-General-
"Without a doubt, that way of infuriating his opponents was inherited from his mother," said Gandalf with a weary sigh.
His comment was met with a nod from Tauriel, who recalled that, in her childhood, Lady Tindomiel often said that provoking enemies before a fight gave her a certain advantage, since once they were angry, they wouldn't think clearly. However, her adoptive mother, Thalwen, would usually scoff at such remarks.
"Don't try to justify your mocking nature with strategy," she had once said, prompting Lady Tindómiel to simply roll her eyes during the argument, claiming Thalwen was undermining her heroic image in front of little Tauriel.
"How can you hear what's being said from this far away?" Raizan asked with genuine curiosity. He had the ability to dream of what his enemies would do, along with a natural genius for strategy, but he lacked the long-distance hearing abilities that the wizard and the elf possessed.
"I'll explain it to you in detail when I have time," Gandalf replied, without taking his eyes off the city of Zha'Karûn.
Just then, a fierce wind swept through the area, lifting great clouds of dust. The houses, barely held together by charred wood, collapsed. In the distance, a reddish glow clashed against a blue one; the flash from that collision was visible for miles—so much so that even the inhabitants of the port city could see it.
"The battle has begun. Go to your post," Gandalf ordered Tauriel. The kind and patient old man had become stern and calculating.
The elf nodded and shot off like lightning toward the city. Her bow glowed with a dark hue. Perhaps she didn't have Aldril's strength, but with the awakened blessing of Oromë, she could at least support him from afar.
Gandalf wasted no time fulfilling his role. A whispered chant escaped his lips as his staff glowed with a faint light. The spell he was about to cast required at least an hour of chanting, and if it weren't for Aldril keeping the salamander occupied, he wouldn't have dared attempt it.
Why was he able to do it? The answer was simple: Gandalf was a Maia. His power had been limited by the Valar, yes, but he was still a primordial spirit. He was not someone to be taken lightly.
⋯
Aldril, on the other hand, was locked in a fierce battle with the salamander. Unlike Tauriel and Gandalf, he was at the heart of the conflict. Absorbing Smaug's essence allowed him to withstand high temperatures—he had believed it would also help him endure the creature's flames… but he had been wrong.
The heat was suffocating. Oxygen was scarce. His once silky hair was singed, and his elegant elven clothing from the forests of Mirkwood had been reduced to ashes. All that remained were the tattered remnants of his pants, now looking like a poorly cut pair of shorts.
"Damn it! I thought I could at least handle the temperature," Aldril cursed, acknowledging his mistake.
He had already made too many errors because of his selfishness and vanity. He was young, and it hadn't been long since he had joined Middle-earth as a warrior. It wasn't an excuse, but this battle laid bare his weaknesses… and where he needed to improve.
His mood soured even more when the salamander let out a hollow laugh that echoed throughout the city.
"The little dragon can't handle my flames? Where's your earlier arrogance now?" the creature mocked.
Of course it could mock him. It was just like Smaug at the beginning of their fight: not driven by rage. On the contrary, it seemed to enjoy the game. But that also gave Aldril an opportunity. If he could make it angry, he might get it to drop its guard… just like he had done with Smaug.
"Not at all. In fact, I'd say your flames are easier to endure. At least Smaug managed to burn off my outfit completely," he said with a mocking smile.
And it triggered exactly the effect he wanted.
"YOU DARE COMPARE ME TO THAT WORTHLESS LIZARD?!?"
The furious flames that had already been devouring everything around them ignited with even more ferocity. The oppressive heat intensified until it became unbearable. The temperature was so extreme that everything nearby was reduced to ashes… except the Sakurai tree, which remained untouched. Even its leaves merely rustled in the scorching breeze, showing no sign of damage.
"Shit," Aldril cursed, as the flames chased after him.
They snaked behind him, devouring the structures he was leaping over. Without stopping, he imbued Anguirel and Anglachel with Rellanna's ice magic and unleashed a slash that violently cut the air, at least six meters long.
