With a deep and deliberate voice, Thalion finally spoke:
"Lord Elrond... I have come not only to beg for the aid of the Elves. I also wish to request something more weighty: allow me to bring Arwen with me on this journey. Together, we will travel across Middle-earth — to Mirkwood, to Erebor, to the cities of Men. Our goal is not merely to seek workers. We wish to rekindle hope. And the purest hope can only grow when love and courage walk hand in hand."
Elrond did not answer immediately. His eyes gazed far beyond the window, towards the mist-shrouded mountains. He remained silent for a long time, as if hearing whispers of the past and shadows of the future clashing in his mind.
Arwen stepped forward, her face serene yet determined.
"Father," she said softly, "I do not ask foolishly. I know the path we tread is not without danger. But Middle-earth cannot be mended by one race alone. If Thalion brings the spirit of construction, let me bring peace on his journey."
Elrond closed his eyes. His heart, which had lived through ages, knew that this decision was not merely about guarding or releasing a child. It was about entrusting the future to the younger generation — who now stood before him with light in their eyes.
Finally, he opened his eyes. With a heavy voice, he said:
"You bear a task that is not only great... but sacred. Arwen, if you come, then you will not only be the daughter of Rivendell. You will be the voice of this valley in the outside world."
He stood, then slowly walked towards Thalion. Their gazes met — two leaders from two eras.
"I permit it," Elrond said softly but deeply, "but with one condition."
Thalion bowed his head. "Anything, Lord Elrond."
"Protect her. With your soul, with your life. For if she is wounded not by a blade, but by the failure of your hope, then you will have lost more than love."
Thalion nodded firmly. "With all my life, I swear."
Just then, he lifted a small chest from his leather bag — made of Rohan pine, tied with a simple gold cord. He opened it slowly, revealing a bottle of wine with a gold and green seal, a tempting sweet aroma wafting from its sealed cap.
"As a token of gratitude and respect," Thalion said, "this is Goldenwine of Aldburg, the finest wine from Rohan, made only once in a generation. And..."
He pulled out a velvet pouch, which, when opened, revealed a glass vial containing a bluish-green concoction.
"This potion is the result of my long experiments with alchemists. It contains extracts of Miralune flowers, Therendor roots, and water crystals from Lothlórien that I secretly traded from the black market in Pelargir," he said with an amused smile.
"For external and internal wounds. A wound healer, a mind soother. I hope this can be an addition to the healing hall of Rivendell."
Elrond smiled faintly, accepting the gift with unhurried hands. His eyes looked at the small bottles with reverence.
"Rohan has changed, and you are its harbinger. So go forth, child of a new world. Carry light with every step — and bring Arwen back, not only whole, but carrying a hope greater than before."
Thalion and Arwen bowed respectfully, then slowly walked out of the crystal hall, accompanied by the sound of trickling water and swaying leaves, as if blessing them.
Outside, Griffindor was waiting — a large golden-brown horse with a silvery mane, his eyes glowing like night torches. Arwen mounted her own horse, Elenya, an Elf horse with a soft white coat like morning mist.
And that morning, under the clear sky of Rivendell, Thalion and Arwen set off for Mirkwood and Erebor — carrying maps, hope, and the blessing of a father who silently knew that Middle-earth was preparing to change.
The spring wind welcomed their horses' steps, traversing the open plains that stretched between Rivendell and the borders of Greenwood the Great — now known as Mirkwood. The sky above was clear and high, clouds drifted slowly like the boats of the Valar in the distant Valinor sky.
Thalion, on Griffindor's back, looked ahead with a vision-filled gaze, while beside him, Arwen rode Elenya, calm and graceful like a flower unafraid even when storms came.
For hours they rode, accompanied only by the sound of hooves and the whispers of nature. Sometimes forest birds flew overhead, sometimes rabbits darted across the plains.
Finally, as the sun began to dip and golden light bathed the world, they arrived at a small cliff overlooking a shallow river — calm, clear, and reflecting the sky like a mirror.
"Should we rest here?" Arwen asked, looking at the river and the ancient trees that formed a natural arch.
Thalion nodded. "This place is quite safe. Besides, Griffindor is starting to get restless. He doesn't like holding back his energy for too long."
