Chapter 9- In the Midst of Bigotry and Hypocrisy
Stories were often told of how the treacherous, hell-wrought dragons would swoop down castles and seize innocent maidens, knights, nobles, and peasant. They stole them away from their beloved families to devour them. None new why such monsters preferred to hunt such people. They were small, light, not very filling to the stomach. It was soon rumored that dragons merely hunted them for sport rather than to satiate their hunger. It was in a dragon's nature to lust for blood, to kill.
But if that was the case... why was only one victim taken? Why not take a handful?
It is dangerously ignorant to make such assumptions with adamant belief.
There are stories amongst dragons as well. Tales, legends, and myths told from generation to generation. There was one tale in particular known to many, but more accurately, they were cases. Cases of dragons falling in love with other races; be it man, elf, or dwarf.
To find one's heart half was a seldom thing amongst the drakes.
To find heart's half, to select an Astari from a race of no dragon origin, that was even more so... But it is not impossible.
It was in the nature of a drake to be abrasive in their desires and intentions. Once upon a time when dragons roamed in the people, hidden in plain sight, some became enamored. Their chosen mate would then be whisked away, some with less subtly than others, but all were more than willing to spend their eternal days with their powerful beloveds.
Their numbers were scarce, but they were known to all. Not because they their union was one of romantic grandeur. But because they all ended in tragedy.
Love that transcended the boundaries of race were cursed to face adversities, from cultural differences to the unmatched lifespans, but dragons who found their heart's half were unwavering in their loyalty and their sacrifice. They went to great lengths for the happiness of their Astari, even sharing their immortality.
Such bonds had never been frowned upon... Until darkness fell.
Their foes were as cunning as they were cruel, never above to using the weakest links and the easiest victims to cut them down. And what better links to target than those who bore the heart of their dragon beloved, but not their might.
Those who's Astari's were of non-dragon origin were the first to be taken and slain in the shadows, and thus developed the bitter prejudice that non-draconian Astari were naught but burdens, weakening their beloved dragon counterpart. So it was an unspoken rule for dragons who still held pride to never consider outsiders of their blood as potential beloveds, to never fall in love with them. For a heart's bond towards a man, elf, or dwarf would surely be the dragon's bane.
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~O~O~O~O~O~
To say she was surprised by his presence was a complete understatement. She felt many things, a chaotic swirl of unpleasant emotions. It angered her that his sudden appearance riled her to an unsettling degree. She stalked down the halls with a rather darkened air about her, one would be blind to not notice it. The elves that spotted the aggravated dragon wisely stayed well out of her path.
Elysia did not expect Thranduil to send his one and only heir to the Council of Elrond. She assumed it would have been someone close, perhaps—and hopefully-Tauriel, but to send his precious heir? Granted this was an important meeting, but to have his son shed the responsibilities of the woodland realms so easily?
She could not wrap her mind around it, primarily because she did not want to.
Legolas's appearance unnerved her, and that was outrageous. Self-loathing broiled in her mind, wounding her pride. She hated how this sudden discovery affected her so. She resented how it was choking her heart with a dreadful sensation, RIGHT after she had relieved her tension with a brilliant spar against Glorfindel.
This will not do… She refused to tolerate the frightful sensation stirring from her soul.
Elysia wandered aimlessly through the halls, turning the opposite way from any presence her ears or nose caught, but she suddenly stopped in midstride when she caught a familiar scent and sight.
Her head swiveled to the far off bridge, partially hidden in the foliage. There, in the dim but lovely glow was an even lovelier sight.
Elysia was no romantic, but even she could not deny the enchanting beauty of the scene playing out before her. There, standing on the bridge, hidden in the shadows of leaves stood Lady Arwen with no one other than the raggedy ranger.
Aragorn held the fair elf maiden's hands tenderly in his own, tall enough to be bending his head down while the maiden looked up at him with the most loving of expressions. They were whispering to each other, but Elysia was too far to hear under the gurgle of the river, nor did she want to hear. She quickly averted her gaze and continued her walk. It was so tender, so delicate, so romantic that it was not something she felt she could even set eyes on. She respected the two people, and the matter between the dunedain and his love was no business of hers.
But she couldn't help be mildly impressed, for the raggedy ranger had wooed a lovely elf maiden of noble status. Arwen's beauty was something of great gossip in the immortal kingdoms. Many of her kin would certainly respect Aragorn for such achievement.
Then the awe soon took a dark turn when it occurred to her of the inevitable tragedy of such relationship.
Aragorn was a good man, and Elysia had the inkling he would make a fine king, but he was mortal. She new of the great sorrows that the brevity of mortal life can give to those who loved them… Seeing Bilbo become wrinkled with age while she remained unchanged had been a painful blow to her heart, and she loved the hobbit like a brother… And Frodo, her dear little one, she loved like her own child.
So she couldn't imagine the pain it would bring to watch a mortal lover wither before their heart's half… nor did she want to. Sacrifice came with love, no matter what form it was… Although she had no foresight in the outcome of their tragic love, she knew without a doubt it would require a heavy sacrifice.
Eventually, she ceased her aimless wandering after finding herself in a darkened hall. The air seemed dreary and archaic here, odd. Curiosity urged her to seek what made the air so strange, and soon it was satiated by the sight of what appeared to be a marble altar. Fragmented parts of a broken sword lied on the altar's velvet blanket.
The very metal of each shard permeated a powerful scent of magic.
To great warriors, weapons were not only tools, but they were companions. Some held powerful legacies, and through those legacies, they bore a certain spirit such as the one before her.
