Bab 96: Chapter 96: is no longer the same

[General POV]

-Mirkwood Coast-

"Dad, how are you?" Sigrid asked urgently. Just hours ago, she had witnessed that terrifying dragon fall. The hill had provided an excellent vantage point to watch the battle unfold.

What a fight it had been! She saw the man accompanying the dwarves, whose name was Aldril, something Legolas and his sister Tauriel frequently mentioned, deliver the decisive blow. It was a marvel to see the dragon brought down, but worry still gnawed at her. She didn't know if her father had survived.

Now, seeing him exhausted and his clothes scorched, her concerns eased. Her father might be weary, but he was alive, and that was what truly mattered. Tears began to pool in her eyes, shimmering like crystals.

"Thank you for being alive, Dad," she murmured as she buried her face in his shoulder, soft sobs escaping her lips.

"Dad, sniff," Tilda, who had been carried by Bard, wept in her father's arms. Though mature for her age, she was still a child, and the thought of losing her father had filled her with profound sorrow. Now, seeing him alive, her emotions poured out like a bursting dam.

Such a touching scene was interrupted by a strange laugh that silenced the crowd, who had been chanting "Heroes!" and "Dragon slayers!" Amid the throng stood a hunched man with yellow, crooked teeth and a repulsive face. He walked with a graceless swagger, basking in attention.

"I saw it! The great Bard faced the dragon with bravery! He killed it with a single arrow! I propose we make him our new governor!" Alfrid declared, shamelessly attempting to leech off Bard's newfound fame. He moved quickly through the crowd, only to be blocked by several survivors who stepped in his way.

"Stop right there!" said a stout woman, her unusually large arm gripping Alfrid's shoulder with surprising strength.

"It's that bastard, Alfrid! He pushed us off the governor's barge when we begged for help!" shouted a woman from the crowd, causing Alfrid's face to pale with fear.

In his foolishness, he had believed the people wouldn't care or that, in their desperation, they would forget his actions. How naïve and idiotic! These people had awakened and would no longer be fooled by his serpentine tongue.

"Yes, he's the one who kicked us!" another added, grabbing Alfrid by the shoulders and shoving him backward, making him fall flat on his rear.

"Kill him!" someone shouted from the crowd. The emotionally charged survivors quickly obliged, surrounding Alfrid, holding him down, and beating him.

The brutal scene was witnessed by Aldril and Tauriel, who stood embracing each other like a couple. They didn't intervene, knowing Bard was already stepping forward.

"Enough!" Bard's commanding voice rang out, forcing those striking Alfrid to stop and step back, clearing a path for him. In just a brief moment, Alfrid had suffered many injuries: several broken teeth, a swollen eye, blood trickling from his mouth and nose.

Bard approached Alfrid calmly, extending a hand. Hesitant and fearful, Alfrid took it, and Bard helped him to his feet with firm strength. "There's been enough death already!" Bard said fiercely. "There's no need for another corpse! He may deserve it, but the dragon has killed enough of our people for us to become savages and kill one more!"

Bard's harsh words silenced the survivors, like cold water splashed over their anger. He was right. Were they savages, ready to spill more blood after Smaug's massacre? Of course not. Ashamed, they bowed their heads.

Alfrid, breathing a sigh of relief at being saved, turned to Bard with his usual repugnant grin. "Yes! Just as Bard said, we are not savages! Who was the one that hi—"

"Shut up!" Bard snapped. "You're in no position to speak. Go and help those in need immediately!" Ignoring Alfrid further, Bard turned his attention back to the surrounding crowd. But it was then that he noticed a group of elves arriving with several carriages.

-Aldril-

At that moment, Aldril was holding Tauriel, who seemed unwilling to release him from her embrace. Not that he minded; the warmth of the elf, her soft curves, and the faint floral scent made him feel at ease. Without realizing it, he closed his eyes, relaxing with the elf in his arms.

The warm embrace between Aldril and Tauriel was interrupted by a voice so magnetic that it compelled Aldril to open his eyes lazily, only to rest them on an elf of ethereal beauty.

Her golden hair seemed to glow like gold under the soft light of the morning sun, and her fair skin contrasted perfectly with her crystalline eyes, as blue as a clear sky. Her gait was elegant, full of grace, and the majesty of her presence rendered the crowd around her silent, as if they were in the presence of a living masterpiece.

"Indeed, you are the spitting image of your father," the elf remarked, her voice as melodious as water flowing through a stream.

