-General-
"Bless my soul!" exclaimed Sandyman, the Miller of Hobbiton. "Master Aldril! It has been a long time since we last met... Do you still remember me?"
It was evident that the Hobbit knew our Half-elf. He held no great love for the Gaffer, which was why he hadn't intervened when the authenticity of his story was called into question.
Aldril, for his part, raised a brow and studied the Hobbit closely: that fawning face reminded him of a deformed hunchback from Lake-town—Alfrid, for those who still remembered him. He remained thus for a few moments, until memory returned to him.
"Ah... now I remember. You are the Miller. I am glad to see you are still in one piece."
Like a gentleman worthy of his Elven blood, he offered a courteous greeting. It had been so since the beginning: polite and prudent. He did not take offense at trivialities, though more than once those who did not know him had attempted to overstep their bounds.
That was when the Half-elf lived up to the saying: "Do not mistake my courtesy for weakness."
Old Sandyman was overjoyed. He smiled with glee and, like a sparrow in summer, puffed out his chest; his pride barely fit within his diminutive frame. He looked at all the Hobbits with his chin held high, as if silently proclaiming: Do you see? The Dragon Slayer knows me.
Meanwhile, the young Hobbit stared at Aldril's stature and armor; his mouth was hanging so open that a whole apple could fit inside. The upright posture he had adopted at the start collapsed in an instant, leaving him petrified before the presence exuded by the warrior standing before him.
"Master Aldril, it's been a while," said the old Gaffer, whose drunkenness had already dissipated.
With a grunt, he got up and walked toward the enormous horse, which whinnied in protest.
"Oh, forgive my lack of manners. It is good to see you too, Shadow Star. You look bigger and stronger... as beautiful as the last times."
Clearly, the old Hobbit's words had their effect. The steed whinnied and tossed its head with dignity; yes, he hadn't changed a bit. The audience at the inn watched, astonished, as the horse allowed itself to be petted by the Gaffer.
And it was no wonder Shadow Star allowed it: for a long time, that Hobbit had been in charge of feeding, bathing, and caring for him while Aldril stayed in Hobbiton, enjoying the relaxed atmosphere.
At that moment, while Aldril greeted the old Gaffer, the young Hobbit approached with trembling steps.
"Excuse me... are you the legendary Dragon Slayer?" he asked, shrinking his neck like a turtle.
"One of my many titles," replied Aldril calmly, "but yes, it is I, little Hobbit."
There was warmth in his voice. It was always so with the young ones who approached him; after all, many stories of his deeds were sung and adapted as tales for children, and he would not be rude when those little ones, curious by nature, drew near him.
And, just as he imagined, the young Hobbit squealed with glee:
"My mother used to tell me your adventures, my lord! It is an honor to meet you."
The Hobbits present did not doubt the truth of his words.
Who would be so arrogant as to impersonate the Dragon Slayer?
Furthermore, thanks to the old Gaffer's stories, they knew that that mythical warrior always came to Hobbiton to celebrate Bilbo Baggins' birthday.
Now, with the legend before them, they confirmed that those were not mere rumors. And even more so when they spotted, in the distance, a red-haired Elf who stole their breath away. That lady of singular beauty was the Half-elf's rumored beloved: the Princess of Mirkwood, or as it was now known, the Forest of Rebirth.
"Then is it true that Bilbo Baggins, of Bag End, is your best friend?" asked the young Hobbit, this time very embarrassed.
What audacity! Moments ago he had heard him say yes, but he wished to reaffirm it.
Aldril was patient with the little one.
"Of course he is. He and I lived through an adventure that brought us to the brink of death; if that did not make us best friends, I could not say what else could."
"My love, it is getting late."
Another voice, this time as soft and soothing as the murmur of a running brook, interrupted the Hobbits' joy. Tauriel had approached unnoticed; she offered those present a cordial smile and then turned her gaze toward her beloved.
"Night is falling, and we do not wish to keep Bilbo waiting; besides, the children are sleepy."
Nodding, Aldril addressed the Hobbits.
"You heard her, little ones. I must go. It was a pleasure to meet you; I hope to see you at Bilbo Baggins' party."
And with those last words, he urged Shadow Star to turn about and depart, followed by his beloved, who cast a farewell smile to the Hobbits.
Seeing Aldril leave, the old Gaffer gave the young Hobbit a light cuff on the head.
"I told you so, you rascal. Heed the words of this old man."
"I am sorry, old Gaffer," answered the lad. "I won't doubt you again."
--
Once on the road to Hobbiton, it took but half an hour to reach that iconic stone bridge. Every time he passed over it, Aldril remembered his first adventure, that which had forged him into who he was today.
The Hobbit houses remained the same: small holes, simple yet cozy. It was said that even the poorest lived in caves adapted to offer good rest. In a way, one envied the Hobbits; their only worries were what they would eat for their six daily meals or, in the case of the wealthiest, like Bilbo Baggins, what the perfect time for tea would be.
"Ah... what memories this place brings back," said Kíli, inhaling deeply the scent of fresh grass.
"A quiet and comfortable place," added Fíli. "I still remember when we sneaked in and tracked mud all over Bilbo's carpet."
Aldril laughed at the memory.
"That is my mother's carpet! Show some respect!" mimicked Kíli, imitating Bilbo with his distinctive high pitch.
And, as if on cue, a woman's thunderous shriek was heard from the hill, where a Hobbit-hole rose like a mansion.
"Bilbo Baggins!"
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