Chapter Four: Puppet Master

Gone. From behind her eyelids, Zerith's world soared by in a myriad of colors. She was plunged into an emptiness that left pain stabbing at her breast and pounding her head with the hammer of the world of the restless. Drowning, drowning now, Zerith sank into a black darkness with crashing waves over her head. There could not be any air that would come to relieve her lungs. To scream for help was fruitless; she was in the depths of her mind where her soul flew free from her. The Valar were the only ones she could call to for help as she lost control of breath and hope. The witch would not dare to poison me, would she?

Though she did not trust Uirien, she doubted she had the stones to try to kill her. Well, who knows? My fate will come or it will not. While wasting time pondering the idea, her lungs burned with a fury and no amount of frantic swimming produced results. Her hand shot up and felt the coolness of air upon it, and as she prepared to let herself sink to unknown depths, she found that the suffocation of waters enveloping her had disappeared. The hand had been taken, and air from above hit her face wildly. Her eyes saw nothing but darkness, yet Zerith had the realization that she was flying.

To where, who could say? She let whoever—or whatever—carry her through the darkness of the place her soul dwelled. Her short flight quickly over, she was left falling somewhere, and she begged the gods for sight so that she might not go mad in this place. Remember what Gandalf and the witch said. The resolute words were ones she would repeat to the ends of her days.

With a cry of pain, ground appeared before her eyes and she met it head on. Any strength had left her body, and she had never felt so weak. It was as if someone had drained any fortitude and spirit from her. I will not give it up so easily to whatever ails me. I have many fights left to go. How she had not broken anything, Zerith could not even hope to guess. Gazing up to where the sky was replaced with darkness, a shadow of a figure loomed over her and left chills down her spine. The icy pierce of fear struck her, and she stood with a grimace. She did not need to catch a glimpse of the scaly beast to know it was he. Mustering any reserve, she would fight the unseen menace.

"Gostir!" She called with a snap, eyes widening at how lifeless and drained her voice was. Already, my strength wanes, and I am to face him? Folly. Still, the dragon was nowhere to be seen, though she felt his presence. "Speak, or prove your cowardice!" Am I really challenging a dragon?

A sickening laugh rose in the air, and Zerith stumbled at its might. "Y-you take amusement at me? Come then, for I will provide much more!" Her words were emotionless and gray, but they were persuasive enough, for in swift motion, he appeared in front of her with a thud and gust of air that tousled her hair.

Here, in the place of privacy Zerith could not be blessed with, lived an enigmatic figure. He was the raging fire within her call, and the ice in her voice. The cooling rain of her tears, and the renewing life of rest and relaxation. He and she were one in the same. She gave him air to fill his needy lungs and views of the world he longed to venture with his own form, and in return, he was her emotion and her power. Power came with a price that she would have to pay and he would take everything she could give. Just life, her life, and then the chains that bound him to the consequences of living so close to his master's best lieutenant would be broken. History would tell that every bind would break, for the coming of Dagor Dagorath. The world will be unmade, and the girl would be unmade for Gostir's freedom. He drew parallels that left him feeling guilty, but cast out were the feelings of care and devotion to anyone but himself. Once, he had wished to aid Men. Once, he was a fool. He could only come to care for his being, and the reaching grasp he labored to recall memories of good in him were too fatiguing to bear their weight any longer.

He stood before her, the mighty beast, and she observed two dragons. The first, a tarnished, old weary serpent who was crushed by evil and nature. The second, the more palpable evil being who dared to plague her mind with faint whispers of corruption that would grow to drown out her human life. Narrow dark gray spikes made up his armor, and his speckled scales shone dully as though he were sick or had his life essence taken from him. His eyes were voidless red slits that spoke of wisdom and dominance. Such was the way of dragons, she noted to herself as she stared up at him. He was larger than many homes combined and Zerith could not fathom his span. She was drawn to him as much as she drew back, for they had a striking resemblance to each other. The same looks were worn upon their weary faces. No tales that she ever had read about him could truly tell of his life and fight, and she bowed before him, overcome with an oppressive feeling of honor. Her wit failed her, as honor and Melkor would not mix.

