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Lotr: Playing Minecraft in Middle-earth - 350
🕑 Added 2025-12-06 03:11:46 +0000 UTCChapter 350: Meeting in Bree
Almost the second Frodo, flustered, broke into a run towards the bar, and several pairs of eyes swung round to him.
“Pippin, shut your mouth!” he hissed.
“What is it, Frodo?” Pippin blinked.
Frodo grabbed his cousin by the shoulders and whispered, “Gandalf said we must not reveal who we are. That will put us in danger!”
Pippin looked lost. “Sorry. I did not know…”
Clack.
A second hand clamped down on Frodo’s shoulder.
He spun round and found himself staring at a swarthy, weaselly-faced Man. The fellow’s eyes were fixed on him with a hungry, unfriendly light.
A thug. Or worse, a spy.
The word sprang up in Frodo’s mind.
Bilbo’s storybooks had spoken of such folk: men who lurked in the unnoticed corners at the edge of towns, trading in other people’s lives.
Yet by Bilbo’s account, after his return from the Lonely Mountain, Roadside Keep had once sent men to scour out spies and villains. By rights, they should have vanished from this land.
“I would like you to come with me for a little walk, Mr Baggins,” the man said.
As the grip on his shoulder tightened to the point of pain, Frodo snapped fully awake. Alarms rang in his head.
Gandalf’s warnings flashed back. He sucked in a breath and shouted at the top of his voice,
“Levi! Help!”
Clack.
A hand dropped on the spy’s shoulder. At the same instant, a knife touched the skin of his throat.
The innkeeper was quicker to react than the spy. He roared, “Who are you, drawing steel in my house?”
“Ranger of Roadside Keep,” the newcomer said mildly.
The innkeeper shut his mouth at once.
In principle, no quarrels were allowed in this protected town. But the man standing there was one of those who did the protecting.
“Carry on, sir,” the innkeeper muttered and stepped back.
The ranger turned his gaze away and bore down on the spy, voice snapping like a whip.
“Be still. You are coming with me. And you, the shouting Hobbit, you too. I need to know what game you are playing.”
Clack.
As the ranger, his identity uncovered, was in the middle of his righteous duty, a broad hand landed on his shoulder.
“Who— mm?”
He looked round and saw a man as tall as himself, dressed much the same, standing just behind him.
“Lord Aragorn,” the ranger said at once.
“Leave these Hobbits to me. I know them. I will answer for them,” Aragorn said.
“Very well,” the ranger nodded.
Aragorn turned, ready to deliver a much-needed lecture to four foolish Halflings.
Clack.
Another hand settled on his shoulder.
He turned in silence.
“Gandalf!” someone cried before he could say a word.
Frodo had seen him first.
Aragorn looked down at the Hobbits, then back at Gandalf, and could not help saying, “Today is full of surprises.”
“Indeed. Much has happened on my side…” Gandalf sighed, ready to begin.
On the floor, the spy seized his chance. The ranger’s attention had slipped for a heartbeat, and the man twisted and wrenched, almost tearing free.
It did him no good.
Before anyone else could move, the ranger had already recovered, and a sharp kick sent the would-be fugitive sprawling again.
“Spy,” the ranger growled.
Gandalf strode over and rapped the man smartly on the head with his staff. The blow was measured to drop him cleanly without doing any lasting harm.
The old wizard’s hand was as sure as ever.
“In times like these, there are still folk who refuse honest work,” he muttered, shaking his head over the unconscious man.
Roadside Keep’s support for the surrounding lands had risen to such heights that it was hard to imagine, in such good conditions and fair dealing, that anyone would still sell themselves to Mordor.
Either this one was not local, or he was a thoroughgoing scoundrel and layabout. In either case, a sound thrashing was well earned.
“It is good to see you, Frodo, Sam, and… two foolish Tooks,” Gandalf said.
“Hey, Gandalf, you cannot call us that!” the two Tooks protested at once, Merry loudest of all.
“Those loose words were all Pippin’s. I did not say a thing!” he added.
“Very well. Then you are spared,” Gandalf said with a weary sigh.
His head was beginning to ache again.
The appearance of the two Tooks had not been in any plan, but… perhaps it was not wholly bad.
There were times when stout friendship was a surer shield than any great power.
Casting an eye over the noisy common room, he waved to Aragorn and the four Hobbits.
“Come. We will talk in a room,” he said.
…
Thud.
At the gate in the outwall of Isengard, Levi kicked an Enedwaith soldier flat, then hauled him up by the collar.
“Do not kill me, lord!” the man howled, eyes shut, mouth wide.
“Kill you? What are you running for then?” Levi snapped.
The shout startled him more than the kick had.
“I know Saruman well. We are on the same side, more or less. Did you not swear to serve him? What are you so afraid of?”
Levi narrowed his eyes.
And unless he had been seeing things, when he first approached, these same guards had been on the point of loosing arrows at him.
“What is this? Have you turned on your master?” he said.
At that, the man of Enedwaith shook like a leaf.
“Interesting,” Levi murmured.
“Speak. Who are you taking orders from now?”
The soldier could not stand the pressure. He poured out everything he knew and all that had happened of late.
A little while later, Levi sighed.
“I knew it. Saruman was not wrong about you,” he said.
The men of Enedwaith were of little use.
They lived on lands that were, for now, still free, with homes of their own, yet they leaned ever towards the dark. At the end of the last age, when Sauron was fought, their forefathers had refused Gondor’s call rather than stand against the Dark Lord.
The price of oath-breaking was plain enough: those faithless souls still lay trapped in the Black Barrows, unable to win rest.
As for the garrison at Isengard, it turned out they were now under the command of the Nazgûl. A single screech from the winged beasts above had them cringing and bowing, ready to obey.
To fold just because the wind changed…
“Even if I have never thought much of Saruman, I will give you this warning. Tell your folk to use their heads. Remember what became of those who broke their oaths,” Levi said.
The soldier sagged to the ground, not daring to answer.
He had been obedient enough. Levi did not bother him further, but turned towards Isengard proper.
Bats hung in the fruit-trees by the way, and here and there he felt the brush of eyes from the shadows on either side, prickling the back of his neck.
He shot a hard look in their direction, and at once the feeling faded.
Drawing Nemesis, he saw that the blade was shining faintly. The light did not last. Under his gaze, it slowly dimmed and went out.
Whatever had been near was gone.
“Sensible,” he said under his breath.
The rest of the way passed without trouble.
He walked on until Orthanc loomed over him.
The great doors of the tower were shut tight. Power lay on them, strengthening the stone so that even a battering ram would barely scratch it. No ordinary assault would break that gate.
But that hardly mattered now. However hard it was, it was still only stone. It would only take longer to knock through.
Crack.
A fresh gap opened in the door, and Levi stepped straight inside.
The tower was utterly still, with a stillness that felt wrong.
Normally, there would be a few servants about, sweeping, tending fires, keeping the place in order.
Today, there was not a soul.
