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Lotr: Playing Minecraft in Middle-earth - 353
🕑 Added 2025-12-06 03:12:21 +0000 UTCChapter 353: Reunion at Roadside Keep
“So, how does it look in Isengard?”
Outside the keep, on a stretch of open ground, the three of them had each found something to sit on. It made a rough little council circle.
At Gandalf’s question, Levi thought for a moment.
“Quiet. Too quiet. Saruman is not there, and there is no sign of the Nazgûl,” he said.
“What can be said for certain is that the Enedwaith garrison has turned. They answer to Mordor now. And there is good reason to suspect the Uruk-hai; there are no better.”
“That really is…” Gandalf began.
“Reaping what he has sown,” he finished for Levi.
“I did try to warn him. Not only did he refuse to listen, he tried to settle it with his staff,” Levi said.
Aragorn spoke up from the side.
“It shows us that even the ‘wise’ can have their eyes veiled and their wits dulled.”
“Wise,” Gandalf echoed, with a snort.
“Wise he may be, but the torment of it is that he never sets that wisdom to a straight road. If he would only listen, and let go of that harsh, proud tongue of his, we would not be standing in such a mess.”
As he spoke, his eyes suddenly fixed on Levi’s hand.
“If these old eyes are not deceived, that is Saruman’s ring,” he said.
“I was just about to tell you about it.”
Levi slipped off the Star Ring and tossed it to him.
The loss of its power left him briefly hollow, but the feeling soon passed.
“Through this ring I can half-feel some kind of pull, but it is too vague for me. You may be able to read it,” he said.
Gandalf frowned and turned the flawless white ring over in his fingers.
There was a power in it he knew: the same force that had plucked him out of Orthanc and flung him far away.
Pure. Unstained. With the faintest edge of savagery.
A disturbingly good fit for Saruman.
“This is what I meant by Saruman’s cleverness,” he said.
He held the Star Ring up before his eyes.
“If we had not come to blows, those Nazgûl would never have been able to touch him.”
“Too late now,” he added.
“Not yet,” Levi said.
He watched the ring as well.
“There is still time to mend things. About that sense of direction I mentioned… do you feel it?”
Gandalf was silent for a moment, then nodded slowly.
“East. Somewhere to the east, beyond the Misty Mountains, in a dark place the sunlight does not reach,” he said.
“More exact than that?” Levi pressed.
“Not too far. Not close either. There is only one place that fits,” Gandalf said.
“Mirkwood. Dol Guldur.”
“Much what I guessed,” Levi said.
“The Nazgûl were never likely to drag him all the way back to Mordor. Too far, too much noise. If they crossed certain skies, word would have reached us. None of our scouts or friends have seen such a thing.”
“Hm. It seems we had best raise Dol Guldur several notches on our scale of danger,” Gandalf said.
“Aaah—!”
As they were weighing their next move, a shrill cry of fear broke out nearby.
“What now?” Levi called, getting to his feet.
“Dragon! There is a dragon!”
All four Hobbits were pedalling their legs as fast as they would go, scrambling to hide behind the three.
From where he stood, Levi could see the look of utter disdain in Beherdan’s eyes even at a distance.
The dragon did not even bother to look at them.
If anything, he looked as if four shouting Hobbits had woken him from a sound sleep.
Gandalf spread his arms around them.
“Peace, peace. That is no storybook monster, but the dragon Levi raised himself. His name is—”
“Beherdan,” a voice said.
For once, Gandalf let the name hang, caught out.
Silent, dour Beherdan had forced the old wizard to speak for him more than once. Now the dragon’s own rumble saved him the trouble.
“Yes. Beherdan,” Gandalf said at once.
Aragorn stared.
“So he can speak. I have not heard his voice once in decades,” he said.
“He simply does not care to talk,” Levi said.
“Do not underestimate him. He has read and learned as much as you have, at least.”
“Dragons learn quickly. Even if no one teaches them, they pick things up just by listening.”
He brushed aside the great paw Beherdan tried to hook around his shoulder, ignoring the dragon’s anxious eyes and the way his head swung from side to side.
“Think of the dragons in the old tales,” Levi went on.
“Smaug in the Lonely Mountain. Scatha the Worm, who drove the Dwarves out of the Grey Mountains and was slain by the forefathers of the Rohirrim. They all spoke, and no one sat them down and gave them lessons.”
“‘Little Pink’?” someone echoed.
The Hobbits, at least, knew how to home in on the point.
“That is your other name?” Pippin spun round at once.
Beherdan swung one golden eye to him in answer, but there was no malice in it at all, and no real weight of dragon-wrath. It was about as frightening as a disapproving cat.
“Mind yourself, Pippin,” Gandalf said.
“Beherdan is many years your elder, and your better. Do not call him ‘Little Pink’. That was a nursery name from his first hatching. It no longer suits.”
“All right,” Pippin said dutifully.
Whether it went in was another matter.
After this small skirmish, their fear of Beherdan ebbed. They drifted closer, surrounding him with questions.
The dragon clearly did not share their enthusiasm. He curled himself up, buried his head under a wing, and refused to so much as twitch an ear, no matter what they said.
Noisy little creatures. Enough to drive a dragon mad.
Of all these guests, only the grey-cloaked wizard struck him as easy on the eye.
Even that was a mixed blessing, Beherdan thought.
Their quiet time under the mallorn did not last.
A ranger from the front found Levi and brought word.
It was grave enough to make Levi frown.
He thought a moment, then gave his orders.
“Abandon Carn Dûm. Pull back behind the Wall,” he said.
“That ruin has little strength of its own without sorcery to shield it. There is no sense in dying over it.”
“Bring everyone back. I will go myself and see what is really happening.”
“What is it?” Gandalf asked, catching the look on his face.
“The northern waste. Snowfields beyond Angmar. More Wargs and Trolls every day, thick as fleas, all over the place,” Levi said.
“And not just them. There are other creatures out there that are… wrong.”
“What?” Gandalf said.
“Orcs.”
“Orcs? What is so strange about that?” he asked, baffled.
“On their own, nothing,” Levi said.
He turned to the ranger at his side.
“Tell him.”
“They wear rotting, broken armour, but they are fiercer than any Orc we have seen,” the man said.
“They look no different, but there is something in them… off. Orcs are always savage and cruel, but our old enemies could be bargained with, a little. Talked to, at least.”
“These ones in the northern waste?” he finished.
“They are more like madmen.”
