The company stood in awe before the frozen trolls, their grotesque forms locked in stone forever. Gandalf, with his deep knowledge of Middle-Earth's many creatures, approached the now-immobile trolls with an air of contemplation. He stroked his beard, his sharp eyes scanning the area.
"Trolls like these never stray too far from their caves," Gandalf said, his voice carrying an air of authority. "They need to be close enough to retreat before the first rays of sunlight hit. And like dragons, trolls have a tendency to hoard the treasures of those unfortunate enough to cross their paths."
Thorin turned to Gandalf, curiosity piqued. "You mean to say they've hidden a stash somewhere nearby?"
Gandalf nodded. "Yes, it's likely. If we can find their cave, we may find weapons, gold, and other valuables they've plundered over the years."
The group perked up at the mention of treasure, especially the dwarves. Without wasting time, they began searching the area for signs of the trolls' lair. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and the lingering stench of troll musk, making it difficult to pinpoint the exact location of the cave.
It was Kili, one of the younger dwarves, who eventually found it. Hidden behind a mass of dense bushes and jagged rocks, the entrance to the cave loomed dark and foreboding. "Over here!" he called out, his voice echoing in the quiet of the forest.
The rest of the company hurried over, peering into the darkness of the cave. Sirius wrinkled his nose as the foul odor wafted out, thick with the stench of death and rot. Bones, some large and others disturbingly human-like, littered the ground just inside the entrance.
"That's not all horse bones," Sirius muttered under his breath, his sharp gaze landing on a pile of discarded human remains. The sight sent a chill through him, and the dark truth of the trolls' appetites became even more apparent.
Inside the cave, the walls were slick with grime, and the floor was uneven, littered with the spoils of the trolls' previous meals. But as they ventured deeper, the dim light from the outside revealed a treasure trove. Scattered haphazardly across the cave were piles of gold coins, silver goblets, and precious gems—loot from countless victims who had never escaped the trolls' grasp.
Thorin's eyes gleamed as he stepped forward. "It's more than I thought," he whispered, his voice filled with awe. He bent down, running his hands through a pile of gold coins.
The other dwarves quickly followed, their hands darting toward the chests and crates filled with valuables. They began sorting through the treasure, setting aside what they could carry for the journey. Sirius, though not as captivated by the gold as the dwarves, couldn't deny that this find would certainly help their provisions and future travels.
As they explored the cave, Gandalf took note of the many old weapons and relics left behind. Some of the swords were ancient, likely crafted by elves or men long ago. "These are no ordinary weapons," he murmured, inspecting a blade with runes etched into its surface.
But as the dwarves eagerly filled chests with the gold and jewels, Thorin raised a hand to stop them. "We can't carry all this with us. Not without slowing down our journey," he said.
Sirius nodded in agreement, his practical mind already working on a solution. "We'll take what we can carry and leave the rest hidden. There's no point in weighing ourselves down, especially if we're still far from our destination."
The dwarves grumbled at the thought of leaving behind any treasure, but they knew Sirius and Thorin were right. After much deliberation, they began burying the remaining gold deep within the cave, hiding it under piles of stones and loose dirt. It was hard work, but they managed to stash the majority of the loot out of sight, ensuring that no wandering eyes would easily find it.
After what felt like hours, the dwarves finished burying the gold, and the company began preparing to leave the cave. They took with them a modest portion of the treasure, just enough to lighten their pockets and provision their journey ahead. Among the loot, Gandalf selected a few of the enchanted weapons to bring along, convinced they might prove useful later.
As they emerged from the cave, the fresh air felt like a welcome reprieve from the dank darkness inside. The sun had fully risen now, casting long shadows across the forest floor. Sirius took a deep breath, surveying the scene before turning to the others.
"Let's hope we don't run into any more trolls," he said, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Though knowing our luck, that might be wishful thinking."
Thorin chuckled softly. "Luck or no luck, we'll press on. And next time, we'll be ready."
