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When the sun first rose over Middle-earth, just as Ilúvatar's second children—humankind—awakened in the far east of the continent, they too began their journey.
In time, some were driven by curiosity about the rising sun and migrated westward, while others remained in the east. Those who traveled west gradually scattered during their migration, forming many tribes. Along the way, they encountered the Elves, who passed down knowledge and culture to them—just like the House of Bëor.
But those who stayed in the east did not share the same fortune. A portion of them fell under Morgoth's secret influence and became his devoted followers.
To prevent such corrupted men from infiltrating the Elven city and learning the magic he taught, George had added a special function to the Sorting Hat: the ability to read minds.
The hat had been enchanted with a spirit-awakening charm, giving it thoughts of its own. Once it detected a spy among the new students, it would signal with the word Azkaban.
Azkaban, in the Harry Potter world, was the name of the wizarding prison. Here, the word was symbolic—it meant these traitors would soon be behind bars.
Now that the Elven city was open to all mankind, people were pouring in from every direction. There was no way to guarantee spies weren't among them.
In the early days, when only a handful of humans with potential came, George could inspect them personally. But now, with his power to awaken latent gifts, more and more humans would inevitably arrive at the Academy.
He no longer had the time to check each one himself.
Thus, he had set up this precaution—and his foresight quickly proved justified.
After George killed Sauron, Morgoth failed to corrupt him. This powerful human had already drawn Morgoth's suspicion, who feared he might not be a mere man at all, but a Maia in disguise.
So, Morgoth had long ago planted loyal human worshipers among those seeking entry into the Elven city. Under the guise of joining the Academy, they hoped to gather intelligence and uncover George's true identity.
"This boy is a traitor, a follower of Morgoth who sought to infiltrate the Academy…"
George handed the youth over to the nearby iron construct, a towering magical automaton, and briefly explained the situation to the onlookers, who wore puzzled expressions.
"All right, pay it no mind. Let's continue."
Hearing this, the crowd nodded in sudden understanding. None were particularly shocked.
After all, the reason the eastern defenses of Fëanor's sons had fallen so easily was that men who secretly worshiped Morgoth pretended to join the Elves, only to betray them at critical moments.
So the idea of human spies was not new—it was, sadly, expected.
Elves captured by Morgoth were twisted into Orcs, while men seduced by him became loyal cultists. Neither of Ilúvatar's children could escape corruption.
George returned to his seat, and Lúthien resumed the awakening ritual. Fortunately, no further incidents occurred until the very last candidate.
Spies of Morgoth reaching the Elven city from the far east was no simple feat, and finding one who was both of the right age and gifted enough to study magic was even rarer.
In truth, today's incident had been an act of desperation—only this one boy had been suitable.
"Today, the Academy has gained six hundred new students. To celebrate our growth, I am declaring a half-day holiday. Everyone, enjoy yourselves."
With a wave of George's hand, the three long banquet tables were instantly covered with an extravagant feast.
Since the Academy had no house-elves and the kitchens could not prepare food quickly enough for such numbers, George simply conjured it all through transfiguration.
And it wasn't limited to the cuisine of this world. He included dishes from others—modern desserts, puddings, cakes, barbecues, the eight great cuisines of China, as well as Greek, French, and Italian fare.
"Wow!"
Cries of amazement erupted from Elves, Dwarves, and Men alike. None had seen such variety of food before.
Soon, the hall was filled with the sounds of feasting. Even the normally graceful Elves lost some of their composure while savoring the unfamiliar delicacies.
After the banquet, George gathered with several Elven princes to discuss the intelligence he had extracted from the spy's mind.
The princes quickly dispatched men to apprehend the other infiltrators, while George aided by probing their minds as well. From them, he gleaned valuable information about Morgoth's army.
"How is it?" Angrod asked urgently as George finished his work.
George raised two fingers.
"One good piece of news, and one not-so-good. Which do you want first?"
"Good news first," said Lúthien, raising her hand.
"The good news is, Morgoth's army does not seem to have any immediate plans to launch a full-scale assault on us."
George spoke with a faint smile.
Thanks to the Grey-elves of Thingol's realm joining the war effort, and to George himself clearing out the Valley of Terror, most of the Elven and Dwarven defenses were now interconnected.
In the northwest stood Ered Wethrin, followed by the gorge where the princes had once been rescued, then southward to Gondolin, whose defenses linked further south to Dorthonion.
Beyond Dorthonion lay the Valley of Terror and Doriath.
The southernmost line of Doriath touched the natural barrier of the Andram Long Wall, which stretched eastward to the land of Seven Rivers, connecting at last with the Blue Mountains and the Dwarves' fortifications there.
This entire defense network could be seen as an upside-down "凸" shape, with Morgoth's forces trapped in the hollow center.
Now the defenses were strong and seamless, with magical teleportation devices set at each key point. Should an attack come, reinforcements could be sent instantly.
Indeed, when the Balrog Lord led an army of Balrogs and Orcs to assault Doriath's defenses, they were swiftly repelled by joint reinforcements, fleeing in disarray.
It was in that battle that Galadriel, single-handedly slaying a Balrog, earned her legendary renown.
This event later came to be known as the Doriath Defensive Counterstrike.
After such a defeat, Morgoth no longer dared to waste his strength on a direct assault—it would only end in futility.
"Then what's the bad news?" Galadriel asked at once, her impatience showing.
"Don't tell me Gothmog plans to try again? If he dares to come this time, I swear I'll cut off his head and hang it on the gates of the Elven city!"
She had learned much new magic from George recently and felt her power had grown. Last time, she had missed the chance to face Gothmog directly—this time, she was eager not to let it slip away.
Though her talent was slightly inferior to Lúthien's, it was still extraordinary, far beyond that of ordinary Elves.
"Gothmog does indeed intend to attack again," George said with a calm smile. "But not against us—his target is the Sons of Fëanor."
After the fall of Maedhros' defenses, he and his second brother Maglor had retreated to Himring.
The other five brothers had only regrouped with them later, after barely escaping pursuit by the Balrog Lord.
(End of Chapter)