A deep silence had descended upon Hobbiton, one of the humble corners of the Shire. The elderly mayor let out a deep, exhausted sigh as he sat alone in the dimly lit living room of his home. He wanted to hurl a heavy curse at Bilbo in his mind, but he was far too exhausted even for that. Hoping to soothe the throbbing pain in his temples, he took his head between his hands and rubbed slowly. Just then, his wife emerged from the kitchen; in her hands was a steaming, healing cup of tea brewed from pain-relieving and soothing herbs. The mayor nodded in gratitude as he took the warm concoction his wife affectionately offered.
"Thank you, my dear."
As the old woman smiled warmly and nodded in understanding of her husband's weary state, their son, sitting at the other end of the room, could no longer contain his curiosity and spoke up.
"Father... what did Bilbo do to earn the backing of a man like that? I still can't wrap my head around it..."
His sister, sitting right beside him, nodded in agreement.
"Yes, yes! What did Bilbo do to get someone so powerful and wealthy behind him?"
The old woman sighed softly at her children's justified bewilderment. Her eyes drifted far away, wandering into the years of the past.
"That rascal was incredibly restless when he was a child. His mother used to wear herself out running after him... When he was little, he would constantly talk about wanting to go out into the world and find adventure."
Then, her gaze dropped quietly to the floor, and she let out a soft chuckle with a bittersweet smile on her lips.
"When his mother passed away, he grew quiet, and when his father died, he withdrew into himself entirely. Because his relatives only wanted the belongings in his house, he avoided forming close relationships with them. I thought he had given up on his dream, but now, it seems he has made it come true."
The mayor let out another weary breath as he stared at the hot teacup in his hands, then lifted his head, looking at his son with utmost seriousness.
"Whatever it is! Son, help me keep an eye on Bilbo's house. Even though Mr. Igris threatened us, thanks to the gold he provided, we managed to clear our debts and set things straight. The least we can do is carry out the task he gave us."
Understanding the heavy burden of responsibility on his father's shoulders, his son nodded obediently.
"Alright, father."
--Rivendell, Palace Kitchen--
The heat radiating from the stone oven struck the wide walls of the palace kitchen, infusing the space with a sweet, comforting warmth. Standing at the counter, Bilbo still hadn't managed to shake off the astonishment of what he had just heard. With a voice full of reproach, he glared at Igris, who was casually peeling a tomato with a sharp knife as if nothing had happened.
"So, you threatened the mayor just to make him look after my house?!"
Igris instantly rejected Bilbo's accusation, peeling the skin of the red tomato in his hand into a single, long strip.
"Absolutely not! What am I? A bandit? I simply gave him a friendly warning and a small gift, that's all."
Although he put on an act as if he were genuinely offended and hurt by the accusation as he spoke, the sheer relaxation in his shoulders gave everything away. He calmly continued his work. Bilbo, meanwhile, let out a deep sigh at his friend's nonchalant demeanor and tried to compose himself, though the seeds of doubt were still sprouting in his mind.
"How sure are you that the mayor will actually protect my house?"
Igris paused the knife for a moment. Fixing his gaze on the counter, he weighed the situation in his mind before speaking with absolute certainty.
"He will definitely protect it. The first thing he'll likely do after we leave is to look into me. There is no one else who simultaneously wears the black armor I do and rides an entirely black horse like Shadowmane. A peace-loving hobbit who has never experienced a serious incident in his life will wet his pants out of fear once he hears the exaggerated stories about me in Bree."
As he finished his words, he set the knife down, turned toward Bilbo, raised a thumb, and smirked.
"So don't worry. Once the Hobbits in the Shire likely find out that I was the one who ordered the protection of your home and look into who I am, they won't dare go near your belongings ever again."
Faced with this logical explanation, Bilbo sank into silence, lost in thought. Seeing his anxious state, Igris chuckled softly.
