Transmigrate to the world of The Lord of the Rings?

[General POV]

The whispering wind howled across the once-desolate wasteland. "The Desolation of Smaug" what a name!

At this moment, that wasteland no longer belongs to the dragon who now lies dead beneath the lake. The vegetation, as if reclaiming its life and breaking free from the chains of the dragon's magic, began to flourish rapidly, as though Yavanna herself were present, blessing the once barren land. The scorched marks were now hidden beneath fresh green grass, a phenomenon that would bewilder anyone. But this is Middle-earth, a land filled with magic, and such an event was met with nothing more than mild exclamations from a group of three dwarves.

"The vegetation is coming back to life," Kili said with excitement, jumping lightly on the verdant grass. His face was full of joy, the somber atmosphere they had felt upon arrival now completely gone.

Fili, being the older brother, kept his composure somewhat, but his bright smile and the way he looked around revealed his cheerful mood. "Indeed, it's as if the dragon's death released nature, which had been hidden here all along."

Dwalin, the gruffest and fiercest of the dwarves, didn't show much reaction. It was surprising, of course, but only that. His mind was preoccupied with how they would approach Aldril and carry out Thorin's orders.

'Aldril is our friend; he'll understand the situation, right?' He repeated those words to himself over and over, his furrowed brow and pensive expression not going unnoticed by Kili and Fili, who positioned themselves on either side of Dwalin and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

"What's wrong, grumpy?" Kili asked with his usual jovial smile.

"Yeah, what's got you so deep in thought, Dwalin?" Fili added from the other side.

Dwalin, pulled from his thoughts by the brothers' arms on his shoulders, grumbled, "Get your hands off me." His habitual gruffness didn't surprise Kili and Fili, who both burst into laughter as they tightened their embrace.

With a sigh of defeat, Dwalin didn't argue further. He wasn't in the mood to quarrel with the bothersome brothers. Instead, he relaxed his tense shoulders and answered their questions. "I'm just worried," he began, pausing for a moment. "Did Aldril really steal the Arkenstone? And if he did, can we bring him back to Thorin?"

His doubts, now spoken aloud, caused the brothers' smiles to slowly fade. A moment ago, they hadn't considered this, distracted by the changing landscape. But with Dwalin's reminder, their moods soured.

"Aldril wouldn't steal it," Kili said with a sigh. "I really don't like the idea of him being treated as a thief."

Nodding in agreement, Fili added, "Yeah, and if we explain the situation to Aldril, he'll understand."

"Besides, I doubt we could even defeat him, even if we tried," Kili said with a dry laugh. "After all, he killed a dragon, something the armies of Erebor couldn't do back then." He knew this because of the stories their mother had occasionally told them.

The three walked through the now slightly green wasteland, an atmosphere of tension and unease settling over them. The mere thought of going to "retrieve the thief" left their stomachs in knots. After all, they had faced life-and-death situations with Aldril, who had saved them countless times.

Finally, their thoughts were interrupted by distant voices. Looking ahead, they saw how the once-destroyed city of Dale had become crowded with groups of men and the army of those foolish elves, much to Dwalin's dismay.

"There are the survivors!" Kili shouted, pointing with his chubby, dirt-covered finger. Having played like a child earlier, he had grabbed a handful of dirt, which, for him, had made him feel alive.

"Let's hope Aldril is among them," Fili added, his voice cheerful. He couldn't deny his happiness at knowing so many people had survived. It was a significant change, normally, at most, a hundred people would survive a dragon's attack, especially one as deadly as Smaug.

Aldril's intervention had been critical. Not only were there more than a hundred men who came to claim the treasure of Erebor, many believing the dwarves to be dead and the treasure theirs for the taking, but thanks to Aldril, over five hundred men had survived.

And more than half of them were well-armed, equipped with armor, swords, shields, and some even with bows. They weren't a disorganized group of civilians wielding hoes and sticks as weapons.

No, this was an army, one that would do anything to survive. These men had faced death and emerged victorious, forging strong wills. At this point, not even an army of five thousand orcs could stand against them.

It was well-known that orcs were neither skilled with weapons nor well-equipped; their gear was little more than scrap. Their only advantage was their overwhelming numbers, which was how they had managed to push back humans and elves in the past, known for their dexterity and strength.

"Let's proceed carefully and avoid drawing too much attention," said Dwalin, adding this final remark because Fili and Kili were the type who might stroll in as if nothing had happened, potentially sparking a conflict. The three of them would stand little chance against so many humans and especially against the elves.

-Ruins of Dale-

Not long ago, the surviving men, some with combat training and many guards, had followed Bard, the new King of Dale! Yes, these people had already planned to rebuild the city of Dale. With the dragon dead, it would be a much easier task, provided they could claim a share of Erebor's treasure.

They were soon joined by part of the elven army from the Woodland Realm. The people were deeply grateful to the elves, who had come to their aid in their time of need, providing blankets, food, and dry clothes for those affected by Smaug's attack.

Some were even more thankful, as these elves had initially sheltered those who heeded the warnings of the elven prince and princess.

Leading them was Bard, the new King of Dale. He marched at the forefront with his head held high. He hadn't had a moment's rest, yet he remained steadfast. It was all for his people and his children.

