Chapter Three: A Shot In The Dark
Despite his constant prodding, she was always so stubborn, insisting that she come upon the journey to learn of Uirien, using the reason that it was on her behalf, and that she would be safer and more comfortable in his company, anyway. He did agree with the point that she might be safer with him constantly around. He was not worried about highwaymen, bandits, or anything that might come to the cottage. Zerith was plenty capable of defending herself, or at the very least running and/or hiding, but there was a new dawning threat on the horizon: Gostir. Books could write him off as redeemable, saying that he tried to resist Melkor's influence on him, but he had given in, and that to him was the only thing. Perhaps there was a time when he was not a terror, but that time had long passed and he doubted it would ever return. He wanted his way out of his host, feeding off of her like a parasite, so that he could return to spread his master's discord, and Valar help Gandalf if after everything both him and Graywynd had been through, he'd end up slaying her. He would not bear such dark thoughts.
In her eyes he saw a dark storm, a wild night where rain drenched everything and lightning cracked the sky. The skies were dark but the stars held their light throughout the moon's commanding it be covered by black. There, he could see Gostir's wings upon the high, like tattered, greying sails, weathered but resistant, strong and lasting. They sailed to places which men dreamed of, and their leather reflected fire that the owner would command; to burn or to spare. He was her. She would go to great places, though battered and bruised, she would still reside and have the courage to fight. She would be a Valkyrie, a catalyst for change. For good or evil, he saw all of this within a simple gaze, as though the Valar had allowed him to. He also saw the fear that ate at her, that would always because of what she knew she was. Her optimism convinced herself, and he wished it helped himself as well. Her walls were up and she flew banners from them, displaying courage and the will to fight for freedom, but they would be torn down if they could no find some way to stop the dreams from eating her away.
-o-
Dreams were a strange thing, stranger so to be a weapon. It was a time when her mind was vulnerable, when Gostir ruled instead of herself. He would show her things that she would pace to find meanings for; insanity was his reason, to drive her further to the edge where she would plummet. The dragon was not himself, no matter how filled with vice and promises he was. He was not like other reptilians of his kind who prowled Middle Earth once. He had been able to resist before, but the darkness had used the same methods to reel him in as he was doing now to the woman. Using his baser instincts of pride and greed, of offers of great power and eternal life in exchange for eternal servitude to his dying days. Even he was not able to resist such temptation, and a woman certainly could not do any better. In a way, he was serving his masters. The body he inhabited would survive forever as long as he did his duty. He had his doubts of The Necromancer who he had greater ties to, but freedom was out of reach so it was never a thought, nor was finding harmony between dragon and woman. He wanted to breathe again, she just wanted to keep breathing and not have the races of Middle Earth claiming that she is a heretic and going on a hunt for her head. Right now she had little to worry about; the memory of her strange self in Edoras had faded from the Rohirrim, and she had never dealt with elven kind. Even so, her problem was getting worse. She feared for her life if they could not find a solution to her curse soon.
-o-
The feeling of her shield upon her back and a sword in her sheath was comforting as they traveled slowly to the South Downs, though she would prefer to stay out of combat for safety's sake. Gandalf did not need her becoming a liability, and she knew that by his careful eye. He did not seem to want friendly conversation to pass the time either, for he was quick to hurry them along. Perhaps this is worse than I thought, she thought to herself as they found themselves looking towards the distant hills where their destination lay, but it is my life on the line, so I did not expect sunshine and rainbows. Gods above, pray for me. What happens if we find nothing? What happens if Uirien will not help us? What if she does not even exist? Why was this curse brought upon me? Why am I part of a prophecy that seems like it is predetermined my fate from the begi- She ran into a hard back in her worrying and daydreaming. Gandalf stopped at a terrible path of destruction at the very top of the shortest hill of the group before them. It was charred to the very bones of the earth, mighty pillars of smoke billowed into the sky, and winged scavengers circled the site with a tone of doom. Whatever had happened there was some sort of massive slaughter and spread of destruction that the earth would not heal very easily if at all from. Whatever creature or person brought this upon the land, she did not know, and they had not seen hide nor hair of any armies or scouting bands. A mighty monster, a deranged sorcerer, an indomitable martyr, whoever had done this was no one she would like to cross paths—or blades with. The warning signs coming from that pillar of earth kept her silent as they very slowly approached. As they traveled to climb the hill, she felt the green grass here that was wet with dew. Fresh, untarnished by animal or the tests of time, it withstood wherever it was allowed to grow, and Zerith grimaced at the thought of how so many things in this world were becoming parallel to her. Freedom waits, or will I be taken before I lay my eyes upon paradise, even for a glimpse?