"You have tongue though I have left you," He rumbled, still as a statue, words echoing off the confines of her instincts. "Feeling weak, fresh meat? Emotionless? Wraith-like?" Her ears hurt with the volume and depth of his chortle. "It is just as well. You have been thrown into a place where weapons are nothing. I am afraid to tell you that there is no going home from here. Throw away your life, your love, your dreams and wishes and hopes! You are lost, now, as am I. It is true that the witch has not been truthful or trustworthy. Few would help a monster, but she is not few. She works for the rewards given by my master, and she knew how valuable you were. The ending days are coming, fresh meat, and we are bound to work for the wrong side. Ah," He sighed, blowing a gust of steam and smoke upon her, "fate is cruel. But is this fate, or destiny? I am destined to do bad for it is in my nature. Your destiny is not known by me, for the races of Middle Earth are so picky. Can we call this fate, though?" He watched unblinking as she struggled to find words to reply.

"I am not knowledgeable. I know little of what I was born to be, or who you are or who I am. I ask for you to tell me." Beg of him nothing, for he will use you. Demand of him nothing, for he will eat you. Stay calm, Zerith. She repeated simple words to herself, voicelessly, to calm fear and keep her wits.

She thought she saw him grin, though it was gone in a blink. His breath rang in her ears as he began a long telling of history. "I will honor your request, fresh meat, for I doubt you are useful while ignorant. In the days of my waking, I flew above the Northern Wastes. The Withered Heath intrigued me little, and it was only a visage to my waking eyes as I flew above white. Instead, I preferred to observe Men. Virtue and vice embodied them, and they were true mortals of the land. The epitome of the balance of life. I sensed darkness approaching on the horizon, when they would fall and be consumed in the wind and their own deficits, and I went to them. 'Heed my words.' Said I, 'You must prepare for war. I know not what comes, but your livelihood will pass into shadow and you will be decimated.' Few accepted my speech for truth, but a small number took a leap, a chance. One was a young woman with ebony in her hair and the icy sea in her eye. I beckoned her and her kind to join me, to learn as dragons do, to use their voices as fiery flames and forceful gusts. She believed everything I said, every ounce of wisdom I could pass on was a bout of giddiness in her heart. Then, it was I who fell into shadow. I flew past where my brethren were born, and to the Ash Mountains. I had only come to learn of what would dare to harm the people who had disregarded my warnings, but I left, becoming the thing I had ached to protect them from. Somehow, they sensed that I had taken a foul air to me, and met me west of the Iron Hills, close to my brethren. I had not the heart to fight them as they tore into me. The last of them who had come to fight was the woman. She was pale and weak, eyes lost in tears at betrayal. I saw in her that my teachings had become corrupted, just as I had, and she struck the final blow to me and died, overcome with inner turmoil and grief. For a while, her soul plagued me with feelings of regret at the silence I had often succumbed to in order to hide my feelings towards her. Then, she became a girl from the city of the White Tree who longed for stars to guide her way, and I was her guiding light. Still, without my own body, I could not fight my corruption, and I focused my time serving my master. Now, she stands before me still, and I must serve him even so. My teeth to his neck." Gostir spat in anger.

A recounting of history left her wishing he had been silent. She was unmade, to think that she had once been someone far in history who she had never heard of. It could not be, she hoped. "Let me understand this. I am supposedly the reincarnation of the girl who once was your apprentice, the one who slew you? Why did you tell me of all of this?" Her heart hammered and she felt faint. Stars danced in front of her eyes and Gostir was clouded in shade.

"What makes you think you will be leaving this place?" The gray dragon asked, tilting his head with a puff of smoke. "I have tried for years."

"But you are controlled by your master and do not have a physical form. I have no Dark Lord hanging over my head, and I have walked Middle Earth."

"Foolish girl," He growled in a sudden outburst. She thought that he might gobble her up, as his snout was inches from hers. "If I am controlled, then you cannot escape it. Your physical form only exists because I allow it to." He would be the big bad wolf if her cloak was dyed red.

"Why, though? Why are we connected? Why could the dead not remain so?" Her voice strained to not quiver.

