I was going to save this chapter for next week, but I am feeling bold.
-Mana
Sorry, I made a few corrections in grammar (probably missed more than that). It bothered the critical part of me.
Chapter 14- Falling Slowly
Third Age, five years into Elysia's time with the Grey Pilgrim:
It was just like falling into slumber, but this time she hoped she wouldn't awaken. She didn't want to wake up and return to a world without them. If she couldn't fly up to the stars to join them, then perhaps this would pave a way for her to see them at least once more.
Why did mortals fear death? Did they not see the gift of it? Should living be a burden too painful to bear, they could escape painlessly to the next journey. They were not forced to walk this world should it become barren and black for them.
Immortals were not given that luxurious gift. Beings like her, cursed with longevity, with vitality that lasted for lifetimes could only seek death through pain. It wasn't fair.
Perhaps that was why she "cheated". This was as painless as she could possibly make it. She had escaped that infuriating grey pilgrim and found this place. Surely he wouldn't go through such perils to follow her to the peak of this icy summit.
It was so beautiful here and so painfully cold, even to a young dragon. In the heart of this place, there was a lake. To her fortune, it had yet to freeze to its core. A few stomps with her forepaws and the thick shield of ice had shattered, revealing the churning dark depths of the lake.
She didn't even spare the world another glance when she dove into the frigid waters.
Cold… It was so cold. It bound her body in a tight unseen grasp and began sucking away the remnant of her heat.
And so she waited. Disregarding the pain in her lungs, the burning sensation in her limbs, she waited.
Her patience rewarded her. The agony was fading and in its place, numbness began to embrace her. She was tired now; ready to sleep eternally, she hoped with all her heart that when she awakened, she would see them again.
…..
'What are you doing here?'
She opened her eyes. Perhaps the heavens wished to answer her quickly, for she found herself standing upon a mirror of the sky. Stars speckled the horizon in an endless distance, creating streams and clusters.
'What are you doing?'
He was here, and oh how sweet it was to see him once more. Silver met emerald in a hungry gaze of longing.
'Vraiel…'
But her brother was not smiling. He stared at her impassively, green eyes gliterring under the curtain of raven curls. Such stoicism was uncharacteristic of him.
'Little blue… Why are you here?' His lips moved, and his words echoed around her world.
'I…. I-'
'Did you forget already?'
He silenced her with his gaze. His question remained unanswered.
What did she forget?
'What would menoa say…?' Vraiel sighed forlornly.
Menoa… Menoa was gone.
'But she left something to you… she entrusted you…'
Entrusted her… with what?
She thought he would be happy to see her. She was so happy to see him again, she wanted to cry. But Vraiel only frowned at her. Sadness swept his impassive countenance.
'Do you not remember?'
Did she not remember what? Their mother? Of course she remembered her. She will never be able to forget. Their beloved menoa, her roar, her songs, her laughter…
Her last word…
'…. Live.'
Elysia fell to her knees. Her body was heavy, so heavy she felt immobile.
'So you do remember…' Now he wore a sad smile. 'Now what are you doing here?'
What was she doing here? Why was she here? It was because she didn't want it. She didn't want to live.
Shame fell on her like a torrent of rain. She was breaking her mother's last wish…. But it wasn't fair. She never promised. She never promised to carry on.
How could she carry on when she was alone? She had nothing but a mere legacy of her family.
How could they ask her to carry such weight?
'You have to…' Vraiel whispered. 'For me… for us…'
He was right… Vraiel was always right. If not for her, then at least for them… she had to continue. If their legacy was going to end with her, it had to end in glory… Not like this… This was selfish… This was weak.
'You have to wake up… Wake up little blue…. Wake up….
Wake up!... Elysia… WAKE UP.!"
And she did wake up… She woke up into a world of pain. The world was blurred, and for a moment she saw the shadow of an old, familiar face wrought with despair… Then the world went black once more.
….
Living was painful. She realized this much when she opened her eyes. She found herself bundled in great warmth. The ceiling was a night sky, filled with constellations she knew all too well. The orange light of a hearty fire burned and flickered by her side. She turned herself to the side and rose to sit upright, a thick woolen blanket crumpled at her lap.
They were away from the mountain, camping on a cliff of grass.
The wizard was regarding her quietly from across the fire. His face gave nothing away, not sorrow, not ire. Smoke curled from his pipe.
It was a long moment before either of them spoke.
"… I…" what could she say? She had little doubt the wizard knew what she had tried to do. It unnerved her. He wasn't berating her. He wasn't even glaring at her.
"You are young." He spoke, surprising her to silence. "When others see you, they see a child…"
She didn't know what to say. By draconic standards, she was a child, and by mortal standards, she appeared to be one, but she most likely outlived many men in her childhood. Where was he getting at?
"You are a child… Being a child is only a beginning… tis a start…" He set his pipe down to his lap. "Your beginning in this world was a terrible one… But that does not mean your journey, and ultimately your end, is destined to be terrible…. With that in mind, what are you going to do from here on?"
Again he asked her. He rarely commanded her, rarely gave her orders, demanding her obedience. In the end, he always simply asked her.
And it was because of that reason she swore to follow Gandalf loyally as his apprentice.
"… I'm going to live."
/
/
/
~O~O~O~O~O~
Storms were terrifying things to behold. That was why the Shire folk always remained in their holes when the sky seemed to be enraged. It's bright, blinding flashes, wagon tilting wind, and pounding roars were as dangerous as they were beautiful. However the essence of fear was not drawn by the loud sounds or the destructive nature, but by the sheer uncertainty one would face in the midst of a tempest's wrath. Fear may stem from an absence of knowing, because the unknown is a terrifying place to be. And the storm was something that could not be known to absolution.
It was without predictability, without mercy, without kindness… Whether you are defiant or compliant, it matters not to the squall.
And Frodo understood why Elysia's dragon kin were called dragons of the storm.
Gone was the dragon he thought he always knew. Those silvered eyes bore a wildness so great, not a field of corpses and blood would be able to appease the lust for blood. Hatred poured from the dragon, seeping from the layers of her scales, causing him to tremble.
This was not Elysia, it couldn't be.
Yet it is… Elly Walkins she may be, but do not forget… underneath all the affection she bears, she is still a dragon… a savage, blood spilling, chaos wreaking dragon.
