Stories of Sacrifice

TA 2940, May 12th.

Aínwar released a fraction of the breath she'd been holding.

The Elvenking stared down at her with an imposing demeanor rivaled only by the largest, most intimidating dragons from the waste. But she had faced beasts much larger, with hellfire spilling from their toothy maws, and she would not be — refused to be — deterred by some man sitting upon a throne, immortal being or not.

"I respect that you're king of this wood and don't trust me," she was saying, hardly registering her own words. He'd decided he was done listening to her long ago, anyway. Everything she said would only go unheard from here on out. "So put me where you think I'll do no harm — it makes no difference to me. I only ask that, wherever I'm imprisoned, that I'm given a fire in the meantime. My flesh grows cold without dragonfire to warm my heart."

"I don't think you're in any position to make such silly requests!" he laughed. "And if you burn my entire wood down? Set fire to my kingdom?"

Aínwar leveled her eyes with his.

"Because if I truly meant you harm, Elvenking," she said, "I would have already done it."

He withdrew, sneering.

"Take her away," he said coldly.

She sighed, having been resigned to this from the beginning. The guard behind her jostled her wrists with a firm, "Move!" and turned her around. She caught one last look of the king, frozen by fear, before she was shoved away.

"Do not give her the flame she desires," his command echoed from behind, "lest she remember what she is, and burn us as they burned Erebor!"

Aínwar's breath caught in her throat. "I recognize these words…" she whispered. "Wait…wait—"

She struggled against the guard, her thoughts going wild amongst her pleas, "No, I must speak to him!" and "I beg you, just another moment!" but she was thrust into the cavernous hallways, and with a thunderous rumble the doors to the throne room slammed shut in her face.

"Keep moving!" the guard ordered, pushing her forward.

Later, Aínwar told herself, there will be another opportunity. You must move your feet. You must earn more time here. Survival, Firekeeper. You must survive first.

After their negotiations, Tauriel had insisted upon covering Aínwar's head with a blindfold so that she wouldn't see the entrance to the kingdom or the path through the woodland to its gates. Aínwar, while mildly affronted by this, had swiftly agreed. She'd never expected the elves to believe her intentions harmless and trustworthy, and if she were in their position, she would've done the same. She'd allowed them to bag her head before ever entering the forest, praying that their guide was true and she would make it through without stumbling headfirst into a chasm.

Now, without her blinds, she could see all the glory of Mirkwood.

The kingdom was vast and labyrinth-like, an underground fortress supported by columns of intricate design; the early morning sun filtered in from above, casting warm light on the shimmering streams below. Many rounding staircases wound through the halls, through the columns, past blue waterfalls, and loose, unkempt greenery — some went up, and others went down, and a few led to doors just as grand as those to the throne room.

The air smelled unfamiliar, but somehow, so wonderful and soothing…and it was not until their company marched past a bubbling stream, where the spray of water touched the damp dirt…that Aínwar realized it was the scent of rain upon the earth. She was deeply moved by it. In the waste, where it always remained frigid except for the fleeting and all too brief heart of summer, it never rained. She inhaled until her chest felt like it would burst, wishing she could breathe it forever.

The guards, flanked by Tauriel and another blond-haired elf, escorted her through the maze. By now, as she had also expected, the morning lull of the kingdom had been disrupted by her arrival — she could see the flighty shadows of elves all around, hiding in their halls, murmuring what she assumed were many sorts of spiteful names and curses.

"Nowhere to fly in here, ulunn," the guard muttered darkly.

Aínwar glanced back at Tauriel and her blond companion. The two were conversing at a hushed, inaudible volume. He seemed to be scolding her.

Even though Tauriel had nearly cut her throat herself, Aínwar felt a strange attachment to her and knew without a doubt that she wouldn't have made it this far without her help. There was an inexplicable, kindred spirit she recognized in the elven woman…something she saw within herself, though she hadn't yet identified what.

