Chapter 11- A Memoir of Ice and Fire
Once upon an ancient time, deep in the lands of the east, there dwelled a mighty dragon. He reigned over the inland Sea of Helcar and the Mountains of the East, nesting near the Lamp of the Valar. His scales shone like pure starlight, and such radiance was only paralleled by the nobility of his heart.
He was called Eragon, the Heaven's dragon. He guarded the lands he claimed as his home, blessing the Sea of Helcar with his ancient magic. When the first elves began to awaken, he watched over them as well, unabashed, unoffended, not minding them inhabiting his realm.
Eragon watched them from afar, watched them flourish in culture and craft. He listened to their songs, and a longing began to grow in his heart. For as strong and great as he was, he was also in a life of solitude.
While the radiance of his hide never faded, his heart's spirit did as it began to drown in the lonely despair.
Until he saw her.
She was of the Vanya, the first and the fairest of the elven folk. A songstress of such purity in every way and form, with a single song, she enraptured the noble dragon. Her voice could bring light into any darkness and spin passion within the dullest of hearts.
She was called Erulin by her Vanyarin kin. To him, she was the songstress of his heart, his Astari.
The great dragon felt his spirit stir, and a newfound strength stoked the fire within him. He watched her from afar, but even with such distance, his love grew greater and his heart sang stronger to her. How he longed to approach her. How he longed to join her melody with his own and weave a heart's song with her.
But Eragon despite all of his might, feared her scorn. He feared his affections would be spurned by her sight of him, how un-elven he appeared. He knew naught of what elves might do upon seeing his being, for as radiant as he appeared, he was powerful and fierce. The last thing he wished to do was strike fear into his beloved Vanyarin elf's heart. The sight of her terror at him would surely cause him to claw away at his starlit scales. So he remained hidden from sight, barely content to watch his Astari grow more beautiful with each moon.
Then the darkness began to grow, and he found his Songstress cornered in peril by Melkor's werewolves. Upon seeing her in harm's way, the dragon did not hesitate to come to her aid, blinding the werewolves with his light before setting them ablaze. In his fervor, he exposed himself to her judgement and waited for her scorn but it never came. Erulin gazed upon the starlit dragon with marvel and asked him of his desires in hopes to repay his valor.
Eragon only asked her for a song.
And so she sang, and it was said that her song was so beautiful, the stars began to fall from the sky to pay tribute to her melody, and the dragon… He fulfilled his own wish to sing with her, and their song melded their hearts together.
Erulin fell in love with the dragon in all of his being, and their hearts' song was so powerful, it changed him. In a dazzling light of departing scales, the dragon came forth in the form of a man.
She swore then, to sing to him and for him only.
And Eragon, in return, bestowed Erulin something no dragon before him ever dared to bequeath to a non-dragon being.
From his heart, he brought forth a sphere of silvered light and placed it in his beloved Songstress's hands with a promise.
"Your song is mine as my heart of hearts is now yours."
She cherished the dragon stone with all her being and the two lovers shared their years together with undying passion.
Until the darkness swung its final blow…. Melkor sought the collapse of the northern Lamp of Valar to spite his brothers and father. Eragon, in his attempts to defend his realm and his beloved, took one last stand against the fallen Maia, only to be struck down into the waters with a mortal wound. His beloved songstress and mate rushed into the water and wept as she sang for her dragon to rise. Erulin's tears and song began to empower the ancient magic of the dragon already woven into the Sea of Helcar and in the dragon stone she bore.
The power of her song drew her lover out of the water's depths and into her arms, healing him of his mortal wound.
But alas, the northern Lamp of the Valar were torn down and in its destruction, the eastern lands were facing a catastrophe. As the world around them began to fall and burn, the dragon and the Songstress poured every ounce of their strength into their last heart's song.
The holy waters of the Helcar's inland sea vanished, and in their dying breath, in the arms of the other, Eragon swore that should Eru Illuvitar grant them a second chance, his spirit would find Erulin once more, and without second thought, would offer her his heart again. And Erulin promised Eragon, that should they begin again, it would bear greater fruition than their current bond.
Such was the tragedy of the first lovers of dragon and non-dragon kind… and it would not be the last. Generations upon generations of such pairing ended in anguish. It was soon believed that such union was cursed with the tragic fate of their predecessor, Erulin and Eragon. Lest the songstress and her dragon roam once more in the realm of Arda, lest they find one another once more and live their mated life taken so early from them, no other union before them would bear lasting fruit.
/
/
~O~O~O~O~O~
Elysia was a dragon, she did not feel cold and heat as mortals did. She could soar through a blizzard in the high north peaks and merely feel refreshed; walk through the desert of Harad and happily absorb the searing heat of the sun.
So while she did not have that feather light touch in the snow as the Prince of Mirkwood did, she fared far better than the others.
She was near the front, aiding Gandalf by making a more comfortable path with her kicks and resilient heat. Snow melted fast to her touch, and she did not mind carrying the load of freshly skinned furs and supplies. But despite her helping, the others of their travelling group still struggled under the bitterly cold conditions.
The sound of Frodo grunting as he fell made her stop and turn.
The ringbearer toppled and rolled through the uneven snow. Aragorn quickly helped Frodo up, only for Frodo to panic at the missing weight on his neck. The Ring had slipped from him.
Elysia immediately zeroed in on the gleaming gold band, but it was the steward who picked it up. Dangling it by the chain, Boromir stared at the little thing in wonder. The fellowship tensed. There was something daunting about the man's attraction to the golden band.
