.
*** Note I – A big thank you to those favoring, following and reviewing my fanfic; it really makes me happyyy~ =') You people are awesome, and I hope you enjoy this next chapter~! =D ***
*** Note II – Disclaimer: I obviously do not own the too-awesome-for-words Tolkien Universe. I own my ever-growing long list of OCs and my imagination~ :3 ***
*** Note III – Happy (late) Single Awareness Day and Happy (late) Valentine's Day~! \(*O*)/ (Just realized this, but I think my chapters are gradually getting longer . . . o.o) ***
.
.
~ 013 – Figurative Vomiting ~
.
.
"I learned long ago that it is considered rude to vomit on your brother."
~ George R.R. Martin, A Game of Thrones (Tyrion Lannister)
.
.
She smelt the strong salts and the sweet freshness of the vast ocean Belegaer. The golden brown sands of the beach – littered with pretty shells here and there – acted like a pillow for her bare feet. She wore a thin and plain white dress; and the breeze was so serene and airy that it felt as though she was naked and floating between the clouds. Her eyes were drinking in the scales of the blues and greens of the waters and the bright golden white light of the blaring sun. Seagulls cried incessantly.
The young elleth did not know where she was; albeit, she knew that she was not within the lands of Middle-Earth. These lands were far too ethereal, too tranquil. They made her feel no worry or danger. She could just sleep here for an eternity. . .
"Ah, and who might this be?" came a voice behind her. Said voice was deep, smooth, kind and curious. The elleth abruptly turned on her heel and he spoke again. "I do not recall seeing you before, although you do bear some resemblance to Laarëlas."
Lyrial blinked twice when the humanoid before her mentioned the name of the mother of Eryn Galen's royalty. The being who stood at an arm's length from her took the form of an elf and he seemed to glow light that was more angelic than elven. There was a certain mysteriousness about him and his clear, blue eyes displayed a wise demeanor. He was tall; wearing dark, well-crafted grey robes that shined silver due to his light. His long and slightly wavy golden hair glimmered radiantly due to the blazing sun.
"What is this place?"
"The beaches of Alqualondë, the Haven of Swans," he replied with the barest of smiles. "You are in Aman."
"The Undying Lands . . . ?" Lyrial looked confused. "How?"
Now the being seemed amused. "Well this is your dream, is it not? Anything can happen."
"Right." She deadpanned awkwardly at herself due to her moment of dazed idiocy. "You mentioned 'Laarëlas.' Is she here?" A growing intrigue stirred within her.
"Yes, though not in Alqualondë. She still waits for Oropher's release from Lord Námo's halls . . . What name do you go by?"
"Lyrial." As soon as she replied, the elleth began to feel drowsy and exhausted. Her vision proceeded to blur and she collapsed onto her knees and shins.
"Ah, you are waking up," the being observed as he lowered his body to meet her eye-to-eye. "I do hope we meet like this again before I am to sail across the seas with the others. By that time, I shall be quite occupied."
"Wait, I gave you my name. What's yours?" she hurriedly asked five seconds prior leaving the dream world.
"Olórin."
.
.
Thanking a brown-haired ellon, Lyrial followed his directions and quickly came to an area within the library that held books and scrolls that were specifically about dragons. It was the equivalent of being six o'clock in the morning, and the determined elleth had been yawning ceaselessly. Scanning across the labels in Tengwar and Westron, she procured a small cry of satisfaction when her eyes fell upon what she was looking for: An encyclopedia of sorts.
With the giant and heavy book, she sat on a comfy, burgundy velvety chair that was a few feet away. She almost cursed that the encyclopedia was in Tengwar; however, thankfully for her, she knew enough to gather a sense of what was being written. Flipping the pages and humming an elvish tune that Thranéal taught her, she skipped over the introductory and brief history until she came across the actual listing of the dragons – complete with such breathtaking illustrations.