"The Valar have a strange sense of humor, perhaps. Maybe we are not done in our workings of the world. In the past life, I was thunder upon the high, and a teacher. In the past life, the woman was a rebel, a fighter, and a guide. Though it is certain I could have had more rippling results if I had done what she had, my work would be lost. Who trusts dragons? Fools. Gullible men. Who trusts women? Many more souls. Through her my voice sounded, my fire burned, and my scales protected."

"You mean to say that our relationship is similar?"

"No," He rumbled, warm breath upon her face, "they are the same. You will use your hands to create and destroy, and I can give you the power to do so." With these words, she felt the tide shift. In a shiver, she felt a pull to him and felt the need to give in. This weakness, and the desire to accept and follow him, was echoed in history, though she could not remember where.

"The girl's name." Zerith stuttered, backing away quickly. "What was it? What is our connection?" Her change of subject brought the dragon to growl impatiently, though his eyes were emotionless.

"Her own people called her Satherra. You are one and the same. She was of noble blood, oldest daughter of the leader of those who lived too close to dragons and preferred their hearts to be as cold as ice."

"The Lossoth?" She had heard that there were few people living up to the north in the Third Age, but she was sure of one, whom Gandalf had spoken of.

"No, though they quarreled with each other. The people who slew me and some of my lesser, minute brethren were known as the Tarakona. Proud and stubborn were they, to forget my words and succumb to what I had warned them of. They were known to be renowned dragonslayers though they were not overly strong that they could exterminate many of my brethren. I believe their highest populations reside between the Mountains of Angmar and the Gray Mountains, though a few still remain west of the Iron Hills, where I died. It was there that the prophecy was struck into the very earth, to remain even as grass grew and sand shifted." Gostir rolled his neck, looking to where the moon and sun would pass if the sky were there, and the silence grew uneasy.

"You remember many things." Zerith murmured. "What does the prophecy say?"

The dragon whipped his tail around to barely miss her head. Zerith ducked, and reached for weapons, but just as she had felt the molded leather grip of her sword sheathed in her belt, it crumbled to dust at her feet, along with her shield. I should have brought a dagger. She was left defenseless, and she doubted her leather cuirass would save her from anything. At her reaction, Gostir laughed with a great blue breath that chilled the air. He turned to face her again in an instant, and continued to guffaw as he stared down. "I play with you, fresh meat. Your face is priceless. To answer your question, I do not know what the prophecy says. I was hoping you would know for yourself, since it would be most useful."

"How can I find out? You say that I will never leave this place. I am trapped here." The young woman sighed with a trembling lip. Her heart ached for the life she would never see again.

"You cannot leave without me. I am your soul, and without it, you would be but a warm body, simply existing. However, if you allow yourself to accept my hold on you, you may go back and forth from this realm of spirits and the physical world. I can give you many gifts." It was tempting, but Zerith knew she needed to remember how dangerous the dragon could be. Without him, she was nothing, but with him, she could be everything the world did not need.

"Just tell me what you can provide for me. Explain this talk of 'gifts'." Her impatience irritated him, as he blew smoke from his spiked nostrils in her face and put her into a bout of a coughing splutter, but he would oblige her.

"In time, as we get stronger together, you will take my voice for your own, and speak in flame and frost, as well as others. Your ancestor gives you willpower, resilience, and strength. Perhaps one day you will fly with wings of your own." Suspicious albeit interesting bait dangling on a hook before me.

"How does my ancestor give me such things? I thought Satherra had died along with you. You cannot imply that she had children…"

"No, she was a free spirit who preferred to be alone and without family. She was captivated by someone, but her feelings, as she told me, were surely unrequited. When we both perished, her spirit moved on to the place of peace the Tarakona believed in, but I was forced to pace in a restless limbo. Something had interfered with my passing, and my soul was trapped until the day of divine interference. Now, I live in you, and Satherra guides your steps and every motion."

"Is there a catch to you offering me such power?" Zerith questioned, gritting her teeth and crossing her arms as she watched the brute stretch his wings.

"A catch? There is always a catch. Catch it if you can!" The dragon roared with laughter, quickly dying off. "Yes, there is. When you return to your world, you must take up Satherra's name in her honor, learn of the prophecy, and find a shard of my egg in the Withered Heath. This is only the beginning, I feel."