Both natures—fire and ice—collided with a deafening explosion. The icy cut held for a few seconds... until it was consumed by the flames spewed by the salamander.
"Bloody hell!" Aldril exclaimed.
He jumped with all his might to the left. The scorching fire grazed his shoulder, causing a second-degree burn. However, thanks to his great-grandfather Eärendil's stone, the wound healed in a matter of seconds, enveloped in a faint, warm glow.
He hadn't put too much force into the ice slash. He needed to conserve his mental energy, and besides, he lacked a lot of magical knowledge. He still didn't know how to precisely measure how much energy he infused into each ice or fire slash he conjured. His control was rudimentary, barely a crude way of using magic.
How did the elves of the First Age manage to kill these beasts? he thought, as he dodged another fire attack.
Gandalf had told him that creatures like this were fought by elves in ancient times, but he never told him who had created them.
Aldril launched ice slashes as he ran around the salamander, making the attacks come from various angles. But no matter how many cuts he made, the ice was always devoured by the flames.
The surrounding structures had already disappeared, reduced to rubble and ashes. The combat was now in open ground. He could retreat... but he shouldn't. His agreement with Gandalf was clear: he had to keep the salamander occupied for at least an hour. He just needed to hold on until the wizard's spell was complete. Then, and only then, would the real battle begin.
The salamander, for its part, had focused all its attention on Aldril. Never before had anyone challenged it like this. Not even the elves of the First Age—whom it remembered as the strongest—had dared to provoke it like this insolent worm.
"Is that all?" Aldril spat with a mocking smile. "It seems salamanders are weaker than dragons. Smaug was right in his last breath when he said that '...salamanders were nothing more than brainless lizards compared to true dragons.'"
Such words unleashed the creature's uncontrollable fury. It could tolerate any mockery, any insult... except that one. To be unfavorably compared to a dragon was the lowest, most offensive thing. Salamanders were their master Morgoth's favorites. How could they be less than a mere winged lizard?
It hadn't moved away from the Sakurai Tree for fear that something would happen to the fire with which they were created. But now, faced with the constant provocation of the challenging worm, it lost control. With a brutal stomp that cracked the ground, the beast lunged at Aldril, whose expression tensed at the sight of the charge of pure flame and fury.
[Attribute points: 220→ 20]
[Strength: LV 7] [Constitution: LV 7] [Agility: LV 7] [Mentality: LV 7]
All the points accumulated during months of battles against orcs and wargs vanished in an instant, invested in boosting his attributes to the limit. Each level now cost sixty points, a colossal sum. It had taken him months to gather just two hundred.
Aldril knew he had no time to dodge.
He crossed both swords over his chest. The ice roared, responding with renewed ferocity. The ground crystallized around him as the salamander's flaming head descended upon him. The impact was devastating: fire and ice collided in a thunderous roar that shook the air, but this time... neither gave way.
Both remained locked, frozen in a stalemate. On one side, the extremely high temperatures fused with the stone caused the fire to transform into magma, glowing in every crack the salamander had left in its wake. On the other, ice reigned with authority. Both natures refused to retreat, trapped in a titanic struggle.
It wasn't until a column of light exploded between the two forces that the breaking point was reached. The resulting impact was brutal: fire and ice collapsed in an explosion of pure energy, throwing both the salamander and Aldril to opposite ends of the city. The force of the repulsion was such that it carried away the structures that were still standing, reducing them to rubble.
The salamander crashed to the ground, a deep wound crossing its forehead. Thick, burning blood, similar to lava, oozed from it. It hissed upon contact with the ground but cauterized instantly, closing the wound with a sharp whistle and steam.
Aldril, for his part, collapsed with his chest open from severe burns. The pain was unbearable... but the stone hanging from his neck began to glow with a faint greenish light. In a matter of seconds, his wounds completely closed, leaving his skin clean and radiant, as if it had never been touched by fire.
