He's not seriously going to whip that thing out again, is he?
Eric sighed internally, face creased with helplessness, and turned away. From his pack, he pulled out a line of milk bottles, neatly arranged like weapons in an arsenal. That cursed ring was practically a beacon, it demanded caution.
The experint began quickly. Target: the One Ring.
Step one: Lava.
"Bilbo, see that patch of lava over there?"
"I see it, but... what's a 'patch'?"
"It's a unit of distance I use. Roughly the length of one adult human stride."
"Got it. So, what do I do?"
Bilbo held up the ring, squinting at Eric.
The ring glinted furiously by the lava, as though trying to scream Look at ! with every sparkle.
"Toss it in."
"Wait—what?"
"Just toss it. If it's really gone, I'll find you another one. I an it."
"...Fine."
Without a glance, Bilbo squeezed his eyes shut and chucked the ring into the lava.
Silence.
No hiss. No dramatic sizzle. Nothing.
Instead of being destroyed, the ring floated back up, serenely unaffected. It was as if so invisible force held it aloft, untouched by the molten heat.
Eric fetched a bucket and scooped up so lava. Bilbo fished the ring out with practiced ease.
Despite its ti subrged in molten rock, the ring was cold—eerily cold.
"Follow ."
Soon, the two of them stood near a Nether Portal, the shimring obsidian gateway humming ominously.
Eric glanced left, then right, then up at the sky. Only once satisfied that no one was watching did he speak.
"Try tossing the ring through this portal."
"This is so sort of magical door, right? I wonder where it leads."
Bilbo's hands moved faster than his words. With no real hesitation, he lobbed the ring into the portal.
It passed straight through.
And then clinked on the ground beyond.
It hadn't even acknowledged the portal's presence. As if the gateway wasn't there at all.
"Alright then," Eric muttered. He pulled out a small box and handed it to Bilbo. "Put it inside."
Bilbo did so.
Eric tested everything he could.
He couldn't put the box in his backpack.
He couldn't store it in a chest.
The ring refused to travel through portals.
No matter the thod, every form of dead-object storage rejected it.
Which could only an one thing.
"This ring… it behaves like a living thing."
It could be moved—but not standardized, categorized, or hidden away like other items.
Eric gave a shrug. "Well, that's that. You can keep it."
Apparently, so things weren't ant to be destroyed so easily.
After all, to destroy such an object mid-narrative was like stopping a symphony halfway through—killing the developnt, silencing the climax, and abandoning the ending.
A textbook example of a story falling apart.
A tragedy for pacing. A cri against storytelling.
Best to avoid that.
After that strange sequence of tests—most of which Bilbo didn't fully understand, he didn't imdiately leave. Instead, he stayed a few days longer.
Standing atop a hill, surveying the domain below, Bilbo sighed.
"Sotis I really can't tell the difference between here and Rivendell."
"Other than fewer waterfalls, everything feels just as good here. Even the people. They seem happy."
"If you want," Eric offered casually, "you could stay here permanently."
Bilbo hesitated.
An elf-lord in Rivendell had once said sothing similar.
Eventually, he smiled and nodded.
"Thank you. But I think Bag End suits just fine. Still, you're always welco to visit. Stay as long as you like. Just walk right in—no need to knock. And there'll be plenty of tea and cakes."
"Careful. I might eat you out of house and ho."
"If you can eat that much, be my guest."
He glanced up at the sky.
"I think it's ti."
"I should be heading back, Eric. Bag End's probably freezing by now. I need to get the fireplace going."
"Alright. I'll walk you there. And don't forget—you left a stack of golden apples in my cellar. A stack ans sixty-four, by the way. I figured you'd ask."
Bilbo closed his mouth before the question could form.
They set off the sa day, strolling out of the city at a comfortable pace. It was more like a lazy walking tour than a return journey.
On the third day, just as they left the borderlands...
A single snowflake floated down.
Winter had officially arrived.
By the ti they reached Bag End, the ground was thick with snow. Bilbo's garden lay beneath an untouched white blanket.
"Good news: no one's broken into my house while I was gone."
"Bad news: it's probably just as cold inside as it is out here."
It took Bilbo quite a while to coax the fire back to life and spread so warmth through the cozy hobbit-hole.
After helping him stack the golden apples in the storage room, Eric asked for directions to the Sackville-Baggins residence.
He had a visit in mind.
A friendly one.
Bilbo, slightly concerned—mostly for the Sackville-Bagginses, hurried to join him.
Knock knock knock.
Footsteps. Muffled voices. Then one growing louder, closer.
"Who is it? If you're a guest, your timing is awful. We're not ready to—"
Creeeak.
The door opened. The voice stopped.
"Bilbo?"
Otho Sackville-Baggins frowned instantly.
"What are you doing here? We already gave back everything that belonged to you! We didn't keep a single thing! If you lost sothing, don't co blaming—"
"Oh no no," Bilbo said, gesturing to the side with a tired sigh. "I'm not the one here to see you, Otho."
"It's my friend."
"Good evening," said Eric, stepping forward.
"A Man?" Otho scoffed. "And just what business do y—"
His voice caught in his throat the mont he looked up.
The armor. The sheer height. The dark, glinting eyes.
He'd heard stories. Sowhere—a tavern? A farmstead? The details blurred now.
"You probably don't recognize ."
Eric didn't wait for permission. He shoved the door aside and ducked under the fra, stepping inside. The movent startled Lobelia, who ca rushing from the kitchen, wielding a frying pan like a sword.
"This house doesn't welco uninvited guests!" she snapped.
"Absolutely understandable," Eric said smoothly. "Allow to introduce myself."
Bilbo stepped forward to offer sothing polite, but Eric calmly pressed him back with a hand.
"I'm an adventurer. That's the short version."
He took a slow, deliberate step forward, looming larger by the second.
"But if you'd like the long version... I'm the Bane of Orcs. Slayer of Wargs. Enemy of the Misty Mountain tribes. Foe of Mordor. Ally to Elves and Dwarves. Dragon-killer. Lord and protector of Roadside Fortress and Dale."
"I'm Eric."
He smiled.
Otho and Lobelia were already backed into the far corner of the room, trembling like leaves in a storm.
Each of Eric's titles landed like a blow. Courage drained from their faces with every word, until by the end, they stood frozen as if paralyzed.
And with good reason.
If Eric took one more step, they might very well collapse into sobs on the spot.
"Relax. I'm not here to hurt you."
Eric's voice was calm now, almost gentle.
"I just heard a few things. Like how you tried to steal my friend's house. And how you planned to sell off a gift I gave him."
"Is that true?"
Otho and Lobelia paled. A tear slipped down Lobelia's cheek.
They were dood.
He was with Bilbo.
They had no hope.
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