-General-
A month and a half had passed, and finally, Bilbo and Gandalf arrived at the domain of Elrond. Their welcome was warm, marked by a splendid feast in honor of their victory. However, the absence of Aldril and the dwarves was felt, and the celebration revolved around Bilbo, the small but brave hobbit who had survived the adventure.
Despite his reluctance, he agreed to stay and enjoy the rest for at least three days. The music of the elves filled the air, their harmonious voices contrasting with the flowing river, and the tables were laden with sweet fruits, freshly baked bread, and golden wine. Everything was peace and delight in Rivendell. And yet, Bilbo could hardly relax.
His mind wandered to the longing for home and the worry of hobbit tradition. He couldn't settle at ease; his home was probably being auctioned, along with all of his belongings! Especially his mother's silverware! If it had already been sold, it was certain that it would fall into the hands of his cousin Primula Brandybuck—such a shameless woman!
...
Across the hall, Gandalf and Elrond conversed quietly, wisely ignoring the hobbit, who sipped apple juice in silence, his gaze lost in the golden liquid of his cup.
"Dragon-slayer," Elrond repeated, a slight smile curving his lips. "A title worthy of my nephew."
"He has. Aldril has grown in this adventure," said Gandalf, taking a sip of his wine. "I would say too quickly," he added in a whisper, low enough to sound like a thought spoken aloud, but still heard by Elrond.
Elrond nodded calmly, his gaze lingering for a moment on the swirling liquid in his cup.
"I am not surprised," he replied. "After all, both Túrin and Tindómiel were among the strongest warriors of Middle-earth. It is no wonder that their son inherits the best of both."
Gandalf nodded in agreement, but a shadow of doubt crossed his features before he spoke.
"Besides being the one who killed Smaug… there was something more. Something strange." He cast a quick glance at the sky, where the first stars began to twinkle through the clouds.
"Something strange?" Elrond asked.
Gandalf took another sip of his wine before continuing, his voice deepening to almost a whisper.
"Yes. A phenomenon never seen in any of the ages," he paused, his expression growing serious. "The blood of the dragon... was absorbed into his body. And with it, the strength and presence of a dragon were born. Aldril is the only living being to have absorbed the essence of a dragon."
Elrond's relaxed demeanor tensed, a furrow forming on his brow, marring the serenity of his beautiful face.
"Are you telling me he absorbed the essence of Smaug?" he murmured, raising a hand to his chin, contemplating.
"All those blessed by Lady Varda are exceptional," a voice added behind them, catching both of their attentions.
Glorfindel, with the grace he was known for, approached them. His smile spoke of wisdom accumulated through the years. With an elegant motion, he adjusted his tunic before sitting beside Gandalf and Elrond, who looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to continue his explanation.
"Those blessed by Lady Varda achieve feats beyond comprehension," he continued. "The great King Fingolfin, whose blessing allowed him to challenge in combat the Dark Lord whose name I will not speak. Beren, the mortal who took one of the three Silmarils from his crown. Eärendil, your father, who earned the forgiveness of the Valar… Even Tindómiel, who razed Sauron's basilisk."
"And now Aldril, absorbing the essence of the greatest dragon of this age," Gandalf added, complementing Glorfindel's explanation.
Nodding, Glorfindel poured himself some wine. "Aldril was born for a great purpose. Perhaps he will be the key to our defeating Sauron."
"Or perhaps he will be the one to rule over men from the throne of Gondor," Elrond said, halting Gandalf and Glorfindel's movements for a moment. "Aragorn is a descendant of Isildur, so he is also a candidate for the throne. But he is still a child, and I doubt that, upon learning of his lineage, he would accept sitting upon the throne, making Aldril the perfect candidate."
"I agree," Gandalf said. "He is the most suitable due to his close lineage to the first king of Númenor."
"I don't think Aldril will accept it," interrupted Glorfindel, slowly swirling his wine glass. "He has the adventurous spirit of his mother; just like she rejected the throne of Gondor, the reign of men will fall to Aragorn, and I trust that sooner or later he will accept it."
...
-Mordor-
"Ash burzum agh zikh khazâd gûl lat obrum. Ish ghashan gimbatul ni makh-tum, lat thrakatulûk! Gimbatul! (The ring of that dwarf lies in the ruins. That witch prevented me from taking it. Bring it to me!)
The guttural, malevolent sound permeated each word. It was an honor for those kneeling to hear the voice of their master, Sauron, who he ruins. That witch prevented me from taking it. Bring it to me!
"Dûmpat, ghâshû." (So be it, my lord) replied the Witch King of Angmar, whose figure was concealed by a black cloak.
...
-Mirkwood-
"Place the swords in the river," instructed Thalwen to Aldril, who obeyed without hesitation. They were in a cleared area of the forest, which had once been infested with spiders.
Their attack had succeeded in reclaiming part of Mirkwood, thanks to the blessing of Yavanna on Thalwen and the purification of Anguirel and Anglachel.
The forest, which was beginning to heal, was breathing once more. Its trees stood proud, though still showing traces of the corruption that had plagued them for years. They would heal with time, and the process would be even faster if the nearby part of the river was purified.
As the swords touched the water, a bluish light began to emanate from them, as if the very rivers of the land were responding to the touch of the Gondolin steel. The process was slow, for the darkness of Sauron had deeply tainted the water, poisoning it for many years.
The Silvan Elves, led by Tauriel and Finduilas, formed a protective barrier around them. Some kept watch over the forest, while others stood ready to defend their queen.
"Once this part is purified, what's next?" said Aldril, still holding the swords, whose glow was beginning to affect the river. What was once dark was slowly turning a lighter tone.
"My husband has requested an alliance with the Elves of Lothlórien," replied Thalwen, channeling Yavanna's blessing into the land near the river.
"He has decided to launch an attack to reclaim Mirkwood, and with it, the ancient home where he lived with his father."
"Dol Guldur."
***
Nasty orcs! here you have your chapter
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