The armies of Eowenríel, Rivendell, and Lothlórien had at last met beneath the shadowed slopes of the Anduin River Valley, their banners unfurling together under one sky.
Yet joy was tinged with unease.
The tale that Elladan and Elrohir told of the ambush that befell them on their journey left Kaen thoughtful, his brow creased in contemplation. Ever since the twin sons of Elrond departed from Lothlórien, they had been hounded by wargs, vile beasts that clung to their trail with unnatural persistence.
This, Kaen realized, could not be mere coincidence.
Their movements had likely caught the notice of Dol Guldur, the dark fortress veiled in the southern reaches of Mirkwood. There, in shadows deep and walls blackened by sorcery, Sauron, the Lord of the Rings, had taken root once more. That fell place, barely five days' march from Lothlórien, served now as the nerve center of the Dark Lord's strength in the North.
The orc ambush on the river had not been a mere raid — it had been a probe. A test.
The forces of Shadow, lusting for the gold and secrets buried beneath Erebor, were moving in silence, preparing for war. And so too must the Free Peoples prepare.
Kaen, ever mindful of strategy, devised three critical measures to tilt the balance.
….
First, the army would remain stationed at Carrock, establishing a base of war and fortifying their presence. There, construction of a mighty fortress-city, which he named Tusgar, would begin. Its presence would serve as both bulwark and bait — drawing the gaze of the Dark Lord while masking other intentions.
Second, he would recruit five thousand hillfolk — rugged hunters and spearmen who knew the land like the lines of their palms. These warriors would be forged into a legion of bow-infantry, strong of arm and sharp of eye. To supply them, Kaen dispatched urgent word to his own Capital, calling for arms and armor to be delivered before the fall's end.
Third, while the Shadow watched the river valley, Kaen and the Dwarves of Erebor would slip away in secret, journeying east to parley with the Woodland Realm. There, he would seek Thranduil's aid, and request passage through his realm, binding another ancient house to their cause.
….
The birth of Tusgar came swiftly.
Under the tireless labor of Elven masons, Dwarven stonewrights, and hillmen alike, kilns rose like sentinels, belching steam and smoke as tens of thousands of bricks emerged each day. More and more hillfolk moved from their crude huts into homes of fired stone — warm and dry through the bitter mountain nights.
Two bridges, like arms stretched across the river, now spanned the Anduin's silver thread, linking east and west through white stone arches. The western bridge was named Moonbridge, the eastern, Sunbridge — twin symbols of unity.
And when word spread that Kaen sought warriors, the response was thunderous. Within days, five thousand hillmen stood ready, rough-hewn but eager.
These were no green boys — but men of the highlands, strong from years of hunting, hardened by mountain winters. With training and arms, they would become a shield wall of living stone — berserkers of bow and blade.
….
Just as Kaen prepared to depart with the Dwarven host, two unexpected visitors arrived in the camp.
One in white, the other in grey.
The White Wizard, Saruman, staff gleaming and expression inscrutable. And beside him, with bright eyes behind a weathered face, the Grey Pilgrim, Gandalf.
They had not planned to meet Kaen here — the original intent had been to reunite at the Lonely Mountain. But Kaen's delay had drawn them forth.
Saruman studied him with an arched brow.
"Kaen. From what we've seen on the road, it seems you've been busy."
Kaen offered a calm nod.
"There were… complications with the hill-tribes. They tried to kill me. So I removed them from power. The upper valley of the Anduin is now Eowenría's land. I've named it Eastern Eowenría."
Gandalf chuckled.
"Sounds almost like a kingdom of old — not unlike how Gondor has its South Gondor."
Saruman, ever the thinker, frowned.
"These were not acts made lightly. I suspect you chose to remain here for reasons beyond mere skirmishes."
"Indeed," Kaen admitted.
He recounted the tale of Elladan and Elrohir's ambush — of the orcs, the wargs, and the implications. He shared his suspicions, and the strategy now set in motion.
The two Istari grew grim as they listened.
After a moment's silence, Gandalf nodded.
"If your guess is true, then your caution was wise. Marching openly could have brought ruin — even awoken the dragon too soon."
Kaen's expression hardened at what came next.
Gandalf shared a darker truth — he had ventured to the tomb of the Witch-king of Angmar. The crypt was empty.
The Witch-king had risen.
The Nine were whole again. The Nazgûl — Sauron's dreaded lieutenants — now served their master once more. His power swelled in the North.
Saruman's voice was tight.
"We must strike before they do. Slay Smaug, before the dragon can be turned against us. If the creatures of Morgoth unite… we may not survive the tide."
Gandalf agreed.
"We must prepare a battlefield — one that favors us, and hinders Smaug."
Kaen, thoughtful, looked to the horizon.
"I may know such a place."
….
Kaen proposed the battleground — the same place where, as he knew, Bard the Bowman would slay Smaug with the Black Arrow.
Lake-town.
It made perfect sense.
Smaug was a fire-drake. In a place where water element was abundant, the intensity of his flame would be diminished.
Moreover, their campaign would occur during late autumn, near the Day of Durin — meaning winter winds and cold air would thicken the mists above Long Lake.
With Gandalf and Saruman weaving spells, vast banks of fog could be summoned across the waters, blinding the dragon and softening the firestorm.
They would place dozens — perhaps hundreds — of heavy ballistae along the shore, each loaded with runed bolts inscribed to pierce dragonhide. In the obscuring mist, Smaug would be vulnerable — an ancient monster hunted like a beast in a trap.
After all, Bard's ancestral Black Arrow had pierced the one vulnerable scale upon Smaug's chest. Kaen believed that with dozens of enchanted bolts, and a touch of mithril, they could breach the beast's armor again.
….
Gandalf hesitated.
"Lake-town is indeed ideal… but do not forget — it is still inhabited. There are Men living there."
Saruman dismissed the concern.
"Evacuate them beforehand. For a deed such as slaying a dragon, they will understand. And the Dwarves, once they reclaim Erebor, will no doubt reward their losses tenfold."
Kaen laughed.
"Worry not. Thorin Oakenshield will not begrudge a few hundred gold coins, not if it means reclaiming his ancestral hall. Assuming he remains sane, of course."
That last comment drew wry glances from both wizards.
They knew well the curse of the Line of Durin — the dragon-sickness that gnawed at their minds.
Still, Kaen summoned Thorin and told him of the plan.
Thorin's reply was immediate:
"A few treasures are nothing. Erebor's hoard could build a thousand Lake-towns. If this is the path to reclaiming my home, then so be it."
…..
Thus, the board was set.
The dragon yet slept.
But the hunters had drawn their circle.
And Middle-earth braced for fire.