14. The Thirty-Nine Peaks

A/N: Well, fancy seeing you here - come, I'll pour you a virtual cup of tea. I don't know what the view is like from your nearest window, but out of mine I can see steam rising from neighbouring houses, clear skies, and trees with leaves so yellow it looks like they've all been dusted with pollen. Lovely stuff. Speaking of which - many thanks to Jozko Mrkvicka, Elven Silver Power Ranger, and Freya's Dragon for your absolutely stellar, day-brightening reviews.

After Elrond left the meeting, Sarah thought even further ahead. There was going to be a lot of water and fire in her future, if a door didn't materialize before then. She turned to Galadriel.

'My lady, you've already given me so much. But may I ask one favour of you, please?'

'You may ask.'

'Can I leave a couple of things with you for safekeeping, while I'm gone? My sketchbook, for one. And the other thing … well, it's absolutely useless to me in Middle Earth but will become very useful again when I'm back home. It's quite small. I just don't want to risk it getting damaged.'

'Of course.' Galadriel then turned to Gandalf. 'Mithrandir, you are right to help Thorin Oakenshield. But I fear this quest has set in motion forces we do not yet understand.' She looked at the Witch-King's dagger, still in the middle of the table. 'The riddle of the Morgul blade must be answered. Something moves in the shadows, unseen, hidden from our sight. It will not show itself … not yet. But every day it grows in strength. You must be careful.'

'Indeed,' he said. Before he could turn to go, she laid a hand on his arm.

'There is something else I must know. Why the Halfling?'

Gandalf thought for a moment. 'I do not know. Saruman believes that it is only great power that can hold evil in check, but that is not what I have found.' He looked at Sarah, smiling warmly. 'I've found it is the small things, everyday deeds of ordinary folk, that keep the darkness at bay. Simple acts of kindness and love. Why Bilbo Baggins? Perhaps it is because I'm afraid, and he gives me courage.'

'Do not be afraid, Mithrandir,' she said, taking his hands in hers. 'You are not alone.'

She spoke some parting words in Elvish and then, in the time it took Sarah to blink, she'd vanished.

'Whoa,' Sarah whispered. 'I forgot she could do that.'

'Hm?' Gandalf said.

'Nothing,' Sarah said quickly. 'Just thinking out loud.' A habit she'd have to curb, fast, now that "out loud" actually meant something again.

After a strong cup of tea and a curious drink that looked not entirely unlike a vanilla milkshake ("to fortify your bones", Minassiel had assured her), plus a twenty-minute power nap, Sarah awoke to a new set of clothes draped over the changing screen in her room, with an explanatory note. Instead of another glamorous dress, the Elves had gifted her an under- and outer-shirt made from fabrics that could withstand all climes and seasons, a pair of sturdy but breathable leggings, the most comfortable boots in all of Middle Earth (probably), a fetching dark cloak with a generous hood, some gloves, and socks and undergarments that would stay fresh with little to no washing required — in other words, perfection. Was there anything the Elves couldn't improve? If they weren't so charming they'd be downright irritating.

'We will be sad to see you go, my lady,' Minassiel said as they walked through the western gardens. 'I hope you will return to Rivendell one day, if you have the time?'

'I hope so too,' Sarah said, dressed in her new travelling outfit with her satchel on her shoulder. 'Although how much time I have left is out of my control. I've just got to make the best of the present.'

Arwen was waiting for them by the fountain with the enchantress statue, where the company would have passed mere hours earlier.

'My lady,' the Elf said with an approving smile. 'You look like a new woman.'

'I feel like one.'

'And your voice! It has returned!'

'That's right, and I couldn't be happier about it.' Sarah grinned and set her satchel down. Arwen, as instructed by her father, had also changed into trousers and boots. 'You look like a new woman yourself. Or a new Elf, I guess.' Sarah knew they didn't have long left in Rivendell, but she wanted to use the time she did have as efficiently as possible. 'Okay, Arwen. Show me how to fight.'

