Oh my good heavenly Father. It's been longer than I anticipated.
Forgive me. Many things have been happening in my personal life, and it's only been recently that I've been getting things taken care of.
In the meantime... This is a long chapter. I was debating on splitting it, but you guys deserve something big.
-Mana
Chapter 13- Choices Made...
The eldunari was sacred to all dragons, and thus any act involving it was dictated with utmost care and significance; and because of its value, it was considered the binding token of love between a dragon and their Astari.
To bestow one's eldunari to another was an eternal gesture of fealty and devotion; A dangerous thing seldom done.
To part with one's soul was not an easy thing. It embodied all that they were; their strength, their fire, their sentience. It was unnatural for a dragon to be without an eldunari, regardless of whether or not it was their own.
Draconic lovers exchanged their heart of hearts to complete their eternal bond, linking their mind, body, and soul to one another. Should one perish, the other would most likely follow, despite the apt substitute of their lover's eldunari sustaining their life making it possible to continue. The pain of losing an Astari along with their heart of hearts was something unimaginable to even the most hardened of dragons.
But for dragons with Astari's of non-draconic nature…
They suffered a far more tragic fate by the standards of their kinsmen.
To be without an eldunari in general and to be bound by such weakness as a non-draconic mate... it was an arduous thing. What made such relationships unjust and tragic by the dragon standard was that such bonds were one sided. Non-draconic Astari's had nothing binding them to their draconic mates other than their vocal vows and acts of devotion. Their soul, thus their fate, was not bound to the dragon as the dragon was to them.
Such actions brought scorn from the scaled brethren. What dignified dragon would damn themselves to such fate for the sake of loving a being of lesser vitality?
After a time, it became an unspoken taboo. A forbidden romance lest the dragon wished to create their own bane for the sake of love. Such stigma against non-draconic folk left the dragons more isolated, and thus such unions were considered to be things of the past...
/
/
~O~O~O~O~O~
To the immortal folk, decades seem to pass within a blink of an eye. Yet, when Elysia recalled that day, it felt as though it were a distant memory; it was torn at the edges, faded in vision, with memories fragmented into razor edged shards that would make her bleed if she touched them. So she tried her best to leave the memories be, to have them gather dust with years of being untampered.
But she never forgot...
She was to blame. His blood painted her hands a forbidden red. He who bore the colors of a bountiful spring, of a cloudless sky and beaming sun, was beginning to fade.
And with him, the world began to fade. Why was everything losing color before her eyes?
Everything but the crimson stain upon his chest… and her hands.
Her fault.
She did this… She caused this. If only she had been faster… stronger… Perhaps he wouldn't have felt such accursed need to be valiant and become some martyr.
"No… No please."
Her mind and her heart were torn into two entities. Who was she begging to? Why was she begging? Would a higher power above hear the lost call of some bastard scion? Or would he hear her? Would he hear her voice and follow her back to the light of life?
Why did she care so much? How could she? Her mind raged against her heart, berating it. How could she have been so foolish to fall into such perilous love so deeply? It was futile as it was pathetic. To love something from afar with such longing, only to have it slip from her fingers when she chose to embrace it.
This was all her doing…. And it would be her undoing.
She held his limp form close, hoping to quell the burning ice churning in her heart. But the pain only burned brighter. Soon it became unbearable. Her soul felt as though it was being torn in two.
And it was being torn in two.
There was blue fire. A stream of light. A stone…. A breath…
Then a heartbeat.
/
She followed the wizard numbly as he lead her down a forgotten tunnel. The shadows in the stony throat of the passage seemed to choke the light of the staff. A warping beat of magic pulsed through the air, quieting the echo of the wizard's footsteps into a deathlier silence; a spell of privacy.
Then the wizard came to a sudden stop, causing the dragon to flinch. There was something about the wrath of the Istar that cowed Elysia. Despite years being under his tutelage and being the subject of his frustrations, time did not ease the dragon when it came to the wizard's fury. Magic ran pungent in the air, lined with cold rage as the wizard turned to the dragon. Eyes harder than rock, Gandalf seemed to grow taller, bearing a wrathful aura on par with that of a draconic ancient.
"You have been keeping secrets from me, bluescales… secrets of great import." Elysia fought the urge to shudder as mana laced the wizard's ancient tongue.
"Yes." Seldom had the dragon ever been as soft spoken as she was now. The single word spilled from her tongue with the bitterness of bile. It would not do her any good to speak in any other way than the truth, no matter how foul it tasted.
She should have seen this day coming. It was inevitable. She could only hide things from the wizard for so long.
"What, When, How, Where, and WHY?" Gandalf grew taller with every syllable spat from his bearded mouth. This was hardly the time and place for confrontations, here in the dangerous abandoned mines, but this was something that required immediate answering. If his dragon did what he dared think she did, their situation, her life was going to be entangled in deadly complexities of morbid degree. He was not swayed by the obvious fragility the dragon bore as each word hammered her spirit.
"I… He…" Elysia could not gather enough words to answer his rush of interrogatives. "Mithrandir, I cannot form a proper answer to your words."
"I am in no need for proper answers, Elysia. I am in need for clarifying ones." He began to shrink from his towering height but the severity of his tone did not fade. "When did this happen?"
Elysia sighed. A wizard is seldom swayed from his demand.
"In the battle for the mountain." She answered, toneless and empty of any heart as she despaired. "When the five armies began their skirmish, when we…"
"The last witch." Gandalf finished for her.
The dragon confirmed with a mute nod. It was inevitable. She had been foolish. How long did she think she could keep this hidden from him? Until one of them perished? Until the end of this war?
The wizard seemed to be thinking along the same lines. One question was answered, but it paved way for many.
"Were you ever going to enlighten me?"
There was hesitation, and her next reply stung him. "No…"
"… You-" Whether it was grief or anger at her audacity, she did not know nor did she want to.
She could not look at his face as she snapped. "I was not going to tell anyone!"
Elysia tried to stifle her growing hysteria, forcing her volume to return to its reclusive hush. She gripped her elbows and held herself with a guarded expression. "I wasn't going to tell anyone…"
She was supposed to have taken this secret with her to her grave.
Gandalf wasn't blind to the pent up grief wrought deeply into the dragon's small form, but he gave her no soothing words of comfort. There were none, for he could not lie to her.
"Why?" He could not conceal his own disappointment, and it cut the dragon deeply. Her resilient pride was chipping away with each word spoken, with each forbidden door opened. "Why did you do it? How could you be so foolish?"
"There was no other way." It was a weak defense, but it was the truth.
"No other way?" Gandalf's grip on his staff tightened. The crystal at its crown began to burn brighter at the surge of the wizard's erratic magic. "How was there no other way?" He demanded. "What possessed you to be so foolish to discard your Eldunari so carelessly? Did you think the elven prince to be your heart's half?"
His words were biting, twisting the possibility of her choice to be one of delusional romantic notions, and it cut her worse than an ice shard. Did he really think her to be so hopelessly stupid and weak with her heart? After all of their centuries spent as the company of the other. After the lessons she's learned under his tutelage, after the toils they faced together?
"Dragons do not think… They know." She found her voice again. She found her defiance as he fueled her anger by whipping at the remnants of her pride with his demeaning implications.
"That is-"
"He was dying." The dragon kept her eyes shut tight. Memories of slippery, red hands boiled underneath the surface of her mind.
...All her fault. She cursed his fate.