With their spirits slightly higher and their pockets a bit heavier, the company set out once again, leaving the trolls and their hoard behind. But as they moved farther from the site, Sirius couldn't shake the feeling that their greatest challenges were still lay ahead.
Ever since the defeat of Smaug and the subsequent claiming of the treasure hoard at Erebor, Sirius had wrestled with an uncomfortable truth: the lure of gold had a strange effect on him. The dwarves called it "dragon sickness," a powerful greed that had consumed many who had laid eyes on vast wealth. Though Sirius prided himself on his morality, the sheer amount of treasure he had collected—far more than any one person could need—often stirred something dangerous within him.
It wasn't just the treasure, but the dragon itself. Sirius had killed Smaug, as the payment he took sizable share of the hoard, including what remained of the dragon's body. Even though Sirius had rightfully earned his portion, he felt the pull of the gold, gnawing at his mind from time to time. The part of him that was still a man of great magic fought against that temptation using Occlumency, shielding his thoughts from desires that would lead him astray. It was a constant effort, a war within himself, to keep that hunger for wealth in check.
The sickness lingered, always in the background, especially when he was near treasure. But Erebor had been different—there was a moral line he wouldn't cross there. He had taken his share and no more. He resisted the urge to return to Erebor for the rest of the gold, knowing that it rightfully belonged to the dwarves. It had taken all of his strength to suppress that desire, the magic of his Occlumency guarding his mind against greed's insidious influence. He had what he needed and more, and that was enough.
But now, here in the troll cave, it was different.
The treasure of the trolls didn't belong to anyone anymore. Those who had fallen victim to the trolls' cruelty were long gone, and there were no descendants to claim their wealth. Sirius's practical mind quickly rationalized it: if no one was left to claim it, then the gold was his for the taking. After all, it was him, not the dwarves, who had saved the company from the trolls. He had earned it. Besides, compared to the treasure they were headed towards, the vast hoard of legend they sought, this small pile of coins and jewels was insignificant. The dwarves would forget it in time, blinded by the greater treasure that lay ahead.
Sirius glanced over at the company. The dwarves were busy packing up what they could carry, chatting amongst themselves. None of them were paying him any attention. A part of him knew that taking the gold while they weren't looking wasn't exactly honorable. But this treasure wasn't theirs—it wasn't part of their quest. It was simply an opportunity that had presented itself.
His hand twitched, the familiar pull of gold calling to him. He closed his eyes for a moment, focusing on his Occlumency, calming his mind. But this time, the shields he had erected around his thoughts were weaker. The sickness was there, clawing at the edges of his conscience, whispering to him that he deserved this.
With a subtle wave of his wand, Sirius cast a spell of concealment around himself. Silent, invisible to the others, he moved toward the hidden stash of coins the dwarves had buried earlier. He knew exactly where to find it. Carefully, he lifted the rocks and loose dirt with a silent charm, revealing the gleaming gold beneath.
With a simple wave of his hand, Sirius hovered the buried gold—every last coin, every chest the dwarves had painstakingly hidden—into the air. It floated there before him, glinting in the dim light of the troll cave. His mind, still clouded by the lingering pull of greed, barely registered the weight of his actions. The dragon sickness was whispering in his thoughts, urging him to take it all.
He didn't hesitate.
Sirius reached into his cloak and pulled out his enchanted trunk—his personal vault, where he had already stored vast riches, food, and supplies, all meticulously organized as a precaution for any journey. The trunk was unassuming in appearance, small enough to carry easily, but within it was an expansive space that could house treasures beyond imagination. With a flick of his wand, he stored all the gold inside the trunk. It was a small addition compared to the hoard he already kept, barely making a dent in its capacity.
Once the gold disappeared into the trunk, Sirius felt a strange sense of relief. The fog in his mind lifted, and his thoughts cleared as the dragon sickness retreated. It was as if the act of storing the treasure had calmed the greedy whispers that had been gnawing at him since Erebor. But with that clarity came a new fear. If such a small treasure could stir these feelings within him, what would happen when they finally arrived at the Lonely Mountain? Could he trust himself to face the treasure of the dwarves once more?
