[General POV]
The night sky, adorned with Varda's fine gems, shone in all its splendor. The silver light of the moon bathed Aldril's face as he strode across the vast plains of Erebor.
Around him, the flickering orange glow of torches cast long, dancing shadows over the bloodstained earth. The air, still heavy with the stench of war, carried the weight of the recent battle, a solemn reminder of the blood spilled, but above all, a harsh truth... This world was locked in endless wars, and Aldril could not save everyone.
Lost in thought, he wandered aimlessly, his distant gaze betraying the turmoil waging within him. The night breeze brushed against his face, but it could not dispel the heavy shadow pressing upon his soul.
Then, a soft neigh pulled him from his reverie. Shadow Star, his faithful steed, had come to his side without him noticing. With deep, knowing eyes, the horse lowered his head, sensing Aldril's sorrow. Words were unnecessary between them; their bond, as profound as the mines of Moria, allowed them to understand each other without speech.
Aldril ran a gentle hand over Shadow Star's coat, allowing himself a moment of calm amid the emptiness that surrounded him. Only the flickering flames illuminated the vast fields of Erebor, casting long, spectral shadows over the war-ravaged land.
His aimless wandering had led him to a hill near the mountain's eastern arm. From there, his gaze fell upon the scars the battle had left behind: pits of ash and blood, broken weapons glinting dully under the moonlight. His heightened senses caught the distant sound of elven chants, their sorrow weaving through the night as they mourned their fallen kin. Faint sobs drifted from Dale, echoing through the valley… a symphony of grief.
"This is depressing…" he murmured, lowering his head.
They had won, yes, but the cost had been far too high. Too many lives lost because he had refused to take things seriously. And deep within, he blamed himself. If he hadn't toyed with the trolls… if he had been faster… maybe, just maybe, Balin would still be alive.
A weary sigh escaped his lips, a mere whisper of the exhaustion weighing upon him. Everything that had happened, an unrelenting storm of emotions, had pushed him to his limit. And now, in the deceptive stillness of the night, his body finally surrendered.
His shoulders slumped, his breath trembled. The silence he had longed for offered no peace, only an abyss where his thoughts sank without end.
He clenched his eyes shut. He didn't want to look. He didn't want to remember. But the memories came anyway, relentless as ghosts clinging to his soul.
Balin, collapsing with a smile, as if in his final breath he still sought to comfort those left behind. The strangled cries from Lake Town, the hopeful voices of those who had bid him farewell, unaware they would never see him again. The soldiers who believed they would survive as long as he stood beside them. And Bombur… his dear Bombur, whose laughter had rumbled like a hollow drum, whose kindness was as vast as his appetite. Bombur, who was no more.
A lump tightened in his throat.
"I've kept my promise, Bombur…" he whispered, his voice breaking under the weight of absence "I killed Smaug. I protected your home"
A cold breeze brushed against his face, and only then did he realize the warmth trailing down his cheeks. Silent, bitter tears had begun to fall without permission. He was not one to cry. He did not allow himself to. But tonight… tonight, no one would see.
Shadow Star neighed softly, his warm breath brushing against him, and with a near-human gesture, the horse nudged his shoulder. Aldril let out a broken laugh, more a sob than anything else, and pressed his forehead against his steed's.
"I'm sorry…" he murmured, unsure if he was speaking to the dead, to himself, or to the void.
The wind carried his words away, without echo, without answer. Only the faint glow of the stars and the soft light of the moon offered him silent comfort, a quiet witness to his pain.
At last, he understood… No matter how strong he became, how many dragons he slew, how many orcs he cut down, he could not save them all.
The truth struck him with merciless force, sinking into his chest like an invisible dagger. For so long, he had fought, believing that his strength could be a shield against death. But now, in the cold solitude of the night, he understood.
Death always found a way. It was relentless. Inevitable.
And yet… he would keep trying.
Because the strong protect themselves.
But the strongest… protect others.
"If I cannot save them all… then I will do everything in my power to save as many as I can."
The oath hung in the air, spoken only within the sanctuary of his mind, yet sealed with the unyielding strength of his spirit. He lifted his gaze to the sky, where Varda's stars shimmered with a quiet radiance, as if bearing witness to his vow.
No matter the weight of loss, no matter how cruel reality could be. He would press on. He would fight for every life he could still protect, no matter the cost.
Because, in the end, that was the burden of the truly strong.
And he would bear it.
-----
In the distance, a figure stood out against the dimness, her silhouette illuminated by the uncertain flicker of flames. Her reddish-brown hair danced with the rhythm of the fire, as if both shared the same fate, the same passion. Her greenish eyes, shining under the flickering light, focused tenderly and with concern on the solitary figure of Aldril.
Something stirred within her.
The man sitting there, motionless, lost in his thoughts, stirred emotions in her heart that until then, she hadn't known. A deep, aching longing began to grow inside her, spreading like an uncontrollable fire. Her heart broke at seeing him like this, so close and yet so distant.
She needed to be with him.
Without hesitation, she took a step forward. Then another. And another. Each step brought her closer to the man who, without even intending to, had captivated her soul.
She could no longer watch him from afar. She had to be by his side.
-Third Age-
Túrin Turambar, bearer of Anguirel, sat with his gaze lost on the horizon, where the sun had already faded, leaving behind a dull glow, like a memory that refuses to die. A soft, melancholic melody escaped his lips, carried by the wind like a lament without words.
He thought of the faces of his former family. But above all, his heart ached for what he had yet to lose and, yet, must leave behind.
His son.
He would never see him. He would never hear his laughter, nor feel the weight of his small hands grasping his own. The sacrifice he was about to make condemned him to this absence. But he had to do it.
Ulmo had whispered to him the answer he had longed for, the key to breaking the shadow that weighed upon his lineage. And with that knowledge came the cruelest price: to renounce everything he loved so that his son could know a different fate than his own.
The wind blew with the coldness of farewell. Túrin closed his eyes for a moment, gripping the hilt of his sword tightly.
The cursed hero, the man of the house of Hador.
However, the melancholy that filled the air like a heavy incense was suddenly dispelled, swept away by a storm of vibrant, life-filled emotions. They came from her, the half-elf who had embraced her elven destiny.
"Túrin, darling, sometimes your melancholy makes me want to stick Anglachel up your backside" Tindomiel said with utter casualness, folding her arms.
Her voice shattered the silence like a sure arrow, carrying the perfect blend of exasperation and affection. Her belly, slightly swollen, revealed the miracle growing inside her.
Túrin blinked, pulled abruptly from his reverie. Then, against all odds, he let out a low, raspy, and genuine laugh.
"Ah, darling, I hope Aldril inherits your personality" he said, casting an affectionate glance at Tindomiel's rounded belly.
"Of course, he will!" she exclaimed proudly "Although I wouldn't mind if, from time to time, he shows the vulnerability and kindness of you," she continued in a whisper, carried away by the wind itself.
***
Filthy orcs! Let the attack continue! throw the power stones at the walls!
And before you say something, yes, the last part is the reason why Aldril is sometimes melancholic and always tries to help others.
"p@treon.com/Mrnevercry"