And the night of Rivendell continued to resonate, recording that moment in silence—when a knight from a distant land gave a part of his strength to the immortal daughter of the hidden valley.
The tranquil atmosphere in Rivendell slowly shifted. From the direction of the main gate, the sound of hurried footsteps, loud conversations, and rough laughter began to be heard. Arwen and Thalion, who were still standing in the hall, exchanged surprised glances. Arwen smiled faintly.
"It seems Rivendell has special guests this time," she said, glancing towards the entrance.
Thalion turned, trying to listen more clearly. "That sound… is boisterous and rather chaotic. Could it be—"
Before he could finish his sentence, the sound of heavy footsteps and Gandalf's distinctive voice echoed from the corridor:
"—And don't blame me if you get lost again! I said turn left at the big tree, not straight into the ravine!"
A moment later, Gandalf emerged from the corridor, his grey robes dusty, his hair and beard somewhat disheveled, yet his eyes still twinkled merrily. Behind him, the dwarves entered one by one, each in a disheveled state. Some looked annoyed, others weary, and the rest seemed… hungry.
Bilbo appeared last. His clothes were tattered, his cheeks smudged with dirt, and he was panting. But the expression on his face was more bewildered than tired.
"Elrond!" Gandalf exclaimed upon seeing the lord of Rivendell standing at the end of the corridor. "Long time no see, old friend!"
Elrond stepped forward with a warm smile, embracing Gandalf tightly. "Still alive, Olorin, I see. I thought you had turned to smoke after your last adventure."
Gandalf chuckled. "Not even mountain fires can burn away my humor, Elrond."
They released the embrace. Elrond looked towards the dwarves. "Thorin Oakenshield, and that renowned company. Rivendell welcomes you."
Thorin bowed respectfully. "Lord Elrond. Our journey… has not been as smooth as we had hoped."
Elrond surveyed their condition briefly, then smiled gently. "You look as if you have just tumbled down a steep valley. But do not worry. Hot water and warm food await. Tonight you rest, and tomorrow we will discuss your purpose."
The dwarves exchanged relieved glances. Bombur even looked close to tears upon hearing the words 'warm food'.
Bilbo stepped forward hesitantly, then whispered to Gandalf, "This… is Rivendell, yes? It's too… quiet."
Gandalf patted his shoulder. "Enjoy the quiet while you can. Because the journey after this may not be so peaceful."
Meanwhile, Thalion observed Bilbo with curiosity. He had never seen a creature so short, yet his eyes were clear and innocent. Arwen smiled at Thalion's expression.
"That is a hobbit. They come from the far west. They rarely leave their lands."
Thalion nodded slowly. "A quiet creature… but there is something hidden in his gaze."
"Like someone who will play an important role," Arwen murmured.
Rivendell that night was illuminated by the soft glow of lanterns and the flickering flames of candles reflected on the marble walls. At a long, elegantly carved table of old wood, the dwarves sat with weary postures, their clothes having been changed to clean ones—though their beards were still somewhat tangled. Gandalf sat at the head of the table, sipping Rivendell wine calmly. On the other side, Bilbo was tentatively tasting a plate of green salad with a blank expression.
"This… is all there is?" Dwalin asked, staring at the boiled vegetables with an almost philosophical suspicion.
"No meat?" Bombur asked, his eyes starting to water.
"Not even a small piece?" Gloin added in a tone as if he had lost a loved one.
Elrond sat calmly at the other end of the table, his face as serene as the surface of a night lake. He did not respond to the complaints, merely regarding the dwarves with a patient look. It was as if he had heard these questions hundreds of times.
"The fare of Rivendell is a form of respect for nature and harmony," he finally replied. "You will feel lighter in the morning."
"Feeling light doesn't help an empty stomach," Thorin grumbled, cutting a small tomato on his plate as if it were his personal enemy.
Gandalf chuckled and raised his glass. "Easy, easy. Better to eat vegetables from an elven kitchen than wild grass on the road, wouldn't you say?"
Suddenly, the sound of soft footsteps echoed from the corridor. All heads turned.
Thalion entered the dining hall, appearing as calm as ever—but what made all eyes widen was Arwen beside him. Her blue gown seemed to glow in the candlelight, and… her hand gently held Thalion's. A sight that made time seem to pause for a moment.
Gandalf nearly choked on his wine. He hurriedly put down his glass and stared at them with raised eyebrows.
"Yare yare… Did I miss something these past few days?" he murmured half-jokingly.
Bilbo gaped, the dwarves began to whisper among themselves. Only Elrond remained seated, but his eyes—which had been calm—now narrowed sharply. His face did not show a smile.