Sirius shook the thought from his mind. There were more pressing matters. His attention shifted to the remaining weapons in the troll cave. Most were crude, human-made blades—nothing of particular value to him. But the elven blades were different. They shimmered with a faint glow, relics of a bygone era. Though the others had taken some of the finest weapons, they had left behind six more elven blades. Sirius recognized their craftsmanship immediately: they were works of art, deadly and graceful in equal measure.
He collected the remaining blades with care. Though he had little need for human weapons, elven-made blades were a different matter entirely. Their quality was unmatched, and there was always a use for something so finely crafted. Each blade joined the treasure in his trunk, stored carefully among the other valuables he had collected over the years.
Gandalf, meanwhile, had already chosen weapons for the rest of the company—swords fit for dwarves and men alike. The wizard paid little attention to what Sirius was doing, his mind focused on preparing the company for their next move. The trolls, still frozen in stone, were left behind, their lair emptied of everything valuable. Sirius was careful not to draw attention to his own actions, moving silently as he finished his task.
As the Sirius prepared to leave the cave, he cast one final look at the remaining items—the crude weapons, the bones of past victims, the remnants of the trolls' life. By the time the others arrived, Sirius was already there, sitting by the fire as if he had never left.
No one suspected a thing.
The dwarves, preoccupied with their new swords and the journey ahead, didn't notice that the gold was gone. And Sirius, now more wary of his own tendencies, knew he would have to keep his mind sharp and his Occlumency defenses stronger than ever. The road to Erebor still lay ahead, and with it, temptations far greater than those found in a troll cave.
As Gandalf distributed weapons to the dwarves, he approached Sirius—who, in his disguise as Jimmy, had been quietly observing the proceedings. "Jimmy," Gandalf said, eyeing the disguised wizard curiously, "do you know how to use a blade?"
Sirius, still maintaining his hobbit-like appearance, gave a small smirk. "I know my way around a sword," he replied, with an air of modest confidence. Gandalf handed him a sword perfectly balanced for his current stature—small, but sturdy. As Sirius took it, Gandalf explained, "This is no ordinary blade. It will glow blue when goblins or orcs are near. A handy warning on a journey such as ours."
Sirius nodded, appreciating the weapon for more than just its craftsmanship. It would serve as a useful tool, giving him an early warning if any threats approached—a precaution he knew would be invaluable. Though he had his magic, having an additional layer of awareness would help him protect the company and stay in control of the situation.
Meanwhile, under Jimmy's guidance, the dwarves each carried a small pouch of gold on their belts, carefully packed for the long journey ahead. Though they were dwarves and more accustomed to the value of treasure than most, Jimmy had been quite insistent. "In case we need to buy provisions or barter along the way," he had explained to them, "you'll want to have some coin on hand. Better to be prepared than to find yourselves without means in the wild."
The dwarves begrudgingly agreed, each tucking a small number of coins into their traveling gear. The road ahead to the Lonely Mountain was long, and who knew what unexpected circumstances might arise? With everything ready, the company prepared to set off once more.
Gandalf, seated tall on his grand horse, led the way. Behind him, thirteen dwarves, armed with their new weapons and each riding a small pony, followed in a loose formation. Jimmy, looking every bit the small and unassuming hobbit, brought up the rear, his sharp mind constantly assessing the landscape, ever aware of the dangers lurking just beyond the horizon.
Their journey toward the Lonely Mountain had only just begun, and there were countless challenges ahead. Yet with each step, Sirius knew he was more than capable of handling anything the road would throw at them. His thoughts wandered briefly to the treasure that awaited at Erebor, but he quickly pushed it aside, focusing instead on the task at hand—guiding this band of dwarves through a world fraught with peril, all while keeping his true identity hidden.
Author's Note:
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