Arwen was surprisingly vicious in her attack style, but Sarah could only stand to learn from it. With a lot of grappling and stumbling in the process, she slipped out of chokeholds, ducked to avoid punches, and learned how to take them with minimal impact. She held a sword at various angles, getting used to the weight (swords were heavy, good God), and getting past her fear of jabbing it in the direction of an actual person.

'Do not hold it as if you are willing to drop it at the first sign of trouble,' Arwen said between parries. 'It is an extension of your arm. You work together. It is not a mystery to you.'

Two hours later, Sarah had hardly come out the other side as a self-defence expert, but she did feel psychologically better for having worked up a sweat. She splashed water on her face and found Gandalf and Elrond standing by the northwestern gate.

'Are you ready, galandrandir?' Elrond said.

Sarah slung her satchel across her body and sheathed the slim sword she'd been practicing with. 'Only one way to find out.'

'I hope that our paths will cross again, Sarah. But, in case they do not, I wish you peace and protection on your wanderings. Not only in our world, but also in yours.'

'Thank you, Lord Elrond. If we had more leaders like you back home, my world would probably be in much better shape. I hope … ' She tried to think of something that didn't sound mawkish. '... I hope that time is good to you.'

They bowed to each other. Sarah moved her hand from her heart outwards to Arwen and Minassiel. 'Thank you both for your generosity, and for being so welcoming. I hope you have wonderful years ahead.'

'May fortune guide you home, mellon,' Arwen said, mirroring the gesture.

While the sky was still light, Sarah and Gandalf left Rivendell behind. In addition to all her earthly possessions, her satchel was also now weighed down with the rope, chalk, two slabs of Lembas bread wrapped in leaves, and a jar of tablets from the Elf-maids that Arwen apparently used from time to time, to stop her menstrual cycle from being a nuisance on the road. Sarah had almost worshipped the ground they walked on in response — her period had been due to start in a matter of days and she'd been low-key fretting about how to deal with it in a high fantasy, Renaissance-esque world. Not that she understood how the hell the tablets worked. Maybe they were like a more extreme version of vitamin E, combatting the damage caused by free radicals in her body until her uterus finally conceded defeat and stopped self-destructing every month.

It felt weird to know that her phone, still switched off, was who-even-knew how many miles away, with one of the most powerful beings in this entire universe. Sarah hadn't given any explanation of what it was when she'd handed it over, and Galadriel hadn't asked. They were barely acquaintances, and yet there was a wealth of unspoken trust between them. Tolkien had probably felt the same thing.

Sarah and Gandalf walked away from Rivendell through leagues of forest fragrant with pine trees. They crossed a stone bridge over the Bruinen and emerged onto open wild plains, the Misty Mountains looming large in the distance. Along the way, Sarah spotted a fallen branch that was long and sturdy enough to act as a hiking stick (among other things, depending on whether the rest of their journey played out in the way she suspected it would). She asked the Wizard how he knew they were following the right path.

'Remember that we are both wanderers, my dear. I have walked, and ridden, and sailed, and flown back and forth across Middle Earth many times. We are on the right path. We are also making rather good time,' he said, noting the position of the sun as it gradually began to drop towards the horizon. 'Once we near the mountain peaks, we should glimpse the company's campfire from afar.'

Sarah nodded, then remembered that Gandalf wouldn't see the company face to face again until they were inside the mountain that concealed Goblin Town. 'But we won't make our presence known,' she said.

'No,' he confirmed. 'We will keep our distance.'

'Why?'

Gandalf gave her a look that she hadn't seen since that first night in Bag End. 'I believe you already know why.'

'Er … care to clarify?' she said nervously.

'Lady Galadriel said it herself: though you were born in different ages, you come from the same world as your predecessor, John. Or should I say, Mister Tolkien.'

Sarah almost tripped over a rock. 'You … you know his full name?'

'I was there when he visited,' Gandalf said. 'On both occasions. I was fortunate enough to make his acquaintance. And I knew from his extensive studies, his meticulous documentation of every aspect of Middle Earth, that he would share the story of our history, our people, our languages, with your world. And that we would be safely relegated to nothing more significant than fiction. But then of course, sometimes there is nothing more significant than fiction. One story can travel across many generations, tethering hearts and minds that would otherwise never have met. Wouldn't you agree?'