"Am I right in assuming I need to find someone of the Tarakona to find the prophecy-stone? And your egg? You want me to find some shard that lies in a large, barren valley that may or may not be inhabited by lesser dragons?"

"As I said," Gostir rumbled, "this is only the beginning. Pack warm clothing, weapons, and plenty of food, and you will survive. You mortals make everything so complicated."

"Do you jest? I am not a one-woman army. You are asking for me to travel across half of Middle Earth, through many perils, just for a stone and an egg shard?"

Gostir chortled at Zerith's frustrations. "Perhaps you ask for a taste of power? I shall teach you to breathe flame as I do. You have experience in doing so, but it has only been accidental."

"Breathe fire? You are a cold drake, and yet you claim to spit flame and bear wings? What has turned you to be so?"

"Time and brooding, fresh meat, time and brooding." He let out a narrow burst of flame into the air. "In my time waiting for whatever fate would claim me in this land of souls, I changed. Life is mysterious. Now, silence yourself, and I will teach you what I know so that you may use it anytime." He produced a pleased look when he saw the singular attention given to him reflected in her eyes. "You are only able to call upon my traits if you have an open connection to your soul. Tell me of the time you first spoke fire."

It pained her to remember the endless days running throughout Minas Tirith. She could only see her mother's curly, bouncing hair, the way her nimble fingers made plaits so easily and toiled away day by day to provide a home for her only child. When the fall came and her father went off to protect the city, and the coldest sting of her mother's worst fear coming with a late night knock on their door. With winter came silent scorn from mother dearest, and fire brought abandonment. Zerith had tried her hardest to forget the longing that came when she thought of her old life.

"A knock upon my door from abusive and hateful people that normally would have brought sorrow and self-hate only brought burning rage. I felt a great pressure building like the swell of a flood, and when I opened my mouth to reply to their spiteful words, out came a burst of flame that sent them running. I will never forget the way my mother mentioned your name, or the sting of tears upon her banishing me." Zerith's words were steady and slow, swallowing down the bitterness of memories aching in her heart.

"You have learned that anger and fury causes flame. For every element of the world, there is a corresponding emotion. Few dragons know anything else than flame, but those who do have deep roots in the earth. I gift my knowledge of fire's workings to you, as I had to Satherra, long ago." With his exhale, a warm glow emanated in the space between his collarbone and heart, and a flow of energy was transferred from him to her. The great pull Zerith felt fluttered her hair, and she felt as though embers smoldered inside where she saw the dragon glow. When Gostir spoke further, he sounded exasperated. "We are connected, you and I, until your death."

"You wish me dead, then. It would give you freedom."

"I do not want that. My master wants my freedom. Even if you were gone, I would not be free. His gaze would forever loom over me. Here, when we may speak in the depth of your mind, is the only place where his sight does not scan." He dipped his head and rested it upon the ground, closing his eyes and giving a look of deep contemplation. The only sound that echoed was his rumbly breathing.

"You want me to honor you. Take up your apprentice's name, find a prophecy, and your egg shard. What a typical arrogant dragon." Zerith snorted, dropping to her knees to sit in front of him. "You know, you did not need to help me at all. You could have just used the dragon-spell." She thought that he might have been asleep, for he did not reply to her for a long while.

"It would be of no use to me to control you. You must be you, plain and simple, and not me. You must not forget who you are, and who you remind me of."

"You were very close, then."

"Satherra was unique. Not like most mortalkind. I do not know what she saw in me. Dragons are very well-versed and persuasive, but none of the Tarakona believed in my words, save for her. The others who followed me were only those devoted to her, and even they disbanded. It was always her, and something more. Alas, the past is not worth remembering for it changes little now…" He made her attempt to seek out grief in his utterances, but there was nothing. It was the monotony that weighed him down. "Enough. You have exhausted my weakness for speech long enough. Do as I have said and do not dally."

"How long do I have?" She inquired softly, rising to a stand as he did so.