Glaurung, the first of these creatures and the Father of Dragons, graced the beginning of the list. Lyrial sniggered. Dragons look so funny without wings! She flipped each page of the wingless dragons delicately; noticing that some dragons had an abundance of information written about them, whereas others had a few paragraphs or notes. She also noted how most of these dragons were accompanied with a second illustration, and she concluded that these were simply the proud creatures in their secondary forms of elves, humans, dwarves, horses, birds; etcetera.
Ancalagon the Black – the greatest of all draconic creatures and the Lord of Dragons since the slaying of Glaurung by Túrin Turambar – graced the section that introduced the winged dragons. Lyrial had no words as she glued her eyes into the illustration as if she was in a trance: Ancalagon held such power, prowess, majesty and even beauty above any other dragon – and this was only a picture. A smile graced her face as she came across the pages that held Saël and Karia; remembering how she had met them on the High Pass whilst travelling to Imladris. The smile stayed when she gazed over the section that depicted Jura and Corulagon; with whom she has also met during the first week of her stay in Rivendell (only they were in their secondary forms). She was not even surprised that she could not find Smaug – he was only a horse-sized twenty-six-year-old dragonling by now, and was not yet known by much of the world.
Her stomach whined for precious food. Be patient, my stomach – I need to do this first. Gods, I want cake. . .
Lyrial flipped through two more pages before halting altogether. The beating of her heart sped up. She abruptly felt a gooey, icy chill that oozed uncomfortably down the length of her spine – the same feeling she got seconds before her encounter with Dûrion last night. For three minutes, her pupils glued themselves into the Tengwar that spelt the name of the dragon: Scatha. Scatha meant, "Injurious person, criminal, thief, assassin." The illustration presented a draconic being with an interesting set of black scales. He was littered all over his body with a countless amount of painful-looking, jagged scars that resembled tribal patterns. Possessing the most blackest of eyes Lyrial had ever seen, Scatha's orbs were akin to an abyss of never ending darkness; a black hole.
Scanning over the text as best as she could, Lyrial sighed impatiently and she brought her head to relax against the chair's back rest; gazing up at the ceiling. He had done many bad deeds, but nothing out of the ordinary popped up – she cursed her non-fluency in Tengwar.
It was now the equivalent to being seven-thirty in the morning. Levelling her head, the elleth caught sight of the beautiful Chief Healer Lady Siriel crossing an aisle and disappearing behind book shelves. Lyrial blinked languidly. Siriel was born slightly before the First Age – she may be able to give her the answers she needed. Jumping to her feet, the young elleth returned the encyclopedia to its shelf. Rushing around the smooth and glossy bookshelves, she caught sight of Siriel ascending an elegant spiraling staircase that led to the second floor of the library. Lyrial followed suit.
Scatha: "Injurious person, criminal, thief, assassin." It echoed in her head endlessly. She developed a hunch.
"Excuse me, Siriel?" The young elleth quickly found the older mid-way into one of the centre book aisles. "I hope I'm not bothering you?"
Siriel turned; a small portion of her platinum blonde hair that was in loose ringlets spilled down her left shoulder. She did not smile, though her face held friendliness. "No worries, Penneth; I am simply here for leisure. What do you need?"
"How much do you know about dragons?"
The chief healer's violet orbs held curiosity. "I am no expert; however, I do know enough about them. Are you searching for specifics?"
Lyrial procured a nod of her head and she went straight to the point: "Did Sauron ever develop a noteworthy fancy for a specific dragon? I'm just curious because they were all on his side until a few years prior the War of Wrath when some of them began to turn good, right?"
"You are correct." Siriel rose an elegant eyebrow after a short pause. "From what I've heard, Scatha was Sauron's favorite dragon."
The younger elleth froze; unblinking.
"And it was because of that, that Sauron taught him some magic; such as that of mirroring others' appearances, I believe. He's definitely not a dragon one would hope to come across, even to simply gaze at . . . Hmm? Are you alright? You're pale!" The older elleth brought the backs of her fingers against the other's cheek; her touch akin to the special one that a mother would possess. "Your temperature is normal; although, it is slightly cool. . ."
Snapping to reality, Lyrial procured a sheepish half-smile. "Sorry! I, uh, did not really get much sleep last night . . . And I didn't have dinner, either."