Sarah exhaled. 'You know the story. This story.'

'Not in full. No copy exists in our world, so I have not read it myself. I know only that he wrote it. But as to the broad sequence of events, from this point on and roughly half a century into the future, I am familiar enough to navigate them, as it were, without a map.'

'So I'm not the only one who knows more than I've been letting on.'

Gandalf smiled. 'We both move through this world along a similar rubric.'

'Which is?'

'That whatever is not set in stone can be changed. And should be changed, if - and only if - we feel that to do so will bring greater good than harm.'

Sarah spent the night, and the next morning, mulling this over. She thought about what Tolkien had made of his experiences after returning - twice - to Earth. Was she supposed to follow his example and seek out Galadriel's Mirror, to learn what lay in store for Middle Earth post-Lord of the Rings? To pick up in the story where he'd left off, once the copyright on his books expired circa 2040? If humanity even managed to hold on that long. If climate change hadn't finished most of them off by then. Besides, she wasn't even an author …

But, Sarah realized on the second night of travel, warming her hands in the glow of their small fire, she was an editor. Her livelihood was all about balancing details with bigger pictures, about rearranging components to make the text better than it was before.

'Gandalf.'

'Mm?'

'You said yesterday that you only know the broad sequence of events in the company's timeline.'

'I did indeed say that.'

'Do you know what happens after they reach Erebor? Do you know if the Dwarves' story ends in comedy or tragedy?'

He consulted the stars: still numerous, still dazzling. 'Are you asking me in order to find the answer, or because you already know the answer?'

'The latter.'

'Very well. I know that Thorin's pride will be his downfall, no matter how many times I warn him. I know that he is not immune to the strain of gold sickness that haunts his family. And I know that he is destined to face an old enemy — Azog the Defiler, who eluded death in Moria and will, I fear, stop at nothing to wreak revenge. Whether Thorin will survive this final challenge, I do not know.'

'Should I tell you?'

Gandalf took a long puff of his pipe. 'If you think it wise.'

Sarah thought carefully. It probably wasn't a good idea to tell him absolutely everything but, since this particular point concerned her entire raison d'etre while in Middle Earth, she badly needed a second opinion.

'The way Tolkien wrote the end of the story … Thorin won't survive. Nor will his nephews.'

'Fili and Kili?' Gandalf looked aghast. 'Both of them?'

'The line of Durin: over. Every time I revisit that ending, it feels so … cruel. And I know that life often is, but those three deaths just cut so deeply. They don't need to happen for the story to reach its destination. Thorin can still redeem himself and earn Bilbo's forgiveness. Fili and Kili don't have to die to prove their loyalty to their uncle, there are so many other ways they can do that, so many ways they already do that!' Sarah hadn't heard her voice get so impassioned for a long time, even before arriving in Middle Earth. 'My God … maybe that's it. Maybe that's why I'm here. To write over what Tolkien saw in Galadriel's Mirror. Is that too radical?'

'Not if you can pull it off,' Gandalf said cautiously. 'But are you sure that such an intervention won't have repercussions in the decades to follow?'

'Not that I can think of,' Sarah said. Well, if the sons of Durin inherited the throne instead of Dain Ironfoot, Balin might not go to Moria to start a new colony, and that could change things in the Rings timeline. Then again, he might do it anyway, regardless of was on the throne. 'Nothing is inextricably tied up with their deaths. No one stands to lose anything by Thorin, Fili and Kili getting the chance to live longer and happier lives, to see their hard-won kingdom flourish again. And so many would benefit.' She thought of the company, and the collective weight of their grief as they stood by the royal tombs.

'Then I believe you have your answer,' Gandalf said.

Owing to this new rush of determination, Sarah didn't get much sleep that night. So they set off again very early, before dawn, clearing the last of the grassy plains. They walked behind waterfalls so mighty they made the waterfalls of Rivendell look like garden fixtures.

