Diem Kieu: Weeeell, more they visited the Undying Lands . . . XD Yeah. But they do exist. They're a little off from it, if you will.
AAAAAAHHH! That reference just gave me chills; that was awesome! And the dramatic image, and the intensity . . . "I teared up. Super tears, man, that was me." -Superman, SuperCafe Batman vs. Superman
Frodo awakened the next morning in bed. He hoped last night had only been a dream, or at least the end a nightmare after perhaps collapsing the night before. He sat up only to groan loudly: his Morgul stab ached miserably. It ignited his other wound, and he slacked back to black out again.
He caught a glance of the room around him; it was not his room. White beds lined the walls, and he thought it looked like some sort of medical chamber. Soon enough, Gandalf, Elrond, and a female Elf Frodo didn't recognize broke through the double doors on one side. Frodo glanced down at his fingers, and then his eyes widened: they were covered in ash and soot. Scraping itches covered him, and he peered at one on his lower arm. He gingerly traced the flesh there; he'd never been burned so horribly in his life. The skin there was branded by some lick of flame, now angry red and set apart by a dead rim of pale flesh. It was bumpy and squishy to the touch, and Frodo sucked in a breath when it responded irritably to his finger. When he shifted, he felt such irritation—although not quite so painful as on his arm—all over his legs, back, chest, arms, everywhere. He reached up and traced his cheek; the one up on his face spanned even his nose and part of his lips.
"What happened?" he breathed as the female elf lifted his hand to rub some cooling salve on it.
"We heard you calling out for Sevanaan," Gandalf said gravely. "By the time we got out there she was nowhere to be found, and you were caught in a fire. It's a miracle we retrieved you, and put the fire out."
"Now our question for you," Elrond interjected, "is simply: what happened?"
Frodo shook his head, disbelieving, as he sank back into the bed. "She was flying. I could see her." His neck twisted, and he stared out into the forest. He could see the little burned patch, trees and grass scarred forever until it somehow found the capacity to heal. "Then she fell, and I followed . . . but something had caught her. Five somethings, men. They had a chain net around her. She breathed a bit of fire." He swallowed. "They took her. I fell unconscious; it was my Weathertop wound." He shook his head. "Sev . . ."
The female Elf rubbed some of the salve over his back, and he immediately felt better there; apparently most of the burns weren't as horrible as the one on his arm. That one would stick around for a while, but he could feel the flesh mending on the others she touched.
Elrond's eyebrows narrowed. "Your Morgul stab?"
Frodo nodded slowly.
Elrond grabbed Gandalf's shoulder. "There is nothing dark enough in this land to initiate such." He stared back at Frodo. "We will do our best to find Sevanaan. She is a friend of the Elves, and if she is anywhere in Valinor she will be found."
Frodo settled against the pillows stacked behind him, doing his best not to groan. "Thank you, Lord Elrond. I will join you as soon as I am able."
"No," Gandalf insisted. "You will remain here until we find her, and it shall not be long." He and Elrond spun away, both barking orders to the Elves within seconds. Soon divisions of Elves—none of them armed, for there were no weapons in Valinor—began marching out of the great palaces in all directions.
Frodo bit his lip, staring outside. "Please come back."
Bilbo visited him often while the troops of Elves were gone, leastwise until Frodo felt well enough to get out a little bit. He still had a huge burn on his shoulder that stung almost constantly, as well as one on the front of his neck, and the one on his arm. At least, however, he felt well enough to walk. He spent most of the day roaming what Gandalf would let him, calling out for Sev and feeling hopeless.
Days passed. Weeks melted away. Frodo mournfully turned his gaze to the sky, waiting to see a crimson glimmer in the piercing sunlight, but no such thing happened. He jolted every time a bird flew overhead, peering until he knew he was only deceiving himself.
He swam under the ocean into the diamond cave often, spent some days just staring at the crystals, as though they could magically bring her back. He spent every day for the better part of a year in that cave, waiting, wishing, hoping, losing the motivation to go on.
