LOTR: The Mincraft Player

"Ow! My ankle, I think I've twisted it."

As soon as he landed, Gandalf cried out in pain, grimacing and hopping a couple of times.

Garrett, on the other hand, was almost completely unharmed. With the protective effect of his fall damage resistance, the impact from the pearl teleportation barely registered, it was in the decimals.

"You don't look injured to me."

If the old wizard had lost any health, he might have actually believed him.

"It still took quite a toll on me."

"That much is clear."

While fighting Sauron, Garrett had clearly observed Gandalf's health steadily decreasing.

Now Gandalf was limping forward, leaning heavily on his staff, one hand on his back, looking rather pitiful. Garrett couldn't bear to watch and offered him a golden apple.

"My thanks, I feel much better. This artifact is remarkable, I can sense my strength returning somewhat."

A warm sensation coursed through Gandalf's body as a sturdy golden aura enveloped him, that was the protective barrier granted by the golden apple.

"Good. Let's get out of here."

Just as Garrett and Gandalf began running into the forest, the dark shadow of Dol Guldur suddenly swelled behind them, blotting out the sky as it surged toward them.

"Down!"

Thud.

Gandalf raised his staff and cast a small, transparent barrier that barely covered the two of them. The black mist swept overhead, uprooting several trees, but failed to detect its targets and had to retreat in frustration.

Garrett looked up and saw waves of orcs and wargs pouring out of Dol Guldur like a dark flood, surging northward. A rough glance put their numbers easily in the tens of thousands.

Among them, he spotted Azog leading the charge atop the White Warg.

"They've been mobilized..."

"I see them." Gandalf got to his feet and observed the direction of the army. "Those are orcs and wargs from Khazad-dûm, and there are quite a few trolls as well. Their destination is the Lonely Mountain. Smaug has long since allied with Sauron. Now they intend to fully occupy Erebor. Garrett, I must hurry and regroup with Lady Galadriel and the others to launch another assault on Dol Guldur!"

"What of you? What are your plans?"

As they walked, Gandalf asked about Garrett's intentions.

"Me? I don't think I need to go with you. You've seen it yourself, I don't have the power to fight him."

"I believe you possess it. You simply haven't realized it yet," Gandalf said with conviction.

Then he changed the subject. "But judging from the current situation, there's a place where you're needed more urgently."

"Erebor."

---

Sauron's army had departed early for the Lonely Mountain, and at that moment, the dwarves were still entangled in Lake-town affairs.

"It's amazing, my leg has healed."

Kíli sat on a chair in Bard's house, examining his now-recovered leg.

"Thank you, Tauriel. And you as well, Bilbo."

On the journey to Lake-town, Kíli had been struck by a Morgul arrow. Bilbo had given him a golden apple, using its healing power and protective barrier to temporarily stop the wound from worsening. Tauriel had arrived shortly afterward and used athelas to completely purge the Morgul poison.

Hearing Kíli's gratitude, Bilbo shook his head repeatedly. "No, no, don't thank me. That apple was from Garrett. You should save your thanks for him when he arrives."

"So I've been saved by Garrett once again."

Kíli's expression grew complicated. At that moment, Thorin approached and interrupted his thoughts. "We'll repay him after this quest concludes. For now, we must make for Erebor."

"Dwarf, you're still determined to reach the Lonely Mountain?" Legolas stepped forward, looking down at Thorin.

"That's our affair. What concern is it of yours, elf?"

Thorin, as always, maintained his verbal sparring with the elves.

"You two followed us all the way here, are you trying to take us back? Even if you've performed some good deed, that's a separate matter. We may be unarmed right now, but we won't just obediently go with you, we'll resist to the bitter end."

"No, I haven't received any orders to return you."

Seeing that Legolas was beginning to scowl, Tauriel quickly intervened, "We were tracking the orc war-band that ambushed the forest's borders, that trail led us here. We don't know why, but they suddenly withdrew. With that, our pursuit has ended."

Thorin glanced at the she-elf, then at Kíli, and swallowed the comment, "Then you had no reason to seek us out in the first place."

His nephew's preferences seemed rather... un-dwarven. Was it because there were too few dwarf-women among their people?

Maybe it was time for a little psychological counseling after all this.

Shaking his head, he issued orders: "Since everyone is well, let's make preparations tonight. We depart for Erebor at dawn."

"It's still early. Shouldn't we wait for Gandalf and Garrett?" Fíli leaned over to ask.

"We can wait when we reach there. I don't wish to waste more time in this place."

"But we're unarmed, what if something happens along the way?"

"Something will."

As the dwarves discussed, Legolas and Tauriel sat apart. They exchanged glances, each could see the doubt in the other's eyes.

What exactly were these dwarves planning?

Bard was equally puzzled.

"What are you all scheming? There aren't any weapon-smiths in town."

"Ah, nothing. We're just talking about our departure."

"Yes, we've been imposing long enough. Time we moved on…"

The dwarves evaded the question. Balin joined in, about to speak, when he suddenly noticed the mounting rack behind Bard. So he quickly shifted topics: "My friend, if you ask me, that mounting rack of yours looks quite unique, very sturdy as well."

"That's not a mounting rack."

"Oh?" Seeing that the subject had successfully changed, Balin quickly focused on Bard's attention and moved closer, asking curiously, "Then what is it? Don't tell me it's a family heirloom?"

"It is. It truly is."

Now Balin was genuinely intrigued, a family heirloom mistaken for a mounting rack?

Bard gently touched the "mounting rack" and said softly, "This is a relic left by my father. When the dragon attacked Dale, my father used this very type of arrow to strike the beast."

"So you're a descendant of the former Lord of Dale..."

Clearly, Balin recognized quality when he saw it. Upon closer inspection, he could tell immediately that this arrow was indeed dwarven-forged.

It was said that this type of black arrow possessed magical properties. It was incredibly difficult to lose and would always return to its master's hand, this was the real deal. Meaning, the man before him hadn't fabricated his identity.

"However, what you're saying doesn't match the legend I've heard." Though surprised by Bard's heritage, Balin still shook his head.

"If the dragon was truly struck, how is it still occupying Erebor to this day?"

"The dragon was hit!" Bard suddenly exclaimed, becoming agitated.

"My father definitely struck it!"

"Peace, my friend, no need to get so worked up. I believe you, truly."

Balin raised his hand, patted Bard's arm, and said gently, "That black arrow is indeed sharp. I believe it could pierce dragon-scale, perhaps even wounded Smaug once. But regardless, the dragon still lives, doesn't it? Whether it's you or your father, I believe you were both brave warriors. Neither of you failed anyone."

"It's all in the past now. Honestly, you don't need to prove anything anymore. Just let time carry it away, what matters most is the life you have now."