Sarah and Gandalf spent many hours in peaceful silence, but just as many chatting and swapping stories. He was fascinated by her tales from Earth, the various bits of trivia she remembered about history and science; she got swept up in his tales of previous adventures in other parts of Middle Earth, and anecdotes about Bilbo as a younger (even smaller) Hobbit. Sometimes they laughed so hard Sarah wiped tears from her eyes.

'Oh, I've missed being able to laugh. Like, really laugh. I hope I never take it for granted again.'

She was also grateful to have a solid week of getting reacquainted with her voice with just Gandalf for an audience. Over the first three days she talked a lot, getting the words, their music and rhythm, out of her system until she settled back to her normal (well, pre-pandemic) frequency.

'Sorry Gandalf, you're probably sick of me prattling on by now.'

'Not at all, my dear,' he said as they took large strides through the wild grasses of the mountain slopes. 'After weeks of nothing but Dwarf chatter, you are a welcome change of pace.'

Inevitably, she also told him more about the virus, doing her best to explain the basic concepts of epidemiology despite having no formal background in it. As she recounted how the year 2020 had unfolded, each month more calamitous than the next, the sheer preposterousness of it all sunk her spirits like lead, and she had to stop. She couldn't expend her energy on despair — not when the road was getting tougher to traverse each day. Bofur wasn't wrong: it wasn't even a path anymore, it really was more like a track.

When they hit actual snow-capped mountain peaks and made their slow, steady way up to the rock formations that could act as their walkway, Sarah felt her blood freeze in more ways than one. 'Gandalf.'

'What is it?'

'I … I'm scared. I know that's a silly thing to say, but I'm suddenly very acutely scared. I mean, I knew mountains were coming, but actually being this high up … it's so precarious. I'll keep going, I just … might need some reassuring words, if that's all right with you.'

'As long as we stick together, you have nothing to fear. Keep your eyes level with the horizon. Stand tall. One foot in front of the other. And breathe.'

This helped for a while, although settling down for the night on the mountain path, a sheer drop on either side of them, was surreal to say the least. Sarah was grateful for the Elvish cloak and gloves, which kept her shivers to a minimum.

'Oh look,' Gandalf said, pleased. 'We've made even better progress than I'd estimated.' He pointed his pipe over her shoulder, further up the path. In the distance, barely visible in the dark, was a small orb of orange.

'Is that them? The company?' Her heart leapt. She missed them, every one of them. They were so close to being reunited. But before that … she froze up again at the thought of the steep and narrow footpath along the jagged knees of the Stone Giants, and the descent into Goblin Town. 'You know, you never answered my question.'

'Which question?'

'Just after we crossed the Bruinen: I asked you why we had to stay out of the company's sight. Why we couldn't catch up with them right away.'

'Well, one fact I do know in advance is that the Dwarves will fall into a trap set by the inhabitants of Goblin Town - ghastly creatures - and be brought before their leader, the Goblin King. Their weapons will be confiscated, and they will be quite helpless. If I rejoin them too soon and get caught up in the trap with them, I might be overpowered and lose my staff, making the prospect of escaping with our lives very narrow indeed.'

'So in order to keep them safe, you first have to put them in life-threatening danger.'

'In a manner of speaking.'

'Interesting.' She glanced back at the distant fire, then considered the items in her satchel and the plan she'd already half-formed. 'In that case, let's talk logistics. Our rescue operation.'

Gandalf smiled. 'After your stunt with the trolls, I look forward to hearing what audacious trick you have in mind next.'

'Nothing ventured, nothing gained,' she said, and then repeated the next day, as they climbed ever higher, cresting the mountain peak and then descending onto the track that lined the mountain face itself. 'Nothing ventured, nothing gained.'

And again, as the path grew thinner and twistier. 'Nothing ventured nothing gained nothing ventured nothing ohmyGodthisisterrifying.'

'Stand tall, strange lander,' Gandalf reminded her without looking over his shoulder. She almost ran into him when he stopped abruptly behind a corner. 'Wait. We need to hold back for a time.'

