The Legacy of the Storm

by Manascript

The time has come for the dragons to take their place in the Free Alliance. The greatest adventure is upon her, and upon partaking it she will fight, grow, endure, love, and forge a legacy unlike any other of her race. OC first fic (REVISING)

8. Chapter 8

I don't own LOTR

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Chapter 8 – Dancing Fates and Singing Blades

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It is not uncommon for a dragon to sire offspring from different dames. Vice versa is said for the powerful matriarchs of the dragon clans. Compatibility was dependent upon the preference of the female and the competence of the male. The size of their wings, the strength of their flame, the honor in their heart… preferences differed as did the competence. In the end, it was to produce healthy, strong offspring.

There was a saying that their kind had little luxury for love as the elves do. At times, the best of decisions could not be based upon the passion of the heart. The dying race bore responsibilities to their clans.

But that did not mean that dragons did not love, or more specifically, could not fall in love and remain in that singular love.

Ástari, they called them. Their heart's half.

The scholars defined it as a choice of instinctive nature in dragons. Their heart's magic would seek, discover, and deem the one being that was defined most compatible to the dragon in terms of character, breeding, and strength. The more romantic artisans called it fate.

Regardless of what it was, it was an unspoken law in the dragon code, that once the Ástari was acknowledged and a bond has been made, the lovers would be bound to the other in life… and in death.

And they would seek solace in the company of no other. They could not. None would be able to give them the completion they could only find in their heart's half. Once the bond is made, it can never be undone.

Alas, no dragon has ever been recorded to try.

It was the reason why many perished in the blood wars. Elves can fade away from fatal wounds and great heartbreak. It was the same for dragons, but dragons do not fade.

No…. Dragons who lose their heart's half become mad with grief. They will do nothing but wreak havoc. They channel their anguish towards naught but revenge and devastation until they can no longer bear the pain of living a world where they will never find completion, and only then will they die a suffering death.

It was the tragedy that struck many during the wars.

But then what happens if an Ástari is not acknowledged, and a bond is never forged? Would the chance for an eternal bond pass away with the brevity of a falling star?

Or would the fates continue weaving the unbreakable thread?

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~O~O~O~O~O~

When the opportunity came for food, Elysia snatched the chance faster than a viper would a crippled mouse. She had enough sleep, but she needed food, and when food was given, she ate enough for Pippin to comment that she had the "stomach of a dragon" (earning him another smack from Merry.)

They were having a picnic, having been led by Elysia to a reclusive spot on the outskirts of Rivendell's halls; a flat place with grass near the upper waterfalls of Rivendell. A large weeping willow hovered over the pool made by the falls, under which Elysia had settled herself peacefully. They asked a number of questions, and Elysia did not mind. It was refreshing to explain the ways of her people.

"Flying, what's it like?" Same asked. They had convinced Sam to take a break from staying by Frodo's side, more accurately, he was dragged by a very obstinate dragon to eat with them.

"It's a very free sensation." She gazed at the sky pensively, shaping the clouds with her imagination into various familiar shapes. "The world appears much smaller, but at the same time… You feel as though it grew much bigger. It's quitewonderful. Perhaps if an opportunity exists in the future, I shall show you."

Merry and Pippin followed her gaze up at the sky in wonder, but Sam seemed to look anxious.

"I don't know Miss Elly. We hobbits weren't meant for flying."

Before Elysia could respond, her eyes caught sight something tawny encircling them from above. Sitting upright, she waited as the barn owl made its descent with a trill little cry. It landed on a low branch of the willow tree and peered pointedly at her.

"Merry, that bird is giving us a weird eye." The own turned, pinning the hobbits with its large beady eyed stare. It tilted its head, and the hobbits felt the strange sensation that it was far more intelligent than it appeared.

Elysia, on the other hand, was hardly fazed. She rose to a stand, grabbing a piece of cured meat from their picnic basket.

"You bring word from the Eldest?" While they did not understand the language of birds, dragons always did.

"Not from the Winged-Scales of White. Message from the Earthen Scales under Fangorn roots. Breeding is happening in the pits under the black tower. Foul things born. Their numbers are many."

"An army?" Elysia grew alert at this.

"Of a strange mix." The owl answered. "They do not fear the sunlight, are less clumsy, less prone to becoming tired. We cannot go for a closer look. Black birds cloud our vision, bid us away, but they know it is here. Magic in White looks upon the elven place.

When their forces are ready, they shall not hesitate to take what is theirs.

The gravity of the news left Elysia much to consider. She thanked the owl for its message, but before it could depart, she gave it another task, requesting in the ancient tongue.

"May you send word to the Eldest, the Winged Scales of White, that there is to be a council here as we have predicted. It is to decide the fate of the Ring. I shall oversee and do what I must."

The owl gave a shrill croon and hopped towards the edge of the branch. It then rotated its head and gazed at Elysia with a cautious expression.

"Be mindful of the others. We birds of prey are not as fickle as the others… Trust little in what the loud ones say. Their loyalties lie with the Eye." With the warning, the barn owl took flight.

The hobbits did not know what had transpired. From their eyes, Elysia had been talking to the bird in some odd tongue, with few Westeron phrases at first. The owl had been making strange sounds, screeches, and even clicks with its beak, but whatever it said seemed to have the dragon at unease.

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Glorfindel sat patiently, content to listen to Gandalf's answers and Elrond's many inquiries. They were on a terrace, in a private place, sitting against a round marble table that once held the White Council.

Elrond sighed, pouring himself another goblet of wine. "What else have we misconceived in our long years? The dragons, what of their character?"

"They are elusive, proud, powerful, and when offended they can be volatile." Gandalf sipped his own goblet of wine and began to bite small bits off a biscuit. "Those of them that do not remain solitary are often in clans. They are spread across the sea, earth, and sky, many are hidden to us in plain sight.

"Yes, that much we certainly know." Elrond commented, dryly. "What else?"

"Well, plenty of other things." Gandalf stated. "They speak a language of unknown origin. Tis difficult to explain, but the words of the language are unique as the language itself. It is a language of truths and magic. It's not a learned thing, but an inherited one they know since the time they resided in their eggs.

"That sounds… ludicrous." To be born knowing a language? Not even elves, who hold magic in their blood as well, do not have that bizarre quality.

Gandalf explained. "The origins are unknown; perhaps it was founded by the Maia in which they descended from. But a deep and ancient magic runs through that tongue… Lies cannot be told and oaths cannot be broken. It is bound by some mystic law."

"A language that cannot deceive? Spoken by dragons?" Elrond parroted. It was to be expected. The idea of it all was so ironically obtuse.

"Tis true."

It was Glorfindel who spoke, earning him questioning eyes from both questioner and the questioned.

"You know of this as well?" Just how many of his council knew of this?

Gandalf only stared at Glorfindel with new insight. The golden haired elf sighed.

"I have existed once before a time when I wasn't a part of Rivendell." He said. "Before the dark days…" He then began to pull up the sleeve covering his right. Sweeping his left hand on the pale skin's surface, Glorfindel stripped away the ancient glamour.

Silver began to appear, bleeding onto the surface of his backhand in a single glyph not recognized by Elrond.

But Gandalf did.

"You bear the yawe." He whispered, looking much older at this knowledge. Glorfindel nodded and presented it to Elrond.

"Tis a symbol of trust."

"He who wears the mark is called friend to all dragons." Gandalf elaborated further. "Alas, it's a lost mark. There had been very few throughout time that have ever bore the mark."

"I was but a mere visitor to a clan of dragons who bore a love for fire." Glorfindel wore a distant smile on his face as he reminisced. "They had been curious in the nature of the elves, and in exchange for my services as a studied subject, I was permitted to venture into their clan. It was a long time ago, a time before the Taint took many into darkness. I was sworn into secrecy by the language. Forgive me Lord Elrond, the terms of my oath disallowed me to reveal anything to you, lest you already know the true nature of the drakes."

"Is it natural for such race, supposedly free, to contain such secrets?" Elrond inquired, mildly irked by the revelation.

"Twas misfortunate timing that has caused them to be so… Perhaps if the dark days had not fallen, the dragons would have ventured and mingled more openly with the people of Middle Earth." Gandalf mused sadly. "But alas, the prejudice… the fear against the drakes discouraged them."

"They could have rectified our misconceptions!"

"If you recall, Ancalagon the Black had set the standard rather high." Gandalf argued wryly.

At the name of the dragon, the two elves felt a cold chill. The legend of the black dragon's might was unrivaled. With wings so massive they would cover the battlefield in darkness, talons so great they could crush mountains, Ancalagon the Black had been Sauron's proudest work.

"By the time Sauron was defeated, the damage done to the dragon kind had given them enough reason to return into hiding." Glorfindel added. His pensive sorrow shifted into an expression of wonder they had previously seen since Glorfindel found Elysia.

