-General-
The cold surface of the water hit Aldril's face, but he did not flinch. Since his assimilation with dragon blood, his body resisted both the suffocating heat and the coldest chill.
With a single impulse, he dove into the depths of the lake, his body slicing through the water with each stroke. Around him, small fish scattered, and the aquatic plants swayed with the wake of his swimming, while the filtered sunlight created golden flashes on his skin.
His amber eyes revealed the entire wavy surface of the lake, where the warm rays of the sun barely made their way through. His eyes caught a red spot not far off. Resting on a rock, Smaug's body lay still, many fish had taken refuge in its form, but they scattered with fear as Aldril approached.
The scales of Smaug gleamed like beautiful rubies, absorbing the sunlight, the beautiful inlays clinging to the withered skin, the only resistance preventing them from falling off was the small abrasions on the skin.
Aldril remained impassive, staring coldly at the dragon. The creature that just days ago had been his most feared adversary, the one that had brought him to the brink of death, now lay as a shadow of what it once was.
He would not deny that, without Varda's intervention, he would have succumbed in that battle. But he had been blessed, and that blessing not only saved him but also purified the dark force that still resided in Smaug, absorbing the essence of the dragon as if it were a part of his very being.
The dead body of Smaug stood as a grim testament to Aldril's long and arduous journey. From a simple man, disconnected from his surroundings and immersed in solitude, he had emerged as a fearsome dragon hunter. His path, filled with obstacles, losses, and sacrifices, had also granted him moments of joy... and, above all, friendships.
Throughout this journey, Aldril had learned profound lessons: patience, the value of listening before speaking. The figure of Gandalf, always wise and serene, had been the greatest influence in his transformation. Yet, despite his growth, something inside him told him that something was still wrong, something he had to recognize and correct.
His memories pulled him back to the battle against the orcs, to that bitter moment when indifference and disdain clouded his judgment. Arrogance had led him to underestimate the situation, and his delay in confronting Azog had been fatal. That delay, that mistake, had cost the life of the old Balin.
He knew it wasn't entirely his fault, but still, he couldn't help but carry the guilt. The image of Balin, always so wise and brave, appeared in every corner of his mind. 'I should have been faster,' he repeated to himself. 'I should have controlled my pride and not let arrogance blind me.'
The memory of his fallen friend tormented him, and deep within him, he felt responsible.
"It's not your fault, Aldril. You can't save them all," Tauriel had said.
He knew she was right, but still, he clung to his belief. Perhaps time would make him wiser, more mature... and maybe, just maybe, it would ease the weight of regret.
Absorbed in his thoughts, he didn't notice how the fish fled from his presence, as if his mere existence disturbed the calm of the water. But then, something changed. A subtle warmth spread through the current, enveloping him. The fish stopped, their small bodies vibrating with an unknown energy. One by one, they turned in the water and returned, forming a hypnotic dance around him, as if trying to comfort him.
Aldril blinked, surprised. It was not just a natural phenomenon... he felt it deep within his being. The water responded to him, as if an invisible force was calling it. He closed his eyes and let the sound of the current and the movement of the fish merge into perfect harmony. It was magic. Not an imposing or destructive magic, but one that conveyed tranquility and warmth.
Absorbed in the peace, he offered no resistance. He stopped kicking. Normally, this would have caused him to sink, but not this time. Something invisible, something magical, kept him afloat, motionless, as if the water itself refused to let him fall.
The fauna of the lake, aware of what was happening, paused in reverential silence. The current seemed to still. Then, an ancient presence manifested. The supreme lord of seas, rivers, and lakes rose in his domain, and all the aquatic life bent its will before him.
Aldril felt that imposing presence, but there was no fear in his heart. His eyes slowly opened, and before him, a colossal shadow emerged from the water. It was a being born from the very ocean, its liquid body fluctuating with the current, and two crystal-clear eyes, polished like blue amber, gazed at him with serenity.
"I was waiting for the moment of our meeting." His voice resonated in the depths, each word swaying the water that held Aldril. "Son of Túrin Turambar, you have accomplished a feat worthy of my recognition, just as your great-grandfather and great-great-grandfather did."
Aldril did not respond. Even if words were in his mind, he would not dare interrupt. Something within him stirred with a strange familiarity: Varda's blessing responded to that presence, as if it were reconnecting with a lost brother. And then, he knew. He needed no questions or explanations; the sea itself whispered his name.
"Just as Tuor's axe received my blessing, my waters will help you create with the children of Aulë what you plan."
The being raised a hand, and in response, a crystalline mass of pure water emerged and filtered into Aldril's storage ring.
"My waters will be the perfect forge."
With her other hand, the currents obeyed her command, and Smaug's lifeless body rose above the waves.