Narsil, it was the blade of the King, the sword that defeated Sauron and ended the dark times. She was no historian, but neither was she an ignorant fool. All dragons knew of this blade. Respect for the weapon's legacy prevented Elysia from touching it, although she was sorely tempted to. The sword's subtle finesse was something of much admiration even amongst the dragons, even Rhunon wouldn't deny the mastered craftsmanship on Narsil.
This hall was an exhibition of some sorts. Lord Elrond invested as much into the arts as he did into the legacy and lore of Middle Earth. She turned away from the blade and proceeded to peruse the hall's portraits, admiring the paintings. Each stroke and each color was detailed and done with great care.
Perhaps she should experiment with paint, she mused to herself. She never spared herself an opportunity to purchase a decent set of brushes and paints in the Shire and regretted not doing so. Her colorless sketches and carvings did little justice to truly portray the vivid splendor of the places she visited and the pictures she made.
Her admiration ceased altogether when her eyes fell upon a particular painting.
There was a figure, painted with an aura of light around his being from the rims of his shield to the hem of his armored tunic. He was cloaked with glory, drawn in a way that invoked awe and admiration. Before him was a darkened cloud bathed in sinister shades of black, grey, crimson, and amber, the colors of fire and cinder. Before him was a massive black dragon whose sheer wingspan seemed to conceal the sky and a good half of the canvas in darkness. The dragon's depiction was clear. It seemed to embody chaos and death. The hero's sword in the painting had just slashed through the dragon's mighty chest, bringing forth a splash of crimson that did not seem to stain the hero's blade or his noble figure.
It was to be a heroic portrayal, intended to depict victory against impossible odds. But Elysia could not tear her focus from the dragon's slashed torso, and the madness that colored its eyes with a hellish flame. Such stark contrast existed in the painting; of a demonic foe being defeated by a radiant, noble warrior…
It was the depiction of Ancalagon the Black's defeat against the hands of Earendil. The largest, most formidable malcontent dragon ever to exist…
Ancalagon's wrath had been the biggest, blackest stain on the dragonkind.
It numbed her in melancholy to see such cruel depiction, but she had no heart to find her anger. There was no lie in this painting. Ancalagon had been a great terror to Middle Earth, and the havoc he created scarred the land. Everything in this painting, of Ancalagon's evil and Earendil's heroism was true, and that was what grieved her. Where was the lie in this painting? There was none. They had every right to celebrate slaying Ancalagon, but regardless to see it before her in such glorified manner still unsettled her.
Her ear twitched, and for a moment, Elysia remained silent in her brooding thoughts... until finally she spoke.
"I suppose I cannot ask for solitude in these halls…" Her words held no malice, no sorrow… it gave nothing away.
It wasn't hard to figure out how the dragon knew of his presence. She had always been keen on such things.
As apathetic as she seemed, Elrond wasn't fooled by her shoulders sinking against the small of her back. He made his way to her side, following the dragon's hollow gaze to the painting.
Unsure of how to feel, he responded."… You have never tried, Lady Elysia…"
She said nothing, but Elrond was a patient elf. He may not be very well acquainted with the dragon, but in their moments together, he realized patience was essential in connecting with her… It was an effort that was long overdue.
"… When I am here…" Her voice was dull when she finally spoke. "In these halls… Every time I visit Imaldris… I cannot help but wonder…. If it's all a mistake."
Elrond glanced at her, arching an elegant brow in silent inquiry. The lady drake closed her eyes. Her thick lashes heavily shadowed her cheeks under the angled light of the dimming afternoon.
She heaved a long sigh and continued drearily. "We dragons… we have sinned against this world so terribly. We strike fear into the hearts of men… We are the monsters children dream and cry of. Can there be any redemption from that? Is there hope? Or is a cause lost in folly? My being here, my people trying to stand for this greater cause… I see this and I cannot help but wonder and doubt… that it is a mistake."
Elrond frowned at her despondent words. "By being here, you are healing the wounds of your forefathers." He argued gently.
"Some wounds degenerate us, maiming us forever. Even if they mend, they will not remain as they once were."
It was strange... This dragon, this lady was a paradox to Elrond. She spoke with a voice of experience, of age, and to some degree wisdom… but simultaneously, Elrond saw the uncertainty of a youth; a youth who had the misfortune of tasting a bitter, cruel world that molded them into seeing a cynical reality.
"It truly is dependent upon you, Lady Elysia… To see it in hope or to fear it as folly…" He did not sweeten his words. It would do nothing. "Do you see your current path as a mistake?" He asked.
She gave a slight scowl. "No… At least I hope not. I have made far too many mistakes."
"Then it shan't be." Elrond stated it as simply as one would say the sun was setting. "You learn from your mistakes, you step forward, you are a being in particular, Elysia, who sees a valley of desolate bones behind you." He gestured towards the painting. "and turns ahead with brows bent with resolve to seek better things."
His strange compliment stunned Elysia to silence. She struggled to maintain her composure and not stare at Elrond as though he grew a second head or a pair of horns. Lapsing into silence once more, they both gazed at the painting with new eyes and slowly changing hearts, each seeing more of the other.
"… It was wrong of me to place my resent on you for my wife's departure."
Now Elysia could not stop herself from whipping him an incredulous look. His apology was so abrupt. Was this dismal air pickling the lord Elf's brain?
She hesitated, unsure of how to respond, but when in doubt, honesty was the best path to take.
"Yes… Yes it was." She admitted, cringing inwardly at her own shrewdness. But the corner of Elrond's lips twitched upward as though he was fighting a smile.