"To think… I would encounter another pure dragon in these dark times… Tis truly a Valar's blessing." The wonder twisted into regret. "And to think I could have ended such blessing… Mithrandir, I am truly-"

"Do not dwell on the past, Glorfindel." Gandalf placated. "You have apologized to me enough… If anything, save your last apology for my apprentice."

"You have only tried to do what you sought was right." Elrond said. "Rest assured, you are not the only one who believed her to be possessed by some evil then."

"They are not beings of evil." The wizard turned fierce. "They were not born, slaves to the darkness as nothing but greedy, heartless serpents of death!" He whirled to glare at Elrond, daring him to challenge his words. "They can commit great acts of kindness as they can great acts of destruction. Tis in their potential, but they have as much cause to see to Sauron's end as the rest of us… They certainly are not our foe!"

"So why have they not come to help before now?" Elrond asked, not to be cowed by the wizard's bias anger. "If they have as much of a cause, why have we been given nothing but death and destruction upon their hands?"

"The dragons are not fools nor are they cowards, Lord Elrond. They are wise and they know to be cautious. Is it a cowardly act to attempt in preserving their scarce race?" Gandalf's words were not refuted and he continued. "Sauron's reign of terror had crippled their kind. Elysia is proof of that…. She is the only vestige of one of the greatest clan of dragons in existence."

His ferocity diminished, and the wrinkles on his face became more worn. "That vestige… My old apprentice… Her clan has suffered the most... The rest that defied their enslavement were killed."

"Enslavement?" Elrond asked.

"Glaurung's origins are vague, are they not? What we know, or thought we know, was that he was the first dragon to be seen in Middle Earth and was spawned by Morgoth." Gandalf explained. "Glaurung was one of many victims, not creations, of the enemy's malice. He was naught but a hatchling, they say, when he was taken from his nest. Corrupted by the poison of Morgoth's darkness, he became a slave to the dark will, a mere empty shell of what he was or could have been. Morgoth's first success was followed by many. Ancalagon the Black was his greatest work…. But his crimes against the dragons were nothing compared to what Sauron had done."

His eyes became glassy and the wrinkles of his face became more prominent. "She saw her people perish that day. You know better than I, the gaze of one who has seen death in a field of battle." Gandalf peered at Elrond. "Tell me, what do you see in that girl's eyes? What had you always seen?"

It didn't take long for Elrond to mull over Gandalf's words. Visits from Elysia only occurred out of necessity, even as a child. She had been as wary then as she was now, an aberrant trait many of his people grievously found cold and unrelenting despite the best efforts made to dote much needed affection on her.

Young in body, but in mind it differed. Her gaze had spoken of something much older and much graver than the eyes of a child. Elrond had seen it in many males, men and elves alike, after their first battle, their first sight of death. Such spectral quality ghosted in the eyes of those who see the ugly truth of dying in battle.

Sympathy welled within Elrond, but he was also a leader, one who had much experience in conflicts. He was an elf that was forced to consider the costs, the gains, all angles of the game board.

"I see what you see, Gandalf. I see the potential, I see the sacrifices… But I also see the risks. Dragons are volatile… You said so yourself. What makes you certain she can withstand the power of the Ring? Because it grieves her?" The sleeves of Elrond's robes flapped as he moved his hand.

"Grief… Anger… Greed… Sorrow… Fear… To the Ring, it matters not. All paths lead down the same dark road from which there is no return."

Elrond searched the Istar's eyes, but he could not decipher the odd glint; was it glee? Or something more?

"Indeed… While it may be of no matter to the Ring, it matters to Elysia… And that makes all the difference."

His vague remark earned him a scowling look.

"That… Does not make any sense, Mithrandir."

Glorfindel said nothing, for he seemed to still be mulling over the heavy information. The grey wizard was unabashed by the noble elf lord of Rivendell and merely huffed.

"I am certain because I believe in Elysia. She has made many mistakes, mistakes that I have been a witness to for immeasurable amounts of time, but the greatest ability of my apprentice… tis not her might, her wit, her conviction, or her fire, but it the duality in her infallible ability to learn and remain resolute."

While they mulled over his words, Gandalf stood up. "Now…. Forgive me but I must excuse myself. There is a soon-to-be-alert hobbit that requires my attention." Just as Gandalf took a single step down the stairs, Glorfindel turned to him.

"Mithrandir…. 'Menoa'….What does it mean?" Glorfindel asked.

They could not see the expression on the wizard's face as his back was turned to them, but as soon as Glorfindel asked such question, a stilled sobriety.

"… Mother." Gandalf answered. "Tis the archaic tongue for mother."

/

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~O~O~O~O~O~

She was hungry again. At times like this, Elysia couldn't help but begrudgingly relate to the fool of a Took. She snuck about the elven grounds and headed towards the kitchens, hoping to be caught by the fewest eyes possible. They had limited her options, disallowing her to hunt in the outskirts of Rivendell as she was still considered a patient from the House of Healing, so she had been forced to request food in much more direct terms. Having exchanged the dress for a loose pair of breeches and a plain blue tunic, her bare feet silently led her through the corridors towards the flight of stairs leading to the lower floors of the kitchens' location.

But just as she turned the corner, she nearly bumped into two tall, dark haired figures she was all too-unfortunately-familiar with.

Elladan and Elrohir peered down at the she-dragon, surprise raising their fine dark brows. Elladan had his arm in a splint that smelled of herbal medicines. The scent and sight sent a pang of guilt down Elysia's gut as she recalled the cause for the injury. The guilt did not show on her stony face, and she quickly made way to pivot on her heel and walk the opposite direction. A meal could be postponed (although her stomach did not think so).

Then it occurred to her that she should apologize, at least before departing. She was not so boorish as to not admit her wrongdoings.

The twin brothers blinked, taken aback by the maiden's brusque movements of turning away, pausing, and then turning once more to face them.

"Forgive me… Lord Elladan, for the injury. It was not my intention to maim you so." Alright, apology was given, now she needed to leave before the conversation became rather… unpleasant.

Elrohir mused. "It has been many winters since you've last bequeathed us with your presence."

Elysia said nothing, becoming rather stiff in expression.

Elladan added, "Although, we must admit, our last meeting had not been a very civil one."

You seemed to have inherited your father's tendency to remind me of obvious things. Maybe it was a trait common in the fair folk to say things that could be made apparent with little effort.

Elrohir interrupted her sour musing. "And the recent one had also been rather…. Brusque." He glanced at his brother's injured arm.

"Pardon me, for the lack of pleasant greetings, milords." She deadpanned.

"Nay, it brought a greater understanding between us, Lady Elysia." Elladan stated. "

So they knew. Elysia wondered just how many of the elves were now aware, but before she could concern herself with such matters, her impatience was getting the best of her.

Before she could give them an even harsher retort, they were distracted by a certain ranger turning the corner.

When Aragorn saw the sour expression on Elysia's face, he raised a brow. "Elladan, Elrohir!" He called. Did the company of his foster brothers bother her so greatly?

The twin elves turned. "Estel!" Elladan raised his good hand in greeting.

"What are you doing?"

"Why it is obvious, little brother." Elrohir turned back, "We are reuniting with an old acquaint-" He fell silent at the empty spot where Elysia once stood.

They turned heads back and forth, searching for her when they caught a glimpse of a mass of raven hair vanishing over the rail.

Startled, they quickly strode to the edge, hands on the rails and peered over just as Elysia landed on the lower levels of Rivendell in a crouch. The quiet dragon ignored the startled exclamation of a she-elf nearby and stood up. Brushing herself off in a lax manner, she sauntered off and out of sight without a word.

There was a quiet pause. Then Aragorn walked up to his stunned foster brothers.

"Have I… interrupted something?"

"Tell me, Estel." Elrohir turned to Aragorn. "What were your thoughts on the lady after having the pleasure of her company?"

Aragorn blinked. "The situation was not quite suited for pleasantries…"

"Not even a common greeting?"

"Well…" Aragorn rubbed his neck thoughtfully. "She held a blade to my throat."

The twins gazed at their foster brother in silence.

/

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Judging from the gossiping nature of curious elves, it was likely that most elves of Rivendell would be aware. It was a worrisome thought, but inevitable. She merely hoped that the elves kept it to themselves, but such was the strange nature of elves. Amongst their own, they kept many secrets secret against outside forces.

Elysia sighed as she sat on the balcony's rail. Her feet dangled over the ledge. Beneath her feet was a plummeting drop to the ravine where the waterfall churned and hissed. A bundle of food rapped in a blanket of linen was hung against the rail beside her. She had snuck into the kitchen, managing to find an assortment of food, and sought an isolated area where her only company would be her thoughts.

She listened to the rushing waters, rustle of leaves, and chirping birds fluttering about Rivendell while crunching on a carrot. Her chewing paused at the presence behind her and sighed. So much for being accompanied only by her thoughts.

