[General POV]
The soft glow of the midday sun reflected its light on the golden brilliance of the helmet. Aldril's serene face mirrored back at him, an echo of the past. Half of his face overlapped with another, acquiring a more weathered look, hardened by life. His raven-black hair cascaded down to his shoulders.
The living image of Túrin Turambar was reflected in half of his face, forming a fine contrast of familiarity.
For Aldril, this was a clear message. The residual magic within the helmet vibrated expectantly, the blood coursing through his veins stirring it, causing its glow to intensify with every mote of light that entered it.
The residual magic came to life, seeping into Aldril, who felt a warm current flow into his body like tiny sparks of electricity. His eyes closed involuntarily, absorbing a memory etched into the relic.
----
On the frozen plains, where snow painted the landscape white, three figures stood engaged in conversation. The wind, usually relentless, seemed to hold its fury at bay, allowing their voices to float clearly through the icy air.
"Are you sure about this, Túrin?" asked a figure clad in a blue robe. His hands, marked by age and wisdom, delicately held the Dragon-helm.
Túrin, wrapped in a heavy cloak, did not take his eyes off the helmet. His gaze, shadowed by old scars, reflected the storm he carried within.
"The helmet has rejected me, Alatar," he responded, his deep voice laden with resignation as cold as the snow beneath his feet. "My willingness to die has severed my bond with it."
The third member of the group, draped in a dark blue cloak, remained silent, watching Túrin with a mixture of compassion. The icy breeze stirred the folds of his mantle, but he did not avert his gaze from the warrior, sensing the burden pressing upon Túrin's shoulders.
"The helmet would not reject you merely for your willingness to die," said the second Blue Wizard in a calm yet inquisitive tone. His eyes locked onto Túrin's, searching for the truth still left unspoken.
Túrin remained silent. For a moment, he seemed to resist answering. Then, his shoulders slumped, as if all the tension keeping him upright had suddenly vanished. His once-vibrant, fierce eyes dimmed behind a veil of exhaustion.
"Yes… there is something more," he finally admitted, his voice barely a whisper in the wind.
He paused, his gaze drifting over the faces of the Blue Wizards—his companions through part of his journey. In their eyes, he found no judgment, only patience and silent understanding.
He sighed, resigned.
"The helmet will no longer be of any use to me," he said, a strange calm in his voice. "So I leave it to you. Find a warrior worthy of it."
----
The scene had changed.
The Blue Wizards wandered through the imposing, frozen mountain. Aldril recognized the place instantly, it was Erebor in all its splendor. From a distance, the bustling city in the valley glowed with the warm light of torches. Caravans moved back and forth between the valley and the mountain, a torrent of life still unaware of its fate.
"Pallando, are you sure about leaving the helmet in the hands of those dwarves?" Alatar asked, his resolve wavering.
Pallando did not take his eyes off Erebor's gates.
"You know the dragon will come," he replied calmly. "King Thrór's greed has driven him to hoard treasures beyond measure. That avarice will draw the dragon, it's only a matter of time."
Alatar frowned, understanding the weight of his words.
"And you believe this is the best way to find a capable warrior? I won't deny it—it's an efficient method, but…" Alatar sighed, gazing at the city with sorrow. "It could take an eternity before someone manages to defeat that dragon once it claims Erebor. At the very least, we should warn them of the impending danger. Innocent lives will be lost."
Pallando barely inclined his head.
"Hard decisions require strong wills, Alatar. Our warning would fall on deaf ears. The king's greed and the folly of men will cloud their judgment. We are not Olórin, meant to endure the foolishness of these races."
The icy wind was the only witness to their conversation.
Alatar, though reluctant, agreed to remain silent. They would not interfere more than necessary. Their only task was to deliver the Dragon-helm. And so they did.
The helmet was placed before King Thrór. But before handing it over, the Blue Wizards whispered:
"Oh, great warrior, slayer of dragons… To the east, beneath a pink tree with white bark, our wait will be long. The Eastern people will await your arrival."
---
The vision came to an end.
Aldril furrowed his brow, his thoughts still trapped in the visions. Instinctively, his gaze turned eastward, where it was said that the people who once inhabited those lands had already succumbed to the corrupt whispers of Sauron.
However, it was not only the magic of the wizards that caused the helmet to react this way, it was Aldril's blood. His Húrin heritage had resonated with the helm, especially due to his kinship with Túrin Turambar. The helmet would reveal its full splendor only to those of Húrin's lineage, and after so many years, it was finally reunited with a descendant… particularly with the son of the warrior who had fought countless battles against the Dark Lord Morgoth.
Shaking his head, Aldril cleared his doubts. Right now, he needed to retrieve Smaug's scales and bones. He hoped his storage ring would be capable of holding the dragon's entire body.
He urged Shadow Star forward. However, one thought refused to be dismissed.
"Olórin… Who is he, and why do I feel like I have met him before?"
---
As Aldril rode toward the lake, far away, in the heart of the Kingdom of Mirkwood, a heated conversation was unfolding between mother and son.
Legolas, head held high, met his mother's gaze. Thalwen's furrowed brow only accentuated her beauty.
"Are you sure about this, my son?"
"I am, Mother," Legolas affirmed without hesitation. "I know what the future holds, but I want to spend my time with her."
Thalwen closed her eyes for a moment, suppressing a mix of frustration and sorrow before responding.
"This is madness!" Her voice rose, betraying her agitation. "I have already warned you that the great Eru will not allow you and her to end well! Why don't you understand?"
In the end, her tone nearly broke.
Legolas held his mother's gaze with serenity.
"I know the risks, Mother…" His words were measured. "But something inside me tells me that the great Eru has seen my devotion and will allow me to spend this time with her."
He paused briefly before continuing, his voice growing softer.
"Even when she takes her last breath, I will be there… loving her."
Silence stretched between them.
"I will leave the kingdom with her," Legolas continued. "We will spend her mortal years traveling, creating memories… And when the time comes, I will return with her."
***
Filthy orcs!! here is your chapter, enjoy it.
"p@treon.com/Mrnevercry"