-Aldril-
Saying that Kili's interruption had angered Thorin would be an understatement. His face darkened, his fists cracked, and with the calm of a predator, he approached poor Kili, who, in his eagerness to leave, failed to notice how his uncle was closing in on him.
I merely closed my eyes and tilted my head at the sound of my poor friend's whimper, howling like a wounded dog. I shook my head in exasperation—after all these decades, the brothers had hardly changed. Perhaps their attitude had grown quieter and more calculated when speaking of serious matters, but for the most part, they were still… simply Kili and Fili.
Paying no more attention to Kili, I walked over to Gandalf, who at some point had pulled out his pipe and was smoking it with satisfaction, watching the spectacle with a half-smile. The nerve of this shameless wizard!
"I didn't expect to see you here, Gandalf," I said, leaning on a supply crate I used as a makeshift seat.
My words interrupted the wizard's entertainment. He raised an eyebrow as he turned toward me. Taking a deep puff, Gandalf blew a few smoke rings that drifted straight into my face.
"Well, this old man always goes where he's needed," he said, sitting beside me (the crate was large enough for two adults my size—six feet nine inches—to sit comfortably).
"You're still as cryptic as ever," I said with a sigh, though with a carefree smile.
"Old folks like me are always like that, Aldril. If we don't make the young think, how will they grow wiser?" the wizard replied.
He offered me a bit of his tobacco, but I declined. I still didn't smoke; I wasn't interested. Even after all these years, I had never been drunk. At most, I drank a glass of alcohol or fruit wine.
"Yes, that attitude of yours drives poor Bilbo up the wall. Would you believe me if I told you he portrayed you in his book as a cryptic wizard who, most of the time, just got on his nerves?" I chuckled softly at the memory of my dear hobbit friend.
"Bilbo what…?" Gandalf frowned and grimaced, his smoke rings becoming erratic as he muttered something about destroying Bilbo's front door when he returned to the Shire.
Why did Gandalf believe me? Well… Bilbo was Bilbo, and from the beginning of the journey, he held a bit of a grudge against the old wizard for letting the dwarves wreck his home. (A home he barely managed to reclaim when he returned.) He once whispered to me that he would get back at the wizard in his book. And of course… Gandalf had heard that, but paid it no mind.
"Putting that aside… how did you find out Thorin wanted to reclaim Moria? Did you receive a letter?" I asked, curious. While in future events Gandalf does go to Moria, that happens when he joins the Fellowship of the Ring.
With another puff of his pipe, Gandalf created a small smoke deer that danced around me before vanishing into the wind.
"Tauriel mentioned it during the celebration… and well, here I am," the wizard replied with his usual simplicity.
Raising an eyebrow, I turned to the wizard; the smoke deer had distracted me a little.
"You were at the celebration? Well, I suppose it's to be expected. I imagine both my uncle Elrond and Lady Galadriel are there as well, aren't they?"
"They are," he answered.
I let out another sigh and shook my head. It was useless trying to extract information from Gandalf. That was just his way, and I had grown used to it. (At least those months together during the expedition and in Rhûn had made me more tolerant of his company.)
Our conversation fell into a comfortable silence. I closed my eyes for a moment, just as Thorin stopped beating Kili. (Poor dwarf… he'd experienced Thorin's transformation—from a proud and arrogant leader to a wise one who didn't hesitate to discipline his nephews with his fists.)
-General-
It wasn't that Gandalf wanted to be so curt and cryptic with Aldril; he simply feared saying too much and having the sharp-minded half-elf uncover his true motive. Aldril had already begun to suspect that Gandalf was not just a simple wizard, and that the Istari were far more than mere envoys of the Valar. (At least, their identities as Maiar had not been revealed over the centuries.)
Shortly after that, they spoke briefly, particularly about the creatures Aldril had encountered during his travels across much of Middle-earth. To say it nearly caused Gandalf to cough would be putting it mildly—the old wizard nearly fell over when he heard Aldril had slain two more dragons.
"Lizards that had taken advantage of the Salamander's death to claim the city of Zha'Karûn," Aldril had said.
His stories, shared at some point with Gandalf, caught the attention of several curious dwarves, who slowly gathered around him, listening like small children—and, truth be told, they looked the part given their stature.
All of this was silently observed by Thorin, who simply shook his head and left his nephew alone. He had already spoken with Aldril, and besides, all signs pointed to Gandalf joining the expedition. With that, he could relax a bit and not worry so much about the possibility of his nephews perishing in the attempt. He merely gave a nod in greeting, one that was met with a cheerful smile from the Grey Wizard.
And so, time passed.
Neither Aldril nor Gandalf needed to prepare the way the dwarves did. Gandalf already had the essentials: his grey robes, pointed hat, and staff. And food? He was a Maia—he could survive without eating. Besides, the dwarves would be carrying plenty of provisions, and one extra mouth wouldn't make much of a difference.
As for Aldril, once they passed through Mirkwood, he would retrieve Shadow Star, his weapons, blankets, and supplies—all carefully stored inside his storage ring.
At some point, Glóin joined the group, sitting next to Aldril. This opened the door for Kili and Fili, who wasted no time in recalling the most embarrassing moments from the previous expedition. They especially delighted in sharing anecdotes that made Glóin look bad, causing loud laughter among those present. Fortunately for the dwarf, his son Gimli was not among the listeners.
That entire scene—filled with laughter and joy—was watched by the wise eyes of Gandalf, the only one of the Istari who could still appreciate such moments with genuine warmth. However, behind his gentle gaze dwelled a silent shadow. His eyes drifted across the dwarves until they settled on Aldril, who, at some point, had joined them in dance. Seeing his carefree smile brought to the wizard's mind a recent memory, vivid and unsettling.
Hours before departure, Galadriel had intercepted him in the gardens of Mirkwood. Pale, serene, and with an almost ethereal glow in her eyes, she stopped him with a single glance. Her words, heavy with wisdom and warning, still echoed powerfully within him:
"Ancient shadows coil around the Starborn," she had said. "The depths of Khazad-dûm call to him with force, like an echo that does not cease. There, in the deep, lie creatures forgotten by the world—ancient beings whose names were never spoken. They wait… they await his fall."
"Aldril is not yet ready for this trial. Not without a guide. Not without a light to anchor him to this world."
After speaking those words, Galadriel had visibly weakened. Gandalf had to catch her in his arms, alarmed by her sudden loss of strength. With great care, he had brought her to Elrond, who also showed concern. The vision had drained much of her energy. Like Aldril, Galadriel also bore the blessing of Varda, and that grace had allowed her to glimpse a fragment of a future still to come.
**
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