Thalion looked at the dining table with a composed expression, then greeted lightly, "Good evening. Elven food is still healthy, I see."
Arwen smiled faintly, then pulled out a chair and sat beside her father, no longer holding Thalion's hand. Thalion sat on the other side, as if nothing had happened.
Gandalf leaned back in his chair, still looking at Thalion. "Interesting. Very interesting. I don't recall you entering Rivendell with this particular goal in mind, Thalion."
Thalion turned his head slowly, returning the look with a faint smile. "Our goals can evolve, can't they?"
Elrond had not yet spoken. He calmly cut a plum on his plate, then said without looking up:
"Rivendell is a place of learning and healing, not… the sparks of fleeting romance."
The sentence hung in the air like a thin mist.
Thalion knew it was a jab, but he merely bowed politely. "I have no intention of defiling the tranquility of this place, Lord Elrond. But the heart sometimes speaks faster than the mind."
Arwen glanced at her father for a moment, then looked down at her plate. The smile on her face did not disappear, but it clearly felt… restrained.
Gandalf finally sighed deeply. "Ah, youth and love. More difficult to control than dragons."
After a tense silence that hung for a few moments, Gandalf stood up and clapped his hands twice to draw everyone's attention at the table.
"Very well, before these dwarves file a petition to Elbereth for meat, allow me to introduce an equally important guest this evening," he said, glancing at Thalion.
The dwarves, who had been grumbling, now looked at the dark-haired youth with curiosity. Bilbo even raised his eyebrows high.
Gandalf turned to Thalion, then spoke in a nostalgic tone, "Friends, allow me to introduce… Thalion. The son of Thengel, the king of Rohan."
The room fell silent once more.
Thorin put down his fork. "From Rohan?"
"No kidding," Fili blurted out, observing Thalion from head to toe.
"Yes," Gandalf continued, "I last saw him when he was just five years old. And at that time he wasn't even as tall as my knee. Now… look at him."
Thalion stood briefly, bowing slightly to the guests who were looking at him with curiosity.
"Fifteen years, but your build is like a knight who has fought on many fields," Gandalf said, shaking his head slightly while stroking his beard. "What milk do you drink in Rohan, young man?"
A small laugh came from Bilbo and a few dwarves, but their gazes remained full of curiosity.
Gandalf continued, this time with a teasing tone, "But what confuses me even more… why are you dressed like a wandering wizard, not like a Rider of Rohan?"
Thalion smiled faintly and sat back down.
"These clothes," he said, smoothing the old grey robe that draped softly over his shoulders, "are my way of honoring two worlds. I am a son of Rohan, yes. But I wish to learn like the wise. These clothes remind me that true strength comes not only from muscle and sword, but also from knowledge."
"Tch," Dwalin muttered, crossing his arms. "Looks like a wizard, speaks like an elf, but born in Rohan."
Thorin chuckled softly. "You are unique, Thalion. I rarely meet someone from Rohan who speaks so calmly. Usually they shout first, then introduce themselves."
"Rohan taught me courage," Thalion replied. "But the world beyond my homeland taught me depth."
Thorin finally nodded, his gaze somewhat softened. "If you are the son of Thengel, then noble blood flows in your veins. May you not lose your way in the middle of the road."
Thalion looked at Thorin seriously, then replied, "And may I learn from the courage of the dwarves who never falter even when facing dragons."
Elrond, who had been silent all this time, merely raised his wine cup. He looked at Thalion with a deep gaze. "It seems you carry more than just a great name, young man."
Meanwhile, Arwen remained silent, her smile faint. But her eyes looked at Thalion with something indescribable. Something between admiration, curiosity, and perhaps… hope.
After dinner was finished and the dwarves began to relax under the warm glow of torches hanging from the hall's ceiling, Elrond rose slowly from his seat and approached Thorin and his company.
His gaze fell upon the long objects hanging from their backs and waists.
"Elven work…" he murmured softly, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the swords and blades carried by Thorin, Gandalf, and Bilbo. His hand reached out slowly, pointing to one of the swords tucked into Bilbo's scabbard. "This sword… and those you carry… are no ordinary weapons."
The dwarves exchanged glances. Bilbo looked at Gandalf, nervous.
Elrond continued, his tone calm yet attentive, "These carvings… these patterns… I recognize them. These are the work of the elves of Gondolin. Weapons that have been lost for thousands of years…"
Thalion, who was standing not far away, also approached. His eyes noted the details of the carvings. "Gondolin? Wasn't that city long since fallen in the First Age?"