Frodo only stopped visiting the cave when the Elves found him in his bedroom in the middle of one night and told him that Bilbo seemed more frail than usual. Frodo immediately ran to his uncle's side. Bilbo smiled tiredly at him and gripped his hand.
"Do not worry, my boy," he whispered. "I am not gone yet." He breathed deeply. "The Elves tell me I will be asleep a great deal, but I have one more thing I must see before I am gone."
Frodo cocked his head. "And what is that, uncle?"
Bilbo exhaustedly cupped Frodo's cheek. "To see you healed, my boy."
Frodo swallowed, unsure what that meant. All he could think about right now was getting Sev back, but he assumed Bilbo meant his physical scars.
"Your eyes . . ." Bilbo mused. "They look worn, older than you are. I want to see them bright again."
"I don't know if that's possible, Uncle," Frodo said solemnly.
Bilbo wheezed a laugh. "Then I'm immortal! I'll be here forever!" Frodo smiled gently, laying his hand over Bilbo's. Tears welled in his eyes, trickling down his cheeks.
"Oh, my lad," Bilbo breathed. "She will be all right."
Frodo sighed shakily. "I only hope so; she sounded so frightened. I love her, Bilbo, and I don't want her to get hurt."
"Then don't let her," Bilbo insisted. "Go find her, Frodo my lad. Ask the Lady Galadriel, for she may know."
Frodo kissed Bilbo's forehead at their parting later that day, and he set out back to the sea. He sat against one of the trees and stared up at the sky until his eyes hurt and his heart ached. The world faded from bright and pristine to dark and calming. The ocean stood tied to the shore, as though trying to escape its eternal push and pull. It strained against the constant, inescapable tide . . . like its very point in life made the ocean exhausted and teary-eyed . . . and entertained the shore in some sick, captivating way.
Frodo blinked and stared up at the stars. He hoped with everything he had that Sev could see them too. There was no moon tonight, but that didn't make the sky any less real. Tears pricked Frodo's eyes as he sank against the tree behind him and wished that she would come back.
"Please be all right," he murmured. Tears trailed down his cheeks. "Please."
Sev's eyes were red and raw. After a year she thought it wouldn't hurt anymore. But even as she stared out of the narrow window, barred so even squeezing through was no option, she found herself crying again.
She could hear her captors' voices in her mind, everything from gruff to smooth, male to female.
Gutless wimp. Puny dragon. Half-halfling.
The woman's voice entered her mind, and she shuddered.
Poor, sweet thing, she taunted. Sev staggered against the wall of her cell. He's never coming for you. None of them ever will.
She stared out at the stars. Oh, how she missed flying, how she missed being out amongst the free, clear air and the stimulating scents of the trees and sea. She saw plenty of dull sea, never any land but the ash-like ground of the island she resided upon. Even so, after her first three attempts to run away they'd finally stopped allowing her out of the palace.
"Save me, please," she whispered. Then she stared down at the floor; she knew perhaps only Frodo would ever find her, but she knew to have him do it would be to endanger him. "Unless it hurts him. Keep him far away from here, and save me if you can."
"Sev, my dear," a chilling voice whispered.
Sev stiffened sharply, but dared not move otherwise. She wanted to tell him to go away, to bare her teeth and insist that he leave her alone.
But that would only drive him harder.
She shuddered in the darkness as he gripped her hand.
Protect Frodo, please. She daren't think about her own circumstances.
Finally Frodo decided to do what Bilbo suggested, and he went to Galadriel for help. She told him she would open up the mirror to find Sev if the other Elves returned without her.
Three more months passed before the first search party returned, weary and worn, without any sign of her. They had swept the entire south portion of the continent. Eight more parties came back over time, all with the same grave news. One had visited the dragons, asking if she had been taken by them, but she had not.
Malachthar, one noble under the Emperor of dragons, recognized her description as that of his daughter, and he swore to do his best to find her, but even he could not locate her. She had disappeared from the entire continent.
