-General-
"If you're reading these words, it's because my time by your side has come to an end. It wasn't by choice, but by necessity. My body, broken by an illness even the wise of Lórien could not heal, did not allow me to raise you as you deserved. There was no greater pain for me than leaving you, but I entrusted your care to Goldberry, whose heart is as pure as the waters of Ulmo.
Never doubt that you were, and will always be, the light of my days. Every autumn leaf that fell made me imagine how vibrant your hair might be; every silver light whispered your future smile into my dreams.
Be brave, my daughter. Let your bow defend what is right, let your compassion never wither. But above all, remember....your mother loves you. I will wait until the whispers of your adventures reach that undying place where, without question, I will be waiting for you with open arms."
Those written words were like sharp daggers piercing Tauriel's pure heart. She couldn't stop the tears from falling, silent and steady, like a July drizzle in the woods of her childhood. Her hands trembled as she pressed the letter to her chest, fists clenched with pain.
The ink, now smudged by tears, did nothing to blur the weight of the words or the love overflowing between the lines. Her elven blood boiled with a mix of grief and longing, an emotion so primal, every living being in Middle-earth could feel it.
It didn't matter how many winters passed, or how worn the mountains became: the soul of Eru's creations always found a way to recognize those who gave them life.
That's how Aldril recognized his mother in an old painting, as if the brushstrokes still held the warmth of her embrace.
This is how Tauriel felt her mother in a letter, each word a whisper of the past, each line an echo of the maternal love her mother transmitted while she still had her in her womb.
And that's how Thorin, King under the Mountain, knew that pile of bones worn down by time was none other than his father, lost, but never forgotten.
Surely it was a quality the Valar viewed with tenderness, an imperishable spark in the small, brave creations of their Father, Eru. A gift, perhaps, or a memory planted deep within the soul, so that neither time, nor distance, nor death could ever fully erase it.
---
Aldril, seeing Tauriel collapse, held her in his arms, embracing her gently like the summer sun itself. Without meaning to, his body radiated a comforting warmth, soft and enveloping, as if his very blood knew what Tauriel needed.
At last, the elf allowed herself to cry freely, releasing the weight she had carried in silence since childhood. Ancient tears, held back for years, flowed like a river finally finding its course.
The question that had haunted her heart for as long as she could remember"Why had her parents abandoned her?" had finally been answered. Perhaps not with every detail, but with certainty.
Her mother was still alive.
And knowing that was more than enough.
---
The minutes passed in silence, as if the world itself had paused. Aldril still held Tauriel in his arms, not moving an inch. At some point, the tears stopped; weariness swept through every fiber of the elf's body, and the warmth of the embrace lulled her to sleep. She lay resting, wrapped in the quiet that only comes after releasing what has been held inside for far too long.
Dried tears stained her delicate face. With the tenderness of someone who understands pain without needing words, Aldril gently wiped them away with the back of his sleeve, careful not to disturb her rest.
he watched in silence. A soft, sincere smile appeared on his face, carved by the battles of her journey. In that moment, Aldril understood: this warrior elf, known for her steady resolve and clear judgment even in the most perilous moments, was also capable of showing pure vulnerability, exposed and unguarded... but only to the right person.
"We'll rest tonight," he said calmly, addressing the two horses that had quietly approached.
Silivren, in particular, neighed with concern as she watched Tauriel. "Don't worry, she's just tired," Aldril whispered, gently brushing Tauriel's hair.
With a gentle wave of his hand, a blanket appeared, followed by a set of soft pillows woven with laurel leaves and carrying a fresh scent of roses. Carefully, Aldril settled Tauriel down, making sure her rest would be peaceful. He placed her in a comfortable position.
"I'll keep watch. Will you join me?" Aldril said softly, addressing Shadow Star.
The steed neighed with slight reluctance, glancing between Aldril and Tauriel's mare. But when he saw Silivren lay down beside Tauriel in a silent gesture of protection, he understood, there would be no action tonight.
With a resigned snort, Shadow Star took a few steps and positioned himself beside Aldril, his shadow merging with that of his master. Both horse and rider remained in silence, watching the horizon.
---
Two more days passed. Tauriel's mood had improved, yet a shadow still lingered in her eyes, faint, but persistent. A sadness that only time could heal… though Aldril's radiant presence had already begun to dispel it.
And who knows? Perhaps, in some years, it wouldn't be Aldril's light alone that chased away the darkness, but also smaller lights, joyful laughter and tiny footsteps.
The road, from then on, was calm. As Bombadil had foretold, the last clan of wargs from the Rhûn plains had been defeated. No enemies lurked, no fear lingered, only the steady march toward the horizon.
Before them stood the mountains: towering and majestic, a natural wall dividing two worlds, the fertile, living prairie, and beyond it, the harsh, storm-swept desert of Rhûn. According to the map, those mountains also marked the beginning of a new territory: the domain of the dwarves of Rhûn, guardians who defended that frontier against the men of the East, keeping Erebor's enemies at bay.
Hours passed, and with them came the veil of night, soft and silent, like a mantle woven by the stars. The sun, faithful in its path, withdrew gently, yielding the sky to its eternal beloved: the moon, whom it longed to glimpse, even if only from afar, during the fleeting moment of twilight.
Beneath the serene light of the heavens, Aldril and Tauriel arrived at the foot of the mountain. There, solemn and imposing, stood a gate, massive, heavy, carved directly into the living rock. It lacked the golden grandeur of Erebor, yet it was no less a work of art.
The stone was etched with dwarvish runes, deep lines that spoke of history. The language of the dwarves told how Durin's descendants, in ancient times, had entrusted the dwarves of Rhûn with the sacred duty of guarding the mountain.
In this region dwelled various dwarven clans: the Ironfists, the Stiffbeards, the Broadbeams, and the Stonefoots. It was said the Stiffbeards and Stonefoots lived in the depths of the Rhûn desert, in hidden caves that allowed them to survive the scorching heat and the ceaseless wind.
"We've arrived," Aldril whispered.
The lit torches lining the threshold cast flickering shadows that danced across the robust faces of the dwarves on watch. Upon seeing two strangers approach, they stiffened, readying their weapons.
"Halt! Who goes there?" one of the sentries called out cautiously.
Aldril urged his horse a step forward, his voice calm and commanding as he proclaimed:
"I am Aldril, slayer of dragons, friend of the dwarves of Erebor, and ally of King Thorin Oakenshield!"
His words struck with weight. The titles he bore were not hollow, they carried with them stories and songs that would echo for generations to come.
From beneath his cloak, he pulled out the emblem Thorin had once given him. When it caught the light of the stars and torches, it glowed brightly: a bluish glow pulsed softly with magic.
And then, it happened.
The runes on the gate, until now dormant, began to glow, one by one, as if they recognized the symbol. The very stone seemed to acknowledge the emblem. The dwarves, astonished, widened their eyes, murmuring among themselves in awe. Without delay, they sprang into action, removing the locks and turning the handles. Slowly, the gate opened, revealing a deep corridor bathed in amber light.
That emblem was of immense importance, throughout dwarf history, it had only appeared once before, when the first Durin bestowed it upon the Noldor king, Fingolfin. And now, at last, it had resurfaced.
Its appearance meant only one thing…
The dwarves would once again march to war alongside the other races of Middle-earth.
**
Filthy orcs! Sorry for the delay, everything has happened to me, now my laptop shorted the Ram memory and got screwed.
"p@treon.com/Mrnevercry"