No… There was no point in remembering such moments. Remembrance could not undo what had been done.
"He was going to die, Mithrandir, what was I to do? I couldn't let Thranduil's son die after everything he has lost." She argued wearily.
"So you've tied your heart of hearts to his as some lifeline?" Gandalf was not placated. He refused to let her twist the situation to become something about heroism and morality.
Circumstances like hers hadn't been unprecedented, but all those that preceded her; all dragons who had chosen their heart's half to be of other, non-draconic, race; the dragons who have placed their Eldunari with beings who had no Eldunari to give in return... they had all ended in tragedy. Their life had been bound to the life of the one who held their dragonstone. It was an unequal trade.
"It was out of my hands. I did not know what came over me, but it was done by the time I realized." She never had lost such control over her body, over her magic. She had been desperate, in so much despair. By the time she discovered what happened, it had been too late. She could not undo what she had done. She could only regret.
What had she done?
Why was there a… void…?A void in her own core.
Why did she feel the thread of the life of another?
It had taken years to hone the trauma done to her soul. Her time in the Shire gave her strength to seal away the feeling of vacancy before her sanity could be reduced to irreversible levels. It had taken all of her will. A feat she still, to this day, found hard to fathom.
"To this day, I do not understand the reason it occurred… or how I did it… How I brought him back." Elysia confessed, more unnerved than the wizard.
She had defied the natural laws of death that day, and the repercussions of her actions were still not fully clear to her to this day.
"A dragon's magic at times is alien even to their own will." Gandalf whispered, more to himself than to her. Still, such excuses did not appease the danger. "Elysia, did you not see the folly of this? The-"
"The mistake? Yes." Her eyes suddenly burned like molten mithril. "I have been forced to bear the burden of my actions to this day, Mithrandir. To live with this haunt, this infuriating lack in my own soul that cannot be consoled by even the closest friends of my heart…." Her teeth were bared as she spat out the acidic truth. "But I won't regret it… I refuse to regret it." There was no point in regretting it. The past could not be rewritten. Unlike the future, the past was set in stone. But even if she could rewrite history, Elysia was not sure if she would have done things differently. No matter how it burned her, she had felt something deeper for the elf than some moral obligation to save his life.
Gandalf pinned her with a peeling glare as though he read her thoughts.
"Did you think that he would return your heart's affections?" He had to know. Had she done what she did in the feeble hopes that her actions would be reciprocated romantically?
"No…" Elysia released a short, heartless laugh. "For I had already known that his heart was never mine. Despite my hopes, I knew… but even then, I won't regret… I can't." her smile was brittle, void of any real joy. The twisted paradox of her smile and her emotions broke the wizard's heart. He didn't know which answer it was that he hoped to expect from her.
"You do not regret…" Gandalf didn't know whether to sigh or laugh at the incredulity of it all. "You have cursed yourself to live a half-life. To live without your Eldunari is to live without a part of your own soul…" She probably knew this, yet the wizard could not refrain from emphasizing it to her. It was cruel, but it needed to be done.
"Even in death, you will never find completion… you will never find rest as long as he bears your heart of hearts and lives… lest you both die, you will never be whole."
"I am aware…"
"Are you?" He pressed mercilessly. "These may be darkening times with death behind many doors, but elves are not feeble beings… They bear an immortal life that will never succumb to any illness lest it be an illness of the heart or of a festering physical wound. Should Legolas live through these dark times, should he sail west to the Undying lands, he will never perish. He will never die, thus your Eldunari will never be relinquished from his soul… I cannot fathom what will happen to your spirit then. No one can… It has never happened."
But that was only a portion of the injustice. It was inequivalent exchange, and the thing exchanged was no simple thing. For if Legolas perished, if by a mortal wound or even by a heart's pain, the elf died, so would Elysia; a dragon cannot live long without their Eldunari or some substitute at the least. But if the reverse were to occur… If Elysia died, then there was nothing that would happen to the elf. The wizard wondered if the elf would even feel it. He did not know. No one did. It was always the non-dragon who perished first. But that wasn't the only thing the wizard despaired in.
"Elysia…" Gandalf whispered. "I cannot help you."
The gravity of his words struck them both. Since the beginning, Gandalf had always helped her when it mattered. But in this situation, the wizard was essentially powerless to help her.
"I never asked you to."
"You never told me… You never told me, but now I understand…" Anger began to rise once more in Gandalf at the injustice of it all. "I understand now why you remained in the Shire, why you were never right since departing from Erebor, from Mirkwood…. He is not aware, is he?"
"No."
"He must." His determined words sent her into another wave of panic. The dread Elysia felt should Legolas discover what he contained was worse than the dreadful confinement in these mines.
"No! He bears no wrong in this. He had no will in anything."
"This is not about who is at fault anymore, Elysia." Gandalf snapped. "There is hope for you yet. Should he know-"
"What hope is that, Gandalf?" Elysia's voice was laced with acid. "That he will return my sacrifice with one of his own? That he will pledge himself to me? Who now bears such ridiculous romantic ideals, Mithrandir?"
"Spare me your pride's poor excuses, Elysia. This is a matter of your life. Of his life."
"No. It is a matter of my choice, and it is my decision for this to stay secret." She cut Gandalf off before he could protest. Even the wizard's pressuring magic would not deter the dragon from speaking her mind. "I will not have him squander away his freedom to chain himself to my plight because he feels indebted… because he feels responsible. Knowing of his noble tendencies, I know he will do it. Legolas has too much honor in him. Too much kindness."
That much has not changed since their last meeting in Mirkwood. She saw it in him. Warrior prince he may be, but the elf had a heart that would bleed for the most common of folk.
No… I will not have such curse burden me. I will not be subjected to pity in such manner. That is a tragedy worse than death." The dragon was resolute in this. Gandalf could see it. She would not see his reason, she would not sacrifice her dignity for the sake of preserving her life.
"Yes, I've made mistakes." Elysia continued. "Many… I've abandoned you once, I've cursed you, cursed my place, cursed my own life and tried to tamper with fate and end my misery because I was selfish in bearing the pain of living as the last scion of my clan." Her nails dug deeply into her palm. "But this… I will never think of this as the greatest mistake. Of saving his life when it could be saved, of sparing myself from regrets of his untimely passing. Of seeing him breath, live, exist with that unbearable tendency to be as cheerful as a spring's eve in a meadow. You may think of it as a mistake. You may think of it as sacrificing a greater good, but I never will…" Whether he was hurt by her insinuating words, she could not tell in her beseeching desperation.
"So please… Please…" She begged. "Swear to me in our native tongue… swear to me in truth that you will not reveal this to him."
Gandalf regarded his apprentice with quiet gray eyes, giving away nothing of what went on in his mind. There was a painfully silence, and for a moment, Elysia dreaded he would rush out of the tunnel and confront the elf of their fellowhsip.
"Elysia... Do you know what you are asking of me? Do you know what you are sacrificing in this... for him?" Gandalf stared at her.
"Yes... This is my choice."
The pensive expression faded from his face. "So be it…" It was subdued, nearly inaudible, but the words sufficed to seal the oath, and Elysia appeared enormously relieved, tempted to embrace her master in thanks for his kindness and cooperation.
But there was no joy in the wizard.
The promise burned on his tongue; it tortured him, but he could do nothing. There was nothing to be done but hope… Hope that fate would see mercy, that the Valar would favor Elysia…
He could only hope that this would not end in tragedy.
