The room had walls of gold and gemstones, yet it was devoid of excessive ornamentation. Only a long stone table stood in the center, and sturdy wooden chairs were arranged in a circle. Candles burned dimly, their shadows dancing on the walls like memories of a war that had just ended.
Thorin Oakenshield sat at the head of the table, his royal staff placed beside him. His face still bore the marks of battle, but his gaze was that of a king who had recovered—from madness, from greed, and from the fate that had almost consumed him.
Beside him, Bard, the archer from Dale, rested his hands on the table. His face was somber, not from grief, but from the many questions that now hung in his mind. He had saved his people, but would the peace last?
Thranduil, the Elven king of Mirkwood, sat opposite. His face remained calm and aloof as ever, but now his gaze was no longer cold. He looked at Arwen, his niece, who sat quietly beside Thalion—their eyes seemed to hold something that could not be explained by time, as if they stood between two worlds.
And lastly, Gandalf the Grey, with his pipe puffing thin smoke, sat with both hands clasped on the table. Unlike his usual self, he did not smile.
For a moment, no one spoke. Only the crackling of embers from the torches could be heard.
Then Gandalf broke the silence.
"Today we are victorious, but the world does not rest. The darkness in the east still breathes, and what happened here is merely the beginning of a greater storm."
Thorin nodded slowly. "We in Erebor will prepare. But tell me, Gandalf… is this about Sauron?"
Thranduil turned, his eyes narrowing.
Gandalf sighed, then looked at Thalion. "Or rather, about something even Sauron fears."
All eyes now turned to Thalion, who hadn't uttered a single word since they entered. He gazed blankly at the stone wall carved with Erebor's history, before finally speaking.
"I am not from this world," he said slowly, without avoiding anyone's gaze. "But this world has become part of my destiny."
Bard and Thranduil exchanged glances, not surprised, but not fully understanding yet.
"What do you mean?" Bard asked.
Thalion stood up. He looked at them one by one. "You saw what happened at Ravenhill. Pillars of fire. Sakura blossoms that wounded enemies without touching them. That was not magic from this land. I bring a foreign power… and my existence has twisted your fate."
Thranduil leaned forward. "Did you change our fate… or save us from it?"
"Both," Thalion answered curtly. "In the previous world, many of you… died."
Immediately, the room fell silent again.
Gandalf just stared blankly at the table. He had suspected. But hearing Thalion say it in such a flat voice still made his chest heavy.
Arwen softly raised her voice, breaking the stillness. "But fate is not something that can be avoided, only guided. We still have a choice."
Thorin finally spoke. "Then guide us, Thalion. Tell us where the next storm will strike. And Erebor will stand with you."
Thranduil looked sharply at Thalion. "And what of your power? You have shown it, but you haven't explained its origin. Will you be a hero… or a new ruler we cannot control?"
Thalion did not answer directly. He drew Ryūjin Jakka, but this time no flames ignited. He merely pointed it towards the ground, then slowly plunged it halfway into Erebor's stone. No red fire appeared. But its heat was still palpable, like a soul sleeping within the steel.
"I am not a king. Not a prophet. I am merely a shield."
Gandalf nodded slowly, then smiled for the first time that night. "And this world will need that shield more than ever before."
Thalion took a deep breath, then spoke while looking towards the large stone door behind them.
"Tomorrow I return to Rohan. But call me… when the sky darkens again."
The atmosphere in the meeting room in Erebor grew quieter. The torch flames on the walls seemed to dim, as if bowing in silence. Before them all, Thalion stood tall, his gaze fixed not on any one face, but piercing through time—as if looking far ahead, beyond the age of kings and even the age of this city itself.
"Listen to me carefully…" Thalion's voice was deep, soft, but echoed strongly from the stone walls, reverberating in the chest of everyone who heard it.
He looked at Gandalf, Thorin, Thranduil, Bard, and Arwen one by one—not merely seeing, but imbuing a meaning beyond words.