"That is a perilous picnic area, milady."

Elysia didn't bother to turn, already having heard and smelled his approach.

"For you, perhaps." She remarked, chewing on her carrot.

Aragorn smirked and walked up to the balcony. He leaned his arms against the ledge and glanced down, assessing the great height before glancing at Elysia. She looked well, much better than the last time he saw her. Color returned to her skin and she ate with a voracious appetite.

Curious, he perused through the bundle of food at her side and frowned.

"Is this a raw potato?"

"They're not inedible if they aren't cooked." She replied.

"And is that meat?... Uncooked?"

"Indeed it is." Elysia confirmed nonchalantly as she bit another bite of her carrot.

"Do you have a preference to raw food? It does not seem appetizing." He inquired curiously.

"Just because I can breathe fire, does not mean I sizzle everything to a crisp before eating it, raggedy ranger." Elysia said.

"Then why not have the food in the dining halls? Where it's cooked." Aragorn pressed.

Elysia sighed and gave the ranger a side glance. "Your wits need more sharpening than your blade. Look around you, Aragorn. Not an elf in sight."

"Would you like to be left alone then?" Aragorn stated, mildly hurt at her implication.

The dragon scoffed. "Oh don't give me those kitten eyes, raggedy ranger. Tis not your presence that I avoid."

Aragorn fought the urge to roll his eyes, more curious than insulted. "Do you have qualms with the elves?"

"Their attention is cumbersome."

"They merely wish to know you. Perhaps if you were not so elusive, they would be less inclined to pour unwanted attention to you." He tilted his head. "But alas, I think there is more. The elven gossips of these halls still say there is unspoken quarrel between you and my father."

"I never thought you'd be one for gossip, raggedy ranger."

"Nay, I prefer to seek the truth closest to its source."

She had to give him credit for his cunning way of being persistent. Elysia sighed, finishing the last of her carrot. She then reached for the slab of meat.

Aragorn, having predicted this, handed the raw food to her before she had to lean too far back.

Elysia took the meat from his hands in silent thanks. Then she paused, and glanced at the meat before asking.

"Did you wash your hands?"

She chuckled at the peeved glare. Aragorn was not amused by her amusement, shaking his head. The two then fell into a long, comfortable silence until Elysia spoke.

"… Lady Celebrían. I was blamed for the departure of the Lady of Rivendell."

This stirred confusion. "Blamed? Why? The orcs were the ones who took the lady captive. You saved her."

"Yes… and I also terrified her." Elysia confessed.

"But that should not give justifiable reason to find fault in you. Lord Elrond knows this. As should you." Aragorn and Elysia turned to the familiar old voice of Gandalf the Gray.

"Elves are immortal, but they are not perfect beings." Mithrandir continued. "When they grieve a loss as painful as his, they are as prone to folly as the best of us."

Elysia remained silent, tearing into the red flesh of the meat.

"Frodo will wake soon…" The old wizard stated.

Elysia stopped chewing, but would not turn to the wizard.

"Care to accompany me to await his awakening?" He asked.

Elysia still said nothing. She seemed to have lost her appetite. "No…. I don't think…." Her voice was soft, and she became more reserved. Aragorn frowned while Gandalf merely sighed with a gaze of empathy. Glancing at the wizard and dragon, Aragorn silently stepped away to leave them be to a private discussion.

As soon as Aragorn departed, Gandalf said.

"Elysia, I do not blame you for what happened."

"You should." Her voice was quiet. "I failed."

"You did no such thing." Gandalf remarked fiercely.

"You weren't there on Weathertop, Mithrandir." She snapped, her eyes flashing as she whipped her head around to glare at the wizard.

"Elysia."

"Save your sympathy for someone who deserves it." She turned away, glaring at the trees. Now every peaceful sight and sound seemed to mock her despair. A dry heartless laugh escaped her.

"They all admire the dragon that flies and fights so well, yet this bloody wyrm can't even protect a Halfling."

"Elysia!" Gandalf snarled. Elysia flinched like she did those many times under his tutelage, being scolded for trouble she made.

"Enough of your wallowing and find your dignity, you miserable serpent. Frodo would not want any of this juvenile behavior!"

"Frodo…" She hissed. "Almost died." Merely speaking the words burned her.

"Tis war, Elysia. Even one such as yourself cannot protect all who bear the burden of being in this war." Gandalf's anger diminished. "If anything, it is I who should be the most remorseful… My confidence in the honor of a fellow istar has led me to ignore your warning."

Elysia remained silent for a long moment before she responded dryly. "I always hated that wizard."

"You've hardly ever met him." Gandalf managed to chuckle. "But that is something I am most grateful for." He shuddered at the thought should Saruman ever discover Elysia's true nature.

"You know, Ebrithil… I could never understand." She turned to him, looking less forlorn. "You have always been the most pure of heart out of the Istar… If anything, you are more deserving of the title of White Wizard than that sour old hag of a wizard."

The old wizard smiled at the dragon, a merry twinkle coming to his eyes.

"Thank you, Elysia." He said sincerely. "Coming from you, it is the greatest compliment I have ever been bestowed."

"Better than my compliment on your eyebrows?" She teased

"My dear, any compliment is better than 'thickness that rivals the hair on hobbit feet'." The Istar grumbled good-naturedly. "Come now, there is a hobbit that requires our attention."

/

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The light hurt his eyes, but it was warm. The dull ache on his chest throbbed, but he was somewhere comfortable and plush. His mind was awake before his body, but slowly he began to feel his muscles obeyed his commands.

Frodo moved his head and grimaced.

"Where am I?" This place wasn't the Shire. The bed felt different, the air smelled different.

"You are in the House of Elrond…" An old voice answered him. "It is ten o'clock in the morning, on October the 24th, if you want to know."

That voice… He knew that voice…

Frodo's eyes fluttered open and they fell on a familiar sight of an old bearded man with a pipe.

"Gandalf." His voice felt frail from its prolonged disuse.

"Yes, I'm here." Gandalf smiled, gray eyes twinkling. "And you're lucky to be here. A few more hours and you would have been beyond our aid. You have some strength in you, my dear hobbit." He praised.

It was truly a remarkable feat. Hobbits, particularly the Baggins of Bag End, never ceased to surprise Gandalf. To have resisted against such a foul wound for that amount of time and live to tell the tale… This hobbit was truly strong.

Frodo winced as he tried to sit up, the wound throbbing in protest. He recalled many things and had many questions.

"What happened Gandalf? Why didn't you meet us?" He asked.

The gray wizard looked apologetic. "Oh, I'm sorry Frodo… I… was delayed." It was an understatement. He looked lost in some disturbed thought. Frodo glanced around the room, looking for any sign of his friends. But it was only Gandalf and a male elf, standing behind the wizard.

Where were his friends? Were they alright? Did they make it to Rivendell? Where was Elly? What happened to those black riders?

"Frodo?" A voice snapped the wizard out of his reverie and Frodo from his thoughts. Sam rushed into the room, looking relieved beyond measure.

"Frodo!" Sam grasped Frodo's hand.

"Sam." Frodo smiled, never happier to see his friend.

"Bless you, you're awake!" Sam exclaimed while Gandalf chuckled. "Sam has hardly left your side."

"Everyone is worried about you, weren't they Mr. Gandalf?" Sam was ecstatic to see the Baggins looking very much alive.

"By the skills of Lord Elrond, you're beginning to men." Gandalf turned to the tall dark haired elf.

"Welcome to Rivendell, Frodo Baggins."

Frodo smiled and then looked around and about. The smile began to wane into wonder, and Gandalf knew what troubled the hobbit's mind.

"She has been gravely worried for you, my dear hobbit.".

Sam understood whom they spoke of. "Miss Elly has been very sad… She blames herself for what happened. Please tell her it isn't her fault, you don't blame her do you Mr. Frodo?" Sam wasn't a fool. He didn't miss how Elysia looked pained every time her eyes fell on Frodo's unconscious form or when she stiffened at the mentioning of his condition.

"Blame her for what?" Gandalf smiled at Frodo's genuine confusion. "For me getting hurt? Is that why she isn't here?" Elysia had always been there when Frodo needed her. When he fell into a pond and nearly drowned, she had pulled him out. When he fell sick, she did not leave the Shire and instead read a story or told him something about dragons while warming him with her heat. When he first cried at night because of a nightmare about his parents, she held him close and murmured softly with her soothing voice.

Gandalf said nothing, but his silence was an answer enough. Frodo sighed and frowned.

"What a foolish dragon." He muttered, and froze when he realized in mortification of what he just said.

But Sam looked amazed. "Oh, you knew, Mr. Frodo? How long did you know Miss Elly was a dragon?"

"She told you?" Frodo frowned, startled and confused.

