Capítulo 68: Chapter 68: Friends
[General POV]
The realm of the Wood Elves, ruled by King Thranduil, is known for its calm and serene atmosphere. Its underground construction is infused with a peace that is only interrupted by the gentle whispers of nature. The inhabitants of this kingdom, dedicated to their tasks and to maintaining balance in their environment, move with an almost ethereal grace, respecting the tranquility that defines their home.
However, on this particular night, a noticeable disturbance breaks the norm. The stillness of the night is shaken by an unexpected commotion emanating from a room. The sound of laughter and lively voices, along with the clinking of glasses, echoes through the halls, disturbing the silence that allows the nearby elves to sleep.
"Haha, did you see that elf's face when he realized we were free?" Dwalin laughed joyfully as he took large gulps of his wine. A few hours earlier, the dwarves had been released at Aldril's request to King Thranduil, a decision that had caused discontent among the elven guards. Their displeasure only grew when they were tasked with ensuring that the dwarves didn't cause an accident.
"Haha, it looked like he'd eaten horse dung," Glóin added, joining in the mockery. He showed signs of being drunk after so many glasses, having gone a long time without enjoying a good tankard of wine.
"Nothing beats the look on their faces when they handed us their precious wine, haha!" Bofur, with a cup in hand, laughed at the memory. As Thranduil had promised Aldril, the dwarves were shown hospitality, and an entire barrel of their prized wine was carried away by the dwarves under the disdainful gazes of the elves. There was no room for complaint, as it was the king's order that these ill-mannered dwarves be treated well.
"At least the elves have one good thing," Glóin said with a silly grin forming on his face.
"Oh? And what's that?" Dwalin asked with a mocking look on his face, already guessing what Glóin would say but wanting to keep the conversation going.
"The wine, hahaha!" Glóin laughed heartily, spilling a little wine onto the wooden floor.
"You boys don't know what real wine is," Balin chimed in as he took a sip from his tankard. He couldn't deny that he was a bit drunk, having allowed himself to drink more after growing tired of milk, just like the others.
"So Balin, what's the best wine for you?" Kili asked, seated next to Bilbo and Aldril, who were both curiously watching Balin, especially Aldril, who had made it his goal to taste every wine in Middle-earth at least once.
Under the expectant eyes of the others, Balin drifted into his thoughts, recalling a time when he was a bit younger. "The wine of Dorwinion," he finally said after a few seconds of silence. "It's the finest wine in all of Middle-earth, I can assure you."
This piqued the curiosity of the others, as they had never heard of this particular place before. Only Thorin and Glóin's expressions changed at the mention of the name.
"Ah, my father once mentioned it," Glóin added, shaking off some of his drunkenness. "'You don't know a damn thing about what makes a good wine.' Those were his exact words," he said, chuckling softly as he remembered. It was one of the last times he drank with his father, a precious memory.
"I remember," Thorin said, silencing everyone else. It was an unspoken understanding that when Thorin spoke, the others should remain quiet. "Once, their king, Bladorthin, made an order from our smiths. Do you remember, Balin?"
"Yes, I remember. In exchange for forging spears with heads thrice-forged and shafts cleverly inlaid with gold, they offered us a thousand barrels of their delicious wine," Balin recalled, turning his gaze to Thorin. "I remember your father, Thráin, being very excited about the deal, urging your grandfather, Thrór, to accept the offer." A nostalgic smile crossed his face as he remembered the time when they lived in peace, without worries or problems, a time that sadly came to an end in just a single day.
Thorin clearly felt the shift in Balin's mood and placed a hand on his shoulder. After all, Balin was the eldest and wisest of the dwarves, and having been by Thorin's side even in his youth, he held a special place of respect and affection in Thorin's heart.
Wanting to lighten the somber atmosphere that had suddenly taken over, Kili changed the subject, turning the conversation towards Aldril. "So, Aldril, how did you manage to speak with that pompous king?" He was referring to Thranduil, as during their imprisonment, Thorin had told them parts of his conversation with the Elvenking.
Kili's intervention was successful, as the somber mood lifted slightly. Now, the dwarves turned their attention to Aldril, eager to hear his answer, even Thorin looked curious about this particular detail.