'Damn it, Gandalf... how much longer are you going to take?' Aldril thought, rising from the debris that had buried him after the explosion. Every muscle ached, and the heat of the still-smoking ground made it almost unbearable.
As if his complaints had been heard by the Valar themselves, a whitish glow, with grayish hues, streaked across the sky like a shooting star. Its destination: the salamander.
The beast, still shaking its head to recover from the previous impact, couldn't react in time. The impact hit its back squarely.
"ARRRRGHH!!"
The roar of pain shook the air, echoing to the confines of Rhûn. And for good reason: the magic unleashed by the wizard was no ordinary feat. Aldril saw it clearly: the fire that enveloped the monster like armor dispersed as if it had been ripped away by a superior force, exposing its skin.
A reddish, rough skin was revealed beneath the scattered flame. At first glance, it was evident that it didn't have the hardness of dragon scales. The salamander, for the first time, was vulnerable to his attacks.
Aldril barely needed a few seconds to compose himself. He stomped the ground, causing cracks to spread like spiderwebs. He channeled all his strength and, like lightning, launched himself at the creature.
The salamander, still stunned by Gandalf's spell, perceived the approaching threat and roared with fury, charging at Aldril with all its might. But before it could take a single step...
—Fwoosh, fwoosh, fwoosh—
Several glowing arrows, enveloped in a bluish radiance, impacted its side with surgical precision. The blow was so forceful that the creature was dragged several meters sideways, skidding across the shattered ground. Its open flesh bled violently, and this time, the wounds did not cauterize.
It had lost control of its fire armor. Temporarily, yes... but that was enough.
"Damn disgusting wizards!!" it roared at the sky, with a mix of rage and disbelief.
How could it not curse them? It recognized that magic. It was the same magic the elves used during the First Age to strike down its brethren. Back then, it took at least twenty elven mages to execute such a spell. With the passage of ages, it had thought that magic was lost forever.
And it was that belief that fueled its arrogance. It thought itself invincible.
Though deep down, it knew that if it ever faced a Balrog... it wouldn't stand a chance.
When it tried to get up, a bluish cut descended like lightning from above and struck its face directly. The blade pierced its left eye, tearing a shriek of agony from it.
Its vision blurred. Total darkness on one of its flanks.
The primal instinct to flee briefly crossed its mind. But as soon as it thought it, it dismissed it. It knew it couldn't escape. The one who had attacked it, that human with dragon essence, and the wizards—it was convinced there were several—wouldn't allow it.
It gritted its teeth and staggered to its feet, hot blood streaming down its cheek. There was no escape. There was no honor in surrender.
It opted for the only thing left: to fight to the death.
...
That battle is known as The Ice and Fire of Zha'Karûn. Its magnitude was such that the city was reduced to ruins. It is said that when those in charge of building the new city arrived, they found only a devastated wasteland, covered in ice and magma residue. Only the great sacred tree, Sakurai, remained standing.
As for the salamander's corpse... not much is known. According to King Raizan, who witnessed the battle, the legendary dragon hunter took the beast's body as a trophy.
"Tell us more, Mr Bard! Does the dragon hunter truly exist?" asked one of the children, eyes wide and voice trembling with excitement.
"Of course he exists! My grandfather told me he saved our village from the orcs!" added another, waving his hands enthusiastically as the others nodded vigorously.
The bard, with a crooked smile and eyes alight with memories, or perhaps imagination, leaned towards them and whispered mysteriously:
"Who knows... he might be passing through this very village right now."
His gaze involuntarily drifted towards the figure hidden beneath a cloak, who, along with another figure resembling a female, was watching him, the hooded figure's amber eyes looking at him with exasperation.
"Come on, Aragorn, it's getting late," the figure said, turning away.
"He probably likes to pretend he's a bard," the female figure added with a melodious laugh.
Aragorn smiled as he rose from the stool and bid farewell to the children, who, reluctant to see him leave, thanked him enthusiastically for the stories he had told them.
***
"[email protected]/Mrnevercry"