The Mage of Middle-Earth - CH - 65

The air was thick with dread as the Black Riders drew closer. Their cloaks billowed in the wind, their hollow voices whispering in the night. The darkness around them seemed to thicken, as if their very presence was swallowing the light of the stars.

Sam felt his heart hammering against his ribs. He knew what they wanted—the Ring. His hands trembled as he fumbled for the small silver box in which he kept it. With a quick glance around, he spotted a small crack in the rocks nearby. Hoping the power of the silver would mask the Ring’s presence, he slipped the box inside and pushed a few loose stones over it.

"Stay close, Frodo," Sam whispered urgently, shielding his friend with his body. "They won’t get it, not while I’m breathing."

Merry and Pippin stood frozen, their faces pale with fear. Frodo clutched at Sam’s sleeve, his breath coming in short gasps. The Black Riders were everywhere, surrounding them from all directions. Their shadows merged with the darkness of the night, making them seem like wraiths of pure nightmare.

Just when all hope seemed lost, a fierce battle cry rang through the night.

"Back, you devils!"

Strider appeared from the shadows, his sword glinting in the moonlight. In his other hand, he carried a torch, its flame flickering wildly as he advanced toward the wraiths.

The Black Riders hesitated for a brief moment, their forms wavering as the light touched them. Then, as one, they surged forward, shrieking in their terrible, unearthly voices.

Strider swung his torch high, bringing it crashing down onto the nearest wraith. The flames licked at the creature’s cloak, and it let out a piercing scream as fire engulfed its shadowy form.

With practiced efficiency, Strider slashed his sword through the second rider, forcing it to retreat. The third he struck in the chest with the burning torch, and it howled as flames spread through its body.

"Get down!" Strider yelled at the hobbits. "Stay together!"

But the Black Riders were too many. For each one Strider struck down, two more seemed to take its place. The weight of their numbers began to overwhelm him. He fought valiantly, his movements swift and precise, but the wraiths pressed in closer, their deadly blades gleaming in the dim light.

Then it happened.

A shadow moved faster than the eye could follow, and before Strider could react, a cold blade sliced across his side. He staggered, his face contorting in pain as the poisoned wound burned through him.

"No!" Frodo cried out, reaching for him.

The Black Riders loomed over their fallen foe, ready to deliver the final blow.

And then—

A fiery arrow streaked through the darkness.

It struck the nearest Black Rider in the chest, and within seconds, the wraith burst into flames. The creature let out an agonized wail before crumbling into nothingness.

Another flaming arrow flew through the air, piercing another rider in the shoulder. The wraith reeled back, its cloak catching fire.

More arrows followed, each finding its mark with deadly accuracy.

The Black Riders screeched in rage, their forms flickering in and out of existence as the fire consumed them. Those that remained turned and fled, vanishing into the night.

The hobbits, still trembling, watched as the last of the wraiths disappeared over the hills.

For a long moment, there was nothing but silence.

Then, out of the shadows, a figure stepped forward.

An old hobbit, his face weathered by time and experience, his presence exuding an air of quiet strength. His cloak billowed slightly as he approached, a bow still in his hands.

Sam’s heart leaped in recognition.

"Jimmy Potter!"

Frodo, Merry, and Pippin looked up, their faces filled with a mix of relief and disbelief.

"You’re Jimmy Potter?" Merry gasped, still struggling to catch his breath. "You are our idol, you are a legend!"

Jimmy chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Oh, I’m very real, lads. And it seems you’ve gotten yourselves into quite the mess."

Pippin, who was still shaking, pointed at Strider. "He’s hurt! The Black Riders—they got him!"

Jimmy’s expression turned serious as he knelt beside the fallen ranger. Strider’s face was pale, his breathing labored. The wound on his side was already darkening with the poison.

Jimmy touched the wound gently, muttering under his breath. "This is no ordinary injury," he murmured. "The blade was laced with Morgul poison."

"Can you help him?" Frodo asked anxiously.

Jimmy met his gaze. "I can try, lad. But we need to get him somewhere safe first. And quickly."

Sam swallowed hard. "Then let’s move. We can’t stay here."

Jimmy nodded. "Aye. Follow me, lads. We’re not out of danger yet."

With that, he hoisted Strider onto his back with surprising strength for an old hobbit, and together, they set off into the night.

As dawn broke over the wilderness, the weary company moved cautiously through the woods, guided by the experienced hands of Jimmy Potter. The air was still thick with tension from the attack, but the hobbits took comfort in their unexpected rescuer.

Sam, with careful hands, retrieved the silver box from its hiding place in the rocky crevice where he had stashed it. The ring was still inside, safe and untouched. He fastened the box securely to his belt, making sure it was well hidden beneath his cloak.

Merry and Pippin, still buzzing with excitement, surrounded Jimmy as they trudged forward.

"You’re the real Jimmy Potter," Pippin said in awe, his eyes wide. "The Jimmy Potter! The greatest adventurer in all of Hobbiton history!"

Merry nodded enthusiastically. "We used to hear stories about you from old Bilbo. He told us all about the time you left the Shire and never looked back! And we always wondered—where did you go? What did you do? Did you really fight a dragon?"

Jimmy chuckled as he led them deeper into the woods, keeping his sharp eyes on the surroundings for any more threats. "Oh, I’ve done a bit of everything, lads. Fought orcs, outwitted trolls, traveled with dwarves, even dined with elves in Rivendell."

Pippin gasped. "You dined with elves?"

"Aye," Jimmy said with a grin. "More than once, actually. Though their food’s a bit too leafy for my taste. No proper meat, you see."

