Thrain's boot sole crushed a charred Orc's severed arm as he looked up, watching the Great Eagles disappear into the distant clouds.
Only after the magnificent eagles flew away did he notice that the leading eagle had left behind a letter before departing, carefully pressed under a small stone beside the battlefield carnage.
He walked over slowly, his armor clanking softly with each step, and picked up the letter. The yellowed envelope was stained with ice crystals and splattered with black Orc blood that had already begun to freeze. Upon opening it with careful fingers, he found Gandalf's distinctive runic symbols covering the parchment.
"Gandalf's handwriting, that clever old fellow..."
Thrain smiled slightly, immediately recognizing the wizard's familiar script. Though the handwriting in the letter was somewhat hasty and urgent, it remained clearly legible. Obviously Gandalf had been in great haste when writing this crucial message.
Thrain's weathered eyes scanned those hurried characters, his tense shoulder blades gradually relaxing as relief washed over him like warm ale.
Gandalf had written:
Thrain,
If you read this letter, it means the Great Eagles have finally found you in time.
I am well aware of Dain's desperate predicament, but do not let righteous anger cloud your judgment.
Lord Tarnes of the Golden Tree, Bard the current mayor of Lake-town, and I have organized substantial forces to support Dain. You need not worry excessively about his fate.
Azog's whelp Bolg attempted to usurp Lake-town through treachery but has already been slain by Tarnes' blade.
Under the protection of humans and the Golden Tree warriors, Dain will be safer than the finest ale locked in your wine cellar.
Hold steady, Thrain. Trust in your allies.
Durin's glory lies not in reckless charge, but in calculated wisdom.
Additionally, the Golden Tree's main army is also marching toward the Lonely Mountain as I write this.
You need only lead your forces with confidence to rendezvous with us at the appointed place.
May your axes stay sharp,
Gandalf
After reading the letter completely, Thrain breathed a long sigh of relief, his crushing worries about Dain finally lifting slightly from his shoulders.
Though Gandalf hadn't specifically mentioned the Great Eagles in the letter, Thrain knew those magnificent eagles that had appeared like divine intervention to help him were summoned by this old wizard's request to their king.
He muttered to himself with growing excitement: "Looks like I owe Gandalf a tremendous debt, and another one to that Golden Tree lord. Tarnes, oh Tarnes, though we've never met face-to-face, once we've crushed Azog's skull beneath our boots, I'll definitely send you an entire wagon train of the finest Dwarf spirits. Enough potent ale to turn your Golden Tree into a Drunken Tree!"
Thrain said "another debt" because he vividly remembered that his body's miraculous recovery from that near-death state had relied entirely on the healing powers within the Golden Tree territory.
He carefully folded the precious letter and stored it in his armor, then turned to address the Dwarf lords gathered beside him: "Brothers, we've received tremendously good news! Dain will be perfectly safe at Lake-town, and powerful reinforcements from the Golden Tree are already marching to join us. We need only continue forward and rendezvous with them to jointly face Azog's mongrel forces."
Then he looked directly at his personal guard standing nearby, his voice carrying the authority of command: "Tell the soldiers to ignore those fleeing Orc cowards! Regroup our formations, count our casualties, and tally our losses carefully. Though the concealing mist has been blown away by the Great Eagles, we must remain vigilant these next few days. Send out more scouts, the sharpest-eyed ones we have, lest that Orc scum Azog attempt to ambush us again on the road ahead."
"Yes, my king!"
The guard departed swiftly with his orders, boots crunching through the blood-stained snow.
Under Thrain's guard's efficient relay, surviving Dwarf soldiers began regrouping with practiced precision.
Heavy infantry struck their dented shields with war hammers to relay signals across the battlefield, while agile light infantry climbed the rock walls to recover undamaged arrows from Orc corpses.
War chariot wreckage was systematically piled into temporary defensive barricades. The mountain air remained thick with the nauseating stench of scorched animal fat and congealing blood, occasionally punctuated by wounded soldiers' muffled groans echoing off the cliff walls.
The surviving Dwarf lords also departed to assess their own forces' devastating losses.