That dreadful hill was gray and crimson, just the two dolling each other up for a grand showcase of bloodshed and burns. There were a half dozen men laying here upon the place of fate, laying their faces into mud and blood. A clear number of things had done them in; fire, blade, and some sort of unknown magic far more sinister. Their bodies were not yet stiff, and they were ghastly fresh. From what Zerith could stand to stomach, she did not have a doubt that they were from Gondor. Their hands clutched their flag of the White Tree with an ironically death-like grip. Everything about this place, the sights, and the sounds that were a stark contrast between horror and deadly silence in her point of view, the smells, the way the wild carried a foul message, it spoke of darkness and sin. She drew her sword as the two companions poked through the charred wreckage of a noble band of warriors. They had families, children, and she had believed this to be a peaceful time. There was no sign of animals that could have felled them, no footprints, nothing. If it was not for the sight, she would have thrown up by just how badly her heart was making her feel as she silently grieved for these men. She had not ever seen death like this, and it made her feel so naïve like she had regressed back to being a child who held no fear or respect for anyone.
"Whatever it was that brought these men here, it proved to be their undoing." Gandalf murmured woefully as he finished his search of an archer's pack. "Though I do not know what it was." His words fell on deaf ears, as Zerith's heart leapt out of her chest. Through her bones, her medium leather armor she wore, through her soul, it was like a ghost passed, like spirits of old had come to sing to her about her demise. Evil was its root, but something more buried within its song. It was like a fire had been extinguished within her suddenly and then let alive to roar and consume and destroy. She could not move her feet fast enough or grab her shield because her arms were so weak and their burdens too large. Spinning on her heel, she assumed a battle stance at the stranger that stood in front of them from where they had set foot. Enemy, enemy. She held up her sword and her strike would be her chord if this mystery presence did not reveal themselves before she lost all reasoning.
This person, this elleth, rather, was a fair face who smiled among the dead. She had come to harvest souls, standing among those who had come not for her, but for the legend she obsessed over. Her eyes were a deep steel that bore no love or true kindness, and her long, curly waves of hair billowing like a fan held mahogany tones, yet seemed to be gray and dull despite her immortality. She was dubbed in all black, and clutched a small, leather-bound book, giving the pair a 'friendly' look of an unmarred face and staring down at the men who lay broken before her. "I am Uirien. I suggest that you look for a better place to travel to, Gandalf. People will think you are… up to something." Drawn back to the slippery sweat of her shaky hand on the hilt of her weapon, Graywynd's posture was stiff and still, breathless and silent. Always let the wise, old one do the talking when dealing with crazy old bats.
"You have done this, then? Killed innocent men who only wanted to protect their land?" Gandalf mimicked his companion in stance and she was surprised that he did not just blast her rump off the hill as soon as she could say 'Dragon'.
"Innocent? A strange time to be roaming the wilds for them, then. They were not protecting their land by being out here, they were hunting a myth. When they came upon me who could provide them with information on said myth, the fools based conclusions on whatever silly reasoning their dim-witted minds could conjure up. So, I was forced to do the conjuring myself by means of fire." She was arrogant by the way she spoke and tilted her head to bring about superiority Zerith knew was simply a ruse.
