-General-
Tauriel's worry eased slightly; however, a trace of doubt and fear still lingered within her.
"What if he doesn't come back?" —the ghost of her fears whispered in her ear. It wasn't an unfounded fear: Lady Galadriel's words had left an indelible mark on her conscience.
"Don't be afraid," said Aldril, squeezing her hand. They were holding hands like the couple they were. "I'm not someone easily killed. Rest assured, I'll return."
Tauriel sighed and relaxed her shoulders. She tightened her grip on Aldril's hand and nodded, head bowed. Her spirits hadn't fully recovered… or at least they wouldn't have, if not for the shouting of the dwarves—or rather, her beloved's best friends.
"ALDRIL! ARE YOU COMING OUT TO PLAAAAAY?"
Kíli's voice had shifted into a deeper one, as if an old lord were speaking. Both he and Fíli were a true breath of fresh air for Aldril.
Among elves, jokes were rare; not because they were dull, but because they found other ways to enjoy themselves—through singing, dancing, or deep conversations about the stars and the history of the world. Aldril had grown used to it, but whenever he could, he'd let loose, cracking cheesy jokes among the dwarves. Truth be told, his sense of humor was much more in tune with the sons of Durin, which was perhaps why he was so beloved among the dwarves of Erebor and Rhûn.
The laughter of the two brothers rang out joyfully. Tauriel also laughed at their ridiculous antics; it made her happy to see her beloved smile so genuinely at each jest. It was a trait she absolutely adored.
Peeking out with feigned anger, she furrowed her brows and pulled Aldril close to her, casting the dwarves a haughty look.
"Aldril will only go play with you if you ask for permission!" she declared in a firm tone.
Both brothers stared at her with wide eyes. They had never imagined an elf would join in their jokes! But was Aldril's sweetheart an ordinary elf? Of course not.
"Miss Tauriel, please let Aldril come out to play. We promise to behave and bring him back before nightfall," pleaded Fíli in a small voice, like a scolded child.
Turning to Aldril, who was barely holding back laughter, Tauriel gazed at him tenderly. She leaned in and gave him a warm kiss, embracing him gently.
"Come back to me, please," she whispered.
"I always will," Aldril replied, returning the embrace.
Their eyes met once more, and they kissed again, as if the world had stopped around them.
Kíli and Fíli, seeing the scene, grinned mischievously. They were already imagining the jokes they'd make later to tease Aldril, but for now, they decided to let him enjoy his moment of intimacy. They turned around and headed toward the place where the dwarf army was already marching.
The conversation with Thranduil had ended. It had consisted only of formal greetings and an exchange of information about why the small dwarf army was passing through Mirkwood. Naturally, it was Gandalf who led the conversation. Kíli and Fíli chimed in occasionally, but most of the dialogue fell to the Grey Wizard.
With a reluctant sigh, Aldril pulled away from Tauriel. He gave her a confident smile and nodded.
"I'm off. Wait for my return," he said before turning around to follow the brothers, who were whispering to each other under barely contained laughter.
Tauriel watched her beloved's back as he walked away, and a slight shiver ran down her spine. She clasped her hands in a quiet prayer to the Valar, wishing with all her heart that Aldril would return safe and sound. She usually didn't allow herself such gestures of fear, but this time… this time something felt different.
Galadriel's words echoed in her mind, a haunting echo, almost confirming that her beloved was about to face something for which he was not yet ready—and that terrified her.
...
The farewells were sorrowful, as always, but Aldril had to depart. Alongside Kíli and Fíli, he approached the small army of dwarves that awaited them. Their faces reflected a single certainty: they would march and, if necessary, give their lives to reclaim their ancestral home. In some way, it was a silent promise they had made—to themselves and to their departed grandfathers, who had died with the hope that one day what had been stolen from them would be recovered.
As they marched, there was no shortage of chatter and stories. The soldiers gathered in columns, laughing, sharing anecdotes, and now and then telling horror tales or recounting old battles. In that atmosphere, the group of five leading the march—Aldril, Kíli, Fíli, Gandalf, and a dwarven captain—walked at the front. The dwarves walking behind them sharpened their ears; they knew the story that was about to be told was one they had always longed to hear.
And what was it about? Well, it all began with a simple yet honest question from the ever-curious Aldril:
"By the way, Gandalf… you who know everything—and whatever you don't, you investigate—what exactly happened in Moria? Why did the sons of Durin have to abandon it?"
"Hey! Why are you asking Gandalf?" Kíli protested, frowning.
"Yeah, we're dwarves," added Fíli, sounding offended. "You should be asking us!"
"In that case… do you actually know anything?" Aldril asked, raising an eyebrow as he looked at the two brothers.
Kíli and Fíli immediately fell silent. Of course, how could they know for certain? All they remembered were vague tales from childhood—half-told stories from their elders, nothing Aldril hadn't already heard.
That silence was answer enough.
Aldril let out a small chuckle.
"I figured," he said, turning back to the wizard, who was smoking his pipe calmly, as if they hadn't been marching for hours.
Gandalf pondered for a few seconds, his gaze lost in the smoke of his pipe, and then nodded.
"Well… I know a bit," he finally replied, with a faint smile.
He cast a quick glance at those present, who had clearly perked up their ears the moment they heard the word "Moria." He had no qualms about speaking of what he knew. After all, it wasn't a forbidden tale—just one many preferred not to remember.
"Much has been said about that fateful day," Gandalf began, his voice deep and measured.
"As the dwarves dug northward beneath Caradhras, a curse fell upon them. No one knows for certain what happened there, for all who descended perished. Among them were Durin VI and Náin I, two great kings. Their deaths marked the beginning of the end. The few survivors could only watch, with heavy hearts, as the place they once called home was consumed by fire."
"From that tragedy, the legend of Durin's Bane was born."
A heavy silence fell over the company. It was as if Gandalf had told a ghost story. Many paled, and some bowed their heads, fists clenched. For the dwarves, speaking of the fallen—even those from the distant past—was like speaking of brothers.
Then, in a nearly inaudible voice, Kíli asked:
"But… do you know what Durin's Bane really is?"
"No one knows for sure," Gandalf replied, not taking his eyes off the horizon.
"There is only the account of a dwarf who escaped, maddened by terror. He babbled about a searing fire that reduced all to ash. Axes and bows were useless. Only death awaited those who tried to defend Khazad-dûm."
"A dragon, maybe," said Fíli, considering the mention of "fire." "If it's a dragon, at least we have the advantage of bringing Aldril," he added with a smile, glancing at Aldril—who, wearing a serious expression, shook his head. Fíli was about to ask what was on the half-elf's mind, but fell silent, listening instead to what Aldril had to say.
"Or it could be something far worse," Aldril said, pausing as he looked at Gandalf, who returned the gaze with a furrowed brow.
"What do you mean?" asked Kíli, tilting his head in curiosity.
"That Durin's Bane may be the searing fire of corruption itself," Aldril continued. But his answer did not satisfy Kíli, who was about to protest—only to be silenced by Gandalf.
"You mean…"
The wizard's face filled with disbelief. For the first time, everyone saw the usually calm and wise Gandalf visibly shaken, nearly shouting:
"Yes… A Balrog."
**
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