"Yes, and no, it wasn't." Elysia quickly corrected herself. "… It…. I…" She heaved another sigh, berating her own inarticulateness.
"Celebrain had been quite fond of you."
Elysia looked pained. "… Once upon a time yes… But alas I…" She fell silent when the elf turned to her, his gaze seemed to penetrate the barriers of her mind.
"You did what you could, Lady Elysia. Your efforts should never have deserved such scorn." With those words fiercely spoken, Elrond departed, leaving the dragon in mute astonishment.
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Elysia swept through the corridor in haste to get to her room. The Council of Elrond was to begin soon, and she needed to prepare herself to become presentable in representative authority and elven in style as much as possible. She was the "advisor to Elrond" after all. Although she was not quite sure what or how she would advise.
She entered her quarters just as a maidservant placed a set of clothes neatly on the bed. The she-elf appeared momentarily startled by the dragon's sudden coming in.
Elysia placed Silvindr neatly against the corner with Faersing while the maidservant bowed.
"Lord Elrond requests you wear this to the Council, my lady."
Elysia peered curiously at the thick, embroidered material of white and royal blue. It reminded her of the robes worn by the nobility dwelling the elven halls. She found small pleasure in discovering the pair of trousers tailored to her fit. Nodding her thanks, she went to the bath where hot water was drawn and ready.
This time, she did not protest to the maidservant's adamant wish to aid her preparation. Perhaps she was going to need the elf's assistance in presenting herself in propriety with the rich garments.
The maiden made quick work with cleaning her hair of any dirt, grime, or sweat while she tended to her own body. Perhaps she was short on time because no sooner did she finish scrubbing when the servant promptly dumped water onto her head before starting her work in anointing floral oils into her hair, disentangling the black locks.
In the silence of splashing water, the maid began humming an elvish tune. The servant seemed to be a rather fussy maiden. She could only watch as the maiden began moving this way and that while she preened Elysia to pristine condition.
When the washing was done and the dragon dried, Elysia silently allowed the she-elf to dress her in the garments, even going as far in her strange fascination to allow the lady to do her hair.
"Tis foolish for this meeting to only be attended by men." The maiden commented out of thin air. "As the only maiden in attendance, you must be seen as one of utmost dignity. That is my duty."
Elysia could only smirk while the lady left no room for her own opinion to be heard as she continued to fuss and preen Elysia. The she-elf was growing more and more comfortable in speaking, not minding the dragon's cooperative silence.
"You have lovely hair, milady." She stated as she brushed the hair one last time with an ivory comb. By the elf maiden's work, Elysia's dark curls elegantly sprung as they were freed from the comb's teeth. "Such curls of wild splendor… A little too wild, but I suppose it would do good in intimidating the men."
Elysia did not know whether she should feel insulted or praised so she remained silent.
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Frodo straightened his jacket one last time before heading out of his quarters, anxious and unsure of what to expect during the Council. Spotting a figure coming towards his peripheral, he turned only to freeze.
His head jerked back in surprise at what appeared to be Elysia. She strides were long and purposeful, the skirt of her attire billowing behind her, rippling like a blue pond. Her dress—if it could be called that—was of rich royal blue tone like the deepest and cleanest waters in the Shire, bordered with white and leafy patterns of silver. The sleeves ended with long white wings that glided with her skirt, decorated with delicate silver patterns akin to the decorations displayed in the architecture of the House of Elrond. Black boots and finely tailored trousers were unveiled by the split in the center of her skirt, allowing her to walk freely without the need to lift up her skirt.
Underneath the outer gown, she wore a prim, high collared tunic to complete the essence of propriety in her garments.
Elly…. No… Elysia looked as though she held as much authority as Lord Elrond or Glorfindel.
It was a sharp, rather daunting reminder to Frodo that outside the Shire, Elly Walkins was more than just… Elly Walkins. He wasn't sure how he should feel by that. Proud? Bittersweet? Sad?
Elysia tilted her gaze towards her hobbit, curious as to why Frodo was staring at her with such shock, his blue eyes wide, unblinking, and oddly troubled.
"Little one?" She stopped in front of him. "Frodo? Are you alright?"
Frodo jerked at the sound of his name and shook his head. "Elly, you look… different."
Elysia raised an elegant brow. "Well it would be a little tactless of me to wear something commonplace to this confidential council… Although…" She scowled, fidgeting with the sleeves and collar. "I must say, it's suffocating. It's little wonder as to why Lord Elrond and his court appear rather stiff when they go about in their elvish ways."
At her dry remark, Frodo laughed. Whether she is dressed in rags or riches, Elly was still Elly in her spirit.
"Yes… You could come as a dragon?" He suggested teasingly.
"And have the men soil themselves? I think not, little one." She mused. "Now care to escort this lady to the meeting, Master Baggins?"
Frodo grinned and held out his elbow, causing Elysia to chuckle for he was a good foot and a half or so shorter. Not minding the absurdity in the image, Elysia managed to reach down and hook her hand on his arm before the two friends headed towards the designated court.
Cheerful as they went, when they arrived, their moods sobered. Frodo resembled a frightful hare, his eyes were flitting this way and that. Taking pity on her hobbit, Elysia nudged him to seat himself next to Gandalf with a gentle hand pushing his small back. She followed to seat herself next to Frodo for greater comfort, ignoring the questioning gazes drilling her form. It was only natural. In their patriarchal pride, the men did not expect a woman to be present in this meeting, She-elf or no, lest she be someone as regal as Galadriel.
She sat beside Frodo, settling him between her and the gray Istar. As the seats gradually began to fill, Frodo appeared to turn more anxious by the second.
