In Glaurung's mind, humans were supposed to be insignificant.
During the war councils in Angband, the Dark Lord had never even mentioned them. Morgoth's attention had always been fixed on the High Elves alone. Humans, as far as the Dark Host was concerned, were too weak to matter.
The battlefield told a different story.
As the dragon, Balrogs, and orc armies withdrew to regroup, the elven forces seized the chance to rebuild their defenses. Orders were shouted. Lines re-formed. Wounded warriors were pulled back as fresh ranks stepped forward.
Rowan landed near the inner walls alongside Bregolas and his brother Barahir, then followed them into the city to meet its rulers.
"Honored Princes Angrod and Aegnor," Bregolas said, bowing deeply.
Rowan followed suit, lifting his gaze only after the formalities were done.
He paused.
Up close, the princes were even more striking than he'd expected.
The elves of this world were already far beyond human standards of beauty, but these two stood apart even among their kin. Their features were flawless, their bearing calm and luminous. They lacked their sister Galadriel's golden hair, instead wearing the deep black of the Noldor, but it suited them perfectly.
If Rowan hadn't known better, he might not have been able to tell their gender at a glance.
No wonder the Valar had favored the elves so deeply. Even after rebellion and exile, forgiveness was always possible for them. Paths were left open. Ships waited. If they wished, the elves could still sail west and return to the lands of the gods.
Humans never had that choice.
They were Ilúvatar's children too, yet no invitation had ever been extended. Even those who aided in Morgoth's downfall were rewarded only with distant islands and extended lives, never the right to dwell in the Blessed Realm itself.
Elves falling in love with humans really was devotion, Rowan thought. By any standard of beauty, humans simply couldn't compete.
"Do not call us princes," Angrod said gently. "From this day on, we are brothers."
Aegnor nodded, placing a hand over his heart.
"The Elves will never forget that the House of Bëor rode to our aid when the city stood on the brink. This debt will be remembered."
The sincerity in their voices was unmistakable.
They had never expected help.
When the city was first attacked, messengers had been sent to the human settlements not to ask for reinforcements, but to warn them to flee. Humans were fragile, short-lived, and easily slain by beasts. That was what the elves believed.
Instead, eight hundred warriors had charged into a sea of darkness and given them breathing room.
"Our people have long lived under your protection," Bregolas replied, emotion roughening his voice. "We may be weak, but we will give everything we have."
The princes exchanged a glance, then turned their attention to Rowan.
"You are human as well?" Angrod asked. "That light magic you wielded… I have only seen such power once before. From our grandmother."
Rowan inclined his head. "I am of the House of Bëor. My name is Evan… Evan George. I studied magic under a wandering mage in my youth."
It was a thin excuse, but no one pressed him. There was no time. Still, Bregolas and Barahir shared a brief, puzzled look. Evan had always just been Evan. Since when did he carry another name?
Before anyone could ask, horns sounded again beyond the walls.
The Dark Host was ready for a second assault.
Angrod's expression tightened. He turned back to Bregolas at once.
"We need your help again," he said. "The dragon commander revealed that the western front faces an army led by Sauron himself. Its numbers far exceed what we face here. I fear our brother Finrod may underestimate the threat."
Sauron was not attempting a direct assault on the strongest elven defenses. Instead, he intended to slip through the gap between the western and central fronts, striking from behind.
That gap led straight into Finrod's lands.
"We need a warning delivered," Aegnor added. "But we cannot spare elven riders. Our lines are already stretched thin."
"And if this city falls," Angrod said quietly, "we would at least see our human allies survive."
Bregolas didn't hesitate.
"Barahir," he said, turning to his brother. "Take three hundred warriors and ride to Finrod's lands at once."
Barahir opened his mouth to answer.
Rowan spoke first.
"Let me go."
All eyes turned to him.
"I can fly," Rowan continued calmly. "I'll be there far faster than any horse. I can deliver the warning before the fighting begins."
He remembered this part all too well.
If Barahir rode out with three hundred men, they would arrive too late. Finrod's forces would already be engaged, overwhelmed by sheer numbers. Barahir and his warriors would form a wall of flesh to buy time, dying to save Finrod's life.
Rowan had no intention of letting that happen.
Silence fell over the chamber as the horns outside continued to echo.
The western front was about to ignite.