"You must take care of your body!" Siriel began to chastise with concern embedded within her tone. Healer's reflex. "You do not yet feel all of the effects of an elf – you've only been in Middle-Earth for almost seven months. You cannot go a couple of days without sleeping just yet! And not eating? What would happen if you suddenly passed out?" She placed her hands on her hips as she continued her tirade. And for the entire time, Lyrial stared at her with eyes so wide that they looked like they were about to pop out . . . "Do you understand, young lady?"
Lyrial gulped. "Yes ma'am."
.
.
"Have you finally succumbed to one of Aeluin's drinking contests?"
Lyrial vaguely narrowed her eyes towards the princess; her mouth momentarily hidden behind a juicy red apple as she took a tense bite out of the fruit. Her voice was almost quiet and it held desperation. "Thranéal, I came to you because you were the one who has always believed me since the beginning. Please hear me out?"
Thranéal's turquoise orbs softened, and she patted the dark turquoise and white blankets atop her bed as an invitation for her friend to sit. Munching and swallowing the final bit of her apple, the younger elleth sat and procured explanations with as much detail as possible. The princess listened intently, considering the other's words. She was not sure what to make out of the dragon portion, as she has never seen Dûrion show any draconic signs; but she was willing to believe the other portion.
It was then that Thranéal remembered the slight change in the councillor's behaviour since nine years ago, when he returned with a small escort from conducting business in Imladris on behalf of the Elvenking. That was also when (about a month after his return) the assassination attempts began to take place. And the seemingly "random" skirmishes with the Dark Elves about a year after his return. . .
.
.
It has been ten minutes since the end of the council meeting, and yet Dûrion was still seated at his cushioned chair. Smiling menacingly to himself, he recalled the day he impersonated the real Dûrion as if it were yesterday: It happened nine years prior to today and he simply desired some fun. In his secondary form, he had managed to choke Real Dûrion in the dead of night whilst utilizing a bit of magic and mirroring the other's physical appearance. He had managed to drag Real Dûrion deeper into a forest; burning his body subtly with scorching dragon's fire, and observing the ashes being carried away by the wind. All of that for a few years of some sadistically playful and mocking fun.
Finally standing from his chair, the elf-dragon swiftly exited the room. . .
"Scathaaaa."
The low, teasing whisper came almost as hauntingly as the cries of the wind when it howls. Dûrion – or rather, Scatha – almost jolted. "Well, that was fast." He turned to find a smug-looking Lyrial leaning comfortably against the wall by the doorway. Procuring a lascivious smile, he took her hand and placed a greeting kiss upon her knuckles before then standing tall. "My lovely, it is good to see you again!"
"Kindly don't do that," the elleth immediately said as she yanked her hand free from his grasp. Her heart beat out of trepidation.
The faux councillor shrugged his shoulders flippantly. "Very well, then. Shall we take a walk?" He offered her his arm.
Lyrial gave him a look, turned, and took a few steps. "We shall walk, but with distance between us."
He caught up to her. "Aww, do not be so distant! I won't hurt you –"
"Yeah, well I don't know that for sure." Gazing at him cautiously, she almost shuddered when he simply stared at her with sick amusement. "You previously didn't deny your real name?"
"No, my name is indeed 'Scatha.' And I know you did more than simply read a book; so who did you go to?"
"Not telling."
"Aw, why?"
"You know why." Lyrial procured a small smirk when the masquerading Scatha scowled at her; albeit, she was inwardly panicking. She will not mention 'Siriel' for fear that he may do something to the chief healer. Their walk had them end up in the vast courtyard, and they both sat on a bench with a backrest by some budding rose bushes. "I saw the illustration . . . How did you receive all of those scars?"
Scatha procured a bitter half-smile. "Your curiosity knows no bounds. You should be careful."
Lyrial was tempted to smirk as she crossed one leg over the other. "Because it can kill me. I know that. Though I do consider myself lucky considering that I'm not dead yet."