"Don't fret. If anything goes missing from your house, I'll send Bamsi, Ordo, and Dogan to the Shire immediately."
Hearing this, Bilbo's shoulders slumped slightly; he was relieved, if only a little. Igris, as if wanting to change the subject, wiped his hands on his apron and continued speaking.
"Besides, you're a ranger now. Why don't you learn how to psychologically intimidate people from Halt?"
Bilbo furrowed his brows at this unexpected question, looking at his friend with curiosity.
"What do you mean?"
Igris chuckled merrily.
"Learn to frighten people."
Bilbo still couldn't fully grasp what Igris was implying. Blinking his eyes, he offered a somewhat naive response.
"What do you mean? Like, should I just jump out in front of people and say 'Boo!'?"
The hobbit's childish question amused Igris greatly. After letting out a booming laugh that echoed through the kitchen, he returned to the counter and resumed peeling his tomato.
"Hahahaha! No, what I mean is, learn the art of intimidating people."
Bilbo was utterly bewildered by what he was hearing as he carefully drizzled honey and sprinkled finely chopped parsley over the piping hot carrots fresh from the oven.
"There's an art to that?"
Igris chuckled and nodded as he carved out the stem of the tomato with the tip of his knife.
"Yes, you need to strive for psychological dominance over the person in front of you. Your tone of voice, your gaze, your posture... many things play a role in this."
Bilbo set the honey jar aside and paused for a moment. He tried to picture himself threatening someone in his mind, but he wasn't very successful.
"And what good will that do me?"
Igris replied with a smirk while continuing his work.
"Simple. Hold a sword to the throats of those Hobbits who want your things, and tell them that if they ever lay eyes on your belongings again, you'll gouge their eyes out or chop their hands off."
All the color suddenly drained from Bilbo's face. His eyes widened like saucers.
"WHAT!? NO! I CAN'T DO THAT!"
Faced with the hobbit's horrified reaction, Igris shook his head from side to side in exasperation and took a deep breath.
"You're still so naive! I'm not telling you to actually go and do it! I'm saying intimidate them!"
Hearing this distinction calmed Bilbo down a bit, though the suggestion still plunged him into deep thought. Seizing the opportunity in the silence, Igris continued as he wielded his knife with rhythmic motions.
"Besides, you have another advantage."
Snapping out of his reverie, Bilbo looked up with curiosity.
"What is it?"
Igris spoke with an easygoing demeanor.
"You have seen blood, and you have killed a man."
The warm and cozy atmosphere within the kitchen dissipated in an instant following those words. Bilbo's shoulders slumped; he grew silent. This was one of the hardest truths for him to face. In the nightmares that fractured his sleep, he still saw the faces of the men whose lives he had taken with his own hands. Thanks to the support of Kili, Halt, and Gilan, he was slowly starting to overcome it, but even the mere mention of the subject was enough to cloud his mind. He took a deep, trembling breath and, as if searching for a distraction, continued to glaze the carrots with honey, speaking in a voice barely above a whisper.
"That is not a good thing."
Igris nodded, making it clear that he understood him.
"It absolutely isn't. I'm not bringing it up because it's a good thing. I'm pointing out a fact to tell you that you are different now."
Without stopping his task, Bilbo cast a sidelong glance at Igris and asked.
"What kind of difference?"
Igris let out a soft sigh as he dropped the peeled tomato in his hand into a bowl filled with other perfectly smooth tomatoes nearby. Then, he turned completely to face Bilbo.
"Bilbo, taking a life—especially killing a sentient, humanoid being—creates a shift in a person's temperament, their posture, and their gaze. A person may or may not realize this. You are no longer the naive, carefree, comfort-seeking Bilbo from the Shire."
Listening to Igris, Bilbo pondered in silence for a while over what he had heard. As he carried on with his work in absent-minded, mechanical motions, Igris also lapsed into silence to avoid disrupting his thought process, beginning to peel a new tomato. After a minute or two had passed, Bilbo, his spirits visibly dampened, let out a shaky sigh and asked the question gnawing at his mind.
