Transmigrate to the world of The Lord of the Rings?

[General POV]

The soft glow of the horizon gradually faded, as if its journey was reaching an end, giving way to a magical night. The firmament filled with stars, shining like jewels crafted by the hands of Fëanor. The clear sky spoke of the purity of Middle-earth, free from toxic clouds or artificial lights that might obscure its natural beauty.

On this night, a gathering unseen since the First Age was taking place. There, within a finely adorned tent bearing the bluish and whitish colors of Durin's noble emblem, both men and elves sat side by side.

Across from them stood a group of dwarves guarding two others, one of whom was well known to all: Thorin Oakenshield, who rose with rightful arrogance. He was the King of Erebor and a descendant of Durin. If he so wished, all other dwarves scattered across Middle-earth would march to war for him.

At his side stood another of Durin's descendants: Dáin Ironfoot, a name earned by the countless orcs who fell to his strong leg. It was said that during the Battle of Azanulbizar, he nearly killed Azog's son, Bolg, evidenced by the metal piece now replacing part of Bolg's face.

The children of Eru and Aulë's adopted creations had gathered once more in a single place after so many years. Not only that, but an Istari wizard and a Peredhil were present as well. If any other Istari who had abandoned their mission witnessed this meeting, their hope for Middle-earth might have been rekindled.

"So, the King of Mirkwood and the new King of Dale want an agreement with us?" Dáin said loudly, his tone filled with a touch of cheerful curiosity. Unlike his cousin Thorin and what Aldril remembered, this Dáin was more patient and less arrogant than Thorin.

"He's the most reasonable to negotiate with," Gandalf had said on their way to the meeting. "If anyone can help us with this negotiation, it's him." These were the old wizard's words to Thranduil and Bard, as he tirelessly reminded them during the journey that they must remain united and avoid fighting among themselves, especially with an orc army on the horizon.

"Once, we were closely allied. I see no reason why we shouldn't renew that alliance," Bard said, attempting to use past partnerships as a starting point. His words seemed to resonate, as Dáin nodded in agreement. However, the decision ultimately lay with Thorin, who, with a grim face, looked disdainfully at Bard, as though his mere presence was a favor to the two of them.

"An alliance? Are you worthy of renewing our alliance?" Such arrogance caused both Thranduil and Bard to frown. Thorin noticed their reactions, but did it matter to him? Of course not. "Did you help when Smaug drove us from our home?" he continued, his fury rising as if the memory alone stirred hatred within him.

This time, Bard found a flaw in Thorin's words. It was natural; Thorin's madness clouded his judgment, and everything he said seemed foolish to the rest of those present. Even Dáin glanced at Thorin out of the corner of his eye, almost shaking his head.

"Have you forgotten that Smaug attacked Dale first?" Bard said softly, his hands clasped tightly together. "Don't forget that part of Dale's treasure still lies within Erebor," he added, his words further provoking Thorin's astonishment. "We sought mutual aid, but your grandfather Thrór turned us away, fearing we would steal gold that no longer belonged to him," he concluded with a barely contained sigh. Speaking of his ancestors' past had always weighed on him.

"You lie!" Thorin's façade cracked as he slammed the table dramatically, causing the wine cups to wobble precariously before being steadied by a mysterious force from Gandalf's movement. "Everything you say is a lie! I was there, and we never rejected your aid!" he exclaimed.

"Thorin..." A whisper at his side caught his attention. Balin, the oldest dwarf present, slowly approached. His wisdom and age earned him a place at this meeting, especially as Thorin's right-hand man. "Girion approached your grandfather with hopes of mutual aid, but your grandfather dismissed him as useless and incompetent for failing to slay the dragon. That's why he refused to cooperate," Balin's soft voice was like cold water extinguishing the flames of Thorin's anger.

With a snort, Thorin reined in his fury. A moment of clarity flickered in his eyes, as though questioning himself: What is happening to me? His internal struggle was noticed by Gandalf, who watched with a serious gaze, hoping Thorin would regain his composure and avoid a mistake that could provoke the elves and men.

"Well, now that we've set aside this outburst… let's get to the point of why we're here," Thranduil said calmly, his face lifted with undisguised pride, eager to address the main issue. Time was of the essence.

"I agree with the pretty face. I've been informed that a disgusting orc army is on its way," Dáin spoke this time. What gave him the right to take the lead? The reason was clear: Thorin was not mentally fit to negotiate. Hours earlier, Thorin had regained part of his clarity and confided in Dáin that his grandfather's sickness was eating away at his mind. He was fighting with all his will to recover and had authorized Dáin to take his place should he fail. It was a deeply personal conversation heard only by Dáin and Balin.

"Yes, I'm afraid it's not just the orcs but also the wolf clan," Gandalf, taking advantage of the topic, brought his wisdom to the forefront. "It is essential that we remain united; otherwise, Erebor will fall, and along with it, the surrounding towns."