"Theoretically, forever. Your body will not succumb to the Gift of Men so long as I remain in you. Do not forsake that, though, and remember that danger comes with procrastination. I can predict your next words, fresh meat. 'How will we meet again? Must I come across the witch who boils me up poisoned bubbly to lure my body into a dream state?' You will come to me in dreams if I allow it. It is the safest way of communication without invading your consciousness." He craned his neck to great heights, and stiffened his posture. "Now, begone thee—"

"Wait!" She shouted at his dismissal. "You have given me the ability to use fire breath when I need it, but I do not know how to actually produce it."

The scaled one raised his head up in a roaring laugh before coming down to look at her with thin crimson eyes. "A test run before a real fight. I will indulge you. When teaching men how to fight, experienced warriors talk much about posture. It is just the same. Raise your chest, stretch your neck, mouth widened, and feel the simmering of the flame inside of your bosom." She did as he said, taking a deep breath in and releasing it slowly. Something boiled and twisted in her heart and with his every word she felt a pulsing pressure. "Emotion is key, fresh meat. Imagine the heat and rage of battle, the quickness of your stride and the ungraceful slow slosh of your enemies. They insult you by thinking they can best you in battle. You wish the battle to be over quickly, and the fire needs to be let loose; its purpose being to consume and destroy. Yet fire is so much more than what mortals make it to be. It gives life. Relax the fury in you that it arouses, and feel the heat of a campfire beneath your fingers."

"Starting small, are we?"

"Quit your chirping, woman. The sting of winter freezes your skin, and fire is your savior. Call upon it. It is gentle, for a little is enough to change everything."

Eyes shut, face restful, Zerith took a shallow breath in, savoring the heat rising up in her throat, and let it out, slowly. The dance of flame flickered beneath her eyelids and restored the life in her cheeks. When she allowed herself a flutter of the heart to see again, her breath was a narrow flicker of flame. Just enough, as Gostir said, to change everything.

"Not bad, fresh meat. Since you seem to act like it comes easy to you, use your full power. Test your might. Burn me, if you have the gut for it!"

The girl and the dragon were connected in a blaze with her silent scream that commanded the air.

-o-

The daze of a thousand year sleep sat on her chest, and Zerith found it difficult to open her eyes or move. She heard nothing and could not seem to remember where she was, but the silence alarmed her, and she struggled to awaken herself. The world swam in monochromatic blurs and air left her lungs for a split second before everything raced back.

In an instant, her eyes shot open, and was disappointed to see that she was still viewing up, she felt rough canvas beneath her fingertips. The tent. Zerith realized that she had been lying in Uirien's camp, left in the same place as she had been before. Her heart beat too slowly at a drowsy resting state, and she hurried out of the tent sluggishly. Outside, the wind's crying call was the only thing to pierce the hillside air, and she was left alone. A call for her previous two companions would only be foolhardy. As she tried to stand, her vision blackened, and she was quick to sit cross-legged before the long-cold fire. She ran her hands through where she begged embers to lay, but she felt only the silky smoothness of ash and soot and coolness. They had left her a while ago, and it did not seem as though they would be back soon, for as she looked around the odd camp, she saw that many things had been taken and few left behind. Zerith's shield had disappeared, and she was left with only the sword at her belt, sending a silent prayer to the Valar that its disintegration had not been permanent. It was strange for Uirien and Gandalf to have taken off so quickly, especially in her unconscious state, and she grew bitter with anger at the witch who had most certainly tricked both Gandalf and her. It was not wise to trust her so easily, but she had followed Gandalf to the letter. Even so, he was gone, and the thought brewed worry. If that elleth has done anything to him, she will meet my flame…

Zerith took ten minutes to recover from her fatigue, and began to search the camp for useful information and supplies. The wind was picking up with biting cold and stars made their descent upon her. She would not stand to stay here for long, as it was too exposed and she did not know who prowled the hills at night. Still feeling weak, she was quick to gather up as many books, tools, and food as she could, piling them into spare bags and tying her cloak tightly around her body. She left only a small golden leaf pin Gandalf once gifted to her as a symbol that she had come and gone.

