Author's Note:
Thanks to the reviewers OlivierMira89, Random Guest, Guest, Certh, SmileyXs Ice-cream Sprinkles, Jesus' girl 4ever, aiholic, Kandragon, Brightpath2 for their reviews! You guys are amazing!
Chapter 9
Thranduil peered out the window of his ship. Sunlight shone brightly in the noontime sky. There was not a cloud in sight. Bright green plains rolled beneath his craft, dotted by clusters of grey, rough stones and shadowed by his ship.
"We are nearly there," his pilot's calm voice called to him through the speakers. Thranduil did not bother to answer. Instead, he waited until a white city appeared in the horizon.
Ost-in-Edhil.
It covered a wide ground, and sat on a collection of three hills. Farming fields stretched out on all sides, like patches made on an old cloth. In Common Tongue, the name translated to "Fortress of the Elves", and it was indeed built like a fortress. White walls surrounded the capital, several feet high and at least a foot thick. It was manned by Elves and machines alike, the machines being the hard work of the smiths living within.
Ost-in-Edhil was famous even for those who had sparsest knowledge of Arda system. It was the pinnacle of Elven civilisation, and the hub for everything related to trade. It was also a guarded fortress. Ost-in-Edhil did not allow just anyone to enter the city. All Elves were welcome and Dwarves even more so. The rest were only allowed within its walls if someone from within invited them.
His pilot landed the ship at the docks connected to one of the walls. Besides the main gates, this was the only entrance into the city. He pressed the control linked to communications.
"Pilot, I will stay here for a few days. You are free until then," Thranduil said. He switched it off with a beep.
"Yes, sir," the pilot returned. Thranduil gathered a small bag of his things and stepped out the ship and into the sunlight. The planet was not as hot as Gondor and Rohan, but it was considerably warm at the peak of summer and just as cold without snow falling. No one batted an eye in his direction. When he was newly Knighted, people stopped what they were doing and nudged each other while he walked past. Now, there was no such thing, since many went to the Jedi Temple.
It was an odd sense of coming home, as soon as he stepped into the city. Lively chatter met his ears and he saw some sort of activity wherever he looked. He remembered Galadriel once calling it the city that never slept. And she was right. Ost-in-Edhil was well known for having busy streets even at midnight. The streets were easy for him to map; he came too many times to the city to keep count. It was nearly in his second nature.
He finally entered the centre of the city. A large marble statue stood in the middle of the square, as high as a building. Thranduil's neck cricked when he tilted his head back to see. It was a statue of muscled smith, with muscled limbs garbed in the clothing and apron of a smith. He held a hammer aloft in one hand, the other holding out three balls of gold, silver and bronze on his palm.
"Aulë," a voice spoke beside him. Thranduil glanced over his shoulder.
"Celebrimbor," Thranduil greeted him. "I was just coming your way."
"I know." He nodded. Then he smiled suddenly, white teeth flashing at him. "I decided to find you first before Celeborn caught hold of you." Celebrimbor beckoned him to follow. "Come; if you are not tired or in need of refreshments, then I would like to show you around the new portions of the city."
Thranduil was fine, but he lugged his bag of belongings with him. He said as much to Celebrimbor, who gestured to a nearby youngling, gave him Thranduil's things and told him to go up to the palace and inform Lord Celeborn about Thranduil's arrival. After he gaped in shock and awe at Thranduil, the boy scampered off.
"You certainly command a lot of attention," Celebrimbor remarked.
"The robes command a lot of attention," Thranduil corrected, ignoring some stares in his direction. Elven Jedi were much rarer than he thought. "So, where are we headed?"
"If I tell, then where will be the fun?"
"Possibly something related to your work," Thranduil guessed. "It could not be the markets. For all your interest in creating things, you despise the markets. Probably the forges. Or maybe newly constructed forges."
"Am I truly that predictable?" Celebrimbor asked, laughing when Thranduil was finished.
"If I tell, then where will be the fun?" Thranduil imitated. Celebrimbor laughed again. He waved his hands towards passing buildings as they walked. He described them in detail and filled Thranduil in with the latest changes around the city. Celebrimbor did not call for transport and Thranduil did not mind. He enjoyed walking anyway; there was so much more to see.