Aldril remained silent for a few seconds, debating whether or not to reveal the other half of his lineage. He trusted the dwarves, but still feared that knowing he was part elf might change how they treated him. Thranduil's words had made him doubt.
Bilbo, who was seated beside him, sensed his hesitation, it was palpable, and gave him a look of support. He understood the dwarves' animosity toward elves, so he comprehended why Aldril was hesitant to speak.
Aldril appreciated Bilbo's gesture. He could lie about why the elves had accepted him so readily, but that wasn't his way. He didn't want to lie to those he considered friends, and this would be a chance to prove that these dwarves were trustworthy, contradicting King Thranduil's words, at least, that was the hope in his heart.
With a sigh that seemed to dispel all his doubts, he looked up at everyone with a resolute expression. "Do you remember when I left to speak with Elrond?" His question was met with the dwarves' nods. They might have been distracted, but they had paid attention to that moment, though they hadn't thought much of it, dismissing it as trivial.
"As you know, not too long ago, I didn't know who my mother was," he paused, heightening the tension in the room. The dwarves looked at him expectantly, a few feeling the urge to punch him for speaking so slowly, but they remembered Aldril's strength and held back.
"During that time, Elrond took me to a room filled with ancient portraits, and in one of them was my beloved mother," he said, causing the dwarves to raise their eyebrows in confusion. Thorin, in particular, had already pieced together what Aldril was about to say.
"My mother is Tindómiel, the adventurer elf." With another sigh, he finally revealed the truth to the dwarves, whose faces showed surprise at the revelation. Many looked at each other in bewilderment. Thorin simply closed his eyes, having guessed correctly, while Balin remained calm, a kind smile on his face. After all, he already knew from Aldril's earlier conversation with Bilbo.
The silence that settled over the room made Aldril close his eyes for a moment. He feared opening them and seeing the dwarves looking at him with disdain and disgust. However, his worries were quickly dispelled by a comment from one of the dwarves.
"Huh? I don't get it. So, your mother's an elf? And so what?" asked a confused Glóin, his drunkenness clouding his thoughts.
"Idiot, that means Aldril's an elf," Dwalin added, drinking from his tankard without a care. It seemed the news of Aldril's lineage didn't bother him in the slightest.
With a sigh, Balin looked at the two foolish dwarves and responded, "No, Aldril doesn't have elf ears, so he must be a half-elf, right?" He looked at Aldril with a gentle smile.
"Yes, I'm half-elf," Aldril confirmed. He had opened his eyes, and to his relief, none of them looked at him with disgust or scorn.
"Half-elf? Bah, doesn't matter. Aldril's my friend, and even if he were a full elf, I'd still treat him the same. I'd even say he's the only elf I like," Glóin added with a casual wave of his hand.
"Glóin's right. Aldril is our friend. Look at the bright side—he could smuggle us some elven wine, hahaha," Dwalin laughed. Like the rest, he considered Aldril a friend. After all, they'd faced life-and-death battles together, so even if Aldril were a full elf, a bond of friendship would have formed. This was also evident in the original plot of The Lord of the Rings, where Legolas and Gimli became friends after fighting many battles together.
"Indeed, it doesn't matter if you're an elf or a half-elf. It doesn't change the fact that you're part of our expedition, Aldril. You're one of us," Thorin said with a slight smile. It was rare to see him smile, even a little, but it showed that Thorin, like the rest, respected Aldril. After all, Aldril had saved him in both the Goblin kingdom and from Azog. It was only natural to respect him.
"Then let's celebrate the only elf who's a friend to dwarves!" Bofur shouted, causing the others to stand and raise their wine-filled tankards.
"To Aldril!" Nori exclaimed.
"To our friendship!" Ori added.
"To hell with him being an elf, Aldril is our friend," Bombur said cheerfully. He held Aldril in high regard, having heard from the others how Aldril had leapt into a river cursed with dark magic to save him, a true act of friendship.
"To our friend Aldril!" Bilbo also stood up, giving Aldril a radiant smile. Inwardly, he breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn't misjudged the dwarves, they might be rude, unrefined, and dirty, but they were undoubtedly loyal friends.