The moment this news was brought to Frodo, he slipped into Galadriel's chamber and insisted that she find Sev. Galadriel agreed, somewhat hesitant despite how urgently her people and the collective colonies of dragons strove to find her. As she opened up her mirror to search the entirety of the world for Sev, the dragons arrived at the Elvish city in Valinor and took Frodo aside to ask him questions about her disappearance.
None of them had ever seen the strangers he described, and the dragons had existed there for over a hundred years so far. They knew every inch of the land, every creature that resided there, of which there were few under burden of civilization. All were completely puzzled.
Galadriel stepped out into the courtyard where Frodo spoke with Sev's father.
"I do not know why you call her Sev," the large, golden dragon snorted. His voice rumbled through the trees.
"Her name is Sevanaan," Frodo said softly.
Malacthar's eyes narrowed. "Reject? Who gave her this name?"
Frodo shrugged. "I know not. My mother called her Therra."
Malachthar swiped it aside. "That is not her name either. We named her Chaaempier, the Lost Heir." He mused on that for a moment. "I suppose no one would have known to call her such." He sighed, laying his head on the ground beside where Frodo stood. The hobbit shied away, but Malachthar cupped him in his claw, keeping him up close. The dragon's whisper pierced the air almost inaudibly; for such a large creature, it surprised Frodo how quiet he could be.
"I see it in you. You care for her more than I ever did." He sighed. "I knew where she was, and I left without her, for I thought her a disgrace to our kind."
"But now you feel the better for her?" Frodo prompted.
Malachthar chuckled sourly. "Certainly not. She is not one of us; she is as gentle and fragile as the rest of you mortals. Even the Elves do not share the grace and power of the mightiest of dragons. She will never be one of us."
Frodo's eyes narrowed. "It's all she wants, Malachthar! She came here to be healed by you, to become a dragon as she was meant to!"
"She is not worthy. Perhaps the name Sevanaan does suit her, for she will never be accepted by any dragon. She is a weakling, and apparently a coward for she could not fight five mere, unarmed warriors."
He said this so nonchalantly Frodo wondered if this could possibly be Sev's father.
"I marvel, however," Malachthar continued, "that you care for her so. You could be an acceptable caretaker . . . assuming you could find her again."
If all dragons were this arrogant and condescending, Frodo realized he would much rather Sev be born in her circumstances than theirs. He stiffened slightly and nodded to Malachthar as he saw Galadriel.
"If you will excuse me, great Malachthar," Frodo said, containing a small outburst, "I will find her and return her to you. Perhaps you can judge her worthiness then; perhaps you will see how truly valuable she is."
Malachthar laughed, frightening the Elf guards. The birds in the nearby trees scattered at the smooth, dark sound. "Valuable? She is a misfit with no skill and no strength, not compared to the dragons, not compared to the Elves, not even compared to you! She came here to seek healing, you say? She obviously couldn't handle a little bit of pain as well as most in that other world can. They suffer heartache, loss, trauma, and she came back here because she had some unnatural features and a bit of physical pain?" He shook his head. "She is not worthy, Frodo Baggins. I doubt you could prove anything else to me." The dragon turned to fly away. "And don't let her trick you into thinking she's worthy of you either. I pray you never find her, for it will be a waste of your time as it has been mine." Before Frodo could say another word, Malachthar gave a great whap of his wings against the ground and sprang high into the air.
Frodo glared after the retreating dragon. He didn't look at Galadriel as she approached.
I could prove more than I wish to, but if she wants to become a dragon I will show her worth to you.
He turned to the Lady of Light.
"I've found her," Galadriel said simply, gesturing for him to follow.
Frodo raced after her up the stairs to her chamber. She glided gracefully; Frodo dared not get ahead of her hesitant, flowing strides, much as he wished to be out the door as quickly as possible.