Elrond nodded. "Indeed. And few survived that city. Including the legacy of these weapons… which we had long thought lost forever."
Gandalf, with his pipe in hand and a small smile on his lips, replied slowly, "They didn't just appear, Elrond. We found them… in a troll hoard."
"A troll hoard?" Elrond frowned.
"Yes," Gandalf continued. "They were hoarding many stolen treasures, and among that foul pile, these items were found. I recognized the ancient aura surrounding these swords… so we took them."
Bilbo added with a somewhat proud tone, "This one—" he pointed to his short sword, "—gives off a light when dark creatures are near. Like a small blue torch."
Elrond regarded it with a slow nod. "That is Sting. One of the elven blades crafted for the young nobles of Gondolin. Small for an elf, yet sharp and strong. For a hobbit such as yourself… it is a true sword."
Bilbo seemed to blush, as if greatly honored.
Meanwhile, Elrond glanced towards the other two large swords carried by Gandalf and Thorin.
"You carry Glamdring… and Orcrist," Elrond said in a voice barely above a whisper. "The sword of King Turgon… and the weapon of the legendary warriors of Gondolin. This is no coincidence."
The dwarves were now silent. Even Thorin, who was usually skeptical of elven matters, seemed slightly shaken by the recognition.
Gandalf looked at Elrond, then said, "Perhaps it is no coincidence. The world is stirring again. And old weapons seem to yearn to be used once more."
Elrond nodded slowly, but there was an unconcealed worry on his face.
"If these weapons are found again… then old shadows may be preparing to rise once more."
Silence fell over the hall.
Thalion looked at Glamdring and Orcrist with respect. In his heart, he could sense something profound—as if the power of the past was slowly awakening in this world, and he… might be part of a great destiny to come.
Still in the meaningful silence following Elrond's pronouncement about the Gondolin weapons, the atmosphere in the Rivendell hall began to shift as Elrond slowly turned his body and glanced towards Thalion, who stood leaning against one of the carved marble pillars.
Elrond raised his voice, soft yet clear enough for all present to hear:
"However… these weapons, though magnificent, are not the only legacy of power in this room."
The gazes of all present followed Elrond's, until finally their eyes rested on Thalion. Gandalf raised an eyebrow, while the dwarves exchanged curious glances.
Thalion stood up straight. Without saying a word, he stepped forward. His stride was steady, but not hurried. He stopped in the center of the hall, beneath the moonlight streaming in from the tall elven windows.
His hand slowly patted the hilt of the weapon at his waist. The sword's hilt, different from most—gently curved, wrapped in old black cloth and tied with a fine knot, looked striking yet elegant.
"Its name is Ryūjin Jakka," Thalion said in a calm, yet deep and attention-grabbing voice. "A sword that defies time… and speaks in flames."
The dwarves were silent. Even Bilbo, who usually had a quick comment, this time merely stared with wide eyes.
Slowly, Thalion drew Ryūjin Jakka from its scabbard.
Shhhk—
As soon as the thin yet gleaming katana blade was revealed, the air around them instantly changed. A warm current ran through the hall as if spring had suddenly arrived. The torches hanging on the walls seemed to flicker slightly, as if welcoming the presence of something far older and more powerful than ordinary fire.
The thin mist that had been on the windowpanes earlier evaporated slowly, and the small flowers in the vases at the end of the hall began to bloom faster than they should.
Thalion raised the blade to chest level, presenting it to all present.
"Ryūjin Jakka is not just a sword. It is alive. It responds to the will of its wielder's soul… and burns all that opposes that will."
Gandalf frowned, then offered a small, meaningful smile. "I remember something… that name… comes from a distant land. A power not born of this earth."
Thorin, who was usually cynical about things that could not be touched or measured, now seemed truly silent. His eyes were fixed on the faint shimmer that moved along the sword's blade like living embers.
One of the dwarves whispered, "Why is its shape like that? Not like a dwarf or elf sword…"
"Because it is not entirely from this world," Thalion replied, as if hearing the whisper. "I found it… or rather, it chose me."
Arwen, standing not far from Elrond, looked at Thalion with a mixture of wonder and admiration. There was something different about Thalion when he held Ryūjin Jakka—his aura had changed. He was no longer just the young man from Rohan lost in the library, but a figure carrying the destiny of fire and destruction, yet also a new hope for a world beginning to falter.
Elrond nodded slowly.
"Old weapons reappear… and new ones are born. Time continues to turn, and history begins to repeat itself. But this time… the players are more unpredictable than ever before."