Battle and persuasion

Having decided to kill the three Trolls, the company wasted no time and approached the cave entrance.

The members of the expedition prepared no traps or anything of the sort. They had too little time, and they could not make too much noise without putting the three creatures inside on their guard.

Even the fire attacks Allen particularly favored were out of the question. For one thing, deadwood littered this forest, and if they started a forest fire, they would have no way to contain it.

For another, Allen doubted that smoke and flames could inflict instantly fatal damage on the Trolls. If all three went berserk instead, it would be far too dangerous.

So they simply hastily assembled a pile of wood a short distance from the cave entrance, enough to provide light during the fight.

As they waited, darkness soon fell completely. Knowing the Trolls would wake soon, the members of the expedition tightened their grips on their weapons, concealed themselves, and prepared for battle.

The Hobbit, who lacked fighting ability, watched the horses from a distance, lest the noise of battle frighten the lovely animals into running away.

Allen was not worried about the outcome at all. Besides having himself as an archer, the company included the Wizard Gandalf, Thorin Oakenshield, and his Dwarves companions, all of whom gave him considerable confidence.

Dwarves were a race that produced warriors in abundance. They might have been short, generally around a meter and a half tall, but they were powerful, had exceptional stamina, and moved nimbly enough in close quarters. Most importantly, they could take a beating, and their loyalty and morale matched that toughness.

Their performance on the battlefield was far beyond what ordinary human warriors could match.

Besides, the three Rock Trolls had shown such pathetic fighting ability in the film that Allen considered them stupid, clumsy, and hardly a threat.

Soon, the sky had gone completely dark. Twinkling stars appeared overhead, and the softly glowing moon quietly climbed into the sky.

Meanwhile, the Troll cave gradually grew lively, and a shrill voice carried out from within.

"William, what are we eating today? Mutton again? I'm sick of it. Can't we have something different today? I want fresh, juicy meat."

A loud, commanding voice answered him.

"Shut up, Tom. You should be grateful you've got sheep to eat. What you ought to say is, 'Thank you, William. Thank you for finding us food every day.'"

Then came a thump, and the voice continued.

"Not complain every day that this tastes bad and that tastes bad. If you're so capable, go get some yourself."

A muffled voice followed.

"Enough. At least we've got something to eat. Mutton's not bad. It's better than that scrawny farmer last time, anyway. He had nothing on him but bones."

The voices presumably belonged to Tom, William, and Bert, who lived in the Troll forest.

Clearly, the three had noticed nothing unusual and were still fretting over the evening's menu. They had sheep to eat every day, yet still found reason to complain.

Soon, however, they would no longer have to worry about what to eat, because Allen would not let them survive the night.

The Trolls' bickering drew closer and closer to the entrance, until a round head appeared in the opening.

Perhaps the three Trolls had simply grown far too comfortable with their pleasant little lives in this forest.

Or perhaps their brains simply had no room for anything besides food.

They noticed nothing amiss as they emerged from the cave. They did not even pay any attention to the pile of wood nearby.

Just then, a brilliant White Light burst before the three Trolls' eyes. It was a spell Gandalf had spent a long time preparing.

The White Light not only blinded the three Trolls, but the power within it also stunned them at the cave entrance.

The White Light had no harmful effect on humans or Dwarves. Allen seized his chance and, the instant it descended, shot an arrow into the head of the rearmost Troll.

The stricken Troll roared in pain, staggered back two steps, and tumbled into the cave again with Allen's arrow still lodged in his head.

At that moment, Glóin threw a burning torch. It landed squarely in the woodpile, igniting the oil poured over the branches and driving back the surrounding darkness.

The other Dwarves rushed out of their hiding places, swinging their weapons with all their strength and battering the two stunned Trolls.

Allen stood on a large boulder with his rune bow fully drawn, watching the battle closely for an opportunity to seriously wound a Troll.

By then, the Trolls had recovered. They swung their thick arms at the Dwarves while keeping an eye on Allen's position.

Whenever they sensed danger, they blocked with their thick arms. They had already stopped several of Allen's arrows this way.

Even with arrows piercing straight through their thick arms, their attacks on the Dwarves remained unhindered, every blow as heavy and powerful as before.

Despite being surrounded by Dwarves, the Trolls even found time to snatch up whatever lay nearby and hurl it at Allen, forcing him to leap off the boulder.