However, one particular Dwarf lord remained standing in place without leaving. The same wise counselor who had previously urged Thrain to maintain calm judgment instead of rushing headlong into Azog's traps.
Thrain noticed the deeply contemplative expression etched on his weathered face and spoke up: "What troubles you, brother? What weighty thoughts are you wrestling with?"
This Dwarf lord snapped back to awareness, then voiced his carefully considered inner thoughts: "What I'm about to suggest might anger you considerably, Thrain. I was just pondering whether we could persuade the Elves of the Woodland Realm to join us in this Lonely Mountain campaign."
Sure enough, when Thrain heard the word "Elves," his thick brows furrowed deeply while visible disgust appeared on his battle-scarred face.
But surprisingly quickly, the disgust faded, and Thrain nodded with a remarkably normal expression: "Continue with your proposal."
The Dwarf lord was completely stunned. He had fully expected Thrain might curse the Elves' ancestors back eighteen generations using the filthiest words in Khuzdul but hadn't anticipated such unexpected calm.
"You... you're not cursing me for suggesting this?" the Dwarf lord stammered in amazement.
Thrain's eyes widened with grim humor: "After being tortured by Orcs in the dungeons of Dol Guldur for so many agonizing years, would I still waste time holding petty grudges against pointy-ears at a critical moment like this? If you have something useful to say, speak it quickly. What exactly do you want those long-legged, fancy-haired tree dancers to accomplish?"
The Dwarf lord immediately pressed his advantage: "If those pointy-ears could actually join our cause, with them constraining and pressuring the western approaches to the Lonely Mountain, we could concentrate our full strength for a devastating frontal assault on the Lonely Mountain's heavily fortified main gates!"
He swallowed nervously and added: "The Silvan Elves within the Woodland Realm are genuinely skilled at warfare. You and I have both witnessed their deadly capabilities firsthand. If they could advance aggressively from Mirkwood's borders, Azog would certainly be forced to divide his forces to defend multiple flanks simultaneously."
Thrain pondered the tactical implications for a long moment: "After we finish crossing these cursed Misty Mountains, I'll dispatch an envoy to the Woodland Realm, but I can't guarantee whether those proud tree-huggers will actually agree to help us."
"I'm willing to serve as your envoy and personally travel to the Woodland Realm to meet with those pointy-ears' haughty king," the Dwarf lord volunteered immediately.
Thrain nodded approvingly, studying him carefully: "Excellent, then we'll proceed with that plan when the time is right. But if those Elf brats put on insufferable airs or treat you with condescension, return to us immediately."
While Thrain and his battered forces continued their treacherous crossing of the Misty Mountains, some intriguing incidents were simultaneously occurring within the depths of Mirkwood.
Golden sunlight filtered through the dense canopy of ancient leaves, casting constantly shifting dappled shadows as Legolas moved with fluid grace through the forest, his light footsteps particularly clear in this naturally serene environment.
Soon, Legolas approached his father's magnificent throne chamber.
Thranduil sat with eyes peacefully closed, one elegant hand supporting his sharp cheek as usual, while the other gently caressed the golden dewdrop pendant resting against his chest, its cool metallic touch flowing over his palm like the sensation of a clear mountain spring.
This precious pendant was the very gift that Tarnes had personally given him.
Thranduil had been in exceptionally excellent spirits recently because the pendant Tarnes provided had completely healed the terrible burn scars on his face that hadn't properly healed for countless years. The hideous, disfiguring scars once burned deep by ancient dragon fire had finally faded into memory.
Now Thranduil no longer needed to constantly use concealing magic to hide his face from others, so he had been hosting elaborate feasts with increasing frequency lately.
He reclined gracefully against his magnificent antlered throne, shimmering silver hair cascading over his shoulders like a waterfall woven from pure moonlight, even his casual resting posture appearing as if carefully sculpted by master artisans.
After detecting Legolas' approaching footsteps, Thranduil's long eyelashes trembled slightly, and a barely perceptible smile graced his lips.