Elysia fought the urge to wrap an arm around him, for they were in a council of males and Frodo must not look like some fragile babe, neither must she look like some coddled tender hearted maiden. The men of Gondor were already shifting their gazes from her face, lingering on the curves of her hips and chest to her great disdain. Some even had the audacity to stare with blatant scorn.
Unable to resist challenging their shallow judgement, Elysia straightened her back, crossed her legs, and intertwined her fingers to present the men with a haughty mask of apathy. Her gaze did not waver, nor did it speak of anger or upset… It was an eerily void stare. She went a step further, conjuring a dragon-spell through her gaze. It was a tactic used to unsettle the hearts of foes, to intimidate them and quell their defiant courage.
The men could not decipher the reason, but they felt the need to avert their eyes quickly; some even shuffled in their seat, feeling inexplicably cowed.
She quickly diffused the dragon-spell before Gandalf had a chance to chastise her, shifting her expression into one of boredom and stark indifference. She was determined to withhold roaming her eyes amongst the circle of men, for fear of seeing the one person she had least wanted to see.
There was one who did not avert his gaze, and it was not Aragorn. Bright blue eyes traced every inch of her face, but Elysia refused to rise to the staring challenge. In fact she refused to acknowledge him, and she was utmost determined to not appear discomforted by him as she was. So she opted to staring vacantly at the autumn leaves and the pillars, until something distracted her in the bush.
It did not take her a moment longer to recognize the curly heads hiding behind the vegetation, and Elysia fought the urge to sigh, exasperated. Hobbits were too curious for their own good. She briefly glanced to Gandalf. Spotting the small mirth in his eyes, there was no doubt he recognized the dropping eaves of certain three halflings.
Gimli peered at her curiously. So this was the woman who aided in the quest for Erebor? Balin had spoken highly of her, and said her aid was great in the Battle of the Five Armies as well as bringing forth the desolation of Smaug. While her figure hardly looked the part she played, her eyes told him enough. They were the eyes of a warrior. He didn't restrain the chuckle when her cool glare promptly quelled the indignant men. The woman had fire, impressive.
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He would gaze upon her face endlessly if that meant those silvered eyes would meet him. But alas it seemed as though she was oblivious to him… or pointedly trying to be. With much reluctance, Legolas casted his eyes away from the sole female in the council, determined not to linger on such thoughts.
Their relationship had been a complex one. She had entered his father's realm bringing with her a fiery chaos so raucous and sudden it became a popular song many of his people sung to this day.
But despite such… extravagant entrance, her nature was subtle and striking; a contradiction at its finest and fiercest.
Striking because the words that came from her tongue were undecorated, raw, and often sharp. She had a wit that had even his father's frozen composure thawing at the gall of her audacity; and subtle because she would steal her presence away as quick as she would present it; as Elladan said, she was indeed a feather in the wind, hard to grasp and difficult to keep while it remained afloat.
When she came, she had brought a storm that disrupted the fragile consistency of his immortal life, and of many others in Mirkwood, but when she left so suddenly... She severed something within him. It was something undefined, and something that wasn't of great lament. He could not explain it, but it left him with a yearning, craving more than what his kingdom could give him.
It had undeniably saddened him when she left, for she did not give him a chance to clarify the complexity entangling them together. She simply left... hardly with warning, without time to spare for a parting word. It had been more unfair than rude.
His pondering thoughts broke when Elrond began the meeting.
"Strangers from distant lands, friends of old, you have been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor." Elrond gathered their attention,"Middle Earth stands upon the brink of destruction. None can escape it. You will unite or you will fall."
Men, dwarves, and elves glanced at each other at the foreboding words. The lord elf continued.
"Each of you is bound to this fate, this one doom…" He turned to the hobbit, who looked as somber as any of the old males.
"Bring forth the Ring, Frodo."
The hobbit did, and as he slowly placed the golden band upon the flat surface of stone, whispers and hushed sounds of exclamation spread amongst the males. Elysia remained silent but her gaze hardened and her arms stiffened. There was a distinct, discomforting tug at her being when she saw the gleaming gold.
A man began to rise, lowering his hand from the bronze scruff of his chin. Boromir, a steward of Gondor, stared at the golden treasure with a gaze of awe and undeniable desire.
"In a dream… I saw the eastern sky go dark…" His words were soft and clear, but as he drew closer to the center, towards the Ring, a new voice began to murmur like a boiling froth of poison rising and rising around Elysia's ears. The whispers grew clearer, more distinct, more venomous than before. Promises of freedom, of power, of restoration…
It was so tempting right then, to spill the Gondorian's blood. She fought the urge to shatter the bones in the steward's arm, to grind them down to the last finger.
Boromir reached for the ring, but before he could even touch the polished gold, Gandalf rose from his seat.
Elrond glared at the man. "Boromir!" He warned, but Gandalf took it further.
"Ash nazg durbatulûk,"
The effect was instantaneous. Darkness began to veil the area, tremors began to quiver the very ground. Gandalf's voice rumbled and a guttural whisper in the shadows began to surge.
"ash nazg gimbatul,"
The elves looked pained, the dwarves held their axes in fright, and the men began to look left and right. The hobbit was confused, chilled by the darkness and Gandalf's voice growling and echoing in the sinister language. Frodo whipped his head to Elysia at the sound of a crack. Elysia was holding onto armrests, rigid and strained. The pressure of her hands was too great for the armrests. Veins began to bulge on her neck as she clenched her jaw and closed her eyes, looking even more agonized than the elves.
Every syllable of the dark tongue stabbed her with a foul, writhing sensation.