Sam paled while Gandalf became rather somber. "Well, under the circumstances, she had no other choice."

Frodo appeared confused, so Sam elaborated. "Miss Elly had been wounded by one of those foul riders…"

"What?! Is she alright?" Frodo felt his heart grow cold. "Where is she?"

It was as though she sensed his discomfort. The door opened once more, and in came a certain dark haired maiden gazed upon him with warmth and fondness. Relief enthused Frodo to rise from his bed without much fuss and rush to the dragon.

"Elly!"

There was a certain harmony in the way they embraced; how Elysia readily opened her arms and came forward, filling in the distance quickly before Frodo stumble. She knelt down, allowing Frodo to bury himself into her shoulder while she placed a gentle hand in his curly hair.

"Little one…" Elysia closed her eyes and listened to the steady beat of her hobbit's heart. With each strong beat, her peace grew greater.

"I dare say, young master Baggins. You have a heart as stout as a dragon."

"Dearest Elly. I was almost afraid you wouldn't show." Frodo confessed.

Elysia's warm body shook with a gentle chuckle. "Do not let such silly little doubts cross your mind and question your dragon's loyalty."

Frodo looked up at her, those eyes full of life and mirth. It soothed her heart to see it.

"I guess the secret is out?"

She tilted her head, "I suppose." and smirked. "it bothers you?"

"Well… Yes, I'll admit it does, but it's a relief for you, isn't it?" He can't lie to a dragon, especially Elly. The secrecy had a flare of fun and charm to it.

"But does this mean you won't be in the Shire anymore?"

Elysia snorted, putting him at arms distance. "Foolish little hobbit. Do you think you can get rid of this dragon? I shan't stray away from the Shire until I've emptied its lands of all its food."

They giggled at this, but before they could continue their joyous reunion, a gust of wind ruffled their hair, and a large, familiar moth fluttered in through the balcony window, perching itself on Elysia's shoulder.

Gandalf stood from his seat, followed by Lord Elrond who appeared confused by the sudden gale and the flying insect.

"Ahhh, he's here!" If the wizard hadn't sounded so cheery, Elrond would have panicked. Who was here?

Elysia's storm eyes brightened in excitement. Hands still on her hobbit's shoulders, she guided him to the balcony.

"Who's here?" Frodo looked up at his friend as he obediently went to the balcony.

"An old friend." Was her only reply.

Before anyone could ask who, a powerful voice resonated above them.

"Friend? I am your TEACHER!" A large gust of wind would've caused Frodo to stumble back if it weren't for Elysia's steadfast form behind him. When he looked up, his mouth fell open.

The other hobbits quickly followed towards the balcony to see what had their friend so astounded. When they stepped out to the balcony and followed Frodo's gaze, they found themselves staring at a massive eagle perched on one of the clifftops near the balcony. The eagle pinned them with a single, golden eye that was without a doubt as intelligent as it was immensely curious. They flinched when a filmy membrane flickered over the stern gaze as it adjusted its black, needle sharp talons' grip on the rocky perch.

"Hobbits? I see you've made an interesting flock of friends, dragonling." He sounded refined, proud, with the undeniable bearing of someone of great importance not unlike a king, especially with the condescending manner in which he spoke to Elysia.

However, the proud dragon hardly seemed enraged albeit she was irked. "I'm hardly a dragonling anymore, your Featheriness."

"Bah!" The great eagle made an irritated click with his beak. "You haven't grown out of your impudence, I see, Elysia. Such blatant disrespect for the King of Eagles who so graciously taught you the finest art of the sky." he snapped, haughtily.

She rolled her eyes. "You make it so easy to ruffle up your feathers, Gwahir."

"My feathers are not ruffled." Gwahir huffed, briefly preening his brown wings before pinning Elysia with a full glare. The hobbits shrank under his gaze despite not being its target.

"I hope your flying is at least half as decent as your insolent forked tongue." He lowered his head, the challenge in his stance undeniable.

The underlying threat in the great eagle's voice was putting everyone on edge, all except Elysia, and Gandalf who was all too familiar with the crass interactions the dragon and the King of Eagles tended to have. It was a rather strange power display both proud creatures couldn't resist in engaging when they reunited; strange and annoying really.

Elysia only stepped in front of Frodo, a feral grin stretched across her face.

"For your sake, I hope not. It won't take half as that much effort to out-fly you, my feathered friend."

Many stepped back as Gwahir's glare deepened. He opened his beak and let out an earsplitting cry, and for a moment, Frodo feared the eagle was going to peck Elysia's head open. But the eagle spread his wings and ascended towards the sky with a powerful flap of his wings, knocking the hobbits off their feet.

Lord Elrond shielded his face from the eye watering gale before brushing off his robes with a disdainful air, confused by the strange and shrewd interaction between the dragon and the great eagle.

Gandalf however, simply appeared perturbed. Sighing, he muttered something about 'winged-folk' and their 'bloody unbearable need to show off'. He turned to Elrond and asked.

"Is Rivendell still protected from unwanted eyes?"

Lord Elrond frowned, perplexed by the question. He gracefully fingered his ring of power and dipped his head in a simple nod. "For now."

Gandalf appeared tongue in cheek for a brief moment, his mind clearly trying to decide something. Finally, he seemed to have made a decision and barked at Elysia.

"Be done with it! But keep within the borders of Rivendell." He then crossed his arms. "A good hour is all you two are going to get so settle your little games quickly."

Before they could ask what he was talking about, Elysia turned, smirking at Gandalf. Rarely have the hobbits seen such childish glee in the dragon, if ever.

"Of course, Ebrithil." She then pivoted on her feel and strode towards the edge of the balcony with a bounce in her steps. Boldly, she hopped and balanced herself on the balcony rail. Looking over her shoulder, she glanced at the puzzled elf lord of Rivendel.

"Lord Elrond. Please see to it that I'm not shot down by one of your people."

She then leaned forward, took a single step into the empty air, and fell out of sight.

"Elly!" Frodo and his friends rushed to the edge of the rail, but when they leaned over to see what had become of their dragon friend, they were mildly blinded by a burning blue light.

And from bellow, a great flurry of scales, teeth, wings, and claws skyrocketed towards the heavens. The hobbits stumbled back and watched as the dragon ascended higher and higher with each flap of its mighty wings.

/

/

Thrill coursed through her like a current of lightning. With each beat of her wing, she felt a feral sense of exhilaration and fought the urge to let out a howling roar of joy. This was the greatest reward of being a dragon of the sky. No amount of treasure or gems could ever measure up to the wealth in freedom one could feel when flying.

And what better way to enjoy such freedom then to have a little game?

Elysia banked to the left and stopped to hover as she spot the blur of brown circling her through the clouds.

"Name your game, Gwahir!" She roared, unable to fight of the toothy grin on her serpentine features.

Gwahir dove towards her and stopped with a flap of his wings. "Ho! So eager to taste defeat, I see!" All insult was forgotten as Gwahir's laughter was carried around by the wind. "Very well! Flier see as flier do!"

Seldom has Gwahir ever encountered another flier who could give his wings a challenge. His way with the winds added to his title as King of raptors. None could pose a challenge to his mastery in flight… Until he met this dragon.

When Gandalf introduced him to the dragon, who had been a mere hatchling at the time, Gwahir had scorned her. The great eagles bore disdain for dragons with reason. They were proud without reason, rude and violent, at least the few he had the misfortune of encountering. They called themselves kings of skies, seas, and mountains, feeling entitled to such titles due to their scaly might.

But then he met the little blue drake, and after much persuasion by his wizard friend, he had agreed to take the girl under his wing and train her in the one thing Gandalf could not teach her. At first he had been immensely skeptical when Gandalf told him of her clansmen's impressive reputation, but as he begun to train the child, he had begun to understand.

Elysia had taken to the sky with remarkable ease as fish would take to water. Granted, she made a few blunders here and there, not quite having the build the eagles do, but she was a quick learner, growing into a formidable flier under his tutelage.

She did him proud as his protégé, something he will never admit.

/

You've grown from being a bumbling little winged reptile, my scaled friend.

Gwahir thought, but he dawdled little on reminiscing. The dragon was waiting for him to give her a new challenge, and he wasn't one to keep her waiting.

He fell into a dive, corkscrewing in the air as he made a massive loop. Elysia immediately followed, but she added her own twist, outdoing his aerial display with a hairpin swerve downward.

Gwahir followed with a cry of amusement, folding his wings into his body, not far from her accelerating dive. He thought she was trying to challenge his courage, perhaps seeing if he would risk diving so sharply and so closely to the ground at this velocity, but to his surprise, she began to spin and rotate on her axis in a remarkable display of aerial control, keeping her wings close to her body.

He quickly followed suit, refusing to be bested by the dragon.

They were unaware of the audience gained by their increasingly bold maneuvers.