"Take advantage of my gift and create the uncreated. Forge and temper the unique armor that will be born for the first time in the history of Arda."
....
In Erebor, Aldril moved forward with Smaug's body. His storage ring had managed to contain all the scales, but the colossal corpse was impossible to store. So, much to Shadow Star's dismay, he had to drag it. The steed neighed in frustration, upset by the burden, but did not refuse the task.
Despite the enormous weight, Shadow Star showed his strength with pride. There was no hesitation or labored breathing, for his strength had grown along with Aldril's. An ancient bond united them, strengthening them both in body and spirit.
The inhabitants now settled in the valley watched the scene along with some dwarves in awe. Many bowed their heads in respect, recognizing him as the dragon slayer. And although he was carrying his prize, there was no envy or greed in their gazes. Who would dare challenge the one who had felled such a feared creature? Only the fools of the East would dare such madness.
Above all, they were grateful. Aldril, however, remained indifferent to the reverence of the dwarves and men. Only occasionally did he break his seriousness to offer a warm smile to the curious children who watched him in admiration.
Before the gates of Erebor, the dwarves stared at Smaug's corpse with astonished gazes. A shadow of terror crossed their faces, and in those who had survived the dragon's attack, fear seeped into their pores like an echo of the past.
They breathed with sorrow, feeling the weight of unforgettable memories. Their dilated pupils reflected invisible flames, as if, for a moment, they were reliving that fateful day. The dragon's roar, the glow of the fire consuming everything, the crash of the stones as they collapsed... although now it was only a corpse, the shadow of that day still haunted them.
Thorin, alerted by the commotion among the dwarves, came out to investigate the cause of the uproar. But what he saw left him speechless.
Aldril, mounted on Shadow Star, advanced with Smaug's body dragging behind him. The scales, once shining, had completely disappeared, revealing dark, withered skin that gave it a different appearance. Had it not been for the enormous wings and its colossal size, Thorin would have believed it to be another creature.
"Calm down!" His voice rang out authoritatively at the entrance of Erebor, dispelling the fear that still weighed on the hearts of the traumatized dwarves. "Come down and prepare to help carry the body."
It wasn't long before Aldril arrived at the entrance of the dwarven kingdom, where Thorin, Kili, Fili, Dwalin, and Glóin awaited him. Seeing Smaug's body so close, they couldn't hide their astonishment.
Kili, always the most lively, curiously observed the huge dragon's head. He moved from side to side, inspecting every detail, and occasionally ran his hand over the withered skin of the corpse.
"It looks like a plucked chicken," he suddenly said, with his usual carefree attitude.
There was a brief silence before the comment caused ironic smiles among the dwarves, who were already rushing to throw ropes to lift the body.
"He's the only one who would call a dragon a 'chicken,'" Fili added with a half-smile, shaking his head.
On the other hand, Dwalin approached Smaug's head and, with palpable hatred in his eyes, spat on the corpse with great disgust, an action which Glóin copied. For a moment, Glóin considered lodging his axe into the dragon's skull, but Aldril's warning not to tamper with the corpse stopped him.
While the dwarves admired the body of Smaug and secured the bindings for its transport to the forge, Aldril and Thorin made their way to the throne room. There, away from the noise, they found the privacy that Aldril had requested.
"How long will it take to forge the armor, Thorin?" Aldril asked, his gaze sweeping across the imposing royal chamber.
Thorin, sitting on his throne, put a hand to his chin, deep in thought.
"I'm not sure. It's the first time we'll be working with dragon scales to forge armor…" He frowned slightly before lifting his gaze to Aldril. "By the way, where are the scales?"
"I have them in my storage ring," Aldril replied calmly. "Once the body reaches the forge, I will give them to your blacksmiths."
He paused briefly, and the atmosphere in the room seemed to grow heavier, charged with meaning.
"There's something else, Thorin."
The dwarf king tilted his head slightly.
"What is it?"
Without answering immediately, Aldril extended his hands, and in a flash of light, his father's helmet appeared.
"This is the Dragon-Helm of Dor-lómin," he said solemnly. "My father, Túrin Turambar, wore it. I want it to be reforged along with the dragon armor."
Thorin silently observed the helmet. He didn't speak, only nodded in agreement, but his calm expression shattered.
Aldril set the helmet aside, and from his ring, a crystalline surface illuminated the royal chamber with a brilliant blue light, briefly blinding Thorin, who felt an overwhelming presence emanating from the blue crystallization, its interior moving like stormy waves.
"When the time comes, the armor must be tempered with the water inside," Aldril said, rousing Thorin from his daze, who immediately asked.
"What is that, Aldril?!"
"This," Aldril raised the crystalline surface with reverence.
"These are the pure waters that Vala Ulmo has given me."
***
20 advance chapters in "p@treon.com/Mrnevercry"