He wanted Gandalf to stop whatever he was saying. Couldn't the wizard see what it was doing to Elly?
"ash nazg thrakatulûk,"
Any dragon would be drawn to it, succumbed to the fine gold splendor, hoard its great power and worth, but it did more to her. It was mangling her spirit, gripping her in its relentless hands and twisting her. She could feel the pain from the Morgul wound all over again. It refreshed her memory of damned things.
/
"Elysia… Cease your tears."
"But our home… Our menoa… Brother-"
"We cannot go back… We must not look back… Elysia… Even when the currents are against you, you must not turn back. You must keep moving forward, no matter how harshly you fall, no matter how broken your spirit is, no matter how lost you are… Weep and mourn if you must, but do not drown yourself in your tears. They will do nothing."
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The Ring was reopening old wounds. As Gandalf spoke in the foul black tongue, the Ring seemed to raise its sinister voice, and with it, the memories that would shake the spirit of any dragon.
She wanted to clasp her ears and scream or roar, but her insides felt cold, and her muscles were frozen.
"agh burzum-ishi krimpatul."
The darkness dissipated and light was restored as soon as Gandalf finished his words. But Elysia hardly looked relieved. Elrond glared at the wizard.
"Never before has any voice uttered the words of that tongue here, in Imaldris." His voice was hard with anger.
Gandalf looked a little shaken himself for speaking the foul language, but he remained adamant.
"I do not ask your pardon, Master Elrond, for the Black Speech of Mordor may yet be heard in every corner of the west!" He focused his glare at Boromir. "The Ring is altogether evil!"
He turned but froze at the sight of his old apprentice. The dragon was still, eyes wide and unblinking. Remorse immediately swept over the Istar.
He knew of the detrimental trauma, was forced to witness a part of Elysia die as a child from the abyss of memories of that Place of Sorrow once called her home. But he did not think the Black Speech would have such severe magnitude of effect.
It meant the darkness of Mordor was growing… The Ring was growing stronger and more desperate to return to its master. Soon it would not be safe for Elysia to remain arm's length near the Ring.
Gandalf opened his mouth to speak to Elysia, but another voice rose through the Council.
"It is a gift! A gift to the foes of Mordor… Why not use this Ring?" Boromir began to rise and walk around the Council, unfazed by the wizard's foul speech.
This time the crack and crinkle of splintered would caught Elrond's attention. The master of Rivendell glanced at the source, only to frown at the arms of Elysia's seat beginning to break further under her strength. Anger carved her fair features. She looked ready to incinerate Boromir as he spoke of using the Ring, boasting of Gondor's great sacrifice and might.
Frodo noticed this and placed a hand on Elysia's white knuckles. When his touch caled the lady, there were others of the council who visibly began to look a little relieved. There was something menacing about that woman's aura.
Aragorn's words quelled Elysia to a look of indifference once. He argued against Boromir.
"You cannot wield it! None of us can… The One Ring answers to Sauron alone. It has no other master."
Boromir sneered. "And what would a ranger know of this matter."
Elysia was beginning to like this mortal less and less, adding to her disdain for the race in general. Why did Elrond even invite such petty creatures when he knew how weak they were? At least Aragorn was of Dunedain blood.
The prince of Mirkwood leapt to defend Aragorn's honor before Elysia could think to intervene on behalf of the ranger she grew to know as a friend.
"He is no mere ranger." He glared at Boromir's audacity. "He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn… You owe him your allegiance."
Boromir looked shocked, as did many in the council. He stared at Aragorn with disbelief. "This… Is Isildur's heir?"
"And heir to the throne of Gondor." Legolas pressed.
Aragorn appeared exasperated if not irritated by the publicized knowledge. He gazed at his elven friend, determined to ease the aggravated elf. "Havo dad, Legolas."
But at the revelation that he was in the presence of his people's lost King, Boromir's sneer turned even colder. This ranger was the heir to the throne his family had been caring for generations? Where had he been all this time when the kingdom cried out for their leader's return?And he was a ranger out of all else? Had he abandoned his birthright and his people so callously to walk the life of some vagabond warden of the north?
Boromir's heart for his people burned with a deep anger. The people of Gondor did not need such fickle man to become their symbol of hope. Gondor deserved better, it needed better.
"Gondor has no king…" Glaring at Aragorn with seething eyes, he sat. "Gondor needs no king."
Elysia snorted softly. Boromir only confirmed her opinion of men.
Gandalf ignored the steward's fuming rage . "Aragorn is right. We cannot use it."
There was a collection of sighs and murmurs through the group, disappointment in men, elves agreeing with the Istar, and dwarves grumbling amongst themselves.
"Then we have only one choice." Elysia sighed as she straightened her head, sounding weary and rather annoyed. "The Ring must be destroyed." It was the only option, and the verdict had to be made quickly.
But she wasn't surprised when at the sound of her voice, the males stiffened. It was the first time she spoke out since the Council had begun. Her voice was odd for an apparent she-elf, roughened with a smoky tinge.
Boromir scoffed scornfully at the woman. She had been doing well in keeping silent and only now she chose to speak? How inappropriate.
"And who are you to decide that? In fact, what is a woman doing in a council of men? Nonetheless voicing her opinion so-"
"Cease your prattling, bigoted steward." Elysia cut off impatiently, unwilling to deal with the traditional misogyny. "I have no need to hear of your insufferably ignorant opinion."
Her acerbic remark promptly brought a deep shade of red through the steward's face, but before he could retort to that remark, Gandalf the Gray smacked the butt of his staff to the ground, causing sparks to ignite at the impact.