He didn't need to open his eyes to know it was his beloved son approaching, because Legolas always moved like a swift wind carrying the fresh, invigorating scent of snow cedar, his distinctive footsteps sharp and precise as arrows cutting cleanly through still air.
"Father."
Legolas stopped exactly ten measured paces from the throne, simply bowing slightly with respect before straightening, deliberately omitting the elaborate elven court etiquette that usually accompanied such formal audiences.
His leather boot soles still bore fresh mud from Mirkwood's dangerous outer borders, his forest cloak decorated with several silvery spider webs. Clearly he had just returned from an extended patrol of the realm's perimeter.
Thranduil slowly opened his piercing eyes, that faint smile vanishing instantly as he transformed back into the stern, commanding elven king.
His clear, resonant voice echoed near the throne: "Moonlight has not yet fully saturated the forest canopy, Legolas. The evening feast's melodious harps remain untuned, yet you've already struck up an impatient, discordant prelude with your urgency."
Hearing Thranduil's deliberately casual, dismissive words, Legolas frowned with visible frustration: "The Iron Hills Dwarf coalition has completely annihilated Orc pursuers at Lake-town alongside the humans! Azog's soldiers' rotting corpses were thrown into the cold lake water like worthless fish bait, and now humans and Dwarves are actively preparing to launch a counterattack on the Lonely Mountain! And you..."
He paused dramatically, gesturing toward the busy servants he'd encountered along the corridors, who were weaving winter berries and delicate moonlight roses into decorative feast arches.
Then Legolas continued with growing passion: "While you have our people completely immersed in endless, meaningless banqueting, even drawing our essential border patrol units away from their duties to transport wine barrels for your celebrations!"
Thranduil calmly propped up his elbow, gazing at Legolas with a maddeningly peaceful tone: "Legolas, you always insist on wrapping the acrid scent of gunpowder in your travel cloak and bringing it into my peaceful halls. Though Lake-town lies relatively close to Mirkwood, there's still considerable distance between us. Where exactly did you learn this supposedly urgent news?"
Legolas replied without hesitation: "From Tauriel. When her squad was actively tracking those giant spiders in the outer regions, they heard the distinctive sounds of battle from Lake-town's direction, so they approached carefully and personally witnessed humans and Dwarves joining forces against the Orcs."
"Tauriel." Thranduil spoke the female Elf's name slowly, rising from his antlered throne with fluid motion.
A flash of distinct displeasure crossed his aristocratic features as he paced deliberately to Legolas' side, raising his hand to straighten his son's slightly askew shoulder armor before stepping back with authority: "She should focus on completing her assigned duties. Hunting those dangerous giant spiders, systematically clearing their festering nests from our borders. Not allowing herself to be distracted by irrelevant outside disturbances. Legolas, I strongly believe you should associate much less frequently with Tauriel, that lowly Silvan Elf."
Genuine confusion appeared on Legolas' face. He didn't understand why his father persistently refused to let him associate with Tauriel, but his heart was far more puzzled by his father's seemingly callous indifference to Lake-town's dramatic events.
He said with growing earnestness: "Father, compared to mere spiders, the northern Orc armies represent the genuine threat to our realm!"
Thranduil laughed lightly, his melodious voice like ice-cold springs striking frozen rocks: "Orcs... they can never successfully break through our forest's ancient defenses, not centuries ago, nor centuries hence. Our realm has stood unconquered since the world was young."
Just then, a clear, determined female voice suddenly asked from behind them: "But what if they bypass our defenses entirely? Like those giant spiders. They no longer spread from their traditional southern territories but have abandoned the forest completely. What if they travel to other vulnerable places, like Lake-town?"
Tauriel's slender, graceful figure slowly materialized several steps behind Legolas. After respectfully bowing to Thranduil, she continued with conviction: "My team members and I have been conducting thorough patrols of nearby regions these past days. The spiders are beginning to disappear entirely from their usual haunts, while Lake-town has erupted in serious warfare between humans, Dwarves, and Orcs. Lord Thranduil, I believe I must investigate what's truly happening at the Lonely Mountain."