"Sixty years from now…" he paused for a moment, weighing the gravity of his next sentence, "…something will be found. A small object, no bigger than a coin, yet containing darkness beyond your imagination. That object will be the trigger. The trigger for a war unlike any before."
They all stared at him with wide eyes.
"The One Ring…?" Gandalf whispered softly, as if uttering a name even the air was reluctant to repeat.
Thalion nodded slowly, "Yes. That Ring. But this is not just about the Ring. It's about the entire world that will be changed because of it. All of you here… will be part of its beginning. Some will live longer, some will not. But every decision made tonight will echo until that day arrives."
Thranduil sat straighter, his brows furrowed. "If you know when that great war is coming… why not confront it now?"
"Because the enemy is not yet fully risen," Thalion replied. "And if we act too quickly, the world will not be ready. I did not come to change the timeline—only to ensure that when that day comes… you do not forget that you have been warned."
He stepped towards the center of the room, where all their shadows converged under the candlelight.
"You must remember," he said more firmly, his voice now undeniable. "As we prepare… the enemy is also preparing. In the distant darkness, beyond the eastern shadows, a great power is marshalling its forces. In silence, they sharpen their weapons. In shadows, they strengthen their ranks."
"That war cannot be avoided… only delayed. But that night will come. And when that night comes, the question is not whether we are strong… but whether we are ready."
The atmosphere in the room froze. Even the breaths of kings and wizards were held.
Thorin stared at the table, his hands clenched on the stone. Bard bowed his head, as if already seeing the ruins of the city he had just rebuilt. Thranduil, though aloof, could not hide the worry in his eyes.
Gandalf finally spoke, his voice soft, yet full of power, "I will remember. And I will record your words in a history that must not be forgotten."
Thalion turned to Arwen, who had been looking at him with a mixture of pride and anxiety.
"And you, Arwen… when all of this begins to move, you will see much of this world's beauty slowly fade. But never lose hope. It is hope that makes this world worth saving."
Arwen nodded slowly, her left hand touching the hilt of her sword—Sakura—which was still neatly sheathed, as if knowing that one day, those blossoms would have to bloom again… not for beauty, but for defiance.
Thalion turned once more to everyone.
"We have not yet lost… but do not be complacent with today's victory. The world will not be peaceful forever. Be prepared… because night will come faster than you expect."
The sky began to dim on the western horizon as Thalion and Arwen prepared to leave Erebor. The sounds of celebration inside the palace began to subside, replaced by the whisper of the night wind carrying cold from the mountains. The great Griffin, Griffindor, stood tall near the stone gate, his feathers glowing faintly under the moonlight.
Thalion walked slowly towards Gandalf, who was waiting at the edge of the gate. Their eyes met, full of unspoken understanding.
"Gandalf," Thalion's voice was heavy but calm, "there is something you must know before I go."
Gandalf nodded, waiting patiently.
Thalion took a deep breath, then said softly but meaningfully: "White will become black, ash will become white. You must always be vigilant."
Gandalf's eyes narrowed, delving into the riddle, trying to unravel its meaning. "White becomes black… ash becomes white…" he murmured, then looked deeply at Thalion. "This is not just a warning, but also a hint, isn't it?"
Thalion smiled faintly, then nodded. "That's right. This world is not what it seems. What you have always considered certain, can change. What you thought was dead, might rise instead. Remember, my friend… darkness is not just about darkness itself, but also about how it masquerades in light."
Gandalf sighed, his eyes now gleaming as if bearing a heavy burden. "Thank you, Thalion. I will remember your words."
With a subtle movement, Griffindor raised his head, letting out a low, spirited roar.
Thalion turned to Arwen, extending a hand to touch Griffindor's neck feathers. "It's time for us to go, Arwen. Rivendell awaits."
Arwen nodded, then gracefully mounted Griffindor's back. Thalion followed, and with a powerful beat of Griffindor's great wings, they ascended into the air, leaving the magnificent stone fortress of Erebor, soaring over valleys and mountains towards the Elven haven of Rivendell.
Gandalf waved, standing at the gate, gazing at the night sky that now bore silent witness to their journey.
