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*****
"Is this supposed to be bad news? I think it's good news!"
At these words, Galadriel immediately revealed a gloating expression. She had never harbored much goodwill toward the Sons of Fëanor.
When they left Valinor, Fëanor had led his seven sons in slaying the Teleri to seize their ships—the king of the Teleri was her grandfather. Later, they burned those ships in betrayal, abandoning the rest to cross the perilous Helcaraxë, risking death in the frozen wastes just to reach Middle-earth.
And if all that weren't enough, back when they were guests in the Grey Elves' kingdom, Curufin and Celegorm of the Seven had even kidnapped Lúthien.
Though it was more of a mock "kidnapping," and they didn't actually harm her, it still revealed the darkness in their hearts.
"You can't put it that way. After all, we all came out of Valinor together, bound by inseparable blood ties. Besides, Maedhros isn't such a bad person. He even ceded the position of High King of the Noldor to his uncle Fingolfin."
Angrod shook his head, clearly disagreeing with his sister Galadriel's stance.
Galadriel immediately retorted:
"That was only because our elder brother Fingon risked his life against Morgoth to climb the cliffs of Thangorodrim and rescue him. Otherwise, he'd have long been dead!"
In short, she simply didn't like the Sons of Fëanor.
"What do you think, George?"
Since neither Angrod nor Galadriel could convince the other, they both turned toward George.
"There must be some trick to this!"
George blurted it out casually, but when he saw the stunned looks of the others, he quickly corrected himself:
"I mean, in matters like this, it's best to report directly to the High King. Let your uncle decide."
As for whether to save the Sons of Fëanor, George himself didn't care.
If they were saved, the Elves would gain considerable strength—but they would also inherit hidden dangers.
The Sons of Fëanor were no ordinary figures, especially the troublemakers Curufin and Celegorm.
If they weren't saved, then the Sons of Fëanor would at least consume more of Morgoth's forces. When the time was right, the Elves could strike from behind and perhaps annihilate the Balrog King's army in one stroke.
But the High King would likely never agree to abandon them. Fingon and Maedhros had a bond of life and death—he could never simply stand by.
Either way, George himself could no longer directly join the battle.
Morgoth must surely be watching him now. If he revealed too much of his strength, it might be mistaken for a sign that the Valar themselves were coming to Middle-earth, and then Morgoth would immediately go into hiding.
And with Morgoth's power, if he truly chose to hide, George would never be able to find him.
Besides, George still wasn't confident he could bring Morgoth down just yet.
Hearing this, Angrod and Galadriel both turned toward Lúthien. She leaned lightly against George's side and chuckled:
"I concur, my lord."
"It's I concur, not 'your concubine concurs.' Those two don't mean the same thing," George corrected at once.
"Also, I'm not the emperor, and you're not my vassal. The titles don't fit."
Recently, Lúthien had been pestering him for stories. To amuse her, he had adapted the plot of Empresses in the Palace into a novel.
He figured if mortal women liked such tales, Elven women probably would too.
And she did like it—but it also meant she had started speaking to him using phrases from the novel, completely out of place.
"But I cannot do it, my lord!"
Lúthien blinked playfully, the corners of her lips curving upward.
George, seeing she wasn't going to change, decided not to press the matter.
"I concur as well! I concur as well!"
The third prince, seeing both his elder brother and younger sister turn their gaze toward him, quickly raised his hand to show his stance.
If he sided with his brother, his sister would nag him; if he sided with his sister, his brother would be displeased. He didn't really care either way—so he might as well just back George.
And he suspected George and Lúthien felt the same—it was best to leave the headache to their uncle.
"Very well then, I'll head to the academy's Hall of Portals right away and report this to our uncle."
Angrod nodded, rose to his feet, and set off.
Galadriel stuck her tongue out at her brother and made a face:
"Hmph, I bet our uncle will definitely agree to the rescue."
The next day, Angrod returned to the Elven city—bringing with him Fingon and the Elven host under his command.
Clearly, Fingolfin had chosen to send troops to rescue the Sons of Fëanor.
It wasn't just because they were fellow Noldor who had all left Valinor together. More importantly, they needed the Sons of Fëanor to pin down Morgoth's armies.
The Sons were besieged in Himring to the east. If Morgoth's forces pushed against the western defenses, they would have to leave a large part of their army behind to guard the rear against a counterattack.
And the host under the Sons of Fëanor was one of the most elite among the Noldor. Their strength was formidable.
If they were wiped out, then the next time Morgoth attacked the defenses, he would throw his full power at them—something far beyond the last battle.
"In that case, let's bring the academy students along as well—consider it a trial by fire!"
Having decided on the rescue, George pulled along the entire staff and student body of the Magic Academy to join the Elven host on the battlefield.
On one hand, apart from the freshmen who had just enrolled yesterday, many students—especially the human ones—had already mastered the most basic Light Magic spells.
On the battlefield, those would certainly make a difference.
On the other hand, it would also broaden the horizons of the new students.
But most importantly, George thought this might be the perfect chance to crush Morgoth's army in one strike.
He wouldn't act openly, but that didn't mean he couldn't secretly aid the alliance.
The Sons of Fëanor, fighting for survival, would throw themselves in with everything they had. Combined with the newly re-equipped strength of the three allied races, there was a very real chance of utterly destroying the Balrog King's army.
With Glaurung and Sauron already eliminated, if they could also bring down the Balrog King and his host, Morgoth would once again be trapped within Angband, his power drastically weakened.
Given more time, once George grew stronger, he could march straight into Angband and take Morgoth down.
The Balrog King and his kin were all fallen Maiar, their souls extraordinarily strong. George could bind them entirely and slowly subdue them to increase his own strength.
Eastern Doriath, Celon River Defense Line.
Elven warriors in golden armor, academy magicians clutching their staffs, and dwarves mounted on goats all emerged in turn through the portal.
This time, the leader of the united army of three races was Fingon, the High King's eldest son. His deputies were George and the crown prince of the Blue Mountains' dwarves.
"All forces, advance eastward!"
At Fingon's command, the allied host crossed the River Celon, slowly marching toward the Elven fortress of Himring.
As for why George didn't simply use his pocket world to teleport the army directly—there was no need.
The rescue had to come in the moment of despair. Otherwise, knowing the Sons of Fëanor, they wouldn't take it well.
A slower march was fine.
And frankly, the longer it took, the more Balrogs and orcs the Sons would cut down before they arrived.
(End of Chapter)