The elves were stunned by the sudden aerial show they were spectating. Never did Rivendell ever have such an event where a dragon and a giant eagle attempt to outdo the other in what appeared to be a game of aerial stunts and mimicry. The hobbits whooped and cheered as they ran to the courtyard to get a better view, followed by a calm wizard and a greatly intrigued Rivendell lord.

Gasps echoed through the audience when the two winged creatures began to perform an acrobatic spin while diving at great speeds towards Rivendell. For a moment they feared they would lose control and crash into the buildings, but not twenty meters from the grounds and they opened their wings, sweeping into a swift glide while weaving through the narrow valley.

A round of applause erupted. Elrond couldn't help but join, which earned a chuckle from the wizard.

"Incredible…" Glorfindel whispered, having followed the crowd to the courtyard, unable to resist marveling at the spectacle.

When sunlight struck the dragon, her scales sparkled blue. Elrond had to admit, never had he seen something quite as beautiful as a dragon of such splendor taking to the heavens. She was smaller than he imagined, her size mirroring that of the eagles but smaller in body and longer in length. His sharp eyes traced the silvered patterns marking her softer underside and the leathery portion of her wings; markings he had seen ripple faintly under her skin when he was healing her. There was a certain youth in her dragon features. Perhaps it was the sapphire radiance of her scales or the pale, healthy hue in the ivory of her horns. Or perhaps it was the way she flew.

She moved with utter freedom, graceful and undoubtedly joyful, without a hint of malice but merely a relentless thrill in a game. Elrond found it hard to see the evil he once saw in dragons. Creations of Morgoth held no beauty. They held no joy.

He heard the echo of laughter as the eagle and the dragon began weaving around each other in what appeared to be a mock spar of no real aggression. Could a being that exuded such vibrancy, such freedom, and such life really be an unholy spawn of fire and death?

/

They had been engrossed in trying to break the other's flight control when Elysia felt a probing sensation nearing in the distance. Gwahir sensed it as well, and his laughter died immediately. They ceased their mid-flight games and banked lower, closer to Rivendell.

"Something isn't right." Gwahir's voice became serious as he hovered higher.

Elysia silently agreed. An odd sensation began to grip her scales. It wasn't pain, but it felt discomforting, like snakes writhing in her insides.

Gwahir keen golden eyes scanned the valley, seeing things that even elves or dragons could see. The eyesight of a great eagle was unparalleled.

When the eagle's eyes widened, Elysia immediately swerved into a dive, not needing to be warned. Gwahir followed, and they descended into the valley, towards Rivendell.

When they dived to the nearest balcony, Elysia slowed her descent and shifted, landing on the stony arch of a terrace with two bare feet. Gwahir eased himself gently onto a nearby rooftop, precariously making sure his sharp talons did not puncture the tiled.

When Elysia gazed at him for an explanation, Gwahir clicked his beak.

"The Eye… It is closing its gaze on Rivendell." He stated, glaring at the distance before meeting the dragon's eyes. "It pains me to tell you, but I believe it's best to keep your wings grounded my scaled friend. The Foul one, he might be seeking you."

Elysia shuddered at the thought, shaking her head. "Nay, it is not me. He knows not of my nature" not yet, "it is something else."

The eagle blinked. "Ah… So it is here?"

The existence of the Ring in Rivendell was meant to be confidential, but Elysia found no reason to lie to the King of eagles. She gave him a curt nod.

"Hm…" Gwahir mulled over her confirmation. "The foul clouds are spreading further… Imaldris is a nest exposed to the high winds."

"What do you mean?"

Gwahir clicked his beak impatiently, raising his wings. "Think, young drake… You know what vermin is being bred in Isengard… If Sauron knows it is here, what do you think he shall do?"

It didn't need great thinking to know what the eagle implied. "The armies in Isengard…"

Gwahir's head twitched in a manner of agreement. "Imaldris is a mere roost… It is no nest… not a fortress."

Indeed, Rivendell was an outpost, and although its defenses were strong, it would not be able to handle the might of Sauron in his relentless pursuit for the ring.

Seeing Elysia reach his conclusion, Gwahir stood up higher and sighed. "The skies are not holding as much freedom as they used to. Take heed and stay cautious, Elysia. Keep your claws ready and your eyes sharp."

"Must you leave so soon?" Elysia deflated. Rarely did she ever have the occasion of reuniting with friends of flight.

"I must return to my nests and ready my people. You have a similar duty to your kin as well, young drake." Gwahir leaned closer to her, so close that the tip of his beak tapped her head.

"You would've made a fine eagle." The King said after some short thought.

Elysia snorted. "And you a dragon, Gwahir."

"Bah" the eagle chuckled, preening his feathers "I'd take feathers and a beak over scales and teeth any day." With that being said, Gwahir departed with a great flap of his wings.

Elysia watched as the eagle left. His enormous size grew smaller and smaller and soon, he vanished into the horizon, leaving her to ponder over his words and her predicament.

/

/

~O~O~O~O~O~

Elysia sat on the window's ledge, watching over her hobbit friends. Sam was beginning to pack, looking ready to leave, as did Frodo. Speaking of her little one, he appeared to be growing healthier by the day, and it did her proud to see him recover quickly.

But Elysia also released a sigh. Frodo had always dreamed of being off an adventure, to follow Bilbo's footsteps, but when he left the Shire, his journey turned out to be much darker and more perilous than the old hobbit. Elrond and Gandalf were in the room with her, following her gaze to the Halflings.

"That wound will never fully heal, will it?" Her eyes did not waver from Frodo. Although he was regaining his strength, there was something the hobbit still lacked, and it was something Elysia knew with a heavy heart he would probably never gain back. Such was the curse of an evil wound on a mortal hobbit.

"He will bear it for the rest of his life." Gandalf confirmed somberly.

Elrond paced. "Yet to have come so far, bearing the Ring, the hobbit has shown extraordinary resilience to its evil."

Elysia fought back a growl, her eyes flashed and hardened with fire, whipping to Elrond. How dare he sound so… indifferent to the suffering of her little one.

"It is a burden he should never have had to bear!" She snapped.

Gandalf laid a hand on the dragon's shoulder to keep her anger at bay. She scowled still, and swung her legs from the edge to face Elrond with her full attention.

"He is not some expendable tool."

Elrond met her gaze with his own stern look. "I never stated he was."

"The implications were clear, Lord Elrond." She snapped, ignoring Gandalf's tightening grip on her shoulder.

Gandalf gave the dragon a reprimanding look before turning to the elf lord. "We cannot ask more of Frodo." He said in agreement to Elysia's response.

Elrond's stern countenance faded into one of frustration. "The enemy is moving. Sauron's forces are massing in the east, and his eye is now fixed upon Rivendell! Saruman has not only turned against us, but you tell me he is breeding some new evil in Isengard?"

"Crossing orcs with goblin men." Elysia added grimly "Creatures that move in sunlight, tireless and strong."

. Elrond paled and looked disgusted. "Precisely why this evil cannot be concealed by the elves! We do not have the strength to fight both Mordor and Isengard!" Elrond despaired. "Gandalf… The Ring cannot stay here."

Elysia said nothing while Gandalf paced in troubled thought. She cast her eyes back towards the land of Rivendell. As suspected, Elrond was summoning a secret council to decide the fate of the Ring. She was to attend, and both Elrond and Gandalf decided it would be best to keep her true identity a secret, for it was imperative that the enemy was unaware of the new addition to the Alliance. The card would be revealed when the time is right.

So Elysia would attend as Gandalf's apprentice and advisor to Elrond. Both she and Elrond did not trust the race of men to hold such secrets, much less accept such variables as profound as dragons roaming amongst them in peace.

/

/

/

Without flight, Elysia was unbearably bored. She was well rested, well fed, and there was little to do in order to exercise her building energy. It was boring.

This will not do. She was not a slumbering dragon of old. Dragons of her age and vigor were lively, and they needed an outlet otherwise they would go mad. She tried focusing on sketching, carving, drawing, something demure, but it only infuriated her feral spirit.

She wanted to break something, uproot a tree, or set something on fire. Anything to relieve her of her boredom in her grounded state.

Unable to stand being pent up in her quarters any longer, Elysia grabbed her swords and began to stalk through the halls. Unsettling attention or no, she was going to do something other than sit and draw or mull like a lazy lizard in the sun.

When she found an empty courtyard, Elysia could nearly smile in relief. Silvindr in hand, she walked towards the shade the autumn branches, settling Faersing down on a nearby bench.

Feet planted on the ground, shoulders distance apart, she held Silvindr pointed skyward and closed her eyes.

Silvindr's edge mirrored the sky as it was drawn and stilled in the air horizontally, its thin edge barely visible as Elysia lined it perfectly straight at eye level. Her hand gently touched the falchoin's flat edge and closed her eyes, breathing deeply in… and then out….