Griffindor's large, powerful footsteps landed lightly among the stone crevices and trees, flying low along the vast green valley below them. Thalion and Arwen sat calmly on the griffin's back, letting the wind sweep across their faces, carrying the scent of damp earth and freshly bloomed wildflowers.
They did not rush their journey to Rivendell. On the contrary, they savored every moment slowly, absorbing the beauty of the world they had fought for.
The gentle gurgle of a small river caught their attention. Griffindor landed softly on a wide open plain facing the river, where lush trees stood firm, while sunlight filtered through the leaves, dancing on the water's surface.
Thalion unbuckled his saddle and opened a small storage ring from his robe. With a bit of Elven magic, various picnic supplies appeared—a soft blanket, a basket filled with fresh bread, fruits, and warm, fragrant drinks.
Arwen smiled, her eyes sparkling as she looked at the scenery around them. "This world… it's truly magnificent, Thalion. How small we are amidst all this beauty."
Thalion nodded, his eyes gazing far into the horizon. "Beautiful, yet fragile. We must protect it, Arwen. Not just with swords and magic, but with heart and action. Because this world belongs not only to us, but to all living creatures within it."
Arwen sat beside him, reaching out to touch the cool, clear water's surface. "I often think that peace like this is the most beautiful gift we can give to future generations."
Thalion smiled softly. "And that's what we must fight for. So that this story, this world, remains colorful—not just a grim gray."
They sat together, enjoying the tranquility, letting the sounds of nature become the accompanying music to their simple but meaningful conversation.
They traversed the great forest known as Mirkwood—a place that was once lush and bright, but now dark and perilous. Beneath the dense canopy of tall trees, they brought the griffin low enough to feel the coolness and the scent of damp earth, while also witnessing faint flashes of sunlight attempting to pierce the leaves.
A few small birds chirped joyfully, as if welcoming their unfamiliar but unthreatening presence. Arwen, with her characteristic serenity, whispered, "This forest holds many old tales, of the darkness that once enveloped the world."
Thalion nodded. "And also of hope that never fades. Like us, who keep moving forward even as shadows loom."
After passing Mirkwood, they crossed the majestic Anduin River—the longest river in Middle-earth—its current calm yet powerful as it flowed south. On the riverbanks, they caught a glimpse of the Pelennor fortress and the vast expanse of the valley.
From there, the journey continued to the hidden Rivendell Valley, nestled at the foot of the Majestic Mountains, among green valleys and beautifully trickling small waterfalls. Rivendell, or Imladris, the hidden haven of the elves, exuded peace and eternity.
Griffindor landed gently in the courtyard of white-painted stone houses draped with flowering vines, while fresh air scented with pine and wildflowers greeted them. They dismounted from the griffin, exchanging relieved glances.
Arwen looked around. "Rivendell… a place where time seems to slow down. The place we need to rest and prepare ourselves."
Thalion took a deep breath, welcoming a peace difficult to find on the battlefield. "This is not just a sanctuary. It is a place of hope for the future."
Both stepped into the valley, ready to face the next challenges awaiting them in the shadows of Middle-earth's history.
Thalion and Arwen dismounted Griffindor, their hearts still heavy after the long journey. The air of Rivendell was so fresh, flowing gently among the leaves and ancient moss-covered stones. Tall trees and clear skies seemed to welcome them into a calm embrace rarely found in this world.
Arwen walked ahead, her gaze sharp but gentle, occasionally looking back at Thalion who followed her. They trod the winding stone path towards the great hall where Elrond awaited.
"This place always feels like home," Arwen said softly, her voice almost a whisper of the wind.
Thalion nodded. "Stillness in the midst of a storm."
They arrived before a heavy wooden door, beautifully carved with ancient symbols. Arwen knocked on the door with a gentle hand, then opened it.
Inside the hall stood a tall, dignified figure, robed in white with neatly groomed long gray hair—Elrond. His sharp eyes, full of wisdom, greeted their arrival.
"Elrond," Arwen bowed respectfully, "Father."
Elrond smiled faintly, returning his daughter's greeting with affection and a touch of worry.