She gestured to her mirror, and Frodo stepped hastily up to its side. He forced himself to slow, knowing that to rush could be fatal. He glanced inside and saw a black palace, built after the fashion of Barad-dur. Four spines protruded from the top of the central tower; seven other towers, all sleek with ridges carved into the sides, surrounded the keep and descended, each at a different height. Blood-red lights illuminated each window, and a huge wall coupled with the lower floors of the building composed the majority of the structure.
"Where is this place?" Frodo breathed. The look of it didn't frighten him so much as the pull of it on his neck . . . as though he still wore the Ring. He swallowed and grabbed at his chest, but the Ring was not there.
Galadriel pinched her fingers, and the image backed out to show a black island. The castle sat in the middle on a mountain of solid obsidian. Ashes composed the ground, made most obvious to Frodo when a rumble and a red cloud exploded beneath the island. Lava rose to the surface of the water, blackening into solid ground at an incredibly fast rate. Ash and smoke popped out of every tower, spreading in a thick, black cloud above the castle. Some pieces fell to the ground, covering the cooling lava in black and white dust. Ghost trees composed a haunting maze around the palace.
"It is a place caught between death and life," Galadriel said, "a Shadow realm." She waved her hand over the mirror, and it drew out even farther. Frodo saw the full composition of Middle Earth, Arda on one side and connected to Valinor by only a strip of ice far to the north. Galadriel gestured towards the southeast of Valinor, where a black patch stood.
"Middle Earth is protected from this island by the strength of the Elves. It is the island Amarth Orodruin, the underwater volcanic channel from Mount Doom to a place far away, where those protected from death by spells on the lava are trapped in forms not of their own."
Frodo's eyes widened: amarth. "What is she doing there?"
Galadriel glanced down into the bowl, but as the image changed Frodo staggered back. A beam of golden light shot out from the bowl, blocking the water.
A voice hissed in Elvish through the room, in layers and layers escalating almost to a screech. Frodo clamped his hands over his ears and ducked away as the hissing continued. Galadriel stood erect until the hiss shouted its last word and was gone.
Frodo rose slowly to his feet; the bowl was empty of its water now. "What was that?"
Galadriel stared gravely at the steaming bowl. "The Master of Amarth. Whatever they want Sevanaan for, it cannot be for good. Chances are excellent, Frodo, that if you do not go after her she will either die or become one of them."
Frodo flew out the door. Sev had already been there presumably for over a year, and he didn't want to think of what could have happened. He spun around suddenly, poking his head back into Galadriel's room.
"Can you see her?" he whispered. "Is she safe?"
Galadriel shook her head. "The hissing you heard was the island's refusal to show me; she must be alive."
Frodo thanked her hurriedly and sprang away from the door, calling out for Gandalf.
They threw preparations together immediately. Sev's mother, Aluekrai, arrived moments later with the return of her mate back home. Maternal instinct attacked her with the realization that her daughter was alive; it had been her favorite egg. Frodo found he preferred Aluekrai to Malachthar—perhaps not all dragons were irritating.
"I'll fly you as far as I can," she said. "I know of which island you speak, and I dare not go beyond the shores of Valinor." She bent her neck, allowing Frodo to slip up between her black spines. Frodo ran his fingers across her crimson scales; she looked a great deal like Sev probably would have.
She turned and eyed him. "Malachthar was right," she mused. "I'm glad she's had someone to care for her this whole time. And such a noble creature as the Ringbearer; I indeed hope you will continue to look after her."
"Assuming there is something left to look after," Frodo murmured.
Aluekrai straightened to fly away, but Elrond reached up and laid a hand over her neck.
"Would it not be wise, as this island is so dangerous, to send Elf warriors with Frodo?"
Aluekrai narrowed her eyes. "You are unarmed. Your Elves will perish." She glanced back at Frodo. "But this one has a dragon's first blessing, and needs nothing else. I will come back and bring an army to destroy the island if he does not return within a year."
Gandalf shook his head. "A year is too long."