"And they did not stay their hand after you tried to speak to them?" The dragon-souled one found her courage enough to spit back a retort, narrowing her eyes at the elf who was sorely running out of time. Could I actually take her when she killed all of them with barely a scratch on her? Gandalf could, but me, I would not stand a chance.
A cold laugh ran chills down her spine. "They do not know how to stay their hand, pretty one, and besides," Touching the banner of Gondor, it erupted into flames and became nothing but specks of ash in the breeze, "I do not mind a fight that is weighed heavily in my favor." Great, just what we need, an elf out for blood and plenty of it.
"She lies, Gandalf! Why would they even come for her?" Panic made her voice rise in accusation as she watched the wizard who was always known for his composure. Blasted man who always seems right as rain. The wisest and most caring man I have ever met, but I am waiting for him to do something and soon…
A stern look from Gandalf kept the young woman's mouth shut. This is for my sake, my sake… By now, her mind was racing and her heart was beating with a fast fury.
"I know what you have come for, fated child of freedom," The elven woman's words dug into her brain and seemed like they were said to mock her. "You were a fool to come. You should have let Gandalf go alone, and you would have met a quick fate. Such a pity." Her mouth was turned upwards in a gruesome grin. "His presence is the only thing that has been protecting you from being corrupted by your dreams, but even he is not all-knowing and powerful. Such is to be expected." She turned away from them to watch the setting sun.
"I did not think you would know of me, but being a seeker of knowledge, I should have known better." Gandalf's voice was strained, covering the venom laced within. "You can give us information on her curse, though?"
"Curse!" The word was cackled and Zerith broke into a shivering fit. That word pierced her brain and heart just as the searing pain had when she had that dreadful dream. "She's blessed with power that should not be taken away. Even if it is used for evil, none can deny its greatness! However, we both have needs that the other can fulfill, so I will tell you what I know, and perhaps help beyond that if I deem the girl worthy enough of my trying." The crimson speckled into Uirien's head shown the sun's light in it as it dried.
"And that need of yours would be?"
Turning to face them, the seeker of knowledge tilted her head with a throaty chuckle. "I want to live and not see this world be tarnished, as so much I can reap from would be lost, and you want to help the girl control her gift. Simple, no?" That simple? Surely there is a catch. "You know of what is at stake. Her life and the lives of others hang in the balance, as well as the rise of dark forces, though their return is inevitable regardless of her. I have no doubt you have hidden her from others, but you cannot keep her locked up forever. To protect her from influence, I have found something rather interesting…" Ushering them to the opposite side of the hill from where they arrived, they noticed a small camp was pitched surrounded by some rocks at the foot of the slope. The fire was still roaring, casting a warm glow upon a tent and table covered with a strange array of items. Dozens and dozens of books stacked a safe distance from the fire, ores in orderly fashions lined up, bottles, elixirs, rare alchemical ingredients, and frantic scribbled notes on research materials. Her fear of this witch brought her to stay behind Gandalf in her apprehension.
"I hope this woman does not turn me into a toad…" She whispered under her breath, watching the old elleth scamper over to her ingredients, touching them with delicate fingers and saying something to herself all the while as she went over some of her writings in the process.
"Oh, no! I would never turn you into one of those foul beings! Then you would have no use…" When the cackling one's voice darkened, Zerith shook her head with a wide look of distraught. "You certainly do not know much about me..."
She cleared her throat nervously. "I have been left in the dark about most of this. I do not even know what's wrong with me, and I have been seeking the answers for years now."
