The wizard had been observing the dwarves from under an oak tree up on the hill. This mission had been a long time coming, and gathering the dwarves had been a difficult task in itself. From here on out this journey would be a lot more hazardous than it should have been. The world had grown darker than he remembered it, and the bright lights of civilizations long lost now only faintly glimmered throughout the northern world. So much had been lost since the last great war, and roads which once were hospitable and safe had become forgotten and fallen into darkness.
Of this the dwarves knew little, and their minds were focused on promises of wealth and power handed down to them from their ancestors. They would never lose hope, but their minds were clouded of stories of old. That was why they needed Bilbo. Gandalf had wandered through the vast lands of Middle Earth for longer than most other beings he could name, and the only untouched region that remained was the Shire with its hobbits. They were a peculiar sort these hobbits. Most of the new races had never even heard of this part of the world, and among the elder races those who had not forgotten had stopped to care. They were deemed to be a trivial and useless race. Maybe it was so. Maybe these dwarves were right in their doubts of a new member from this untroubled and distant part of the world. Perhaps there was rhyme and reason to why the Shire had fallen into memory. However Gandalf still believed in these curly-feeted halflings and their abilities. They had something that the rest of the world had lost, and that was what still made them stronger than most kings he had ever met.
The dwarves had purchased some ponies at a local stablekeep and headed of towards the tavern. Gandalf figured that some beer might help him damp the worry he felt. From now on out he had to remain hopefull for the future. He got up and headed down towards the tavern through neatly cropped gardens and small hedges.
Of this the dwarves knew little, and their minds were focused on promises of wealth and power handed down to them from their ancestors. They would never lose hope, but their minds were clouded of stories of old. That was why they needed Bilbo. Gandalf had wandered through the vast lands of Middle Earth for longer than most other beings he could name, and the only untouched region that remained was the Shire with its hobbits. They were a peculiar sort these hobbits. Most of the new races had never even heard of this part of the world, and among the elder races those who had not forgotten had stopped to care. They were deemed to be a trivial and useless race. Maybe it was so. Maybe these dwarves were right in their doubts of a new member from this untroubled and distant part of the world. Perhaps there was rhyme and reason to why the Shire had fallen into memory. However Gandalf still believed in these curly-feeted halflings and their abilities. They had something that the rest of the world had lost, and that was what still made them stronger than most kings he had ever met.
The dwarves had purchased some ponies at a local stablekeep and headed of towards the tavern. Gandalf figured that some beer might help him damp the worry he felt. From now on out he had to remain hopefull for the future. He got up and headed down towards the tavern through neatly cropped gardens and small hedges.
Inga kommentarer:
Skicka en kommentar