While Celebrimbor talked, Thranduil had the time to take in his appearance carefully. The hologram did little justice to Celebrimbor's appearance. He was as tall as Thranduil in real life, with lean legs, narrow hips and broad, muscled upper body from his work as a smith. His facial features were chiselled, as if someone curved his face from marble. His eyebrows were arched and thin, set beneath a wide forehead and silky black hair held in place with a simple silver circlet. His skin was pure white, and refused to darken no matter how long he spent in the sun. It seemed even paler since he spent so long indoors. There was a silver cuff on his right earlobe, from which three chains dangled. All three were tipped with small sapphires. He was dressed in completely in black, lined with intricate columns of silver thread. His belt was black leather, with two silver loops clasped together instead of an ordinary buckle. Thranduil knew Celebrimbor enjoyed making statements. His clothes made them; they were uncommon in a city full of colourful clothes other than black as well as in such a warm weather. Celebrimbor was not loose-tongued. He only spoke when necessary. As it was, conversation tapered into nothing once they reached the palace.
Thranduil followed Celebrimbor towards the palace, until the smith took a sharp turn to the right. Thranduil complied, curious. They did not speak along the way. Celebrimbor seemed preoccupied with his thoughts and Thranduil was content on letting his eyes wander. He saw many Dwarves at work, but humanoids were very few in number. And while the Elves were garbed in flowing robes, and the city guards wore swords at their sides, the city was medley between culture and technology. It suited Ost-in-Edhil.
"There," Celebrimbor pointed at a towering building before them. It stood alone, surrounded by winding roads. The structure was not complete, but it was serviceable.
"What is it?" Thranduil questioned, craning his head to look up.
"Forges," Celebrimbor answered. "It was petitioned for Gwaith-i-Mírdain." Gwaith-i-Mírdain was a guild of talented Elven craftsmen. The guild was still young but under Celebrimbor's leadership, it flourished and quickly became famous for their innovative creations. "We wanted another set of forges, so that we can not only work in peace, but upgrade to the latest technology." They reached the door. It was made of metal. A glazed emblem decorated it. Two leaf-barren trees stood at the edges. An anvil sat in the middle, with a hammer rested on it. The six-pointed star of Fëanor's house hovered above it. Celebrimbor indulged in a friendly conversation with the warden before the doors opened. "And I am pleased to say that this will simply take your breath away." Celebrimbor said with an excited twinkle in his eye.
Thranduil entered the forges and looked up. He inhaled sharply and nearly forgot to breathe again. Celebrimbor chuckled at his reaction.
"I warned you." The smith said.
The forges were still under construction but there was no doubt in his mind how magnificent they will turn out once they were complete. It was well-ventilated, with a brief hint of fire and smoke in the air. It was also well-lit, with numerous windows opening on all walls. The ceiling was vaulted, with a skylight of clear glass fitted in the centre. Sunlight streamed through the skylight. The building was built long and while they remained on foot, Thranduil noticed numerous vehicles of transport passing by them. Tracks crisscrossed above them, with thin trains riding on them. The machines barely made any noise. The real noise came from hammers meeting softened metal.
"Celeborn certainly spared no expense," Thranduil murmured in awe.
"Very true," Celebrimbor agreed. Then he added with a rueful laugh, "But then I hovered over the architect's shoulder as they made their plans. I am sure I have already driven him half-insane by now." When the doors opened, it seemed as if Thranduil entered a containment chamber. "We have yet to build our storage units," Celebrimbor added as an afterthought to explain the mess.
Crates upon crates littered the area. All of them were open, and Thranduil saw all kinds of ores lying in them. Some of them contained purified ingots. Celebrimbor led him forward until they came upon long tables, all of them laden with full trays of different gems.
Thranduil paused near a metal tray and picked up an oval-cut white gem. He held it high, admiring the light shattering within into numerous colours. Celebrimbor paused when he sensed Thranduil no longer followed him, turned and laughed.
"I should have known you would stop there." The smith said wryly. He retraced his steps and stood beside Thranduil. "Amazing, is it not?"
It was. It was also unlike anything Thranduil had ever seen. When the gem turned a certain way, Thranduil caught the barest flicker of a flame within the heart of the gem. It was blue in colour, flickering just like a lit candle would. But his fingers turned the gem once more, and the fire extinguished.
"What is it?"
"I used a technique my grandfather used. If you remember your lore, he knew how to create gems in such a way that they seemed to be in flames when placed in light."