/
/
~O~O~O~O~O~
The fair folk were keen beings, and Legolas had lived long to know many things and be aware of many things, even things that were unseen and unspoken. So when the wizard and dragon returned from their conversation, he had no doubt that something occurred, or something was exposed to light.
It wasn't hard to decipher this much. From what he understood of Elysia, she was fiercely private, perhaps even more secretive than Durin's folk deep in the mountains.
What was impossible to decipher was what the secret was. That would take time and effort, two things that were forced to be invested into more dire things such as getting out of this accursed underworld.
From what he could understand were merely fragmented hints, puzzle pieces that only served to make the image obscure. Faersing had been demure under his hold, something that Aragorn informed him should not have happened under any circumstances, having felt the sword's angry bite when he himself attempted. There was that, and the strange sense that something had occurred between them during her journey to Erebor. Something he, with his elf eyes, missed, and it was something important.
But he was a patient being as he was curious. Certain things and certain people required more time to be unveiled, but Legolas was determined to unveil them.
Thing had been strange since their private conversation. The wizard was subdued when he came, an impassive dragon followed after. The rest of the fellowship noticed there was something off, but they merely shook it off as the dreary air of the mines. At this point, even Gimli was eager to see the light of dawn and smell the air outside the mountain. This place reeked of death too much for him to enjoy its ancient stones.
In the dismal journey, it was the little things that seemed to encourage them. An extra touch of spice to their rations, courtesy by Samwise, boosted morale, and a simple rest along with a few puffs of pipeweed comforted their weary souls.
Regaining a regular pattern of sleep with help from the others, Elysia appeared to have controlled her plummeting condition. The few hours' rest she managed to obtain and her determination fueled her back into regaining her tireless pace. The goal of escaping these mines and a sense of duty to protect the hobbits distracted her thoughts. Keeping Merry and Pippin close to her helped to keep her twitchiness at bay. Something about the innocent air of hobbits soothed her soul. She would have preferred to be near Frodo and Sam, but she had the sober feeling that her little one was trying to avoid her. He had grown distant as of late, solemn and reclusive, not just to her, but he seemed to take extra care with her. It added to her ever growing melancholy in this journey.
As Pippin slipped on the steep tall stairs for the third time, Elysia released a sigh and grabbed the hobbit by the back of his scrub, promptly heaving him up a particularly slippery few steps. She set him down to do the same to Merry before striding past them with swift stealth.
"Come, Pippin. The top is nearly there." She encouraged, having little heart to add her usual bite in her remarks.
Gandalf rose to the top, only to be met with three doorways. He had no memory of this particular place… Grimacing, he waited for the dragon to come up and meet him.
Elysia sensed the wizard's need for her assistance and hastily hopped up the last of the steep steps. When she appeared by his side, she noticed the three ways and frowned.
"What?"
"Do you recall our last visit to Moria?" He asked.
"No… I refused to enter while you went in to search for King Thrain II" She gazed at the old wizard for a moment before understanding dawned her. "You forgot the way… Mithrandir, your mind has been aging more than a fermenting barrel of Dorwinian wine."
Her dry comment earned her a glare. The wizard looked sorely tempted to hit her with his staff, but the dragon danced herself away before he could even move it. She gave him a nonchalant glance, scratching the scar line of her cheek.
"Insolent drake." He muttered darkly, but his bitterness only seemed to have earned him a small smile from the dragon.
It appeared the recent tension from their confrontation had subsided. Although both would certainly not forget, they would not squander away their bond with embittered thoughts. For a long time, they've grown with each other as loyal company. Eventually, they reached a point where reconciliation was a quiet affair, and although reconciliation had yet to come over this ordeal, there was no doubt that it would come eventually.
/
At the impediment to their journey, the fellowship rested while Gandalf sat on top of a rock and stared at the three entrances before him, struggling to decide which tunnel was the right one. Elysia began to scowl as she sat against a rocky edge. Her irritation did not lie with Pippin's hunger, or with the underground, but with the smell. Even the pipe weed scent from the raggedy ranger's pipe did little to mask the acridity of this place, emphasizing upon its lack of fresh air. It did not help the muddling haze in her aching mind.
This place was cursed… haunted something far more wretched than death. The very stones bled with dark magic unseen to the naked eye. It sung of agony and damnation in storms of fire.
While there were no scorch marks, no telltale signs of some apocalyptic flame that lead to the bane of the dwarves, the dragon felt it. The air stank of something ancient and unpleasant.
Legolas stood in his usual silent vigil when heard another small sigh come from the dragon. It had been the seventh sigh within the passing hour. He turned to see her scowl, wondering what troubled the dragon so.
When the dragon noticed his scrutiny, elf tilted his head in a questioning gesture, and the dragon looked hesitant for a moment. But the elf's patience rewarded him as Elysia stood up and within a few strides, she perched herself on a rock next to his towering figure. They remained sitting in silence. But she simply sat there… Something in her eyes eased as she took a deep breath.
He waited expectantly, and once again his patience was rewarded with an explaination.
"Moria reeks of putrid things… Elves smell more pleasant." The elves may not hold a domineering magic as the dragons did, but they were pure. They held a radiance in their being that was unmatched by the other races. It was unpolluted, and it was far more comforting than anything else in this cave. In the darkening times, dragons had often hid themselves near elven realms to feed off their magic's purity. It acted as a covering, shielding many from the taint of Sauron that began to poison Middle Earth. Such tactics were not lasting when the darkness grew stronger, but it had been a small remedy.
Perhaps it was his royal lineage that caused this, but the elven prince had an aura stronger than that of his average woodland folk. She realized the closer she stood by him, his presence muted out the putridity of these catacombs.
But it was only temporary. It had to be. She couldn't rely on his presence, especially not now. It pained her to admit it, but she had been careless in forging a candid friendship with the elf in this journey. She had to pull away, slowly but surely, she would prune and peel this strange bond into nothingness once more. It had to be done carefully. Should she pull away so suddenly after confiding in him, especially with the strange course of events with her sword-which she had little doubt he took critical note of- he would most certainly sense something was greatly awry.
So she had to make it subtle, wean herself of his presence slowly. She berated herself for allowing her to fall into such position in the first place, but what was done could not be undone. She only hoped that such things would go smoothly.
Legolas did not seem to notice her mental stratagem. At her blunt remark, the elf merely gave a small nod and smiled as he always did. He then sat next to her, allowing his presence to give her whatever comfort it may give. The silent gesture visibly eased the dragon, and she merely hugged her knees to her chest and breathed.
"…. What is it you smell?" He asked softly.
Elysia did not open her eyes but she responded. "Moria smells of old death, metal, dust, rock, and the miserable list could go on." She muttered. "Elves smell of…. Softer things. It is a little arduous to explain to one who is not a dragon."
"I must insist you try, for I am very curious." Her nose was so sharp; it reminded him of the keen woodland serpents in the forest, always curled near a tree, tasting the air with their tongue.
The dragon closed her eyes and continued to breathe softly through her nose.
"So what is it you smell, Elysia?" Her name rolled off his tongue like a smooth song.
Elysia did not scowl or snap at his pressing; instead, her forehead furrowed in concentration under its wavy fringe as she tried to find the proper description.
"…. It changes with season. You elves smell of autumn leaves in the fall, of cold pine and such in the winter… You smell of flowers and morning dew in the spring, and in the summer there is always an air of fresh green…. But each elf also has a distinct scent of their own, as does anyone. You smell different from your woodland kin. Perhaps it is the Sindar blood in you. It is not like your Silvan people of the woodland realm. There lies a stronger tie to the mystics of this world in the Sindarin elves. It's alluring."
