-General-
The autumn wind caressed the faces of the trio, as the rays of the sun dwindled on the horizon. Soon they would hide, gallantly yielding their place to the moon. For a moment, they allowed themselves to contemplate the beauty of the Cardolan meadows. Fresh from the South Downs mountains, they still held in their memory the battle fought against the remaining Goblins—creatures that had been tormenting the poor villagers at the mountain foothills.
"Where shall we go now, Aldril?" Aragorn asked. His gaze was lost toward the south, where the kingdom of Gondor lay. It was the year 2961 of the Third Age, and although Aragorn was already thirty and had matured greatly, he still felt incapable of taking the throne that was his by right.
"I plan to go to Mirkwood. Would you like to join us?" Aldril replied after a comfortable silence.
A few hours earlier, Tauriel had confessed her desire to see Thalwen to share the news of her engagement to him. The two planned to celebrate their wedding at the beginning of next summer, for the elves kept the tradition of marrying in that season—when Yavanna's creations were at the peak of their life. Thus, the bond was born blessed by the fullness of nature, auguring a good future for the new couple.
Aragorn remained silent for a few seconds, lowering his head in thought. However, it didn't take long for him to make a decision.
"Not this time… My apologies, but I wish to stay and defend the free peoples."
Aldril nodded with understanding. Over the years, he had taught Aragorn the principles of wielding the star blade. Though he couldn't replicate the lethal movements of Malenia, he had learned the footwork and the speed with which one danced in that sword art.
Besides, Aragorn couldn't bear the idea of seeing the free peoples attacked by orc skirmishes and other wild beasts.
"If I allow these people to suffer… how could I even think of becoming king of Gondor?"
"I understand," Aldril said, smiling with pride at what Aragorn was becoming. "You should go with the Dúnedain; after all, you've built a good friendship with them, and you could lead them in the hunt for those abominations," he added with a grimace of disgust at the mention of orcs.
"I will," said Aragorn, turning this time to Aldril and Tauriel. He gave them a smile of genuine happiness. "Thank you for guiding me all these years… and please, send me an invitation when your wedding day arrives."
"It's too early for farewells," Tauriel interrupted, shaking her head and pointing to the horizon. "Did you two forget nightfall is near? We'd better set up camp, and tomorrow morning, we'll head toward our destinations."
Aldril and Aragorn looked at each other with a dazed expression before chuckling softly. Tauriel was right—they were rushing. So they opted to share a sumptuous dinner, knowing that come dawn, their paths would diverge.
That night, a campfire glowed like a solitary firefly in the vast meadow. Laughter, songs, and memories filled the air as they recalled stories from the years they'd traveled across nearly all of Middle-earth together.
"I haven't dared to ask, but… where did you get such a work of art?" Aragorn asked, pointing to the two gems hanging from the necks of Aldril and Tauriel.
They were jewels so precious they seemed to contain galaxies and nebulae within. Each time the moonlight touched them, the gems responded with an ethereal glow.
Aldril's smile widened. He took the gem from his neck and offered it to Aragorn.
"You can have a closer look this way," he said, keeping his eyes on his friend's reaction.
Aragorn took the gem without showing any sign of pain; on the contrary, his eyes reflected deep emotion, almost nostalgic, as if his soul recognized the object. That's when Aldril confirmed—without a doubt—that Aragorn was different from the rest. He would even dare to say Aragorn could resist the temptation of the One Ring.
"There are only three gems like this one," Aldril added calmly. "One is held by my great-grandfather, and the other two, as you can see, belong to Tauriel and me."
He looked at Tauriel tenderly before adding:
"I must say, in my opinion, these gems are more important than the One Ring."
At that comment, Aragorn stopped admiring the gem and looked at him, puzzled.
"Are they really that important?" Aragorn murmured, frowning as he looked again at the jewel. Something deep within him whispered that he had seen it before—that his soul knew it… but he couldn't quite remember.
"They are. You've surely heard of them in the poems and songs that echo in Rivendell," Aldril added as he took back the necklace. Aragorn's curiosity, it seemed, had been satisfied.
Aragorn frowned again, bowing his head as he sank into childhood memories. He tried to recall every poem and song he had learned in Rivendell, until a flash of memory emerged clearly: Arwen, sitting beside him under the trees, telling him an ancient tale about the love between an elf and a mortal.
"The journeys of Lady Lúthien and Lord Beren…" he whispered softly, then lifted his head in disbelief. "These gems… don't tell me they're—"
"Yes, they are," Aldril interrupted him with a light laugh.
"But how? Weren't they lost with the disappearance of the last sons of Fëanor?"
"They were," Aldril replied, gently rubbing the gem between his fingers.
Even knowing their name and value, Aragorn showed not the slightest hint of greed or envy. On the contrary—his eyes sparkled like a child eager to hear a legendary tale.
"But it seems fate wanted me to find them. So sit down and stay awake, because this will be a long story," Aldril said with a smile, settling down near the fire.
Tauriel, beside him, wore an expectant expression as she rested her head on his shoulder. It seemed she, too, longed to hear—once again—the tale of how the first gem had been found.
.....
-Third Age, 2951-
Ten years had passed since Aldril embarked on the adventure that would define his place in Middle-earth. From the moment he understood the world into which he had been reincarnated, he knew his destiny was not an ordinary one. But above all, it was in that year that he met the love of his life—the woman who would one day become the mother of his future children.
At that time, he was still adventuring with the love of his life: Tauriel, whose auburn hair danced like autumn leaves, in perfect harmony with her greenish eyes—vibrant as nature at the height of summer. Together, they were a balance of seasons: the fire of autumn and the lush green of summer.
"Aldril, my dear… do I have something on my face?" Tauriel asked with a teasing smile, fully aware of the answer. She loved the way those amber eyes—almost golden like a summer sun—looked at her with such affection.
"It's nothing," he replied, voice wrapped in tenderness. "It's just that sometimes, your beauty mesmerizes me… like a bard before his audience."
Moved by his words, Tauriel leaned in and placed a warm kiss on his lips. There was no lust in that gesture—only the purest love elves could offer. Aldril wrapped his arms around her waist, prolonging the kiss as if time itself had paused for them.
Their show of affection contrasted with the vast pale meadow that surrounded them—a land beginning to flourish again thanks to the slow but steady recovery of Mirkwood.
But such a beautiful moment couldn't last forever. It was abruptly interrupted by Aldril's chubby raven, flying toward them at lightning speed—or at least with the intention of doing so.
It crashed sideways into Aldril, who barely winced from the impact. The raven ended up sprawled among the flowers, legs raised, wings flapping helplessly. No matter how hard it tried, its round plumpness kept it grounded.
"By the love of Varda…" Aldril muttered while Tauriel stifled a laugh. "Are you overweight again? Didn't you slim down already?"
The bird cawed with wounded dignity. To Tauriel's ears, it sounded like a child offended because his father had called him fat. She sometimes envied Aldril's ability to understand the language of the animals around him.
Shaking his head in exasperation, Aldril gently released Tauriel's hips and bent down to pick up the raven, who was still complaining dramatically about how it would never again eat the seeds the dwarves had given it.
Sighing, Aldril poked a finger into the soft belly of the bird.
"What did Thorin say?"
The raven gave a cawing reply that made Aldril frown. Tauriel, noticing the change in his expression, approached and embraced him from behind with tenderness and warmth.
"What's wrong?"
"Thorin wants to see me," he replied. "He wishes to speak with me about whether I can help them in their expedition to Moria."
***
Filthy orcs!!
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