Thranduil did indeed know his lore. He also knew that Fëanor was not just Celebrimbor's grandfather, but the only Elf most feared, revered and cursed even by Elves. He lowered the gem slightly. Celebrimbor despised his father's side of the family, and turned his back on them for all the atrocities they committed. But he inherited his love for metallurgy and craftsmanship from them. It was also said Celebrimbor was the closest person to resemble both his father and grandfather.
"I never realised you wanted to capture his creations." Thranduil commented casually. Celebrimbor shook his head.
"I do not want to," he corrected, seeming disgruntled. "But I always wondered if I could use the same effect with coloured stones and… well, I will let you know once the project I have in mind is completed."
Thranduil was not sure if he liked the sound of that. Celeborn once likened Celebrimbor as a wild untamed child left alone with too many toys… it seemed endearing but it was also dangerous and unpredictable. But little could stop Celebrimbor once he set his mind to something. Thranduil sighed and returned the gem to its tray.
"It is not dangerous, is it?" He asked warily. Celebrimbor gave a barking laugh.
"It isn't." He promised. His voice trembled with mirth. Did Celebrimbor know what Celeborn thought of him? He hoped not. "If anything, it will only be dangerous to me if I leave a compressed gem too long in the fire."
"And what will happen?"
"It will explode," Celebrimbor explained with an indifferent lift of his shoulder. He beckoned him. "Come."
Thranduil muttered under his breath about foolish smiths and their lust for experimentation before following.
Celebrimbor led him deeper into the building. It occurred to Thranduil that while the building seemed smaller from the outside, there was no lack of space. Also, the smiths designed the interior for practicality. He found no delicate designs on the pillars holding up the roof, or on their workbenches or anywhere else for that matter. The handles of their hammers were bound with leather and sewn with sturdy thick thread. The Elves were dressed in soot-covered, dirty clothes. Their sleeves were rolled to their elbows, and their hair bound in a single braid and held back with silver circlets. All of them were busy at work, and even when they saw Celebrimbor pass by them, they only acknowledged him by a single dip of their heads before returning to their task. It also occurred to him that Celebrimbor was completely at ease. He moved around the forges as if he moved around his own home, stopping for a bare few seconds to peruse a newly crafted item like a toy or a piece jewellery like someone who suddenly found the painting hanging in the corridor of his home interesting. Thranduil was content and looked around as he walked. They entered a small rectangular chamber, lined with numerous lockers. Numerous benches stood in the middle. It was not empty. He caught sight of some Elves conversing amongst themselves, soaked with perspiration and smelling of smoke. He heard distant laughter from a partially open door at a corner. He realised it led to the toilets. A young Elf, an apprentice if Thranduil recognised his uniform, ran quickly outside, helpless with laughter. A soaked Elf followed and tackled his legs. Celebrimbor laughed as he passed the two Elves, wrestling on the floor. The rest of the smiths watched, and shouted encouragements and suggestions.
"Things are rather casual here," Thranduil remarked.
"I encourage it," Celebrimbor remarked with a smile as he glanced at Thranduil. "A serious mind does not open many doors of creativity, I think." Celebrimbor lead him up winding steps. Thranduil glanced down, at the sheer drop below and felt slightly nervous.
"You know, it would not be a bad idea if you fit a fence at the edge." Thranduil told him. Celebrimbor grinned wolfishly.
"Don't tell me you are afraid of heights." He stated.
"I am more afraid of nothing stopping me from falling to my death."
"Anyone can lift you over the fence and drop you to your death."
"Oh that is simply reassuring!"
They reached the top without any mishap. The top floor almost mirrored the floor beneath it, except the centre was made of clear glass tiles.
"Completely safe," Celebrimbor promised when Thranduil mentioned it. "The glass is reinforced, not the kind used for decorations and such. It is stronger than concrete, I assure you." Thranduil watched as apprentices left crates of ore on top of the glass floor without any qualms and decided he agreed with Celebrimbor. "Come here. We forge weapons here."
Thranduil entered a room full of boiling heat.
Perspiration beaded his forehead in a matter of minutes. The air seemed to simmer with heat. The room was devoid of windows, and the fires shone bright gold and red. The Elves wore full gear, their faces hidden behind iron masks and their hands covered with thick gloves. Celebrimbor led him quickly to a room adjoining it. One look and Thranduil knew it was where they finished the weapons. While Thranduil browsed he noticed one thing; there were no blasters.