While Elysia could not see his face, she could sense the hunger. The steward was allured. The Ring whispered sweet things to the man. She narrowed her eyes, ready to intervene when Boromir did not heed Aragorn's first call.
She had sent word to the Eldest, and in return, a snow owl had come to her when they entered Caradhras. It only held a vague reply.
"Take caution in the eyes of the mortal men, and do not trust the dead-eaters."
Dead-eaters, vultures and crows, they had betrayed the dragons and served as spies now for the enemies. But the Eldest gave no word as to the aid the dragons could bring, if they ever would. It made Elysia all the more troubled, and thus she found little room in herself to tolerate the steward's fickle behavior with the Ring.
"Boromir!" Aragorn snapped, breaking Elysia from her troubled thoughts. "Give the Ring to Frodo."
Boromir finally returned to his senses, still a little dazed. Elysia released a breath she hadn't realized she held when the steward returned the Ring to its bearer. But she could not stop the growl that escaped her throat when he ruffled the hobbit's head.
"At ease, my dear dragon." Gandalf patted her shoulder, and they returned to the trek.
The trek was becoming perilous. Elysia finally relinquished her role in path-making, a task Gandalf now did, and served her uses elsewhere. She held Pippin and Merry close to her, not minding them burying their faces in the crooks of her neck, desperately grateful for her unnatural warmth.
Boromir held Sam behind her while Aragorn held Frodo. She would have sought to hold her little one herself, but she could not bear being so near the Ring. So if she were to entrust anyone at this time, it would be Aragorn, to see to Frodo's wellbeing.
Gimli, though small in stature, tore through the snow with the vigor in all dwarves. The cold merely dampened his mood, but gave him little trouble. Besides, it was highly doubted that the dwarf would accept any sort of assistance.
"I-I'm hungry." Pippin mumbled into her neck.
Elysia did not respond with a jab, but held the feeble hobbit closer. The hides she gathered from her recent kills had served their purpose greatly. The others of the fellowship aside from the elf and the dragon were using the skins as shawls against the cold.
"Hush, little bird. Do not let the wind chap your lips." She soothed in a rare show of comfort. Pippin obeyed and closed his eyes, snuggling further towards her.
A strange echo passed in the icy winds.
"There is a fell voice in the air!" Legolas warned.
Anxiety sent shivers down her spine. The voice echoed with malice and magic.
"It's SARUMAN!" Gandalf cried, but his warning was too late.
A rumble trembled the mountain and perilous chunks of rock began to fall from above. Elysia quickly shoved herself and her two hobbits against the cliff, dodging the hazardous rubble.
"He's trying to bring down the mountain!" She snarled. Hatred for the white wizard burned in her gut. The magician had no honor.
"Gandalf!" Aragorn warned. "We must turn back!" Frodo looked miserable and frightened in his grasp.
"No!" Gandalf glared at the skies and began to rise. If they turned back now, they would be forced to take the Gondorian road or worse, head to Moria. He turned to his dragon.
She knew what to do without him needing to call for her aid. Gently, she released her hold on Merry and Pippin and they huddled amongst themselves while she rushed to Gandalf. The dragon reached and grabbed the end of Gandalf's staff.
"Control, Elysia!" Gandalf warned. Elysia understood and closed her eyes. The gnarled tip of Gandalf's staff began to conjure a blue swirl of magic, and Gandalf began to call out to the dark clouds, aided by the storm drake, in an attempt to calm their rage.
"Gandalf!" Elysia's voice was strained. Saruman's dark magic was growing strong with the currents of the storm; the wind would not hear her no matter how hard she tried. She could feel him pouring all his malice and energy into bringing the mountain down.
It was remarkable. The wizard should not have this much power. White or no, the wizard should not be holding this much authority over the skies at such distance. He was being assisted, fueled by his master through the connection made by the Palantir.
"Gandalf! It's too lat-" Saruman's spell was already finished before Gandalf could conjure a counter. Lightning crackled above, and a bright bolt tackled the peak of the cliff. The fellowship stared up in horror.
Elysia had to act quickly. She grabbed Gandalf by his cloak and yanked him down to her arms. Shoving him against the men, dwarf, and hobbits, she snatched up Merry and Pippin against her and shut her eyes.
They heard the rip of fabric amongst the howls and grumbles of the mountain. Legolas felt something thin but strong envelope his body and promptly yank him to the huddle.
The males were all embraced and shaded by something warm and blue, but before they could see what it was, they were forced into darkness. Ice, snow, and rock crashed down upon them, pounding against the odd warm blue barrier. Snow still found them through a few leaks in the shade, but for the most part they were protected.
Pippin jerked up his head at the sound of a small soft grunt of strain. Elysia's body was as rigid as rock as she hunched over them. She wore a pained grimace.
"Elly!" Frodo muffled out a cry.
Aragorn felt the thin but stout blue membrane and the skeletal frame covering them like a taut tent. It dawned on him then. They were wings, her wings. Elysia had used her body to shield them.
Pippin grew frantic and tried to wrap his arms around Elysia, but his hand was stopped by something protruding from her back.
"Elly…" He gasped.
Legolas was stuck to Elysia's side, for her warm appendage was wrapped around him like an arm holding him against her. He gently separated himself from the appendage and began to clear the snow around her.