After all, Allen did not have a Dwarves' constitution. A single hit might tear his tendons or break his bones.

In mere moments, what had been a one-sided beating by the Dwarves became a brutal exchange between Dwarves and Trolls.

Trolls were enormous creatures, with thick, tough hides and dark green scales covering parts of their bodies.

And these three had eaten extremely well here, growing fat and strong, which made them far too capable of taking punishment.

Allen suspected that these creatures also had exceptionally dull pain responses, allowing them to recover quickly even under sustained attacks.

With no other choice, Allen kept shifting between concealed positions, hiding himself and quietly observing the battle as he continued searching for a chance to deliver a fatal blow.

Soon, that chance presented itself. One Troll raised a wooden club he had picked up, preparing to strike Dwalin nearby. His lifted face revealed a cruel gleam in his eyes, while his enormous nostrils pointed straight at Allen.

Clearly, these dim-witted creatures had already forgotten the threat Allen posed in that brief span of time.

Allen certainly would not let the opportunity slip. Always ready, he loosed an arrow at the Troll's nostril the moment his head rose. Driven by the rune bow's tremendous force, the arrow buried itself deep inside, from tip to tail.

That blow halted every movement the Troll was making. He dropped his club, clapped both hands over his nose, and let out a pained whimper.

Dwalin, who had been preparing to attack the Troll from nearby, keenly seized the opening.

He raised his axe-hammer and hacked viciously into the Troll's foot.

The blow sheared off half the Troll's foot, and the injury sent him crashing onto his backside.

Thorin Oakenshield, who had been waiting for his chance, swiftly moved behind the Troll and drove his longsword deep into his head through a gap in his skull, ending his wicked life.

Meanwhile, to Allen's astonishment, the Troll who had tumbled into the cave earlier groggily crawled back out.

The Noldor Rune Arrows that had struck him still wobbled in his head.

Allen could not imagine how the creature was still alive. Was his brain unusually small?

Whatever the reason, Allen took aim at him again.

The Troll stood at the cave entrance, his enormous eyes wide and his face contorted, preparing to move forward and help his companion.

A Noldor Rune Arrows streaked through the air toward his eye like lightning, growing rapidly in his pupil before plunging deep inside.

After taking that fatal hit, the Troll howled in agony and tumbled back into the cave once more.

Only one Troll remained on the battlefield now. Though he resisted desperately, charging and swinging, he was merely a cornered beast. Before long, he fell under the humans' and Dwarves' successive attacks.

The battle was finally over.

After that came the enjoyable business of collecting loot. Despite their intense hunger for wealth, the Dwarves remained fairly cautious.

They pulled torches from the fire and tossed them into the pitch-black cave.

The flames illuminated not only the motionless Troll lying on the ground but also the gold coins around him, making them glitter. Their light reflected off the cave's stone walls, an especially enticing sight.

Amid waves of cheers, the Dwarves rushed into the cave and happily packed gold, silver, and treasures into chests by firelight.

Allen paid no attention to the ordinary treasure. Instead, he carried a torch and searched throughout the cave until he found the Beast-Biter, Orcrist.

Gandalf, following close behind, unearthed his future soulmate, Glamdring, otherwise known as the Foe-Hammer.

From that point on, this two-handed sword launched his reputation as the "berserker of Middle-earth."

Thorin, who arrived last, found no other superior weapon. In truth, he was not particularly disappointed. The Dwarves Prince's prejudice against Elves left him uninterested in most Elven possessions.

Allen had already drawn the famous Elven longsword and was admiring its inscriptions in the firelight.

After examining it for a short while, he drew his own Noldor rune sword to compare them.

Allen had actually begun considering long ago whether he could bring rune magic from the Pendor Continent to Middle-earth.

But most magic related to forging weapons and equipment belonged to the Noldor Elves. These were their people's secrets, and Allen could not casually pry into them.

He intended to discuss the subject with Lady Galadriel or Lord Elrond once he obtained the methods for crafting rune equipment.

He wanted to see whether the two could be combined to improve his army's fighting strength while also helping the Elves of this world. It would accomplish several things at once.

Once he finished comparing them, Allen tossed the Beast-Biter to Thorin Oakenshield. The gesture greatly surprised the Dwarves Prince, who did not understand why Allen had done it.