"Boromir! Hold your tongue of any foul remark against my former apprentice! I will not tolerate such insult to my person!"
At the Istar's challenging gaze, Boromir ceased to argue, but now his seething gaze targeted Elysia. The dragon almost rolled her eyes at the juvenile nature of his behavior. The hubris of mortal men was so easy to wound. If it were any other time, she would've found enjoyment in prodding this volatile male.
"Lady Elysia is right, the Ring can only be destroyed." Elrond stated.
The council hushed in silence, until a dwarf stood up with an air of impatience. "What are we waiting for?" The red bearded dwarf growled, raising his acts and striding to the Ring. Elysia recognized the red beard and those eyes.
A wave of nostalgia washed over her, preventing her from intervening his foolishly rash choice. This dwarf is the son of Gloin.
The dwarf raised his axe and with a roar, smashed down upon the Ring. Upon impact, it shattered a predictable result. While the axe was now in pieces, Elysia was more concerned with the hobbit looking pained at her side.
Then Elrond began to explain the gravity of the situation, for the Ring could only be destroyed by the fires from which it was forged, deep in Mordor in the fiery hells of Mount Doom. Silence swept through the Council upon hearing this. They could do nothing with the Ring but destroy it, for if it survives then darkness will fall, but to destroy it was a near impossible task.
Boromir voiced this, peeling away the dwindling hope of the Free Alliance as he spoke of the level of fortitude in which Mordor is protected. There were legions upon legions of foul creatures behind the great black gates that opened to a land of desolation…. And then there was the Eye…
Elysia glanced to Gandalf and they both sighed. This meeting was looking less hopeful by the second. The races were beginning to voice blatant disdain for one another. One particular elf was more vocal in his irritation with Boromir's poisoning words of pessimism.
"Have you heard nothing of what Lord Elrond just said?" Legolas glared. "The Ring must be destroyed!"
"And I suppose you think you're the one to do it!" Gimli snapped, causing Legolas's blue gaze to morph into a contemptuous glare at the dwarf.
"And if we fail what then?" Boromir cried, rising from his seat. "What happens when Sauron takes back what is his?!"
Gimli stood up, and despite his shorter height, he growled with anger as big as the taller males. "I will be dead before I see the Ring in the hands of an elf!" He spat.
Now Elysia sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose as the sparks ignited into flame. The males all rose. Shouts, insults, feeble words of calm, hisses, and spats were tossed back and forth in a storm of noise. Even her old master began to rise and join the hapless verbal brawl, discarding his staff to his chair in a fit of frustration or wisdom—for he could be sorely tempted to whack these men with it, and the mere sound of that possibility was undesirable.
"If this is what stands against Sauron…" Elysia muttered as she and Frodo sat while the others hissed and spat. "We are all doomed."
Her people would never concede to an alliance if this was the state of the Free People's cooperation amongst their own. What hope did she have of convincing them to put their trust in these quarrelsome people? And witnessing their petty spat, Elysia hardly felt convinced herself to hope for such things. This situation was turning dimmer and far too complex for her liking.
Frodo stared at the Ring as the alliance began to fight amongst themselves. Its black speech was returning, reverberating in his mind. He swore it sounded smug as he gazed the fighting council in its golden reflection. Upon its reflection, he focused on Elysia who sat, looking pained and almost defeated.
It made his heart clench more, and he could bear it no further.
The hobbit stood up, causing Elysia to jerk in mild surprise. Was Frodo going to join the quarrel? Surely he could see the futility of it all.
But what came out of his mouth nearly shocked the dragon off her chair.
"I will take it!"
The little one never looked as small as he did then in that crowd of men, elves, dwarves, and a wizard. He appeared so cowed, yet strength resounded in him.
Elysia felt a great swell of pride.
"I will take it!" He repeated.
But when he repeated those words, the pride vanished under horror as Elysia realized the magnitude of Frodo's declaration. Quick but gentle, she leaned forward and snatched Frodo's wrist, yanking him to her.
Frodo almost yelped as he was grabbed, yanked back, and promptly whipped around to stare at an oncoming storm. There was no fondness in her eyes, no trace of that gentle affection. She glared at him, unyielding, burning her gaze into his soul.
"Frodo Baggins… Care to repeat that to me?" Her voice was low and dangerous.
The hobbit nearly cowed under the intensity of her gaze. She did not look angry, but there was a foreboding aura pouring from her. However, he mustered the courage and stared at her with equal determination.
"I… I will take it."
Eyes boring into his, the dragon seemed to be peering into the hobbit's soul. She wanted to scold him, to cuff him on his head to silence his blasphemous courage, but upon seeing the resolve, Elysia's will diminished.
She had seen that fire before… That same flare of courage and adamancy within the innocence and doubt of Frodo Baggins mirrored his beloved uncle in the hardest of times. Bilbo had truly surprised her with great acts of courage, with the same resolution she saw in Frodo.
It was a foolhardy declaration, brave but extremely foolhardy… yet… Why did it stir such hope in her? If she had to trust the authority of her kin onto one being uncorrupted by the shadow, it would be this little hobbit.
It pained her though. She could only imagine the burden Frodo would be forced to bear… But it was Frodo's choice, his own will, and she would not cage his will.
The grip on Frodo's arms eased. A look of finality swept over Elysia as she raised herself to stand tall before him.
"Very well…" She did not look at him, but over him, at the crowd of men, elves, dwarves, and a wizard still shouting at each other, quarreling amongst themselves.
"Hand me the staff, little one."
Frodo frowned but obeyed, not questioning or arguing Elysia when she bore that stormy look. He handed her the staff. Elysia glanced down at him.
