Transmigrate to the world of The Lord of the Rings?

[General POV]

-Aldril-

It was already morning, the soft jingling of footsteps and voices weighed on the air, preventing tranquility from returning. With slightly drowsy eyes, he woke up; once again, he had been guided by Malenia in his dream. It was a blessing not to wake up in pain due to the intense training.

"Good morning," an old, energetic voice called out from the other side. Still half-asleep, he looked at his dear friend Gandalf, who, like him, was recovering from a night of restful sleep.

"Good morning," he said as he got up and splashed water on his face from the basin in the corner of his temporary home. "Today will be a busy day," he continued, inhaling and exhaling the fresh morning air.

With a grunt, Gandalf stood up, his hands, weathered by many winters, shaking out his gray robe. "Yes, we must prepare in advance for what is coming," he said, placing his hands on his hips and allowing himself to stretch. "I will go with King Thranduil; we'll meet there," he said before leaving.

Aldril nodded; he would join Bard and Thranduil after breakfast. It was early, and he had woken up very hungry, having not eaten since his arrival in Erebor.

---

A few hours had passed since the bright, spring-like light of the sun had shown its splendor. Aldril, clean after a bath, walked in slightly tattered clothes, with only his mother's coat, intact and unscathed, giving him an air of elegance. He walked toward King Thranduil's tent, having recently saddled Shadowstar for the journey to Erebor.

Inside the tent, he was surrounded by the gazes of Gandalf, Bard, and Thranduil, who were discussing strategy. When they saw him, they resumed their urgent conversation.

"We will place five hundred men on this high ground. My elves will be able to massacre those beasts," Thranduil said, drawing on an improvised map of the valley with a piece of charcoal. "Orcs are stupid by nature; they don't have good military organization," he continued. "The problem will be if their numbers overwhelm us."

"How many do you estimate will come?" Bard asked, his face creased with worry as he pulled his gaze away from the map and focused on Gandalf, who rested his chin in his hand and allowed himself to delve into thought.

A tense silence grew, waiting for the old wizard's response. "Approximately 30,000," he finally answered after much thought. The number made Bard and Thranduil's faces pale with disbelief.

"30,000!" Bard exclaimed. "That's too many for us! Orcs may not be good in battle, but their numbers will overwhelm us!" He passed his trembling hand over his sweaty forehead.

"We are only three thousand at most, with my men," Thranduil, the wise king, kept his composure, thinking of how they could solve this problem, but his calm facade was betrayed by the hand tightly gripping the back of the table. "We will need more spears and swords." After a moment, he fixed his gaze on the silent Aldril. "It's important to have the dwarves' help."

"I will go speak with Thorin. It's likely that his cousin Dáin, with a dwarf army, is not far from arriving." With a suppressed sigh, he let out the weight building within him. "I fear there will not only be 30,000," he said, to the dismay of those present.

"What do you mean?" Gandalf was the first to speak, a bad premonition spreading through him like a sickness.

"I killed Bolg," Aldril continued. "Before killing him, he mentioned that the wargs would come for me." He paused and looked into the eyes of the wise, old Gandalf. "I thought it was just talk, but now that I think more clearly…"

"The clan of the Warg wolves will come too!" Thranduil quickly put the pieces together, and this time he couldn't maintain his facade. With great anguish, he exclaimed, "If the Wargs join, we won't be able to do much!"

"We need more help, Gandalf," Aldril said, fixing his gaze on the thoughtful wizard, who nodded from time to time.

"Yes, the clan of the eagles patrols the surrounding hills. I will ask for their help." With that, he shot out of the elf king's tent like a lightning bolt, his figure fading as the tent curtains fell. Only he knew how he would contact such mythical creatures.

As he left the tent, Aldril took a deep breath, allowing the cold morning air to ease the crushing weight in his chest. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to silence the worries that had accumulated during the tense meeting. A war was underway, as inevitable as the dawn breaking on the horizon. Without wasting any more time, he set off to find his faithful companion.

Shadowstar waited silently. His imposing dark figure seemed to blend with the shadows still clinging to the landscape. His eyes, bright as embers ignited under the soft morning light, reflected remarkable intelligence.

"It's time, Shadowstar," Aldril murmured as he stroked the horse's neck. "A stubborn dwarf is waiting for us." With a swift movement, he mounted his companion and gave a gentle nudge with his legs. Shadowstar needed no more: he took off with supernatural speed, his hooves barely brushing the ground as he raced forward.

The soldiers barely caught a glimpse of a fleeting shadow gliding like lightning through the morning twilight. "It's as if darkness itself is moving," one of them murmured, awestruck. And no wonder: this noble steed, with his majesty and strength, surpassed any other of his kind.

Galloping in the morning light, Aldril took in the emerging landscape around him. The soft vegetation growing full of life was a clear sign that the evil lurking around him no longer existed, as if Yavanna herself had come to Middle-earth. The vegetation grew before his eyes, small flowers guiding a path toward the entrance of Erebor.

There, with his keen hawk-like vision, small figures moved hurriedly at the top of the entrance, one that not long ago had been destroyed by Smaug. Now, it was covered by broken stones, passable with an army and a battering ram.

It did not take long for him to reach the base of the mountain, where the great doors of the dwarven kingdom stood tall and magnificent. At the top, small figures of dwarves shouted and danced with unrestrained joy. "Aldril!" Nori shouted with great happiness.

"You bastard, you worried us so much!" Bofur added, with tiny crystalline tears swirling in his eyes, and how could they not be joyful? Aldril was a key part of their group; he was one of the ones with whom he most enjoyed chatting, along with Bombur and Bilbo.

"Aldril?!" an exclamation came from behind the dwarves. "Where is that bastard? I'm going to kill him!" A furious Glóin, with a hint of joy in his eyes, appeared. He looked at the smiling Aldril, and a great weight in his chest dissipated. The emotion was so strong that his eyes blurred with tears that longed to fall. "You lucky bastard!" he shouted to the wind with sheer joy.

"Aldril!" Next to him, an energetic Bilbo jumped with his small feet. "I'm so glad to see you!" Their little hobbit would jump down if he could, just to prove he was safe. They had heard from Dwalin, Kili, and Fili that he was safe, but nothing was better than seeing it for themselves.

"I'm so glad to see you all again," Aldril said, responding to the dwarves' cheers. A warm feeling of camaraderie filled him; these were his first friends in this inhospitable land, where Gandalf's encounter had saved him from the loneliness he had grown up with.

The moment of joy was interrupted by a deep voice that reverberated in the hearts of the dwarves, dampening any joyous feelings that had taken hold.

"What is happening?" The soft yet stern voice of Thorin was heard. Aldril looked up and saw a dwarf with a crown, a gesture of his royal status, peering down with an expression of unconcealed displeasure.

"What brings you before me, King Under the Mountain?" Thorin said with immense arrogance, each word dripping with it.

"Thorin, I have come to negotiate."

***

Filthy orcs! here you have your chapter, if you have any recommendation do not hesitate to tell me.

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