LOTR: Bringing an MC System to Middle-Earth

Within the City

The great eagles circled above before settling down on what little remained of Dale's ruined battlements. Dust rose gently where their claws touched ground.

Radagast and Beorn leapt down from the back of one particularly large eagle and rushed straight toward Gandalf.

"You've arrived," the wizard greeted with a nod, then turned to the eagles, murmuring thanks in the ancient tongue of wind and wings.

"From the looks of things, I'd say we're not too late," Radagast said, brushing twigs out of his beard.

"Quite the opposite," Gandalf replied. "You're exactly on time, both of you."

He led them up onto the crumbling city wall. From there, they could see the base of the mountain where a newly built stone wall stretched across the valley, courtesy of Eric.

"Our plans hit a snag," Gandalf admitted, eyes squinting into the distance. "Your help couldn't have come at a better moment."

"Glad to hear it," said Beorn, though his brow was furrowed.

"Still," the shapeshifter added, his tone more grim, "the situation doesn't look good."

Though Eric's group had successfully taken position on Ravenhill, the army outside the wall hadn't shrunk a bit. If anything, the orcs had grown more aggressive. Massive stones continued to sail through the sky, hurling down with frightening regularity.

Any ordinary wall would've been rubble by now.

"I trust Eric," Gandalf said firmly. "He'll hold the line."

"That human…" Beorn muttered, eyes narrowing. "My instincts tell me, if I ever found myself his enemy, the smartest thing to do would be run. Far and fast."

"Then maybe he's worth believing in."

At that, Beorn suddenly turned to Radagast. "You mentioned you had something important to tell Gandalf."

Radagast blinked, then slapped his forehead. "Oh! Right!"

He turned to Gandalf, eyes wide with urgency. "I spotted an orc army, north of the mountain range, marching straight for Ravenhill. They're headed for the other entrance near the summit."

"That's bad," Gandalf muttered, a frown tugging at his beard. "Very bad. Thorin and the others are in danger."

"What about Eric?"

"He's safe," Gandalf answered, "but he can't be everywhere at once."

He began to pace, robes swishing around his feet. The orcs down below were packed so tightly that even a sparrow couldn't slip through, and he didn't have the troops to cut a new path.

"We could go help," Beorn offered, cracking his knuckles.

Just then—

HOOOOONK.

A long, grating blast of the orc war horn split the air. One of their formations on the left began marching forward in a stiff, almost theatrical line.

Gandalf's eyes narrowed. Something about that movement was off.

"Archers! Loose!"

The order came from the wall commander, who wasn't about to let such a gift go to waste.

Thwip! Boom! Whoosh!

Arrows and firework-tipped bolts filled the sky, slamming into the advancing orcs. Within seconds, the line was decimated. No survivors.

HOOOOONK.

Another signal. This time, chaos erupted.

One group of orcs began retreating in confusion, colliding with reinforcements behind them. Wargs were released too early, snarling and charging at empty ground. Trolls ran straight into walls. Supply wagons overturned. Somewhere, a drummer kept banging away like nothing was wrong.

The battlefield was in total disarray.

"…What are they doing?" someone on the wall muttered.

Beorn scanned the walltop and then frowned. "Wasn't there a hobbit with you lot?"

"Oh, you mean Bilbo?" Gandalf replied, waving vaguely. "He's right over—"

He paused.

"…Wait. Bilbo?"

The spot where the hobbit had been stationed was empty.

Gandalf turned sharply to a nearby soldier. "Where's the hobbit I asked you to keep an eye on?!"

The soldier lowered his head and pointed awkwardly. "He was… just over there…"

"Where?!" Gandalf snapped.

"I mean, he was there…"

"…He's gone, isn't he?"

At that moment, Bard came storming over. He grabbed the soldier by the collar and yanked his face upward.

"…Alfrid?!"

Bard's face twisted in disbelief. "You were supposed to be on guard!"

Alfrid stared back with swollen, sleep-deprived eyes. "I'm sorry, my lord, I… I'm not even sure when he left…"

Gandalf groaned, pressing his fingers into his temples. "That ridiculous little sneak…"

He spun toward the battleground and shouted with every ounce of lungpower in his ancient body:

"YOU ABSURD HALFLING, GET BACK HERE RIGHT NOW!!"

Naturally, no one on the field heard a word.

Bilbo was already long gone.

Elsewhere…

On the far side of Ravenhill, hidden from everyone's view, two graceful figures bounded up the rocky slope.

"We have to move faster, Tauriel," Legolas said as he vaulted from one outcrop to another. "I didn't expect the army to arrive this quickly. We're already behind."

"I just hope the people here are still alive," Tauriel replied, her voice tight with concern.

When the two elves reached the mountain, they found the entire valley blocked by orcs. No way in through the gate.

So, they had no choice but to scale the cliffs and reach the lookout tower the hard way.

Tauriel clutched a small dwarven trinket close to her heart. It spurred her on, making her steps quicker, her movements sharper.

Elves were sensitive to emotion, and Legolas could read her like an open book. He said nothing, simply climbed beside her in silence.

To him, Tauriel was more than a trusted comrade. She was a sister-in-arms, perhaps the closest thing to family he'd ever had. When King Thranduil exiled her, Legolas left too, no hesitation.

He didn't understand her feelings, had never really felt such things himself—but he knew enough to recognize them for what they were.

Love.

And that was enough.

"Bats," Legolas said suddenly.

Midway up the cliff, he grabbed the talons of a passing bat and let it haul him upward.

Tauriel, startled, blinked—then quickly mimicked him, leaping and latching onto another.

Only elves could pull off something that insane.

Moments later, they crested the summit and landed silently atop the ridge.

Legolas knifed his ride in the belly to end the flight.

HOOOOONK.

Another orc horn echoed.

"They've started the assault!" Tauriel exclaimed, pointing down. "There. That must be their command post."

Legolas followed her gaze, stepped forward, and drew his bow. His eyes narrowed.

"Let's see who's pulling the strings…"

"…Wait… what?"

His aim faltered.

"That's Eric!"

"…Eric?!" Legolas repeated, stunned.

Down below, Eric was wildly flipping levers, waving signal flags in every direction, and grinning like a man who'd just discovered a new mini-game in a war simulator.

"Stop that right now!!"

A furious roar rang out from behind a ruined tower.

Azog.

The pale orc finally snapped and emerged, muscles rippling and voice full of rage.

Of course, he wasn't dumb. He wouldn't have shown himself unless backup had arrived.

And it had.

A legion of orcs marched in from the north, orderly and unflinching. They poured into the mountain's back entrance, spreading across the summit like ink spilled on parchment.

There were so many that the mountaintop looked like it had grown scales.

Azog grinned. He had numbers now—numbers enough to drown anything in their path.

This was why he dared face Eric openly.

He pointed his bloodstained cleaver straight at him, ignoring everyone else, even Thorin.

"Let's see what you're really made of, human!"

"Prepare for battle!" Thorin barked, his dwarves forming up behind him, weapons drawn.

"If I don't make it back," he told Eric in a low voice, "please… tell Bilbo he's a true warrior. One I'll always be proud to call a friend."

Eric snorted. "That's rich. You didn't even want him in the fight to begin with."

Thorin gave a half-smile, said nothing.

Eric replied, voice dry, "Here's an idea. Tell him yourself. I'm not your personal messenger."