"Oh, it's absolutely no fun to simply kill you!" he laughed. "I like games. And you are the only one who knows the truth – your frustration is adorable, really."
"You are enjoying this way too much." The elleth simultaneously wanted to run from him, yet the desire to punch him in the face and knee him in the testicles grew.
"On the contrary: I am not enjoying this enough," he laughed wryly. Fixating her eyes with his false honey-golden ones, he calmed himself from his bouts of tittering. "Have you heard of Ancalagon the Black?"
She rose a puzzled eyebrow. "I've read a little about him. Why?"
"You asked about my scars, and he was the one who gifted them to me. My first near-death experience, if you will."
Lyrial was almost shocked. "You must have done something very unforgivable, then." And then she flinched.
The look in Scatha's false eyes displayed that of a psychotic serial killer. "I may have played with Ancalagon's property. . ."
"Sounds like you did more than just play, and that it was more than just 'property' –"
"You talk too much, silly woman!" Scatha in his growing fury grabbed her chin firmly; bringing her face closer to his. And the way that his sadistic eyes pierced into hers made her quiver, and it made her almost regret the decision to confront him. "Do not be so ignorant. We dragons are possessive. Especially the males – we are controlling, dominating; and no one touches our properties and I clearly made that mistake. I couldn't help it – I loved her! They all said it was obsession, but I knew it was love! Forget waiting – maybe I should make you mine right now, simply to teach you –"
"Get away!" Due to her developing anxiety, Lyrial brought both hands to the elf-dragon's chest and she shoved him away. Her voice almost cracked; albeit her eyes were hard. "It was my mistake to bother you. I won't come to you again; and if you do come to me with such hostile intentions, I will not hesitate to stab you. Even if there are others nearby." She stood to her feet (almost tripping) and she ran indoors without even sparing a glance behind her.
Scatha in his false body watched after her. His expression was now that of complete innocence and a grin morphed onto his face, a grin that made him look like a carefree little elfling. Yet, his teeth glimmered like freshly sharpened knives eager to ruin flesh. "Aw. She is so cute when she's frightened."
.
.
Thranduil, Dûrion is the dragon Scatha and he's been the one to orchestrate the previous assassination attempts against you. That was what Lyrial wanted to say when she waltzed into the private gardens and found the Sinda king. Unfortunately, she did not mention anything of the sort. She had no tangible proof – it was only verbal and it was not recorded. Instead, the first thing that she said was: "Did you change your crown again?"
She immediately become positively transfixed with the Elvenking's spring crown. She thought it beautiful with its' dark brown stylized twigs and creamy, light pink flowers that almost bordered on white. Thinking that this crown suited him the best, she also thought that this one made him the most "Elf-like."
Thranduil gazed at her with entertainment. "Yes; why do you look so surprised?"
"Just how many crowns do you have?!"
Biting the inside of his cheek, he was so close to bursting out laughing at her hilariously incredulous facial expression. . .
.
.
The heavy rain last night led to a morning that smelt of heavy moisture and fresh nature. Resembling delicate diamonds, the dew covered every surface of flower petals, blades of grass, and other greenery. Birds eagerly chirped incessantly throughout the forest.
"Meril nîn, come; I want to show you something," Thranduil beckoned to the elleth in his company. He thought that the crimson colour of her flowing, off-the-shoulder dress suited her rather splendidly.
Lyrial rose an eyebrow; faintly cocking her head to side. "What did you call me? What does 'meril' mean?"
An amused smirk. "You will have to figure that out on your own." An annoyed huff came from her and he sniggered quietly. "Now place your hand on mine."
Her eyes trailed to his left hand, with which its' palm and finger pads were spread against the firm brown bark of a thick tree. "Why?"
"Oh, do not give me that look. Nothing bad will happen, I assure you."
Standing closer to the ellon, Lyrial placed her right hand atop his. . .
Tra-la-la –
Gasping with widened eyes, she retracted her hand. She was nervous. "The tree sang!"
Thranduil simply procured a tiny, comforting smile. "Don't be frightened. Would you like to hear some more?" Once again, she placed her hand atop his – this time hearing more than one tree.