Most would consider Arda system to be primitive and it was indeed true. They preferred the ancient weapons like swords, spears and bows. They were quite adept at them as well. But spears and arrows cannot penetrate the metallic smooth bodies of ships and swords were useless against blasters.
"You are creating hybrids," Thranduil concluded after examining a spear. He remembered faded memories, of his father teaching him the craft of weapons. Every weapon was a story, his father said. All stories have a writer, who creates them. And all stories have beginnings, chapters and endings. The smooth lines at steady intervals on the shaft marked the spear as retractable. Its spearhead was tapered in the form of a leaf and Thranduil knew the edges were sharp just by looking at them. It was inlayed with mithril, so that the metal imparted its strength into the spear.
"The people of Arda system are not accustomed to blasters." Celebrimbor said. "Hybrids will suit them more. Many other systems have done the same," Celebrimbor said. "I just need to find the right combinations to suit our height, weight and style of fighting." Thranduil stepped back from the bench and whirled the spear experimentally in his arms. It nearly wrenched backwards, the shaft moving quicker than he expected.
"It is too light." He told the smith. Celebrimbor nodded, smiling curving his lips.
"So I was told." Celebrimbor responded. "I do not know much about spears, I am afraid. I always proven efficient with a hammer." Thranduil imagined Celebrimbor wielding a hammer. It was an uncommon choice. A hammer was bulky, slow but caused more damage than a sword if the wielder knew how to use it. Thranduil stole a glance at Celebrimbor and smiled wryly. There was little doubt that Celebrimbor knew how to wield a tool of his trade efficiently, whether it was the kind for craftwork or for a battle.
"But duty comes first," Celebrimbor remarked, surprising Thranduil and interrupting his thoughts. "Yu have spent nearly two hours in my company and we have yet to explore the true goal of your arrival."
He was so lost in the wonders of the forges that he completely forgot about the real reason that brought him here. One look at Celebrimbor confirmed his suspicions. Celebrimbor tested him. Thranduil scowled. If there was anything that annoyed him about his own kind, it was their constant testing and prodding to see how much he changed after becoming a Jedi. He was still the same, except for the extra oaths and a power most Elves did not possess.
Celebrimbor bade him to follow and Thranduil complied, still fuming inwardly. The smith led him into a new forge. Thranduil was too deep in thought to notice the lack of inhabitants, and the fact it seemed more personal than the rest of the building. Celebrimbor went to a workbench and raised his palm wordlessly. Thranduil unhooked a pouch from his belt and unearthed an intricately designed containment box from its depths.
Celebrimbor looked amused.
"You keep a potentially dangerous gem in a pouch hooked to your belt?" He asked.
"It was in its containment box," Thranduil defended himself. Celebrimbor grinned and shook his head.
"If you were one of my apprentices, I would have you thrashed for such a rookie mistake," Celebrimbor told him before accepting the box. Thranduil snorted, his irritation evaporating. Celebrimbor seemed unrepentant about what he did and it was only a small trifle.
"I am a Jedi, not a smith." Celebrimbor shook his head and set the box on the table.
"That explains the lack of common sense," Celebrimbor retorted. He bent a little and rummaged in the shelves underneath his workbench.
"Why, Celebrimbor, I do believe that Celeborn's company is rubbing off on you." Thranduil quipped. Celebrimbor resurfaced, a wide grin pasted on his face. He tugged on his gloves and wore protective glasses.
"Don't I get mine?"
"You survived this long," Celebrimbor said with a smirk. "I am sure you will live longer. Besides, I have heard rumours that you have spoken to the King of Greenwood for a long time. Celeborn said the only way you'd speak to him is if you were wounded and cuffed to a bed in the infirmary." Thranduil made a face. He decided that all Elves- especially the ones he knew and unfortunately was related to- were gossipy in nature. Celebrimbor carefully unlocked the latch on the box and removed the lid. He slowly removed the cloth until their item of interest lay visible. The shards lay on the smooth cloth, looking entirely harmless. A studious frown settled on Celebrimbor's forehead. He dipped under the table again and brought out a wooden kit. He held up forceps and gingerly shifted through the shards.
"Finely made," Celebrimbor muttered. "And unfortunately… I recognise the craftsmanship."
