Chapter 17: What Exactly Is That Raven?
Gandalf didn't agree with continuing the search, but he knew Thorin's temper well enough not to argue further. Instead, he said calmly, "Wait a moment. There's something interesting here."
As he spoke, Gandalf took a few steps forward and lifted a dust-covered sword still resting in its scabbard from a wooden barrel. He drew it carefully.
"Trolls couldn't have made a sword like this. Humans neither," he said.
"This is a blade forged by the High Elves in Gondor, during the First Age."
Thorin Oakenshield had just reached out to examine another sword, but the moment he heard that, he snapped his hand back.
Hmph!
An Elven-forged blade—he wouldn't even touch it.
Perched on Bilbo's shoulder, Smaug watched this and suddenly thought of a very fitting phrase:
Emotionally allergic.
"We're leaving," Thorin said curtly, unwilling to linger in a place connected to Elves. He called out to the others.
A few of the Dwarves had just finished burying part of the scattered gold nearby. Hearing Thorin, they hurried to follow him.
Gandalf had no choice but to sigh silently and place the sword back into the barrel.
He already had a blade of his own, and in any case, he rarely needed one. There was no reason to take these.
"Bilbo, let's head out as well," Gandalf said.
Bilbo nodded obediently.
They took only a few steps when Gandalf suddenly nudged something with his foot. He bent down and picked it up—a short sword, still intact and sharp, also Elven-made.
"Bilbo, this dagger suits you," Gandalf said after a moment's thought, handing it over.
Bilbo hesitated. "But… I don't know how to use a sword at all…"
Gandalf smiled gently. "I hope you never have to. Still, take it. Elven blades have another use—if Orcs or Goblins are nearby, it will glow blue."
"That should be helpful to you."
Bilbo knew he was right and didn't argue further. He accepted the blade.
Soon after, Gandalf and Bilbo exited the cave.
Thorin and the others had already moved some distance away, still searching for the remaining troll—the very one currently perched on Bilbo's shoulder.
Gandalf glanced at them but didn't follow. He simply stood where he was, smoking his pipe.
"Aren't we going after them?" Bilbo asked, puzzled.
Gandalf cast a seemingly casual glance at the raven on Bilbo's shoulder, then shook his head and exhaled smoke.
"Let them search. We'll wait here."
Gandalf had a suspicion.
Was there really a fourth troll?
Trolls were pack creatures. It was extremely rare for one to wander alone.
Was it possible that the troll who had stripped Thorin bare… was actually that raven?
Gandalf suspected as much—but one thing didn't add up.
If this raven could change shape so freely, it must possess considerable power. So why go through all this trouble?
To harm Thorin?
Unlikely.
If that were the goal, Thorin wouldn't still be alive.
"How strange," Gandalf murmured inwardly, drawing on his pipe once more.
---
Smaug, being a creature of instinct, possessed senses far keener than most humans.
So yes—he had noticed Gandalf's two seemingly casual glances.
As expected of Gandalf, Smaug thought. He's suspicious—but he hasn't figured out what I am, or what I want. That's why he hasn't acted.
After a brief consideration, Smaug decided on patience.
If the enemy didn't move, neither would he.
He stayed put on Bilbo's shoulder, calmly watching the show.
Time passed.
The sunlight grew brighter. It was likely around nine in the morning.
After searching for some time, Thorin found two more shallow caves—but no sign of the troll. Irritated, he returned.
Gandalf needed only one glance to know Thorin had failed. He didn't provoke him, merely said evenly, "We should continue on."
Thorin said nothing and mounted his horse.
After more than ten hours, the company finally set off again.
However—
They hadn't gone far before they were forced to stop once more.
From the forest ahead came a rapid, urgent noise.
"Something's coming!" Thorin barked immediately. "Stand ready!"
Clang—clang!
Everyone dismounted at once, weapons in hand.
One second. Two seconds—
The sound drew closer!
Moments later, a team of rabbits from Rhosgobel came bursting into view, pulling a cart with the Brown Wizard, Radagast.
Gandalf recognized him instantly and called out, "Lower your weapons! He's a friend—no enemy!"
Bilbo, who had instinctively drawn the Elven dagger, let out a breath of relief.
Smaug looked toward Radagast, considering a question.
Gandalf clearly hadn't realized he was Smaug.
But Radagast… would he?
In raw power, Gandalf surpassed Radagast.
But Radagast was a druid-like wizard, one who had spent countless years among beasts and forests.
Smaug weighed it carefully.
The odds that Radagast would recognize him?
About fifty–fifty.
And Smaug might still win that bet.
After all—
The original Smaug had descended from the North, destroyed Erebor, and then slept beneath the Lonely Mountain ever since. He'd had little contact with the wider world.
And the other dragons of Middle-earth?
They had vanished long, long ago.
Smaug was willing to take the gamble, so he remained perfectly still.
Seeing Radagast genuinely pleased Gandalf.
To Gandalf, this was like being handed a pillow just as drowsiness set in. He had been wanting to understand exactly what the raven on Bilbo's shoulder was—and now Radagast had arrived at precisely the right moment.
"Radagast," Gandalf said with a smile, "what brings you here?"
"I came to find you!" Radagast leapt down from his wooden cart, his face tense. "Something terrible has happened!"
At once, Gandalf's smile vanished.
"Come with me," he said without hesitation.
With that, Gandalf turned and walked away. Radagast hurried after him.
Thorin Oakenshield watched the two wizards leave, his expression complicated, suspicion clearly written in his eyes.
Which was only natural.
After all, a few days earlier the truth had effectively come out—Gandalf had his own purpose in organizing this quest.
Thorin no longer trusted him.
---
After walking some distance and making sure Thorin and the others were well out of earshot, Gandalf finally stopped and asked in a low voice, "What happened?"
Radagast didn't waste words. He described the changes in the Great Greenwood and everything he had discovered in Dol Guldur.
"There's a powerful necromancer there," he said. "He can summon the dead. He brings darkness with him…"
When he finished, Radagast handed Gandalf the sword he had recovered from Dol Guldur.
Gandalf examined it carefully.
Bit by bit, his brow furrowed deeper, his heart growing heavier with each passing moment.
He recognized the blade.
It was a Morgul blade—a weapon forged for the Witch-king of Angmar.
Long, long ago, this sword had been buried together with the Witch-king's remains, deep within the dark-shrouded mountains of Rhudaur.
It should never have seen the light of day again.
What had that necromancer done?
Questions piled up in Gandalf's mind. He fell silent for a long time, only returning to himself when Radagast spoke again.
"Gandalf?" Radagast prompted.
Gandalf blinked. "Leave the sword with me. I'll find a way to deal with it."
"All right," Radagast agreed without hesitation.
Gandalf exhaled a stream of smoke. After a moment's thought, he chose not to ask further questions about Dol Guldur—he could tell Radagast had already told him everything he knew.
"Radagast," Gandalf said at last, "I need your help with something."
He lowered his voice further.
"Did you notice the raven on the hobbit's shoulder?"
"Of course," Radagast replied. "That's no ordinary raven."
Gandalf nodded.
"I'm certain it can change its shape. At first, it appeared as an eagle, pretending to be a messenger sent by the Lady of Light. Last night, it became a raven and has remained so ever since."
He paused briefly, then added, "At one point, it may even have taken the form of a troll."
Gandalf looked directly at Radagast.
"Do you have any way of determining what it truly is?"