Magic draws to magic. It was natural for beings of ethereal nature to be drawn to another, dragons in particular were prone to this. When Elysia had encountered Thranduil, she found it hard not to be curious of his ancient lineage. There was a vibrant glow in the elves of old ancestry, as there was in magic users. It drew dragons like moth to flames.
Her frank compliment made the Prince of Mirkwood smile, but she did not see. Their moment was interrupted by a sound from afar. Elysia jerked her head towards the noise while Legolas remained still.
"It is Gollum." He stated.
Elysia grimaced. "The wretched gremlin… He has been following us for three days. I must say, he is ever so persistent. He really does not add any good to this filthy stench." Releasing a sigh, she uncurled her tight ball and rose, departing as swiftly as she came, much to the elf's concealed dismay. It was a little disheartening to see her part right when he was warming to her company.
Legolas's eyes lingered on her lithe back. She moved with a resilient stride distinctly different from elves, much more feline in manner as her back curved and shifted languidly. He wondered, then, what sort of sight she would be when in combat. It had been far too long since he had last seen the fierceness in which her eyes gleamed, the way she swung with little battle cry, allowing her sword to speak for her. She had been a brutal fighter then, relentlessly using every part of her body and blades to slay her foes. But it had been… enrapturing.
He reined his thoughts rather violently at this. Since when did his mind fall into such odd tangent regarding the dragon maiden?
A certain ranger then chose that time to rise from his spot and moved to sit next to the elf, distracting Legolas from his reverie. There was a small lapse of silence between the friends of old before Aragorn spoke.
"You do smell nice." He whispered in elvish, audibly enough for only the elf to hear. Legolas gave a slight glare at the ranger's tease.
/
Frodo noticed Gollum as well and was speaking urgently to Gandalf. The wizard most likely already knew before many of them, and it did not surprise her. Elysia was taking her chance in speaking with the hobbit, treading carefully to not make her presence known until it was too late for Frodo to try and avoid her.
Elysia sat at the lower rock near Gandalf's legs and silently listened to the wise words of the Istari. When Frodo exclaimed that it was a pity Bilbo did not kill him, Elysia made her presence known to the hobbit.
"It was pity that stayed Bilbo's hand, little one… While dragons tend to see more mercy in slaying, Bilbo is no dragon…." She was gentle but firm, for it didn't sit well in her heart to have the little one speak so darkly.
Frodo was startled by her appearance. She could see the uncertainty as the hobbit regarded her cautiously. So she stared at him, casting him an all too familiar look of knowing and reprimand. His shoulders slumped, realizing his actions in avoiding her had been deciphered accurately.
"Many that live deserve death, and some that die deserve life." Gandalf added, distracting the hobbit from his tension with the dragon. Elysia listened as he counseled Frodo upon his morals. Gandalf was ever so wise with his ways. She recalled a time when she was in Frodo's position, troubled and lost on a road she could not see.
If it had been her who had Gollum at the end of her blade, Elysia would have not hesitated to end the gremlin's life. It was merciful to end the suffering of such pitiable creature so lost and twisted by dark powers he had no control over. That was the mercy of a dragon; to spare one through death. But Gandalf believed that Gollum would have a part to play… That he was meant to live longer… How interesting.
What sort of significance could that creature carry?
Elysia pondered at that idea when Frodo sighed and sat next to Gandalf, unable to bear walking away from two of his most precious confidants.
"I wish the Ring had never come to me…. I wish none of this had happened." There was deep melancholy in the young hobbit, and it pained her. The greatest injustice of this cruel world had been the misfortunes that befell on the innocent. Frodo of all beings did not deserve this burden of great evil. It was unfair. The fates were unfair.
"So does all that live to see such times, but that is not for them to decide." Gandalf stated, and his hand came to rest upon Elysia's shoulder, for she knew better than many of the magnitude of Gandalf's words.
"All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us…"
Choices, that was the only thing that gave them power in a world so full of chaos. In the end, it was their choice that mattered, not their magic or their strength. Choices were the pebbles that rippled the great pond, some were bigger than others but regardless they all would make ripples that effected the entire body. But even with their liberty to choose, there seemed to be something far greater at work in Middle Earth. Decisions of different people, scattered across time and blood, intertwined and overlapped with one another. The coincidence was far too unique and significant for it to be a mere coincidence. The dragons saw it, and even a hobbit shouldn't be blind to it.
Elysia smiled gently at Frodo. "There are other forces at work in this world, Frodo, besides the will of evil. I believe Bilbo was meant to find the ring. In which case, you also were meant to have it… and that is an encouraging thought."
She then frowned and her nose flared. The dragon turned curiously upon the right hand tunnel.
"Huh…" She began to pout in her wonder, a lighthearted look they had not seen in the dragon since entering the underworld of Moria. Elysia rose and walked towards the right tunnel, sniffing deep into the darkness.
"The air doesn't smell so foul down here." She explained.
Gandalf immediately brightened at this, rising to a stand he walked to his old apprentice and patted her head.
"Excellent work my dear dragon!" He turned to the others. "It's this way!"
"You remembered?" asked Merry.
Gandalf smiled. "No, but when in doubt, Merriadoc, follow your nose. Or in this case, a dragon's nose." Why did he not think of it earlier?
They followed Gandalf through the tunnel, and when they entered what appeared to be vast open chamber, the wizard raised his staff.
"Let me risk a little more light." He said with a knowing anticipation.
The staff light shined even further, illuminating the darkness, unveiling the magnitude of just how colossal this underground realm was.
"Behold!" Gandalf presented. "The great realm and dwarf city of Dwarrowdelf."
Elysia opened her mouth, as did many of the fellowship. A gasp escaped Frodo at the sheer size and distance of the chamber. Columns upon columns of tall dark pillars stretched far and wide.
"Well there's an eye opener, no mistake." Sam commented. Elysia couldn't agree more with him. Indeed, it was hard to believe a chamber of this size dwelt under the Misty Mountain. Even a dragon would get disoriented by the sheer number of directions formed by the seemingly endless amount of pillars. She would bet her scales that there was certainly enough room to fly comfortably in here.
They began their way through the great chambers with the wizard in the lead, but something caught the dwarf's eye. Gimli let out a gasp when he realized what he saw. There was light streaming down from an open window, but it was not the light that drew him. It was what shined upon the light.
He released a cry and ran.
"Gimli!" Gandalf and the fellowship followed the dwarf into the chamber of Mazarbul, if he recalled correctly. More bodies were strewn out and in the place. A ray of light beamed upon a tomb where the only living dwarf within Moria fell to his knees and began to weep.
Gandalf came over and read the engravings on the tomb. "Here lies Balin, son of Fundin… Lord of Moria."
Elysia's lips parted but she could not breathe, not even a gasp to sound her sorrow. Memories of the old white bearded dwarf, whose wisdom Elysia greatly admired and gentle nature she often experienced, swept through her like a soft and warm breeze in the wind.
Gandalf's eyes swept to Elysia, mirroring the sorrow. "He is dead then… It is as I feared."
Elysia managed to shut her mouth and chewed her lip, walking up to the tomb to examine it further. Her footsteps were heavy, as though it did not wish for her to confirm the awful truth.
