The wind carried the stench of iron and burnt pitch. Smoke dragged low across the slopes of the Mountain, curling through the broken stone like breath from a dying forge. We had fought since sunrise, hammer and flame, the air full of shouting. My men held the line, and still the tide pressed closer.

Then the horns sounded.

Not ours. Not the enemy’s.

A long, low call, haunting as a song drawn from deep water. Every head on the field turned toward the eastern ridge. There, above the smoke, glimmered banners of silver and moss green, their edges catching what little light the sun had left to give.

Taur Im Duinath.

For a heartbeat, I forgot to breathe.

The sight struck like a memory I had never managed to bury — moonlight on armor, the scent of river air, a voice calm enough to still whole hosts. You had sworn it once, standing before my gates while tempers burned hotter than any forge:

“The rivers of my realm shall guard the Mountain as they guard their own banks. While they run, peace will not break here again.”

And now, through the haze of war and years, you came to make good on that oath.

I could see you then — unmistakable even across the field. You rode ahead of your host, pale hair braided back, spear upright, the silver birch circlet glinting faintly beneath your hood. Behind you, your soldiers moved in silent, perfect lines, shields catching flashes of light like scales of a living serpent. The air itself seemed to bend around your approach.

Balin followed my gaze, grunting low.

“By Mahal… so the tales were true. The Queen of Rivers keeps her word.”

Dwalin snorted.

“Aye, and the King under the Mountain keeps his tongue for once. I thought she was a myth, brother.”

Their laughter was brief but edged with wonder. Even the youngest among them, Fili and Kili, had heard the stories — how an Elven queen had once stood between armies and spoken peace, and how their own king had listened.

“That’s her, then?” Kili asked quietly. “The one who swore the rivers would protect the Mountain?”

I nodded once, eyes fixed on the green-silver tide moving toward us.

“Aye. And she’s come to make good on her oath.”

Balin’s gaze slid toward me, a knowing weight behind it.

“You never told us how close that peace was bought, Thorin.”

I said nothing. Words were useless now. The truth was carved in every breath I drew — in the way my chest tightened as the distance closed, in the way I could not look away from the figure riding at the head of that host.

“By the gods,” I murmured. “After all these years…”

She was here. The Queen of Taur Im Duinath, the river that had once stilled my rage, the oath I had never truly stopped believing in.

And for the first time since the battle began, I lowered my sword. Not in surrender — but in respect.