"Idiots," Aldril muttered with a bright smile. He was right, these dwarves were different. Other dwarves might be greedy and abandon friendships for wealth, but he was sure this group was an exception to that behavior. With slightly misty eyes, Aldril also stood and toasted with them.
"Cheers!"
****
Filthy orcs! Here's your chapter of the day. Let me remind you that later on it will be explained who Aldril's father is, for those who haven't read the books.
I'm waiting for another important character to appear in the plot, which will reveal the story of Aldril and Tauriel's father.
Remember to support me on Patreon, where you can find 15 chapters ahead and enjoy the upcoming chapters of this fanfic in advance. I am deeply grateful to those who continue supporting and subscribing, whether as paid or free members.
Eternal thanks, and long live the Horde! Oh no, wait, long live the Orcs! We must fight for our lord Sauron!!"
"p@treon.com/Mrnevercry"
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Ax_nevermay_cry run! sauron has found that we deal in stones of power!!!
Capítulo 69: Chapter 69: The night before the departure
-Thranduil-
The Third Age began for Thranduil's kingdom with a long period of peace, during which the population of the Silvan Elves grew once more. Yet, despite this, a shadow remained in his heart. He had witnessed the horrors of Mordor and could not forget them.
In his bedchamber, he lay awake late into the night, his gaze fixed to the south. Each time he looked in that direction, the memories darkened the moonlight.
He knew those lands were desolate, deserted, and guarded by the men of Gondor. However, his heart told him that evil had not been defeated for good. Sooner or later, that evil would rise again. His fears were confirmed when, after a thousand years, a shadow slowly crept into the forest from the south. His dread became reality.
Wild beasts hunted everything in their path, and dark creatures began weaving their traps. During that time, he had decided to move his kingdom further north, where they now reside. It was a heavy blow to learn from his scouts that the place his father once ruled had become home to an unparalleled evil, a presence so corrupt that it rotted the once-green forest.
The pieces were falling into place; fate was taking control. It was no coincidence that the son of that woman had appeared at this moment.
His beloved wife, who with her blessing had kept dark magic at bay, informed him that she had sensed the changes that had begun with the appearance of Túrin's descendant. Fate had once again united the blood of those two individuals, who had brought great change during the First Age.
The unbeatable bow and sword would once again join forces in the fight against the dark powers, clear evidence that evil was stirring. As he was lost in thought, warm arms wrapped around his waist, prompting him to look at the person embracing him.
"What troubles you, my love?"
Her sweet voice was like a melody to his ears. He would never tire of hearing his beautiful wife's voice. Both she and Legolas had given him hope, the light he needed when he was consumed by darkness. Turning, he wrapped his arms around his beloved Thalwen, her rosy scent filling his senses. His wife's hair was like the brightest spring, and as he closed his eyes, savoring her warmth and fragrance, he allowed himself a moment to calm down.
"The darkness is on the move. The child's arrival is a very clear sign. We must prepare for the battles ahead," he explained. "Though the time of the Elves has passed, that evil will not leave us in peace. It will seek to destroy us. We are a thorn in its side, and it will not rest."
He was speaking more to himself than to his wife. He knew that if Sauron returned, he would attack every Elven kingdom still standing.
Thranduil needed to strengthen the borders of his realm and prevent Sauron's forces from seizing Erebor. Should that happen, his kingdom would be in grave danger. He trusted that the son of that woman would slay the fearsome Smaug, and the death of the dragon would allow them to establish a strong strategic point to defend against Sauron's dark forces.
"We knew this moment would come," Thalwen said as she remained wrapped in her husband's arms. She lifted her gaze to meet his warm eyes. Her heart raced, as it always did when she looked into them, no matter how many decades they had been together. "We will be ready when the time comes," she whispered softly.
-Bolg, Mirkwood-
Splash.
The sound of a head being pierced echoed loudly. It was caused by a messenger orc who was supposed to have been keeping an eye on the expedition group.
"Arrg! You idiot! What do you mean you don't know what happened to them?" Bolg growled, his face contorted with rage, further accentuating his already hideous features.