Elysia gritted her teeth and inhaled sharply as she pushed herself to stand straighter. Her knees wobbled from the sheer weight of the load pressing against her back. But the stubborn dragon gave a snarl and straightened herself. Snow, rock, and ice began to fall as the layers began to rise and out came a pair of massive leathery blue wings. The fellowship shook and brushed off the remaining snow that leaked through her coverage.
As soon as they were clear from being buried alive, Elysia began to massage her shoulders.
"Elysia…"
"I'm fine." She spat, but her wings shuddered, and they were unconvinced. From her shoulder blades down to her lower back, the wings were attached by bone, scales, and leathery skin. Two parallel sections of her clothes were torn as she forced her wings to tear through, not having time or patience to use a spell.
Legolas gently brushed off snow and rock from her right wing while Aragorn and Boromir tended to the right.
"Is anything broken?" asked Aragorn, anxiously as he helped Elysia furl the right wing to her body.
Elysia shook her head. "It is fine… It will just be sore for a few hours." Her wings felt bruised and she was certain the joints will ache. With a small groan, she began to force the wings into her back. They began to shrink, slowly with a little shudders, turning pale as they melded back into the skin. She grimaced as she straightened her back, hearing it crack in several places.
Meanwhile, the men were in yet another quarrel. Boromir began yelling to Gandalf, voice struggling against the storm, attempting to convince him to go through the gap of Rohan, against Aragorn's judgment. Gimli urged for the Mines of Moria.
Their options were limited, and time was short. Both roads sounded equally perilous to the dragon. Passing through the gap of Rohan took them too close to the white wizard and to the Gondorian lands. After seeing the hungry eyes of the Gondorian men who attended the council, she would not entrust the Ring to such territory. And Moria was full of secrets, secrets she dared not find answers to, and the thought of spending days within the dark caves was cringe worthy.
But the choice was not hers.
"Let the Ring bearer decide." Gandalf silenced them. The fellowship focused their attention on Frodo, who looked nervous.
"…. We will go through the mines." His eyes belied his voice's certainty.
Elysia bit her lip and felt dread rise within her. She wanted to change Frodo's mind, but there was little choice. What other option did they have?
So she swallowed her doubts and raised her head towards the sky to observe the storm.
What she sensed did not please her.
"Gandalf! We must find shelter! A blizzard is coming and it will soon be too hard to see!" There was a white out brewing, the temperatures were plummeting further.
"Can you not guide us?" Gandalf asked.
Elysia shook her head. "The hobbits will freeze to death at this rate. We should make for shelter in the eastern ravines of the pass."
"Elysia, you mean to take us to-"
"Yes…" Elysia cut the wizard off. "It is the safest place."
Gandalf stared at the dragon. "… Are you certain?" Was she certain she wanted to go there?"
"Ebrithil." Elysia stated gently. "We must go."
/
/
/
They waded through the snow, confused as the dragon and the wizard led them through a new route down the slopes of the mountain. There was a solemn air around the two, particularly the dragon. No one dared to break the silence. Even the hobbits did not utter a single word as they traversed through the icy terrain.
They soon entered a ravine concealed from the snowy paths. Squeezing through the ravine, they spotted a small gap in the ice and rock one would've easily missed if they didn't cast a second glance Gandalf raised his staff and smacked at the gap. The ice fell and crumbled, revealing a bigger gap of glazed, old ice.
The moment they stepped in, they were greeted with a cavernous domain that tunneled downward towards darker depths. They figured a small Oliphant would be able to fit in the mouth.
The walls were smooth but lumped with strange imperfections. Boromir touched the ice walls and frowned. "This ice was melted…" He commented at the frozen drips patterning the cavern's wall.
"Yes… We are in an ancient glacier." Elysia's voice was uncharacteristically soft and empty. They walked deeper into the ice cave's throat. Light refracted from the entrance, giving a frosty dim blue glow to their path down to the darker pits where the throat of the cave seemed to have swallowed all the darkness.
A shadow seemed to loom over the dragon as she walked further ahead, giving her a haunting edge. It grew darker the deeper they went. The tunnel seemed endless until finally, the dragon stopped. By now, it felt as though they were in the heart of the icy mountains.
They were barely able to make out the large ice den until Gandalf placed a crystal on his staff and blew it as if he were fanning embers. It began to glow, and Pippin and Merry released a yelp of surprise that echoed through the cave.
It dawned on them with the light, as to why the cave's room appeared odd in the dimness. For in the room, there rested a massive frozen dragon. Half of its body was melded in the perpetual ice of the wall, while the other half lay stiff, frozen, curled around the edge of the round room. Its dark emerald scales glittered with crystalline frost layering the jeweled surface.
The dragon was dead; it had been dead for a long time. There was a patch of dark staining its side where the blood had oozed before the cold froze it to a blackened, crimson ice. Its mouth was parted softly, as though it still was letting out its final breath, revealing dagger sharp teeth covered with ice.
It resembled Elysia's own form in many ways, but the head and the build was much stockier, and the antlers on the dragon's head were more grown, more developed, with its prongs protruding sharper like fine, lacquered branches of a white tree. Smaller horns traced its jawline that Elysia distinctly did not possess. They were broken, cracked, and rough, telling of a rough history. A wing was partially frozen on the roof, its corner adorned with a large icicle.
If the dragon was not odd enough, what laid in the center finished it all. There was a pile of pebbles and rocks lying in the middle. It was matted down like a nest of some sort, with shards of blue crystal scattered in its inner boundaries. The dragon, they now realized, appeared to have been hovering over it protectively.