Both dismounted. Thalion unrolled a light rug folded from his saddle, then pulled out a leather pouch containing sweet wheat bread and dried fruit. Arwen took out a small bottle containing dew water from Rivendell — sacred water capable of refreshing the body in a single sip.
They sat side by side, not too close, but close enough to feel each other's presence.
"Strange," Arwen said, biting into her bread. "Before, whenever I went east, it always felt lonely. But with you... this path feels alive."
Thalion smiled, looking at the flowing river. "Perhaps it's because we're not just walking. We're carrying hope from a world that is almost crumbling... into a new world being built."
"And you're sure the world wants to change?" Arwen asked, seriously.
Thalion paused for a moment. "No. The world rarely wants to change. But... sometimes, a small change is enough. Like this river, slowly eroding stone, one drop at a time."
Arwen nodded softly, then leaned on her knees. "You're not like most men, Thalion. There's something in the way you see. You don't just see with your eyes — but also with wounds and prayers."
Thalion turned to her, gazing gently. "Because perhaps what makes a good leader is not just strength... but the ability to keep dreaming even after being broken."
They fell silent, letting the wind answer. Above them, leaves trembled softly in the breeze. Elenya and Griffindor stood not far away, touching heads, as if absorbing their masters' tranquility.
When twilight began to paint the sky with deep crimson colors, they re-mounted their respective horses.
"Let's continue," Thalion said. "Mirkwood won't wait. And Legolas might already be suspicious why I'm bringing Elrond's daughter into his father's territory."
Arwen chuckled softly. "We'll see who's more talkative — Legolas or those forest spiders."
The two horses galloped on — Griffindor with the pride of a war prince, Elenya with the gentle stride of an Elf protector. They passed fields, hills, and finally followed a forest path that began to darken — branches and roots hanging in the air like hands from an old world.
As night almost fully descended, the scent of the forest changed. The air became damper, the foliage thicker, and the shadows longer. In the distance, gigantic trees stood like silent sentinels.
They had arrived at the border of Mirkwood.
In the distance, torchlight slowly appeared, moving among the trees. The faint sound of bows being drawn was heard, but no arrows were released. An Elf guard emerged from the shadows, his face full of vigilance... until he saw who was coming.
"Thalion of Rohan," he called out, speaking in Quenya, "and Princess Arwen. We were told you might come."
Thalion smiled wearily. "Take us to Legolas. We come not as guests, but as kin... and bearers of a plan for the future."
And with that, they were guided deeper into the heart of Mirkwood—towards the home of the Wood-elves, and the beginning of a mission greater than merely rebuilding Rohan.
In the dense, silent forest of Mirkwood, torchlight danced along the path to a large wooden hall hidden behind roots and stone. Built in the stillness of nature and in harmony with ancient trees, Thranduil's palace stood like a dream rooted in earth and sky.
The Elf guards escorted Thalion and Arwen with great respect, their footsteps shrouded in an almost sacred silence. Every corridor was adorned with carvings of leaves and suns, and along the walls, greenish flames emanated from crystal lanterns, the result of the Wood-elves' profound alchemy.
At the end of the corridor, two figures stood waiting.
Legolas, with a wide smile and eyes full of memories, stepped forward first. "Thalion, the Flame Rider. You return from the east, bringing light even to the darkest places."
Thalion smiled, then embraced his old friend warmly. "And you still stand like a tree trunk in the morning. Straight, handsome, and always ready with an exaggerated comment."
They chuckled softly, patting each other's shoulders. Arwen bowed slightly, offering a respectful greeting. "Son of Thranduil," she said softly.
Thranduil, tall and regal, sat on a throne woven from tree roots, wearing a crown of twigs and autumn leaves. He looked at Thalion with a sharp yet friendly gaze.
"I know that look," he said. "The look of one who has seen fire, blood, and rebirth. Like your father's gaze, long ago... before everything changed."
Thalion bowed deeply. "King Thranduil. I come as the son of Rohan. But today, I also come as the heir of the world we are rebuilding. A world that refuses destruction."
Thranduil nodded slowly. "Be seated. Tell me about the world you dream of, O Lord of Fire."
Thalion, sitting with Arwen and Legolas by the large fireplace in the forest hall, then began to explain. His voice was deep, calm, and full of conviction.