"Those bastards!" This time, it was Dain who slammed his strong fist against the table. The wooden table would have splintered his hand were it not for its calloused toughness. "Then why are we wasting time on past grievances? Let's start planning," he said, looking at Thorin, who was deep in thought. Feeling Dain's gaze, Thorin turned to meet it and nodded, signaling his consent for Dain to speak on his behalf.

"I agree with you, Dain Ironfoot," said Thranduil with an approving gesture. It was said that Dain was a war expert, so this strategic meeting was his natural element. "I have 2,000 elves ready, with another thousand on their way. We plan to hold the orcs at Dale," he explained calmly while elegantly clasping his fingers together. "We'll draw their attention since fighting in an open field against such overwhelming numbers would be foolish."

"Well, it seems the pretty boy isn't stupid," Dain exclaimed with mockery and malice. It never hurts to taunt the insufferable elves, does it? Though he had to admit that what Thranduil said made a lot of sense.

"We've already reinforced the wall of Dale. It's fortunate that it wasn't burned and still holds its strength after all these years," Bard added. "Also, a thousand of my men are ready to die in its defense," he concluded, prompting a nod from Dain.

"Good. Orcs are stupid. They'll likely concentrate their attack on you, and if they have a commander, we should hurry to kill them. Without a leader, they'll break formation," Dain said, stroking his beard like an elder deep in thought. "If a smaller force besieges us, we can eliminate them quickly and then attack from behind. But the question is, who will take care of the commander leading them?"

"That's where I come in," Aldril now joined the conversation. "Azog is leading them. I have unfinished business with that bastard. The problem will be if the orcs bring trolls with them. Those stupid beasts will be trouble."

"Azog? That bastard is still alive?!" Dain exclaimed in surprise, and who could blame him? He had thought he saw Azog die when Thorin cut off his arm, believing the fountain of blood would seal the goblin-orc's fate.

"Yes, Azog is alive. Aldril nearly killed him when we escaped from the Goblin King's domain," Thorin added with some calm, looking rationally into Aldril's eyes. "Do you think you can kill him?"

"Of course I can. I've slain a dragon—do you think an orc will be a problem for me?" Aldril's boast made Thorin smile. Lowering his head, he nodded, then raised his face with clarity and resolve in his eyes.

"It won't be necessary. I will face him personally. I have unfinished business with him," Thorin said, causing Dain to frown and look at him incredulously.

"That's madness, Thorin. I can't let you do it," Dain replied, shaking his head.

"Don't worry; I won't be alone," Thorin interrupted Dain's protest with a gesture of his hand, prompting him to look behind. "Balin and my companions from the expedition will be with me. As for the trolls…"

"Aldril and I, along with a group, will focus on them," said a voice behind Thranduil. A silver-blonde strand of hair glowed in the candlelight as Legolas intervened. Standing behind his father, he glanced briefly at Aldril, who was beside Gandalf.

"That sounds good to me," Aldril said, while Gandalf nodded in agreement.

"I'll delay them with a bit of magic. We must be swift in eliminating this threat," Gandalf added.

"In that case," Dain said, slamming his fist on the table as he stood. "Let's prepare. The orcs will probably arrive tomorrow morning, but we must remain alert to any anomalies."

-Mirkwood-

In haste, a scout elf ran through the forest of Mirkwood. Not long ago, he had entered elven territory, far from the evil that plagued the woods. The vibrant trees and branches formed a natural barrier dividing the thriving side from the one tainted by dark magic.

It didn't take long for guards to spot him. Upon learning of the situation, they let him pass quickly while readying themselves for what was to come.

The scout rushed past the slopes where refugees had set up camp, waiting for their husbands, brothers, and sons. On the higher grounds, where many elves carried food and clean clothing, the elven queen of Mirkwood, Thalwen, closely inspected the preparations. Her immense kindness resonated with nature itself, attentive to every need of the women and children there.

"My lady," the elf said, arriving at her side and bowing slightly, his breath uneven. "I bring urgent news," he announced, prompting Thalwen to look at him with a penetrating gaze that signaled him to speak.

"An army of orcs is moving along the slope. It's likely they'll arrive by morning."

Thalwen's delicate face tensed into a frown as countless plans raced through her mind at the news. "Are they planning to flank my beloved or attack us?" she murmured, pondering countless possibilities during the few moments she remained silent.

"Seek Tauriel and prepare the traps!" she ordered with all the majesty of a queen. "Those dark creatures intend to flank us. Hurry!" With that said, the scout didn't waste time and left to find Captain Tauriel.

The surrounding elves, hearing Thalwen's orders, froze momentarily, awaiting further instructions from their queen. "The orcs are coming, prepare to fight!" she declared.

***

Filthy orcs! Sorry for the delay 

15 advance chapters in "[email protected]/Mrnevercry"