Zerith jumped and Gandalf held out a protective arm when the elf spun around, madness in her wide, glaring eyes. "Let me spell it out for you, princess. You know the dragon's inside you. In fact, I wonder if you had your own human soul to begin with, but never mind that. The more you become one with the Traitor, the greater your abilities are, but it leaves you prone to darkness invading you. We would not want you to lose your purity. I can protect you from this darkness, but it comes with a price. You—"
"What if I do not want these abilities? I do not know what they are, and I have done fine without them. As long as I do not use them, I will be safe." Despite her wisdom that sometimes arose, the dark-haired shield-wielding lass was incredibly naïve, though it was not completely her fault. She just wanted clarity.
Gandalf could not move to the girl's aid fast enough as Uirien seized her hands in her own, their faces inches apart. The elf wore a look of disdain, the girl, desperation and anger mixed as a fruitless cocktail.
"If you want to remain true to yourself, you will have to use them. If you want to find all of those happy little emotions people of this land rely on to get by, you will need them. All of your fiery breath, your willpower, to save your pitiful life!" Uirien's rich voice spat in her face, felling her barriers and walls within herself. I continue circling with all this hate and agony, and there's no room for anything else. Pity, for myself? Never. If this is what the Valar wanted, I must suffer, but I will still fight. "Fear can claim what little remains of you, so if you want to survive and not be a soulless ghoul, you will do what I say and keep that mouth of yours shut before I force it shut. I have a grimoire somewhere with a spell like that…"
You will not do anything? Gandalf stood, and her gut wrenched at his undying gaze and stillness. You will not do anything. You cannot. We are both left in the dark. "I-I will do anything to protect myself, but I would like to know more about the prophecy, and, well, everything, please. I am not some test subject for an experiment of yours, though." Gandalf was clearly clueless by bringing her to such a vile person, but he was preoccupied with travelling and he had learned little of her.
"It is simple. The Traitor was to be reborn—"
"Gostir's called the Traitor?"
"Yes, because he did not fall prey to greed and temptation like the rest of his kind. I thought I told you to keep quiet—"
"Forgive me!"
"Yes, well, the Traitor was to be reborn again at a time of darkening days. So, somehow you were chosen, and learned that you were different from mortal men. Now, speak, how did you learn and when?" The elf's grip tightened on her wrists as they never broke eye contact. Zerith could feel heat rise to her cheeks in embarrassment.
"Eleven winters of age, in a bout of fury I breathed flame." Her reply was shaky, frightened. Try not to think what she ate, stay calm…
"How you have managed to stay sane all this time is surprising, human. Now, from what I have read," she let Zerith go, turning to the fire reaching out to warm her hands and study its flickering, "anger is what would bring up a rampant soul buried so deep, but such emotion is not required the closer a soul is to its host, at least in your case. This means that you have two choices, to go into a dream-sleep, which would allow you to connect with Gostir as two individuals and have a better mastery and understanding of his hold on you, or you could not chance it, rather having to keep that foolish temper of yours under control unless you want to burn someone's face off accidently. Your choice, and who knows? You might be able to do more than speak fire, but that is off-putting on its own." To turn my will to live into a weapon? Great, now I' will make a hard choice that will cost me gravely either way. In her desperation, she turned to Gandalf, eyes pleading for input. Come on, I expected you to say more in all of this.
"Getting comfortable with a dragon connected to Melkor is not recommended, but it very well might come to that in the end. I will let you choose, Zerith, but do so wisely. So much is at stake, and I cannot bear the thought of what might come of this evil." The wizard's eyes were soft, mouth drawn into a tight line. He pities me, she feigns pity for me, and I feel nothing about my condition. What a trio we are.
"The choice is clear, then. Tell me what I need to do for this 'dream-sleep' of yours." The choice was not clear, it was all a lie. This has to be some cruel joke or dream, and I will wake up and laugh about everything. It was not, and as Uirien silently beckoned her to lay comfortably in the camp's tent, she heard none of Gandalf's warnings to the elleth, their hushed arguing and the crackle of fire, nor of the crickets chirping in the night. As she lay in the warmth of crimson blankets, she stared up at the darkness of canvas imagining that it could be her silent companion, or perhaps it might give her some advice on her problems. At least I have some peaceful minutes of alone time, now. I wonder what our favorite crazy witch is doing. Twiddling her thumbs, the sound of her steady breathing was the only thing she concentrated on. There is nothing more I can do now. It is done. Hope stay with me, Gods…
The night passed with little sleep from anyone, especially Zerith. Uirien spent the midnight hours researching and boiling up some concoction Zerith did not even want to think about. As she tossed and turned, she caught the faint whisperings of the elleth as she feverishly worked.
