Lotr: Playing Minecraft in Middle-earth - 368

Chapter 368: The Decision

“Moria. The Dwarves’ great miracle.”

“A miracle?”

Not only the Hobbits, but even Boromir was a little curious.

He had grown up in Gondor. The moment he came of age, he had gone to the front, day after day under the Witch-king’s pressure. Forget the Dwarves’ underground kingdom; he had barely even seen Dwarves a handful of times.

“Yes. A miracle,” Gandalf picked up the thread. “A marvel no less than Roadside Keep, even the Water-city. Even if only empty halls remain now, gathering dust, its grandeur is beyond what most can imagine.”

“Exactly. Gandalf speaks the truth,” Gimli agreed at once, completely forgetting how Gandalf had needled him earlier on the road.

Most Dwarves were like that. Quick to flare up, quick to cool down.

“When we reclaim Moria, it will surely return to its former prosperity,” Gimli said, already picturing it.

Gandalf continued, “Balin often spoke of it to me. For decades, he brought it up from time to time, but I never encouraged him. There are still dangers there. To go now would be to meet the same end as those before.”

“But when will it be safe?” Gimli asked earnestly.

Among the Free Peoples’ Dwarves, there was not one who did not long to reclaim their lost homes.

Gandalf looked at Gimli for a long moment, then sighed. “Soon, Gimli. Do not rush it. Soon. In your lifetime, you will see it. You will.”

As they talked, the company pressed on. Before long, the sound of shouting washed over them, drawing every eye.

Halfway Town.

They had arrived.

“So lively. Should we find somewhere to rest?” Sam suggested.

“I am hungry.”

“So am I.”

Merry and Pippin echoed him.

For once, Gandalf agreed.

“There is a place over there called the Halfway Tavern. We might have a look.”

“Brilliant!” Pippin clenched his fist and was about to dash ahead.

But then the commotion not far away caught his attention.

A crowd of Halfway Town residents was gathered, arguing fiercely about something. Their emotions were running high, their voices bouncing through the tunnel and carrying far.

“Quiet! Quiet!”

The mayor, standing at the highest point, pressed his hands down. The noise dwindled, and after he swept his gaze over the town, it fell silent altogether.

As the manager chosen by the townsfolk, the mayor clearly had the standing for it. He had enough authority and reputation to lead them.

Sensing something was wrong, not only Pippin but the rest of the Fellowship squeezed in as well, eager to hear what the mayor would say.

Gimli jumped up and down, frantic, and pawed at people nearby. “Can someone tell me what is happening? I cannot see!”

Boromir, ever helpful, looked at him and said, “Want me to lift you up, Master Dwarf?”

“No. Do not even think about it. Never,” Gimli refused at once.

“All right, then you can stay down there,” Boromir said with a shrug.

Gimli fumed, but Dwarves always had a sudden, clever idea.

A moment later, copying the Hobbits, he scrambled up onto a nearby streetlamp.

“Now I can see, but he had better speak quickly. This thing is hard to hold…”

“Do not get worked up. Nothing is certain yet!”

Once he had quieted the crowd, the mayor finally spoke.

He raised his voice again. “Even an Elf’s words may be mistaken. We should look with our own eyes and search with our own hands, rather than venting our feelings blindly over a single rumour or message.”

“Well said!” Gimli, clinging to the streetlamp, was the first to agree.

His voice drew a good number of looks. At first, some thought his interruption rude, but when they saw he was a Dwarf, they understood and let it pass.

“We must not blindly follow what Elves say!” Gimli continued, making Legolas below feel an intense urge to shoot him down.

Realising the look he was getting from his companion, Gimli hurriedly added, “Er, so has anyone got the kindness to tell me what message you heard from the Elves?”

At that, every member of the Fellowship pricked up their ears.

The townsfolk, however, fell into a collective silence.

At last, a resident closest to Gimli spoke.

“They said our High Warden, the great legend, Lord Levi, has left this world.”

“What?”

Clang.

Gimli’s grip slipped, and he fell off the streetlamp.

Everyone froze, struggling to digest the words.

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

But Gandalf only shook his head, as if he had expected this, and said nothing.

Aragorn strode over, his tone urgent. “You knew already? What is going on?”

“No. I did not know.”

“Rumour,” Gimli muttered, but his voice came out raw. “It has to be a rumour. Say it isn’t, Gandalf.”

“I fear it is not, Gimli. Since the moment we set out, I have not been able to sense his presence,” Gandalf said.

Gimli lowered his head and fell quiet.

Now it was clear why Gandalf had been so irritable. Something real had been weighing on him.

“I know you,” said a well-informed resident nearby. “You are the Grey Wanderer, the Grey Wizard, Gandalf.”

“If even you are saying this…”

“Don’t jump to conclusions. That is not the same thing as death,” Gandalf cut in. “Tell me. When did you last hear from Levi?”

“Deep in the Northern Waste,” the mayor answered, settling Gandalf’s doubt.

Gandalf went still.

This time, he truly could not judge what it meant.

The Fellowship fell into silence. The townsfolk resumed their arguing and shouting. Gandalf stood among them for a time, listening, and discovered they were actually discussing marching into Mordor, seizing Sauron, and forcing answers from him about Levi.