Her eyelids snapped open and faster than the naked human eye could see she slashed the sword through the air. It was eerily soundless, like a silent breeze, a deathly silent breeze.

An autumn leaf fell, but moments before it touched the ground it split into two pieces and landed in separate ways.

Silvindr swept through the air once again and this time, Elysia began to move forward. Her toes were pointed this way and that as she shifted from side to side and spun as her blade whirled around her like a silver twister.

While the sword didn't feel as stimulating in her hand as in comparison to Faersing, Elysia deeply treasured the falchion. It was the sword forged by the Eldest long ago, and it was the highest honor she could ever imagine being bestowed by her great kin. The handle and guard was the color of the pale scales of the Eldest, while the long curved blade was of a more silvered hue that never lost its luster. But Elysia made sure to polish the blade anyway when time could be spared. Silvindr had won her many battles and cut through her enemies with the force of a deadly gale.

She danced with Silvindr in the basic forms she remembered from her time under the teachings of an old, serpentine, wingless dragon. With each breath taken in, her body shifted, and which each exhale, she struck with her blade, cutting and piercing the falling leaves.

As relieving as this excursion was, she felt little halfhearted in her sword dance without her second blade.

"You are as quick as an elf with a blade, Lady Elysia."

Elysia halted Silvindr in mid swipe. Her form's flow disturbed, she turned to see the source of the voice and laid eyes upon Glorfindel.

He had shed his armor this time and was donned in thin leather gear. An elvish blade in hand, he gave a slight bow.

"May I have the honor of joining you?" He requested, gesturing to his sword.

Elysia hesitated, unsure. Her muscles were excited, yearning for a challenge, and it shook her control. Sparring required restraint, and it wouldn't do her well to accidently cut Glorfindel in her feral eagerness to fight. She remembered the countless times Gandalf had scolded her for her destructive tendencies, even to the point where he deemed himself 'too old for a reckless, hot-blooded dragon', finding her a dragon to teach her how to fight in her two legged form.

Glorfindel noticed the uncertainty in her eyes and smiled. "Are you afraid, Lady Elysia?"

His light jibe earned an incredulous snort from the dragon. She gave him a dry look and rotated her sword around her before spreading her feet wider in a slightly crouched stance.

But the elf did not move. He tilted his head and regarded her stance curiously before speaking.

"… You are a dual swordsman."

Elysia blinked, surprised by his accurate guess. The elf's crystalline gaze perused her under a calculating look before smirking.

"I would feel insulted if we sparred with such unnecessary handicap."

The dragon chewed her inner cheek. "Are you so sure it is unnecessary, Lord Glorfindel? Faersing is not to be taken lightly."

The elf's smile was not brittle, but Elysia couldn't help but think Glorfindel was smirking now, or as close as the refined elf would be to smirking.

"As am I, milady. Do not worry yourself for my sake. Tis not the first time I've encountered a dragon's zeal for combat. I did not live thousands of years as a withered excuse for a warrior."

His tone was gentle, but Elysia felt as though she were being chided for her concern. She would've rolled her eyes if it was any other elf, but this was Lord Glorfindel. By his stance alone, the way he held himself, sorely reminded her that this elven warrior had faced Balrogs and eons of battle. She would be stupid to underestimate him.

And he would be stupid if he were underestimating her. She couldn't help but feel a little indignant at his words. She was no dimwitted child or hot-blooded youngster.

Pride and her lust for a good fight easily persuaded Elysia's doubts.

They stared at each other for a moment longer before Elysia promptly turned and walked to her dormant sword. Unsheathing Faersing with a little more force than necessary, she returned to her previous stance with a glint in her silvered eyes. Faersing mirrored his master's gleam, thirsting at the opportunity to duel a worthy opponent.

Glorfindel raised his blade perpendicular to the ground, placing a palm flat against its gleaming side.

The glint of his blade began the spar. In a swish of starry silver light, Silvindr and his sword collided with a high chime of metal striking metal. The blades pushed at each other with immense force, but the play in strength became a stalemate.

The falchion eventually shoved the blade to the side, but Glorfindel was clever as he fluidly stepped to the side and whirled around, dodging the sharp point of the falchion. His blade came down only to be blocked again and so began the rhythmic chime as the two swordsmen danced.

The elf was fast and moved with more fluidity and elegance. But Elysia felt something distinctly lacking as she went blow for blow with Silvindr, Faersing lying dormant in her other hand's grip. Her movements were nimble, but rather than elegance, she moved with ferocity. Her stance was resilient, firm, yet supple.

Glorfindel smoothly moved with a surreal flow, but he was halfhearted with her, basing his moves more on the defensive with the occasional strikes, matching her blow for blow with ease. He appeared calm, nonchalant even, and for a moment, Elysia's temper burned… until it dawned on her, when he glanced at her dormant blue sword.

He was cajoling her, jibing at her. Glorfindel wanted her to use Faersing. He was taunting her to do so.

So be it…

Glorfindel's eyes widened minutely as Elysia swung her blue blade forward with a dangerous spark in those greyed orbs. He raised his sword to block the blatant strike, it was a fairly easy blow to parry, or so he thought.

As blue struck silver, Glorfindel's body jarred at the impact. The sheer force of the blow blew a gust of wind his way, riling up leaves from the earth.

The unexpected caliber of the impact caught him off balance, and the dragon did not hesitate to utilize it to her advantage. Silvindr came, aiming at Glorfindel's open side.

But the elf was not to be bested just yet. Regaining his balance quickly, he used his stumbling movement to pivot, dancing out of the blades way, raising his sword up once more to catch the second blow from Faersing.

This time he was prepared for the impact. He gripped his broadsword tighter and pushed forward.

It was exhilarating. What Elysia lacked in his experience, she compensated with the sheer unpredictability of her movement. He was unfamiliar with her style, her techniques. One moment she seemed to be dancing, the next, she moved with ferocity contradicting her previous approach.

Glorfindel couldn't resist. He wanted to see the degree of her caliber with the sword. The dragons were unique in the way they fought. Each clan had its own way of engaging in combat; but they all held the same destructive tendency, the need to not only kill their foe, but beat them into submission and rip them apart. The tribe of fire drakes he encountered had a love for hand to hand combat. It seemed barbaric to fight fists, feet, and the entirety of their body, but Glorfindel soon was proven that it was beautiful.

So what was the way in which a dragon handled dual, asymmetrical blades?

He began to smile. It was a flat smile, a smile that was meant to patronize and unnerve. Dueling was as mental as it was physical. Skilled warriors knew how to manipulate their opponent's emotions, their anxieties, their courage, their pride.

In his case, it was to aggravate, and it was working. Elysia's expression turned stony, and her blows became more erratic, more severe. But his smile was still plastered on his face.

Elysia fought the urge to growl. It would not do her any benefit to be riled up by his insulting countenance. But when those eyes gleamed and the smile twisted to a smirk, she began to understand. Glorfindel was blatantly stoking the fire to see if it could turn any brighter.

He's going to burn.

She felt her zeal rise into frenzied thrill. If this elf was allowing her to exhaust her restlessness through their duel, she would be a fool to waste such opportunity.

Glorfindel's smile was mirrored by Elysia's feral grin. If he were any other elf, the savagery of her smile might have unnerved him, but he loved a good challenge.

When he swung forth his sword, Elysia promptly leaned back into a series of distancing flips, leaving a generous gap between her and the elf. But before Glorfindel could wonder what she intended to do, Elysia reversed her grip on Silvindr and crouched.

Boots digging into the dirt, Elysia charged forward like a speeding arrow with Faersing leading her lunge.

Glorfindel was startled by the sudden, vicious speed and the sheer recklessness of her form. The blue blade lanced forth, but Glorfindel did not bother in trying to block such lethal blow. He swiftly stepped to the side, avoiding Elysia's charge entirely.

But then the dragon did something Glorfindel expected the least.

She seemed to have anticipated his evasive maneuver, and her lunge turned into a leap. Using the momentum from her charge, she enhanced her jump and with a midair flip, her feet landing vertically, onto the pillar.

Elysia did not stay there. Her feet bounced her off the pillar and straight towards the elf. With a mighty heave, she snarled and spun with her blades in hand for a powerful midair strike.

"HAH!

Glorfindel barely had time to raise his sword in order to prevent the sudden strike from cutting him into three pieces. Placing a hand on the flat side of his blade, he dug his heels into the earth.

Silvindr and Faersing met his blade's edge with a thunderous clash that echoed through the halls around them. Sparks of blue and white flew at the impact. The smile had faded from his face a long time ago. The elf gritted his teeth, determined to stand his ground.

But the collision sent both the dragon and the elf bouncing back. Elysia dug her feet into the earth, leaving a path of disturbed dirt and leaves as she skidded to a halt. However, her momentum had been fierce. In the process of her stop, Faersing imbedded itself into the thick marble pillar.

