-General-
The moon peeked out in the sky like a maiden gazing at her beloved from afar. The stars shone with growing intensity, while the golden glow of dusk faded away by the minute. This scene was accompanied by an army of five hundred dwarves marching out of Erebor, advancing in perfect coordination. Leading them at the front were Kíli and Fíli, princes of the glorious line of Durin. At their side walked the famed dragon-slayer and the enigmatic Grey Wizard.
"Forty-five days on foot and twenty on horseback!? Isn't that an exaggeration?" asked Kíli incredulously. He was unaware of how vast Mirkwood was, and that crossing it shortened the journey.
"Good thing we packed food for three months…" Fíli murmured with resignation.
Gandalf nodded calmly.
"Indeed, although that estimate was based on previous years," he said. "Now that the forest is clear of vermin, it would take us just over twenty days on foot, and only ten on horseback."
"Why didn't you start with the current estimate?!" Kíli grumbled, frowning.
"And miss the funny face you make when you're upset? Absolutely not," answered Aldril, walking beside Gandalf. His laughter was joined by a more polite chuckle from the Grey Wizard, and a booming laugh from Glóin, who marched behind them.
Kíli sighed, deflating like a balloon; his shoulders slumped as he shook his head. "I forgot Aldril is worse than the two of us combined..." he muttered to himself.
And it was true. Few knew, but Aldril was a first-class prankster, and sarcastic to boot. Although these traits had softened with time —he had matured a bit over those ten years—, he still allowed himself, now and then, to be playful and biting (in moderation, of course). However, only a few saw that side of him: only those he truly appreciated and considered friends were privy to it.
"Look on the bright side," Fíli said, walking up beside his brother. "We've got more than enough food, and we can stuff ourselves every night! And this time, there's no one yelling: 'You're eating too much! You'll get fat and ugly!'"
Kíli's face lit up and he nodded like a bird pecking at corn.
"You're right! I haven't been able to finish a proper meal in ages, and now I'll finally eat without worrying my sweetheart will catch me!"
"Speaking of food… doesn't the elf make you eat vegetables and fruit like a cow?" Fíli asked with a teasing smile.
Shaking his head, Aldril chuckled softly.
"Not at all. Quite the opposite. She lets me eat whatever I want."
Besides, his constitution allowed him to burn off any excess fat —though even so, he ate in moderation and never gorged himself like someone starving. His elven blood had embedded manners deep within him.
And so the expedition team marched —though, truth be told, they looked more like a small army than anything else. Spirits were sky-high, as all of Erebor had sent them off with roses and blessings disguised as songs.
In particular, those who had accompanied the brothers in the reclamation of Moria walked with puffed chests full of pride… (perhaps a bit more than usual upon noticing the dwarven women watching them from the ramparts). I must say, dwarves were the only ones able to tell apart the women of their own kind.
Hours passed, and in the vast meadow that connected the valley to Erebor, the night lit up with a serpentine line of dwarves holding torches. They couldn't speed up, since only a small group rode either horses or battle goats.
It was only a matter of time before the small army reached the edge of Mirkwood. There, King Thranduil was already waiting for them, with his usual stoicism. His head held high allowed the moonlight to caress his face, further highlighting the glow of his platinum-white hair.
He would not deny them passage. The alliance between dwarves and elves granted them the right to cross Mirkwood. However, even so, they had to present themselves and declare the purpose of their entry. Thorin had sent Thranduil a letter days prior, requesting permission for his men to traverse his kingdom and thus reach Moria more easily.
"I'll leave you to your politics," said Aldril, dismounting from the borrowed horse. "I'm off to get Shadow Star. See you in a few minutes."
The brothers nodded. Together with Gandalf, they dismounted to speak with Thranduil, though it was all a mere formality.
...
The elves bowed their heads with a slight nod as Aldril passed by them—a gesture he returned with a smile and a nod of his own. As for Thranduil, he received a glance and a brief nod. For a moment, upon seeing the elven king's impassive expression, Aldril felt the urge to say, "Hello, father-in-law."
But this was not the time. He didn't want Thranduil chasing him down with a bow... again.
Yes, that would be a story Aldril would one day tell his future children: the day the wise and stoic king of Mirkwood cracked upon hearing the word "father-in-law."
Though, to be fair, our dear half-elf did share part of the blame… for the mocking tone in which he said it.
Once inside, he wasted no time. He headed to the meadow where his horse and Tauriel's mare were resting. There he found Shadow Star lying down, likely regaining strength. Upon hearing approaching footsteps, the steed rose with ease. He had already sensed Aldril's presence, so he showed no signs of alarm.
"Come on, my friend... another exciting adventure awaits us today," Aldril murmured as he stood beside him, careful not to wake Shadow Star's family.
Yes, as you might guess, the frequent union between Tauriel's mare and Shadow Star had resulted in more than one pregnancy. Four young foals had been born from that pairing. Unlike common horses, these grew very slowly. The reason was unknown, though according to Thalwen, it was because the crossbreeding of these two special horses had given rise to a purer lineage—one in which the foals would only grow once they found their destined rider.
Their movements stirred Silivren, who, upon seeing her mate walking away, neighed softly and curled up more closely around the small foals.
As they walked through the meadow, Aldril couldn't help but think about what lay ahead. Something inside him whispered that, whatever it was, this time would not be easy. It was almost like a voice whispering: "Be careful. Prepare even more."
Because of that premonition, Aldril turned his attention to his system—one he had long neglected. Though it had helped him at the beginning of his journey, now it seemed to urge him to continue growing, to reap the rewards of his effort and experience.
[Available Attribute Points: 200]
Not much, considering how many years had passed. But there wasn't much he could do about it. For some reason, the orcs had been largely absent. From time to time, a skirmish would target small villages, but nothing comparable to the armies he had once faced.
The trolls and other monsters were still out there, yes—but they were harder and harder to find. They hid in remote places: deep caverns, frozen mountains, or forests so thick that few dared to enter.
At least his [World Exploration: 45%] was nearly halfway there. He had only received one major reward for all those level-ups:
[Max Power Experience Card]
According to the description, it was a trigger item that would let him experience, for one hour, what it would be like to fight with the full strength he could one day attain. He would save it for an extreme emergency.
As for the attribute points, he would distribute them according to whatever the situation required.
"I hope my current strength is enough to face the Balrog… if it ever shows up."
**
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