The stone coffin was far too simple and plain for someone as honorable as Balin. He deserved a coffin of jewels, made of mithril lining, marked with runes that told great tales of his legacy.
With a hand to her heart, she muttered. She blinked back the small prickle in her eye. Though the dwarf may weep as hard as he wished, she would not.
"Stydja unin mor'ranr, Balin-vor." She whispered softly. In her somber moment of silence, another agonizingly nostalgic sight captured her eye.
The dragon moved towards the dusty skeletal corpse leaning against Balin's tomb. It was holding a book and seemed to stare up at the ceiling, as if the dwarf had been thinking of the sky in his dying breath.
She knelt down further and stared more eye level at the forlornly decaying figure enveloped in cobwebs and dust. Her mind's eye began forming the peachy reddened skin, the short but thick auburn beard, and the odd hair and braids, the large nose, and those sweet dark eyes that always caught light at the sight of something he found worthy to draw or write about. His polite and attentive voice echoed in her mind, along with that youthful cheer of more innocence than Kili.
A hand rested upon her shoulder. Elysia did not have to turn and see to know that it was the wizard.
"… Ori…" She whispered, fighting the tremble in her voice.
This was the dwarf that inspired her to draw more of the world she saw.
"What are you drawing, Lady Elysia?" The dwarf scratched his bulbous nose, curiously leaning forward to look over her shoulder.
"The Lonely Mountain."
When the dwarf spotted her drawing, she hastily tried hide her work. But he had already seen, and to her surprise, he was smiling at her with wonder.
"Is this what it looks like in the sky? You must've been riding those eagles for a long time."
Oh, if only he knew. "I suppose."
"Is that the company in the corner? Where are you?"
This dwarf had so many questions, but he was young. She didn't have the heart to discourage him… so she indulged him.
"I am drawing…. Would it not be odd for the artist to be in the art?"
"Hardly… At least not in there. You're a part of our company, aren't you? Tis not the same if you are not there."
She scoffed, and to her surprise, it earned her a reproachful look from the little dwarf.
"You're as much a part of our company as I am, and I'm pretty important by Durin's beard. Don't you scoff at that."
Elysia was so surprised at his chastising words, she let out a rough bark of a laugh.
"Oi, don't laugh either!"
Things would never be the same now that Ori wasn't here. She had hoped that she and Bilbo would reunite with the remaining company, but to see the body of the youngest in their company, the hope was waning…
This was the dwarf who had courage to become the scribe of their quest for Erebor, with a slingshot as a weapon, and here the very dwarf was left to rot and be forgotten.
What a curse it was to become fond of mortal folk, to watch them wither away unto death while she remained unchanged by time.
Gandalf moved and gently took the book from the skeletal grasp of their old friend. Dust rained down from the shabby, frayed, and cut tome. A few pages fell out with the dust, but Gandalf did not mind. He flipped it to the near end where Ori had recorded the events to his dying breath. As he began to read from the tome, Elysia spotted a small rusted rectangle the size of a small book peek out, tucked under Ori's armpit.
With a gentle hand, she moved his arm a little to open the gap and tugged the dusty rusted flat rectangle loose. She turned it over curiously, discovering it to be a frame for a piece of paper. She blew the layer of dust gently off the framed photo and stared at the image.
She released a shaky sigh.
For there, on the paper, was an ink traced sketch of her and Bilbo, with Fili and Kili at her side and Gandalf at Bilbo's. It had signs of being drawn by Ori, for no other dwarf drew as well as him in Thorin's company. He had drawn this in his small sketchbook, and Elysia found herself impressed for she did not remember him ever drawing at this moment. Perhaps she had been too preoccupied, for in the picture she sat next to Bilbo who looked comforted and pleased to be in the familiar presence. She had Faersing on her lap, with its scabbard resting on Bilbo's legs. Kili was at her side, peering curiously and grinning like the rascal he was with Fili who looked a little tamer in his mirth.
She remembered this, how Kili and Fili bombarded her with questions of her sword. They were quite taken by its beauty, and Kili was a little dismayed she would not allow him to hold its handle that time. She looked calm in the picture, more at ease than she ever did on that quest, and even wore an exasperated smirk at Kili.
Elysia made move to store the picture in her rucksack, but there came an incredibly racket behind her and Gandalf. The two beings of old turned; the silver beard and the black braid whipped about in the speed of their reaction, and two piercing pairs of eyes stared at Peregrin Took, standing next to a now headless corpse sitting on a well.
...
The silence lingered for a moment, and then fortune did not smile upon the Took. A loud creak emanated from the headless corpse and soon the entire frame fell; armor, bones, and dust—with the addition of a chained bucket. The deafening clamor echoed through Moria and took a long ten seconds to be silenced.
Elysia glared lividly at the hobbit, eyes building a stormy furry.
Pippin cringed. He wanted to sink into the floor. The silence was as deafening as the racket.
She dropped the framed picture into her rucksack and flung it around her shoulder while Gandalf slammed the book shut. The fellowship let out a small exhale of breath, but the dragon and the wizard hardly looked relieved.
"Fool of a Took!" They both snapped, simultaneously. The two hardly noticed their simutaneous outburst.
Gandalf stepped forward and snatched the staff and pointy hat from the hobbit.
"Throw yourself in there, next time, and rid us of your stupidity!" He snapped, while Elysia looked ready to throttle the hobbit or throw him into the well herself.
But then the dragon grew rigid, for deep within the depths of Moria came a beat.
Thud.
It was as if the Mines awakened, for the beat became steady like a heart.
Thud… Thud…
Elysia, usually comforted by heartbeats, felt a dreadful anxiety at the beating sound.
Pippin turned back to the well, as everyone also began to hear the heart of the mountain. Its pace was beginning to quicken like the palpating hearts of the nervous fellowship. Blood laced with adrenaline forced their muscles on edge, screaming at them to find an escape.
But there was no way out. They could not get out.
They were trapped...
A guttural shriek echoed in the mines, and Elysia heard Sam exclaim with a hiss.
"Blue…" Sting was glowing blue.
The dragon rushed towards Pippin who looked terrified, fearing her wrath.
"Elly, I'm s-sorr-" But the dragon merely grabbed him by the scruff of his collar and tossed him towards the other Halflings.
"They are coming." She hissed as she drew her falchion, pupils contracting into wild slits. She began to herd the hobbits closer to the tomb.
"Stay back and stay close to Gandalf!" She commanded. The hobbits dare not disobey those stormy eyes.
Boromir checked the door, only to be narrowly missed by two black arrows. Aragorn tossed his torch to the side and rushed to help Boromir shut the rotted wood doors.
"They have a cave troll." Boromir commented in mock dispassion.
Elysia let out a soft string of curses at their misfortune, but her eyes gleamed at the challenge. So the goblins brought a cave troll. They had a dragon.
As Gandalf drew Glamdring, the hobbits followed. The men barricaded the door, and Boromir stepped back next to Elysia.
"Do you not think it would be wise to draw your other sword?"
Elysia did not reply, but Faersing's pommel seemed to wink.
Gimli's grief was overcome with rage. He snarled and stood upon Balin's toom, anger fueling courage into his bones.
"Let them come!" He growled fiercely. "There is one dwarf yet in Moria who still draws breath."
His wrath was so great; it would've impressed the dragon if she weren't distracted. Elysia turned to the hobbits; fear evident in their eyes but their faces showed determination that reminding her of Bilbo's impressive adamancy.
