Chapter 6:
Telumë opened her eyes and was shocked to see that morning had already come. She lifted her head and looked around, startled and ashamed that she had fallen asleep on watch. The rain had stopped, thankfully, but water still dripped down from the leaves above her head. The sound of shuffling made her turn her great head and she chuckled softly when she realized that her companions were still at peace. One slept, the other dreamt, and both were fine.
The dream nagged at her, however. She tilted her head to peer down at her shoulder, the one that had been bitten in the dream, and was startled to find that the scales there were misaligned: what seemed to be the dragon equivalent to a human scar. Nosing it gently, she allowed her mind to wander as birdsong filled the air. Could it be possible that she had once been something other than a dragon? She knew that most dragons were the evil souls of the peoples of Middle Earth, whether they be elf, man, or dwarf. She also knew that something was different about her: had she been evil, the Grey Fell would not have attacked her. That much she knew for certain. It had spoken in her mind, a hissing, corrupt voice that had oozed malice. "You are not one of us," it had shrieked. "You have been touched by he who opposes the One."
At that point, they had clashed together, biting and scraping with their claws and teeth. Somehow, she had been relatively uninjured, and although her wing still ached, she knew she would be fine. She hummed softly and nosed Legolas's arm with her snout. If they wished to find their companions, they would need to be swift. They had less than a week to catch up to the Dúnedain, and were already several days behind.
Legolas's blue eyes focused on Telumë's green ones, and he smiled. "How are you feeling?" he asked gently, rising to his feet. She followed his movements with her eyes but did not rise yet; she allowed the ranger a few more moments of sleep before they continued on their journey.
"Better," she answered truthfully.
He hesitated for a moment before speaking again. "But your dreams… are you not troubled by them?"
Telumë, who had reached down to nuzzle Aragorn and awaken him, jerked her head up and twisted it around to face the elf. "What?"
"You were asleep," the prince said warily, clearly remembering the white-hot flames that had poured from her maw hours before. "So I kept watch. You were growling and whimpering in your sleep. Was something wrong?"
She let out a sharp breath, and the elf's hair fluttered back from his face. "My dreams are my own," she answered, her voice edged with steel. Most would have dropped the subject, but the elf plowed on, heedless of the dragon's anger.
"You told me you would tell me if they became worse," he countered. "Did you lie?"
She growled, eyes narrowing to slits. Aragorn shifted and leaned forward with a groan, rubbing his eyes. Telumë stood and bared her teeth, speaking into the elf's mind with more force than was necessary. "Never call me a liar, elfling," she hissed, heedless to the way her chest began to glow with heat. "I do not deceive. Do not assume that I would lie to you, or to Aragorn, or to anyone else."
The elf stood completely still, and sweat began to form on his face and chest. Not from fear, although he worried the dragon would not be able to control her anger and newfound ability—the air around the dragoness had gone very hot, such that the water on the grass around them had evaporated. Aragorn scrambled to his feet, fumbling for his sword, but Legolas stopped him with a look and continued speaking to Telumë, calming her down.
Aragorn's panicked gaze darted between his dearest friend and the dragon they had so recently come to know, his mind whirling. Something was wrong, he decided—her eyes were too bright, too angry. She was not herself.
"I did not intend to offend you," Legolas said, reaching out with his hands to show that he meant no harm. She stood, glaring at him with those overly bright eyes, watching his every move. "Your dreams are your own, you are right—I only wish to help you. Telumë," he said softly, touching her snout although it burned him. "Look at me."
She blinked, and her eyes dimmed, unfocused. She staggered slightly, and Legolas took a quick step back. Her eyes focused on him for a moment, and she fell to the ground and curled into a surprisingly small ball, her wings wrapping around her and her head in the center, hidden from their view.
She was shaking badly, eyes wide and horrified. What had happened? It was as if she were someone—something else. A dragon? She was a dragon… wasn't she? She had come so close to attacking her friends… she had wanted to attack them. A small sob escaped, and boiling tears ran down her face to the ground.
She could hear the two conversing, but was ashamed to appear again. She wondered again at what the Fell Grey had said—that 'she had been touched by he who opposed the One.' What did that mean?
She felt Legolas' light touch on her shoulder. "Telumë, we must go." He spoke into her mind, and she was so surprised that she uncoiled slightly and peeked up at him through her wings. "Aragorn knows you meant no harm. Telumë, we must go. Please, come."
She uncoiled completely and rose, hanging her head. Without looking at either of them, she set off towards the direction of the Dúnedain, wave after wave of shame washing over her. How could she have lost control?
Her companions started after her and they walked in silence for a long while. Eventually Telumë spoke, carefully keeping her eyes averted from those of the ranger and the elf.