Sarah glimpsed the corner of a blue cloak only a few leagues ahead. They really weren't far behind the company now. She glanced up at the sky, which seemed to be darkening with every passing minute.

'Yes. Maybe we should wait until the storm's over.'

'Storm?'

'Oh yeah — there's going to be a major storm in, hmm, probably a few hours. Which will turn into a full-on battle between a couple of Stone Giants, and half the company will almost be fatally crushed in the collision, and Bilbo will nearly fall to his death … they'll be fine in the end,' she added hastily. 'We just might want to wait until that particular part is over.'

'Well, I'm glad you mentioned it! And, on reflection, the further we travel into the mountains, the harder it will become to conceal ourselves.'

'We could move by night,' Sarah said, 'if you light the way with your staff. The Dwarves will have settled in the mountain cave above Goblin Town by then, if my guess is right. They won't see us coming until we reach the entrance.'

Gandalf agreed, not keen to get caught up in a thunder battle and the ensuing near-death experience if he could avoid it. They sat on the mountain shelf with their backs against the rock. Sarah put up her umbrella when it started to drizzle, thoroughly relieved that they weren't getting the torrential rain she could see in the distance. She felt bad for the company, especially Bilbo — "grim" barely began to cover their run-in with the Stone Giants. She tried not to feel too alarmed by the cacophony of the thunder battle, the aftershock of which she could feel through the mountain valley, even from where they were sitting.

They'll be fine, she reminded herself. They'll be fine they'll be fine they'll be fine.

Eventually, in the last grey hours of day, the battle ceased and the mountains reassumed some semblance of calm. Gandalf and Sarah dusted themselves off and slowly began walking again.

The dark of night was a mixed blessing — on one hand, there was a greater risk of slipping and falling hundreds of feet to certain death but, on the other hand, it was also impossible to see anything beyond the bluish-white light of Gandalf's staff and the few feet of mountain rock Sarah held onto for dear life, so at least the feeling of vertigo faded.

Apart from a couple of breaks to sip water, they continually moved inch by inch, turn by turn, for what felt like ten hours but - by Sarah's barely illuminated watch - was more like three. Every muscle in her body hurt — there was a reason she hadn't continued her gym's indoor rock climbing course after the free trial lesson.

It goes without saying that she spent most of those three hours muttering every curse word she knew, some in multiple languages, and others that had never previously existed.

'Sarah, wait,' Gandalf whispered, concealing the light with his hand. 'Look there. It's … yes, it's Bofur.'

So it was. The Dwarf was standing (well, sitting) watch just inside the entrance to the cave where the company had taken up residence for the night. And where they wouldn't be residing for much longer.

'We'll need to move quickly,' Gandalf said, crouching low. 'The trap doors won't stay open for long — we will need to keep them shut.'

'Hey, I didn't grab this just to make the walk easier,' Sarah said, holding her fallen tree branch aloft.

'Excellent.'

They waited in the dark. Thankfully by now the storm clouds had cleared, letting a crescent moon cast everything in faint light. Just as Sarah was starting to get pins and needles in her knees, Bilbo stepped out of the cave.

'Where do you think you're going?' Bofur asked him, his lilting voice echoing off the cave walls.

'Back to Rivendell.'

'No. No, no. Not you too. You can't turn back now. You're part of the company. You're one of us.'

'I'm not though, am I. Sarah made the sensible choice; I didn't. Thorin said I should never have come, and he was right. I'm not a Took, I'm a Baggins. I don't know what I was thinking. I should've never run out the door.'

Aw, Bilbo. Sarah's heart ached for him.

'You're homesick,' Bofur said, casting a sympathetic smile his way. 'I understand.'

'No, you don't!' Bilbo whisper-shouted. 'You don't understand, none of you do, you're Dwarves! You're used to— to this life, to living on the road. Never settling in one place, not belonging anywhere!'

'Oh dear,' Gandalf murmured.

'I'm sorry,' Bilbo said quickly. 'I didn't …'

'No, you're right,' Bofur sighed, looking back into the cave. 'We don't belong anywhere … I wish you all the luck in the world. I really do.' But just as Bilbo was about to leave, Bofur clocked the ominous blue glow coming from the Hobbit's sword. 'What's that?'