Merry and Pippin exchanged glances, their admiration growing by the second.

"You don’t know how much we’ve wanted to meet you!" Merry continued. "We even built a shrine for you back home! Well, not exactly a shrine, more like a… a tribute! A little corner in our home where we keep all the tales of Jimmy Potter—maps, notes, sketches! Everything about your adventures!"

Jimmy’s eyes widened in surprise. "You lads built a shrine for me?" He let out a hearty laugh. "Well, I must say, that’s a first! I didn’t think anyone back in the Shire even remembered me."

"Oh, they do," Pippin assured him. "But they always talk about you in hushed voices, as if you were some kind of ghost. They say you went on an adventure, never came back, and that’s why hobbits don’t go adventuring anymore!"

Jimmy smirked. "Sounds about right. Hobbits have never taken kindly to wanderers. I suppose I was a bit of an oddity to them."

Sam, who had been walking quietly beside Frodo, finally spoke up. "Jimmy… why did you leave? I mean, really leave? I know about your first adventure, but why didn’t you come back? Why didn’t you stay in the Shire?"

Jimmy’s expression softened, and for a moment, he was silent. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, filled with nostalgia.

"I loved the Shire," he admitted. "But I always felt like there was something more out there, something waiting for me beyond the green hills and quiet rivers. The world is vast, Sam. Bigger than any of us could ever imagine. And once I got a taste of it, I couldn't just go back and pretend it didn’t exist."

The hobbits were silent, each absorbing his words in their own way.

"But you still gave your home to my father," Sam pointed out. "You must have cared about the Shire."

"Aye," Jimmy said with a small smile. "I did. And I still do. That’s why I came back."

Pippin, unable to hold back his excitement, practically bounced on his feet. "Then will you travel with us? Join our adventure? The great Jimmy Potter, leading a company of hobbits through Middle-Earth—it’ll be legendary!"

Jimmy laughed, shaking his head. "Oh, I don’t know about that, lad. I’ve had my fair share of adventures. But I suppose I can stick around for a little while longer, at least until you lot get to Rivendell."

Merry and Pippin cheered, clapping him on the back.

Frodo, who had been quiet through most of the conversation, finally spoke. "I’m glad you’re here, Jimmy."

Jimmy looked at him, seeing the weight of responsibility in the young hobbit’s eyes. He nodded. "And I’m glad you’ve got good friends, Frodo. You’ll need them."

The company continued on, their spirits a little lighter now.

As they walked, Merry and Pippin continued bombarding Jimmy with questions about his past adventures, eager to hear every detail. And for the first time in a long while, Jimmy Potter found himself feeling something he hadn’t felt for some time—home.

As they arrived at a clearing, Jimmy quickly assessed Strider’s condition. The wound from the Black Rider’s blade was not just physical—it carried a dark poison that would only worsen if left untreated. Without wasting any time, Jimmy reached into his travel pack and pulled out what appeared to be an ordinary tent.

The hobbits, still shaken from the earlier attack, watched as Jimmy unrolled the tent on the ground. To their surprise, as soon as he tapped it with his walking stick, the tent expanded—far larger than it should have been. The simple cloth transformed before their eyes, rising high into a proper structure, much bigger than anything they had expected.

Jimmy turned to them and gestured towards the entrance. "Well, don’t just stand there gawking. Get inside before the cold sets in."

Sam, Merry, Pippin, and Frodo exchanged astonished glances before stepping inside. The moment they entered, their jaws nearly hit the floor.

Inside, the tent was no mere shelter—it was a full-fledged hobbit hole. The walls were lined with warm wooden panels, the floor was covered in soft rugs, and there was even a roaring fireplace in the main sitting room. A kitchen stocked with food stood to the right, and to the left, several doors led to different bedrooms.

"This is..." Pippin stammered, eyes wide with wonder. "This is a miracle! A whole hobbit hole... inside a tent!"

Merry clapped him on the back. "I told you, Pip! Jimmy Potter is a legend! He’s got magic like an Elf or a wizard!"

Jimmy, not paying attention to their amazement, was already tending to Strider. He led the injured ranger to one of the bedrooms and laid him gently on the bed. Strider groaned, his face pale, the wound on his shoulder dark and spreading.

"This isn’t good," Jimmy muttered, rolling up his sleeves. He dug into his travel trunk and pulled out several glass vials filled with shimmering liquids. "That blade wasn’t just steel—it carried poison meant to drag its victim into shadow."

Frodo, watching from the doorway, felt a chill run down his spine. "Can you heal him?"

Jimmy gave a small smile. "I’ll do better than that. I’ll make sure he’s fit to fight again."

As Jimmy got to work, the other hobbits wasted no time raiding the pantry. It had been too long since they had a proper meal, and the sight of fresh bread, cheeses, salted meats, and even bottles of honeyed ale was too much to resist.

Pippin grabbed a loaf of bread and tore a piece off. "This place is amazing! Jimmy, why didn’t you tell us you had a magic house in your pocket?"

Jimmy, still focused on crushing some herbs into a paste, smirked. "Because if I did, you lot would never have left."

Merry, his mouth full of cheese, nodded. "Fair point."

As Jimmy applied the poultice to Strider’s wound and forced him to drink a restorative elixir, the color started returning to the ranger’s face. He let out a slow breath and opened his eyes. Though he was still weak, he was no longer fading.

With Strider on the mend and the hobbits stuffing themselves with food, Jimmy sat back, watching them with a small, satisfied smile.

For now, they were safe. But the road ahead was still long, and darkness was waiting.