"NO!" Frodo pulled himself away from the poisonous thoughts. "Elly! Please!" He begged, and he would have pleaded at her side, but Aragorn held him away from the duel between the demon and the dragon.
In all his terror, Frodo felt greater despair. This wasn't his dragon. This wasn't his friend, and he needed her back.
A great hiss emanated from the blue dragon's maw. Bright blue light began to seep from her scales, tracing the feathered crescents of her clan's birthright mark from the torso, wings, and the horns crowning the dragon's head. With a great heave, Elysia fired a blinding blue ball of flame. Upon impact on the Balrog's chest, it burst with a warped bang. Their ears rang with the thunderous aftershock of the blast, leaving their ears ringing numbly as the halls of Moria rippled.
Fire did not harm a demon of flame, but the sheer force of the ballistic strike swept the Balrog off its feet, shoving it against the eroded walls of Moria's mine. There was a great crack as stone upon stone began to cave under the pressure before the Balrog stilled itself.
At this rate, another strike from the dragon would cause the mine to collapse and bury them all.
But the dragon did not seem to see or perhaps she did not care. Her anger was too great, overriding all reason.
This hatred was crippling… It was terrible, and it was heartbreaking. Legolas felt his heart burn; the weight of the dragon's malice searing his soul. He couldn't stand it. It was agonizing, feeling this hatred.
This wasn't who Elysia was. She was not capable of such malevolence. The dragon was mighty, but he, and none in the fellowship, would ever believe Elysia to be capable of such malice. She was not of the dark. This black storm in her did not belong there, but it was consuming her.
She had to see it. The dragon had to see that she was losing herself to great evil.
But before Legolas could step forward, a rush of grey robes went first. He moved to follow, only for the wizard to turn and pin him with a pensive gaze. Those grey eyes were eerily familiar in their untimely calm.
"Retrieve Faersing, Legolas."
Numbly, Legolas obeyed the toneless command. Without much thought to his grasp on the sword's handle, the elf yanked the blade from its place in the stone wall where it had been flung. In the meantime, Gandalf had urged Sam to hand him the scabbard of the blue sword.
Legolas came forward, Faersing in hand, ready to give his aid, but the wizard stopped him with a cryptic remark.
"In time you must do what I have always done… But it is not this day."
Gandalf gave the elf no chance to inquire what he meant. He sheathed the sword in Legolas' hand and tore it from his grasp, gnarled fingers grasping the hard leather surface of the scabbard tight.
"Run. Take them somewhere safe."
And the wizard stepped onto the bridge of Khazadum once more.
/
Elysia breathed in deeply, once more preparing to send the Balrog an explosive blast. But the Balrog would not be assaulted by the same attack. It swung the whip in its arm with a powerful snap, and lashed it around her neck. Elysia released a roar as she tried to yank herself free, but the fiery rope tightened. The Balrog's nostrils flared and as if it were taming a dog, the demon yanked the dragon, determined to force her into submission. Gandalf nearly fell off the bridge as Elysia was jostled and jerked in the air.
"Come here you wyrm!"
It pulled the dragon closer, reached forth with a burning hand, and grabbed her by the neck. Elysia gasped as she tried to release another bolt of fire, but the Balrog sensed this and gripped tighter.
"You will cease your struggle, little wyrm… Obey and I shall keep you alive!"
The arrogant remark only made the dragon struggle and thrash more than ever. Elysia clawed at the shadowy black arm and defiantly smacked the Balrog's face with her powerful tail.
It only served to anger it. "Insolent little wyrm. I will break you."
The Balrog smashed her against the rock, narrowly crushing her wings. In her lithe frame, Elysia felt the bones of her arm protest at the odd angle and snarled in her agony.
Then came the wizard in his righteous fury. "You will unhand her! Flam of Udun!" With Faersing in hand, Gandalf summoned a blinding, sacrosanct light from his staff's crystal. The light appeared to bring great anguish to the Balrog. It shielded its flaming sockets and released Elysia, sending her plummeting down the abyss.
Gandalf cried out for his former apprentice but the Balrog recovered from his strike and prepared to smash its fist on the wizard. A blue blur shot up from the dark and in a warping blast, struck the Balrog yet again in the head, shoving it back from the wizard.
Elysia landed behind the Istari, growling. Her right arm was cradled to her chest and her entire frame heaved in the stress of her wounds. In her scuffle, the Balrog had managed to cut her with its blade. Her hind leg suffered a jagged gash. Hot crimson streams of red poured down the leg, onto the barren stone of the bridge.
"Do not try to run!"The Balrog began to rise once more, lashing its whip. "I will hunt you as I have done with all the others… You will never escape me!"
"Do not mistake a dragon as your prey!" Elysia snarled savagely, and spat another fire bolt at its chest. As it staggered back once more, Elysia was prepared to leap and tackle the demon in a head on collision.
But her old master suddenly pivoted and faced her fully. In her rage, the dragon raised her head, hissing viciously. "Out of my way, Istar!"
How dare this small wizard stand between a dragon and her prey.
This small wizard is a teacher… He is a friend.
She cared not. She cared for nothing that was not aligned with her vengeance. No longer would she allow these weak creatures to chain her power.
The Grey Pilgrim raised Faersing to her face. His voice echoed with enchanted might. "You are not yourself. This is not your strength. This evil is not your doing, and it is not who you are.
What did he know? What did any of them know? They knew nothing of dragons. They knew nothing of her wrath.
She raised her head. If this wizard did not move out of her path, she would burn him too. She would not repeat herself twice.
But then Gandalf the Gray stared at her in a way she never quite saw before. His eyes were watery and he was smiling. Has the heat addled his brain? What made him smile at a lethal dragon on her warpath? Was he even sane?
Her surprise ceased her from conjuring the fire in her chest. Soon she came to her senses.
Wait... Why was she targeting her old master? How could she even consider raising her claw against her precious companion?
What was this madness?
The wizard gazed upon her with a beaming pride and from the depths of those old twinkling eyes, she saw great love. It was as if Gandalf was looking at her, admiring her strength and her growth since he first met her, acting as if….
This was the last time he would see her.
"It has been an honor to fight by your side, Elysia Bjartskular."
His sudden praise vanquished the remnants of her blind rage. Her wings began to droop and fold to her body, and her growling fell silent. Rage was replaced by confusion.
