Marvel's master of cosmic magic

Chapter 552

"Bad news? I’d call that good news."

Galadriel didn’t even try to hide her satisfaction. She had never held much affection for the Sons of Fëanor.

When Fëanor fled Valinor, he and his sons slaughtered the Teleri to seize their ships. The Telerin king had been her grandfather.

Then they burned those same ships and abandoned their own kin, forcing others to cross the deadly Helcaraxë on foot.

And later, during a visit to the Grey Elves, two of Fëanor’s sons, Curufin and Celegorm, had even tried to abduct Lúthien.

Even if they had called it a joke, it said enough about who they were.

"You shouldn’t say that," Angrod replied, shaking his head. "We all left Valinor together. We share blood. And Maedhros is a good man. He gave the High Kingship of the Noldor to our uncle Fingolfin."

"That was only after Fingon risked his life to rescue him from Morgoth’s fortress," Galadriel shot back. "Otherwise he would have died there."

She crossed her arms.

She simply didn’t like them.

"Rowan. Your opinion?" Angrod asked.

Galadriel turned as well.

Rowan answered automatically.

"Something about this feels off."

Everyone stared at him.

He cleared his throat.

"I mean... this should probably be reported to the High King. Let your uncle decide."

Privately, Rowan didn’t care either way.

Saving them would strengthen the elves.

But it would also reintroduce volatile personalities. Curufin and Celegorm especially caused problems.

Not saving them would weaken Morgoth’s forces through attrition.

But Fingon would never abandon Maedhros. Their bond ran too deep.

Either way, Rowan had no intention of fighting openly.

Morgoth was watching him now.

If Rowan revealed too much power, Morgoth might interpret it as intervention from the Valar and disappear completely.

And if Morgoth decided to hide?

Even Rowan might struggle to find him.

Angrod and Galadriel both turned to Lúthien.

She leaned against Rowan’s shoulder, smiling playfully.

"I agree with my lord."

Rowan sighed. "That phrasing doesn’t mean what you think it means. Also, I’m not an emperor. And you’re not a court official."

Recently, she had been obsessed with dramatic political romance stories Rowan had introduced to her.

Unfortunately, she had started quoting them... randomly.

"But I can’t help it," she said sweetly.

Rowan gave up.

"I agree too," the third prince said quickly, raising both hands.

Supporting either sibling would cause problems. Supporting Rowan was safest.

Angrod nodded. "Then I’ll report to our uncle immediately."

Galadriel made a face at him as he left.

"Uncle will absolutely choose rescue."

The next day, Angrod returned.

With him came Fingon.

And an elven army.

Fingolfin had chosen to intervene.

Not just out of kinship.

The Sons of Fëanor held the eastern stronghold at Himring. As long as they survived, Morgoth’s forces had to divide their armies to avoid encirclement.

If Himring fell, Morgoth could concentrate his full strength against the western defensive line.

And the Noldor under Fëanor’s sons were still among the most elite elven warriors alive.

"In that case," Rowan said thoughtfully, "we should send the Academy as well. Field training."

He brought teachers and students along with the army.

Most students, especially humans, had already mastered basic Light magic.

Even low-level battlefield magic could shift outcomes.

And new students needed to see real war.

But Rowan had another reason.

This might be the opportunity to cripple Morgoth’s military permanently.

He wouldn’t fight directly.

But subtle support?

That was different.

With the Sons of Fëanor fighting desperately to survive, and with the three allied races now equipped with improved weapons and magical gear...

There was a real chance to annihilate Gothmog’s Balrog forces.

Glaurung and Sauron were already gone.

If the Balrogs fell too, Morgoth would be trapped inside Angband again, weaker than ever.

And Balrogs were fallen Maiar.

Incredibly powerful souls.

Extremely valuable... in Rowan’s eyes.

Eastern Doriath

River Celon Defensive Line

Golden-armored elven warriors, Academy battle mages, and dwarves riding massive war goats arrived through portal gates in steady waves.

Command fell to Fingon.

Supporting commanders were Rowan and the Crown Prince of the Blue Mountain Dwarves.

"Advance east!" Fingon ordered.

The allied army crossed the river and marched toward Himring.

Rowan could have teleported the entire army instantly using his private dimensional realm.

But he didn’t.

The Sons of Fëanor needed to feel the pressure first.

Rescue meant more when it came at the edge of collapse.

And... a little more enemy attrition wouldn’t hurt.