"Keep it and use it," Allen said. "The Elves forged this weapon in the First Age. Few of those remain in the world, and this sword should be among the finest. I'm not quite sure where it came from, but I can confirm that with Lord Elrond when I go to Rivendell."

Thorin Oakenshield, who had drawn the Beast-Biter to admire it, stopped at Allen's words.

He looked at Allen expressionlessly and said, "I never said I would go to Rivendell. I've repeated myself far too many times already. I want nothing to do with the Elves, and they will not help us."

Allen nodded to show that he knew. He did not need to guess what Thorin would say next. He had heard it far too often along the way.

He looked helplessly at Thorin Oakenshield, deeply frustrated. His displeasure had even begun to show on his face.

"I don't want to hear about those matters between Dwarves and Elves," Allen said unhappily. "I know far more than you can imagine."

"Ah..."

Allen sighed deeply and continued trying to persuade the Dwarves before him.

"Thorin, I think you don't need to go this time. You can simply find somewhere outside Rivendell to camp and wait for me. Lord Elrond once invited me there, and I think this is an opportunity."

At this point, Thorin Oakenshield was having a little trouble following Allen's train of thought.

Allen paid no heed to what the Dwarves Prince was thinking and continued with his suggestion.

"You've seen the map too. Lord Elrond needs to decipher the information on it, so going to Rivendell is essential. If you trust me, you can give me the map, and I'll ask Lord Elrond to translate it for you."

As he said this, Gandalf approached the two of them, leaning on his staff.

Allen did not stop speaking, though his tone grew increasingly unpleasant.

"If you don't trust me, then Gandalf and I will have to talk ourselves hoarse trying to persuade Lord Elrond to come out and meet you. Either way, we need to show him that map to obtain all the information. Or do you have some other solution? If you do, say it now."

Thorin Oakenshield now understood what Allen meant. In truth, he had no alternative.

But the Dwarves Prince said nothing. He simply stared at the human before him with an increasingly dark expression.

Allen felt helpless as he looked at Thorin Oakenshield's face. He had prepared himself for Dwarves stubbornness, but clearly not enough.

Suppressing his irritation, he continued, "I only hope you'll give more thought to this expedition. I don't need you to enter Rivendell. If you trust Gandalf and me, you won't even need to show your face, and we can settle this easily."

Allen's words came faster and faster.

"Think it over carefully, Thorin. Who knows how many Warg Riders are searching for us out there right now? They've even determined our approximate location. It's only a matter of time before they come after us. You're the one they're hunting, not Gandalf or me, and not the Dwarves who answered your summons and believe you can lead them to reclaim their home."

"Give it some more thought, grandson of Thrór, future King of the Lonely Mountain. You can't even understand the information on the map, yet you're recklessly heading for the Lonely Mountain. Without that information, the key in your hand is just scrap metal. If you can't find the door, how will you enter your former home?"

"You can give me your answer tomorrow morning. If you say no, then I think this expedition clearly has no hope of success. We might as well disband here, take this gold and silver, and all go home. And you, Thorin Oakenshield, would not be worth my leaving thousands of subjects behind and traveling such a great distance to help. Think it over carefully, Thorin."

Thorin Oakenshield fell into thought under Allen's lengthy speech. Among Dwarves, he was relatively willing to listen to advice.

Allen gave Thorin Oakenshield no chance to argue, either.

Under Gandalf's mildly surprised gaze, the human ranger turned and left the cave to retrieve the still-usable Noldor rune arrows from the Trolls' corpses.

When they had first set out, Thorin Oakenshield and Allen's relationship had been neither good nor bad. The wager had even left them somewhat at odds.

Only later in the journey did Thorin Oakenshield learn during a casual conversation that Allen and Dáin were friends.

That became the turning point, and their relationship gradually began developing in a positive direction.

Moreover, Allen was genuinely highly capable and had contributed a great deal to the expedition. Thorin Oakenshield had seen it for himself, particularly in the battle just now.

That had made the Dwarves Prince regard Allen more and more favorably.

Now, Allen's lengthy speech had left the Dwarves Prince not only angry but deep in thought.

At that moment, however, Gandalf unearthed a short Elven blade from the ground, one that looked rather like a dagger.