"Need to remember….have to work for…hate how he…."
It became a soft lull to her, and slowly the sounds receded into dreamless sleep under waning stars. Exhaustion had grown from seeds of anguish and fear, though she might have buried it deep within herself and concealed it from those whose eyes would wander. In such a short period of time, she had been ripped away from normalcy and peace of mind. Paranoia of becoming an abomination flooded her thoughts constantly, and she had always been kept up on Gandalf's trek to find Uirien. Habitually she would sit under the heavens to feel their serene glow as though it might be her last night of feeling. Emotions and thoughts to be lost, so easily? To be taken over by her own soul which made up every part of her being was unimaginable. She would not let herself become a monster. It would end by her hand if she lost her footing on the edge of her world.
-o-
A gray dragon in the sun, in the sky, always watching. A mirror image of a human girl marked disgrace for the serpentine creature. He longed to destroy every ounce of her, to make her bend her knee and submit, yet his brain flashed with uncertainty. It was not always like this, his corruption, his true bond to evil. There had been an age where he was a traitor to his own kind and his parental figures. When he saw mortal kind, Gostir saw strength that no force could ever take away. Melkor, the most powerful of his kind, though bound by chains still had influence upon his soul. Gostir doubted he was the last dragon, but he was living no longer. He was a fragment in time, a piece of history preserved eternally within a woman. With this in mind, he imagined himself spreading discord among those who prowled Middle Earth. It would be so easy to have people in his claws, for innocence was life's greatest illusion, and a young woman could play that part well. She was no normal mortal, which he knew with all the truth of his blood, even without his soul living inside her, and he found himself pondering who she would have been without him. A warrior, no, she would give up on it because of the men's scorn without his fire to keep her feet dancing. A wife he could not see within her, not a normal one to take care of young ones all day and night. With him, she had not the patience or the temperament to submit to a man. Her scars did not help either, though she would have been revered as attractive by women's and men's standards. They were two ragged pink lines that brought out her stubborn wildness that made his nostrils puff with smoke. She was a wild little thing, and to have so much control over a canvas was a painter's dream. He would draw her up in blood and lies. Gostir's wings would forever darken the land with his permanent residence inside her.
Permanent was not a word that sounded well off to the dragon. He wanted his own body back, and in his greed he would have it. All he needed to do was serve his master and let Mordor cover man's land in black, and he would be able to comfortably lay on a bed of treasure and encrust himself in lavish frivolity. No matter his loyalties or feelings, he was a dragon, and few would come close to stopping him. There was the Necromancer to bind him with weakness, but no one else would stand in his way. Gostir was never one to let things pass peacefully.
He knew what Zerith was up to. The stirrings in his breast of swirling connections to the open world struck him breathlessly. No longer would he be resigned to a black infinite space of unlife. The girl would come for possession, and he would finally be able to reclaim his lost mountain-throne on one of the highest ridges of Ered Lithui. He could have freedom again, freedom from a master he never truly wanted to serve, and a mortal was not to be stopping him.
-o-
The pieces were in place. No more preparation for the dream-sleep, a confrontation with Gostir which would be weaponless. It had always been a choice without choices for Zerith, and as dawn peaked, the deathly cold dread filled her breath. It might be the last time she would ever see with her own eyes, and she made sure to take in everything. The green rolling hills that marked the landscape, the pointy slope of Gandalf's hat, his smile that reached warm eyes, the unusual look from Uirien bearing uncertain feelings, and the feeling of dew on her fingers. She would return changed, or she would not return at all. Zerith or Gostir would return. The odds she had mentally calculated were not in her favor.