But this journey was not like the one to the lonely mountain. These goblins would not spare their lives like the others did.
"Watch one another's backs and remember the lessons. Light on your feet and react do not critically think." Her commanding voice brought them more courage. Good, they will need it.
The doors began to crack under the goblin's insistent strikes, but as soon as an opening was made, Legolas and Aragorn fired their arrows. Squeals of pain leaked from the other side as the arrows met their mark, but as impressive as their aims were, two archers could not stop an entire horde.
It was only a matter of time before they smashed through the shabby barricade, but when they came within distance, the blade of Silver Wind moved, and Silvindr's edge was stained in putrid dark blood.
She spun, parrying the blades attempting to slice at her back before decapitating a sloppily charging orc. Yanking out her curved dagger, she slit one's throat before bisecting another with her falchion at lightning fast pace. Her foul mood at the filthy blood spattering her clothes, blade, and hair added to her vicious edge. She hated getting dirty.
Spotting an orc charging at Merry, she threw her ridged curved dagger, downing the orc, allowing Merry to have time to regain his stance and stab another.
Before either hobbit could give her their thanks, Elysia rushed to them, yanking out her dagger from the convulsing orc she glared at the two.
"You are a cornered animal here, Peregrin, Merriadoc!" She did not bother to turn as she imbedded her falchion's tip into the face of an incoming enemy.
"Get Frodo and keep him safe on higher ground!" She commanded.
The dragon left none she fought alive. She spared no moment and spared no life, killing her foes the quickest way she could, not wasting time in prolonging fights against their poor swordsmanship.
Then a crash and the rattling chains of the cave troll caught her attention. Aragorn and Boromir managed to deter the massive violent creature from leaving Sam as nothing but a pulpy stain against the wall. But the troll then turned and flung Boromir to the wall. It wasn't very bright -trolls never were, but the sheer size and aggression made the beast a formidable foe.
Elysia promptly punched an orc in the nose as they began to corral her to the corner. The dragon ran to the walls and promptly kicked off them as jagged blade came down where she had stood. Landing now behind them, she quickly made work with Silvindr in beheading them, leaving permanent expressions of grotesque surprise on their faces.
She turned around only to duck as a large grubby hand reached for her. Elysia sheathed her dagger and once again dodged, narrowly avoiding the troll's hand. She would not consent to being held like some club. But the troll was persistent. Was it trying to capture her? If so, on whose commands? This mountain troll didn't seem to want anyone else as a hostage.
There would be no answers from the insipid troll. In a flash of blue, Faersing sang in the air and sliced off two calloused fingers of the troll. It roared in agony while Elysia ran through the gap between its legs, sliding on one leg as she sliced a knee. The smelly creature staggered.
Faersing gleamed in violent joy as troll's gore dripped against its gleaming edge, and its master made sure to keep it happy, slicing through armor, hacking off heads, and impaling torsos. She found herself relishing this thrill. All the restless stress confined in Moria was being released with each swing of her swords.
The dragon felt a zealous rush of glee; bloodlust. It pulsed through her thundering heart, sharpening her teeth, thinning her pupils into ravenous slits.
Elysia parried with Silvindr and stabbed with Faersing at two orcs when she heard the dreadful sound in the heat of the battle. It wasn't an orc's cry. She turned around to seek the source.
The sight before her extinguished her bloodlust.
Frodo, impaled by the prong of the troll's forked spear, looked out of breathe and in agony. The dragon saw fire. Rage began to blaze within her. Faersing crackled like lightning as its blue began to burn more lividly than before. The fellowship was also enraged. They began to fight with more ferocity than ever. Gandalf roared as Glamdring sliced the troll's rib, and Gimli threw another axe at the troll. With a swing of his sword, Aragorn beheaded several goblin creatures while Boromir crushed skulls with his shield.
Legolas kept quiet, but his eyes burned cold with wrath as he made quick work with orcs foolish enough to near him before readying his arrows to aim for the troll; he would make a single kill shot.
No. Elysia would not give it the gift of a quick death. She would make it suffer.
She did not kill another orc. Her prey was now the troll.
Its head is MINE.
She hurled Silvindr with a savage growl, and the blade went straight into the troll's back. Charging forward, she stepped on Silvindr's hilt and leapt on top of the troll. Teethed sharp and bared, she released a guttural snarl. Faersing stabbed through the back of the troll's neck, like a snake latching its fangs onto prey. A gurgle bubbled from the troll as it tried to reach up at its neck. With its vitals being severe, the beast began choking in his own blood, but Elysia's assault did not stop there. She twisted Faersing mercilessly in the wound before yanking out the blood drenched blade, swinging up and slashing diagonally down deep into the base of the neck.
The blue blade cut through hide, meat, and bone, severing the spine so that only a thin flap of rough skin kept the head from splitting from the shoulders.
The troll fell onto its stomach with a loud rumbling thud.
Legolas blinked, lowering his bow and arrow. She had been reckless and for a moment, the elf had been worried if not mildly irked. He could have easily downed the foul beast. But when she simply pounced, he found himself mesmerized. Never had a partial decapitation of a mountain troll appear quite so… enthralling.
He wasn't the only one. The warriors stared at their female companion as she stood tall and straight from her kill. Her hands were covered in gore, staining her sleeves. Black blood smeared her cheek and neck, moistening the locks framing her face, clashing against the olive glow of her skin.
The savagery in those eyes sent ice in their blood; a startling reminder that dragons were not tame. No one dared to speak, but Elysia simply walked to the lower back of the troll and with a violent yank, she pulled out Silvindr from its flesh.
A small shuffle came from her right. An orc was still alive, weak but moving.
The dragon walked down from her kill, strides heavy and firm. When she stood with the creature at her feet, she raised a single leg and smashed it down on the head.
The males flinched as the heel of her foot crushed the orc's thick skull. Slimy black pulp oozed from the now unrecognizable head.
She would burn every last goblin, orc, black creature in these mines even if it took all her flame to do so. They'll all suffer for what they have done, for the treasure they have taken from her.
Before the dragon could make do on her silent warpath, a small weak and raspy breathe caught her attention.
Aragorn had gone to Frodo, dreading the blank stare of lifelessness he would see. But when Aragorn flipped Frodo over, the hobbit gave a grunt and gasp of pain. The fellowship was startled, and the dragon's savage look was gone in place of astonishment and hope. To Legolas it was as sudden and as odd as a wild wolf turning into a tamed dog within a heartbeat.
Sam was already there with Aragorn when Elysia came. He sighed in relief.
"He's alive." He assured her, but Elysia still had to check him with her own eyes.
He was breathing hard, sweating, and a little pained but there was no bleeding wound. He wasn't dying, and seeing this, Elysia leaned against the wall and sagged in relief. By the skies, these hobbits would be the death of her.
"You should be dead." Aragorn exclaimed, sharing her sentiment. "That spear would've skewered a wild boar."
Suddenly, they heard Elysia give out a raspy chuckle. She stared at the ceiling, smirking to herself as she shook her head.
"Of course…" She whispered with mirth. Such sudden joy this untimely place…? Had the dragon lost her mind?
"You Bagginses never cease to surprise me." Elysia muttered.
How could she have forgotten about the mithril? It was as hard as dragon scales. A mere cave troll could not penetrate that immaculate armor.
Gandalf smiled. "I think there is more to the hobbit than meets the eye." And sure enough, they were greeting with the sparkling radiance of the mithril shirt. But their relief and wonder could not last, for the sound of an army echoed through the tunnel.