"…. Ebri-"
"I am no longer your 'master' Elysia…. Forgive me, my child."
Gandalf moved forward and with the tip of Faersing's pommel, struck the dragon squarely on the chest. Elysia felt a massive pulse of bone shaking magic rattle her draconian frame. She was flung back against the far wall, Faersing following her as it clung to her torso. Her scales seemed to loosen and shed away in a swirl of familiar blue light around her.
She had shifted against her feral will, by Gandalf's magic and resolve. A small, dark haired, and wounded Elysia smacked against the wall before landing on the dusty flat rock. Her chest felt sore from the surge of magic and her entire body ached, severely battered by the Balrog's wrath. She released a pained cry as her right arm greatly protested the jostle of her body.
Cradling her arm against her chest, she attempted to rise only to feel her legs give out beneath her. As she fell, the world became hazed. Her vision tired.
There was something gentle but firm that caught her fall, and a soft, loving whisper of her name, beckoned the dragon to darkness.
/
/
/
"Fly you fools."
They could do nothing but watch as Gandalf the Grey fell into the abyss of Moria. A strange numbness laced the elven prince's heart, freezing his lungs to stop his own cry of despair. The elf only held the unconscious body of their wounded dragon closer to him.
But nothing stopped Frodo from crying out into the darkness.
The hobbit struggled feebly to break free from his human restraints, but they could not give him time to dwell in his denial. They had to leave. Goblin arrows were beginning to rain down upon them and only by fortune's smile did the arrows not strike anyone of the company.
Elysia remained unmoving in his arms, frightening him greatly. With Aragorn nearing them, Legolas passed the maiden into Aragorn's open arms, freeing himself to restring his bow with arrows, targeting the goblin archers.
When they escaped, and the heaven's light greeted them, the fellowship could do nothing but stop. There was little welcoming joy at the sight of the sky and the smell of the free air, no matter how much they had all yearned for it in their time under the mountain. Nothing could quell their mourning hearts for what they had lost.
Despair. If there was only one word one could use to define the fellowship at that moment, it was despair. The hobbits wept for never have they thought they would experience such nightmare and grief as they had just did within the Mines of Moria. Merry held Pippin as he sobbed. Samwise Gamgee dug nails into his scalp as he wept, hoping to tear the very memory of their plight. They all mourned, and whether tears were shed or not, the loss was the same. They lost their Istar, the riddled Gray Pilgrim of Middle Earth; the one who had been to many places and done many things. He had been their guide and comfort.
/
The light appeared to have drawn Elysia from her comatose state. Those silver pools reflected the sky.
Drinking the sight of the heavens, Elysia's hand reached out in earnest yearning. Feeling the wind caress her palm, the dragon breathed in deeply and sighed.
There was a long, baited silence.
Then she spoke.
"Why…. Why do they weep?" Her voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.
Why were they grieving? Had they not escaped the darkness of Moria in one piece? Did they not miss the sight of the sky? They should be rejoicing. They should be rejoicing and continuing their journey with hearts of jubilation.
The elf and the ranger would not answer her, but there was misery etched upon their faces.
Elysia did not understand. Growing impatient, she began to move. Her body protested with burning throbs of hurt, but the dragon paid no heed. Grabbing Aragorn's shoulder, she tried to remove herself from his arms.
"Elysia-" The ranger gently relented, and with great care, he set down the dragon. She wanted to roll her eyes. She was not a dying damsel. He did not need to treat her so gently.
"Aragorn, I have strength to stand." Elysia assured, grabbing Faersing. Her fingers trembled, surprising her. There was little strength left in her arm to even hold her sword to her.
At her movement, her wounds began to stir, causing her to nearly double over at the sudden agony. There was a moist, chill on her leg as the mountain breeze fluttered through her. The wound on her leg had been deep. Despite her body's quick healing, the cut did not close and continued to bleed in copious amounts. The skin of her arm felt as though it was placed on hot iron, and her neck. She did not dare turn her neck after doing so to look at Aragorn caused a flare of burning hurt to sear through her neck.
Legolas noticed the dragon's discomfort and reached to lift her into his arms again.
"It's alright." Elysia raised her good hand, stopping the elf from doing such things. She was not fragile and refused to be treated as such.
But Aragorn's next words numbed her.
"No… No, Elysia it is not." The ranger sounded so broken, so unlike his resolute self.
Elysia glared at him. What was he going on about? She was fine. Granted, she appeared more battered than any of them have ever seen, but surely they knew she would hardly die from mere flesh wounds, Balrog or no, she wouldn't die from cuts, bruises, and burns like this.
She was fine. So she pushed at their helping hand and stood straighter, facing upward.
Then she noticed it. They were not fine.
There was a great veil of mourning on the company. The hobbits freely wailed, and even the hardened warriors were woeful. Gimli remained as still as stone, unmoving with a sunken expression of despair, and Boromir appeared lost, his proud bearing broken by the weight of their journey.
But that was not what brewed the bitterness in Elysia's throat.
They were a company of ten, but she could only see nine.
Gandalf, her old master was missing. Where was Mithrandir?
She had not realized she had spoken out loud. Elysia wished she hadn't, for she was not ready to hear the ranger's answer.
"Gandalf has fallen."
The dragon had faced many painful things in her life. She had been shot by an elvish arrow, beaten by her own kind, half-drowned in a merciless river, struck by a witch's curse, wounded by a Morgul blade, and battered by a Balrog. There were many painful moments, all of which she couldn't recall, but no physical ailment, no matter how crippling, could amount to the agony one felt in losing someone precious. It was an agony she felt a handful of times, but no matter how many treasured lives were lost to her, no matter how much she mourned, the pain was something that could never be numbed. A heart can never grow adjusted to the pain of loss.
So the dragon did the one thing that came to her. She denied it.
"No…" It was a soft denial, one with no real strength.
Aragorn whispered in heartbreaking pity. "Elysia."
"No." There was more heat now. "No… No, you lie!" She hissed.
"Elysia, Estel would not lie to you." It was Legolas. His siding with Aragorn burned her with anger. They were all fools. These two legged, fleshly beings were all fools.
How could they lose hope so easily? Gandalf would feel betrayed.
But he is not here…. He's not here… He will not feel the betrayal… He is not here to give them hope…
She could not cry, she would not cry, dragons did not cry, but the sheer mourning guilt of the loss tore her apart.