"Face forward, Frodo Baggins… Face your peers of the Council and do it in courage."
Frodo did. Elysia moved a little to the side, distancing herself from the hobbit. She grasped the wizard staff firmly in both hands, and raised it above her, just as Gandalf turned to see the dragon wielding his tool.
Elysia slammed the end of the staff on the floor, channeling a pulse of her own magic while doing so.
A thunderous blast exploded at the impact of the staff's rear on the stone. It pounded against the ears, shook their bodies, and a gust of wind swept through them like a shockwave.
The entire council fell silent, staring at the staff wielding woman. Her glare was like a storm brewing with a looming threat, demanding their attention.
"Now that you've all held your pitiable quarrels within your flaccid tongues, let Frodo Baggins speak." Her voice was deathly calm, daring anyone to speak out of turn or refute her demand.
All eyes went to Frodo, who swallowed hard, glancing at Elysia nervously before staring at the crowd. Fist clenched, he spoke.
"I will take it… I will take the Ring to Mordor."
They all stared at the adamant hobbit, many puzzled, some incredulous, others simply blank in their surprise.
"Though… I do not know the way." Elysia almost chuckled at Frodo's small self-revelation. To worry about how to get there rather than the peril of getting there, Frodo's priorities were skewed. .
A twinkle returned into Gandalf's eyes. He stepped forward.
"I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins." He placed a hand on the hobbit's shoulder and stood behind him. "For as long as it is yours to bear."
The wizard glanced at Elysia and with a small grumpy pout, snatched his staff. Elysia had the decency to appear a little apologetic at her old master, smirking a bit sheepishly. Exchanging silent words through their eyes, Gandalf simply grunted and stood behind Frodo a little straighter.
Aragorn stood, gazing at the hobbit with great respect.
"If by my life or death, I can protect you I will…" Strider strode up to Frodo and knelt before him. "You have my sword."
Elysia almost smiled at the sudden oath, but what surprised her more was the third voice. Rich and musical, the Prince of Mirkwood also vowed.
"And you have my bow." He walked to stand behind the hobbit.
Her almost smile faded. She wanted nothing more than to send the prince off on his merry way back to his father.
"And my axe!" Gimli, son of Gloin growled, interrupting her spiraling thoughts, much to Elysia's nostalgic fascination and the Woodland Prince's mild disdain.
Until Boromir slowly walked forward, sobering Elysia once more into aggravated dread. She restrained her urge to glare while he gazed at the Halfling with deep thought.
"You carry the fate of us all, little one."
Her fingers twitched imperceptibly, but her face remained impassive. How dare that bigoted steward call Frodo by her affectionate name for him? The audacity of this steward was like an itch to her scales.
"If this is indeed the will of the Council," Boromir continued, "then Gondor will see it done."
While she was nowhere near fond of Boromir, she admired his loyalty to his people. He was passably honorable in intentions… but still a bigoted steward… And as for Gondor... What authority did the mortal realm of Gondor have in seeing such tasks done? She wanted to sneer, but she became distracted.
"Hey!" They all turned to see a hefty hobbit run through and stand next to Frodo, looking determined to stay.
"Mr. Frodo isn't going anywhere without me!" Samwise Gamgee declared fiercely.
Elrond sighed exasperated. "Not indeed. It is impossible to separate you two, even when he is summoned to a secret council and you are not." The elf couldn't hold back his smile of amusement, neither could the dragon.
"Oi!" Merriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took sprouted from their hiding spots behind the pillar. "We're coming too!" Merry declared.
Elrond's eyes widened, startled by the hobbits' stealth, but Elysia's face twisted into disbelief. She cast an incredulous glance at Gandalf. Would he really allow these hobbits to accompany them on the quest? One hobbit was troublesome enough. But four?
Alas, her master seemed determined to ignore her.
"You'll have to send us home tied up in a stack to stop us!" Merry claimed as he stood next to Frodo, whose smile slowly grew and grew. Pippin nodded in agreement.
Don't tempt me, Merriadoc. Elysia could only blissfully imagine gagging the two hobbits and sending them off back to the Shire in potato sacks.
"Anyway, you need people of intelligence on this mission… quest… thing…" Pippin said.
Elysia stepped out from her position, glaring at the Took. "Well that rules you out, fool of a Took." She retorted haughtily.
She then smiled. Her smile was for Frodo and no one else as she focused her gaze upon the beloved Halfling, unable to conceal her pride at his sweet courage.
"Fricai…. Are you certain you are willing to face this peril?" Her foreign tongue brought much attention through the council, for they have never heard of such speech and the sound of it brought a strange shiver down their spine. Perhaps it was her voice that made the words emanate a distinct strength.
Frodo learned enough of the dragon speech to understand and respond in likeness.
"… Yes…"
The dragon then placed her hand on her heart and bowed.
"Upon my word as a dragon and friend, I shall aid you." Only Frodo, her, and Gandalf out of the Council understood the magnitude of what Elysia just promised. It was an oath only broken by death, bound by the ancient magic of her people.
While the others did not comprehend the foreign tongue, they understood the gesture alone. Boromir's lips curled down whether by disapproval or confusion, Elysia did not know nor did she care. The ecstatic smiles of her four hobbits were enough to give her satisfaction.
Meanwhile, Elrond could only ponder at the sight. "Ten companions…" A wizard, an elvish prince, a dwarf, a ranger, a steward, four hobbits, and a dragon…..
The mere thought was very odd to the old elf lord. "Very well…." He stated. "You shall be the fellowship of the Ring."
