When the elves first journeyed west, Thingol remained behind in Middle-earth after falling in love with Melian, the Maia who guarded the forests. Together, they founded the realm of the Grey Elves. His brother, Olwë, continued the westward migration, leading most of their people to Valinor, where they became the Sea Elves who dwelled along the shores.
In truth, the Grey Elves and the Sea Elves were one family, their kings brothers by blood.
Fate had woven those ties even tighter. The third prince of the Noldor married the eldest daughter of the Sea Elves, and from that union came Finrod, Angrod, Aegnor, and Galadriel. By blood, their mother was Thingol's niece.
Because of this, when the Noldor returned to Middle-earth, Thingol welcomed them with open arms, hosting grand feasts in his realm. He showed particular warmth toward Finrod and his siblings, whose blood bound them to him.
That warmth ended the moment Thingol learned of the slaughter of the Sea Elves and the murder of his brother. In fury, he cast out those responsible and swore never to aid Fëanor's revenge for the Silmarils.
Yet his goodwill toward Fingolfin's line, and toward Finrod and his siblings, never faded.
Galadriel herself spent much of her time in the Grey Elf realm, learning lore and magic from Melian and deepening her wisdom.
Now, with the eastern defenses shattered and the Balrog host rampaging through the heart of the continent, this was no longer about old grudges. It was a matter of survival for all living beings in Middle-earth.
Finrod was certain Thingol would intervene.
"I have another proposal," Rowan Mercer said, breaking the quiet as the council neared its end.
All eyes turned to him.
"Morgoth keeps creating new creatures through his power," Rowan continued calmly. "If he can make a dragon, he can make more. If we only defend, we may hold for a hundred years. But a thousand? Ten thousand? That's far less certain."
"You're suggesting we strike Angband directly?" Fingon asked, shaking his head. "Angband is shrouded in Morgoth's power. Poison, darkness, suppression. Most elves would lose half their strength the moment they entered. We would suffer massive losses before battle even began."
There was a reason the elves had chosen containment rather than invasion. Just as orcs weakened under sun and moon, elves were oppressed by the land of Angband itself.
"No," Rowan replied with a small smile. "I know attacking Angband now is impossible. What I'm proposing is something else entirely. We raise our overall strength."
The room fell quiet.
"You've seen my magic," Rowan said. "If every elf and every human could wield spells like mine, would Angband still be unreachable?"
Finrod answered without hesitation. "Your magic turned the tide of the war. Without it, we would not be standing here."
Rowan nodded and stood.
"Then here is my proposal. We establish an academy here in the central elven city. A place where elves and humans teach one another magic, combat arts, archery, and strategy. Anyone may come to learn. Together, we raise an entire generation stronger than the last."
His voice grew firmer.
"With enough trained spellcasters and warriors, Morgoth's armies will no longer overwhelm us. And one day, Angband will fall."
The vision spread through the chamber like fire through dry grass.
Elves and humans, wielding blades, bows, and spells in unison. Giants striding across battlefields. Waves of light and steel breaking the darkness.
Rowan did not speak of tactics or formations. He spoke of possibility. Of a future shaped by preparation rather than desperation.
The council members exchanged glances. Then, almost at once, they raised their hands in agreement.
The decision was unanimous.
"Rowan," Finrod said, excitement clear in his voice, "since this was your idea, the academy's name should be yours to choose."
Rowan paused for a moment, then smiled.
"Then let it be called the Middle-earth Hogwarts Academy."