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LOTR: TMCP Ch. 52
🕑 Added 2025-07-13 01:12:20 +0000 UTC"Burp~"
At the great dining table, Bombur let out a belch, rolled his eyes, and promptly fell asleep in his chair, snoring loudly.
"Oh dear..."
Gandalf shook his head. "Someone help carry him to bed. I warned him not to eat quite so much."
Balin patted his round belly and sighed.
"Forgive me, Gandalf, but I've never tasted such delicious food. Everything here is wonderful, the scenery is beautiful, the food is tasty... It's only a pity there's no ale. If I'd known there would be a feast like this, I would have spent every coin in that last town to purchase barrels of fine ale."
At this moment, the dwarves around the table were all stuffed full, letting out burps one after another.
The only one who had shown proper restraint was Thorin, who had been eating slowly and savoring every morsel from beginning to end.
Still, his fork hadn't stopped throughout the meal.
Noticing Gandalf stealing occasional glances at him, he set down his utensils, cleared his throat, and said, "I must admit, these dishes are truly praiseworthy. Many are prepared using methods I've never encountered, quite innovative."
After his comments, Thorin turned to Garrett and said, "My sincere thanks for your generous hospitality."
Having witnessed the stronghold firsthand, Garrett's standing in their minds had transformed completely. He was no longer merely a wandering warrior, but clearly a lord commanding his own realm.
Though, admittedly, the place did seem a bit lacking in people... Or rather, there hadn't been any signs of other residents whatsoever.
Still, given this lord's capabilities, if he were to issue a call for settlers, it was easy to imagine many would answer.
Visibly, the dwarves' attitudes had shifted. They were bold, certainly, but not foolish.
"Eat as much as you can. Don't save anything on my account."
The dwarves truly possessed enormous appetites, second only to hobbits. But even if each of them gorged themselves and departed with a sack of provisions, it barely affected the supplies he had accumulated over time. He could hardly notice any decrease.
"These are my traveling rations."
As he revealed piles of preserved meats, dried fruits, and bread, the dwarves stared at the mountain of provisions and slowly said, "You call this... rations?"
Up to this point, they had subsisted mainly on cram, the travel bread favored by both dwarves and the Men of Dale. It could be made tasty, but balancing flavor with preservation was never simple.
"I could live on rations of this quality for years."
One dwarf muttered after sampling a piece of jerky.
With full bellies, the dwarves wandered the territory, exploring.
Garrett's stronghold was expansive, with numerous chambers. When they grew tired, they simply selected a room for rest.
The night passed peacefully.
For some inexplicable reason, there wasn't even a trace of orcs nearby. The terrifying howls they had grown accustomed to hearing almost nightly in the wilderness had vanished entirely. No more sleeping with weapons at hand.
The dwarves gradually went to rest.
At the highest tower of the stronghold, Gandalf leaned against a window. Lighting his pipe with a small flame, he smoked in silence, eyes fixed on the distance, lost in thought.
"Perhaps... the balance of Middle-earth is shifting..."
Wizards and certain particularly powerful and perceptive elves possessed a form of foresight. They could faintly sense the shape of coming events.
"Not planning to rest?"
Garrett approached, settled into a chair nearby, bit into an apple, and tossed another to Gandalf, who caught it, polished it on his robes, took a bite, and nodded.
Sweet, crisp, and refreshing.
"I will. These beds of yours seem to possess some quality, once you lie down, you can't help but sleep soundly until dawn."
"What's your assessment of this quest?"
Gandalf suddenly inquired.
"I believe it will succeed."
Gandalf nodded thoughtfully.
"Let us hope so."
The night passed quickly.
---
The next morning, the dwarves, having properly digested their feast, awoke one by one, gathered their belongings along with Garrett's provisions, and resumed their journey eastward.
After that memorable meal, the company had grown quite comfortable with Garrett, and several dwarves came over to chat along the way.
"When you visit our homeland, you'll witness true dwarven hospitality, strong ale, massive roasts still on the bone, grand feasts, stirring songs, warm hearths. You won't regret the journey, I promise you."
"I'm looking forward to it. I'll definitely visit if I get the chance."
As they traveled, the group soon arrived at a place Garrett knew well: the Last Bridge.
This ancient span dated back to the Elder Days. The kingdoms that originally constructed and maintained it had long since faded into history. Now it was Rivendell that had assumed responsibility for keeping it in good repair. Thanks to the elves' careful stewardship, the bridge remained sound and passable to this day.
There used to be farming households here, he thought.
After crossing the bridge, they soon came upon a ruined homestead, just a few destroyed dwellings scattered about, with no sign of the folk who once lived there.
"We'll make camp here for the night," Thorin commanded.
Garrett opened his map and smacked his forehead.
Of course, it was here. No wonder he hadn't discovered it previously.
The last time he'd come seeking treasure in the Trollshaws, he had entered from the west and worked his way eastward. This time, however, the expedition had chosen a resting spot near the southern edge of the forest.
"I think we should press on," Gandalf said, studying the ruined homes with growing unease. Something felt wrong about this place.
Why were the houses destroyed? And what had become of the farmers?
"We could make for Rivendell."
"I've already told you, I won't set foot in that place," Thorin replied as he approached, flatly rejecting Gandalf's suggestion.
"Why not? The elves could aid us, they could provide food, shelter, counsel. Just as Garrett has done."
Thorin glanced at Garrett, then back at Gandalf. "Perhaps that's true, but I need no assistance from elves who abandon those in their hour of need."
The two quickly began arguing. Garrett stood aside, watching helplessly.
"I gave you that map and key so you could move forward, not cling to ancient grievances."
"I don't believe those were yours to keep in the first place."
The message was clear: They belonged to my family.
That single comment nearly gave Gandalf apoplexy.
He had preserved the key and map out of duty and goodwill, and now Thorin was questioning his motives? He shook his head and turned to leave in frustration.
"Where are you going?" Bilbo called after him anxiously.
"To seek the company of the only reasonable person within a dozen leagues!"
"Who might that be?"
"Myself!"
"I've had quite enough of dwarven stubbornness for one day..."
He half-wished Garrett would simply render them all unconscious and carry them to Rivendell.
Gandalf suddenly halted.
"...Garrett, walk with me for a moment."
"Hm? Alright."
Garrett glanced at Bilbo, gesturing that there was no cause for concern, then rose and followed the agitated wizard.
Bilbo looked around, hesitant to speak.
With their mutual friend gone, he felt somewhat awkward being left alone with the company.
"Bombur, kindle a fire and prepare supper."
But Thorin paid no heed to Gandalf's departure. Calm and resolute, he simply continued issuing orders to prepare for the night's rest.