Bard knew the immense task of guiding all the survivors now rested on his shoulders, and he accepted it. After all, he had been destined to lead since birth, having displayed leadership qualities from a young age.

They had recently entered the ruins of Dale. The shattered brick houses spoke of the harsh history this once-prosperous city had endured. Abandoned clothes, now torn and weathered by time, lay scattered. Numerous carts, blackened like coal, remained standing, a miracle that their forms had lasted this long.

"A glimpse of the past," remarked some of the elves. Likewise, the survivors gazed with sorrow at the scene. This city had once thrived with trade among dwarves, elves, and men, one of the rare times when all three peoples lived in harmony. Now, all of that was but a memory.

At the forefront, Bard turned to the survivors. "Set up camp. We'll stay here for a few hours," he commanded. Immediately, the group, weary and traumatized by recent events and the hours-long march, let out tired sighs and began gathering what little wood was available.

Some came from carts, others from houses. The hours of walking had brought them to sunset, and night was fast approaching. They prepared bonfires to heat the food, graciously provided by the elves.

----

The hours passed. King Thranduil, accompanied by his son Legolas, soon arrived at the tent prepared by the elves who had traveled with the survivors. Inside, by the king's courtesy, were Bard and Aldril, both dragon-slayers in their own right.

The title was more fitting for Aldril, who had taken on the brunt of the battle against Smaug. However, Bard had also earned the title for his unwavering resolve in defending the city.

"King Thranduil, Your Majesty," Aldril and Bard said simultaneously, showing the appropriate respect. While Aldril was more familiar with Thranduil, he extended courtesy to the elf of countless years and experience.

Thranduil nodded in acknowledgment. "It is good to see you, especially you," he said, smiling warmly at Aldril. "You have achieved a feat worthy of your lineage. Undoubtedly, this opens the door for you to step out from your mother's shadow."

And in a way, it was true. Such a deed had helped Aldril step away from the shadow of his mother, Tindómiel, particularly in the eyes of the elves. Many had witnessed the meteoric fall of Smaug.

Not even Tindómiel herself could have survived such a feat, or so the elves believed. It was easy to know this, as Aldril had become well-known among them since beginning his journey, courtesy of figures such as Galadriel, Elrond, Glorfindel, Finduilas, Thalwen, and Thranduil. Drawing the attention of such powerful individuals had placed him firmly in the spotlight among the elves.

"Thank you for your kind words," Aldril replied courteously, bowing his head slightly in gratitude.

Thranduil, pleased with Aldril's good manners, nodded in return. The boy had undoubtedly inherited the demeanor of his father, Túrin, which made Thranduil appreciate him even more, unlike his mother, whom he found rather disrespectful.

Setting aside the topic of Aldril, Thranduil turned to Bard, the new King of Dale. "Do you plan to head to Erebor tonight?" he asked, having heard of this from his men.

"Yes, I don't want to waste any more time," Bard said while nodding. "If the dwarves survived, I don't want to miss the chance that they are alone," he added.

Thranduil, being the wise king he was, detested unnecessary conflict. If the dwarves had indeed survived, as his wife suggested, he planned to negotiate an agreement with them for a share of Erebor's gold. Avoiding needless conflict was his priority. With wisdom in his voice, he looked at Bard and said, "It would be best to wait until dawn."

This caused Bard some consternation; he was about to ask why, but Thranduil anticipated his question and replied before Bard could speak.

"Look at your people. They are exhausted. They've just survived a dragon's attack. Let them rest tonight. Early in the morning, I will go with you, and if the dwarves are still alive, we will try to negotiate with them."

After some consideration, Bard accepted the advice willingly. The survivors were indeed fatigued from their journey, and many were mentally drained. They certainly wouldn't be in the best condition for a confrontation.

From a distance, they had seen Erebor's gates sealed with a pile of stones that had clearly been placed recently, indicating that the dwarves were still alive.

"Thank you for the advice, Your Majesty," Bard said. "If you'll excuse me, I need to inform my men to rest tonight," he continued, giving a slight bow before leaving Thranduil's tent.

Outside, he encountered the unsightly Alfrid, who had clung to him like a leech for the time being.

"Let's go, Alfrid. We need to inform everyone that we'll rest tonight," Bard said as he walked on without giving Alfrid a second glance.

"As you command, my lord," Alfrid replied with deference and submission. What else could he do? Serving Bard was the only way to stay alive amid a crowd that wanted him dead. Alfrid was simply biding his time, waiting for the right moment to escape, enduring his role as Bard's servant in the meantime.

What no one knew was that, a few hours earlier, a raven had flown out from Erebor. Its destination? The Iron Hills. This raven, one of the ancestral messengers of the dwarves, had returned after Smaug's death. Seeing elven and human soldiers arriving in the valley, Thorin had sent a message requesting aid:

"We have reclaimed Erebor. Come to our aid against the greedy."

***

Filthy orcs!

There you have your food, enjoy it while you can.

I don't understand how it is that in just a few minutes there are fics that reach 200 power stones.

I only know that here we are all real orcs, maybe some elves, but here we are the orc community!

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