"What is this place?" Boromir whispered. He asked the question the majority wondered.
Neither the dragon nor the wizard gave him an answer. Instead, the dragon slowly walked towards the center, stopping when her feet touched the rocky nest. They could not see her face, but none could deny the sorrow lining her slumped shoulders and narrow back.
"Sorrow slept here…." Legolas's said softly as he neared the lifeless green drake, palm open as though he wished to caress it but was hesitant, reluctant to disturb its eternal sleep.
There was a weighted silence. Despite being protected by the bitter air and sharp winds of the mountains, the fellowship felt a certain cold here that reached them deeper, gripping their hearts.
"Yes…" Her rough voice broke the silence. "Yes sorrow indeed did… She slept here for over a thousand years in fact."
It was a voice echoed with a tenor that made their hearts ache. Frodo was confused as the rest, for this was a part of Elysia that she had never enlightened him with.
"Until the day the Gray Pilgrim came…." She finished.
They looked to the Istar. He wore a face of nostalgia, eyes distant as they focused on the young dragon.
Elysia knelt down and with gentle fingers, plucked a blue shard from the odd nest.
"This, steward of Gondor, will be our shelter." She finally answered Boromir's inquiry. The man almost sighed. That was not what he was asking, and she knew it. But her tone held finality.
/
/
The horse was content to stay in the hall of the ice tunnel, away from the dragon. The air was heavy with unspoken questions and sorrowful thoughts. The fellowship began to set up for camp in deathly silence. Packs rustled, pots, swords, and a shield clattered. The hobbits shivered and huddled with each other, gathering the furs and their cloaks closer to themselves to keep what warmth remained with them.
They were all cold. There was no wood to make a fire, much to their dismay. They all kept a distance from the frozen dragon, for it felt wrong and dishonorable, like sitting on a grave.
Elysia stared at the dragon head, still as a statue, deep in thought. They would have feared she was frozen if she had been covered in ice. Her stillness was eerie.
But one had the courage to near her, for he, like the others, could not deny the sorrow in the stoic dragon. He managed to see her eyes; anguish and longing filled them like a gray sky on a dull cloudy day.
"…. This drake was your friend." Legolas said, eyes gentle as they gazed down at the smaller figure. He was content to have her silent; merely attempting to ease her anguish with his presence, for her sadness was great. It pained the compassionate heart within him.
The dragon seemed so in tune to her thoughts, it had distracted her from continuing her task in avoiding the elf prince. However, he would prefer her dry avoidance rather than this melancholy.
He didn't mind her silence, but to his surprise, she answered him.
"… Not just a friend…. He was my brother. Born from a different sire but same dame, a generation older than I." The dim light draped a haunting shadow over her face.
"The halved bond in blood never deterred him though." She sighed. "His name was Vraiel, the Sunseeker, for he always sought to fly high and so near to the sun. His spirit was most apt to a sun. Always bright. Always of good cheer."
A wry smile curled her lips, never meeting her eyes. How she missed those bright green eyes
"M-Merry, I-I'm cold."
Pippin's whisper caught Elysia's attention. She turned and her forlorn stupor snapped at the sight of the Halflings shivering. Gandalf and the men appeared cold as well. They made a makeshift floor to separate them from the ice, using the furs from her kill, but it appeared to help little. Even the dwarf appeared to be hiding a small shiver, trying his best not to look affected by the plummeting temperature.
Elysia frowned and quickly set aside her weapons, the spell to protect her clothes was much easier to conjure when her load lessened. Legolas stared as she became a whirlwind of blue ghostly light, and soon there was a scaly blue dragon in the cave.
The fellowship quickly moved aside as the dragon began to precariously move around them, her claws and scales scraping against the ice before she set her long lithe frame down in a comfortable position.
Gandalf and Frodo were the first to move from the hesitant crowd. The wizard gently nudged the hobbit towards the dragon's ribcage, for it was the warmest area. The rest of the Halflings began to move hastily, following Frodo as he settled down and huddled to Elysia's great warmth. Merry couldn't help but release a soft sigh. It felt like they were leaning against a stone wall near the fire.
Elysia inhaled deeply and made a small hum in her chest. The hobbits felt a greater heat emanate from her scales.
Aragorn settled himself next to Gandalf against her midsection. Gimli sighed and began to take off his helmet before sitting near them. Legolas came as well, settled against near her hind leg. Boromir was still hesitant and far from the group gathering at the dragon. The drake cast a great eye at the steward and released a snort, almost as if she were exasperated.
Boromir was promptly pushed towards the group by her tail fin as it thwack at his back, urging him near.
When they all gathered, Elysia's great wing began to stretch over and the dragon became a makeshift tent. Warmth soon spread through the fellowship as she locked in the heat from her heart's fire. They marveled while Gandalf set his illuminated staff gently atop of the rocky pile. He pulled out his pipe and began to smoke quietly. The smell of pipeweed appeared to ease the fellowship, lulling them into comfort.
But there were still questions, questions that needed answering.
Frodo stared at the pebbled nest, picking up a cold pebble from the edge touching his foot.
"… What happened here, Elly?" He asked softly. "What happened to you?"
The dragon, who had her eyes closed, opened them with a snick and rounded a great stormy iris upon the hobbit. It then moved to Gandalf, who set down his pipe with mournful eyes.
"Perhaps…" He began softly. "It is time for them to know… What had happened in Du Fyrn Abr Domia…"
The dragon's eye lingered on the wizard. Then she sighed, and the eye closed. Her head shifted up and she spoke in her melodious low tenor.