Damn rain – it was so heavy!
My leaves are drooping too much!
You two be quiet! The old birches still sleep.
Tra-la-lo. . .
Lyrial was in awe as she listened to more and more of the trees' talking and singing. A wide, mirthful grin graced her face with excitement filling her eyes; and Thranduil could not help but widen his smile by a little at observing her happiness. She finally retracted her hand, and he lowered his. "Oh, that was so lovely . . . But I thought I wouldn't be able to do that considering that my body's still gradually adjusting to Arda?"
"You are right – and you were only able to hear them through my assistance." He stroked her skin along her cheek with the backs of his fingers. "All it shall take is time, practice, a willing self, and a welcoming fëa. And if you want, I can teach you – that is, when we have more time?"
Joyfully, the elleth simply jumped up and wrapped her arms around his neck. His back bumped lightly against a tree with half-baby leaves and half-adult leaves, and the front of her body was pressed flush against his. Eagerly thanking him, she rose her head and placed a kiss along his jaw.
Thranduil simply blinked and his face proceeded to develop a light pink blush.
.
.
The entrance of the Elvenking's Halls bustled with a group of Silvan warriors making last-minute preparations and double-checking their supplies before departing for a two weeks' patrol along the southern border.
"I knew there was something I forgot. . ."
"Hm?" Aeluin waltzed over to an amethyst-eyed elleth; a handsome smile gracing his features. "And what might that be?"
Lyrial's eyes flashed with the desire to tease and she grinned audaciously. "Wine! I've learned a few things during our little archery contest back in Imladris – the most memorable thing being that you are a much better shot when drunk than when sober. It's amazing, really; I'm still surprised."
Laughter elicited from some of the warriors closest to them.
The prince's right eye twitched as he deadpanned at her, unimpressed. "Ha. Ha. Very funny." He turned to the elves. "Oh, shut up and wait outside!" Though, he could not help but laugh a little as well, and he turned again to the elleth. "Will I be seeing you again in two weeks' time, or will you be off gallivanting with my sister by then?"
Lyrial nodded. "Yeah, we're leaving in a week and a couple of days from now. And I believe we'll be staying in Lórien for about . . . A month or so."
The hope within his ice-blue eyes lessened slightly. He ignored his developing feelings as he reassured himself with a, She will come back. There is no reason to worry . . . "Lothlórien is quite enchanting." A small smile tugged at his lips. "I'm certain that you will like it there."
"So am I!" Beaming as she remembered the beauty of Lórien being told to her by Lady Celebrían, Lyrial's face then became solemn. "Please be careful out there."
An expression of cockiness claimed his face. "Aren't I always?"
"No, you're not!" He stared at her almost wide-eyed and she continued fuming. "You always get hurt whenever you have to go; whether it be an arrow in the ass –"
"Shit, don't remind me. . ." Aeluin grumbled as he mentally face-palmed; embarrassed.
"– or a bloody tear in the arm so great, it would have been amputated. You are always pushing your luck, so stop being so reckless!"
Yes, it was not entirely fair to others when he would choose to get himself into some trouble and have others overly worry for him . . . He silently blinked at her angry, yet concerned face, and he was honestly surprised that she cared so much. He was one of those people who found it hard, for some reason, to understand if the other person truly cared or not. Obliviousness at its' finest . . . Procuring a gentle smirk, he took her in his arms and placed a hand against the crown of her head. "Alright, alright. I shall not be as reckless this time."
"Good." The elleth wrapped her arms around his waist while he took a moment to savour the cherry blossom scent of her hair.
Aeluin placed a light kiss to the top of her head before pulling away. "See you in a month or so, Lirimaer." Procuring a playful wink, the prince turned on his heel and strode out of the main gates. His group of warriors followed suit.
Lyrial's eyebrows were furrowed in puzzlement. She had just found out (the previous day) what 'lirimaer' meant, and she was not sure why the Prince of Greenwood would call her that. Specifically, why he would call her that in an endearing way – and quite often as if it was her nickname. Ah well; she decided that she shall have to confront him after her stay in Lórien.