“Madness,” Gandalf said. “Mordor’s host numbers far beyond a hundred thousand. The only entrance is the Black Gate, wrought of iron and unbreakable stone. Do you understand what it would cost to break in? Do you understand how vicious the creatures within are?”

“We do, Wizard,” a resident replied. “And not only do we know. We have seen it with our own eyes.”

“The host is at the tunnel’s end. The Vale of Anduin is in upheaval. If you are only travelling, it is not wise to go on. Stop here and turn back.”

“What?” Gandalf’s heart jolted.

Ignoring the warning, he hurried towards the end of the tunnel.

No one had the stomach to rest now. The others followed at once.

Hiss!

“The tunnel’s end did not open on blinding sunlight, but a dim sky, where Great Eagles fought vicious flying beasts above. One of those beasts gave a shriek so harsh everyone instinctively looked up."

Worse still, a Nazgûl rode its back. It gave off a dreadful radiance, swooping after Eagles one moment, then circling low to spread terror the next.

The Sky-road’s railings and the walls below were crowded with soldiers of the Free Cities. The Vale commander was leading men against an Orc host of unknown origin. Attack and defence ground against each other in utter chaos.

Thud.

As the beast shrieked again, Frodo felt his heart seize. Where the One Ring lay against his chest, pain tore through him.

High above, a Nazgûl seemed to sense something. It dove straight down, aiming for the tunnel mouth.

“Loose!”

At the critical moment, a disciplined volley of arrows swept in, forcing the Nazgûl to climb and break its descent to avoid the strike.

“The archers of the Woodland Realm,” Legolas said, eyes on the fletching. An Elven force was arriving as reinforcements.

They were from the Woodland Realm.

“Back!”

Seeing the danger, Boromir and Aragorn each grabbed two Hobbits and pulled them behind, retreating quickly.

“Does no one care about me?” Gimli yelped as he ran after them.

Legolas said earnestly, “If you do not mind, I can.”

Gimli ran faster, eyes wide. “Do not even think about lifting me. I can run on my own!”

Hiss!

Another shriek rang out. After the Elven volley struck home, a second Nazgûl dove, trying to peer into the tunnel.

The Elves had no time to react, but another force stepped into the gap.

Men of Halfway Town—their garrison.

“Shoot!”

Swish.

A sheet of arrows covered every approach, but the vicious beast beat its wings and surged back into the sky, just like the first Nazgûl, evading the volley.

Many of the human soldiers were visibly shaking, hands trembling under the Nazgûl’s terror. Yet there was something stronger than fear in them.

Rage.

Some furious, nameless anger let them draw bow and loose again, forcing down the dread in their hearts.

The Nazgûl itself seemed taken aback.

Damn them. Why were these people not afraid?

Inside the tunnel, hidden from the Nazgûl’s gaze, the Fellowship’s hearts hammered.

The others could manage, but the four Hobbits had never seen anything like this. They were shaken to the bone.

Frodo was more than shaken. He was in agony, as if some unseen thing were tearing at him.

Boromir, watching the Hobbits most closely, said, “We cannot stay here. That Nazgûl must carry some evil curse that resonates with the Ring. Frodo is suffering.”

“This road is not safe,” Gandalf said grimly, thinking fast. “The Orcs below are thicker than at the Crossroads.”

“We can climb down from here, use the Free Cities’ army as cover, and move south in secret, and then…”

Boom!

As he spoke, a heavy sound rolled from the south of Mirkwood. A flare of radiance lit the sky, tangling with the clouds above.

“Dol Guldur…” Gandalf’s scalp went numb.

So Dol Guldur was in battle too. That meant the road through Rhovanion was not safe either.

“We can take the Gap of Rohan,” Boromir said, stealing a glance at the warring hosts outside. “This war is larger than any I have known. From what can be seen, the Free Cities’ defenders here number at least twenty thousand. The Enemy must be twice that.”

“Mordor has likely thrown its main strength at this place, but it is clearly struggling. The Free Cities’ defences are too strong. This assault could continue for half a year, even a full year, and still gain nothing.”

“That is our chance.”

Boromir turned back to the others. “Mordor has committed most of its strength here. It may have little left to threaten Gondor. If we take the Isen crossing and go to Gondor, we can seek my father’s aid.”

“No. We cannot go that way,” Aragorn rejected at once, before Gandalf could speak.

He knew too well what the burdened man in front of him was thinking. If they truly went that route, leaving aside whether they could even reach Gondor safely, it would be all too easy for disaster to strike and ruin everything they had fought for.

“Indeed, we cannot,” Gandalf agreed.

The reasons had already been spoken of before.

“Then what road is left to us?” Gimli could not help asking.

Gandalf let out a long, heavy sigh, as if some inescapable doom was drawing near.

“We can turn back and use the Water-city’s cover. There is still a chance to keep this hidden.”

“There is still one passage the Enemy cannot see.”

“But where we go from here, whether we keep pressing forward, or change course entirely, must be decided by our Ring-bearer.”

Clank, clank…

In Halfway Town, the residents who had been quarrelling moments ago were now armoured and equipped, marching out in squads to take their places.

Iron golems, drawn by the alarm, clanked towards the edges of the Sky-road, staring down at the Orcs below and up at the Nazgûl above, unblinking.

Amid all that noise, every voice in the Fellowship fell quiet.

All eyes turned to Frodo, waiting for the Hobbit to choose.