Chapter 4: To Slay or Not to Slay?
It must have been a dragon; deepest maroon like the servants and courtiers described, but with eyes like gems that looked palest blue as if the creature itself bore a soul. It struggled uncomfortably at being held by the neck, letting out unhappy grunts and chuffs. The elf managed to get a better grip on the creature, still unsure of why it didn't feel or seem at all the way dragons had always been described and the two he himself had faced. This creature was as soft as the pelt of a Coney, but it had no fur. It was not wingless, though its wings never extended once as it struggled to find a better, less choking, position. Above all, it hadn't bitten him once, not even an attempt. He watched the creature stare back at him, making strange sounds through what appeared to be a beak. Dragons didn't have beaks even in the strangest of their forms. It stared at him in return seeming to take in as much of the strange creature holding it as much as he was appraising as well. This couldn't be, he reasoned, dragons are not in the habit of making sense of things only prying for weaknesses. It suddenly lunged forward at him an inch, for a better look, but the gesture was taken quite differently by the king.
Instinctively, Thranduil withdrew a dagger, slamming the beast on the ground. It let out a terrified shriek as he let out a shout of surprise, readying to stab it through the heart. The dragon shifted beneath his grasp and began to cry pitifully. Thranduil hesitated, still seeing a strange and sentient glimmer in the hue of the creature's eyes. It suddenly began shuddering, trying to curl its limbs to protect itself and wrapping its tail around itself and his wrist simultaneously. It was the size of a cat, a small cat, but not anything close to the size of what must have sired it. How could a dragon hatch an infant so small and not kill it unintentionally or otherwise? He wondered this as the shock of the creature's curious gesture wore off and he realized it was not trying to attack. He sheathed the dagger as the creature began to make what should have been the wail of an unsettled infant. In a dragon, it sounded like a sick dog baying at the moon. A sudden and irrational wave of pity moved through him. Even at the most tender of moments, the king had never found himself drawn to the idea of harboring a tame beast other than a steed and the thought of cradling any creature other than the infant he had sired had never even crossed his mind. But without reason that he could discern, and certainly under the spell of this dragon, as it would be want to do as it grew, he felt compelled to comfort it.
"Sssssshhhhh," he hushed, picking it up into the familiar embrace of a well-trained companion whose cat had been hard at work grooming them for years to do their bidding. The dragon seemed too afraid to fight the gesture, or otherwise inclined to accept it, and settled into a position common for any infant in the arms of another being. Again, it stared into his eyes, their glow piercing something strange in him and creating a haze of calm. He closed his eyes and looked away, suddenly realizing that the innate hypnotic stare of the beast was developing and he was, at the moment, still vulnerable thanks to generous intoxication that, while it had not dulled his reflexes, still dulled the part of his mind meant to mete out the most appropriate judgment. He breathed deeply and tried to think of what to do next. What in all the realms in all of Middle Earth does one do after they have a hatchling dragon settled in their arms?! His mind raced and his heart began to pound anxiously at the thought of Mirkwood ablaze with dragonfire spewed from a petulant child of their race. The sound of the purring returned and Thranduil felt the hatchling's warmth and strong heartbeat fluttering against him. The last time he had held a living thing so delicately, Legolas had been but a few years old and practically as small. At least, that was how he remembered the slight and spritely child that now stood as a proud match to his father. Thranduil shook his head for a moment, reminding himself that he had an entire kingdom to protect from creatures like this and knew that this was likely Smaug's offspring.
"What happened in Esgaroth will be avenged, nay, repeated if another foul creature like him draws breath," he reasoned aloud, the sensible and fierce warrior within him resurfacing. He withdrew his dagger again with one hand and gripped it tightly. The hatchling curled into a smaller form, rolling its back to face outward and laying its head fully against his chest. He suddenly felt the presence of moisture beside the warmth in the creature and, despite instincts that would've told him to be immediately horrified or disgusted, looked down. His heart sank. The creature shifted and pulled its tail around itself more tightly as tears, only a few streamed from its eyes. A creature that was able to cry, to shed tears, was not without a soul itself. He felt a great ache swelling within him; pity, the most unusual condition for a Sindar to feel. It was an entirely useless emotion, or so he had been taught, and usually led to vulnerability. And yet, with this small token of the entire desolation surrounding Erebor and indeed one of the grandest kingdoms in Middle Earth snugly fit in his arms, here it sprung.
