-General-
"That's me!" said Bombadil, leaping into the air and spinning like a comic character while pointing at himself.
Indeed, Bombadil's behavior wavered between the comedic and the serene. He almost seemed like a man who cared about nothing: no enemy turned his head, no dispute called to him. In short, he was the definition of a free man.
But what was the reason for this? Undeniably, it was the power he possessed. It was even said that when the Valar arrived like falling stars, Tom was pruning his garden and, at the sight, merely shrugged and went on with his work.
What kind of person would even the Valar respect? Well, the answer was simple: someone carefree.
"What are you doing here, my lord? Shouldn't you be in the Old Forest?" asked Tauriel, now with a tone of respect in her voice. It wasn't every day you met the most mysterious person in Middle-earth.
"Come now! Don't speak so formally, little one," Tom replied with a dismissive gesture. "But as for certain mint…I have come for a promise I made years ago. You see, your father asked me that once you woke up, the blessing of the brat of Oromë would come, and he would give you everything inherited from him and your mother."
His explanation was simple, straight to the point. He wasn't like those entities that spoke cryptically, with a touch of poetry in their voice. Tom spoke with ease, something oddly out of sync with the powerful being he was.
"My parents?" whispered Tauriel.
In the elf's eyes, longing mixed with curiosity. Although Thalwen and Thranduil had treated her like a daughter and she had never lacked love, the undeniable desire to know her real parents still lingered in her heart.
"That's right, that's right," said Tom, nodding repeatedly. "He beat me in a card game, so here I am! I'll fulfill the promise."
With that, he reached into one of his pockets. With a face full of funny grimaces, he searched intently for Tauriel's inheritance. Minutes passed as Tom rummaged through his pocket until finally, a bright smile spread across his face.
"Here it is!" he exclaimed, throwing out a wooden box at least two meters tall.
On it was embroidered a symbol resembling a four-leaf clover, which seemed to be struck by a hammer.
Even for Aldril, who had a storage ring, it was a mystery how Tom pulled a box like that out of his pockets.
Honestly, Tom Bombadil was the first person to give Aldril a true sense of mystery. He knew most of the characters from the movies, but Tom was never mentioned in them, making him quite the enigma.
And, apparently, Tauriel knew something about him. He planned to ask who he really was on their journey.
Sighing, hands on his waist, Tom turned around and began to do small dance hops.
"Well, I've fulfilled my promise," he said, turning halfway and walking toward the steeds.
Aldril and Tauriel didn't stop his departure; both were so bewildered they couldn't find words for what had just happened. That's when Tom stopped just inches away from Shadow Star, who stood still like a statue.
"Ah, I almost forgot," he said, hitting his left palm with his right fist. "Rhûn, where you're headed, is in the middle of a civil war. Who knows? Your help could free those men from the darkness...the kind that Sauron brat has been exploiting."
With that, he stepped beside Shadow Star and, like a ghost, disappeared before the astonished eyes of Aldril and Tauriel.
'Was that teleportation?' Aldril wondered, now slightly aware of why his bloodline prevented his from showing hostility or disrespect toward Tom. His storm of thoughts was interrupted by Tauriel, who gave a helpless smile and sighed.
"Certainly, that was something," she said, stepping forward to open the box that, according to Tom, contained her inheritance.
With a bit of pressure, the lid gave way, revealing a pristine silver battle outfit, whose glow, lit by the horizon's sun, resembled a snowy night under the moonlight's radiance.
To the side, two silver daggers complemented the armor. Even from a distance, the sharp gleam of their blades gave the impression of slicing through sight itself. Without a doubt, these daggers were no ordinary weapons.
At the bottom, there was a set of women's clothing. The moment Tauriel touched it, it changed color, adapting to the shade that best suited her. The tunic was enchanted, just like the coat of Tindomiel that Aldril had inherited.
With a slight movement, a letter slipped out from the dress, decorated with the same seal as the chest. The first words written inside read:
"To my dear Tauriel, from your mother Carnissëa (Silver Light)."
---
-Coasts of Umbar-
The waves crashed against the shore with the ferocity of an attacking army, like a thousand spears of foam breaking in rows upon the sand. The sea was restless, dark as steel beneath storm clouds, swaying with a restrained fury, as if it shared the emotion or foreboding of the men who sailed it in small boats.
Each vessel bore a prow mask carved in the shape of a sea dragon, whose obsidian eyes seemed to glow with life of their own.
Their cloaks, made from the hides of dire wolves and glacial bears, enhanced their strong, athletic builds. On their arms, toughened by countless battles, axes gleamed with polished steel, vibrating as if they longed for the clash and blood of coming enemies.
On one of the ships, a tall, broad-shouldered man held the prow mask with both hands. Excitement stretched a grin from ear to ear, like a warrior intoxicated by the approach of battle.
"Years I've waited for this moment!" he exclaimed. The sea breeze soaked his face, highlighting features worn by time. His hair, golden as summer sunflowers, stuck to skin stained with bear blood, forming streaks that resembled claws.
"We understand your excitement, Belegor," said a man in a blue robe, voice deep, "but we must be wary of the enemy's mûmak."
"The mûmak is the least of it!" added another, also in a water-soaked blue robe. "The Masters will help us deal with such a creature."
Belegor, a descendant of the Númenórean Men and bearer of Ulmo's blessing, paid no heed to the warnings of the two apprentices of the Blue Wizards. His excitement could not be dimmed by cautious words; the war against the Corsairs—those pathetic men who bowed to Sauron—made his blood boil.
A wave splashed his face, like a caress from the sea itself, a silent gesture of approval. No accidents occurred, no ship was lost along the way: the seventy dozen ships arrived safely, driven by the will of the ocean.
"Ulmo is with us!!" roared Belegor to the open sky, and as if the Valar himself responded, the wind blew harder, swelling the sails and quickening the great fleet's advance.
In the distance, the Corsairs were distracted by their Rebellion: men faithful to the teachings of the Blue Mages had launched a surprise attack on the port, plunging the city into chaos and death. That ambush was enough for the sentries to miss the shadow looming on the horizon; a colossal fleet coming to reclaim the land and purge those cowards who had knelt before absolute evil.
***
Filthy orcs! as you can see the changes are starting to show.
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