"Quick! To the bridge of Khazad-dum." Upon Gandalf's order, they quickly left the deathtrap. Elysia took one last look at Balin's broken tomb before a certain elf prince gently grabbed her wrist.
"Elysia, we cannot linger."
The dragon gritted her teeth and turned away from the broken tomb. Even if they turn to dust, Elysia swore never to forget them. A dragon would never forget those who they have befriended so closely.
I will come back for you, and I shall bring Bilbo. We've made a promise to see each other again. To drink fine mead and laugh together. It matters not that you are in graves my friend… I will return.
/
/
Goblins began to crawl out from every crack and corner of the great chamber, flooding in and rushing towards them like a rush of an angry insect colony. They even began to leak out of the ceiling, scaling down the walls like quick, oozing sap.
There were too many of them rushing forward.
"Gandalf!" Elysia cried. If she changed into her form, perhaps she could incinerate a path for them or scare the creatures off.
"No!" Gandalf refuted her unspoken idea. "You will be shot down before you can do a thing."
They were forced to stop, for the goblins surrounded them. In the sea of hideous faces, Elysia snarled and raised her blades.
"We will die anyways!" She snarled. "Mithrandir, I can get us out!"
"Elysia! It knows you are here! Think, impudent dragon? Why was the troll trying so ardently to-"
A deep, ground shaking growl echoed through the chamber of Dwarrowdelf, and with its echo, a wave of silence came. Elysia nearly dropped her blades. Her scales itched and shuddered from within as the fellowship spotted a flaming orange light consuming the far off end of the chambers.
Goblins began to scream and yelp in fear, for they knew what awoke. Their lord had awakened…
Another snarl from the deep bellowed through the halls.
The goblins began to scatter, but it hardly mattered to them anymore. They were about to face a terror far fouler than an army of globlins.
"Mithrandir." Elysia whispered; eyes wide and swords lowered.
Gandalf had told her once, of what the dwarves awoken in their greedy dig within the mines during the time of Durin's rein. It was the main reason why Elysia refused to enter with the wizard in his last visit; for she had seen these demons before and she would never risk seeing them again…. Until now.
These creatures were worthy foes of the oldest of her kind. Even amongst certain dragons, they were feared. They were the slavers, the killers of many dragons.
"What knew devilry is this?" Boromir asked.
There were very few things dragons feared, and this creature was one of them. Forever, Elysia would remember the sight of their tainted fire as they followed Sauron into conquering the dragons.
"… A Balrog." Elysia hissed. "A demon of the ancient world…."
The orange light was coming closer, the growls becoming louder.
"This foe is beyond any of you." Gandalf whispered then cried "RUN!"
They obeyed with new vigor. Elysia and Gandalf ran behind the others, for the evil weighted them like chains. The balrog's darkness was suffocating. She could feel its foul spell impeding their steps, the scent of boiling blood and cinder.
Pain surged through Elysia's body, crippling her run.
"Ebrithil." She rasped. What was happening? Why was this dark magic effecting her so viciously?
"Elysia!" Gandalf turned to his old apprentice upon seeing her stagger. She was holding her chest as though hot irons were prodding her torso.
"I… I-!" It took all of Elysia's will not to fall when she felt the familiar black malice grip her body. Pain, it twisted against her like a dozen hot pokers.
"I can feel the Morgul blade again."
It was as Gandalf had feared. The black art of the Nazgúl's poison had left a lingering impression within the dragon's raw mana. It was feeding off the tainted aura of the demon Maia, growing in strength once more.
The shadows of Moria were like poison. Her body was slowed as though she was drowning in tar.
"I can smell you, little wyrm."
Elysia felt fear run cold through her blood. She sheathed Silvindr, keeping Faersing still in her hand and leaned against the wall. The bridge was so near, but this presence was squeezing her.
"Elysia." Aragorn whispered. Gandalf, who also looked drained by the presence of sheer evil, turned to his old apprentice.
"Do not listen to the shadows, Elysia!" He urged before pushing Aragorn. "Hurry and lead them on! The bridge is near!"
"But-"
"Do as I say!" He barked. "Swords are no more use here." The wizard grabbed his apprentice and jostled her harshly.
"Elysia… Listen to my voice."
"It can sense the Ring… It's calling to me…" She wheezed. Her voice was unnatural, and silver drowned the whites of her eyes as the pits of her pupil began to widen.
"Elly!" Frodo called from in front, noticing she was too far apart. She cringed at the sound of her little one's voice.
"Remember your friends, remember your oath." Gandalf urged, and they could not linger. He dragged the dragon towards the broken bridge where Legolas had already leapt to the other side. The wizard hesitated and forced the dragon to go first. But Elysia froze as the guttural voice echoed in her mind.
"Come to me, little wyrm… Do not linger in the presence of that weak little slave of the Valar…"
Elysia wanted to shut her ears. She wanted to be deaf. Its deep bellowing voice was bouncing off the walls of her brain and filling her mind with poison. She needed light, she needed air, she needed to-
"Elysia!" Legolas's voice seemed to stab into her mind and shove away the poison, like clear water cleaning a foul stream with a great flood.
Legolas reached out with his hand, his eyes assuring. "Elysia, come." His voice was much softer, much lighter, than the Balrog's poisonous words. The command blew away the cloud in her mind, and she leapt impulsively towards his outstretched arm. She did not need help, but Legolas grabbed her anyways, his grasp on her arm lingering as if to comfort her.
Gandalf went next before a chunk of the bridge fell. Goblins began to shoot from afar, and Legolas clenched his jaws as he began to try firing arrows and attempt in helping the perilous leap. Elysia finally shook her head and gritted her teeth.
"Keep firing." She demanded as she took his place. Now was not the time to cower in fear.
She made an oath, and no foul demon of fire and shadow would stop her from fulfilling it. This was her body, her mind, and her soul. It may be in pain, but it was still under her control
Elysia pressed through the agony and focused. When Sam was thrown, she caught him in her arms and gently placed him behind her. The dwarf came next, but he refused to be tossed. He leapt and nearly fell, but Elysia managed to grab hold of his long red beard, ignoring his protest, and yanked him to safety.
Boromir leapt with Pippin and Merry in his grasp, making it across, but when Aragorn and Frodo came, the bridge fell apart even further. The gap between the fellowship and the two was impossible to leap, but…
Elysia quickly unstrapped her belt and back strap from her form, sheathing Faersing she rushed to Sam in the back.
"Samwise!" She began to wrap the belt around his waist and tightened Faersing's strap onto his back.
"I need you to look after Faersing and Silvindr for me. Do NOT lose them, do I make myself clear?"
Sam nodded frantically. Silvindr was too big to lay dormant at his belt so he somewhat hugged it to his chest.
"Yes, Miss Elly!" He replied quickly, for it was no good to waste time of an impatient dragon.
"Do not touch Faersing's handle." And with that warning, Elysia backed further into an emptier space. In a rush of blue light, she leapt off the side of the bridge, causing Boromir and Gimli to cry out.
Her wings quickly caught the air, and Elysia propelled herself into flight, but she did not feel the freedom she had always felt.
No… there was something wrong. When she had taken her draconic form, something in her shifted with it. She felt wilder, more feral than before. Her forked tongue was craving for blood. Her spirit yearned to steal souls from their fleshly shells.