"Igris..."
Without lifting his eyes from the counter, Igris answered comfortably.
"Yes?"
Bilbo asked in a bleak tone, almost as if he were afraid of the answer.
"How did you feel when you killed for the first time?"
Without slowing his blade in the slightest, Igris briefly weighed the question in his mind before answering honestly.
"Hmm... Honestly, nothing."
Bilbo's hands froze. Dumbfounded by the answer he received, he could only stare at his friend.
"Nothing?!"
Treating the matter as entirely normal, Igris nodded, picked up another tomato from the bowl, and began to peel it. Bilbo, unable to overcome his shock, asked again.
"...How can you be so indifferent? How do you do it?"
Igris hesitated for a brief moment before answering. Choosing his words carefully, he replied.
"Hmm... It comes from how I was raised, the environment I lived in, and my perspective."
Unable to fully piece together these abstract concepts, Bilbo looked at Igris inquiringly.
"What do you mean?"
Gathering his thoughts, Igris began to explain, never dropping the casual and ordinary tone of his voice.
"When I was little, I used to listen to the war stories of my ancestors. Actually, almost every child my age listened to those stories; I practically grew up on them. Furthermore, whenever animals like cows, rams, or lambs were slaughtered, I would watch. After a certain age, I even slaughtered a ram or a cow myself. Honestly, killing, or death itself, is something that has been ingrained in me since childhood. I accepted death as a natural reality of life."
In truth, this situation was not solely limited to the life experiences Igris had described. In the modern world from which Igris hailed, people grew up normalizing death and killing in their subconscious every single day, without even realizing it. The highly realistic games they played, the endless television series, the bloody war documentaries, the ongoing wars and massacres broadcasted on the news bulletins... These images flowing constantly before their eyes had numbed their minds. Even the most ordinary village and city folk trying to survive the harsh conditions of the Middle Ages had not witnessed as much war, slaughter, or murder as an average citizen of the modern world witnessed through their screens. Even though the films in that world were fiction, and the artificiality of the scenes was a known fact, their minds were nonetheless affected by it all. This was why news of a death from afar was swiftly forgotten after a momentary reaction; as long as they didn't lose one of their own loved ones, no one truly cared all that much.
Although Bilbo lacked this contextual background, even what he had heard was enough to keep him staring at his friend in sheer amazement. Seeing his petrified state, Igris chuckled lightly.
"Don't look at me like that, Bilbo. My people have the concept of a 'military-nation'; every individual, regardless of whether they are a man or a woman, is a warrior."
Still struggling to accept the situation, Bilbo asked hesitantly.
"But taking a life?"
Igris shrugged; to him, this was merely a mathematical equation.
"It doesn't bother me because I believe those I've killed deserved to die."
Bilbo looked on in astonishment at this definitive and judgmental attitude.
"I don't understand?"
Without putting down the knife, Igris casually continued.
"You heard me. Every single person I have killed so far deserved to die. Aside from cannibalistic orcs, bloodsucking vampires, and sadistic, torture-loving dark Elves, the humans I've killed either tried to kill me, failed, and were killed by me instead, or they committed unforgivable crimes. I don't kill unless it's necessary, but when I have to kill, I show no mercy."
Then, taking a brief pause from his work, he looked straight into Bilbo's eyes. His voice now carried the weight not of mere advice, but of a vital warning from a master to his apprentice.
"Remember this, Bilbo: if you ever face a choice one day, think carefully about the situation you are in and thoroughly analyze the person you are forced to kill. Some people deserve a second chance, but some do not. If you set the wrong person free and forgive them, you become responsible for every innocent life that person takes thereafter."
With the gentle compassion of a hobbit in his heart, Bilbo hesitated for a moment before asking.