In front of him stood an orc, cowering in fear. It had been one of the orcs left behind to watch the expedition team. Not long ago, an orc had dared to investigate Beorn's house, only to be shocked when he found no sign of the dwarves. The orc had quickly rushed back to inform Bolg.
"Useless scum!" Bolg snarled in anger. He had vented some of his fury on the now headless orc. He quickly shifted his gaze to the other orcs. "There's your dinner," he said with a simple gesture of his hand. The orcs immediately began tearing apart the dead orc's body.
They were fortunate to be in Mirkwood, waiting for the opportunity to strike. Now, Borg had to act quickly; the dwarves were likely to leave the elven kingdom soon, so it was wise to wait for them near the river port. It was the only path they could take, and they would need to set off immediately if they wanted to ambush them.
"Hurry up, you stinking rats!" he shouted, prompting the orcs, still smeared with their comrades' blood, to rise and grab their weapons. None dared ask what Borg's plan was, for they were simple-minded creatures, focused only on following orders, a testament to their general stupidity.
-With Aldril-
The dwarves drank late into the night, though only a few remained awake, mostly those who hadn't drunk much. Among them were Balin, Thorin, Aldril, Bilbo, and Bofur. The five of them sat in a circle, illuminated only by candlelight and the moonlight filtering through. The conversation had shifted to the greatness of Erebor and the tragic loss of the kingdom of Moria.
"Durin's Bane ravaged the kingdom. The dwarves, powerless to stop it, were forced to migrate. It remains a dark stain on our people's history," Balin explained. As one of the wisest dwarves, he briefly recounted some tales.
"What is Durin's Bane?" Bilbo asked, his curiosity piqued. The stories Balin was sharing intrigued him, and he could easily imagine writing a book about all the things he had experienced and heard on this journey. There was no doubt it would make for a fascinating read for the hobbits of the Shire.
A heavy silence followed Bilbo's question. All the dwarves believed that Durin's Bane was a cursed fire that consumed their people, yet Aldril, with his knowledge, knew that it was the Balrog, but he could not say so openly, especially because he did not want to explain why he knew.
"Fire, Bilbo. A fire that consumes everything," Bofur finally answered after a few moments of silence, his voice somber. All dwarves of Durin's line knew of it; it was told to them as children, passed down from generation to generation, to ensure they never forgot the evil that arose from their greed.
Sensing the dark atmosphere, Aldril decided to change the subject. He wanted to learn more about Erebor, especially since the films hadn't covered much of the kingdom. "By the way, Thorin, I heard Erebor had many treasures. Which were the most valuable to you?" He knew that his relationship with Thorin had become one of friendship, or at least that was how Thorin had acted after the Goblin Kingdom incident, so he felt comfortable asking something so direct.
Unbothered by the straightforward question, Thorin sank into thought, remaining silent for a few moments before speaking. "The hundreds of spears with gold tips commissioned by Bladorthin. They were masterpieces, forged with great dedication by our smiths." He fell silent again, as if trying to recall something else, then raised his eyes as the memory returned.
"There was also a helm," he tried to remember its name, but it had been so long that he could only recall its appearance, not its name. "It was a helm of grey steel, with a visor to protect the eyes, adorned with gold and victory runes engraved upon it. Its crest bore a golden image of a type of dragon."
For some reason, Aldril's heart raced at the description of this helm. Unnoticed by the others, Anglachel, the sword stored in the corner by Aldril, began to glow faintly with its characteristic dark, starry sheen.
"I don't remember its name," Thorin shook his head, unable to recall it, and looked to Balin, hoping the old dwarf might still remember the helm that had been so treasured by his grandfather.
Feeling Thorin's gaze, Balin sank into thought until he raised his hand, as if the memory had just come to him. "Ahh, I remember now. It's said to have been abandoned by Húrin in a fit of rage and sorrow. I don't know the reason why," Balin said, shaking his head as he looked back at Thorin.
"If I'm not mistaken, its name was… the Dragon-helm of Dor-lómin."
***
Filthy orcs!! here is your leader once again feeding you with chapters!
I will be correcting the first chapters, as I think I have gained more experience, so the quality should have gone up (I hope so) so to attract more readers I will progressively correct the first chapters.
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