Tauriel, who until then had remained relaxed in Aldril's embrace, opened her eyes in surprise and gently pulled away. The elf's gaze shifted to Tauriel, offering her a smile brimming with warmth.

"And you… you resemble your mother greatly. I regret not speaking to you on that occasion," she said before turning her attention back to Aldril with a mixture of nostalgia, joy, and longing.

Aldril furrowed his brow slightly. The elf's words caught his attention. What did she mean by saying he looked like his father? Did she know who his father was?

"Excuse me, do I know you?" he asked, with a hint of distrust.

The elf let out a light laugh that resonated like a bell, magnetic and hypnotizing to those who heard it.

"My apologies," she replied, bowing gracefully. "My name is Finduilas, a friend of your father's." Her steps were delicate as she approached Aldril. "Without a doubt, you are the spitting image of Túrin. Many might think your hair is a gift from your mother," she said, "but I, more than anyone, know that this raven-black color, like a crow's feathers, is unmistakably your father's."

-Erebor-

Thorin, wearing a crown, looked down from above at the dwarves who scurried frantically through the mountains of gold, searching for the precious gem fit for a king, at least, that's what Thorin had declared in his madness.

"Have you found it?!" he shouted from above, his voice filled with grandeur mingled with frustration and impatience.

"No, not yet," replied Glóin, tossing aside a pile of jewels.

"Nothing here either," added Bofur, his sluggish demeanor revealing his lack of effort. His heart wasn't in it, how could it be, after Thorin's attitude had caused the body of his dear friend Bombur to remain unrecovered?

"Still nothing," said Dwalin.

The same responses repeated endlessly, further fueling Thorin's frustration. "The Arkenstone fell here! Search harder! We will not rest until it is found!"

At the far end of the hall, Bilbo observed Thorin's back, his hand unconsciously touching Aldril's storage ring. Only Balin was aware that he carried the ring, but the old dwarf chose to say nothing.

Time passed, more than three hours, and there was still no sign of the Arkenstone. Frustrated, Thorin left the dwarves to continue their search while he made his way to Erebor's throne, the throne that would no longer sit empty, for now it was occupied by Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thráin!

By his side were Balin, Bilbo, Dwalin, Kíli, and Fíli. The other dwarves had stayed behind to search for the gem. Why hadn't Thorin assigned these dwarves to the task? The answer was simple: he considered them his closest companions.

Bilbo was there because of the little information he had provided after Smaug's pursuit, though it was clear some lies were involved. A hobbit would never betray a friend! After all, Bilbo valued Aldril far more than Thorin and, worse still, had witnessed Thorin's descent into madness.

Leaning on the throne, Thorin frowned like a grumpy old man, his head bowed in thought. "The Arkenstone is still in Erebor, I'm certain of it," he muttered. But then, as if struck by an idea, he suddenly stood up.

"Or perhaps Aldril found the gem!" he exclaimed, his voice bubbling with anger. "Yes, he must have stolen it!" he roared, causing the nearby dwarves to widen their eyes in disbelief.

What was happening to Thorin? To distrust Aldril in such a way? Would Aldril even have a reason to take the Arkenstone? Many questions crossed their minds, but they all reached the same conclusion.

"The gem could not have been taken by Aldril," Bilbo immediately defended his dear friend.

"You don't know that!" Thorin snapped. "Dwalin, Kíli, Fíli, go find the survivors and see if Aldril is alive. If he is, bring him here!"

"But Thorin…" Dwalin began, his calm voice cut off by Kíli's defiant protest.

"Aldril would never do such a thing, Uncle! Something is happening to you! This isn't who you are!" Kíli exclaimed, stepping forward. He and Fíli respected Thorin immensely, but they, along with Balin, were the only ones brave enough to challenge him, even at great personal risk.

"Silence!" Thorin shouted, drawing his sword and pointing it at Kíli. "You will do as I say, or there will be no place for a disobedient dwarf in this family!"

The action shocked Fíli, who attempted to intervene, only for Balin to stop him with a shake of his head.

With a sigh, Balin cautiously approached Kíli. "Go, lad. Go find him," he urged. He knew this was the only way to defuse the situation for the two young dwarves. In this state, Thorin wouldn't recognize even his own father, and he might harm his family without hesitation.

"But Balin…" Kíli whispered, his fists clenched, his eyes reddened with sorrow. Thorin's actions had pierced his heart with a deep sadness.

"Go," Balin said softly, his voice kind. "It's better for you to leave this place," he murmured. "Thorin is no longer himself, and he might not recognize you. Just go."

***

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