However, Thranduil's response far exceeded Tauriel's expectations, leaving even Legolas with an expression of complete incredulity.
"Other places and their troubles have absolutely nothing to do with me," Thranduil stated with chilling calm. "The world's fate has always fluctuated like changing seasons, but within this protected kingdom, we shall endure forever unchanged. As for those greedy Dwarves, let them gnaw at each other with Orcs among the Lonely Mountain's cold stone piles. Elven arrows should never sing in service of Dwarven greed."
Tauriel listened silently to Thranduil's harsh words, visibly stunned by his callousness, then bowed again while preparing to leave.
But Legolas raised his hand authoritatively, stopping Tauriel's departure, and asked his father directly: "What about those humans then? Will you abandon them as well?"
Thranduil frowned with annoyance: "Lake-town's humans? Ah, I can only express polite regret for their unfortunate circumstances. I'm perfectly willing to welcome them to seek refuge within my kingdom when their homeland is inevitably destroyed by Orcs. This represents the mercy I graciously grant them."
Legolas shook his head firmly, raising his hand to point directly at the golden pendant gleaming on Thranduil's chest: "I don't mean Lake-town's ordinary humans, but Tarnes, who personally gave you that precious pendant."
Hearing this pointed reminder, Thranduil shook his head with a faint, confident smile: "Tarnes? With his extraordinary strength and capabilities, even if every single one of those Dwarves perished horribly, absolutely nothing would happen to him. I have complete trust in his abilities."
At this crucial moment, Legolas exchanged a meaningful glance with Tauriel, who immediately understood and spoke up: "But now Tarnes isn't fighting alone, Your Majesty. Though I'm completely unclear how he managed such a feat, when the Orcs entered Lake-town for their attack, he was indeed leading an army of approximately one thousand soldiers, actively assisting Lake-town's humans and Iron Hills Dwarves in their desperate defense."
Legolas pressed his advantage: "Tarnes is personally leading his Golden Tree kinsmen in deadly battle, Father. Having just graciously accepted his generous gift, can you simply sit idly by while he risks everything? Wouldn't such behavior make us exactly like those ungrateful Dwarves you despise?"
"Never compare noble Elves to those wretched Dwarves!" Thranduil's melodious voice turned genuinely angry for the first time, then realizing he was speaking harshly to his beloved son, his expression softened slightly with regret.
Just then, the melodious sound of harp tuning drifted from outside the hall. The evening feast seemed to be entering its elaborate preparation phase.
Thranduil paced back to gracefully settle on his antlered throne, elegantly arranging his flowing robe sleeves as he looked at both Legolas and Tauriel: "If Tarnes truly needs the Woodland Realm's assistance, I would naturally and generously grant his request without hesitation. Now, Legolas, you should go select tonight's feast brooch from your collection. Remember to choose the one set with the green crystal. It will make your complexion appear less perpetually gloomy. As for you, Tauriel, continue your assigned patrol duties after taking proper rest."
After delivering these dismissive words, Thranduil closed his eyes again to rest, though his chest's frequent, irregular rises and falls clearly showed his emotions had been considerably stirred by Legolas' earlier pointed accusations.
Seeing his father's deliberately closed-off state, Legolas knew that nothing he could say now would penetrate that stubborn facade, so he looked meaningfully at Tauriel, signaling with his expressive eyes for her to leave the throne room with him.
But Tauriel didn't immediately comply, instead continuing respectfully to address Thranduil: "Your Majesty, besides the news about those disappearing spiders, I have another urgent matter to report. During today's extended patrol, my team members and I discovered countless Goblins crossing through our forest's southern edge, streaming from that underground kingdom deep in the Misty Mountains. They're undoubtedly heading toward the Lonely Mountain with obvious hostile intent."
Having delivered this crucial intelligence, without waiting for Thranduil to open his eyes and respond, she immediately departed with Legolas, their footsteps echoing in the marble corridors.
Only after both had completely departed did Thranduil finally open his piercing eyes, his noble brow furrowed deeply in troubled thought as the implications of Tauriel's final words sank in.