-General-
Just as the sun reached its highest point at noon, Aldril rode at an incredibly slow pace.
The poor horse snorted and huffed from sheer exhaustion, so the Half-elf looked around, searching for a good place to let it rest.
Fortunately, the exhausted steed had endured long enough to put them just a few hours away from the Rangers' makeshift camp. In fact, Aldril could already perceive the subtle signs in the distance.
A faint, almost imperceptible, thin line of grayish smoke rose lazily on the horizon.
To a common Human or Dwarf, the sky would seem completely clear. Only eyes like his, strengthened to the extreme by the draconic blood running through his veins, as well as backed by the blessing of the stellar Valië, allowed him to see those almost invisible details.
"Judging by the state of the smoke... there must still be men in that place," he said to himself, letting out a soft sigh.
...
Aldril allowed himself barely half an hour of rest. The hidden camp was located no more than a league away; his mount would have enough strength to complete the short journey, as long as they maintained a steady, slow trot under the shade of the old trees.
Even so, when they resumed their march, the steed let out a snort of protest. The sound echoed like thunder in the silent foliage.
Following that sound, Aldril felt it—presences hiding in the shadows of the thick trees and bushes. They were very inexperienced, in his opinion, for the crunch of scattered branches, as well as the rustle of bodies brushing against leaves, gave away the positions where they hid.
And he reaffirmed his thought when the sound of bowstrings drawing taut reached his ears. To a certain extent, he didn't blame them, since the shadows cast by the midday sun through the oak canopies obscured his face. Of course, an experienced Ranger would recognize him right away.
Aldril stopped his horse. Only when the golden rays shifted and illuminated his face did he allow himself a faint, mocking smile.
"Quite the welcome you give me, little ones," he said, fixing his gaze directly on a thornbush to his left. "You have to improve that hiding spot, boy. Even a deaf Orc would hear your heavy breathing."
In the canopy of a large oak tree, the leaves rustled. With the agility of a cat, a Ranger descended, leaping between the branches until he landed without making the slightest noise. A wry smile appeared on his face as he gestured with his hand for them to lower their bows.
"Excuse their inexperience, Lord Aldril," the Ranger apologized. "They are new recruits. Fresh blood that Lord Aragorn planned to train."
"Ah, I figured as much." Aldril swept his gaze over the undergrowth as the silhouettes of the young men began to emerge, one by one. "Very green, indeed. But tell me... why would he leave rookies guarding the camp?"
The Ranger's smile widened. With a crisp gesture, he signaled one of the trembling recruits to approach and take charge of the mount.
Aldril had already dismounted, freeing the animal from his weight. The poor steed had sweat-dampened flanks and its head hung low; more than a ration of grain, what its trembling legs longed for was the comfort of collapsing onto the fresh grass. The Half-elf gave it a few appreciative pats on the neck before turning back to the Ranger.
"Lord Aragorn departed for Rivendell and took the majority of our men with him, my lord," he explained in a low voice once Aldril stood by his side. "They went to escort your wife."
Aldril nodded slowly, feeling relief caress his body as the tension in his shoulders dissipated. He trusted Aragorn blindly. With his protection and that of his men, even if they ran into Sauron's wraiths, they could put up a good fight and allow his beloved and his children, as well as Bilbo and the others, to escape. Although he doubted such a thing would happen, as they would surely enter Elven territory very soon, and his uncle Elrond's sons would certainly be patrolling the borders of their lands.
"He ordered me and two other veterans to stay behind to protect the camp and train these boys," the Ranger continued, resting a hand on the pommel of his sword. "And, of course, he left us instructions to await your arrival. Lady Tauriel said that you were coming behind them, days or weeks delayed, but that you would come."
A warm smile appeared on Aldril's lips. The mere mention of his wife was enough to put him in a good mood. He would see her again soon. It had been a brief separation, but that didn't prevent the small void that formed in his heart when he wasn't by his family's side. However, a warrior's instinct proved him right: someone had to act as bait. Someone had to draw the attention of the Wraiths so the rest could flee, hidden under the light of the Silmaril.
"Well, for today I will take a well-deserved rest," he told the Ranger, patting his shoulder. "Organize everything. Tomorrow morning we leave for Rivendell."
The man's face lit up, unable to hide his enthusiasm at the Half-elf's words. The men of the North often spoke about the ethereal beauty of Elven settlements. Legends were told of immortal maidens who sang and danced to the rhythm of the moonlight, a sight no mortal would want to miss in their short years of life.
Besides, living proof of those myths walked among them. After all, the warrior before him was not only the legendary Dragonslayer, but the legitimate husband of the Princess of the Forest of Rebirth. And not to mention his own captain; around the veterans' campfires, it was an open secret that Aragorn shared something more than a simple friendship with the daughter of Lord Elrond, the Lord of Rivendell.
...
-Legolas-
Emptiness.
That was the only thing keeping him company in his bed this morning.
Legolas extended a trembling hand. His fingers felt the rough sheets, searching for the warmth he had grown accustomed to for years.
There was nothing. Only the morning chill.
He clenched his fist against the fabric until his knuckles turned pale. He choked back the lament deep in his throat; his breathing hitched for a fraction of a second.
Outside, the song of the finches sounded shrill. The golden rays peeked out at dawn, a beautiful sight that lacked color for him. Without her smile, the filtering sunlight was gray and monotonous.
The room threatened to kill him if he stayed any longer. He needed to get out.
He washed his face with cold water, seeking a thermal shock to awaken his numbed senses, and left his room. He let his instinct guide him through the morning mist. The biting wind of the Misty Mountains stung his cheeks, but he barely cared.
When he finally stopped, he found himself in that special place.
The thick fog swirled over the waters of the lake, the one that was once inhabited by the people of Esgaroth, before Smaug destroyed it.
He looked toward the horizon. His gaze was lost. The voices of the past echoed in his ears.
"Come, my love."
He could see her, dressed only in a white linen shirt, goosebumps on her skin from the lake breeze as she held her arms out to him.
"I will teach you to swim."
"I already know the art of swimming, Sigrid."
"Then get in and don't ruin our moment, stubborn."
A broken smile touched the Elf's lips. Devoid of true joy. A routine of cooling off in the cold waters, now broken for the first time.
For she was no longer there.
**
Hello FIlthy orcs!!!