-Aldril-
"Shit," I cursed under my breath as I sat up. The debris and dust clouded my vision; I even let out a small cough as I inhaled part of that haze. My whole body ached. My high endurance was the only thing that kept me from passing out after the explosion.
Fortunately, it was just pain and not a broken bone. However, the headache that struck me was unbearable.
"Hugh!" I dropped to one knee, clutching my temple. The pain was a brutal reminder that I still couldn't handle that magic for long. It was sheer luck that I caught the Nazgûl by surprise—otherwise, it would've taken me much longer to defeat them.
[Mentality LV 5 → LV 6]
[Attribute points: 48 → 8]
I couldn't stand the pain, so I was forced to level up my Mentality, which apparently was responsible for withstanding the continuous use of magic.
A warm and refreshing sensation flooded my body. The headache vanished instantly, and my stamina stabilized a bit. It seemed full recovery only happened when my Constitution leveled up.
"Noted."
Finally, with a sigh, I took a step forward, exiting through the hole in the broken wall. But I was instantly stunned.
Thranduil, accompanied by dozens of elves, was inspecting the area with a grave expression. I even heard a few whispers and calls of "Lord Aldril!", which confirmed the obvious—they were looking for me.
"I'm here!" I shouted.
Immediately, Thranduil looked up toward the top where I was standing. My dust-covered appearance and torn clothing spoke for themselves: I had been in a fight. A vivid memory of my battle against the Witch-King came rushing back.
I defeated him, no doubt... but I didn't manage to kill him.
"Quick! Assist him!" Thranduil urged his men.
I let out another sigh and slumped back down, sitting in the same spot. I was fine… to an extent. But my stamina was drained. 'Wouldn't it be better to just wait and let the elves carry me down?' With that thought in mind, I waited. The elves quickly arrived, unfolding a stretcher made of vines where small flowers had taken root among the branches.
The flowers offered a gentle cushion, allowing my body to finally relax on the stretcher. Sometimes, I'm amazed at how much Thalwen has accomplished with Lady Yavanna's blessing. She created many comforts for her people, and for that, they deeply respected her.
"Is there any pain, Lord Aldril?" one of the elves asked, inspecting me with a calm but attentive gaze.
"Just body aches," I replied.
The elf gave a soft nod and instructed his companions to lower me down carefully. And so they did. With masterful, almost choreographed movements, the elves brought me down from above.
They'd make excellent paramedics, I thought with a faint smile. I didn't feel a single jolt. Part of that was thanks to the stretcher, made of some blessed fabric that provided unexpected comfort. The other part, of course, was the natural grace with which the elves moved.
Once beside Thranduil, the elves stopped.
"Are you alright, Aldril?" the king asked. Though his face wore its usual stoicism, the concern in his voice was unmistakable.
"I'm fine. Just exhausted," I replied.
Then, silence overcame me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the lifeless body of one of the elves from the first scouting party. And I couldn't keep speaking.
Over these past months, I'd grown fond of them. Many might call them arrogant fools or racists toward dwarves and humans, but I knew better than anyone: they were kind by nature.
Thalwen's request to preserve Bombur's body hadn't been an act of coldness, it was one of necessity. Her people were suffering. The darkness of Mirkwood, corrupted by magical contamination, had forced them to rely on the human market for survival.
And, as expected, the humans... didn't take it well. Jealous of the elves' natural beauty, frustrated by being rejected, especially by the elven women, they began spreading rumors. Rumors that spread like wildfire: that the elves were first-class racists.
But I knew the truth. Because I had seen them laugh, cry, fight... and die.
"I'm sorry," I said, barely in a whisper. "When we arrived... he was already dead."
It was hard for me to express what I felt. Every loss, elven, dwarven, or human, affected me, even if just a little. Many would say I needed to get used to it... but that wasn't in my nature.
According to Finduilas, I inherited that trait from my father, Túrin. A melancholic human who, despite his fierce tenacity in battle, would soften outside of it, mourning every lost life.
"It's not your fault," said Thranduil, his voice gentler now. "It's mine." He lowered his gaze. "Their lives were lost, in part, because of my orders. I believed Dol Guldur was mostly cleared... But now I see I was wrong."
Perhaps his eagerness to reclaim his former home had clouded his judgment. But who am I to say? My own confidence and arrogance led to the death of one of my good friends.
----
–General–
There was little conversation between Thranduil and Aldril. By order of the Elven King, Aldril was taken to the camp to rest. Once recovered, he would give his report on everything that had happened in Dol Guldur.
It's worth noting that when Finduilas saw him arrive on a stretcher, she panicked.
"My dear Aldril, are you alright?" she asked, her voice trembling. The slight buildup of tears in her eyes hinted she would start crying at any moment.
Fortunately, Aldril managed to calm her down. He told her he was just tired, nothing more.
Thalwen was also worried, though in a more contained way than Finduilas. Feeling that Aldril only needed rest, she didn't insist or overwhelm him. She would let him recover.
Besides, she had other matters to attend to. She had to meet with her husband to assess how long it would take to purify Dol Guldur, a task for which they would have the support of several elves from Lothlórien, and of Aldril, once he had recovered.
As for Tauriel, she was still lying down, recovering and awakening her inherited blessing, completely unaware of everything that had happened in just a few hours of her rest.
***
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