Malphegor
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LOTR: TMCP Ch. 157
🕑 Added 2025-08-05 17:32:52 +0000 UTC"Estel truly enjoys listening to your tales."
Elrond stepped in with a warm smile. "Ever since he first heard of your adventures, he has been eager to meet you."
"I'm glad you enjoy my stories."
Garrett shook hands with Aragorn and said, "Looks like you're quite interested in adventure."
"Yes!"
Aragorn responded with clear enthusiasm. Then he asked, "Did you really face a dragon?"
"Of course, in the Lonely Mountain."
Garrett recalled, "That dragon was quite the chatterbox. The moment you stood before it, it would just go on and on, trying to mess with your mind."
"It would slowly lower its massive head, big enough to fill your entire field of vision, right before you, fixing those golden, vertical pupils on you, and then start questioning you."
As Garrett spoke, Aragorn imagined the scene vividly, as if an enormous dragon's head was suddenly towering over him, gazing down with malice.
"And once you answer it, you'd be cursed. So never respond to a dragon directly. Either say nothing, or stall and avoid the question."
"Also, it would always ask your name. If you told it, it would capture your soul and turn you into its puppet."
Aragorn listened with rapt attention, clearly captivated by these details of dragon-lore.
Garrett's eyes glinted with mischief. Suddenly, he continued, "It once asked me my name."
"Did you tell it?" Aragorn couldn't help but ask.
A large face leaned in ominously, answering slowly, "Yes!"
"Ahh!"
Aragorn cried out and stumbled backward in shock.
Hah.
Garrett's mouth curved into an impish grin, clearly pleased with his jest.
Halbarad's eye twitched slightly.
Elrond covered his eyes in exasperation.
Gilraen stepped forward and gently patted Aragorn's shoulder reassuringly.
By now, Aragorn had also come to his senses. The boy took a deep breath, pursed his lips, and stood with clenched fists, clearly unhappy.
No one had ever scared him like that before.
But after this small incident, the boundary between legend and reality faded. He suddenly realized that the legendary figure standing before him was also a living, breathing person with his own sense of humor.
"Come now, don't be mad. I apologize."
Like a magician performing a trick, Garrett suddenly produced a small crimson flower from his hand and offered it to Aragorn.
"A flower that never withers, a specialty of Wayfort. I hope it brings you luck."
"Thank you."
Still somewhat annoyed, Aragorn nonetheless accepted the flower politely and expressed his gratitude.
Later, a small flowerpot would find its place in his room.
Garrett patted Aragorn on the shoulder, and the matter was considered settled.
A private welcome feast was quickly arranged. This time, however, they didn't trouble the elven cooks of Rivendell, Garrett chose to prepare the meal himself.
Thanks to years of accumulated experience, his recipe collection was now filled with dishes of every variety. Vegetarian fare, hearty meats, roasted delicacies, rich stews, even pastries and salads, he could whip them up with ease.
He also brought out over a dozen casks of his own vintage wine from his inventory.
Even Elrond couldn't resist having several additional cups that evening.
"Excellent wine," was the Lord of Rivendell's succinct yet heartfelt praise.
Aragorn held a goblet of fruit juice, watching the others enjoy their wine at the table, wondering when he might get to try some himself.
It was rare to see his foster father in such good spirits.
That wine must taste amazing, right?
But drinks aside, this food was extraordinary. Compared to these dishes, everything he'd eaten before seemed like mere travel rations by comparison.
None can know what the future holds, but for now, every additional bite was worth savoring. From what he had overheard, this lord from Wayfort, who enjoyed startling people, didn't visit often. In fact, he was the sort who appeared like a shooting star, here one moment, gone the next, and was nearly impossible to locate when sought.
Which meant that the opportunity to taste food he had personally prepared was also rare.
The small, private banquet came to a joyful end for both guest and host.
By then, night had fully fallen. Aragorn was gently sent to his rest by his mother.
Garrett, meanwhile, approached Elrond and took out a golden apple.
"I can tell… the burden he carries isn't just the fate of the Dúnedain, it's far greater. When he leaves this place, I hope you'll pass this apple to him on my behalf. It could save his life in a moment of danger."
Elrond received the apple with solemn care, clearly both surprised and deeply moved.
Surprised that Garrett was willing to part with such a rare item, and also surprised by how much importance he placed on Aragorn.
"None can foresee what the future may bring, or where the paths of fate will lead us," Elrond said in his customary thoughtful manner. "But clearly, on this day, fortune has blessed our 'Estel.'"
"I thank you on his behalf."
"As do I."
A gentle voice spoke from nearby, Gilraen.
"On behalf of my son, I thank you for your generous gift."
She offered Garrett a graceful, respectful bow. It was clear that she was a person of kindness and gentle nature.
Of course, gentle did not mean fragile. Like Aragorn, she too was of the Dúnedain. And if circumstances required it, she could take up blade and cut down ten times her number in orcs.
"As long as you don't mind my little prank," Garrett said with a warm smile.
Gilraen shook her head gently with a smile of her own.
Finally, Garrett bid farewell to Erestor.
---
The next day, two armored horses galloped forth from Rivendell, the wind whistling past their ears.
"This is the swiftest I have ever ridden!"
Halbarad called from ahead. Even at full gallop, his mount showed no signs of losing control or tiring.
Unlike a certain elderly wizard.
"Ha! Then you'd better be careful. A certain old man once threw out his back riding one of these."
"Then he clearly wasn't in proper condition. And while I may have more years than most Men, I'm hardly decrepit."
They rode at full speed until they reached a mountain pass deep within the Misty Mountains.
Before a sealed passage entrance, the two dismounted for a quick meal and briefly discussed their route before continuing onward.
In this narrower, more obstacle-filled terrain, the horses had to slow down a bit.
It was during this time that Halbarad suddenly asked, "I never did ask you, what is your purpose in going to the far East?"
"My purpose..."
"If I had to put it into words, I suppose it would be this: I hope the war there can come to an end. That those who long to return can finally go back to the place they dream of, rather than remain lost in some distant land far from home."
"For some people, home holds an irresistible call. Stronger than gold, stronger than any treasure, powerful enough to make someone abandon everything else."
"You speak truly," Halbarad said with a thoughtful sigh. "That is indeed the way of things."
"Some people guard their peaceful homes and still aren't satisfied, while others wander endlessly in pursuit of a home, even if it exists only as a cherished memory... or a ruined heap of rubble."
The image of a blue-robed wizard appeared in his mind.
I might not be able to go back…
"You intend to help him find his way home?"
Halbarad asked suddenly, a strange, almost inexplicable question.
But somehow, the man riding behind him understood exactly what he meant.
"He will return."
"Just like the others."