"This is where I became the Istari's apprentice, little one…."
No one moved, and no one spoke. They waited for the dragon to continue.
Elysia merely stared at the center, lost in thought as she continued wistfully.
"… This is where Mithrandir found me."
/
Her voice was so old, so tired, so full of memories, it made Legolas feel like an elfling. He could not understand why it was affecting him so, but her voice, her eyes, this place, it was breaking his own heart. Perhaps it was because he was so close to her side, the closest he had been in a long time and never thought he'd ever be, not again after she departed from him all those years ago.
It had all been so confusing then. It happened so quickly, Legolas had been dazed, numb, and so terribly confused. But he could not find the clarity he sought, the clarity he needed in his Woodland realm. Not even Tauriel could help him. In fact, something changed between them that day, as though Tauriel wished to help, as though she had the ability to help, but no matter how desperately she wished she could, she wouldn't.
He had felt so… lost. Drowned with some sort of wanderlust to find something he could not define but only knew was important to him.
But being here, in her company, seeing her in Rivendell, it had all vanished. Like the grey clouds had cleared, and for the first time Legolas felt as though he saw the stars beyond the clouds he lost sight of long ago.
She was telling a story now, a story they all wanted to hear, a story he needed to hear. Her voice reeled her into a realm of past thoughts and old memories.
"I was born in the Second Age of Arda. However, dragon eggs will hatch upon random. Some awaken naught but a day after they are laid, and some take years, centuries even. But we still hold memories in the egg…. I hatched after twenty five winters, during the year of Isildur's birth."
He could imagine it in remarkable clarity; the dark, murky, wetness inside the blue shell, the muffled voices and low croons of a loving voice from the world outside.
"I was born into a darkening time. Still… there was always light in my beginning for I was born upon an eerie high in the peaks of a mountain hidden in the north, away from Middle Earth, where the darkness did not seem to reach us."
A sky so full of stars no amount of treasure in the earth could really compare. A world so surreal it could be seen as a garden of Mandos.
"I was born into a highly respected clan. We were dragons of the storm, the drakes of the heavens, the masters of flight, wielders of lightning. Since birth, hatchlings of the Eyrie are exposed to the might and fury of the sky and its tempest, and we learn to befriend it and bear it as our own fury."
The currents were without mercy. They howled and shrieked in a song of might, but the key was not in fighting the current. It was to simply join it, ride it, and let it carry you. Use everything else but sight to be your guide. Hear the song of the wind, the melody in the rain, and feel the cloud beckoning you to be free.
"My mother was a proud dragon. She was deemed the fairest of the clan and self-proclaimed as the fairest of all dragons. Saphira Bjartskular, they called her… Brightscales; an honorable title for a fearsome drake. When I awoke upon the Eyrie, I was deemed the bastard daughter, for while dragons can mate with several different dragons and sire many half-related offspring, the sires were always known to their kin. It brought no shame upon our dames to have different mates in different times."
They say it is better to be feared than to be loved, but he felt both, as did the rest of them when they gazed upon those blue eyes richer than the deepest, clearest sea.
"But my birth was unanticipated… For my mother told not a single soul of who sired me. So it was rumored I bore the blood of a dishonorable dragon, whose name was not worth mentioning. Perhaps he was a dragon that had fallen to the taint long ago. I know not…
It did not hamper my mother. She raised me to be strong, resilient, and proud as a dragon should be. I grew and played with the others who wished to play with me, but Vraiel was my most beloved friend, born by my mother and a different sire before my time. Despite my vague origins, nothing deterred me or discouraged me. I was proud to be a part of my clan, and we thought ourselves invisible to the growing evil that shadowed the lands and began enslaving some of our kind… Some called us arrogant for that…
Our Eyrie was untouchable… Or so we believed."
Marvel stirred in the elf. Her voice was hypnotic. She was gifted in the art of story-telling, surely the others felt it too, the way she wove pictures, images, recollections so vivid and real that it wielded time and held a mirror to those very days in her youth.
"We call Sauron "Wyrdfell" in the ancient tongue, for it means Forsworn... And everything changed when Sundav Wyrdfell, the Forsworn Shadow, came… For, as the shadow came upon our race, so began The War of Dominance, and it began in the very place drakes thought to be invulnerable.
He came in a storm of ash and flame; a suffocating storm of evil that even the Dragons of the Storm could not withstand and control. He came with an army of demons we once called friends and family."
The ground felt moist but the air was dry, thick with choking smoke and the sickly smell of iron. Thunderclouds could not deafen the symphony of war. Hope was nowhere to be found.
This wasn't war…
This was purgatory.
Why did she continue this tale? How could she continue it? He couldn't fathom the courage it took for her to share such horrors with them with such sober calm. Legolas watched her; he searched those greyed eyes for the despair he could only imagine she felt as she told them her story. How could she not falter speaking of this? Did dragons not weep so willingly to things that deserved every ounce of their tears?
"The Forsworn came to "convert" us to his glory, but we were hunted. We were defiled, stripped of the will of fire that made us who we were, twisted into the nightmares of other races."
They were whipped, chained, and caged. A hunter of the sky did not deserve this… some were being peeled of their scales.
"The greatest crime amongst our kin is to kill or thief a hatchling, and the day he came, Sauron committed a massacre of my clan. Eggs were shattered, dragons were slain or chained. The War of Dominance began with the downfall of the Storm Drakes. From there, it spread far and wide. To the northern serpents of fire, the western tides, the southern realms… No one was safe.
