Glorfindel's P.O.V.
Rivendell's peaceful atmosphere was something I had always cherished. Wandering through the gardens in the setting sun, in a pair of dazzling white robes. There was very little sound, but then again, there never was. Even with the peace and quiet, I felt a state of… unease.
"Stop it! Nothing is, will, or could go wrong without some kind of warning." I scolded myself. "Rivendell is safe for now with Saroun gone, what is to worry about?" My reassuring thoughts did not seem to do me any sort favor, and the tremor did not not help either.
"What in Arda?!" I exclaimed. As I looked around, the tremors got worse. I started to back away from where I was standing, and just in time. A worm dragon hybrid with pale grey blue scales exploded from the ground, sending me a good yard back from the force alone. My instincts started to kick in as I pushed myself off the ground and ran back to the front french doors, I had to find Elrond. But I was not coming alone.
"DRAGON!"
-Elrond's P.O.V.
"DRAGON!" The yell instantly brought me to the window. I started to gaze upward, at a dragon, well... more like a worm, that had erupted out of the ground, smashing part of my city. One look at the scaly monstrosity before me would send many an elven warrior running for the safety of home, but not an Earendillion. He was covered from head to toe in spikes.
"Little half-elf… Where do you lie?" His voice made me freeze, a chill going down my spine.
"Scatha the Worm." My history lessons all came back at one, but there was one problem, Scatha was dead. They killed him long ago, well... at least before the second war of the ring.
"There you are." The bone chilling voice caused me to flinch. I knew he intended no mercy as the temperature of the air around me started to raise drastically; dragon fire. I barely had enough time to jump into the hallway, out of the way of the flames, as long, blue, tongues of fire emerged from the ash that use to be my office. The heat was so intense I thought it had scorched me, yet not a single burn was made on my pale skin.
"ELROND!" Yelled my friend Glorfindel, who beckoned to me before he ran down the stairs. I looked back toward my blackened office, seeing Scatha srip, tunnling underground, digging at an unnatural speed. I sprinted after him, and the floor of my office erupted. Maybe it was the dust but my vision started to blur; fear? No… I do not think it was fear that would not let me see my way, but maybe it was myself. My doubt that I would survive against a monstrous dragon, unarmed… Probably. Another wave of bricks and debris signaled me that Scatha was still chasing us , smashing the walls, eating the elves, having swords break against his hide, it did not faze him from his target. Or was it his targets?
"Where do you think you are going little half-elf?" Scatha roared, lunging, yet missing and smashing into the wall that joined with the mountainside. We seized the opportunity to escape off the balcony while Scatha was dazed from hitting part of the cliff side head on. As we ran, for the first time in an age I prayed to Eru Iluvatar that I would live to see another day in Middle-Earth but my hopes were instantly dashed. We had run into the rock wall that surrounded the Hidden Valley, Scatha had caught up, there was nowhere to run, and death was upon us. I closed my eyes, waiting for a slicing, searing, sickening pain, but nothing came. Did I dare open my eyes, would there be a penalty?
"Elrond." My name came out slurred by a seaman's accent, and I knew two people with a seaman's accent.
"Cirdan?" I ask gingerly opening my eyes. The man in front of me was not elvish, it was plain to see it. With squared shoulders and jaw he was no elf… He was half of one.
"Try again."
"Father?!" He smiled, obviously pleased that I knew who he was. I took notice that Scatha's body laid smoldering on the rock that surrounded us. He seemed like he had been melted from the outside in; some of his scales had melted off, he had no eyes, only the sockets in which they used to lie. His raw flesh was red, or maybe pink, from the spilled blood - I had no clue.
"Come ,Elrond, we do not have much time to explain."
"We?" I inquired. He looked at me and smiled sympathetically,
"I cannot explain now, for walls have ears, yet I promise that all will be explained in due time. Now do not move, we must get there as soon as possible." He answered, pulling out a large, shining white jewel, the Silmaril. As the jewel started to emit a bright star-like light, I was forced to swallow my hate for Feanor's beautiful creations, but it started to make me think about Scatha's burns. The Silmaril! The jewel had burned him, for nothing was safe against Silmarillion Fire. The light started to engulf the surrounding land; I felt drowsy, like I was falling through clouds.