Upon his announcement, Pippin grinned. This was exciting! They even had a title for their company! "Right!... Where are we going?"
There was a loaded pause. Then Elysia turned to glare at the wizard, raising her brow with an unspoken quesiton. Truly was he going to allow this hobbit to take part in their quest?
She was ignored as suspected.
/
/
~O~O~O~O~O~
"You will look after him, won't you?" Bilbo sniffled and blew into a handkerchief. They sat together on a bench, perched high above Imaldris, gazing over the wonders of the elven citadel.
"Bilbo…" She sounded older than she appeared, and Bilbo felt young once again. Her finger gently held his face and guided the old hobbit to return her sweet grey gaze.
"My dear, brave hobbit…. I will do what I can for your nephew... But the stars are telling me that Frodo shall face many perils… Perils that he must face without my aid… The Ring is his burden to bear and his alone." Elysia refused to lie to Bilbo, even if it would give him comfort.
For that, the old hobbit was grateful but also pained.
"If only I had told Gandalf…" He lamented. "If only… I wasn't so blinded by my foolishness…"
"Bilbo Baggins." Elysia stated, disallowing him to finish in his pitiful wallowing. "We dragons have discovered long ago that everything…. Everything happens for a reason… It was fate that you found it in the caves, and it was fate that Frodo was to become its bearer and through it, form a fellowship…. It was fate that brought me to the Shire that day…"
And it was fate that broke her into two halves, and fate that was now placing the course for the halves to become whole. She was foolish to think she could escape it when she departed from Mirkwood.
No… that was my own foolishness and pure chance. Her doubts made her feel like a hypocrite, but she'd rather be a hypocrite than face that daunting possibility.
It was Bilbo that needed comforting, not her. She returned her attention to her dearest friend. "So do not wallow in guilt… You are doing a great dishonor on your nephew by doing so." She stated firmly. "Instead, you must have hope. You have to believe in Frodo and his strength…. I believe in him, and that is why I swore an oath to him."
She then burst into a light laughter. "By the storms, what would my kinsmen say? I have just placed the hopes and the strengths of my people in the fate of a hobbit and his perilous quest. How time flies…" She never thought her pride would cave to something like this.
"It seems like only yesterday when you and I met." Bilbo reminisced, sad but also warmed by Elysia. He gave her a wrinkly smile. "If the folks thought you were unapproachable then, they should've seen you when we first met. I had dared to think Thorin to be impossible… Then I encountered you." His weak chuckle grew stronger, and soon it turned into great peals of laughter.
"To see the look on Thorin's face when you tore his thick-headed arrogance so swiftly! HA!"
"Ah yes… Old Oakenshield." She chuckled with Bilbo. "The King Under the Mountain was no match for the Dragon of the Storm."
"Never have I seen that dwarf and his poise break with such blithering fright."
Elysia grinned deviously as her shoulders trembled with contained laughter. "Well, at the least, we managed to discover that dwarves were not meant for the sky."
She snickered while Bilbo howled with croaking laughter. After their pleasant source of amusement, he dabbled away his tears, and they sobered into a more neutral mood. The two friends lapsed into a thoughtful silence. All this nostalgia brought back so many memories of lighter days.
"He regretted it you know…" He murmured suddenly as they stared at the falling leaves.
Elysia hesitated. "… I know…"
Bilbo spared her a side glance. "Did you also know… He was enamored with you."
She gave a shrewd snort at this. "I'm sure his infatuation fell away quickly when he saw how I truly appeared."
"Even then, he found you beautiful." Bilbo sounded so sure that Elysia glanced oddly at the old hobbit. There was no jest in his wrinkled eyes. No smile. He appeared as sober as the hour they discovered Thorin breathing his last breath.
"….Did he now?" She asked in lax amusement, attempting to hide the twist of pain.
Bilbo nodded and bit his lip, uncertain. "I did not want to give you any more sorrow. Forgive me."
"What did he say?" She was not angry, but she would not deny the sadness aching at her heart.
"'He muttered something about sapphires… then said as clear as a bell,
'a beauty I have been blessed to see in close company, in such purest forms… I would not trade a second of time with her for all the jewels in this world… If only I had more of it… If only...'
It took me sometime to comprehend what he said, but when I did…" Bilbo didn't finish, but he didn't have to.
Elysia did not move. She stared at her front with glazed eyes. Her mouth parted and she wondered softly, unable to digest this new piece of information.
"I wonder why…" Her throat felt tight. "… I wonder why he never…" She did not finish the sentence.
Bilbo glanced at her, wiping a stray tear. "Perhaps." He croaked. "He was too ashamed… Perhaps that blasted pride of his got in the way again." He let out a watery chuckle.
"Probably." Elysia laughed halfheartedly. "You and your stupid pride, Thorin Oakenshield."
She did not cry, but her eyes were bright and glassy. Dragons do not shed tears so easily. But she could not deny that her heart clenched painfully, for as rigid as their relationship had been, it had been a diamond in the rough. Their friendship had its perils. Pride from the broken earth that clashed against the great self-import of a lonesome sky, but nevertheless it had been a friendship that Elysia treasured as she had with all the others of his company.
And to think…. That once upon a time, the King under the Lonely Mountain, in a quest to slay a dragon, befriended one, and supposedly fell in love with one. That particular unexpected journey was one Elysia would always remember.
The ending of that journey had been bittersweet for all, particularly for her it had been the bitterest, but in time, she had come to cherish the journey's course, as unhappy as its outcome seemed to have been.
Please read and review! The more reviews, the sooner I'll do my best to post.
-Mana