"He will have to walk back. Any shorter will be making assumptions too quickly and sacrifice many warriors, if not a great deal of time and effort. And do not worry; I will begin assembling them immediately. He is tied to me by my first daughter; I will feel it if he is in fatal danger." Before anyone could protest further, Aluekrai nodded her graceful, red head and sprang into the air.
Frodo clasped one of her spines for dear life, and the rush of wind nearly blew his pack down to the fading ground below.
Aluekrai chuckled, sending warm ripples through Frodo's body. "The first part is the most difficult, or so my hatchlings have told me."
Frodo swallowed, waiting for his breath and confidence to return before he attempted to make conversation. Once she leveled off an uncomfortable distance above the clouds, Frodo finally managed a few words.
"And how many hatchlings do you have?"
Aluekrai's eyes rolled back in thought. "Perhaps eighty thousand, give or take a few hundred." She waved off Frodo's shocked glance. "If you marry my daughter, Ringbearer, do not be surprised if she gives birth to at least four eggs a year. As a mortal, perhaps she has at least that capacity."
Frodo's jaw dropped. "I mean no disrespect, my lady, but . . ." He didn't know how to finish. He'd been about to assure her that he hadn't thought about marrying Sev, much less starting a family with her, but that was untrue. Now the concept of dragon eggs—a given idea, now that he thought about it—sickened him just a bit.
The dragon laughed. "But what? Chaaempier's betrothed would not have her."
"Betrothed?!" Frodo paled and sat back. He hadn't thought about that either. Being the daughter of a noble, of course Sev would have an arranged match. He swallowed—much as he wanted her to be happy, he almost didn't want them to even try and heal her.
Aluekrai descended some hours later upon the white shore of Valinor. Frodo shuddered at the sight of Amarth in the distance, again disturbed not by the view itself but of the sickening tug on his heart.
The dragon let him off next to a small—it couldn't have even been called a ship. It was a canoe with two oars, a rather ambivalent shade of woody brown. It looked acceptably bright here, but under the shadow of ash and smoke it would appear weak and fragile, like Frodo felt.
"I almost fear to let you go," Aluekrai murmured, then paused. "Bring my daughter back safely, Frodo Baggins."
He bowed to her. "May the grace of your kind accompany your efforts." He remembered with an escalating pulse that Aluekrai planned to bring back a dragon army, and he anticipated that greatly. He only hoped they would be able to make it to the island in time.
Aluekrai turned and immediately flew away, shouting behind her, "I shall bring the army the moment it is ready!"
Frodo watched her vanish into the clouds, then took a deep breath. He set his pack gently down into the little craft. He'd been in a situation somewhat like this before, and it caught him off guard.
I wish the Ring had never come to me. He could still feel her in his palm, and he swallowed. I wish none of this had happened!
Gandalf began to speak to him, but then Sev's voice in his mind from her capture cut him off.
Frodo! Help me, please!
Frodo's eyes snapped open, and he shoved the little ship into the water. He leaped inside, took another deep breath, and began to paddle. He didn't entirely understand why this terrified him so much, save he remembered the Ring so well. Every moment he approached the island, the pull grew stronger . . . as did the voice of Delamarth, the dark tone he'd blocked from his mind since setting out towards Valinor.
Frodo . . . Frodo, my Precious . . .
He shook his head madly, trying to drive the voice from his mind.
"No; leave me be!"
He scrambled against what felt like a lingering, taunting kiss to his cheek. Her laugh escalated on the air, chilling him. Smoke began to gather around him, a bank of black fog. Why couldn't he just let her go if she did not exist anymore?
Frodo bit his lip, then stared out at the huge palace in the center of the island. His jaw dropped; it was bigger than he'd anticipated. What he thought were little windows now looked three times his height. The entire structure stretched higher than a mountain into the sky, and the complex sprawled over a rise of obsidian stone at the center of the island. The ghost forest met him just off the shore, and he dragged his ship up almost to the edge of them on the ashy shore. The moment he stepped off, the ash drenched his feet in shadow. He shook some off, but they stuck rather adamantly to his feet. He turned and walked deliberately into the forest.