Thranduil – at some distance away – had momentarily glanced at the interaction between his brother and the ex-human. His eyes gleamed fiercely and he resisted the urge to sneer; thinking that Aeluin should learn to keep his hands and lips to himself.
"Majesty, is something the matter?" The voice came from a just-arrived General Himelon, who bore a couple of reports within his hand. "Are you –?"
"Fabulous." The king turned to the older ellon with chocolate brown hair and silvery eyes. "Nothing is the matter." He gestured to Himelon's reports. "Shall we discuss those in my study?"
Albeit it was more of a command than a suggestion, the military elf spoke no words as he followed the Sinda down the hall.
.
.
… One Week and Two Days Later …
.
.
The entrance towards the Royal Wing was circular, accompanied with a pretty fountain guarding the centre. The masonry was quite interesting and exquisite; as the fountain displayed a gorgeous and quite realistic statue of the Valie, Yavanna Kementári, accompanied with designs of flowers, leaves, vine-like trees, and a certain number of animals. Lyrial had been told that this fountain (although big) was a smaller version of a much larger one that graced the markets within Doriath's elven kingdom in the First Age.
A familiar dark brown-haired ellon exiting the Royal Wing graced her view. "Excuse me, Galion?"
The butler carried a tray that was in between small and medium-sized, and on it was an empty wine bottle and a plate. "Yes?" he replied politely.
"Is the king in his study, or . . . ?"
Galion's eyes seemed to be amused for some reason Lyrial could not fathom. "He is. Would you like me to announce you?"
She shook her head and smiled. "That's alright! I'll just knock."
And knock she did when she arrived before the door. It was silent . . . "Come in."
Opening the door, Lyrial quickly walked in before shutting it. She noted how his large desk was filled with papers and scrolls, and a half-full glass of Dorwinion wine stood almost proudly near the edge. "You seem busy; I can come back –?"
"No, it's alright," Thranduil smoothly interrupted her with an unreadable face. "Say what you need to." His eyes looked tired and there seemed to be a hint of annoyance within them. Evidence of an over-consumption of alcohol was also obvious when observing his eyes.
Chewing anxiously on her bottom lip, her fingers fiddled with the hems of her sleeves. "It's about . . . Lord Dûrion."
He leant forward in his chair. "And what of my councillor?"
"He is the one who's been orchestrating the previous assassination attempts against you, and –"
"Do not lie to me," Thranduil seethed menacingly with orbs that were cold and judgmental.
Amethyst eyes widened. "No, I would not lie about something like this! He's dangerous – I recognized his voice to be the same one I heard while I was imprisoned."
"That was seven months ago!" He suddenly stood from his seat, making his way around his desk. "And you only 'remember' now? Please do enlighten me because I am not believing any of it!"
Lyrial could not understand why Thranduil was so quickly behaving in a very antagonistic manner. Maybe it was the stress of that paperwork; his current tiredness; the over-consumption of wine; or, the combination of it all? "I-I don't know . . . I just recently recognized his voice –"
"Your memory fails you – there are others with similar voices as his. I do not appreciate my time being wasted with lies." He now stood before her, and she felt as though she was a tiny mouse awaiting the cat's pounce.
Tears welled within her eyes, albeit she blinked them away. She hated how he continuously interrupted her. "No, I swear I'm not lying! I even confronted Dûrion, and he confessed –"
A cold, mocking laugh released from Thranduil. "Mm, yes: Perchance he was playing along. Or that he denied it, yet you still persisted."
Parting her lips in shock, her thoughts became jumbled. She decided that she should have come to him when he was in a much better and healthier mood . . . However, she was here now. She gazed into those captivating ice sapphires embedded into his skull. "Thranduil, please listen? It's hard to focus and explain with your interruptions."
He simply stared down at her. "He had never displayed any suspicious attitudes nor actions, Lyrial. Drop this."
"I cannot simply do that! I confronted him and he confessed – he even clarified that he was Scatha!"
Glaring at her incredulously, he procured a smirk. "The dragon Scatha has not been seen in nine years – and the last time that he was seen, he was in Harad."
