Transmigrate to the world of The Lord of the Rings?

-General-

The sky darkened; stars, hidden behind gray clouds, disappeared. Only lightning, accompanying the roar of thunder, intermittently illuminated the surroundings of the port of Rhûn. A light rain began to fall, but the dark stain covering the sky announced that its intensity would soon increase.

From atop the watchtower, Raizan observed the dense, moving shadows in the distance. A line of winding torches silhouetted against the rain announced that what he feared most was about to happen.

"Give the signal. Let everyone prepare."

A simple order, charged with blood-curdling significance, was enough to make the guard turn pale. Not long ago, the orcs had ravaged the coastal villages. Many refugees had fled to the port city, seeking protection behind its walls. It was speculated that the invaders would take at least a week to arrive.

How wrong they were…

The guard, urgency tightening his throat, lit the bonfire. The fire instantly soared. The wet wood only fueled the flame: it was made of a special type, prepared for situations like this.

The night watchmen, seeing the signal, hurried up to the bell tower. Urgency pursued them; if that bonfire was lit, it was a clear indicator that the orcs had arrived. Their breathing grew more ragged with each step they climbed, their footsteps echoed in the night, the creaking of the wood only fueled their urgency. Once they reached the top, they had an extended view beyond the port walls, and there they saw them: black smudges, moving in time with the rain, torches winding through the nearby hills.

For an instant, terror paralyzed them. The scene chilled them. Their scalps prickled, and their legs trembled.

"Hurry! Hurry!" one of them shouted, breaking the spell of fear.

He was afraid, like the others, but they couldn't afford to remain stunned for another second. At this moment, they couldn't waste any more time. Swallowing his panic, he stepped forward and urged the other two to hurry.

Upon reaching the highest point, they didn't lose a second. Quickly, all three pulled the rope. For some reason, it felt extremely heavy. Raindrops lashed their faces; the wet tile, combined with nervousness, made them slip as they pulled. They barely managed to move it... but that was enough.

The anvil of fear rose, and the clapper struck the bronze. The thunderous sound of the bell spread throughout the city.

"Quick, to your posts!"

"Move!"

That sound was like lightning, waking the entire city. Sleeping guards jumped from their beds. The bell only rang when great danger approached. On the walls, watchmen urged the newcomers.

The roar of armor intertwined with the splashing of puddles that began to cover the streets. Residents ran, half-dressed, towards the refuge at the back of the city, guided by armed soldiers.

"Hurry! Women and children to the refuge! Women and children!"

The men—adolescents, adults, even elders—said goodbye to their families.

Although there was a considerable number of guards, they weren't enough to protect the entire city. But, unlike what would happen in the future at Helm's Deep, here there would be no men afraid of orcs, no children who didn't know how to wield a sword. In Rhûn, everyone knew how to fight. Their culture was different: at six years old, a child was already considered fit to learn to fight, and at fifteen, they had to join the army, without exception. That tradition had forged a generation of disciplined warriors, hard as stone.

This strength, however, was a double-edged sword. For the peoples subjugated by Sauron, the Westerners were nothing more than an offering: flesh to feed the war of their dark master. But for those like Raizan, they were the key to surprising those subjugated by Sauron, who were attacked from within the army.

There were always those who opposed being subjugated but dared not express it openly. Their minds had not yet been washed by the doctrine that preached blind obedience to Sauron, which is why most of the rebels were young men.

Therefore, Raizan's arrival was like a crack in a dam: it opened a path through which the repression contained for years exploded with force. His mere presence unleashed a tide of rebellions in the western cities of Rhûn, igniting the flame that many kept hidden.

....

The refugee dwarves who joined the cause also immediately sprang into action. They quickly formed a separate group; they fared better among their own kind, and Raizan, wise in his leadership, granted them that freedom.

Led by the dwarf Thruin, they took charge of protecting the port. From there, in the distance, over the raging waters, torches flickered, slowly approaching. The orcs, far from being as stupid as many believed, had devised a two-front assault: sea and land.

On the walls, Raizan moved with agility, directing his young warriors to strategic positions. He ordered the opening of the armory, ensuring that armor and swords were quickly distributed among the young and old who joined the defense. Their determination to defend their city earned them the respect of many, including the dwarves, as about two hundred city inhabitants joined them.

"Have you ever wielded a sword, lad?" a dwarf inquired of a young city man nearby.

"Since I was six, my lord," the young man replied courteously.

The dwarf nodded in approval. 'Very well-mannered for his age,' he thought. Coexistence with the city's inhabitants had eradicated any vestiges of racial discrimination, adding to this that they were now fighting for the same cause.

"Well, well," the dwarf said. "Tonight, your sword skill could decide if you live or die."

"I know," the young man affirmed, his eyes fixed on the flickering torches of the ships approaching from the sea. "But I wouldn't hesitate to die if it means protecting my mother and sister."

"That's the attitude of a true man, lad!"

The dwarf gave him an encouraging pat on the back. For the dwarves, bravery and sacrifice for their own were the only credentials that mattered.

"It will be an honor to fight by your side, lad," the dwarf said. His curly hair clung to his face, soaked by rain that had increased, like an omen of what was imminent.

...

On the other side, the orcs marched in an orderly fashion, a quality only present when they had someone to command them; their armor resonated with the splashing of mud and the striking of raindrops against their armor.

The orc leader jumped onto a high stone and, with a guttural roar, pointed towards the distant city.

The inferno of fire, death, and blood was approaching the rebels' last stronghold.

**

Filthy orcs! remember to support me in "[email protected]/Mrnevercry" you will find advanced chapters, as well as the new fics I'm working on.