Gandalf did not agree with the hunt for the missing Troll, but he knew Thorin's temper too well to waste breath on a lecture. Instead, he stepped deeper into the reeking cave. "Wait a moment. There is something here far more interesting than a missing monster."
He reached into a dusty wooden crate, pulling out a long, sheathed blade. He drew it slowly, the steel singing with a pure, clear note. "Trolls did not forge this. Nor did Men."
"These are blades of the High Elves of the First Age, forged in Gondolin."
Thorin Oakenshield had been reaching for another sword in the pile. At the mention of "Elves," he recoiled as if the hilt had turned into a poisonous serpent.
Hmph.
If it was forged by Elves, he wouldn't touch it with a ten-foot pole.
Perched on Bilbo's shoulder, Keith watched the display and thought of a perfect description for the prince: The man is one giant, walking sensitive spot.
"We're leaving!" Thorin barked, unwilling to linger in a place filled with Elven history. He gestured to the other Dwarves, who had been busy burying a portion of the Trolls' gold for later retrieval.
The Dwarves scrambled to follow their leader. Gandalf sighed, a sound of weary patience, and placed the sword back in the crate. He already possessed his staff and a blade of his own; he saw no need to hoard more steel.
"Bilbo, let us depart," Gandalf said.
The Hobbit nodded and turned to go. As they moved toward the entrance, Gandalf's boot struck something small. He kicked it, revealing a short blade—complete, sharp, and unmistakably of Elven make.
"Bilbo, this is more your size. Take it."
Bilbo looked at the weapon with a mixture of awe and trepidation. "But... I've never used a sword in my life."
Gandalf smiled gently. "I hope you never have cause to... but keep it. Blades forged by the Elves have a particular virtue: they glow with a cold blue light when Orcs or Goblins are near."
"It may prove useful to you."
Bilbo, recognizing the practical value of an early-warning system, accepted the blade without further argument.
Outside, Thorin and the others were scouring the nearby brush, still obsessed with finding the "Fourth Troll"—who was currently hitching a ride on Bilbo's shoulder.
Gandalf watched them for a moment, then sat on a rock and lit his pipe.
"Aren't we going to help them?" Bilbo asked.
Gandalf glanced at the Raven on Bilbo's shoulder and shook his head. "Let them search. We shall wait here."
The Wizard had his own doubts. Was there truly a fourth Troll? Trolls were social creatures; they rarely wandered alone. Was it possible that the Troll who had humiliated Thorin was actually the very bird currently preening its feathers on the Hobbit's shoulder?
If the bird possessed such powerful shapeshifting magic, it was a formidable entity. But why the games? If it wished Thorin harm, the Prince would be ash by now.
A strange riddle, Gandalf mused, blowing a smoke ring.
As a creature of the wild, Keith's senses were far sharper than any mortal's. He felt Gandalf's gaze, twice now.
As expected of the Grey Pilgrim, Keith thought. Gandalf clearly suspected something was amiss, but because he couldn't yet identify the bird's true nature or purpose, he was playing a waiting game.
Fine. If he won't move, neither will I. Keith remained as still as stone on Bilbo's shoulder, enjoying the front-row seat to the drama.
By mid-morning, a frustrated and sweaty Thorin returned. He had found two other shallow dens, but they were abandoned. The "Fourth Troll" had vanished into thin air.
"We move on," Gandalf said simply, not rubbing in the failure.
Thorin didn't argue. He mounted his pony in a brooding silence. The Company resumed their journey, but they hadn't gone far before the woods erupted with a frantic, rushing sound.
"Something comes!" Thorin commanded, his hand flying to his hilt. "Form up!"
The Dwarves leaped from their mounts, weapons at the ready. Seconds later, a sled pulled by a team of Rhosgobel Rabbits burst through the foliage, carrying the disheveled figure of Radagast the Brown.
"Lower your steel!" Gandalf called out. "He is a friend."
Bilbo, who had instinctively drawn his new short blade, let out a sigh of relief.
Keith watched Radagast, weighing the risk. Gandalf hadn't recognized his draconic soul, but Radagast was a different matter. He was a Wizard of the Wild, a man who had lived among beasts for centuries. Would he sense the Fire-drake beneath the feathers?
Keith decided to gamble. Smaug had been hidden in a mountain for a lifetime; his specific "spiritual scent" was not a common piece of knowledge. He remained motionless.
Gandalf greeted his old friend warmly. "Radagast! What brings you so far from the woods?"
"I was looking for you!" Radagast scrambled off the sled, his eyes wide with a frantic energy. "A great evil is afoot!"
Gandalf's smile vanished. "Come with me."
The two Wizards moved away from the Company. Thorin watched them go, his suspicion deepening. He knew Gandalf had hidden agendas, and seeing a second Wizard only confirmed his distrust.
Once out of earshot, Gandalf turned to his peer. "Tell me everything."
Radagast spoke of the blight in the Great Greenwood, the dying animals, and his terrifying encounter at Dol Guldur. "A powerful sorcerer is there, a Necromancer... he summons the dead and breathes darkness into the trees."
He reached into his robes and produced the weapon he had found: the Morgul-blade.
Gandalf took the sword, his face pale and his brow furrowing as he felt the cold, ancient malice of the steel. This was the work of the Witch-king of Angmar. This blade should have been buried in a tomb that no living thing could open.
"What has he done?" Gandalf whispered. He stood in a long silence, the weight of the world's peril pressing down on him.
"Gandalf?" Radagast prompted.
"I will take this," Gandalf said, his voice hard. "I will see it dealt with."
He puffed on his pipe, then turned his gaze back toward the Company—specifically toward the Hobbit. "Radagast, I need your expertise. Did you see the Raven on the Hobbit's shoulder?"
"I saw it," Radagast nodded. "No ordinary bird, that one."
Gandalf lowered his voice. "I am certain it is a shapeshifter. It first appeared as an Eagle, claiming to be a messenger from Galadriel. Last night, it was a Raven. I suspect it may even have been the Troll that plagued us."
"Can you identify what lies beneath the skin?"