The one person she found… on that very cold day, in that very cold place… the first person after so many years of loss, terror, and pain, to show her that there was some good in this world, that there was always something worth fighting, living, and dying for was gone… The guardian figure that brought it upon himself to strengthen her and protect her throughout the ages was now no more.
After years and years of all those adventures, laughs, and troubles spent together, he was dead.
More distressingly, she was alone. Gandalf had been more to her than her teacher.
He had been her home.
The Shire was her place of peace, a place of comfort, but Gandalf… He was truly the closest thing she had to home… to family. Once again, she lost her home… She lost her family.
She was alone.
Those eyes were fading, yet they held so much loathing. Bloodless lips curved into a sneer, but seeing her like this… regardless of her being a foe, Elysia could not help but pity her. She was a dying sight far sadder than anything hateful and repugnant.
"….Glorious, is it not? To bear the title of Witchslayer…. But let it be a curse to you. Let this death of mine make you see… it will soon be made clear…
She is cursed to walk a life of solitude. People like us, the remnants of great legacies, are meant to fade in isolation. She can gather as many followers as she wishes, gather as many 'friends' if it comforts her… but it will not take away the loneliness… nothing can. And she will come to the same conclusion as I have done… And one day she will see the futility of it all…. Of trying to escape the lonely path…."
Those black eyes now targeted her and her alone.
"You will know despair… and you will break… as I have."
Those words have never haunted her to such prevalence until now.
Faersing clattered against the rock as it slipped from her grasp, and Elysia fell to her knees.
Empty eyes gazed at the pale stone of mirrored color.
"Elysia… Elysia we cannot linger." Aragorn moved to lift the dragon to her feet, but a hiss of warning came from her lips.
Elysia sank into her despair. Her world was crumbling before her, falling apart like it did that forsaken day. But Gandalf always urged her to seek hope, to seek light even when all lights appeared to be gone and the world seemed to be dark.
And there was that unspoken of Gandalf that he would come back.
She wanted to believe that. She had to believe that. That wizard could not just leave her here alone after everything. He could not leave her at this loss. Gandalf the Gray, Stormcrow, the Gray Pilgrim, the grumpy old grouch full of riddles, her Ebrithil cannot be dead.
This was not her denial. No, this was her hope.
Now more than anything she wanted him to be here. He wanted him to tell her something, tell her what to do, because for the first time she felt so lost. So she looked to the sky, the one place of comfort, the place where she was free from her burdens. Even for a brief moment, she wished… no, she needed to seek the sky.
She had to fly.
The dragon dipped her head down and touched the earth with the skin above her brow. Elysia did not care if she was insane or irrational. Her mind was a hurricane and this world was too still and grounded. It needed to be reversed. This was her rationale.
Aragorn and Legolas barely managed to leap back as Elysia's curled back began to contort. They did not know what to do when the dragon fell to her knees. Volatile and desperate in her crumbling control, Elysia began to shift. This time there was no bothering with any sort of spell.
Scales ripped through her clothing, tearing them as if they were paper. Massive wings burst from her back and stretched to hover over her, shielding her from their eyes. A howling roar echoed from her as she slammed her clawed hands against the ground, and soon they were in the presence of the blue dragon, small, battered, but wild with grief.
"Elysia." Legolas stepped forward but the dragon lashed its tail out. The elf barely managed to dodge the powerful appendage when the dragon hissed.
Wings raised high, the dragon turned her head to the sky and released a howl of lamentations so great; it crippled their hearts.
"No!" Cried Aragorn. But it was too late. None could stop the dragon's flight. With a single, powerful flap of her wings, the dragon shot towards the sky as a dark blue arrow.
The ranger cursed and raked a hand through his head. This fellowship was breaking…. First Gandalf fell, now Elysia flew, and to track a flying creature was impossible. But whether they liked it or not, it was imperative to move. They could not linger here and wait for the dragon to return.
"We must move! By nightfall these hills will be swarming with orcs!" The words burned his mouth.
He turned to his friend who still stared at the sky. "Legolas… Get them up."
"What of Elysia?"
Aragorn had no answer. Instead, he announced to the others. "We must reach the woods of Lothlórien!"
"We are to leave her?" Legolas almost snapped, angered when the ranger did not answer his question. The dragon's departure left him strangely hollow.
"We cannot linger here, mellon…." Aragorn then rested his hand on the elf's shoulder. "But we do not abandon friends."
There had to be a way to find her, or she would find him. In the meantime, they would seek shelter in Lothlórien.
The ranger then ran, searching for the one member of their group who knew Elysia the most. He mildly panicked when Frodo was missing, but after a quick search, he discovered the hobbit grieving from afar. Running up to the hobbit, he placed his hands upon his shoulders.
"Frodo, there is little time. Elysia has gone."
"I know." Frodo whispered with those heartbroken eyes. "I saw…" She must have left him because of the Ring, because Gandalf was dead. He blamed himself for the wizard's fall, so why wouldn't Elysia? Her beloved master is dead because of him and this wretched burden.
"Frodo, listen to me!" Aragorn knew what lament ran in the Ring bearer's mind, but there was little time to let the hobbit wallow. "Do you truly believe so little in your friend? She made an unbreakable vow to you, Frodo… She is ancient… She knows what perils could be faced if she came… Gandalf knew… Your friends knew and they still accompanied you. This fellowship formed for a reason…. Do not underestimate its strength." He whispered fiercely, grip on the hobbit's shoulders firm.
Tears fell from the hobbits eyes as he cast his eyes down. "I do not know where she flew…" He admitted shamefully. Aragorn despaired but simply stood up and looked about, as if hoping for there to be any other sign.
"Mr. Frodo!" Sam was running to them, no longer weeping for he had something urgent. He was clutching two familiar swords in his hand. Frodo focused on the blue longsword. His eyes widened. He ran pass Aragorn, towards Sam and the swords.
"Faersing." He whispered. The sapphire pommel seemed to wink at the uttering of its name.
The fellowship began to gather around them as hope sparked in Frodo's eyes. Sam gently laid Silvindr on the rock but held Faersing by its dark blue scabbard in front of Frodo. The others seemed confused at Frodo's and Sam's attentive behavior around the sword, all except Aragorn and Legolas.
"Her swords." Boromir commented. He had always admired the blue sword, for it radiated power unlike any sword he has ever seen.