Glorfindel was a bit more graceful, proceeding to land on his feet after a few series of flips to steady his balance.

It dawned on him, the manner in which she fought. She did not utilize one sword to defend and the other to strike as he originally anticipated. Her movements had been erratic, and her feet appeared to have little solid stance. No form, no finite technique. Her body and her blades moved in ways that were unconventional, and it was off-putting. She fought like a berserker, reckless, borderline suicidal.

But dueling was as mental as it was physical, and Glorfindel did not miss it; the way her eyes flickered and analyzed him with each reckless move she made.

"tis not her might, her wit, her conviction, or her fire, but it the duality in her infallible ability to learn and remain resolute."

She had been studying him. Her form had no form because she adapted to his sword, and all the while, she retained her wild movements while she made adjustments here and there.

While such adaptive, prolonging style was impractical for a battle, it was essential in a duel. What made it more fascinating was that her berserker tendencies could make up for her lack of formal style in a typical battle.

There was little warning as Elysia lunged once more, closing the distance between her and Glorfindel. She left Faersing stuck in the pillar, gripping Silvindr in a reverse hold. The change altered her movement, and for a moment, Glorfindel thought she was once again trying for a direct approach. But she made a sudden sharp turn, feinting right and pivoting left, knocking Glorfindel's sword hand aside with a sharp elbow jab as Silvindr rushed forward.

It was Glorfindel's sharp reflexes and quick mind that managed to aid him at the last second. Years of battle experience never degraded him, but made the ancient elf stronger.

There was a silence of bated breathes.

Elysia glared up at Glorfindel, stance unwavering. She blew at a stray curl tickling her cheek. Silvindr's edge was a centimeter from Glorfindel's pale neck, his pulse beating as the blade hovered dangerously close to his artery. She had passed through Glorfindel's guard and stood low and very close so that her elbow touched his sternum, and her foot placed between the gap of his legs.

They were both breathing heavily, more out of the sudden thrill rather than fatigue as their duel came to an end.

"How swift and silent is your sword, Lady Elysia." Glorfindel suddenly smiled, it was a smile that lit up his features, making him appear younger than he was.

Elysia couldn't help but give him a rare smile. "But the victory is yours." she stated.

For as victorious as she seemed upon first glance, Glorfindel's sword was beneath her, close to her stomach. If it had been a duel to the death, his blade could have bisected her or gutted her stomach.

Glorfindel chuckled. The sound immediately ended the tension as the two began to disentangle themselves to a more passive position. Elysia returned her hold to the common grip and combed the stray locks that escaped her braid from her face with a lazy rake of her hand.

Glorfindel regarded her with a thoughtful expression. "It's fairer to say it was a draw, for you could have beheaded me."

Elysia pondered at this and merely shrugged. "A draw for now then…"

At the implication of another duel, Glorfindel gave her a graceful bow. "I shall hold you to that promise, milady."

His sudden elegant gesture earned him a crooked grin of bemusement from the dragon.

"A dragon shall always keep her word. Thank you, Lord Glorfindel. The duel was refreshing."

"Indeed." Glorfindel agreed. He watched as Elysia brushed herself off and went to retrieve Faersing. The sword was deeply embedded into the marble pillar. After a few strong yanks, Elysia pulled her precious blade free.

Glorfindel then observed his own blade. His fingers skimmed the distinct marks on the flat edge where he parried her ballistic strike. Rather than being irked by the scarring on his sword, Glorfindel marveled at the mark. Elvish blades were not made to be marred easily, no matter how many battles seen.

"It appears I should have paid more heed to your warnings with your sword. Faersing, was it?"

Elysia leaned over, spotting the mark on Glorfindel's blade. She cringed and gave an apologetic glance, wiping down her blades.

"Yes, forgive me… Faersing can be rather volatile, and I'm afraid I wasn't able to restrain myself." She had been overzealous in the duel, eager at the blatant challenge Glorfindel provided.

"Nay, do not be, lady Elysia." Glorfindel spoke with sincerity. "It shall help me remember my duel with a marvelous swordswoman. On the other hand… I do not believe restraint is your style."

Elysia snorted at Glorfindel's teasing, sheathing her blades, polishing their handles and pommel. She did not seem as reluctant in his presence as before, which pleased the elf.

"Faersing is volatile?" Glorfindel couldn't resist inquiring. "You speak as though it…"

"Has a mind of its own?" She glanced from her polishing. "Yes. I'd like to think it does have some sentience, considering it doesn't appreciate any other wielder than I."

The lord elf sheathed his blade and placed a delicate finger beneath his chin in an image of great intellectual thought.

"Intriguing. A sentient blade."

"We believe that weapons are extensions of our being. They are as much a part of us as any tooth, claw, or scale." Elysia elaborated. "As a matter of fact, my scale did go into Faersing's forging."

"That explains the blue splendor of its edge." Glorfindel pondered over her explaination. "A part of you resides with the blade?" He mused. "It sounds not unlike the Ring of Power. Sauron poured a part of his evil into the Ring, and so it became an extension of his dark will." His eyes grew hard at the thought.

Elysia scowled at this, her pleasant mood fading. "As similar as it may seem, that is a morbid comparison Lord Glorfindel." She deadpanned.

The thought of comparing a beautiful sword like Faersing to something as wretched and accursed as the Ring, however powerful the finger trinket was or however nice the polished gold gleamed, was nauseatingly repulsive. It was an insult to the sword and to its master. Faersing may be destructive, but it bore no ill will and malcontent and did not deceive with poisoned whispers. It was the bane of its enemy, and the enemy was the Forsworn and his servants.

Glorfindel's hardened eyes softened. He gave a placating gesture. "I meant no offense, lady dragon. It is impudent to compare you to something so abominable."

Elysia accepted his apology with silence, proceeding to examine the leathered handle of Faersing. Glorfindel held his hands behind his back and mused further

"Your way of fighting is very distinctive, Lady Elysia."

Elysia nodded. "Dually wielding blades of such different structure is rather strange, is it not?" She confessed.

Glorfindel blinked. "That was not what I was referring to, but I must confess, it is rather peculiar."

Upon earning a questioning look from those silver eyes, Glorfindel explained.

"You fight like a feral creature…" Elysia appeared unabashed by his blatancy. "But… your mind… you are solving a puzzle."

"You sound like my old teacher." Elysia huffed. "He always insulted my fighting to be a barbaric display of adolescent rage, but I never saw the point in finding a finite style to fight. Battles are not finite. Each foe is different in the way they move, think, fight… Why should I restrain myself with a single way of wielding a blade?"

"Your teacher? Mithrandir taught you the way of the blades?"

"Great skies, no." While she did learn many tricks from the wizard, his manner of dueling was not befitting to one like her. "There was an old, wingless dragon in the eastern regions who was famed amongst our people to be one of the finest swordsdragons ever to exist."

"You must have been quite the student."

"Actually…. He failed me and disowned my apprenticeship after three moons." Elysia admitted, grimacing at the memory. "But at that point, I learned enough from him… he was rather unpleasant in company anyway." She sniffed.

Grumpy old snake.

"Hmmm." Glorfindel seemed amused. "Regardless, I do not think you to be entirely void of a technique… rather… this is your technique. As I said, it's intriguing."

Elysia coughed, feeling self-conscious at the fascination evident in his eyes, curling a hair behind her ear as though she were preening her wings.

She then rotated Silvindr lazily in her hand. "A dragon cannot be fooled easily, even the most foolhardy ones. I can see past the feinting of my opponents. But this dual wielding has only been with me for a few decades." She confessed. "I had not fought with Faersing nor Silvindr for a long enough time to truly master both to their finest limits."

"Are blades your best arsenal?"

Elysia made a face. "I find blades, be it dagger or sword, to be best suited to my taste. It's much cleaner than bludgeoning your foe, and I've never had the patience to learn to shoot those accursed stick propelling pieces of string and wood."

It took a moment for Glorfindel to realize she had been speaking of bows and arrows. Chuckling at this, he gave an elegant shrug of his own.

"I suppose that is the Valar's way of balancing your talents, milady."

"You call that a talent?" She glanced at Glorfindel with mild, almost reluctant, admiration. "You elves are naturally graced fighters, but you are on another capacity, milord. You were showing me great restraint; it was humbling to say the least… As expected from the Balgrog-slayer."

Glorfindel dipped his head gracefully in thanks of her praise. "I'm flattered, milady."

"But alas… I shall always be the better flier." She boasted with no real bite, earning a mild laugh from the elf.

They departed, but not before sharing more of what the other knew. Elysia was fascinated by the revelation of Glorfindel bearing the yawe, while Glorfindel took this chance to do what many elves of Rivendell have been dying to do and have some of his many questions answered. Elysia did not mind this time. If anyone should have the privilege of learning more of her kin, it was one who bore the title of trust amongst dragons.

