Transmigrate to the world of The Lord of the Rings?

[General POV]

"Negotiate, you say? What gives you the right to come and negotiate with me?" Madness had entirely consumed Thorin's rationality. This was no longer the dwarf Aldril had traveled with. His arrogant, pretentious, and disdainful attitude was a clear sign they needed to act before he succumbed as his grandfather Thráin had.

"Smaug died by my hand. I have freed your home from the shadow that plagued it. I am a dragonslayer. Does that not give me the right to speak with you, oh King Under the Mountain?" Aldril replied calmly, but his firm tone echoed powerfully against the gates of Erebor. He understood the weight of that title, the burden of being a dragonslayer, as deep as the chasms of the Misty Mountains.

Thorin clenched his fists, his gaze darkened by madness, but even in his clouded state, he recognized the truth. With a sullen and scowling expression, he couldn't help but respond harshly: "Yes, you are a dragonslayer, it seems. But don't forget who hired you."

"It's true, you hired me. But I have yet to receive my promised share." Aldril's response was sharp, his usual calm tone replaced by an imposing presence that left the listening dwarves speechless. For the first time, they understood what it meant to face the wrath of their usually tranquil and humorous companion.

Thorin took a step back, surprised by the intensity Aldril exuded. It was as if he stood before a beast while he himself was but an insignificant insect. Yet, despite this, Thorin tried to maintain his stance as king: "Fine. What is it that you want? Your gold?"

"No." Aldril relaxed his shoulders slightly, though his gaze remained piercing. "What I want to negotiate with you is cooperation. You know an army of orcs is on its way, and I know your cousin Dáin is coming to your aid."

Thorin's face tightened, and his irrational fury overflowed at those words. He stepped toward the entrance, leaning against the wall as if trying to control his rage.

"How do you know that?" he roared, his voice reverberating in the silence. His eyes fixed suspiciously on Dwalin, the closest to him. "Did you tell him?"

Dwalin's eyes widened in disbelief, and he began to sweat. Before Thorin could continue ranting, Aldril intervened with a clear voice: "They had nothing to do with it. Gandalf deduced your actions upon seeing that you asked for help."

The quick explanation made Dwalin sigh in relief. The other dwarves also seemed less tense, though they avoided Thorin's gaze, whose fury now turned toward the ruins of the valley.

"That foolish wizard..." he muttered under his breath.

The atmosphere grew tense again, broken only by the king's demand.

"Fine. Keep talking."

Shaking his head at the irrationality of the one who had once been his traveling companion, Aldril decided to get straight to the point. His patience was wearing thin; he truly wanted to help Thorin, but how could he help someone who refused to be helped?

"The army of King Thranduil, along with that of King Bard, will gather in the ruins of the valley. We will draw the orcs' attention there, and that is when your army will flank them from behind," he said calmly. "The orcs won't be alone. The Warg clan will come with them. We'll be at a disadvantage if we don't work together."

This information about the wolf clan came from Gandalf. The wizard had only given hints about the army Bolg would lead if he hadn't been killed. Who would have imagined Gandalf would mention the wolf clan? Thus, Aldril decided to trust the ancient wizard.

"The wolf clan…" Thorin murmured softly. This information was crucial, and his madness subsided slightly. Rationality fought vehemently to suppress the insanity, allowing brief glimpses of the Thorin they knew before he succumbed again.

"That is very troublesome," he said to himself. His now lucid eyes focused on Aldril, and for a moment, melancholy and regret for his behavior could be seen.

"How many are we up against?" he asked.

A collective sigh of relief escaped the surrounding dwarves, prompting Thorin to frown and look at them with irritation mixed with complicated emotions.

"Thirty thousand, at least," Aldril responded, letting disbelief register on the faces of the surrounding dwarves, who murmured curses under their breath. Thorin, like them, lowered his head in dismay. Such a number would overwhelm them.

Thorin wasn't foolish. Like the wise Elven King and the old Gandalf, he and Balin had come to the conclusion that Azog was leading this army.

"I fear the evil that once plagued Middle-earth still lingers, Balin," he told the dwarf to his right, who nodded repeatedly while turning his gaze to Thorin.

"I fear so, Thorin," Balin said with great sorrow.

The somber atmosphere settled over Erebor's entrance, where only the distant chirping of birds could be heard. The silence after the news was oppressive.

For a moment, Thorin's rationality flickered like fleeting stars, unnoticed by the dwarves but caught by Aldril, whose hawk-like gaze never left Thorin. Taking a deep breath, Thorin finally looked at him again.

"Fine. You have my word that we will assist when the army of those beasts arrives," he said, pausing briefly. "My cousin's army will arrive by nightfall. A raven delivered the message. We will meet here again at dusk to plan together. Let's hope the orcs don't arrive early."

"Very well, I'll go inform the others. We'll meet again tonight," Aldril replied with a sigh of relief. His swift actions had prevented a battle between dwarves and elves, allowing them to have more men for what was to come. Now he had to take this news to Thranduil and Bard, who would decide the next course of action.

The dwarves watched Aldril depart, riding gracefully and swiftly across the clear meadow outside Erebor. Their gazes remained fixed on him, filled with relief and joy.

"Hey, isn't that Shadowstar?" A small hobbit's voice broke the silence, prompting the dwarves to pay attention to Aldril's steed.

"Damn! I didn't notice," Gloin exclaimed in surprise, followed by similar outbursts from the others. Only Kili, stroking his chin in thought, seemed contemplative.

"If Shadowstar is with Aldril… where are our horses?" he finally asked aloud, causing the other dwarves to look at him in disbelief.

"That's true… where's my pony?" Bilbo asked, having grown attached to his small, charming pony, which was very fond of Aldril's horse.

"Stop spouting nonsense and get ready!" Thorin shouted, his commanding voice snapping the dwarves out of their thoughts about their horses. They rushed down the stairs toward the armory, their hurried footsteps echoing through the halls. Thorin followed with remarkable poise, his regal demeanor unshaken. At his side, his loyal friend and counselor Balin kept pace, while the small hobbit trailed behind.

"Mr. Baggins, come with me," Thorin said, directing Bilbo to a secluded chamber. Inside, the most precious and resilient armor was stored. Why didn't Thorin bring the other dwarves? The answer was simple, his madness had made him suspicious of everyone. It was ironic that, besides Balin, Bilbo was the one he trusted the most.

**

filthy orcs! 

I've had a block on how to continue the story, fortunately rereading the books has opened me up a bit, I've also been reading Hp lovecraft and have an idea on how to introduce the nameless creatures.

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