-General-
Aldril frowned.
"A salamander?" he murmured. He searched his memory for any mention of such a beast, but no matter how hard he thought, he couldn't recall anything.
"I can help, but I need to know how dangerous this creature is," he said after sighing and looking at Gandalf. Although he managed to kill Smaug, it was largely because Varda's blessing fully awakened within him, allowing him to recover and resume the fight. This time he wanted to be more prepared.
Gandalf nodded. He had no qualms about revealing his knowledge of such a beast. After sitting down and taking a sip of the delicious wine from Rhûn, he looked at those present and began:
"The salamander, like dragons, is extremely arrogant. However, unlike its winged brethren, it tends to be more cautious when facing someone strong. The fire surrounding it senses the level of danger, which makes it act accordingly. It has no qualms about fleeing if it allows it to survive... Furthermore, its fire is so extreme that it can melt a dragon's scales and bones, but most importantly..." His face became extremely serious. "...salamanders are stronger than dragons."
At least, that was the only information he could share with them.
The origin of salamanders, like that of dragons, remained a mystery. However, according to what the Valar revealed to him before sending him to Middle-earth, these beasts were created by Morgoth. They were incredibly powerful in their time: wherever they went, they left a trail of death. Dwarves, men, or elves... all fell equally.
It wasn't until a way to combat them was discovered that salamanders —and dragons— began to suffer casualties.
The turning point came during the War of Wrath, when Eärendil defeated the largest dragon in all of history: Ancalagon the Black. His fall marked a before and after for dragons.
Salamanders, on the other hand, seeing themselves cornered and their numbers dwindling, chose to hide in the mountains and the deepest caves.
"Stronger than dragons..." Aldril murmured, his gaze down and lost.
"That's right," Gandalf replied. "But this time, unlike when you killed Smaug, I will be there to help you."
His words eased the concern of those present, who until then had not uttered a word. As everyone absorbed the information the wizard had just revealed, Tauriel, a little bewildered, turned her gaze to him.
"Excuse me, Mr. Gandalf... may I ask you a question?" she said with a nervous tone. It's not every day you stand before one of the five Istari who inhabit Middle-earth.
"Go ahead," Gandalf nodded indifferently, as he took out his pipe and slowly began to prepare it.
"It is said that dragons covet gold," Tauriel began, "hence Smaug invaded Erebor and claimed it as his own. But..." She paused, noticing all eyes turning to her. "Why would a salamander take the city of the Western Men?"
Gandalf gave her a slight smile of approval.
"That's a question I've tried to answer myself," he said, before turning to Raizan with an inquisitive look. "So tell me... why did the salamander take your city?"
Raizan frowned and put a hand to his chin. "That's a good question..." he murmured. "I don't know the reason. But when I was just a child, I heard something my mother used to say: 'Our city is to the east, our destiny is the East. The Sakurai will carry the eternal flame of the Forger Vala.'"
He paused and took a sip of wine to soothe his dry throat. "Even today, legends survive that tell how, when the elves inhabited these lands, they helped men and dwarves build a preserving flame. A flame that, no matter what happens, will never be extinguished."
-Gondor-
Turgon, the ruling steward, had reached 86 years of age. Life was beginning to slip through his fingers. His hunched posture, deep wrinkles on his face, and gray hair spoke volumes about him. He had few years left, but he didn't intend to leave his son helpless.
Over the past few months, information of great importance had reached his desk: nine pages, each with a name revered through time. Names that would never be forgotten. Names that would live on in the ages to come.
They were the Nine, blessed by the Valar.
It was said that, since the First Ages, these nine were the main force that resisted the dark side. The same ones who, in their moment of greatest glory, faced the Nine Nazgûl, and although the wraiths brimmed with great power, they were repelled by these nine.
It was a legend that, with the death of the elders, was taken as a simple tale by the young. But he, as one of those elders, knew the truth. The legend of the Nine was real. His father had told him, and he, in turn, passed it on to his son... although the latter didn't believe him.
What will his son think once he takes power and reads the documents?
The Nine were resurfacing. However, it was a pity that only three of them could be identified with certainty... or perhaps four.
"An elf from Mirkwood Forest, blessed with the grace of hunting and the bow of the great Vala Oromë."
"The blessed by the sea, whose fleet sails safely through storms. He who has seized much of the territory from the Corsairs and is currently fighting a war against the Haradrim."
"An elf traveling with his beloved human, descendant of the elf blessed by Yavanna."
"The strategist who by means of visions and dreams took countermeasures against the enemy army."
"The son of the stars: Aldril, the slayer of the greatest dragon of the Third Age. Friend of dwarves and elves alike. The strongest of the four known."
How had that information come into his hands?
A disheveled-looking wizard, in a brown robe, had the answer. It was a pleasant and disconcerting surprise when Radagast, one of the five Istari, appeared in Gondor. Not only to deliver those reports, but to warn him: he must prepare.
Because in the heart of Gondor... the sixth blessed would be born.
"The child who will endure pain and sorrow, and still rise with mercy and courage."
**
Filthy orcs! updates will resume on Sunday, I have to put my life in order, see you on Sunday!
"p@treon.com/Mrnevercry"