He spoke of Rohan's reconstruction. Of the new cities that would rise: King's Landing, a center of agriculture and defense; Padjajaran and Talaga Manggung, places where people would live, create, and grow; and Bandung, the heart of wisdom and defense, like a blend of Rivendell and Minas Tirith.
"We are not just building walls and roads," he said. "We are building hope. Schools for children. Hospitals for the wounded. Workshops for craftsmen. We will welcome all who wish to build—except those who bring destruction."
Thranduil was silent for a moment, then took a sip of light forest fruit wine. "A great ambition... and rare for a man. But you are no ordinary man. You carry a flame... that not only burns, but also warms."
Thalion continued, "But I cannot do it alone. Our people are many, but not enough to build everything in such a short time. I have come to ask for help."
He looked at Thranduil and Legolas alternately.
"Help from Mirkwood. Laborers, tree architects, healers, even archers to guard the borders during construction. Rohan will pay with gold, food, medicinal plants, and agricultural produce. We can form an alliance, not just military... but an alliance that builds civilization."
The room was silent for a moment. Wind from the wooden windows brushed the candles, making shadows dance on the walls.
Legolas smiled faintly. "Father, if other men were like him, Middle-earth would never need war again."
Thranduil slowly stood, gazing at the fire.
"I will give you aid, Thalion. But not because of payment. Rather, because your words show that you are not merely building cities... but also mending the wounds of the world. And we, the Elves, cannot stand idly by if hope is being built."
Thalion bowed respectfully. "You will see the results for yourselves. Rohan will become a home for many peoples."
Thranduil turned to Arwen. "And you are partaking in this mission, Daughter of Elrond?"
Arwen replied softly, "The world will change. I will not merely watch from behind Rivendell's windows."
Thranduil nodded deeply, then gestured to Legolas. "Tomorrow morning, ten Elf carpenters, five healers, two architects, and twenty guards will depart for Rohan. Lead them, Legolas."
Thalion turned with a relieved smile. "You give me more than I expected, King Thranduil."
Thranduil looked at him sharply. "Do not disappoint this trust, Lord of Fire. For Elves do not easily trust... and do not easily forget."
Thalion stood and bowed respectfully once more.
"I will guard that trust... as I guard the light of the fire inherited from my ancestors."
And the night continued, with the gentle music of the Wood-elves echoing in the hall, and new friendships rooting themselves in old alliances.
Dawn swept through the leaves of Mirkwood with a silvery light. Birds sang softly as thin mist danced among the ancient trees. In the outer courtyard of the palace, Thalion and Arwen prepared to continue their journey.
Thalion bowed respectfully to Thranduil and Legolas who stood on the moss-covered stone steps.
"I thank you for your trust and aid, King Thranduil. We will uphold the good name of Mirkwood in every foundation we build."
Thranduil responded with a slight nod, his eyes sharp but now softer.
"Carry the spirit of the forest with you. And do not trust the gold of Erebor too much... it sometimes carries more burden than strength."
Legolas clapped Thalion on the shoulder. "You know the way to the mountain. But be careful... not all Dwarves have ears ready to listen. Even if they wear crowns."
Arwen smiled, then gave Legolas a brief hug. "We will return someday."
With determined steps, Thalion and Arwen mounted their horses—Griffindor and Elenya, Arwen's calm yet agile white horse. They rode through the morning forest, following ancient, rarely used paths, heading north—towards Erebor, the kingdom behind the Lonely Mountain.
The journey to Erebor took several days, passing rocky plains and narrow rivers flowing from the northern mountains. The air grew colder, and the scent of metal mixed with fire could be felt long before the mountain peak was visible.
Finally, on the sixth day, Mount Erebor loomed before them. Black and majestic, with ancient stone carvings and thin smoke rising from underground workshops. The bronze gate stood wide open, and Dwarf guards armed with axes greeted them.
"Your names?" the guard asked.
Thalion replied as he dismounted Griffindor, "Thalion, Lord of Fire from Rohan. And Arwen Undómiel, Daughter of Elrond from Rivendell."
As those names were spoken, the guards immediately stood straighter and saluted in the distinctive Dwarf style.
"King Thorin has been informed by eagle. He awaits you in the inner hall."