"Do you?" Thranduil asked, suddenly attentive. He leaned forward. "Whose is it?"
Celebrimbor's skin was pale, but his face darkened with simmering pure rage. He pulled off his glasses and took an eyepiece from his kit and looked at the shards again through it. Finally he shook his head and offered the eyepiece to Thranduil.
"See for yourself," he said. He held up the shard for Thranduil to look at. He pointed delicately with a gloved finger. "Here."
Curious and wary, Thranduil looked. It took him a while to see it, but the glazed emblem against a clear background was unmistakeable. It was a miniature form of an anvil, crowned with a single six-pointed star.
"Isn't this your sign?" Thranduil asked. Celebrimbor nodded, face taut and grim. That was why he was furious, Thranduil realised. Celebrimbor blamed himself. Rumours were not easy to subdue, and Thranduil kept no secrets. Celebrimbor was fully aware how dangerous the gem was and how it was a declaration on the Senator's life. Using something he created, and against his own kin, it was a slap on his face.
"You are not to blame for this." Thranduil said quietly. Celebrimbor shook his head. He realised his gloved hands were fists resting on the workbench.
"I created something and someone used it for a purpose it was not created."
"And how were you to know that this could have happened?" Thranduil argued. "You are a creator, and it is not on you how others use your creations. Anyone could have been a target-"
"It was not anyone! It was Galadriel!" Celebrimbor exploded. Thranduil tilted his head back in surprise. Understanding dawned, and reality washed down on him like icy water.
He heard rumours for many years about Celebrimbor. It was widely known that he never married. He never showed the interest to marry. Some said he was made his craft his mistress and she demanded too much of his time. Others conjured a more romantic notion; that he was in love with someone who was either already wed, or with someone who did not love him in return. Either notion was outlandish for Elves. Thranduil brushed such rumours off. He was sure they were simply twisted lies to entertain people during a party.
But maybe they were not far from the truth.
And it was not just simple love, or affection. It was more. It was love, mixed with undying devotion and reverence. It was love, the kind that did not extinguish by some experience and did not fade over time. Some of Galadriel's decisions over the past few months suddenly made more sense. Her distant but pleasant demeanour when she spoke of Celebrimbor or if he was mentioned in her company, her reservations to return to Ost-in-Edhil. She stayed in Lórien under the pretence of Senator's obligations and it worked well for her.
"I thought it was all a lie," Thranduil said. He noticed how Celebrimbor fought for control. His head bowed and his breathing slowed. He shifted, no doubt uncomfortable for displaying such raw emotion. Thranduil briefly felt a pang of sympathy. For all his flaws and his eagerness, Celebrimbor was good at heart. Gentle, even. "I did not know that you loved her." Celebrimbor's gloves hissed against the workbench as his grip tightened on the edges. "For how long?"
Celebrimbor remained silent. Thranduil waited. His answer finally came when Thranduil nearly decided he was not going to hear an answer.
"Celeborn knew before I did." Celebrimbor whispered. "He said that I was the reincarnated version of my grandfather," he spat the last word as if it were poison in his mouth. "That I burned too brightly for my own good and a day will come where my fire will destroy my forges and everything I hold dear. And then he said that even Fëanor pined for Galadriel, in his own fashion. And that I was no different. The gall of him, to compare me to that- that- murderer." Celebrimbor stopped suddenly and straightened. Thranduil raised his eyebrows when he saw that Celebrimbor's face was carefully wiped clean of all feeling. It was as if he wore a mask. Even his eyes revealed nothing. Thranduil and Celebrimbor did not always get along, but he never saw him so… cold. The smith removed his gloves in jerky, mechanical motions and dropped them in a pile on the workbench.
"It will take some time to test the shards." Celebrimbor said dispassionately. "I would like to be thorough. If this gem exploded in the presence of two Jedi, then perhaps something else is at work that we are not aware of." He dipped his head, obviously dismissing him. But Thranduil persisted.
"Is that all?" He pressed. "How long will it take?"
"As long as it needs."
"I will come tomorrow," Thranduil offered. But Celebrimbor adamantly shook his head.
"I will call you when there are results."
There was the dismissal again. Thranduil knew he could not press him. Celebrimbor was stubborn. So he nodded wordlessly.
"Let me escort you to the entrance," Celebrimbor began but Thranduil stopped him with a raised hand and shook his head.