"Aragorn, have you ever rescued anyone?" She asked nervously. Her tail swished back and forth along the leaves covering the ground, and she sensed his hesitation as he pondered his answer. The ranger glanced warily at Legolas, who nodded his head at the dragon as if urging him to answer.
"Yes," he finally replied. He shifted his pack, rolling his shoulders.
"How?" she asked instantaneously. "Or rather, from what?"
He stared at her back in bewilderment and blinked, completely confused. "Bandits, soldiers, orcs, mercenaries… you name the danger, and the Dúnedain have saved someone from it."
"What about wolves?" she asked, finally turning around. Her bright green eyes seemed to glow in the growing gloom of the forest. As they made their way closer and closer to Mirkwood, shadows covered more and more of their surroundings.
He thought back to the lone girl several years ago, the one who had been attacked by a pack of wolves near Imladris. "Aye," he replied shortly. The foolish girl had run off as soon as her shoulder was mended, barely thanking Lord Elrond for his kindness and avoiding the rangers altogether.
Telumë stopped and turned around. Aragorn was so startled that he nearly ran into her. Her eyes were bright and panicked, and they searched his face as she spoke. "Who were they?"
"Stop."
Telumë and Aragorn froze and looked to Legolas, who held his hand in the air and searched the woods with keen eyes. Telumë listened carefully but heard nothing. The wood was eerily silent. The elf began leading them through the trees, moving swiftly and silently, turning back every few moments to wave them on. They made it half a league before Telumë caught the scent of men. She growled softly and nudged Aragorn forward, thus quickening the pace of the entire company.
They emerged at the edge of a clearing, but Telumë moved to stand in front of the others, not allowing them to cross. She looked into Legolas' eyes, veiling her own. "I can smell them," she told him.
He nodded and held out his arm, catching Aragorn across the chest as he tried to step over Telumë's tail. "And I can hear them. Do they mean us harm?"
A hunting horn sounded in the distance, and Telumë jumped. The sound was faint, but her scales fluttered nervously, and her tail whipped across the ground.
"They know we are here," she thought to him, an undercurrent of panic highlighting her fear. Legolas repeated her words to Aragorn in elvish, and the ranger reached for his sword. "No!" Telumë hissed, tucking her wings close to her sides and lying down under a large bush so as to conceal her silvery scales. "Do not draw your weapons."
She searched for them with her nose and ears, and froze when she realized what was happening. She sat still, horror and fear crashing over her like enormous, heart-stopping waves. They were tracking her.
Most of the day, Aragorn had walked in her tracks; and elves, of course, made no prints on the ground. The men were tracking a grounded dragon. She was unable to discern their intentions, but if they were anything like the murderers they had encountered weeks before, she would be dead in hours. She glanced at her companions, both of whom were too noble to allow someone to die for them without a fight. Her heart ached at the knowledge that she would have to leave them, but she knew it was the right thing to do. She stood and began making her way around the clearing without a word.
"Wait!" Legolas leapt over a fallen log and darted to stand on front of her, blocking her way. She growled and tried to go around him, but he refused to move.
"I swore to protect you, elfling," she murmured. "Both of you. The men are tracking me and will not harm you if I am gone. Stay here, and my debt will be repaid. I will not have you risk your lives again for mine."
Aragorn came and stood beside Legolas, arms folded over his chest. She nosed her way in between them and began stalking away quickly, making sure to gouge the earth with her claws so as to leave a clear trail. Her companions followed, despite her warning. The horn sounded again, much closer than before, and she began to gallop, ducking over and around branches as best she could. Her wing and shoulder ached. When she heard the two still breathing behind her, her fear grew, and she swung around, catching Aragorn in the chest with her bony jaw. He was not hurt badly, thankfully, merely winded. He staggered back.
"Go!" she wailed, distressed. She could hear them now, moving quickly and quietly towards her. Knowing it was her only option, she swung her head again, throwing Aragorn into Legolas and knocking both of them to the ground. Before they realized what had happened, she took off across the clearing, focusing on the opposite tree line.
Halfway there. She could hear a river now, and she knew that if she could cross it, she would be safe.
Three quarters of the way there. The hunting horn sounded again, directly behind her. She moved faster, the small cuts hidden beneath her scales burning from the sweat. Did dragons sweat?
She though back to her dream as a flash of movement to her right caught her eye. She darted to the left, yards away from the trees. The horn sounded, directly in front of her. She reeled back, terrified and confused. Another answered, this one behind her. She whipped her head around, watching the dark headed men who had appeared around her. Each was clad in dark clothing much like Aragorn's, and each was armed with bow and blade.