"Well he is here and masquerading as 'Lord Dûrion.' He needs to be put in a cell –"
"You do not have any proof, do you? No one here has seen him showing signs of being a dragon."
She swallowed her saliva slowly and lowered her head. It was only verbal – no witnesses. Her minute-long silence had the tired and stressed Elvenking procure an inaudible sigh. "Leave. I do not need to listen to this; you –"
"JUST STOP!"
Her outburst came as a shocker to him as he stared at her with wide, livid eyes. She was now angrily glaring at him. "Why will you not just listen?! I'm trying to help – I was the one who was there. I heard the voices; I confronted him, and he confessed! I was fucking there and you were not! So what right do you have to insinuate that I'm lying? You don't have –!"
"THAT IS ENOUGH!"
Thranduil had risen his hand, about to give her a harsh backhanded slap to her face. The elleth's body flinched, but she did not tear her eyes away from his . . . His eyes that now seemed to be dissipating their wrath. The attack never came and he gazed at her with an unreadable face and various emotions swirling within his icy sapphires.
Lyrial's chest heaved her deep breathing. She sniffled. The king lowered his hand; about to place it gently against her shoulder, only she took a step back and tore her pupils from his. It was silent. . .
"Kindly leave," the Sinda ellon finally spoke with an eerie calmness. "I have no intention of seeing you for the time being." I do not want to risk hitting you.
Fingers shaking by her sides and lips being set in a thin line, Lyrial swiftly left the room with her head cast downwards. She speed-walked through the Royal Wing, past the fountain, and proceeded to make her way down one of the major corridors. . .
"I told you it wouldn't work."
She instantly halted in her steps. Her anger and anxiety were successfully masked behind a cold and unreadable facial expression.
"I told you he wouldn't believe you – and what did you do?"
Shut up.
She felt a dangerous presence behind her. "Though, I daresay it was worth a try." A deep chuckle resonated within her ears. "What, no retaliation?"
Shut up.
Scatha in his false body ghosted his tongue along his bottom lip; and as he did as such, he rose a hand to her fair head and brushed his fingers along her soft hair with a certain gentleness. "You waste your time." He stepped around her in order to face her, though his hand still rested against her hair behind her ear. "And my lovely is very quiet today! Did that argument steal your voice?"
Shut the fuck up.
A playful smirk graced his lips, but an inhuman gleam shined within his faux honey-golden orbs. His salacious fingers traced from her head and down her jaw before then capturing her chin in between his index finger and thumb. "Are you really that sad about it?" he incited smoothly as he gave her head a little upwards tilt and met his eyes with hers that seemed to be covered with mist; not respondent.
Lyrial's rather eerie calmness somewhat surprised herself. She ended up gripping the maroon fabric along the false councillor's waist, almost embracing him. She let her head rest against his chest; sniffing his pine scent whilst feeling disgusted with herself for touching him.
"Awww, you really are cute," he cooed as though she was a kitten; stroking her jawline with the backs of his fingers. "Are you that much in need of comfort? Come now, why do we not just simply forget this?" As soon as his other hand gripped her hip, he suddenly felt her fingers tightening against his side.
"Eat shit, snake." And she kneed him in the balls before quickly stepping backwards about four steps. Her voice had been as hard as cold stone, and she mentally swore at herself for forgetting her stiletto within her chambers.
Scatha groaned and clutched his groin. His eyes burned murderous holes into the elleth's back as she hurried away and 'round a corner. Normally he would have smirked bitterly and viciously tease her . . . But she called him a 'snake.' No one referred to such a supreme and proud being like a dragon as a snake. It was akin to shouting at a king and telling him that he was incompetent and not fit to be a ruling monarch. It was beyond insulting.
Biting the inside of his cheek irately, the elf-dragon straightened himself and began to walk – almost awkwardly due to that blow in his family jewels. Two sentinels and a female scout marched passed him; and as soon as they were out of hearing range, a low, draconic growl emitted from the back of his throat.
.
.
"Hiriel, I'm sorry."
