"Our meeting wasn't by chance, was it, Gandalf?"
"Of course not," the wizard replied gravely.
Gandalf's voice dropped, thoughtful and troubled. "The matter of the Lonely Mountain weighs heavily on my mind, Thorin. That dragon has sat atop its gold hoard for far too long. It's only a matter of time before his presence draws darker forces."
The Lonely Mountain wasn't just a lost kingdom—it was a bulwark. A barrier between the peace of the western lands and the corruption crawling out from the north.
"If that stronghold falls into the hands of evil," Gandalf continued, "they'll have a clear path through the mountain passes straight to Angmar. And if Angmar rises again..."
He didn't need to finish. Even a whisper of the Witch-king's domain returning was enough to chill the blood.
"They'd bypass our southern defenses completely," Gandalf said. "Places like Lothlórien, Rivendell, even the quiet hills of the Shire, would no longer be out of reach. And Gondor and Rohan... they would be fighting with enemies at the gates and knives in their backs."
"The fall of one is the fall of all," Thorin muttered, nodding grimly.
"I ran into a few fools on the Greenway who mistook me for a beggar," Gandalf added with a snort. "They didn't fare too well, I assure you."
Thorin gave a dry chuckle. He knew better than most not to underestimate wizards.
Gandalf produced a thick piece of parchment from his robes. "I found this on one of them. A bounty."
"For your head," Gandalf said simply. "Someone wants you dead, Thorin."
The air between them turned heavy.
"We can't afford to wait any longer. You're the heir to the throne of Durin. Unite the Dwarven clans, muster their armies—and you can reclaim Erebor."
"Call a Council of the Seven Houses?" Thorin's brow furrowed. "That's only possible if I possess the King's Gem."
The Arkenstone. The Heart of the Mountain. The legendary jewel lost when Smaug claimed the mountain as his nest.
"It was taken by the dragon," Thorin said. "Without it, I can't rally them. They won't recognize my claim."
Gandalf's eyes flicked toward two loitering onlookers, and with a sharp glare, he silently shooed them from the room. Once they were gone, he turned back to Thorin.
"And if I told you I could get it back?"
Thorin's brows rose. "You'd steal from Smaug? From under his belly?"
Gandalf's eyes twinkled. "Exactly. That's why we'll need a burglar."
Something stirred in the wizard's chest—a certainty, a hunch only a wizard could trust. They needed a hobbit. A small one. Quick on their feet. Quiet. Practically invisible when they wanted to be.
He had just the person in mind.
"And one more companion," Gandalf said, puffing his pipe. "A warrior. He might be interested."
Somehow, he knew Eric would be.
The plan, though still half-formed, was beginning to take shape.
Without delay, Thorin and Gandalf set off for the Blue Mountains to gather allies and finalize the expedition. Thorin, freshly returned from the shadowed wilderness of the Eastern Hills, and Gandalf, ever on the move, once more hit the road together.
By April, their preparations were nearly complete.
"I must visit an old friend before we gather in the Shire," Gandalf said, standing at the gates. "I'll leave a mark on the door."
He departed swiftly, and not long after, Thorin and twelve stout-hearted dwarves answered the call, donning their armor and setting off on the same path.
April, Third Age 2941 – Roadside Fortress
Gandalf stood on a grassy rise, leaning on his staff and peering into the sprawling territory ahead with narrowed eyes.
"Is this still supposed to be the 'Roadside Fortress'?" he muttered. "Doesn't look like any Roadside I've seen."
Even from afar, the towering walls were swathed in green vines, and glimpses of polished stone and crafted terraces peeked through. A far cry from the wild, untamed ruins he remembered.
A figure waved to him from the battlements.
Gandalf waved back with a smile, tapping his staff against the earth twice in greeting.
Up on the wall, Eric pulled a lever, swinging open the iron gate. His feet were clad in enchanted netherite boots, glowing faintly with feather-fall runes, but the rest of him was dressed like a man on a lazy day in the garden.
"Gandalf!" Eric called. "Good to see you. Things've been... well, surprisingly fast-paced lately."
"Fast-paced?" Gandalf's eyes lit with amusement. "You look like you've just come back from a lakeside picnic."
Eric chuckled. "Only in appearance. My fingers feel like they've mined a dozen mountains."
As Gandalf stepped through the gates, his eyes widened.
"By the Valar... this isn't a stronghold anymore—it's a blooming elven garden."
"I did borrow some inspiration from Rivendell," Eric admitted.
"You don't say," Gandalf replied, craning his neck to look at a terrace filled with hanging lanterns and creeping ivy. "If I didn't know better, I'd think Elrond built this place himself."
"I've been doing some light renovations," Eric said modestly.
"'Light,' he says." Gandalf scoffed, raising an eyebrow. "You've built a city, Eric."
The wizard was ushered inside and soon found himself seated at a long wooden table. Eric, ever the thoughtful host, had personally cooked—using actual ingredients, not just summoned stew.
As they ate, the two traded stories. Gandalf spoke of his travels through the Shire, his run-in with bumbling bandits on the Greenway, and the growing problem of vagabonds across Eriador.
"Vagabonds, huh…" Eric frowned thoughtfully. "You wouldn't happen to know someone named Farodan, would you? He used to pass by here, haven't seen him in ages."
"Farodan? Can't say I do," Gandalf said, shaking his head. "I've met many people, but not every soul in Middle-earth."
"I figured," Eric said. "Just curious. He's probably fine—spry enough to avoid trouble."
The conversation paused long enough for Gandalf to polish off the last bite on his plate. Then, wiping his beard, he leaned forward.
"Actually, I came here for a reason. I was wondering if you'd be interested in joining an expedition."
Eric blinked, a slow smile forming.
"Aha. I thought it was about time. Wizards never drop by for tea."
"Well?" Gandalf's eyes gleamed with mischief. "Shall I tell you about this little adventure of ours?"
Eric folded his arms, leaning back in his chair.