"Miss Elly left them in my care." Sam stated while Frodo gently touched the scabbard, but never the handle or even the pommel or crossguard.
"Elly told me Faersing was forged by her own flame… She said it was made from the metal of a falling star and her own scale… This sword is a part of her, an extension of her spirit by some magic her people possess. If this is truly a part of her, then she will find it. Elly may have gone, but she will always always find her way back." There was so much resolve, such utter faith in the hobbit, those who were skeptical did not have the heart to contradict him.
"So we simply wait for her return?" Boromir inquired.
Aragorn shook his head. "No, we head for the woodland realm, and that is where we wait."
"Well, what are we waiting for?" Gimli growled, placing the butt of his axe on the rock with a look of utmost impatience. "Let's be off! I shall not have that lass give us a lashing with her forked tongue 'cause of punctuality!"
/
/
Pain was a good motivator. It lanced through her body with every beat of her wings, pushing her forward. But eventually it became her anchor. The fast beat of her wings began to turn clumsy, her bruised chest burned with each breath. Soon, her body began to rule over her mind as exhaustion began to take its hold.
Then there came a distant voice in the air.
"Beware of the Eye."
The dragon's pupils contracted. Her breath hitched. This voice echoed in her mind, yet it was not her own.
"Are you alone, Bjartskular?"
It was no delusion; her mind was breeched by a foreign presence. But the voice's inquiry struck her with a dreadful realization of her own. She was alone… But she was not supposed to be. Elysia's flight faltered with the epiphany.
What am I doing?
What has she done? How could she have abandoned the fellowship? She swore a promise to them, to her little one. Shame overwhelmed her, her and with it, the pain and exhaustion weighed her by tenfold. No longer could she bear to remain airborne.
But she had to find them. She had to seek them out. Now was not the time to rest. She willed her body to hear her mind's reason.
"Let them find you…. They are already coming…"
Her struggle ceased. This voice… This presence in her mind. She felt it before. She knew who this was.
The sound of breaking branches snapped her into reality. Her body was hitting the canopies. Against her own volition, her wings had begun her descent, too weary to hold the dragon airborne for much longer. Blood had been draining from her leg, and it was only then that she felt the extent of her loss. The damage was taking its toll, and there was a great flood of fatigue.
Her vision was failing her, but she managed to see, just a few meters ahead, an opening in the trees. She mustered one last great beat of her wings and continued forward. Upon arriving at the gap in the canopy, her strength failed her and Elysia began to fall.
I remember you. She thought in her daze.
"Yes… You do." The voice was melodious, softer and more enchanting than the loveliest songbird.
Galadriel….
Branches snapped and leaves rustled. A dragon burst from the great woods of Lothlórien and crashed into a lake, tumbling across the water from her great momentum until she came to a slow stop. There she floated lifelessly, unable to struggle, unable to swim to shore, waiting for the magic of the forest to take its course.
/
~O~O~O~O~O~
Haldir, marchwarden of Lothlórien, had been warned not to be surprised by what he would find in a lake west of the citadel. Naturally, that made him curious, but what peaked his interest was the foreboding order to not attack their unexpected guest out of fear.
What could possibly await his attention in these woods and strike fear in him? He readied his warrior's spirit for what he would see.
However, he was still caught completely off by the sight in the lake.
The marchwarden raised up a hand, signaling the rest of the elves to be ready. His Lady warned him that "the guest might come off a little… unpredictable". But was this truly their "guest"?
He stared at the floating, winged mass of sapphire blue scales in the water. It was unmoving, allowing the water's currents to drift its lifeless body towards the shore. Haldir neared the water, ordering his elves to stay where they were. Even with his elven sight, he needed a closer look, to decipher whether or not the sight he saw was a trick of the mist.
The floating mass turned, and he could see a head. A pair of sleek antlers protruded from the skull. It wasn't difficult to recognize the scales, the wings, and the distinct build; albeit it was difficult to believe.
He was gazing upon a dragon.
But the sight did not last. As he stopped along the shoreline, the body of scales began to fade, peeling away into wisps of bluebell fire until all that was left was something small and humanoid.
Haldir hesitated for only a moment longer before wading into the water, beyond the faint mist, towards the mass of black hair and sallow olive skin. The being was distinctly female from what he could see, and there were argent markings tracing every curve and every skeletal outline of her body. Odd, he was not familiar with any culture that marked bodies in such manner.
The current was gentle as it lifted the unconscious body to face towards the sky, but as her body rotated, Haldir's breath hitched. Tales of a violent skirmish marred her body purple, black, and red, such hideous contrast to her skin.
Haldir was waist deep when he reached her, but before his fingers could graze a strand of her hair, piercing silvered eyes snapped open.
There was a violent splash. The marchwarden found himself grabbed by his throat in an iron hard grip, and the dragon maiden rose from the water like a siren of the sea, raven hair drenched and fair face unyielding. The water matted her dark wavy hair to her body, acting as the only source of coverage that defended her modesty. but the maiden hardly noticed or hardly cared.
With her body fully surfaced, the elf saw the extent of her condition. Bruises mottled her right arm in an ugly shade of purple, her torso fared no better, and her neck bore an angry red ring of skin. There was a sickly glaze in those eyes, but there was also wildness, one that would not be diminished no matter how exhausted she appeared to be. She was behaving much like a wounded animal, her eyes flickering from him to his elves who had raised their bows the moment she grabbed him.
"We mean you no harm." Haldir stated. He raised his hand and gently touched the arm of the hand gripping his neck.
It only made her grip tighten. It was miniscule, but the elf had the inclination she could break his neck if she wanted to.
"Have…." She heaved. "Them… Relinquish…" Elysia coughed and tasted blood.
Haldir needed no further clarification. With a wave of his hand, his archers stood down but they did not appear placated.
The maiden was breathing hard, shoulder rising up and down, chest heaving. There was a moment of silence until Haldir finally spoke. Perhaps it was best to explain to the dragon maiden of the circumstances.
"We were summoned to your aid by Lady Galadriel. I am Haldir, marchwarden of Loth-"
He never finished for she collapsed. Her eyes rolled back and she fell back into the water with a huff.
The elf nimbly moved forward and caught her fall against his chest. He waited, but she did not shift from his grasp, and so he slowly scooped her from the water. But when his arm graced her upper thigh, he was reminded of her nudity and hastily unclasped his gray cloak. He tried to look away while gathering her in his cloak to preserve her modesty.