'Hang on,' Sarah said. Bilbo's sword only glowed blue when Orcs were nearby. She looked over her shoulder with the creeping dread of someone in a horror film. 'Gandalf. Gandalf!'

He drew a sharp breath when he saw what she did: a warg rounding a corner no more than half a mile away. Azog and his Orc pack. Sarah had totally forgotten they would have been stalking the company along the same mountain pass — the film always cut away at this point.

On that note, she pointed frantically to the cave as the company's yells of terror reverberated around the walls. She and Gandalf scrambled up the rest of the track and stopped just short of falling through the trap doors themselves. Just as the gears whirred into life again, Sarah flipped her tree branch sideways and thrust it down, jamming one of the doors before it could close again.

'We don't have much time,' Gandalf warned, casting glances over his shoulder. Even so, Sarah held up a hand and tried, despite herself, to stay calm.

'Not yet. We have to wait until the goblins have herded them away.' As Gandalf listened out for Orcs, she leaned over the trap door to hear the chaos and confusion unfold below, as the Dwarves shouted and fought back against their captors. 'Come on, come on …'

'Now?' Gandalf urged, when there was quiet.

'No, wait.'

'Sarah! They are almost upon us!'

She held up her hand more forcefully, straining her ears until Bilbo began squawking and clashing with the rogue goblin who'd held back to pick him off after the others had cleared out. Then, when she heard the faint, prolonged scream that told her they'd both tumbled out of sight: 'Now! Go go go go go!'

The wizard gritted his teeth and slid with his staff raised over his head, disappearing from Sarah's sight with a whoosh. Oh God, it was such a long way down.

She took a preparatory breath herself … and noticed that one of the Orc scouts was making direct eye contact with her from the mountain track outside. It snarled with something that could have been revulsion or satisfaction.

'NOPE.'

She leapt through the trapdoor without another moment's hesitation and yanked the branch down after her. The floor closed up immediately. Sarah would have whooped in relief if she hadn't been hissing in terror all the way down what could only be described as the worst funhouse slide ever. Suddenly - bizarrely - she remembered seeing a tweet about a sign from a Japanese theme park advising anyone who rode the rollercoasters to, in line with pandemic safety protocol, "please scream inside your heart". EASIER BLOODY SAID THAN DONE.

She landed, hard, on her forearms. Bless the Elves and their bone-fortifying smoothies.

'Fucking hell.' She clutched the branch, and her satchel, like they were her only anchors to stable ground. 'I didn't know the Orcs were so close behind.'

'Well, now we do,' Gandalf whispered, scanning their surroundings. 'We must keep our wits about us, my dear. It is time to enact the plan. Are you ready?'

Absolutely not. 'I suppose.'

'I believe the centre of Goblin Town lies that way.' Gandalf pointed down the rope bridge along which the Dwarves had been hustled. 'Which means the auxiliary roads will branch off above and below.'

'That way looks like it reaches the higher passages,' Sarah nodded upwards, recalling the Goblin Town scenes from the film as vividly as she could manage. It was hard to tell what was accurate memory and what her brain was just inventing to fill in the gaps. 'Think you can find your way down below, to start looking for the best exit route?'

'Yes. Don't worry about me, Sarah. Remember: be careful, be clever, and we will succeed. I will see you shortly.'

Gandalf disappeared into a tunnel that sloped down to the right. Sarah forced herself to move forward, her hands white-knuckled around the tree branch until they started to cramp.

Relax, Stokes. You're no good to the company if you're too stressed to think clearly.

She ascended a path on the left and, seeing that it was clear ahead, took a second to reach into her satchel and find the bag of chalk. She needed it — her hands were already clammy with cold sweat. Fear of this kind was a full-body experience, tuning out all noise except the sound of her blood, making her heart beat faster, her breath race like a steed.

She dusted her hands with the chalk and began to climb, higher, and higher, and higher, into the Goblin tunnels.