LOTR: Bringing an MC System to Middle-Earth

Lake-town.

No matter what was happening beyond their borders, the people of Lake-town held fast to one belief: survival came first. Life was already hard enough without worrying about the outside world. Wars, monsters, politics—none of it could make gold flow from the river or put fish on the table.

The wide lake and the swift river surrounding their town were more than just sources of food. They were a natural shield. All it took to defend the settlement was to destroy the bridges leading to land, and most invaders would be stopped cold.

But Bard had his doubts.

"The orcs won't be stopped by a broken bridge," he muttered grimly, eyes scanning the horizon.

Inside a modest wooden house, Bard knelt beside his son.

"Bain," he said, voice firm, "pack what you can and take your sister. Head north. As far as you can. Find the dwarves there. They'll protect you."

Bain blinked, wide-eyed and confused. "What's going on, Father? Why are we leaving all of a sudden?"

"There's no time to explain everything." Bard placed both hands on the boy's shoulders, his face grave. "An orc army is marching toward us. A real one. Death is coming, Bain. You must not stay here."

"And what about you?"

"I'll warn the townsfolk. They don't know what's coming. Someone has to tell them before it's too late."

Bain opened his mouth to protest, but one look from his father made him clamp it shut. Silently, he began preparing.

"Oh—wait," Bain said, pausing, "weren't there two elves staying here a while ago? Where did they go?"

"They're still nearby. Haven't left the area."

By the lake bridge.

Legolas stood at the edge of the wooden walkway, his expression troubled. His sharp elven eyes scanned the water and town ahead, but his mind was elsewhere.

"I sense a shadow," he said to Tauriel quietly.

"Perhaps it's just nerves," she replied, though her hand rested on a small trinket she carried, her gaze locked to the north.

"They've been gone for too long," Tauriel added. "If anything had gone wrong, we'd have heard something by now. I think they succeeded."

It was unclear if they were discussing the same people or separate missions. Neither clarified.

"Lord Legolas!" came a voice from the distance. An elven rider galloped toward them. He stopped, dismounted, and bowed respectfully.

"The king has summoned you," he said to Legolas.

"And Tauriel?"

"She's been banished."

A long silence followed.

"Then tell my father this—if Tauriel has no home, then neither do I."

The messenger grimaced but said nothing. His task was to deliver messages, not enforce orders.

Legolas turned to Tauriel. "Come. We're leaving."

"Where to?" she asked.

"Gundabad."

"Why Gundabad?"

Legolas took the messenger's horse and swung himself onto it. "That's where my mother died. I've never seen the place. Father won't speak of it. But I want to know."

Tauriel hesitated. This was a private matter for the royal family, not something she was entitled to question.

"…All right. I'll go with you."

Moments after the two elves galloped away, another rider approached the bridge—an elderly man in grey robes with a tall, pointed hat. He spotted the lone elven messenger and quickly dismounted.

"Greetings, Grey Wanderer," the elf said politely.

Gandalf narrowed his eyes. "Why are you here, woodland elf?"

"I came to summon Lord Legolas."

"I see. That one's not easy to deal with," Gandalf muttered. "Let me guess—it didn't go well?"

"No," the elf sighed. "He rode off on my horse. Said he was going to Gundabad."

"Gundabad?!" Gandalf's brows furrowed deep. "That fool! Does he have any idea what's happening right now? We don't have time for him to go chasing ghosts!"

Fwoosh!

Before Gandalf could stew in his frustration, a familiar sound whooshed through the air—something like fireworks launching, but without the explosion.

He looked up just in time to see a dark figure descending in a spiral, riding a glider like a diving hawk. The figure landed with a splash in the lake before swimming to shore.

"Gandalf! What a surprise!" Eric said, pulling himself from the water, wings folding neatly into their scabbard-like holsters on his back. He nodded politely to the elf.

"I could say the same to you," Gandalf replied, rubbing his temples. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to check on someone. Bard. But I see you've arrived already, so maybe I can relax a little." Eric gave a half-smile and added, "Also, the dragon? Dead."

"You killed it?"

"Bard and I. He shot it through the chest with a black arrow. I finished it off. You'd like him. Descendant of Girion, former lord of Dale. Not bad with a bow."

"Huh. Well done. That changes things," Gandalf said, stroking his beard. "Lake-town can't stand against an orc army, but Erebor? With its walls, it might. If Thorin has reclaimed the Arkenstone, we might have a chance—assuming reinforcements arrive in time."

"My thoughts exactly," said Eric, nodding.

The elven messenger, who had been listening in growing alarm, stepped forward urgently.

"Gandalf, may I borrow your horse? I must return and report this."

"Take it," Gandalf said with a wave. "I'll be staying here."

"Thank you."

The elf sped off, kicking up a trail of dust as he vanished down the road.

"I need to go warn the town," Gandalf said, already turning to head in.

"You go on," said Eric. "I've got another job."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Time to build some walls." He grinned. "Maybe a few traps while I'm at it."

Another fwoosh as fireworks launched from the glider rig on his back. The wings snapped open, catching the wind. Eric took off, soaring toward the Lonely Mountain.

Gandalf watched him go, shaking his head. "What kind of strange magic is that?"

But there was no time for marveling.

In the center of Lake-town.

"People of Lake-town, hear me!" Bard shouted over the growing crowd. "A vast army of orcs is marching toward us! They'll be here in days! We can't fight them—we must evacuate now!"

Gasps. Whispers. Panic.

People exchanged worried glances. Some were already stepping away to gather their families.

"But where do we go?"

"To Erebor!" Bard pointed toward the distant mountain. "The King Under the Mountain has promised sanctuary!"

"Lies!" someone yelled.

All heads turned as a familiar greasy figure pushed his way through the crowd, clutching his red-swollen eye. Alfred.

"You expect us to believe you?" he sneered. "You're a thief, a prison escapee, and now you're spreading panic? You want to uproot our lives based on some wild story?"

"It's not a story!" Bard snapped. "It's the truth!"

"Oh sure," Alfred scoffed. "Let's all go running to Erebor, where a fire-breathing dragon just moved in! Maybe we can offer ourselves up as appetizers!"

The crowd wavered.

"You see?" Alfred went on, theatrically clutching his bruised eye. "He's clearly under the dragon's spell! Probably here to lead us to our doom. Guards! Arrest him!"

Two armored guards stepped forward—

"Enough!" boomed a voice.

Gandalf stepped into the square like thunder incarnate. He raised his staff and banged it against the ground, startling everyone.

"There is no dragon anymore," he said, voice carrying to every ear. "Bard, the Dragonslayer, and Eric the Wild have killed it. Erebor is safe!"

A cheer erupted.

"Dragonslayer!"

"Hero of Lake-town!"

People surged toward Bard, slapping his back and chanting his name. Bard tried to calm them, waving his arms.

"Quiet—please—there's still danger—"

"Silence!" Alfrid shrieked, forcing his way to the front of the crowd, his swollen eye twitching with fury. He pointed an accusing finger at Gandalf and snarled, "You filthy beggar! Wandering in here with your tattered robes and your made-up stories—who do you think you're fooling? These are decent, hardworking folk! They won't believe a single word from some roadside tramp like—"

Thwack!

Without warning, Gandalf swung his staff and clocked Alfred straight in the eye—the other eye.

Alfrid let out a dramatic squeal and collapsed in a heap.

"Well, look at that," Gandalf muttered. "Now the eyes match."

He turned to the stunned crowd.

"I really don't like being called a beggar."