"I am Artemis, Guardian Spirit of Kaen Eowenríel!"
The voice was not loud, yet it rang with crystalline clarity, echoing across the entire battlefield. Every ear heard it. Every soul felt it.
On Ravenhill, the eyes of Azog and his son widened in dread. Among the twin Orc armies, the Nazgûl looked toward the figure bathed in light, horror etched deep upon their shadowed faces.
Within Erebor, both Gandalf and Saruman rose as one. Their gazes turned eastward, toward Dale. Their expressions were filled with awe.
The divine power of Artemis ripped apart the black clouds blanketing the skies, flooding the land below with celestial radiance. That golden light poured down upon the dark hosts crowding the slopes of the Lonely Mountain.
Monstrous beasts, siege trolls, and war-mutated trolls shrieked in agony, their roars dissolving into groans as their flesh hardened into stone. One by one, they became statues of pain—frozen beneath the light of a Maia unshackled.
A holy pressure descended, and the forces of darkness could not even raise their heads.
But was it over?
No. Not yet.
Skreeeeeeee!
The mighty cry of the Great Eagles split the heavens—ancient, majestic, filled with primal fury.
Over fifty eagles swooped in from the Misty Mountains, led by their lord. They dove upon the Orc horde, their iron talons raking through flesh and steel alike, plowing through ranks of enemies like scythes through wheat.
From the back of one such eagle, a towering figure leapt into the air. Mid-fall, his form shimmered and twisted, swelling with fur and might until he struck the ground as a great bear, roaring as he crashed into the Orc ranks with the force of a boulder. Blood and bone scattered in his wake.
Hwooooooom!
From the southern hills, a new thunder rolled.
Marching in formation came the legions of Eowenríel, Rivendell, and Lothlórien—the armies that Kaen had summoned.
And what a sight they were.
The First Battle Line: 300 elite Rivendell heavy cavalry, led by Captain Thaliondir, rode alongside 500 golden-armored Eowenrían knights under Sir Sigilion. They gleamed in silver and gold, spears held high, shields at the ready. Their steeds were as disciplined as they were powerful.
The Second Battle Line: The twin Elven princes, Elladan and Elrohir, led 500 Lothlórien warriors, their silver armor catching the sunlight. Marching with them were 500 Heavy infantry of Eowenría, robed in white and green, faces calm, steps sure,led by Caden.
The Third Battle Line: 1,000 Eowenrían archers under Mundar, joined by 5,000 hillfolk bowmen and spearmen led by Andric, Reger, and Zakri. Their armor was lighter, chain and leather interwoven for agility. Longbows, spears, and round shields were slung across their backs.
The Fourth Battle Line: 500 mounted archers under Cathril, 100 Dúnedain Rangers under Lairon, and 50 battlefield medics under Ameliah. This was a force forged from every corner of the Free Peoples—men and Elves, north and west, united in a tide of light.
They crested the hills beneath a sea of banners and light.
Within Dale, at the base of the tower, the ragged defenders erupted in cries of joy and disbelief.
"They're here!"
"Reinforcements!"
"We're saved!"
Atop the tower, Kaen turned, and upon seeing Artemis standing behind him, his tense shoulders slackened with relief. A weary smile broke across his face.
"You've come at last."
"For you, my king," she replied softly.
The divine light flowing from Artemis surged into Kaen, replenishing his fading strength and rekindling the fire within.
As his power flooded back, Kaen shut his eyes. His mind reached outward.
Within the halls of Erebor, the minds of all were suddenly filled with Kaen's calm, steady voice.
"Brothers and sisters. The hour has come. Reinforcements are here. Now is our time—to strike back!"
At these words, every Dwarf and Elf rose to their feet.
Thranduil drew his gleaming Elven blade. "Sound the horns. We ride to war!"
Dáin lifted his war hammer high. "The time for vengeance is now! Let's turn these maggots into mulch!"
Thorin roared, "This land is our home! Every invader will learn to fear our wrath!"
"For the North!"
"For the North!"
With that, the allied army surged forward, their cries echoing like thunder. Behind them, Gandalf and Saruman moved with silent gravity.
"You feel it too?" asked Gandalf, glancing sideways.
Saruman's eyes narrowed. "Yes. That light... it is of our kind. But unlike any binding we've known."
Gandalf smiled faintly. "Come. We may have just found ourselves a new companion."
….
Back in Dale, Kaen stood at the top of the tower, now blazing with intertwined strands of silver and gold light. Stronger than ever, his aura poured into the bodies of his allies, healing wounds and restoring strength with each breath.
He opened his eyes.
Drew his sword.
And called out, voice ringing like a bell of war:
"For the light.
For justice.
For those we love.
For the living and the fallen!"
"Warriors!"
"Now is the time to strike back!"
"Let us carve glory into the bones of this day—let us take our vengeance in blood and fire!"
Beside him, Bard, Legolas, and Tauriel raised their swords high and shouted:
"Eowenríel!"
"Eowenríel!"
Kaen nodded to Artemis. She embraced him with one arm, her great white wings flaring wide. With a mighty beat, they soared from the tower and descended before the united host of Men and Elves.
Standing together, Artemis and Kaen radiated such power that the Orcs dared not even meet their eyes. Some stumbled back, trembling in fear.
Kaen raised his sword and roared, "CHARGE!"
He led the assault, cleaving into the nearest Orcs like a storm.
"Ahhhh!"
Bard, Legolas, and Tauriel surged forward with him, their blades flashing in the light. The tide turned. Orcs faltered. Their lines buckled.
Behind them, Artemis swept her hand—and an invisible force obliterated swaths of Orcs, leaving craters of silence and ash.
In the face of a fully awakened Maia, nothing—neither Red-Eye Orcs, Gundabad monsters, nor war beasts—could stand.
From the southern ridge, Sir Sigilion and Thaliondir exchanged a glance, then nodded.
Sigilion lifted his lance and shouted, "Our king leads the charge! Warriors of Eowenría, for the kingdom! For the king! RIDE!"
Thaliondir echoed, "Noldor! Into the darkness—strike like thunder!"
"TO WAR!"
Eight hundred heavy cavalry spurred their steeds into motion. At first a trot, then a canter, then a thunderous gallop that shook the earth. They slammed into the Orc line like an avalanche.
A thousand heavily armored infantry followed behind, a tidal wave of steel crashing forward.
"Draw!"
Six thousand archers pulled their bowstrings to full draw, and loosed.
The sky turned black with arrows.
A storm of death rained down upon the Orcs.
To the flank, Cathril's 500 mounted archers rode like the wind, firing as they moved, each arrow a whisper of death.
And thus, the army of light entered the field.
And the counterattack had begun.