To this day, it remains a war that strikes great nightmares into the heart of veterans, for they were forced to fight their own kin. Many were killed in great remorse, and many were driven to madness by the loss. They soon followed their loved ones into death, murdered by their grief.
The Eyrie in the Heavens, the home I prided and loved, became Ristvak'baen… The Place of Sorrow. The storm dragons dwindled into a dying legacy."
Black and barren, lonesome and lost, this place so close to the heavens was a shattered graveyard of bones and dust. It was an irony of bitter blood.
The little ones were teary eyed and uncharacteristically silent, even the Took. No one dared interrupt the tale, not even to wipe away a stray tear. Elysia appeared too engrossed in her tale to see the grief, her own gaze distant and glassy.
"I saw him that day. With my very own eyes, I saw the Forsworn; tall and terrible, dark and powerful, with malcontent so great and suffocating that even the most courageous could not deny their fear. The only light from his darkness was that Ring. It gleamed, mocking the murder and agony of my people."
A sight that would fell the bravest of elves, each step the dark lord took crushed any will to fight… to hope. But there is always hope…
"In her last desperate act of great defiance and love, my mother casted us from cliff of the Eyrie, Vraiel and I. She commanded Vraiel to look after me, for I was still too young to combat the great hurricane shrouding our home. It had happened so quickly, but I will never forget the dying light in my mother's eyes as she told us to go."
She gave little imagery of her mother, yet he could see her clearly. With scales of luster that matched Elysia's very own splendor but with blued eyes. Those eyes were starting to fade. The light was leaving them. Her mother's blood colored her world red.
"We escaped, but we were not safe." Elysia closed her eyes, the pain of recollecting evident on her scaled features. So fierce and feral she appeared in this form, yet so heart-wrenchingly expressive.
"They came after the rest of us, like hawks hunting the sparrow. Vraiel and I lived in fear for many moons. Eventually our luck ran dry and we were captured, caged, and I thought it was the end… but alas we managed to do the impossible and escape… But not unscathed."
The true world was so cruel. It was so bleak. So dark. But still, she begged for mercy, even though she knew there was none. She prayed with all her might…
Just once let the truth be a terrible lie… and let this lie be a beautiful truth.
"I knew he was dying, and he knew it, but we did not say a word of it. He brought me here to these mountains, and made a cave. He knew I hated the confined space but the light leaking through the fine ice and the glow of his scales comforted me.
Vraiel told me to sleep, to close my eyes and not to open them until he woke me, but he never did. I slept, for I was exhausted, and Vraiel must have induced me to hibernate. With the cold and the magic of my sleep, time began to hasten around me. Days passed… months… years…"
The cave felt even colder, even more dismal now that they knew of its origins. Legolas could not bear to look into those eyes any longer, so he stared at the forgotten nest of rocks, broken blue crystals, and Mithrandir's light.
"Then the Gray Pilgrim found me. He stood there with his bushy brows, long beard, and pointy hat, staring at me when I opened my eyes. At first I feared him, but then he simply smiled." Elysia chuckled. It was so sudden and so starkly different from her somber mood not few moments before that they wondered if her mind had been drove to a bit of madness by her past.
"It was odd… how much a single, wrinkled smile could bring me such joy that I thought myself dead. Tis the simply things in life, I suppose." She mused offhandedly, before returning to her main story. "He then gave me a gently pat… I had been so surprised; I had not the heat to bite at that hand. In any other moment, I would have, but it was the first warm touch I felt since centuries passed.
'Hello my dear little dragon…' He said. 'I am here to ask for your company.' It was something so simple and random, but it made me happy. I felt so happy and thrilled…."
The dragon's mirth diminished into a smile so bittersweet, it was painful. She was coming to the end of her story, and he did not know whether to be gladdened or in mourning. Why did this tale anguish him so?
"I turned to Vraiel, to share the good news, to celebrate with him…. But he had already passed, leaving nothing but a frozen shell of scales behind. The joy I felt before faded so quickly. It felt as though my heart's fire had been put out by a cruel sea of ice. I grieved and grieved, screaming at him to awaken, terrified that I was left on my own without the comfort of a single kin."
Why was it that he could see so vividly the moments of her despair and her memories?
She was the last. She couldn't be. Not after everything…
No… He wanted to reach out into the memory, into the image in his mind of a small dragon with the eyes of a haunted soul.
But she was… There was no one else left. No one free… No one… They had left her and went to a place so high, even if she had the strength, she would never be able to fly to them; she would only be able to gaze upon them in the stars, forever waiting, forever longing, until she breathed her last breath in this world.
She was alone… Cursed to dwell in a world that despised her kind… The remnant of lost clan.
Alone…
Legolas fought the urge to shudder at the devastating thought. How painful must it have been? To no longer have the company of one of your own? It unsettled his old heart to think of his own realm, his friends, his father, all gone, with not a single leaf or tree left behind of them.
Elysia's voice brought him out of his melancholy. She was nearly done with her tale.
"The old gray stranger waited until I could no longer weep. Until I waited there in silence, waiting for him to leave me as well… But then he knelt down by my fallen side and forced me to look upon him with a gentle hand. With the kindest eyes I've ever seen, he spoke to me.
'I guess it is just us… Unless you no longer wish for my company…?'