"Arwen, my daughter. And you, Thalion," his voice was calm yet authoritative. "You bring news from the battlefield."
Thalion replied politely, "Yes, Lord. The battle of five—or now six—armies has taken place, and the fate of this world continues to be in peril."
Elrond looked at them both for a moment, then stepped further into the room, gesturing for them to follow.
"You have come at the right time," he said. "The darkness we have long avoided is now beginning to loosen its grip. I wish to hear what you have experienced, and what plans we can devise together."
Arwen sat on a stone bench, her hand lightly caressing the carvings on the chair's back, her mind drifting to all that had transpired. Thalion sat beside her, his gaze drawn to the window that offered a view of the quiet valley and tall mountains.
"Our journey opened our eyes," Thalion began, "that this war is not merely about nations and weapons. It's about destiny, choices, and the responsibility we bear together."
Elrond nodded slowly. "True. And that burden is not for one person, or one nation alone. Middle-earth must unite, if hope is to remain alive."
Arwen looked at her father, her voice resolute. "We must prepare. A greater war awaits. When darkness truly rises."
Elrond closed his eyes for a moment, then reopened them with a deep, watchful gaze.
"We must be vigilant. And we must ensure that this world is not consumed by the fires of war."
Thalion smiled faintly, feeling strength and determination grow among them. "Arwen and I will fight for that."
Outside the window, the wind blew softly, carrying a promise that the battle was not over, but there was hope for the world they loved.
The room was silent, save for the gentle wind whistling through the large windows in Rivendell. Elrond looked at Thalion with eyes full of hope and concern, while Arwen stood beside him, quiet but attentive.
Thalion took a deep breath, then said in a firm yet calm voice, "I will return home to Rohan. To prepare them for the true war that is to come." He looked directly at Elrond and the others, "Sixty years… sixty years is enough time to change everything in Rohan. To strengthen them, to form ranks that cannot be underestimated."
Arwen nodded slowly, "And are you certain that time will be enough?"
Thalion smiled faintly, full of conviction, "We all know time is a double-edged sword. But if we start now, planting the seeds of strength and unity, Rohan will stand firm when this world needs them."
Elrond stepped forward, his voice soft but authoritative, "We must all prepare. Darkness does not wait, and our enemy will move relentlessly." He looked at the window showing the quiet valley, "Every preparation you make will determine the fate of many souls."
Thalion nodded, "That is why I must leave now, and not later. Because a greater war cannot be faced with half-hearted preparations."
Arwen took Thalion's hand, offering support that needed few words, "We will fight together, even if distance separates us."
Thalion looked at Elrond's daughter with deep feeling, "This is not a farewell, Arwen. This is the beginning of a longer and more difficult struggle."
A moment of silence enveloped the room, before Elrond ended the atmosphere with a hopeful voice, "Go forth with courage and wisdom, son of Rohan. This world awaits you."
A thin mist slowly descended, enveloping the stone path that stretched out from Rivendell. Morning sunlight filtered through the tree branches, casting a soft golden glow on the gently swaying green leaves. Amidst the tranquil nature, two figures stood facing each other.
Thalion held the reins of Griffindor—Rohan's proud winged horse—who stood gallantly, as if understanding the burden of his master's journey.
Arwen stood before him, wearing a long, greenish-silver robe that swayed gently in the valley breeze. Their eyes met, and time seemed to slow down.
"I don't like goodbyes," Arwen said, her voice almost a whisper, yet strong enough to pierce the depths of his heart.
Thalion looked at her, his usually calm, sharp eyes now softened. "This isn't a goodbye, Arwen. This is just a temporary distance… between two paths that both lead to war."
Arwen smiled faintly, then slowly drew closer. She pulled Thalion into an embrace—tight, deep, and peaceful. Their breaths mingled in the cool morning air, blending like an unspoken prayer.
After a few moments, Arwen released the embrace, but not entirely. She lifted her face slightly, then leaned in and gently kissed Thalion's forehead. Her lips were warm like the sunlight greeting the frozen mountains.