"I am ready." With bated breath, Zerith's words rang strong and clear of wavering. "What must I do?" Clear to the point, concisely drawn. She put up her last walls her strength could hold, but her hammering heart was a battering ram.
Uirien brought a pot of steaming something over along with a cup, and the girl, elleth, and Istari wizard placed themselves before a crackling fire. On leaning over to look at the crock's contents, Zerith had noticed two things: one, that it was some sort of deep red tea, and two, that it was very strong and reminded her of cool, colorful autumn days laying in piles of fallen leaves. Gross, most likely. Witch's brews always have some sort of funk about them.
Uirien smiled widely, a glint in her eye that caused Zerith to shiver. Why is Gandalf letting me do this? "The soul you will be meeting is strong and bitter. Tea is strong and bitter. Do you see how such simple things can overwhelm you? Yes, a cupful of the mixture will do for you, I think…" Great, rambling on and on. Just what I need to get this over with.
Zerith filled the cup with steaming sanguine tea, blowing on it as she tried to calm her nerves. "What will I encounter in this dream-sleep?" She broached, mind racing with flashing vision. Stay calm, stay calm. Be strong, strong…
Sternness made Uirien sit up tightly straight, giving a glare as she spoke. "You will not be yourself. Gostir will not be inside you, it will be as though you were meeting him when he were still alive long ago. Since this will be so, you will not have the same personality. He has much more influence on your every state than you know, and more than can easily be overcome. He will tempt you, give you offers, or try to weaken you in numerous ways. Do not let him. Do not tell him your name, either. Such personal things that we might share with one another commonly is too much to give to him. Your goal while in a dream-sleep is to outmaneuver your opponent. Whatever the dragon's main feeling or wish is could mean your freedom."
"My freedom? There cannot be myself without him. Such intimacy shared between souls is a bond that cannot be broken. Crush him to embers, and he will reignite into me. Perhaps this is his nature, a nature of evil that cannot be ripped from a dragon, and I am a fool to give him a chance of redemption. He was no normal dragon, but he could be now. I am not so ignorant to deny the facts which make up my lifeblood. If there is no way to reach his heart, which was never black like his kind, then I will set in place my self-destruction." It was a speech that came out of the black-haired young lady's mouth though she did not consider it to have much meaning. In an instant of signing away her life to whatever god might listen to her, she drank the rich liquid, relishing in its taste, and she plunged herself into the abyss.
Dun dun dunnnnnn! Next chapter we're going to feature our mysterious dragon in all his glory. Yeah, I'm taking probably more than a few liberties with dragons, but I'm making out Gostir to be different from the rest in a sense that he can resist vices that plagued his kind. Even Melkor's influence was able to be resisted by him, but he made a foolish choice in making a home in Ered Lithui, which will be explained sometime. Maybe next chapter. Anyway, reviews are appreciated, and stay tuned for next chapter!
Note- If anyone wants to make a cover image for this story, I'd love that. This is going to be a pretty long tale, as we're still pre-LOTR and it will feature the Fellowship onwards to the destruction of the Ring. Later on, Saruman will play a large part, as well as our creepy witch, Uirien. Everyone has some light and dark in them, so the characters in Graywyngs aren't all they seem to be. I like to write 'gray' stories so that the reader is conflicted about their feelings and dispositions to the characters. It makes a story so much more memorable. :) Hope everyone's enjoying!
Gostir: You'd better give me more spotlights in the future. This dragon is going to go Fus Ro Dah on you.
Uirien: Why all the stereotypical witchy references? I'm fabulous and you know it.
Gandalf: I have nothing to say in this chapter.
Zerith: So you decide to put my life on the line so early in the story? Good for you, author. *sarcasm*