Dragons were naturally savage creatures, but this was unnatural. Never had she felt such vivid bloodlust. Gandalf was right… She could not linger in this form here. This form made her vulnerable to something far more dangerous than a stray arrow or a blade. Quickening the speed of her flight, she soared vertically towards the ranger and her hobbit.
Aragorn and Frodo began to sway dangerously on the unstable island. Aragorn was going to commence his last resort, using gravity to perhaps aid them to cross, but a gust of wind interrupted them. A blue dragon landed behind them and with its clawed hands hooked on their backs, they were airborne.
Frodo yelped as he was plucked off the ground like a kitten. His stomach lurched and his feet immediately yearned for solid ground.
Elysia landed them ahead of the group on the bridge. Gandalf looked irritated but relieved, and whipped his head to glare at the dragon perched on an edge.
"What did I say!" He barked.
"I know!" Elysia began to shift back in a flurry of peeling scales. When she reverted, she appeared haggard and fearful. "It is not safe. Something isn't right." She grimaced when she felt the pulsating agony inside her again, displeased by her sudden shift.
"Why deny your nature? Can't you see? Can't you feel? You are a dragon. Not a man. Not a hobbit. Not an elf…"
It was eating at her from the inside.
Gimli grasped her arm to support her while Legolas and Aragorn were returning the volley of arrows with their own.
"C'mon lass!"
"Go!" She all but spat. "There is no time!"
But Gimli did not release her. With strength belying his size, he proceeded to drag her with the rest.
"Over the bridge!" Gandalf cried as the bridge drew nearer in sight. But the Balrog was even closer. Pippin tripped and fell while Gandalf spun around to see the beast. It was truly a spawn of devils as it rose from the wall of flame with a great snarl before crouching low at the Istari. Horned, vicious, and demonic, this creature was the embodiment of shadow and flame. It opened its maws and released a sweltering hot roar.
Pippin couldn't find it in his voice to scream, but the Balrog did not give him time to. It pulled forth a fiery saber from its back and swung the blade downwards on the hobbit.
The hobbit stood no chance against the blow. Pippin could only wait for his death. But something dark and blue rushed to his side.
The cries of the fellowship were ignored by the dragon as she grabbed Faersing from Sam and lunged to stand before Peregrin Took, obscuring him from the Balrog's flaming saber. With a mighty heave, Elysia swung her sword into a reversed hold and turned with all the force she could muster.
Brightsteel collided with cursed iron, and the fellowship was blinding by the shower of white sparks and fire.
She could not block the massive fiery blade, Faersing could not break it as it could with blades of lesser forging, and she certainly could not match the strength of the Balrog, dragon or no. But with a firm stance and a twist of her sword, she managed to redirect the hammering blow of the demon's saber. The flaming sword slammed at the vacant space near Pippin's side, shattering the stone floor into a cloud of debris.
The Balrog's strength was staggering. Elysia felt her arms tremble under the force of its blow, but she had little time to waste. Using the cover of the debris, the dragon grabbed Pippin, placed him back on his feet, and snarled.
"RUN, PEREGRIN TOOK, OR YOU WILL NOT LIVE TO TASTE ANOTHER SECOND BREAKFAST!"
It appeared to have been an effective threat. The fool of a Took made the fastest dash he ever made, and Elysia ran with him. Her fierce demand encouraged the fellowship at a faster pace to the bridge. Elysia turned to see the Balrog look absolutely livid—more than it already appeared—as its seething glare focused on her.
"I will have you hide, you defiant little wyrm… Then I will present you to my master!"
The dragon bared her teeth and hissed, rolling out of the way of yet another hammering blow from the Balrog's sword. Her fear fueled her speed.
"Try and catch me, you bumbling lump of coal!" She taunted in her attempt to stall it from the others.
The sweltering odor of its foul breath nearly distracted her from making a leap, narrowly avoiding the sword's move at cutting her torso. The fellowship was crossing the narrow bridge, having used the time given to them by the dragon. Now she needed to save her own life.
Leaping from the side of the stairs, she stabbed her sword into the stone walls to slow her descent to the lower levels where the fellowship awaited for her on the other side of the bridge.
But when she ran halfway across the divide, the Balrog spoke.
"You think you can run? I will hunt you down as I have done with many of your kin, Dragon of the Storm."
The dragon stopped running. Her grip on Faersing loosened, and then it turned white.
Realization twisted into a hateful rage.
"…. You… were there…" She hissed, looking wild as she turned to face the great demon.
Legolas leaned over towards the bridge. What was she doing? Why did she stop running?
"Elysia! Make haste!"
But his call fell on deaf ears.
"Elysia!" He cried desperately.
The Balrog knew the ancient tongue of her kind, for it was old and ancient. It had hunted and enslaved enough to learn. A growling guttural chuckle filled the air.
"Yes… Yes I was."
So it had been a part of Sauron's conquering fleet that day when sorrow came.
In Elysia's blind rage, she did not see Gandalf step forward, between her and the demon. Rage rivaling the malice of the demon burned in those pale eyes of the ancient Istar.
"You were at the Eyrie…" His voice was dark. Glamdring and the staff clenched tightly in each hand, the wizard stood poised to fight against the massive demon that dwarfed his gray form.
The Balrog used the moment they were distracted and swung his sword forward. Elysia lunged to Gandalf's side and raised her blade in the nick of time to parry the blow. But her grip could not combat the might of the Balrog. The demon disarmed Faersing from her grasp, propelling it towards the other side of the bridge. Gimli barely had time to tackle the hobbits into a nose dive to avoid being impaled by the blue blade. Faersing struck the earthen wall behind them with a massive metal chime and remained there.
Disarmed but too enraged to be dismayed, Elysia saw red.
She discarded all control, all restraint, and ignored all warnings. The magic of her shifting spell was wilder this time. Lightning seemed to crackle and implode into a growing storm of fire encircling the dragon.
Gandalf had little time to avoid the terrible might. Terror laced his heart but he was too late.
"No! Elysia, STOP!"
An earsplitting, howling roar shook the Misty Mountain.
A mighty pair of wings obscured the Balrog from the fellowship's view. The finned tip of a long, scaly tail lashed forth, knocking many of them off their feet.
Frodo balked. Never had he seen Elysia's dragon form grow to such size. Her body was on par with the Balrog, her wings made her even bigger. Every glimmer of her blue scales clashed against the crimson wrath of the Balrog's own might. She stretched her serpentine neck and released another roar.
The Balrog refused to be cowed by the thunderous rage brewing in the dragon. For centuries, it has fought her kind, hunted them down like wolf to sheep. This measly runt of a storm drake will not best its ancient strength.
"You dare challenge me?" He roared and lifted himself to his full height. Sword and whip in hand. He will bind this bird in chains of fire and serve her to his lord.
Frodo rushed to Gandalf, who had been flung back by the force of Elysia's tail. Shaking him to consciousness, the hobbit asked in desperation. "Somethings wrong. What's happening? Gandalf!" This was not the Elysia he knew. This dragon was feral.
Gandalf had not the heart to tell the hobbit. Nor did he have the time. The situation was spiraling to greater peril each second Elysia stayed in that form. She was blind to it, blind to herself, but the wizard could sense it; the familiar, dark malice stirring within her own core.
"I WILL KILL YOU." There was so much grief in the wrath of that promise. With every fiber of her scaled being, Elysia felt hate.
It's their fault… their fault she's all alone. All of them…
They shall all burn.
Every. Last. One.
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