"But doesn't everyone deserve a second chance?"
Igris washed his hands and paused for a brief moment, taking a deep breath before turning to look at Bilbo with a serious expression.
"Yes, but once a certain line is crossed, people lose their right to that second chance. Like I told you, Bilbo, you have to be very careful about the kind of person you choose to forgive. It's not just about you; there is the possibility of endangering your loved ones as well. Even the most murderous creature can look pathetic and beg when brought face-to-face with death, but the moment you forgive them and turn your back, they will drop that pitiful act and stab you in the back."
As he spoke these words, an old dagger wound on his back gave a faint twinge. Squinting his eyes, he continued.
"Believe me, my friend, that is experience talking."
When Igris delivered this final sentence, the image of Igris's scar-riddled body flashed before Bilbo's eyes. Yet despite all this, he didn't know what to think, or which truth to believe. His mind was in absolute turmoil. Looking at his hobbit friend writhing in indecision before him, Igris chuckled warmly to lighten the mood.
"Relax, my friend. I merely gave you some friendly advice. When the time comes, you will decide what needs to be done. For now, let's focus on our work."
Bilbo took a deep breath, shook himself out of his stupor, and nodded.
"Alright."
After a brief but peaceful silence passed between them, Bilbo curiously asked about another detail that had been bugging him.
"Igris, where did you go just now?"
Bilbo had scarcely finished his question when the heavy wooden door of the kitchen creaked open. Bilbo turned in that direction with curiosity and was surprised to see three tall elves walking in. Igris, maintaining his completely relaxed demeanor, simply shrugged.
"It's getting late anyway, so I sent for them to help."
The three elves assigned to the kitchen glided in calmly with elegant steps. Their gazes first fell upon the plates of potatoes Bilbo had meticulously prepared, and then onto the steaming, baked carrots he had just glazed with honey. There was evident surprise on their faces. One of the elves, named Caelthir, raised his eyebrows and spoke with intrigue.
"Are you making something different again?"
Igris smiled and nodded.
"Yes, but I need a bit of help. Could you lend a hand, please?"
Faced with Igris's polite request, the elves nodded gladly. Thalanor stepped forward, speaking with a genuine smile.
"We are always curious to see the kind of dishes you cook anyway. You can call upon us whenever you like."
Igris chuckled at the elves' eagerness and nodded, then gestured with his hand toward the plates waiting at the ready on the counter.
"In that case, please, have a taste."
He then turned his eyes to Bilbo, who had largely shaken off his gloomy expression from moments ago.
"You taste it too, Bilbo. And explain to them how you cooked it."
Bursting with pride in his own handiwork, Bilbo nodded.
"Alright."
With an enthusiastic tone of voice, Bilbo quickly explained the process of roasting and honey-glazing the carrots to the elves. Once his explanation was finished, the four of them grabbed clean forks from the counter and tasted the honeyed carrots. They were quite literally amazed by the distinct, peculiar, yet exceedingly beautiful flavor created in their mouths by the combination of the carrot's natural sweetness, the mild sharpness of the spices, and the rich aroma of the honey. Nimreath, after swallowing his bite, spoke, his eyes gleaming.
"I never expected a mixture of carrot, spice, and honey to create such harmony."
Thalanor nodded in agreement.
"Indeed, a surprising combination."
Observing the elves' sincere reactions, Igris chuckled. He thought to himself: 'I'm not surprised they like it. If I recall correctly, it's quite a popular snack in England.' Then, clapping his hands together, he redirected their attention back to the task.
"Alright, you can eat plenty of it later. Now, help us out so we can finish preparing the meal."
Caelthir, ready to take on his share of the kitchen duties, asked calmly.
"What would you like us to do?"
Igris had already established the organization of the kitchen in his head, and calmly gave his instructions.
"Two of you help me, and one of you make the Menemen I made this morning, and make a lot of it."
