"So, can anyone tell me... where exactly are we?" Rynar felt like his head was about to explode.
"Ahem, Your Highness, how about we set up camp first and let the rangers scout ahead? Once we locate the Anduin River, everything else should be easier to figure out," Omsk suggested reassuringly.
"I suppose that's all we can do..." Rynar exchanged a helpless glance with Balin and nodded.
"Listen to me, and thank you—" Before Caslow, who had been trying his best to minimize his presence, could react, Rynar sent a swift kick in his direction.
"Uh... I have a question... He's supposed to be a Dragon Knight, right? And his dragon can fly, right? So why don't we just let him fly up and take a look?" A timid voice suddenly interjected. Everyone turned their heads in unison and found that the speaker was none other than the most inconspicuous presence among them—Blue Spirit, the elven dragon.
"So... why exactly aren't we letting the Dragon Knight, who dominates the skies, just take a look?" As Blue Spirit gazed at them as if they were all idiots, Rynar, Omsk, Caslow, and Balin collectively turned to stone on the spot.
"The damage isn't high, but the insult is immense..." A social-death-level thought popped into Rynar's mind.
"What are you all standing around for? Go find the way!" Omsk, humiliated, delivered a firm kick to Caslow's backside. Listening to that elven dragon made them all feel like absolute fools...
"Did we just get looked down on by a dragon? That was definitely condescension, right?" Balin's large eyes widened in disbelief.
"Stay calm! Lord Balin, that's a dragon—you can't beat her..." Rynar deliberately omitted the fact that Blue Spirit was being restricted by Dylan. He was genuinely afraid that an enraged Balin might try to hack apart the sharp-tongued dragon.
"Uhh, I'll go take a look. Be right back..." Caslow, thoroughly embarrassed, wished he could curl his toes and dig himself a hole. Seizing the opportunity to escape, he immediately called upon his dragon.
A melodious dragon flute echoed through the air, and the wind dragon, Kaldo, let out a resounding roar as it soared toward them. Caslow scrambled onto the saddle and shot into the sky like an arrow!
"Your Highness, we've gone too far south... Any further, and we'll reach the Gladden Fields..." Caslow reported, cold sweat trickling down his forehead.
"Fantastic job, navigator!" Rynar couldn't help but praise sarcastically.
"So now we have two options. According to the map, we can continue south, cross the Anduin River to reach Loningrelon, then push straight into the Dimrill Dale and reach Mirrormere. From there, we can launch our own battle of Azanulbizar!" Omsk explained, stealing a glance at the dwarves, who were trembling with excitement.
"Sigh... And the other option?" Rynar cast a glance at Balin, whose eyes were glistening with tears. For him, a survivor of the Battle of Azanulbizar, that war was a nightmare—an unbearable wound. The pain! It was too much! Too deep! That battle had cost them nearly half their kin... and two kings...
"The other option is to return to our original route through Karl Rock Crossing. We'll retrace our steps over the Misty Mountains and attack Moria from the west! This gives us a greater strategic advantage. After all, we might gain support from the entire western world. Supplies and reinforcements would be easier to secure. If we attack from the east, our only option would be to gamble on the goodwill of the Noldor elves in the Golden Wood, hoping they'd be willing to aid the dwarves in reclaiming Moria."
"You mean Lothlórien? Lady Galadriel is a wise queen! She'll see the benefits of this! If the elves of the Golden Wood join the battle, our chances of victory will be much greater!" Rynar nodded enthusiastically. He firmly believed that Lady Galadriel would not be so shortsighted. Darkness was already descending upon Middle-earth, and the dwarves' advance would do them more good than harm.
"No! We don't need the elves' help! They're unreliable! They would never genuinely help us reclaim our home!" For once, the usually wise Balin was uncharacteristically adamant, refusing outright.
"Why? Not all elves are like Thranduil... In fact, the Elenthorns have been fighting alongside us!" Rynar asked, perplexed.
After a long silence, Balin finally spoke.
"None of us want elves involved in the reclamation of Moria. Their betrayal in the past wounded us deeply... This is a place of sorrow for the dwarves... and elves are not welcome here!" Balin's voice was unwavering, his eyes filled with sorrow and determination.
"...I understand." Rynar sighed deeply and nodded.
He could understand Thranduil's dilemma. In truth, Thranduil was the only true elven king remaining at the end of the Third Age. The others—Elrond, the so-called "Lord Elrond," and Elenthor, the Star Elf—were merely lords of their respective domains. Only Thranduil was recognized by the world as a true king of the Woodland Realm. He had to consider the lives of his people, and it was difficult to say whether his decisions were right or wrong...
"Then it's decided. We march north! To Karl Rock Crossing! Our target—the western gate of Moria!" Rynar slammed his fist onto the map, the point of impact precisely on Moria's west gate.
"Caslow! Get up there and scout! If you mess up the route again... I swear I'll kill you!" Rynar menacingly waved his dragon-slaying sword. Caslow shivered, feeling a cold chill run down his spine.
"Of course, great King! How could I possibly go wrong again? Trust me, this time, absolutely no problem!" Caslow wiped away non-existent sweat, looking as humble as possible.
"Hmph, we'll see about that!" Rynar snorted, unconvinced.
"Your Highness... um, Your Highness... this really isn't my fault! I refuse to take the blame! I was following the map correctly! How was I supposed to know there would be a town here?!" Caslow groaned as he stared at the settlement on the horizon, already sensing the murderous intent flickering in Rynar's eyes.
"Alright, explain this to me! Where did this town come from? Fine, maybe it's not exactly a city! But it's definitely a town! Tell me, was there a town at Karl Rock Crossing last autumn? Huh? Was there?!" Rynar was losing control. How could a Dragon Knight, holding a map, still get lost?!
"Impossible! I followed the Anduin River exactly! There's no way I made a mistake!" Caslow shouted, utterly baffled by the sudden appearance of the town.
"Baron Lance only returned recently, and he never mentioned a town here! Are you seriously telling me this is Karl Rock Crossing?!" Rynar was speechless.
"Ahem... Your Highness... is it possible... just possible... that this actually is Karl Rock Crossing?" Oly weakly suggested.
"Hmm?"
"Ahem, Your Highness, if you look at the surroundings, it does indeed seem like Karl Rock Crossing..." Balin awkwardly coughed and pointed ahead.
Amid the mist-covered Anduin River, a massive rock formation, as large as a small mountain, loomed from the water—Karl Rock, the landmark of Karl Rock Crossing.
"What the hell?! Then where did this town come from?!" This time, it was Rynar's turn to be utterly dumbfounded. He practically jumped three feet in the air out of sheer disbelief.
"Looks like people have started gathering here again. It makes sense... With druids stationed here, it's definitely safer than other wilderness areas. For those struggling to survive, establishing a town here isn't so surprising," Omsk mused, stroking his chin.
"Let's go take a look..." Rynar gazed at the unexpected town in astonishment and motioned for the others to follow.