-General-
"In these few months, the surroundings have recovered," murmured Aldril, admiring the green meadow stretching before him, with bright flowers dancing to the rhythm of the wind.
The natural green covered everything in Erebor; even the City of Dale showed signs of structural recovery, clearly thanks to the workers who carried and placed stone. Even from a distance, Aldril could feel the joy of the laborers rebuilding their new city.
"It's beautiful how Lady Yavanna's works contrast so perfectly with everything else," added Tauriel at his side.
"Without a doubt," Aldril nodded with a growing smile.
They were both accompanied by a dozen heavily armed elves. A few weeks ago, at Aldril's request and thanks to the friendship pact between the elves and the dwarves, Thráin's corpse had been placed in a coffin made of vines (a complete work by Thalwen), which allowed the bones to be transported safely.
Their procession did not go unnoticed, as many inhabitants of Dale came out to admire the elves from afar, but especially the figure mounted majestically on his black steed.
Many children ran, shouting at the top of their lungs that the great dragon slayer could be seen in the distance. Immediately, people crowded atop the walls.
The misunderstanding that Bard and Aldril had been the ones who killed Smaug had been clarified by Bard himself, who, before all his people, proclaimed that it was Aldril who faced and slew the dragon. However, the clarification didn't diminish his reputation, as many knew that although he had not slain the beast, Bard was one of the few who stood firm and defended the city without fear of being incinerated by dragonfire.
Since then, he had been known as Bard, the warrior and protector of the people of Lake-town and King of Dale.
"Look at all those humans," Tauriel said with a slight smile. "You're a hero to them."
Aldril, aware of the growing crowd in the distance, turned toward the City of Dale and greeted the citizens. Seeing the legendary warrior gesture at them, the people erupted in cheers of excitement; some even had the fleeting idea of running to greet him in person.
Soon after Aldril greeted the people from afar, a dozen dwarves mounted on their sturdy battle goats rode toward them. The thunder of hooves on the ground momentarily broke the calm of the landscape.
At the front of the formation came familiar faces to Aldril—ones he knew well.
"Kili, Fili," said Aldril with a radiant smile.
The dwarf brothers quickly arrived. They dismounted from their battle goats without delay, and with joy-filled smiles, opened their arms to embrace their dear friend.
Just like them, Aldril dismounted from Shadow Star and, arms open, walked toward the two dwarves.
"Aldril, my good friend!" exclaimed Kíli, almost jumping from happiness.
"Aldril, it's been so long since we saw you!" added Fíli.
Aldril hugged them both. The emotion among the three was clear; after all, they hadn't seen each other for months. Aldril had been busy clearing the forests of Mirkwood, while the two dwarf brothers were dedicated to repairing Erebor.
"I'm glad to know you're both well," said Aldril, stepping back from the embrace.
Nodding in gratitude, the two brothers' attention was drawn to Tauriel and the cart carrying the remains of their grandfather Thráin.
With a mischievous grin, Kíli motioned to Aldril to lower his head.
Once Aldril leaned in, Kíli immediately whispered:
"Hey, Aldril… you and that elf… you know," he said, making an "OK" hand gesture with one finger going through the circle.
Shaking his head in exasperation, Aldril gave him a light smack on the head, making Kíli clutch his skull with a pained grimace.
"Stop talking nonsense," Aldril muttered, pausing briefly before adding with a sly smile, "But to answer your question… not yet."
....
Once the greetings were done, both groups set off. The cart was handed over to the dwarves, who looked upon the coffin with reverence; after all, one of the kings of Erebor rested there.
Though Thráin's reign had been short, he was still remembered with respect. It was he who had led the dwarves after the fall of the kingdom, and thanks to his guidance, they had survived… until his eventual disappearance.
Once the coffin was in the hands of the dwarves, the elves returned to Mirkwood, led by Tauriel, who reluctantly said goodbye with a kiss on Aldril's cheek. He would remain in Erebor for a time, both as a visitor and in case help was needed to purify the Dwarven Ring.
The road to Erebor was cheerful and lively for Aldril. The dwarf brothers wouldn't stop making him laugh with their stories and jokes collected over the past few months. His laughter burst out when they mentioned that they were the ones responsible for spreading the tale of how Glóin had danced naked.
They even told, through laughter, that a dwarf had sketched the moment on a scroll… and that there were paintings portraying it in vivid detail.
A few hours later, they arrived at the gates of Erebor. At the top of the gate stood Thorin Oakenshield, watching them with his usual stoic face, though his bright eyes betrayed his emotion.
The restoration of the great entrance was still underway, but many dwarves put down their tools when they saw the group approaching. One by one, they bowed their heads in a sign of respect toward Aldril.
The half-elf responded with a polite greeting; his serene and humble demeanor only enhanced his grandeur. Despite his elven blood, Aldril had earned the reverence of many… one could say he was the second outsider to achieve such an honor, after the great king of the Noldor: Fingolfin.
"Aldril, friend of dwarves and my good comrade," said Thorin, descending from the gate at a steady pace, "once more I welcome you to my kingdom, which you may consider your second home."
With open arms, he embraced Aldril warmly.
"Thorin Oakenshield, King of Erebor and of the children of Durin," replied Aldril, bowing after the embrace.
His elven blood granted him a natural elegance, an innate courtesy that flowed as easily as others breathe. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that all elves bore the bearing of nobles.
"Your words move me," he continued, "but right now, the most important thing is what I have brought."
With a subtle hand gesture, he indicated for the dwarves to push the cart forward. The coffin, finely crafted and interwoven with Thalwen's delicate vines, immediately drew Thorin's attention.
His steps, heavy as lead, carried him slowly toward the cart. The tremble in his hands and the gleam in his eyes betrayed his state of mind. Hesitant, he stopped before his father's coffin.
With a hesitant motion, Thorin extended his hand and touched the coffin, feeling it with utmost care, as if afraid of breaking something sacred.
He could feel it in his blood.
Perhaps other races would need proof to verify if the remains truly belonged to their kin. But for dwarves, it wasn't like that.
A deep, ancient connection tied them to their lineage. No matter how many centuries passed or the condition of the remains; their very blood would stir at the presence of a fallen relative. Even if only a fragment of bone remained, a dwarf's heart would know.
"Welcome home… father."
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Filthy orcs!! surprise chapter!
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