"Why? You look flushed – have you been running?"
It has been two days since Lyrial's encounter with the Elvenking. She had not seen him at all since then; and it had bothered her a lot more than she would have liked to admit. Currently, it was thirty minutes prior the set time that she and Thranéal were to leave for some Lothlórien adventure.
The young elleth sighed and wiped a thin sheen of sweat off of her brow. She responded with worry embedded within her tone. "You said that you'd be happy to look after Ailee and Jay while I'm gone, and I'm grateful. But I can't find them."
Hiriel placed a comforting hand against the other's shoulder. "Don't apologize! Rabbits are rabbits, after all. I am sure they'll turn up somewhere soon."
"But something is wrong! I haven't seen them at all since three hours ago, when I fed them their breakfast. And just now, I've been running all over the place for the past hour and a half because they seemed to have disappeared. And Jay just impregnated Ailee, so she has to take extra care –"
"Are you bleeding?"
Lyrial deadpanned. "How did you know?"
The teacher giggled. "You are not normally this emotional."
The other held back a laugh. "At least it's not a heavy flow – those are such a pain."
"I agree." Hiriel paused for a few seconds before beaming. "Lyrial, do not worry so much! Ailee and Jay will make themselves known – perchance they're exploring newfound lands?"
.
.
Penneth – Young One – (Sindarin)
Meril Nîn – My Rose – (Sindarin)
Lirimaer – Lovely One – (Sindarin)
.
.
*** After Note I – Feel free to drop a review and let me know what you think~! :D ***
*** After Note II – Next chapter: Coitus. I'm kidding. No sex; that comes later. What really happens is that stuff happens, and then more stuff accompanied with an extra topping of stuff~ I'm sorry; I'll be serious now: Lothlórien travels for sure~ =3 ***
*** After Note III – Dream sequences are sooo fun to write~ Anyways, my depiction of Olórin's physical features is simply what I think he would look like in his more common, "tangible" form in Aman. Also, his name means "dreamer" or "of dreams;" and he was originally a Maia of the Vala Irmo (the Dream-Master), as well as Nienna, Manwë and Varda. So I thought it'd be fitting to add him into Lyrial's dream rather than using a different Maia~ ;D ***
*** After Note IV – So last chapter, I indicated that Lyrial and Hiriel were going to try and bake a pie for the next day, which would be around the beginning of this chapter. I decided to take the scene out; however, they still did so behind the scenes~ I may end up writing that scene in sometime, or I may not . . . (OxO) OH! And speaking of sweets: R.I.P., Michele Ferrero; and thank you very much for making some of the best chocolates to have ever existed, like Nutella and stuff. The Gods of Confectionaries salute you. =') ***
*** After Note V – The stuff about Scatha being Sauron's favorite dragon is bullshit to canon; and so is the stuff about Scatha learning "mirroring magic" from that Maia (though I think it's safe to assume that the more older and experienced dragons do know a bit of magic – especially Mr. G. and Mr. A. Black). Additionally, I made him have wings, as he doesn't canon-wise. And there's very little canon info related to him . . . xD Anyways, these are just things that I've developed to originally suit Draconic Supremacy; and ultimately this story as well considering that I've been doing similar things with the dragons in both stories~ However, Scatha's manner of death is something that I will keep to canon~ =3 Just curious, are there any other dragon lovers here~? \(*O*)/ ***
...
Avalon: Thanks very much for your review, compliments and for sharing your opinions – I appreciate it~ :D Hoped this was at least satisfactory – especially in the Lyri telling Thran-Thran department. Don't worry about her keeping important secrets – she's an adult of 26 and has been through much in life, so she knows how the "game" is played; and no matter how scared she is, she will take action. :3 On the "Maybe-Someone-Overheard-The-Conversation" front: The original plan was that no one heard. I want Lyrial to do this herself, and I already have things planned out in the near future relating to "Fake Dûrion" and the others~ (OwO) And yes, she'll eventually become Legolas' biological mother~ =) Thank you again, and I hope you have a good day~! \(*–*)/
.
