-General-
Aldril, accompanied by the rest of the dwarves, left the forge. They had only gone to check on the progress of the dragon armor, but upon seeing no advancements, they decided to leave. However, that wasn't the only reason. The stifling heat, which made them sweat profusely, was the main cause of their hasty retreat. They weren't used to such high temperatures, although for Aldril, it was nothing.
"Damn it!" said Kili, sniffing his armpits before grimacing. "I stink!"
"Don't be so dramatic," his brother Fili dismissed him, only to frown as the pungent smell reached his nostrils.
"Ugh, Kili! Why do you stink so much?"
"I have no idea!" he exclaimed, spinning around. "I'm going to take a bath." With that, he bolted toward his royal chambers.
Both brothers might be jokers and a little careless, but above all, they were still the princes of Erebor. One of them would inherit the throne of Durin, unless Thorin had a direct heir. If not, the crown would fall to the sons of his sister.
Fili shook his head in exasperation before turning to Aldril. They looked at each other and exchanged an ironic smile, still confused about why Kili smelled so bad, perhaps because of some strange substance the dwarves used for waxing.
Gimli joined in their laughter, but the moment of levity was interrupted by a dwarf, one of Thorin's personal guards.
"Great dragon slayer," said the guard, "my king awaits you. He says he has something important to discuss with you."
Nodding, Aldril looked at Fili and Gimli. "Looks like Thorin has made his decision. See you later."
After saying his farewells, Aldril followed the guard. Fili was about to go with him, but upon learning it was about his grandfather's corpse, he decided to let his uncle speak with Aldril in private.
Glancing sideways at Gimli, a mischievous grin appeared on his face. "Hey, Gimli," he said, throwing an arm over his shoulders, "ever wonder why your father is famous among dwarven blacksmiths?"
---
Aldril was led to the royal chamber, where Thorin awaited, seated on his throne. Once Aldril arrived, the king instructed the guard to leave them alone.
With a deep sigh, Thorin got straight to the point. He had decided to allow Aldril to purify Durin's Ring.
"It's a ring that will help cut the effort of construction and smithing in half," he said. "For my people, I am willing to part with a bone from my father's body. It's what he would have wanted."
After that solemn reflection, Thorin pulled out the bone from Thráin's ring finger, taken from his father's corpse.
"Take it. Do what you must," he said firmly.
There was clarity in his eyes, not the slightest trace of doubt. A king must stand firm in his decisions, and though his soul bled, he would show no hesitation once his mind was made.
Aldril said nothing. He remained impassive, understanding the solemnity of the moment and the need to behave accordingly.
He nodded at Thorin's decision, stepped forward, and took Thráin's bone. It was a miracle that his remains hadn't been tainted by Sauron's dark magic.
"Then I'll begin," said Aldril.
He pulled from his robe a small bowl made of vines, so tiny it could fit in the palm of a hand or hide in any corner. It was essential for the purification ritual. The branches it was made from were unique, even when held, they pulsed with intense purity.
He placed the ring in the small bowl. Then he drew Anguirel and, with skill, cut the bone into small pieces. Using the tip of his sword, he carefully ground each fragment into fine powder.
Once finished, he asked Thorin to make a small cut and let a single drop of his blood fall.
Aldril's agile movements made him seem like a conductor, guiding the melody of purity with perfect precision.
When the drop of blood touched the fine powder, it sizzled, releasing a smoke darker than the night. Aldril's sharp hearing caught a brief cry of pain, as if that dark mist were alive… and suffering under the purifying ritual.
As the mist bubbled out, Aldril chanted words in Elvish. It was no mere chant, but a sacred melody dedicated to Varda, pleading for the light of her star to descend and cleanse the darkness that still pulsed within the ring.
A dazzling light forced them to close their eyes. Both heard a sharp shriek echoing with the radiance; it wasn't deafening enough to cover their ears, but piercing enough to make their skin crawl. That light and that scream were the signs Aldril had been waiting for.
As the brightness began to fade, they opened their eyes and looked toward the bowl. It was completely clean—except for Durin's Ring resting at its center. The ring gleamed like pure silver, and its silvery glow illuminated Thorin's face, who stared at it wide-eyed, unable to look away.
"It is done," said Aldril.
He then took the ring and handed it to Thorin, who received it with great care. He held it between his fingers for a moment, admiring it in silence, inspecting it from every angle. For a moment, he looked like a child who had just discovered something wonderful.
---
"I have no words to thank you, Aldril," said Thorin.
They were both at the gates of Erebor. After the purification ritual, Aldril had given the king some time alone, out of respect, but also out of necessity. Using so much magic had left him exhausted. The ritual not only required focus, but also a great amount of energy, and his body was crying out for rest.
"It's nothing, Thorin," replied Aldril with a smile.
"At least let me thank you for once."
Thorin sighed and gave a faint smile. Aldril was that kind of person: whenever someone thanked him, he would brush it off as if it didn't matter. But everyone knew that, deep down, gratitude made him happy.
"So… where will you go now?" asked the king.
During the few days Aldril had stayed in Erebor, he had told them he planned to travel across Middle-earth. And now that his task was complete, it was clear he intended to leave.
"I'll go to Mirkwood, for Tauriel," said Aldril with a radiant smile. Speaking of her always lifted his spirits. "After a few days to restock… I'll head east. There's something I must do there."
Nodding, Thorin gestured to one of his guards. The guard returned at once, holding a box in his hands. A warm glow escaped through its slats: gold.
"In this box, there is gold and a map of all the places my people have set foot," Thorin explained. "It also contains a medallion that recognizes you as a 'Friend of the son of Durin.' If you come across a Dwarven kingdom and need shelter, show them the medallion. They will offer you hospitality… and if needed, military aid."
"As for your armor… once it's finished, I'll have it delivered to you. I'll send a raven when it's ready. It may take a few years, but rest assured, it'll be worth the wait."
"In that case, I'll look forward to it," said Aldril, then turned around. "Farewell, Thorin."
He had already said goodbye to all the dwarves, promising that when they met again, they would celebrate with a grand feast lasting the whole night.
Aldril's journey east was about to begin, and with it, the discovery of an object that would allow him to firmly wield two of the three most precious jewels that had ever existed in all of Arda.
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Filthy orcs!! surprise chapter! I hope you enjoy it this coming weekend (Thank God) haha
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