Wary stares became curious ones as the marchwarden returned with the woman in his arms. Orophin cocked his head and peered down at the small unconscious form.
"Was this woman a dragon not but two minutes ago?" He inquired his brother.
Haldir nodded, although he could give no thorough explanation. "Come, we cannot linger. The Lady of Light awaits her presence."
Rumil neared his brothers, lowering his hood to gaze at the female closely. He held his bow in one hand and reached attentively. Light and gentle, the elf moved the dark waves from the maiden's temple. He removed enough hair to unveil the pointed tips of peculiarly ribbed ears.
"Is she a she-elf of some sort? How odd. Her ears are pointed but they bear wrinkles at their edge."
"She cannot be a she-elf." Orophin contradicted his sibling. "Did you not just see the dragon?"
"We all saw the dragon, and now we must move." Haldir commanded impatiently. "If there is one who will give clarity to this puzzle, the Lady of Light shall." He walked off and the brothers glanced at each other before they followed the marchwarden.
/
/
~O~O~O~O~O~
She was placed upon a hammock in the canopy, in the highest of flets. The hammock was lowered into a tub, imbued into the floor of the room, leaving the dragon maiden half submerged in the translucent liquid. Silver light gleamed upon her limp form, bringing forth an ethereal shimmer in the crystal carved pool. The elven maidservants were ordered by the great lady to wrap her body in a shroud of soft cloth.
And the Lady of Lothlórien herself was standing near the resting pool. Garbed in a robe of pale silver and white, she glided around the resting dragon. When she knelt near the water, her radiance began to illuminate the maiden's scarred cheek. A pale hand reached for the dragon and gently caressed her forehead with a feather light touch. A flowering ring of mithril glimmered on her finger.
"You hold great promises with you… So many paths to tread…" Galadriel whispered. "Much like your father, you are… Sleep now, Brightscales." She soothed. "Sleep… and heal."
Galadriel disturbed the water with a gentle tap. Light began to spread with the ripple. Satisfied by her magic's healing touch, the Lady of Light departed. There were other guests to her realm that sought her attention.
/
/
They had reached Lothlorien, but the welcome greeting wasn't the warmest. They were blinded, all but Legolas, and escorted by stern faced woodland elves who took them deeper into the ancient woods.
"Welcome, Legolas, son of Thranduil." Haldir gestured politely in greeting the prince of Mirkwood. Despite the tense welcome, elves were not so rude to not acknowledge a fellow kinsmen of royal blood.
"Our fellowship stands in your debt." Legolas responded, respectful but impatient. "Haldir of Lorien."
Their pleasantries were interrupted by an aggravated dwarf.
"While I would complain of your legendary ways of courtesy, or lack thereof, there is something of more important that needs asking." Gimli growled, nudging Legolas. "Ask him of our missing companion."
While his abrasive manner earned him blatant disdain from Haldir, the Mirkwood prince did not seem to mind, agreeing with his dwarvish companion.
"Haldir, have you seen a blue scaled creature roam as you scout? In the skies?" Legolas required, restraining his desperation to the best of his ability. "Or perhaps a fair maiden with black hair. She appears to be an elf, but stands shorter."
Haldir's eyes were light with recognition, and Legolas was hopeful. He nodded but when his eyes fell upon Frodo, the marchwarden turned cold.
"You bring great evil here. You can go no further."
Before Frodo could retort or appear offended, Gimli went forth. "Yeah? Well you know what this dwarf has to say to that? Ishkhaqwi ai durugnul!" He spat in the gruff dwarvish tongue.
Aragorn fought the urge to groan in exasperation. Of all the times to feel such petty grudges... Turning to the dwarf, he slapped a hand on Gimli's shoulder. "That… Was not so courteous."
Legolas did not seem to share the disdain at the dwarf's behavior. "Where is she?" He demanded answers.
Haldir tilted his head, mildly startled at the Prince's sudden change of tone. Legolas' eyes gleamed with a cold edge, bearing an uncannily stark resemblance to the Elvenking of Mirkwood.
"What is she to you?" He countered in return.
Before Legolas could retort, Aragorn stepped forward as the voice of reason and peace. "She is our friend. A part of our fellowship."
The marchwarden did not appear convinced, and it only riled Legolas further much to Aragorn's dismay. It was rare for his friend to show great impatience, rare and ugly. Indeed, he was the son of Thranduil: a king known to be as cold and unbending as he was regal and refined, but seldom did Legolas display the hardened qualities of his royal sire aside from appearance.
Yet, when Legolas stepped forward, head held imperially high, and gazed at Haldir with a frosty, almost haughty, manner of regard, there was an undeniable resemblance.
"You will take us to Elysia." His command was resolute. "You know where she is." It was not a question. Civility had been cast aside, shocking those around them.
Haldir cocked a delicate brow at his imperial demand. "What makes you so volatile for this woman?"
"Must we repeat ourselves? She is our friend, now you either take us to her or bring her to us." Legolas leaned forward, glaring at the marchwarden; their tall heights on par with each other. But there was something distinctly menacing about the Mirkwood elf's quiet wrath.
The anger of a gentle elf was something all wise folk fear.
"I cannot." Haldir finally relented. "For she is with the Lady of Light."
"Then take us to her." Legolas repeated. "Or I will go and retrieve her, myself."
The elves of Lorien looked affronted at the uncouth behavior of the prince. Aragorn gave the elf a pleading look before he could retort, causing the marchwarden to sigh, but not before casting the elven prince another curious glance.
/
They followed the Lothlórien elves into the forest and eventually came to Caras Galadhon. They could not help but admire the great Mallorn trees and the realm built around them. The kingdom of Lothlórien was built in harmony with its woodland environment.
When they climbed up the stairs and arrived at the tall white arches of Galadriel's flet, the sight of the she-elf struck their hearts like a spear of light. Even the discriminating dwarf had his resentments quelled against the sheer beauty of the she-elf, the 'Lady of Light' was indeed most apt for Galadriel.
She appeared to be more angel than elf as she came down those steps with Lord Celeborn as her escort. Shining with radiance from the tip of her dainty feet, her white dress's every seam to every strand of her lovely rivulets of wavy golden, star streaked hair was the epitome of regal excellence.