"I've encountered the fire drakes. Although, I must admit," She said at the mention of Glorfindel's experience with the fire clan. "I earned a few of their clansmen's animosity in my involvement with Smaug's bane."

"What of your clan?"

"My clan?" Glorfindel regretted his eager question at the brief flicker of sorrow in Elysia's gaze.

"My clan…." She continued. "We were the greatest fliers. The elders told us tales of our first ancestor. A dragon struck by lightning, only to be blessed with its striking might. All descendants of him bear the mark of Arkeykva. The mark of silver lightning…" She rolled up her sleeve, revealing the faint silver patterns of feathered crescents vined underneath her olive skin.

"It makes our flames burn and burst. Our foes used to think we were the embodiment of lighting, and so, we became known as the storm drakes."

/

/

When Glorfindel reluctantly departed, Elysia couldn't help but feel morose. Glorfindel was pleasant company, and he knew of her kind without prejudice. It was refreshing not only to duel him but to simply interact with him.

Feeling content by her newfound friend, she smiled and inhaled the pleasant aroma as the breeze caressed her face, careful to ignore the curious gazes around her as she basked in the courtyard's quiet autumn scent.

Releasing a long sigh, she reached for her braid and gently tugged the ribbon loose. Her black curls began to unfurl, combed by the wind while her pale green tunic ruffled and rippled against her slender form.

It had been a long time since she felt this much peace, in Rivendell of all places. She had always believed only the Shire and the sky to hold such tranquility for her…. Perhaps there was indeed some hope for her and this place, despite the elven people.

Elysia admitted her hypocrisy with the elves, having used the unpleasant encounters with a few to define her sentiments for the entire immortal race. It had been unfair of her to allow her heart's selfish spirit such biased actions….

All that is in the past should remain in the past… I should look towards the present… and the future.

The past was there to be learned from. She had come to this realization after her suffering in dwelling on what happened; the regrets, the unmet possibilities, and the misery of broken hopes.

It would never be forgotten, but nor would she ever let it consume her. It was the nature of scars, to remain in remembrance, in phantom moments of pain, but they will never stir to cause true pain.

No… she won't let it. She won't let herself be prone to such weakness. Not again.

/

"It hurts… It hurts so much… Why? Why does it hurt? Why did I do this?" Nails dug into her chest as she bit her lip enough to draw blood. "Why… When I knew it was folly? Why did my heart disobey me?" She refused to let the tears fall. No… She had more dignity than that. She was a dragon.

But in doing so, the despair within her began to claw her insides raw and red.

"Oh mellonnin… " The hand of a warrior rested on her shoulder with the gentleness of a warm hearth. "Because it was real."

Her hands clenched into fist. She trembled, a figure of anguish and rage. "Then… Then I won't have it… I do not want it… Let this reality remain as a lost dream…."

She had been a fool.

"Mellonnin-"

"Let it become a figment of my imagination… Let it become a lie."

Though it would not rectify and undo what had been done, what had been chosen, perhaps it would give her reprieve.

She would do anything to take away this agony.

"… The heart shall give against the will of the mind, no matter how resolute it may seem... Do not declare something as beautiful as this truth become such falsehood."

"That is precisely why it was and will always be folly..." Venom laced her voice. Her eyes were dry and unrelenting. "It was too beautiful to become a possibility…. It was nothing but a beautiful lie… My heart may have betrayed me, but I know the road that I must take…"

With each beat of her traitorous core, she began to harden with resolve.

"In the end, it is not my purpose to exist in some perfected realm of possibilities… It is my duty to walk in truth, no matter how barren it will be."

Be it desolate, be it lonely, or be it nothing but a shattered plain of sorrows, she would rather walk this dreary road than tread the broken fragments contained in her soul.

Her friend thought otherwise. But Elysia did not waver under the green fire of her companion's gaze.

"That is a coward's way, Elysia."

"Call me a coward if you will… I'd rather be a coward than a fool. Fools will perish in the naivety of their ideals and false hopes."

She had to keep her promise to live…
So let this moment, this suffering become nothing but a mere memory.

/

And it was a memory, a distant one that she tried her best to not recall, but even to this day, there lingered a discomforting twist in her heart.

Cut off a warrior's limb and they will be in agony. Even if it heals, they would never feel the same again without that part of their body. But eventually, through will and through time, they can grow accustomed to living a life without that limb, unbothered by the blatant lack… Until their own being betrays them; inflicting a phantom pain that screams out for the lost part of themselves, weeping at its absence, denying the loss of its limb.

But that was a long time ago… Much has changed since then…

It was strange and ironic to have lived for so long and still feel so young. In those decades, since her time meeting her hobbit friends, since her time returning to Gandalf to assist in his meddling ways, in that short span of time she had changed so greatly.

Things were different now, and she felt encouraged by those differences… She had long adjusted herself to the vacancy within her being. In fact, she had replaced it. The Shire had done more things than bless her with compassion. It healed her.

Elysia smiled softly to herself, it was a small, fragile smile, one that held uncertainty and hope.

/

That was when she sensed him, as how one would spot a green leaf through the burning hue of the autumn foliage. His presence clashed against the season of falling leaves and chilling winds, and it broke her out of her reverie.

Her gaze slowly traveled from the lush grass and scattered leaves, up the spiraling pillars, and landed upon the elevated figure standing at the upper levels of an open balcony.

Stormy silver eyes widened.

Tall as a young tree and enveloped by garbs of soft silver, his fair, aristocratic face gazed down at her as his lissome frame leaned forward. Hands that could easily string a great war bow gently grasped against the rail.

Silken sunlit hair held back by a braid, eyes of bright blue hue that rivaled the gleam of her scales, with a chiseled jaw clenched in astonishment, Legolas Greenleaf, prince of the Woodland Realms of Mirkwood, son of King Thranduil locked her in his drilling gaze, clearly caught unaware at her presence as she was by his.

He stared at her, for that was all he could do in his surprise. The prince had seen her spar, seen her fight, and for a moment thought his elf eyes had deceived him, but there she stood in the open; her ebony curls lifted, its lustrous waves brushed by the hand of the wind.

Those penetrating and painfully familiar silvered, almond eyes that could ensnare the most indifferent of elves, scrutinized him. Surprise was evident for a brief heartbeat, before wariness masked her exotic features into stoic stone.

The sight struck him like lightning. Of all people to be present in Rivendell, she was the one he had least expected.

Her petite frame stood tall, but angled away from him, giving her head and gaze the added flare of defiance he had seen countlessly, once upon a time.

With that look, the unyielding stance, the scars lining the side her face, hair freely flowing, and swords in her grasp, she was a dauntingly enthralling sight.

The tension between them could be sliced by her blade. The winds whispered as the swirled around the two, as if to attempt to ease the intensity and the rigidity of the atmosphere with its touch. But the wind could not severe the combatting gazes that met at an unspoken and unseen standstill.

"Legolas!" It was Legolas who broke the eye-lock. The prince turned to see his old friend come at him with a smile, followed by Elladan and Elrohir.

Aragorn opened his arms to embrace the elf. "Mae g'ovannen!" He greeted his friend.

"Estel." Legolas smiled. "It is good to see you."

When they parted the embrace, Legolas turned back to gaze down at the fierce woman.

… Only to find that there was emptiness where she had been. The wind stirred some grass in the vacant place, brushing the stray leaves off the area where she once stood.

Aragorn followed his friend's eyes with a puzzled frown. "What is it?" The prince seemed to be distracted by something or deep in thought. He was gazing at an empty courtyard.

The woodland elf's eyes narrowed. "… T'is nothing." But his eyes lingered on the spot.

"Once there was something." Elladan leaned over the edge. "Lady Elysia is gone again. Such a shame. I was hoping to engage her after that remarkable duel."

The twins had arrived in time to witness the spar between the dragon and the respected elf. Both warriors did not have the heart to meddle in the budding friendship between them, but they had been hoping to speak to Elysia after greeting the Mirkwood prince.

Elrohir sighed. "Alas, brother, I do not think she will make it that simple. The lady has a tendency to depart so unfairly."

"Comparable to an elusive feather caught in the current of the wind." Elladan agreed.

Aragorn glanced at his two foster brothers. "Perhaps she simply enjoys her solitude."

"Or perhaps it is intentional." Elrohir mused with no real severity. "She lures us in, beckoning us with her ambiguous charm, quenching our curiosity with a few droplets, only to leave us dying of parched throats as she vanishes from the ponds and into the clouds."

While Aragorn gave his brothers an incredulous glance, unamused by their poetics, Legolas' eyes did not stray from the vacant spot in the courtyard.

"…. Yes… She does." He whispered.

---

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