"I can find my way," Thranduil assured him. He paused for a second and added, "I am sorry, Celebrimbor. I do hope you find another you love more dearly."
Celebrimbor clenched his teeth and only answered him with a single nod. Thranduil understood that Celebrimbor did not wish to continue the conversation. As he murmured an excuse and walked through the massive array of corridors, he inwardly decided both Celebrimbor and Galadriel were very good actors. While many suspected, they simply brushed off the rumours as something inconceivable.
"You, my friend, are stuff from ballads," Thranduil muttered under his breath, thinking of Celebrimbor.
Instincts flared in answer just as he turned around the corner and he looked up just in time to avoid a painful meeting. He stepped back, an apology on the tip of his tongue, but when he looked up, he met the eyes of Annatar. Thranduil stepped further back warily, not liking the amused smirk on Annatar's face.
"Jedi Knight Thranduil Oropherion," Annatar greeted him softly. His voice reminded him of silk, smooth and slippery. His senses prickled unpleasantly at the sound. "We really should stop meeting like this."
"For that to happen, I think both of us should keep a healthy distance from corners," Thranduil answered. Annatar laughed and Thranduil's senses heightened. He fought to control himself, fought to control the Force from rippling uneasily within him. Even his Jedi senses were at an edge. He narrowed his eyes at Annatar and silently wondered what Annatar hid behind his charming façade.
"Most interesting," Annatar answered. Thranduil frowned, not understanding what warranted the reply. He did not ask; he was not sure if he would like the answer. "Tell me, who is the stuff of ballads?"
Thranduil hesitated. He did not like the probing nature of Annatar's question, no matter how harmless it seemed.
"That is personal," Thranduil responded. Annatar stepped closer, shortening the distance between them. Thranduil held his ground and met his eyes squarely.
"Perhaps there is something we can exchange so that I may know your thoughts." Annatar offered. His hands were clasped behind him. Thranduil drew back his outer robe and placed both his hands on his waist, exposing his lightsaber.
"My thoughts are not for bargain," he answered. Annatar posed for a moment. A frown appeared on his forehead, the first time Thranduil saw him troubled. Then Annatar smiled, chasing away the creases on his brow.
"Perhaps another time then," Annatar decided. He stepped back and out of his way, as if allowing him to pass through. "I hope we meet again."
"Likewise," Thranduil said, inwardly praying they did not. He inclined his head as he passed him and continued to walk at a steady pace, even when he inwardly swore that Annatar's eyes remained on his retreating back.
He welcomed the afternoon sunlight as soon as he stepped outside. He paused and took a few minutes so that he could steady himself and organise his churning thoughts. Many things were revealed to him, and not all of them concerned the main reason he visited Ost-in-Edhil. Of all of them, he decided first that there was not an ounce of trust within him for Annatar. That Maia was many things, and pleasant and courteous did not begin to define him by half. He was a mosaic of many emotions and thoughts, and most of them were hidden behind a carefully drawn curtain. He briefly wondered if it was something he could mention to Celebrimbor, but was against it. Celebrimbor was neither in the state of mind for such a discussion nor would he humour him long enough to listen to his doubts.
Thranduil heaved a sigh and went to the nearest vendor.
"Tell me," he said to him after a word of greeting. "Which way to the palace?"
Author's Note:
I know the storyline does not progress much here, but this is a foundation as well as a true glimpse of Elves. Since I have to build both worlds in a realistic fashion, I need to dedicate some paragraphs or some chapters to them.
To registered users, I am trying my best to get back to you. My keyboard is not working and since I type out my chapters on my phone and have time restraints, it is a bit difficult. Please be patient with me.
Anyway, I hope you enjoy! Please leave a review!
Replies to Anon:
Random Guest: Hello! Thank you so much for reviewing. Thanks for pointing out the error. I try my best to keep the mistakes minimum but sometimes something manages to sneak away! Thank you and I hope you keep enjoying this story!
Guest: You are just as awesome for reviewing! XD Thank you!
aiholic: Another person who loves world-building! Yes, the actual challenge of this story is to see how well the two universes would have worked if I merged them together. Although, I already have a detailed storyline written for this one. It stretches all the way to the Fourth Age in LoTR, and to Anakin's grandchildren (following the comics and novels) in Star Wars. Thank you and please continue to read and offer a review! (If you are able, of course!)