When she spoke, her melodious voice resonated in their ears and minds. She knew from their secret hearts of what occurred to their beloved Mithrandir when no one answered Lord Celeborn's questions to their grey wizard's whereabouts.
"… He has fallen into shadow." She whispered.
Legolas met the eyes of Galadriel, unmoved by her piercing gaze. "He was taken by both shadow and flame… A Balrog of Morgoth." The word felt like poison on his lips, but he said what must be known.
The Lady Galadriel fell silent as she regarded them calmly. Her voice echoed in their heads as her fair full lips moved.
"The quest stands upon the edge of a knife… Stray but a little and it will fall, to the ruin of all… Yet hope remains while the company is true." Her eyes lingered upon Sam and Frodo.
Sam stepped forward, his courage coming as he swallowed hard. "Our company is incomplete, Lady Galadriel… We…"
The Lady of Light suddenly miled upon Samwise Gamgee, thoroughly silencing him. "Yes… Do not trouble yourselves. The dragon rests. Her wounds have been expelled of the darkness once more."
Frodo looked up with more hope than before.
"You wish to see…" Galadriel's smile widened in knowing. She turned, gliding away from them with an unquestionable command. "Follow me…"
The elf queen guided them through the canopies of the great Mallorn trees.
"The sword calls for its master." Galadriel commented out of the blue as she walked. "It need not call any longer, for she is here." She could sense the beating heart of Faersing with each step they neared the top.
They entered a strange room melded within the tree. The light of this room appeared of more radiance than the usual glow of Lothlórien. The fellowship's eyes focused upon the center, for there in the low hanging hammock, partially submerged in a crystal tub of starry water lay Elysia.
Relief swept through them, but they still stepped forward, worried for she appeared too still. Legolas knelt low near the water and frowned at the red around her neck and the blackened arm on her side. The silver dress left her shoulders bare, revealing a new layer of marred skin above the old scars of past battles.
"She sleeps to regain her strength… for she has also grown weary." Galadriel answered the unspoken question.
Then her eyes flitted to the Ring bearer. Frodo froze when her voice echoed in his mind.
"You know of her past with the Ring, Frodo Baggins…. Its darkness brings war within her soul, for it tempts her and torments her with ghosts… A great shadow has plagued her path…. Should she linger near the Ring as it draws closer to Mount Doom, the Brightscales you know shall perish under darkness of more evil than the one you have seen in Khazad-dum."
Frodo's breath hitched at this. He clenched his fists and stared at Elysia with greater intensity. Her wounds screamed at him, blamed him.
This was his fault. It was all his doing.
"When shall she wake?" Legolas inquired, distracting the hobbit from his agonized thoughts.
Galadriel smiled. "In due time… Do not be troubled by her state… For fate requires her greatly in the future. Go now and rest, for you are weary with much toil. The dragon shall wake when the time is right… And she will come to you…"
She did not cast her gaze upon the Mirkwood prince, but he could hear her presence in his mind.
"Do you see her, son of Thranduil? Do you feel her?"
Legolas said nothing, but he blinked as he stood with the rest of the fellowship. Galadriel's gaze swept over them, yet in his mind her voice still echoed.
"You are blind… Not to her, but to yourself. Take great caution on the path you tread… for it is not only your life that you bear in the balance. "
Legolas nearly lost his composure upon her riddled words, but a hand rested on his shoulder. Aragorn urged him to come and leave. He tore his eyes away from the pensive gaze of the she-elf and followed the ranger's beckoning.
/
/
/
~O~O~O~O~O~
This world's sky was a canvas of stars. She was standing upon a cliff of silvered green grass, staring at a sea of clouds.
And she was not alone.
"Little blue…"
She whirled, searching her surroundings. There was only one other who called her by such titles.
Emerald met sapphire.
Her legs trembled. She could do nothing but gawk at the man before her. Graceful raven curls crowned his head, and his eyes were of scorching green fire. He bore a striking face, one not unlike her own, but much stronger jawed and with a countenance of perpetual tranquility.
"Vraiel…?" Her voice shriveled under the weight of her disbelief.
Were her eyes deceiving her? Elysia took a hesitant step towards her half-brother.
"My brave little blue…" Vraiel's smile brightened his features.
It was strange. He was here and yet he was not. His body appeared to be faded. She could see the silvered grass behind his body.
"Am… I dead?" Was her brother here to guide her to the stars? Was he here to welcome her? Her body bore no pain, no discomfort, and the sight of her brother overwhelmed her with joy. How long has it been since she's seen his sunny smile? How long has it been since she's been called by such endearing name?
"No, little blue…" Her ecstasy faded when Vraiel's smile became sad. "You are not dead… But I am."
Joy twisted into despair as her brother's ghostly body began to fade before her. Her feet were slow to obey her, but she ran forward, hand outstretched.
"No, wait! Please!" She was almost there. Her fingers could touch his fine tunic.
But they swept passed him, as though he was made of nothing but air, and the spectral sight of her beloved brother scattered into crystalline dust.
"NO!" Elysia cried, falling to her knees as she desperately clawed at the scattering remnants. "Vraiel! I beg of you! Don't leave me again!"
But alas, he was gone…
She slammed her fists into the earth and screamed. How long was she going to be tormented like this? How long would she be forced to suffer, to watch those close to her depart? What was this place? Was it purgatory? A world between life and death?
...
"They called you the bastard daughter of Saphira." The dragon grew rigid. This voice, this presence… it did not take an omniscient mind to know who was present in her mind.
Elysia forced herself to stand once more on the pale grass. Quietly, she began to bury her previous sorrow, unwilling to show the she-elf such vulnerability. Masking her face into one of old apathy, she faced the Lady of Light.
There was a great Mallorn tree of sunlit gold foliage, and beside it, at the base of its roots, stood Lady Galadriel.
The two regarded one another in pensive silence. Elysia wanted to be angry, she wanted to snap at the lady, question her audacity in entering the private dominion of her mind, to demand her to leave. But the dragon was weary, and there were questions she needed to ask the she-elf.
"You know my mother's name."
The Lady of Light smiled "So fierce and proud was Lady Saphira Bjartskular. Not unlike you, Lady Elysia Stormdragon, but you are quite different." The lovely she-elf tilted her golden head. "You hold as much of your father as you do your mother."
