalf or Garrett, their efforts were not in vain. You already bear enough, Frodo. Don’t let the dead weigh upon your heart too.”

When he finished, Boromir met Frodo’s eyes for a brief moment, then walked away.

In that fleeting gaze, Frodo saw a steady resolve.

And he too felt heartened, his prejudice against Boromir easing.

Night deepened.

A clear, ethereal song drifted through the forest.

Legolas looked up toward the source of the sound and said, “They’re singing a lament for Gandalf, and praising Garrett’s deeds.”

The song was haunting and beautiful, so moving that even the usually noisy Pippin and Merry fell silent to listen intently, though they couldn’t understand a word.

“I bet their song doesn’t mention Gandalf’s fireworks… or Garrett’s cooking,” Sam murmured, standing up as a thought struck him.

He began to recite a poem of his own, one made up on the spot, to fill in what the Elves had surely left unsung.

Aragorn paused his sword sharpening to listen.

Though there was still a faint clatter from beside him.

Gimli, the only one in the group who had actually fallen asleep, was snoring away blissfully, so loudly that his rumbling breaths nearly drowned out Sam’s recitation of his poem.

Aragorn, who had been rather eager to hear Sam’s verse, finally lost patience. He turned around and delivered a hearty slap across Gimli’s face, hard enough to make a proper smack echo through the clearing.

Startled awake, Gimli grumbled in indignation.

“What’s this now? Elves can sing, but a Dwarf can’t snore? Outrageous! You’re showing favoritism too!”

He complained a bit more, then huffed, turned his back to Aragorn, and went right back to sleep, like a sulking child weighing several hundred pounds.

When Sam finished his not-so-refined little poem, Aragorn had finished sharpening his sword. He stood, looked around, and noticed that Boromir seemed unusually downcast.

So the two began to talk.

“In the Lady’s vision,” Boromir said, “I saw destruction, but also that hope yet remains. Our people need hope.”

“Did you hear it too? The clear call of the silver horn summoning you home?”

In that moment, Boromir expressed his recognition of Aragorn in his own way.

“I look forward to the day when the watchmen of the tower will proclaim: ‘The Lord of Gondor has returned.'”

Aragorn said nothing.

Boromir carried a heavy burden, and when that burden turned into hope placed upon him, Aragorn could feel its weight as well.

It was so heavy that he could not bring himself to answer.

While the two Men spoke, Galadriel sought out Frodo and led him to the Mirror, hoping to show him more, and clearer, visions of what might come.

Guided by her, Frodo succeeded in seeing glimpses of the future.

Destruction, ruin, war, flames spreading across the lands, cruel orcs as though at hand’s reach, the proud Free Cities falling into chaos, unable to defend their neighbors, the Shire under attack, his dear friends turned into shackled slaves.

And finally, the great flaming Eye that filled all vision.

The Mirror had revealed to Frodo one possible path the future might take, along with the terror it brought. But that fear also drew the attention of the very being who caused it. Sauron.

His gaze turned toward them.

Just as Frodo was about to faint, on the verge of collapsing into the basin, suddenly…

A familiar black sword streaked across the vision, its dark blade traced with glowing red runes, driving back the Eye. In its place appeared a figure that brought comfort.

And behind that figure, an army raising their blades against all evil and darkness.

Then, flash!

The vision and the Mirror’s revelations vanished. Frodo staggered back, clutching the Ring tightly to keep it from falling, gasping for breath, drenched in cold sweat.

In witnessing the future, he had undergone a test of will.

“I know what you saw,” said Galadriel softly, though with a trace of surprise in her eyes.

“If your quest should fail, that is what will come to pass, flames consuming all of Middle-earth. But things are never simple. Even absolute power cannot necessarily change everything…”

She gently stirred the Mirror, and another image appeared within.

The shadow’s power had grown immensely with the Ring’s return. The world lay under darkness, except in the North, where a single shining realm still stood firm.

But its lord, the legendary figure of the North, sat in silence atop a great mound of slain enemies, saying nothing for a long time.

Perhaps that would mark the dawn of a new age, one defined by the purest and most direct opposition between light and shadow, an age in which only one side could survive, ringing out as the final note of another era’s end.

Yet as this possibility drew nearer, something began to change once more.

—

Far beyond the mountains, in the fortress of Wayfort, Weymir stirred, sensing the unease and restless emotions spreading among the people around him.

He had long suspected that the inhabitants of his domain were keeping something from him these past few days.

But no matter how carefully they tried to hide it, the activity at Wayfort could not be concealed. The legion commanders, community representatives, and administrators had gathered to discuss something important. Then they held a public vote. Soon after, the fortress entered a state of war preparation, mustering troops on a massive scale.

Except for the essential garrison, everyone else ascended the Sky Road and began marching east.

The city suddenly grew much quieter.

But Weymir could no longer sleep. For days, a hollow feeling had lingered in his heart.

At last, the truth could no longer be hidden.

That day, perched upon the golden branches of the mallorn tree, Weymir spread his enormous wings. For the first time, he revealed the fierce side of himself.

His temperament was unlike any dragon in history.

All these years, he had quietly coiled in his domain, watching over the land and the people who lived upon it.

He had remained so still for so long that many had forgotten he existed.

Because, in truth, his strength had rarely been needed.

For years, one man had always stood at the very front, bearing every burden alone, allowing this dragon, this overwhelming power, to seem almost lazy, spending his days eating, sleeping, reading, and listening to stories.

So much so that people stopped thinking of him at all.

But now, the one who had raised him and always stood at the front was gone, vanished without a trace.

And this land needed him.

Weymir opened his eyes and let out a roar. Orange-red flames burst upward with his cry, ripping through the dark clouds and setting the sky ablaze.

His vast shadow swept across the mountains as he soared eastward, toward the warfront.

—

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Completed at Chapter 405!

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep