Middle Earth Gamer

The Road to Mirkwood

Taranis had spent a quarter of a century in the Shire—twenty-five years since his arrival in this peaceful corner of Middle-earth. The early days had been filled with confusion, uncertainty, and a sense of being out of place. But time, as it always does, had a way of healing. He had grown into the life he had found here, building relationships, earning the respect of the hobbits, and finding a sense of belonging. Yet, over the years, a part of him had always longed for more—the adventure, the challenges, the battles he had left behind in favor of the tranquil life of the Shire.

The loss of his right arm at the hands of the Nazgûl was a turning point. For the first year, he had been bedridden, slipping in and out of consciousness, feeling as though his purpose had been torn from him. Then the system, his guide, his crutch, had failed him completely, leaving him in an even deeper state of uncertainty. But the years that followed had been a different story. He had spent them pushing himself, working tirelessly to rebuild his skills with his left hand.

At first, it had been frustrating. His sword felt unwieldy, his movements stiff and awkward. But Taranis was nothing if not determined. Every day, he trained. His swordsmanship, once reliant on the advantages the system had granted him, became entirely his own. He could feel the progress in every swing, every parry, every block. Slowly, but surely, the left hand that had once seemed so weak and clumsy grew stronger, faster, and more precise.

Without the system's help, he had learned to rely entirely on his own abilities—his skill, his wits, and his newfound inner strength. The absence of magic or abilities had forced him to become something he hadn't been before: a true warrior, in body and mind.

Now, after ten years of relentless training, Taranis could look at his reflection and see the transformation. He no longer felt the emptiness that had come with losing the system. Instead, he felt a quiet pride in his abilities—his strength and skill were no longer artificial; they were real. And yet, the longing for adventure had never gone away.

It had been a year since Gandalf had left the Shire, six months since he had received word that Aredhel was still in Mirkwood. Her absence had haunted him for years, and the thought of seeing her again drove him forward.

Taranis stood in front of Bilbo's home, the place he had come to love as his own. He looked around at the quiet hills and the distant horizon. The Shire had been a refuge, a place of peace, but it had also kept him from the world that needed him.

With a deep breath, he gathered his gear. The Mithril chainmail, the dwarven pauldrons and bracers, the Mithril shield, and his sword, Anguirel, which he had carefully kept in good condition over the years. His hand rested on the familiar hilt of the sword that had seen him through so much. The weight of it now felt balanced, perfect—an extension of his body, even with his left hand.

Taranis (quietly to himself): "It's time to move on."

Bilbo had, as always, been a source of wisdom and comfort, but even the hobbit understood that Taranis's journey was far from over. The world beyond the Shire needed him, and he could no longer ignore that call.

As he prepared to leave, the familiar figures of Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin approached, their faces etched with the bittersweet knowledge of his departure. They had become his family over the years, and though he had made peace with the decision, it was still hard to part from them.

Frodo (softly): "You'll always have a place here, Taranis. The road goes on, but you can always come back."

Taranis (smiling faintly): "I know, Frodo. But my place is out there now. I have to go, to see Aredhel and to return something I promised."

Sam (grinning): "Don't go getting yourself into trouble, now. There's no telling what adventures you'll find, and we won't be there to watch your back."

Taranis (chuckling): "I think I'll manage, Sam. I've learned a few things these last few years."

With that, Taranis mounted his horse, adjusted his shield, and gave one last look at the peaceful land of the Shire. The road to Mirkwood stretched out before him, calling him forward, and though it would be a long journey, he was no longer the man who had first arrived here. He was stronger now, more sure of himself—and he knew that he could face whatever lay ahead.