He gave me a choice, the first being to do so after so long. And I did choose. I became Mithrandir's apprentice…"
Elysia opened her eyes, observing their somber faces, startled to find some teary. But what surprised her most of all was the elf. Legolas appeared as though her pain was his own. While her tale was rather tragic, this was not the drastic reaction she anticipated. He appeared so stricken with grief, it unsettled her. How could he bear such empathy that her pain seemed to be his own?
Unless…. No… No it's impossible. She quelled the possibility with fervor.
There was a lapse of silence. The hobbits wiped their eyes. Frodo blinked back tears. Even the warriors appeared anguished. But Gandalf smiled, albeit his eyes were glassy, as he stared at the dragon.
"Oh… fantastic, I have made you weepy." Elysia sighed, mildly exasperated. Such blatant displays of compassionate sorrow never sat well with the dragon. Drakes were not so expressive of what grieved them; especially not through tears. They grieved in quiet songs, dances, fires, and silent flights.
Boromir stared at his crossed feet, eyes downcast with sorrow. "It is a tragic tale… A tragedy that would make anyone weep."
"Tragedy?" Elysia blinked. "While it has some tragic portions, I would not call my tale a tragedy in its entirety."
They gazed at the dragon as she tilted her head in thought.
"There was a happy ending, was there not? And this story is about my life… And my life certainly did not end there." She nudged the hobbits gently.
"My life has yet to come to any end, and thus this story has not yet ended, and you Halflings of all folks should know that there was certainly happiness in my life…. I've made my fair share of mistakes, of unwise decisions in walking dark paths, but alas… I have also been granted joys. I have been granted adventures. Twas a life full of trials and surprises and it still is."
Gandalf smiled at her rare moment of optimism.
"Unless I am as lousy a storyteller as a liar…" She mused halfheartedly. "I merely wanted to distract you from the cold, but it appears I have chilled your hearts."
Merry shook his head. "These are tears of joy! We're crying because the story was so beautiful!"
The dragon snorted at this and huffed. "You creatures are so sentimental… It is no wonder we dragons prefer not to mingle with the Free People."
The cave was darkening as night began to fall, but strangely, the mood lightened. Weight in their hearts wre lifted as Elysia rested her head back onto the floor and rumbled.
"Now sleep… I will wake you when the storm calms."
The tired fellowship relented, all except for the elf for he did not need sleep like the others, and the steward as well, for something seemed to trouble his mind. The steward looked up after a moment of brooding and gazed at the dragon head across the tent.
"… Faramir, my brother, is never going to believe this." He mused softly.
"Perhaps he will if I pin him as I did to you." There was no real bite in her remark.
Boromir chuckled halfheartedly at the thought of his brother's face if Elysia pounced on him like a blue scaly cat. He then sobered and sighed. "Our kind… The Free People are so wrong about you and your kin. My brother and I used to run around the halls, pretending he was slaying dragons… Now I think of it and…" He felt ashamed, unable to finish.
Elysia flicked out a wide and flat forked tongue. "If it comforts your conscious…. Many dragons have eaten men."
Boromir blanched at this and Elysia snorted softly. "But they tended not to after they discovered how tedious it was to digest all that clothing or pick at the chainmail and armor stuck in their teeth. Leather and chainmail can give terrible indigestion."
Boromir shuddered at the disturbing thought, but upon seeing the mirth twinkle in her silver eye, he shook his head with a soft smile. Soon he made himself comfortable; shutting his eyes and began to sleep.
Within a short hour, the cave fell silent. Gandalf dimmed his crystal light to the faint brightness of a distant moon before falling to slumber.
The elf and the dragon stayed awake in their silence. It grew a little discomforting for the dragon. Elysia did not know what ailed the elf, but something seemed to bother him to a rather disturbing degree. Those luminescent eyes of his were more piercing than usual and strangely grim. They were staring at the pebble nest before they flitted up to scrutinize her again.
She ignored the heat stirred from his chiseling gaze and promptly turned her eyes forward. The sight of Vraiel's frozen head did not pain her as it once did, but she did not wish to sleep. She didn't trust her subconscious to refrain from stirring nightmares through her recollections.
/
/
~O~O~O~O~O~
Elysia gave a grunt as she stretched her back. As she anticipated, her back was sore from the incident on the cliff. It gave her great cheer when they exited the cage to a bright morning light. The storm had passed, leaving a smooth, poufy blanket of snow that reflected the sunlight. It was a beautiful sight, and the air was so crisp it eased Elysia's longing to exercise her flight.
But the mood of the fellowship did not appear to be as equally high as her spirits. They tread the beautiful snow with little thought to the beauty that Elysia saw. Their oblivious sobriety made her want to groan. Did they not see the sun's light splitting into a multitude of splendid colors in the snow? Could they not feel the gentle breeze? The winds were favoring them and the sun was greeting their morning.
How ironic. The rare moment when she is in a chipper mood, these men were being flesh sacks of misery. Even the elf, who usually was ever-so-tireless and tranquilly cheery mood, strode atop the snow with a subdued look.
This would not do.
Something was brewing in Elysia's mind but Merry and Pippin did not know what. She was pacing herself to fall back behind them with a twinkle of mirth in her eyes, though her face remained stoic.
There was the sound of shuffling snow. Then a streak of white flew through the air.
And struck the back of Aragorn's head.
The ranger immediately twisted his body, hand on his sword. His alert glare quickly morphed into a look of indignation as he felt the cold snow melt on his hair. With a grimace, he shook the remains of the chilly white substance and proceeded to search the people behind him with silent accusations.