Thranduil put away the dagger slowly and pulled the creature away from him as gently as possible. It raised its head and looked back at him, still pleading, still confusing. "What have I done?" he muttered with resignation, looking past the creature decidedly, firmly, at the chest and its sparkling contents. All this potential mishap, the possibility of utter ruin, all for one chest of pale treasure. It seemed to yawn quickly, its sinewy jaws snapping shut almost as quickly as they had pried themselves open for such a gesture. It groaned and tried to catch his gaze again, still pleading. Thranduil wisely averted its gaze. Pity did not constitute trust and there were far greater things to consider even with the well of sorrow for this creature's misfortune welling within him. Instead, he carefully knelt back in front of the chest and pushed it back in. To his surprise, it slipped willingly out of his embrace and back into the coins, burying itself and making a full circle within the treasure until pushing its head up once more. This time its eyes were closed and it was quite clearly asleep. He sighed heavily, unable to shake the pity and regret for its predicament even now that he had been freed of its touch. "What have I done?" he repeated, closing the lid and locking it with the two clasps on either end. He stared down at the strange symbols on the wheel on its lid, gazing at them in concern. He reached out and touched them, eyes flickering with surprise as the surface beneath each symbol suddenly disappeared leaving exactly 4 apertures surely meant to allow air to reach a living being within. Had this chest been fashioned for this creature? Was it fully grown and not an infant at all?
He stood and hurried to the door of his chamber calling for a messenger with a strong fervor in his voice. The courier bowed as he approached. "Send for Radagast the Brown, have him here in this palace in my presence by sundown tomorrow by whatever means necessary," he ordered sternly. The courier looked worriedly at the king after such an onerous command, but nodded. "And tell him it is a matter of grave significance for all that he loves!" He watched the courier hasten away from him silently, his own words resounding in his memory. In truth, the same was weighing on his own heart. This was a matter of terribly grave significance for all that he loved and so much more. He hurried back to the chest, kneeling and checking it for security. As soon as he was sure it was soundly shut, he swept out of his own chambers and hurried down several hallways, listening carefully for movement. To his relief, the occupant here seemed to be asleep already. He crept further in, standing in the doorway and gazing at the sleeping form of his son for a beat. As capable as the younger was, the memories of each tear, of each despondent heartache, of every single glowing triumph and comfort that the child had brought him were still very much alive and no matter how old Legolas grew or how far away he travelled, his childhood remained affixed to the Elvenking more intimately than any embrace and more glittering than any crown.
He slipped back into his own chambers silently and did his best to both remain perfectly calm while keeping half an eye on the chest. A corner of it peered out through the anteroom and he realized after several moments that perfecting the calm he wanted would not be achieved with such a veiled threat. He threw off the covers of his bedclothes and hurried over to the chest, grasping it tightly at both clasps and lifting it, breathing sharply under the weight, now knowing what made it so much heavier. He placed it by the bed and climbed back in, staring down at the apertures displaying nothing but the stillness and dark that was within the chest. It came upon him once and only once that it was a terrible thing for a creature to be locked inside so; but that was dismissed when the conflicting sensible elf reasoned that this was still a dragon no matter its size, the colour or presence of its eyes and tears, or the warmth it produced with such a small heartbeat. "It is safe while it is hidden in the chest," he reassured himself aloud. After several desperate attempts to stay awake at small noises in the room, he closed his own eyes and fell asleep, still wondering to himself, what have I done?
The chest rattled anxiously for a beat as the clasps undid themselves once more. The hatchling lifted its snout through the lid and determined that the elf was asleep and, more importantly, not bearing any manner of metal forged for harm. It slipped out of the chest and slowly crawled over him, resting its head over his shoulder and draping the rest of its warm, soft form over his back. It breathed contentedly as it felt the elf beneath it lulled into the same sense of peace it now felt for the first time in its life. It yawned once more and began to purr once again. The noise, while unusual and very much distinct to the chambers of the king as well as the very kingdom itself, did not stir the Elvenking. The hatchling surrounded both of them with the only means of protection it had for itself at the moment, that allowed it to hide and remain so secretly living to those that had pillaged the plunder of Smaug . . . magic itself, in a pure and entirely innocent form.
