The early summer breeze tugged at the hems of the forest's skirts, while cold, gleaming poleaxes shimmered in the sunlight. And yet, this northern army had halted just before the gates of Rivendell.
"We're here already?" Rynar asked in surprise. He hadn't expected to return to this place so soon after winter had passed. But this time, his status was leagues above what it used to be. Back then, he'd been just a mercenary captain. Now? He was the ruler of a city-state, commanding a mighty army!
"What is your purpose here?" An elven cavalryman rode up with a unit behind him, stopping in front of Rynar and his companions.
Rynar squinted—well, look who it was! Lindh! That elf attendant he once took prisoner.
"It's you! What are you doing back here? Wasn't Erebor already reclaimed? Why return?" Lindh was visibly agitated, drawing his curved Elven blade as he fixed a wary gaze on Rynar.
"Uh, pretty sure where I go is none of your business… And I'm here as a guest this time. I bring goodwill and gifts!" Rynar replied with a nod, completely ignoring Lindh's tension.
"We'd like to request an audience with Lord Elrond—and maybe let our troops rest a bit inside?" Rynar gestured at the army behind him.
Lindh looked at the mass of soldiers, utterly stunned. Did this human really just ask to rest inside the city with a thousand-strong heavy-armored force? Who in their right mind would allow that?
"I'm sorry, Lord Elrond isn't in. Please, go back," Lindh said immediately, his face practically spelling out Not a chance in Mordor.
"Hey?" Rynar blinked. He could see Elrond's royal banner flying over the city. In Middle-earth, a king's banner only flies where the king himself is present—after all, they'd never heard of a strategist named Sun Tzu to teach them about deception.
"Hold on," Caslow held Rynar back with a subtle shake of his head.
"Omsk." Caslow raised his chin slightly toward Omsk, who immediately flashed a knowing smirk.
Boom!
A blazing aura of war energy erupted. Behind Omsk, a towering knight on a warhorse appeared—armored to the teeth, holding a gleaming lance. Fiery strands of battle aura coiled around a radiant heraldic sigil that rose behind him, its oppressive presence undeniable.
"A visible heraldic projection… that's a sign of a sixth-tier warrior," Caslow whispered to Rynar with a grin.
"Well, good luck to Elrond ignoring this. A sixth-tier openly revealing his presence in your own territory? There's no way he won't show. Isn't this a super-efficient way to request an audience?" Caslow grinned, face full of smug glee.
"You call this visiting?" Rynar nodded blankly. Did Sauron declare war with this much attitude? Hard to say.
"Your Highness… are we absolutely sure we're here to reclaim Moria and not… accidentally declare war on Rivendell?" Balin's eyes were filled with doubt. Was Rynar planning something shady against the Elves? Was he dragging him into it? The dwarves really couldn't afford another war with the elves right now. A thousand tragic scenarios flashed through Balin's mind.
"Relax…" Rynar said stiffly, trying to reassure him. As for what Elrond was actually thinking, he had no idea.
"You… you… what are you all trying to do?" Lindh stammered in terror. Had they really decided to abandon persuasion and go straight to an assault?
Clap!
A firm, warm hand landed on Lindh's shoulder. A wave of calming energy flowed through him. He didn't need to turn around—he knew whose hand that was.
"What brings you here? I remember you, the child with the strange banner," came Elrond's deep and measured voice.
"What's he saying? Is he insulting me? Should we insult him back?" Rynar whispered to Caslow. After all, not understanding ancient Elvish wasn't his fault.
"Greetings, mighty Lord Elrond of Rivendell," Omsk spoke smoothly, "On behalf of our master, I offer you our highest respect and blessings. Here—our gifts to you."
As he spoke, he presented the carefully prepared gifts they had brought with them.
"I accept your friendship," Elrond replied, his voice gracious. "But why are you traveling with dwarves? Your army has the strength to alter the course of events in this land. May I ask… why?"
He accepted the gift box with both hands, sensing the power of the white gemstone inside. The sincerity in their eyes caught his interest.
"Khazad-dûm!" Balin couldn't hold back any longer and stepped forward.
"We wish to reclaim our lost home—Moria!" His beard quivered with emotion as he declared this. His eyes burned with unwavering determination.
"Oh!" Elrond raised his brows. He hadn't expected such bold ambition from the dwarves. Erebor had only just been reclaimed, and now they were already launching a campaign to retake Moria? He couldn't help but wonder—had Thorin even warmed the throne seat yet? So inflated, these dwarves!
"Sir, is it truly good manners to leave guests standing at the gates?" Caslow's voice rang out, cloaked in draconic majesty. The pressure of his presence made every mount nearby shy away—even Elrond's moon-deer stepped back.
"We've spent great effort crossing the Misty Mountains. We only ask for a safe place to rest. We are willing to pay," Rynar added.
"My apologies. Please, come in. I shall arrange clean lodging and food for your people," Elrond finally said with a slight bow, extending a hand in invitation.
"Thank you, Lord Elrond. Your generosity spares us from wind and rain," Balin replied gratefully.
"Now then, back to my question—can you explain further?" Elrond asked curiously. Dwarves with a new home typically wouldn't stir up such trouble. The North was already in chaos after the Battle of Five Armies. If not for the Misty Mountains' natural barrier, Rivendell might have already been dragged into the mess.
"The war at Erebor dealt the orcs a heavy blow. For now, they won't have the strength to defend Moria. This is our chance," Balin explained, secretly wondering if he could talk Elrond into lending a hand.
"By the gods! Have you lost your minds? The evil lurking deep in Moria isn't something one hero and a dragon knight can handle!" Elrond frowned.
"What if we had two dragons?" Rynar grinned, pulling out a blue fluffball from his coat. The little dragon had just woken from a nap and was in a mood—immediately clawing at Rynar in a sleepy rage.
"Oh, heavens! An elven dragon?! Where did you even find her?" Elrond gasped.
"I have… a humble request…" Elrond began.
"Apologies, Lord Elrond," Rynar interrupted. "But I cannot agree. This dragon is not a mere asset. She is family."
Despite the little beast's constant threats to kill him, they'd all grown fond of her. When Dylan released her seal, it had been so she could stay close and protect Rynar—since the man did have a tendency to flirt with death.