Merry and Pippin turned over their shoulder, confused. Their flummoxed expressions soon became aghast when a far too nonchalant Elysia pointed towards Merry.
Aragorn was hardly fooled. He narrowed his eyes and flared his nose in warning before turning back with a much harsher step in his stride.
"Fool, he should not turn his back on a dragon." Merry and Pippin barely heard Elysia mutter. Then the dragon pinned them with a pointed glance.
Merry looked to Pippin. Pippin looked to Merry.
Then they hastily began gathering snow into their hands.
Pippin was done quicker than Merry with his snowball. With the eagerness of a mischievous hobbit, he made a well-aimed throw directly at the ranger's head.
But Aragorn would not be fooled twice. Without turning back, the Dunedain ducked with the agility of an experienced ranger of the North. Unfortunately, his duck caused the snowball to hit the person in front of him.
Boromir was a bit more vocal with his surprise as the snow struck his neck. The Gondorian turned to find the culprit, only for Pippin to cowardly point to Merry out of habit. Merry did not bother to look scandalized and merely threw his own snowball at the steward. The steward dodged the incoming missile, clearing its path straight to the back of Gandalf's head.
Both Pippin and Merry froze in horror when the wizard stopped their line, and whipped back to pin them with the most wrathful of glares.
To which Merry could only respond by pointing at Elysia, earning a traitorous look from the dragon.
Frodo, who had wedged himself between Aragorn and Sam, began to smile and gathered a messy clump of snow at his feet. He chucked it at Elysia, but the dragon swiftly dodged, causing the snowball to meet its unfortunate end squarely in Gimli's face.
The mischievous hobbits chortled and Frodo's giggle turned into a boisterous laugh as Gimli sputtered, bits of snow stuck in his beard.
"Wha-, what in Durin's-"
The dragon cracked a wicked smile, and as if on cue, Merry and Pippin began hurling handfuls upon handfuls of balled snow they hastily prepared at all those they could target.
"For the Shire!" Pippin roared his outrageous battle-cry.
Merry pelleted Aragorn's head. "Down with the monarchy!"
It erupted a full-fledged battle with freshly fallen snow. Boromir promptly used his Gondorian shield to defend himself from the relentless icy reign, while Aragorn began to gather his artillery with swift, concise hands. To Elysia's surprise, Gandalf joined the fray, having turned around once more with generously packed snowballs she half wondered if he gathered them by magic trickery. Sam was using a frying pan in a feeble attempt to shield himself from the onslaught while Frodo joined Pippin and Merry for an alliance… until he promptly shoved snow in both of their faces.
There were no sides, no alliances made, it was a battle royale, but there appeared to be hidden vendettas.
Legolas had been startled by the sudden fight, too deep in his own thoughts. He had paid the price for his sudden ignorance. A snowball struck the unsuspecting elf's face as Gimli used the commotion to achieve his own vengeance. The blow nearly sent the elf teetering into a fall, but Legolas refused to be bested by a snowball from a dwarf, he was an elven warrior. There would be no such blasphemy.
He regained his balance and quickly swayed left and right, dancing out of the way of ballistic snowballs. Twisting and turning, he gathered his own arsenal and threw a snowball at the dwarf so hard; the dwarf's helmet nearly fell from his hairy head.
Elysia snickered, but she was not spared. To her surprise, something cold and wet struck the side of her face soon after. Wide almond shaped eyes quickly narrowed into a predatory glare. The elf hardly appeared repentant or wary as the said glare lashed towards him,
but dragons were vindictive creatures.
When he dodged her furious onslaughts, it only riled her. Casting her previous conviction to keep away from the elf, Elysia lunged forward in a flurry of fiery magic.
Legolas' smug smile immediately faded and he made a quick footed leap out of the dragon's trajectory. There was a flurry of snow, scales, and wings as the dragon delved deep into the snow with no elf in her clawed grasp. However, Elysia would not be won.
With a swish of her tail, Elysia swiped the elf off his feet and promptly buried him with a heave of her body. Gimli and the hobbits roared in laughter while Aragorn began digging Legolas free from his early snowy grave.
Elysia preened her wings, basking in her victory until something hard struck the side of her head. With a warbling grunt, she glared at the culprit, only to spot a wizard and his staff wearing a scolding expression.
"What did I say about shifting in dire situations?"
Elysia gave a snort and with a tilt of her head, she poured her stacked snow onto the wizard's hat before shifting back into her two legged form.
"The vengeance of a dragon is most dire, Ebrithil!" She cried in mock indignation.
"Insolent drake…." But the deed was done, and Gandalf was hardly as miffed as he seemed while clearing his hat of snow.
The fellowship departed the mountains with boosted morale quickening their steps, and the dragon was satisfied with her work the moment Frodo laughed. Her little one had appeared too melancholic as of late, and it did not sit well with her.
With one final look at the snowy peaks, Elysia followed the fellowship to the path towards the Mines. Someday, when there was peace, when time was a luxury, she would return and give her brother the proper burial he deserved.
Wait a little longer, Vraiel. I promise to visit you once more…
Her heart stirred with warmth. The sun seemed to burn brighter onto her back. She could imagine Vraiel's pleased hum as his spirit watched the last of their proud clan depart from the mountains.
Read and review please! It helps in motivating my old soul in posting more chapters!
On another note, there's been another story brewing in my mind. A crossover between two Pixar movies... But alas, I should finish this story before starting on the other one.
-Mana