-o-

Zerith stood by the windowsill of her room back at her cottage, watching fluffy flakes of snow drift in the outside air. It had been two months since receiving her task, and the day had finally come when her life would end, and another would begin. Eighteen years ago she had been born of human body and dragon soul, and she had come so far to have gained nothing. Is this what elves feel? She asked herself, touching her twin scars subconsciously. Winter has come with a grim conclusion. I must face my battles alone. No more will a Maiar hold my hand and guide me through every hardship. He has gone away, perhaps left me, and I am alone. I must learn of my own destiny to shape my fate, and that of others. Yet I am alone in this cold and I feel no hope or determination. Solitude has aged me beyond my years. I must take the name of Satherra and let go of Zerith, though not forget her. She was a carefree, lively young one who knew no fear or pain. With the sun rose her happiness, and with the moon calmed her spirit. Now, I am chained to a life I did not choose, and I am alone. It is bittersweet to start anew. Zerith was one to brood on things too much, and as she turned away from the bright white of winter, she stared down at her travelling gear, running her hands on the metal of her twin blades, a shortsword and dagger, which she sheathed in leather straps upon her back. She had enough dried food to last her half of the way to Edoras strapped to a horse she had bought in Bree. Doubting she would go through all of it, she still reminded herself that she had practiced enough to turn her measly skill with a bow into a somewhat decent tool that she was able to take down some wildlife. With profits she had made from selling leather and other goods she had gathered, she had enough coin to make the journey and back from wherever it might lead. She was glad to have bought a bay horse from Bree when she did, for traversing was starting to get difficult as seasons changed. Gostir had named the stallion Applegrabber after his knack for mischief and trouble, and the name stuck. He stood under a makeshift shed under a large, evergreen fir tree, calmly swishing his tail and blinking at the white flakes that caught in his eyelashes. Applegrabber was a loyal friend, and she was comforted to have him by her side. Still, her worry did not wane. At the idea of leaving her true home for a long, unknown period of time, she was very uneasy and was dissuaded from taking the trip. To throw away her old life was difficult, but she would not let anything hold her back any longer. "It is only when you fall that you learn whether you can fly," Zerith whispered in the silence of her solitude and the whipping wind outside.

Zerith could not help smoothing the leather armor of her tunic, gloves, armguards, and greaves, feeling the smooth metal pauldrons that glinted beneath her thick fur cloak. She knew that she would be getting into her first real battles, and without companions, she had not much confidence, but her soul would give her warmth, and he would always be inside of her. She would be bundled up under the day's sun and he would radiate within her, guiding her lonely way. She was a lone wanderer, though she certainly was not lost, just nervous. The future is uncertain, but I can shape it. Before she would trudge through the snow, she took the time to hover over a map of Middle Earth. This trip will take me forever. I dread making the effort, lazy me. She would go to Bree and follow The Green way south from there, past the Gap of Rohan and to Edoras. Then, she would make her way north past Fangorn Forest and Lorien and cut through Mirkwood on the Old Forest Road. She would look upon the Lonely Mountain and Esgorath, and after a stop at the rebuilt town, it was a straight northeast. Zerith had no exact location of the Tarakona, but she prayed that she would find them soon. Truly, it will take a very long time, though I have infinite time, theoretically, as said by Gostir. What a strange beast.

Outside, the sky was a pale cloudless blue, and she squinted her eyes, taking some coal from remnants of a fire and putting it below and roughly around her eyes to shield herself from the light. It was slow going in the rough wind, but her spirits perked at Applegrabber's nuzzle into her shoulder in greeting. She quickly strapped bags to his saddle, making sure he was well-fed and rested. Prior to letting her heart bear the fleeting sorrow at leaving her home behind, she offered it one last look before mounting her horse and leaving everything, including the majority of her true self behind. A life had been unmade; Satherra was reborn.

Author's Note: I must apologize for this story falling into a hiatus for months. School hit me like an oliphaunt, and I have been unable to return. I vow to you, dear readers, that I shall not give up on this story. This is only the beginning. Firebreather (As I have renamed it to fit more appropriately) is only Pre-lotr. I will most likely continue Zerith's story through LOTR. Speaking of her, Satherra/Zerith are one in the same. Zerith has renamed herself Satherra since she is the old Satherra incarnate, but if she cannot use the name of Satherra (As will be the case when she travels to find the Tarakona) she will call herself Zerith. That is all I must stay. Please review, as it keeps me going. I really need some input. Thanks!