-General-
The Moon, like a bashful lady, withdrew her nocturnal veil, allowing the golden radiance to take her place. Ironically, the one who guarded the Sun was the Maia Arien, while the Moon belonged to the Maia Tilion: reversed roles that, nevertheless, seemed fitting, for the shyness of a lady suited him well.
Tilion loved Arien deeply, but he could never express the feelings he harbored within. Now it was even more impossible; until Eru allowed them to be released from their labor, he could not be with her, just as in the old days of the Trees.
But all that was lost knowledge to the inhabitants of Middle-earth. Even Galadriel was unaware that guardians existed for those two lights; let us remember that she arrived with the Noldor when they ventured to Middle-earth, and thus she did not witness the task the Valar entrusted to those two Maiar.
...
With a yawn, Aldril rose from the bed. Beside him, his beloved wife still slumbered; normally they woke together, but due to the pregnancy, Tauriel tended to sleep more than usual. Not wishing to leave her alone, he nestled behind her, enveloping her in a protective gesture. His reward was a pleasurable sigh from the Elf; an unconscious smile formed on her beautiful face, for the heat Aldril radiated was supremely comforting to her.
But unlike the two of them, who remained cuddled up, their children were another story. Both little ones, having traversed a large part of Moria, emerged from their rooms after bathing; yes, they had inherited from Aldril the pleasure of feeling clean.
As they walked and stretched their arms, they greeted with courtesy the Dwarves who passed them by. They were well known by all in Moria, so it was natural to receive numerous shows of affection along the way.
Even the most drunken Dwarves cleared their minds for a few moments to offer them a respectful greeting. Just as in their grandfather and grandmother's kingdom, the little ones were safe: no one would be foolish enough to harm the children of the Dragon Slayer. Furthermore, many of those Dwarves held a debt to their father for having returned their ancestral home to them, so they would not hesitate to defend those two children even with their own lives.
"I'm tired, I want to sleep more," said Elentárië, walking with heavy eyelids. "I didn't sleep well last night; the Dwarves were singing very loudly."
Her brother Elenion nodded energetically.
"Diggy Diggy Hole!" he repeated in a chant. "They were singing very loud, but it was a very catchy song."
"Well, that is true. Unlike us, they sing with more passion and a more... savage style?" Elentárië brought a hand to her chin, seeking the right word.
"Rock style, that's how Father described it," added Elenion. "I even heard at the celebration that dad was the one who taught them that song."
Just at that moment, cheerful laughter was heard behind them, causing both siblings to turn around. They raised an eyebrow upon seeing Kíli's sons, who were nodding while laughing like fools.
"That is so, Master Aldril taught us such a beautiful song. That day was glorious!" said Dórin with enthusiasm.
"Yes, we barely slept that time," added Dúran, nodding with his eyes closed, lost in the memory.
...
"Is everything ready?" asked Aldril of Kíli and Fíli, who nodded with their chins held high.
It was already noon when they decided to depart. Fortunately, the Dwarves had everything ready for the journey; they had had the preparations complete for several days. Otherwise, they would not have dared to drink so much, especially knowing that Aldril did not like tardiness. Worse still: it was Bilbo's birthday, and they did not want to be late under any circumstances.
Aldril's gaze swept over everyone who would be departing: his family, Kíli, Fíli, along with some soldiers who would serve as a guard—though honestly, they were only for show, for what could be safer than being beside the one who slew a Dragon, a Salamander, and drove back Sauron's wraiths, among other achievements?
You might ask, what happened to the sons of both Dwarves? Well, someone had to stay in Moria, and in their parents' eyes, they were already "old enough" to take responsibility for the administration; sometimes they said they left them the work because in the future, they would reign.
Though it was all a ruse! While both brothers were the Lords of Moria, the burden carried by that title was too immense for such free souls who only wished to make mischief and roam the world; thus, they used "duty" as an excuse to dump the entire burden upon their sons.
With everything prepared, they departed. Their horses galloped at a gentle pace; it was no longer necessary to cross over the Misty Mountains as in days of old. One of the great advantages of having reclaimed Moria was the opening of a safe passage, free of perils, which explained the presence of Men within the Dwarven kingdom.
Of course, the use of that path came at a cost. A toll had to be paid, though it was not steep and practically anyone could afford it. In the event of not having enough coin, the Dwarves collected payment in another manner: by helping transport materials or assisting in organizing crates filled with ore.
But while they laughed and chatted about the "surprise they were bringing to Bilbo," another event was taking place in the Forest of Rebirth. This time there was no laughter, nor songs, nor dances; on the contrary, silence reigned with an unsettling weight.
In Legolas's home, his beloved wife Sigrid lay in bed. During their morning walk, she had collapsed in his arms without warning. Legolas knew not the cause of such an event, and that uncertainty consumed him. Gripped by urgency, he sought the Elven healers, who, after examining her, could only shake their heads: they could not determine what had caused the Prince's wife to swoon.
With panic etched upon his face, Legolas then ran to his mother, who did not hesitate to come to her daughter-in-law's aid. After a careful examination, Thalwen sighed with sadness; she closed her eyes for an instant, weighing how to break the truth to her son.
Although Sigrid retained a youthful appearance—a gift granted by Eru—her lifespan remained that of a common human. She had already reached ninety-three years of age. Elven fare and Legolas's constant care had allowed her to reach such an advanced age, but even that had a limit.
"Legolas," said Thalwen with pursed lips. On her beautiful face, the reluctance to speak those words was evident. "Son..."
She paused. A heavy, almost unbearable silence settled between them, and Legolas felt it like a knot tightening in his chest.
"What is wrong, Mother? Is Sigrid well?" he asked at last. Worry gnawed at him; his fists were clenched with such force that they ached, and his body trembled uncontrollably. Something deep within him screamed that this was not right.
After a few brief, yet eternal moments, his mother's words fell, breaking him in that instant.
"Son... Sigrid is dying."
***
Two hundred chapters! My goodness, when I started this fic I never imagined I'd reach this point. Let's hope —and may God will it— that nothing happens in my life that keeps me from continuing to write. This inspires me to work on my own novel.
Thank you so much to everyone who still follows this fic, and also to all my Patreon subs. Thank you for being part of this filthy-orc community!! Let's conquer Middle-earth!