One approached from before her, sword drawn, and she snarled at him, coiling back as if to spring. His face was veiled in shadow, but she could see beyond it. He had bright grey eyes that roved over her body and the men beyond her. He seemed wary, but to her surprise, he didn't seem ready to attack her. He held his sword defensively, and she crouched low to the ground, tail flicking back and forth, neither breathing eye contact with the other.
"Tengrid, enough!"
Aragorn strode through the procession, and the men whose weapons were drawn immediately sheathed them, nodding towards the ranger. The king, Telumë remembered. Their king.
"Aragorn," the man spoke, sheathing his sword and catching the ranger in a welcoming embrace. Legolas stood by the dragoness, one hand on her shoulder as she rose to her full height and observed those around her. "It is good to see you!"
"We did not expect to see you for half a fortnight, at least," Aragorn said softly, brow furrowing. "Did something happen?"
A shadow crossed the other man's face. Aragorn looked around the circle into the eyes of some of his men, and several of the other rangers glanced away as if afraid to hold his gaze for too long. "Aye," he said finally. "We happened upon a village not a hundred leagues from the land of the Carrock. Aragorn… every man, woman, and child had been slain." His face was too pale, too afraid. "Children, Aragorn." His voice cracked and wavered, and he looked away, shoulders sagging. "We thought that… that only orcs would do such a thing. When we found the tracks of men—men!—leading northeast, towards where we knew you to be, we followed."
"We found them," Aragorn said softly, grasping Tengrid's shoulder tightly. The man straightened up as if his leader's strength had seeped into him through his grip. "They were seeking to slay both us and our companion. Some were injured, some killed, but all scattered. We know not where they went."
"Yes, we do."
Every man save Aragorn turned in surprise when Telumë spoke. Although it was known by some that dragons could speak, it still came as a shock to hear the voice of a young woman instead of that of a grown man.
"What do you mean, Telumë?" Aragorn asked. Dozens of pairs of eyes turned to focus on her, waiting for her to speak again.
The dragon turned and looked to Legolas as if seeking assurance, and he nodded. The earth itself seemed to hold its breath as she spoke, and not a man said a word as she explained herself. "My companions and I happened upon a village half a fortnight ago," she said clearly, then wind carrying the sound to every ear in the clearing. "Every human had been brutally slaughtered as if worth little more than a beast. Indeed, even the beasts had been killed and left in the fields to rot." The memory of the unborn babies entered her mind, and she shuddered. Several pairs of eyes were drawn in fascination to her scales as they fluttered like leaves caught in the wind, but they returned to her meet her eyes when she continued speaking. "Even the unborn children—" her voice broke, and she hung her head, sorrow blossoming in her chest. "Even the unborn children were slain, ripped from their mothers wombs and placed upon the heads of spears."
The faces of the men were chalk white, though from anger or grief, she did not know. "We—we buried them," she said, her voice rising in pitch. "And while doing so, I saw a—a vision. It was the same men who desecrated this village, and yours, and the one I saw in my mind. The man who murdered the girl's brother was the same who injured my wing, and he is dead."
The men murmured amongst themselves. She realized too late that she had revealed more about her visions than she had intended, and braced herself for the questions that were sure to follow. "What girl?"
The question came from a man with steely grey eyes and hair the colour of straw. He gripped his bow loosely, but no arrow was set to the string, and his sword was not drawn.
"In my vision, I saw a young girl," she explained carefully, aware that the men remained wary of her. Indeed, she knew that the only reason they had not acted in hostility was because of her station as Aragorn's companion. Eru knew what a mistake could cost her. She didn't wish for any one of these men to become her enemy, and she would prefer that they thought her sane rather than unhinged. "A girl who wept over the dying body of her brother. His murderer was the same who tried to kill me; the same man who killed the people you found."
"How do you know?" a different man asked. His eyes were different colors: one green, one blue. They stared at hers, unblinking. All eyes, she realized, even those of Aragorn and Legolas, were riveted on her.
She swallowed as the scent of blood and sweat reached her nostrils. She heard the phantom clash of steel, heard the cries of dying men, and felt the burn of a sword hacking through her bone. She felt again the soft skin and tissue of a human neck as she tore through it with her teeth, felt the hot lifeblood of a man drip down her throat as her teeth sawed through his bone. She focused again on the men before her, and they each saw the horrified, haunted look in her eye as she turned and faced them one by one. She dropped her gaze but for a moment. "I killed him," she answered. "I wore his blood." She lifted her head and glared fiercely at Tengrid. He, to his credit, did not flinch, even when forced into a stare down against a dragon. A gleam of understanding entered his eye, and he nodded sadly to her as she spoke. Legolas placed his hand on her shoulder once again for comfort, and Aragorn lifted his silver gaze to meet her own. Every ranger felt his heart jolt, and not one of them felt fear or anger towards her as she spoke: only a great sorrow. "I know his scent as well as I know my own."