"My sire?" Elysia faltered in her current scowl. "You speak as if you know of him…"
"That is correct."
The dragon's glare deepened, and she all but growled. "My mother has not spoken a word of my sire's identity to anyone, not even to me, Lady Galadriel… I know not of who he is so why should it matter that I am like him?"
Galadriel tilted her head. "I would expect your next inquiry to be of how I know of him, or what I know of him."
"My apologies for not meeting your expectations." Elysia was hardly sorry. She gave the elf an even gaze of her own, head cocked in a patronizing manner.
"Why should it interest me? Because he is my sire? Because his blood runs in my veins? Blood matters not, so who he is matters not."
Galadriel remained unfazed by Elysia's cold words. "It doesn't?"
"No… Because rather than who… I want to know why." Elysia all but hissed. "Why… What could have he possibly done for my mother to keep his name a secret from me? Why was he never present? Why did he abandon my mother? What was it that was so shameful or worthy of such secrecy? If the reason for why is something shameful…. I would rather not know the name for knowing the name means I acknowledge, even for a second… that the man is my sire."
"Such bitterness… Though you do not know why, you bear such anger." The queen remarked calmly. "Has your heart already passed its judgement?"
"Perhaps." Elysia confessed, hardly remorseful.
"That does not seem fair, Lady Elysia." The elf mused.
The dragon almost laughed. "Fair? It wasn't fair for my mother to wait in longing, in patient despair. All those nights she gazed upon the horizon, I knew she was thinking of him… Waiting for him… And he never came." Was it anger or anguish that boiled in Elysia's heart?
"It wasn't fair for my brothers to become fallen victims to a shadow. It wasn't fair for my kind to be blamed, to be hated, to be treated like monsters. This world is never fair, Lady Galadriel."
She spat, venom lacing her voice. "So I beg your pardon if I hardly seem fair. If my heart's judgement seems presumptuously unjust, but regardless… If his reasons are naught but pathetic excuses, I refuse to acknowledge him. I will never acknowledge him."
Galadriel did not look offended by the cutting edge of this dragon's voice nor by her glare. In fact, her eyes began to lighten with a sparkle of wonder as she smiled. Elysia blinked. The Lady of Lothlórien was an odd individual. At her flummoxed glance, the lady to laugh.
"… It amuses me, Stormdragon…. For you are one who can speak in riddles, yet with great pride… A combination inherited by the union between your sire and your mother."
Elysia sighed, feeling diminished by the elf's cheer. "… If anything, his identity hardly matters…" She whispered to herself. But this was her mind, and Galadriel knew all that went on here in the dragon's mind realm.
"It does not?" She pressed the inquiry gently.
"No." Elysia stated stoutly. "For I have lived long enough that the knowledge will be trivial… To dragons… Fathers teach us, they guide us, they show us how to fly, teach us pride, and watch us as we grow. My mother taught me to be proud and fierce, Gwahir showed me the way of the wind, Arcaladin the Limitless taught me the way of the sword, and it was my Ebrithil who guided me and watched me grow. If anything, I do not need a father. I have found a father in the wizard and in my teachers. The cup that he should've filled has long been filled. I need not for it to overflow."
Her words never had their intended effect. Pride seemed to beam from Galadriel's radiant face. Her smile became wider.
"… You are smiling once again…" Elysia deadpanned. "This is unnerving."
Galadriel chuckled and reached out to her. She towered over the dragon maiden and her gentle hands rested upon her shoulders.
"… Fear not of your sire taking any place of the sires that reside in your heart, Elysia Bjartskular… For he is already there."
Elysia stared up at the fair elf maiden.
"What do you mean?" she asked, confused.
"As a dragon, you know there is a reason for all occurrences in this world." Galadriel stated as she brushed a curled lock of hair from Elysia's cheek.
"Particularly you, Elysia Stormdragon, are born at the time you were for a purpose... Born to see your world in ash and blood, you came to Middle Earth… Have you not wondered why your senses of Sauron's evil are sharper than a mithril needle? Why magic runs deeper through your veins, why you differ from your kinsmen, why you out of all your kind are more guarded from the corruption of the Shadow?
It is not just because of your fear, born from the scars of Ristvak'baen… It is because of the archaic blood within you, inherited from your sire…" Galadriel elaborated. "Dragons are descendants of Maia… Indeed they are… from Maia who have changed and stayed in the first likeness of a drake. However, you, Elysia Stormdragon, are the direct descendant… A result of the joining between a dragon and a Maia."
Speechless, Elysia could only stare as Galadriel moved closer, inches from her face. Did she dare to guess what this bewitching elf was implying?
"You were conceived and born before he came to Middle Earth… Before he changed his form and wandered amongst the lands with grand quests and adventures to add to his title as the Grey Pilgrim."
Galadriel cupped her face and smiled warmly.
"You are indeed unique, Elysia, Mithrandir's daughter."
There are few things that could unnerve Elysia. Few things that surprised her to such level of awe, and this was one of those things.
In all of her incoherency, she could only utter a single word.
"What?" Confusion gripped her chest, and her mind raged like a storm.
Gandalf? Her sire?
It should be hard to believe. She should be incredulous, yet why did her spirit become so sound? Why did it accept such revelation with ease?
Galadriel gazed gently at the despairing dragon. "Perhaps… It is best if he tells you."
"He can't." Her voice cracked as her throat began to feel tight. As much as she wanted the answers directly from the source, it was too late. "Even if what you say is true… He fell."
"…. He is here…. But only as a memory…" Galadriel's hand shifted. "There was a time when Mithrander came to me… The day you came to Rivendel with Thorin and his company… He asked me to pass on this memory unto you when the time was right."
"Where is it? Where can I see it?" Elysia asked almost desperately.
"My dear…. You are in it." The she-elf then moved and gestured with a single hand towards the spot behind her. There, sitting in the pavilion of Rivendell sat Gandalf the Gray, smoking pipe weed, sitting at a quaint spot under an arch of vinewood.
With a gentle push from the she-elf, Elysia found the courage to walk. She stepped slowly, entering into the memory and stood before the old man cloaked in gray.
"My dear dragon…" He smiled.
Elysia stared at him. This was a memory, yet it felt as though he saw her, that he stood here, alive and well. It twisted her insides with cruel bittersweet hopes and longing. But she did not tear her gaze from the Istar; from the greyed eyes of her sire.