Deep within the winding caverns beneath the Misty Mountains, Bilbo stood utterly still, cloaked in shadow. A golden ring shimmered faintly upon his finger, rendering him invisible to the eye.
Before him, a pitiful creature no taller than a Hobbit, gaunt and grey-skinned, scrabbled through a pile of broken stones, murmuring frantically to itself.
"My precious… my precious!"
"Where is it? It was just here, I swear!"
"It's gone… my sweet, my heart—it's gone!"
The wretched being wept bitterly, as if it had lost the very essence of its soul. Watching this, Bilbo Baggins was filled with a pang of sorrow.
He looked down at the ring on his hand, and in that moment, a part of him longed to return it to this miserable creature who had been undone by it. But as his gaze fell upon the golden band, something dark stirred within him—a sudden, inexplicable desire to keep it forever.
The kind-hearted Hobbit found himself gripped by an internal struggle.
Yet in the very next breath, he caught himself, blinking as if waking from a dream. He removed the ring from his finger, and in doing so, his form shimmered back into view.
The creature, Gollum, turned instantly. His bulbous eyes widened with fury as he snarled, teeth bared.
"You! Thief! You stole it—my precious!"
"No! I didn't—I mean, I wasn't—" Bilbo stammered in panic, utterly terrified.
But the creature had no interest in his excuses. Its face twisted with rage and despair.
"It was you… you filthy little thief!"
"You took it—my precious! Give it back! Give it back now!"
Bilbo stumbled backwards, step after step, until—
A long spear came hurtling down from the shadows above, striking the creature through the skull and pinning it to the stone wall behind. The wretched thing froze, eyes going wide.
In those final moments, its gaze was a haunting mix of disbelief, grief, and… strangely, a hint of peace. Its voice faded into a ghostly whisper.
"P-precious… my… preciousss…"
Bilbo was paralyzed with shock. Just then, a whoosh echoed from overhead—a figure descended swiftly and landed with a heavy thud upon the cavern floor.
Bilbo's eyes lit up with relief.
Indeed, it was him—Kaen Eowenríel, who had been searching frantically above with the others when he heard Gollum's shrill screech echo from the depths. Without a moment's hesitation, he had seized a spear from a royal guard and leapt alone into the abyss.
The moment he saw Bilbo cornered, he had acted. No questions. No mercy.
A worthy foe, it seemed—ten more points than even the Goblin king. No surprise there. After all, Gollum was no ordinary creature, but the third bearer of the One Ring, cursed by its power.
Once a Hobbit-like being named Sméagol, he had lived east of the Misty Mountains in the marshy lands near the Gladden Fields. But on the day he found the Ring, his soul had begun to rot. Driven mad by its whispering voice, he had slain his friend Déagol to claim it. Cast out by his kin, he fled into the mountains and hid in the darkness, living off fish and bats, muttering to himself for centuries.
The Ring warped his body and broke his mind. He came to be known only by the sickly, guttural sound he made—Gollum.
But now, Kaen had ended his cursed tale in a single, swift strike.
He pulled his spear free and turned to Bilbo.
"You're not hurt, are you?"
"N-No, I'm alright…" Bilbo answered, still trembling.
A metallic sound rang out behind him.
Bilbo turned, and to his horror, the One Ring had slipped from his pocket, bouncing along the ground until it came to rest… at Kaen's feet.
A strange silence fell.
Kaen looked down at it—but did not move.
He had half a mind to pretend he hadn't noticed it, to let the tale unfold just as it had in the legends. But fate had its own ideas. The Ring had rolled to his very boots.
Still, Kaen made no move to pick it up.
He knew what it was. The One Ring, forged by the Dark Lord Sauron himself in the fires of Mount Doom—infused with his very will, his hatred, his mastery of corruption. It was not merely an artifact—it was a fragment of a god.
It promised longevity, invisibility, the power to see into minds, to command will, and to rot the flesh of any who bore it too long. In Sauron's grasp, it had tapped into the deeper evil of Melkor himself, making Sauron second only to the Valar in might.
When Sauron wore the Ring, he had struck down Gil-galad, the last High King of the Noldor, with the fire of his gaze, and crushed Elendil with a single blow. Only when his power waned did Isildur sever the Ring from his hand with Narsil.
No one—not Elf, Man, nor Maia—could truly wield the Ring save Sauron. Perhaps only Hobbits, by their nature, could resist its call for a time.
Kaen, for all his strange power as a traveler from another world, did not see himself as the chosen one. This Ring was not meant for him.
And so, without glancing at it again, he looked up and smiled.
"You dropped something."
"Huh?" Bilbo blinked, confused.
"N-no, Your Majesty," he said quickly. "That ring's not mine—it belonged to that creature!"
"Perhaps," Kaen replied mildly. "But it is ownerless now."
With that, he turned and walked away, never once letting his eyes drift toward the Ring.
Bilbo stared after him, then down at the ring. He muttered under his breath:
"Ownerless? No… it's Kaen's by right. A trophy of battle. I'll… I'll hold on to it for him."
And thus, he picked up the One Ring once more, tucking it away. With Kaen leading the way, they ascended out of the depths.
At the cave entrance, they rejoined the expedition. ɴᴇᴡ ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀʀᴇ ᴘᴜʙʟɪsʜᴇᴅ ᴏɴ novel✶fire.net
The Dwarf Balin rushed forward and embraced Bilbo tightly.
"Bless my beard! You're safe!"
Even Thorin Oakenshield came forward. He regarded Bilbo silently, then said, "I owe you an apology, Bilbo Baggins."
"Wh—what?" Bilbo blinked, flustered. He had never imagined the proud Dwarf prince would apologize to anyone.
"I… I mean, I wasn't of much help," Bilbo said quickly. "You all fought orcs and braved dangers, and I—I'm not much good at anything…"
Kaen interjected then, his voice calm but firm.
"Each of us has our strengths. You shouldn't judge yourself by your weaknesses. Just as this Dwarf prince here thought it wise to leave me behind in Rivendell, abandoning his greatest asset—I wouldn't say that made him useless, merely… misguided."
The company fell awkwardly silent.
For the first time in their journey, Kaen had openly rebuked Thorin.
And to their astonishment, Thorin did not argue.
Instead, he bowed his head.
"You're right. I made a mistake. I overheard the Elven Lord speaking of my kin, and in my anger… I chose poorly."
"Oh?" Kaen's tone was dry. "So your plan was to ditch me and march off with a handful of warriors to fight a fire-breathing dragon?"
Thorin flushed crimson, his jaw tight.
He spoke the words softly, but they rang with sincerity.