-General-
The four rested sprawled across Bilbo's comfortable armchairs; the fine fabric and its softness betrayed the prosperity of the little Hobbit, who calmly blew smoke from his pipe.
"You know, I plan to go to Rivendell and spend a few years there before finishing my book," said Bilbo.
The phrase took Kíli and Fíli by surprise, causing them to choke on the smoke they had just inhaled.
Aldril, on the other hand, closed his eyes for a few moments and enjoyed the moment. He already knew beforehand that, when Bilbo's birthday arrived, everything would change.
"By Durin's beard! Bilbo of Bag End decides to venture out once more?" asked Kíli in a mocking tone, once recovered from the surprise.
And it was no wonder. Since the last expedition, Bilbo had remained in Hobbiton, venturing only to nearby places like Bree.
Most of the stories he wrote came from the tales of Gandalf and Aldril. Especially the latter, for over many years he had wandered as an adventurer, traveling from north to south and from east to west. On the rare occasions when Bilbo visited the tavern in Bree, he heard the bards sing and praise the deeds of his Half-elven friend.
"Do not just visit Rivendell; come to Moria as well," added Fíli, leaning back with a carefree air.
"Rest assured I will go to Moria and Erebor. I want to visit Thorin and see how he is doing."
That cheered the brothers up. They sat up straight immediately and began a long diatribe about everything the little Hobbit had missed over the years. They spoke of the new city of Dale raised by Bain, son of Bard, and of how trade prospered between Erebor and Moria, bringing with it abundant food and goods.
None of this was unknown to Aldril. He remained silent, observing the lively scene of his friends. A faint smile graced his face, though within it hid a subtle melancholy; a trait that, according to his uncle Elrond, he had inherited from his father.
And how could he not feel it? The first grey hairs were already showing in Kíli and Fíli's beards; Bilbo's lively chestnut hair had grown duller, and fine wrinkles appeared whenever he laughed or gestured with enthusiasm.
'They are growing old,' he thought, bringing a hand to his forehead.
He observed his hand for a moment. Clean, without a trace of the calluses typical of one who has wielded a sword for years. His skin was smooth, almost delicate, like that of someone in the prime of youth. Perhaps the only thing that betrayed his true age were his eyes: sharp, tempered by the sea of time.
But that melancholy was eased when a delicate hand rested upon his shoulder. He turned slightly and saw her: the homemaking Elf, lover of peace, warrior by nature, but, above all, a good wife... his wife.
"The food is ready, my love. I will go wake the children," she said, before looking at the other three. "Wash your hands and come to the dining room."
"You heard her, you rascals. Go wash your hands! Otherwise, I won't let you have a single bite," roared Helga. But the next moment her voice grew smaller as she looked at Bilbo. "It is your favorite meal, my dear."
Aldril snorted, amused. He stood and followed the other three, who were still in their own world. It wasn't until Bilbo turned to look at him that he asked:
"Is it true that you created a liquor so strong it puts a Dwarf to sleep in one sip?"
"Of course," he said, joining the chatter and beginning to tell them about the spirits he had crafted in his free time.
...
The sun sank slowly into the western horizon, yielding the sky to the soft light of the moon. Dinner had been sumptuous, filled with laughter and good cheer. The atmosphere was so cozy that several of those present found it difficult not to fall asleep, save for Aldril and Bilbo, who remained awake like two owls in the night.
When the meal ended, everyone retired to the rooms Helga had prepared with care. The journey had been long, and Tauriel and Aldril's young children fell fast asleep the moment they finished eating.
Those children possessed, however, a curious quality: they could sink into a deep sleep in a matter of minutes, but one only needed to mention food for them to wake immediately, as fresh as newly picked lettuce. They loved food as much as their father; though, once their appetite was sated, they returned without difficulty to their sweet slumber.
"Rest, my dear," whispered Aldril, leaving a kiss on the lips of the already sleepy Tauriel.
"Do not be long; I cannot rest without your warmth," she replied softly, drawing a short laugh from the Half-elf.
After settling his family down to rest, Aldril returned to the sitting room. There he found Bilbo quietly smoking his pipe, his gaze lost beyond the open window.
The western moon floated serenely in the night sky. Its silver light spilled over the garden, making the flowers gleam with an almost hypnotic radiance. The sunflowers swayed gently in the night breeze, while the roses peeked through the frame of the round window like timid ladies observing the night.
Aldril settled down next to Bilbo. For a moment, both remained in a quiet silence, gazing at the moonlit garden.
"You have a beautiful garden," the Half-elf finally said.
"Yes," Bilbo replied calmly. "I hold great affection for it, as I do for the Shire. But I believe I need a rest from all this."
"Then it won't be just for a while?" asked Aldril, though he already knew the answer.
"No," replied the Hobbit. "I plan to leave everything to Frodo... and embark on my last adventure."
Aldril did not need to look at him to know the little Hobbit had dropped his shoulders, like an old man handing his life over to those who come after and preparing for the inevitable.
"Though, of course, it's not as if I'm saying goodbye or saying I'm going to die," Bilbo added suddenly, sitting up straight in the armchair. "It's just that... life here has become so monotonous. I've already spoken with Helga; we need a respite from the Shire."
"And your birthday is the right time to leave in grand fashion," Aldril commented with a slight smile.
"Exactly!" exclaimed the Hobbit, cheering up. "I plan to pull a prank that will leave everyone speechless."
Aldril shook his head with amusement, though shortly after his gaze was lost in the silver horizon of the garden. He wanted to enjoy those moments of calm. The One Ring was beginning to awaken, and with it, its rightful master. Sauron would not remain silent for much longer; sooner or later, chaos would return to Middle-earth.
"How have they been in Dale?" Bilbo asked suddenly. "I hope Bard's son and little Tilda are well."
The question stirred bitter memories in Aldril. He sank a little deeper into the armchair before turning his gaze back to his friend.
"They are no longer little, Bilbo," he said calmly. "Bard died at the age of ninety-three, and left Dale in the hands of his son Bain. Now he himself is already an old man... and, unlike us, he has little time left."
He fell silent for a moment before continuing.
"As for Tilda... she is already a grandmother to four grandchildren. She lives with Tauriel and me in Thranduil's realm; she wishes to spend the last years of her life with us."
A small smile then appeared on his face.
"Sigrid, on the other hand, seems to resist the passage of time. By the grace of Eru Ilúvatar, she still looks young. She lives with Legolas... and has already given him two children. Can you believe it?"
Bilbo fell silent. He had never really stopped to think about how the sea of time consumed those around him. Perhaps he had ignored it because Aldril and Gandalf always seemed the same; even his wife still retained the vibrancy of her reddish hair.
Perhaps guessing the thoughts crossing his friend's mind, Bilbo suddenly stood up.
"Do not worry, Aldril," said Bilbo with a quiet smile. "I will not die until you do first. I will stay alive, and we will both die as old men."
The little hobbit didn't know that Aldril, because of his draconic, elven, and Numeronian blood, was semi-immortal. The Half-elf also saw no reason to correct him. After all, if destiny granted him enough time, he planned to depart one day with his family to Valinor, where his mother awaited him. And, if his memory did not fail him, Bilbo too was destined to behold those shores.
Aldril smiled slightly.
"I hope so, Bilbo..." he murmured. "Though something tells me that, sooner or later, we will both depart for the Undying Lands."
***
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