Caelthir nodded the moment he received the command, turning immediately to the two elves beside him to distribute the tasks.
"Nimreath, you make the dish called Menemen; Thalanor and I will assist Igris."
The two elves nodded in perfect harmony and immediately sprang into action. While Nimreath gathered his ingredients and headed straight for the hot fire pit, Caelthir and Thalanor stepped up beside Igris and began peeling tomatoes with quick, elegant movements. Seeing this rapid work pace in the room, Bilbo felt left out and asked curiously.
"What will I do?"
Igris, moving on to his next recipe without missing a beat in his own work, replied.
"You will make Reibekuchen. I'll tell you what to do."
The moment Bilbo heard this unfamiliar name, he immediately nodded, eagerly pulling his small recipe notebook from his pocket and readying his pen.
"I am ready."
Igris looked at his hobbit friend clutching the notebook in a silent, somewhat amused manner. Then he took a deep breath and began to speak, enunciating every word.
"I will give you the measurements for a single portion, write it down accordingly."
Bringing his pen closer to the paper, Bilbo nodded in response.
"Alright."
Without slowing his tomato-peeling hands, Igris listed the words slowly.
"4 potatoes, 1 onion, 1 pinch of parsley, a pinch of black pepper, a pinch of red pepper flakes, 2 eggs, 3 tablespoons of flour, 1 pinch of salt. Those are the ingredients."
While Bilbo noted these ingredients with great care, the elves working beside them were also listening intently to this fascinating recipe. Without pause, Igris moved on to the preparation phase and continued speaking.
"Grate the potatoes and the onion, then squeeze them with both hands to drain out the juices. After that, put them into a bowl along with the finely chopped pinch of parsley, the 2 eggs, the 3 tablespoons of flour, the salt, black pepper, and red pepper flakes, and mix it thoroughly. Add the flour little by little as you keep mixing. Then, the batter is ready. Add oil to the pan—not just a little, about 4 or 5 tablespoons—and heat it up well over the fire. Then, using a spoon, drop the mixture into the pan. Not all of it; it will cook in the shape of a spoonful of patty. Once both sides turn a golden orange, place it on a plate, and your Reibekuchen is ready."
Bilbo pulled the tip of his pen from the paper once he finished writing and gave a confirming nod.
"I'm getting to work right away."
As Bilbo wasted no time turning around and walking over to the ingredients counter to carry out his instructions, Igris continued to peel tomatoes in unison with the two elves. While gathering the potatoes and onions from the basket, Bilbo called out behind him, remembering a piece of news.
"By the way, Igris, I heard from the Elves that a merchant caravan will be arriving here in a day or two."
Hearing this new information, Igris raised his eyebrows in surprise and looked at Caelthir next to him, seeking confirmation. The elf nodded in confirmation as he diced a tomato.
"It's true. It's a regular merchant caravan. They visit Rivendell every year."
Igris's eyes lit up. He immediately began calculating the items sitting in his inventory within his mind; this was a fantastic opportunity to convert them into gold or stock up on missing supplies.
"That is good news."
As Igris, visibly delighted by this profitable news, carried on with his task, the silence was broken by Caelthir's gentle voice.
"By the way, Igris."
Igris looked up at the elf with curiosity.
"Yes?"
Caelthir continued, deep gratitude shining in his eyes.
"Thank you for saving Lord Elladan and Lord Elrohir."
Igris fell silent for a moment at this expression of gratitude, unsure of what to say. With his signature demeanor that constantly wavered between modesty and indifference, he shrugged.
"It was nothing major. Besides, those two idiots can take care of themselves."
Though the graceful elves were mildly taken aback by how casually and crudely Igris addressed the twin sons of their high lord, they said nothing. Igris, as if trying to escape this prolonged moment of gratitude, quietly bowed his head and focused entirely on the task at hand. Once again, the kitchen was dominated solely by the chopping of knives and the sizzling of hot oil.