They descended a winding set of stairs. The air grew colder and damper, and all the natural sunlight was soon replaced by dim torches. The dungeon guards stepped aside so they could navigate the dangerously narrow paths; Aínwar was thankful for the many centuries she'd spent picking her way across loose stones upon high mountaintops, or else she feared she may have tripped and fallen to the blackness below.

As they walked, men and beasts and creatures of all sorts reached their grimy hands through the bars. They grabbed at Aínwar's horns and hair, pinched at her skin, and called her all sorts of disgusting names she dared not acknowledge. The taunt she remembered the most vividly after the fact had something to do with her mother copulating with a dragon…and still she kept her chin up, even if she had to blink back a few tears here and there.

"In here," the guard said.

They reached a small cell, into which no light shined, far from the chaos and noise of the upper floors. Aínwar swallowed the stone in her throat. She had accepted the trials and risks she might face when taking on this quest, but so far from home, in a place so very opposite to her snowy peaks, from where she could always see the aurora...it hurt her in a very physical, palpable way.

Wishing desperately for bravery, she stepped into the cell. Her wrists were untied and, before she could turn around, the iron bars shut with a resounding clatter.

The others left without a word. Aínwar exchanged a hasty glance with Tauriel, who hadn't directly spoken to her since beyond the boundaries of Mirkwood. Her lips parted, as if she meant to speak...but instead she briskly walked away, even her light footfalls echoing in that huge, empty chasm of space.

Aínwar massaged her raw wrist, then sat on the edge of the cot. This small, dank cell didn't feel much different than her cave at the base of Dùn Ga'thuum. If she closed her eyes and imagined the waste past those iron bars, she could feel it. She heard the stillness and the songs of the deep, dark ice; she felt the heat of the crackling fire, and smelled the pine smoke.

Or so she thought. Once her eyes opened, she was reminded of the bitter reality.

She crawled into her straw bed and, shivering, attempted to sleep…feeling colder and lonelier than she ever had in the Northern Waste.

x

TA 2940, May 13th.

In the end, Aínwar couldn't sleep — she stayed awake throughout the night with her legs pulled to her body, thinking into the early hours of morning.

…lest she remember what she is, and burn us as they burned Erebor.

When she'd looked into the Elvenking's eyes for the first time, they hadn't spoken to her. Even now, as she reflected on them, she couldn't be convinced that he was the same man who had treated her so tenderly. A small part of her wondered if there was nothing more to it, that perhaps the voice was simply one born of visions and psychedelic brews…

But still. The phrasing was exactly the same, the inflections, the tone. All of it. Despite being expressed through fear and hatred, the Elvenking's words had struck a chord in her, ringing her heart like the vibrations of a taut string. There was a pang of…something, which sat like a slab of lead deep in the pit of her stomach. And it hurt. Genuinely. Tangibly.

She knew that the Duwín-ma worked in enigmatic ways. Her grandmother had seen war and strife, her mother had seen her own child, and Aínwar had seen…

Well, she'd never been quite sure. It was impossible to tell without the full perspective of hindsight. Was it…dare she say it — love? Heartbreak? There were other emotions in her visions: insecurity and anguish, but also laughter and belonging. It had been beautiful and terrifying all at once.

One thing was certain, however: the Elvenking had been involved.

Thranduil, she mused, thinking that his name sounded regal. It rolled off of her tongue, quite easily. She liked it.

And she hadn't expected him to be so...handsome. She recalled that he had dressed in thick swathes of silver robes, crowned by a glorious tangling of stag horns and spring leaves, and had pale, starlight hair, so very different from her own, that swept down over his broad shoulders to his waist.

Aínwar thought she boasted significant height for a woman, but perhaps she had severely and foolishly overestimated herself, for even at her height, he'd still been much taller. She'd been drawn to his sharp features — the long, straight nose; the unsmiling lips, always parted ever so slightly, as if he were in a perpetual state of intrigue; the weight of his heavy brows…

…and, she acknowledged with a faint-hearted breath, such blue eyes.

Aínwar pulled in her legs closer, biting her lip.

She thought of how he had recoiled at her face. How could the man from her dreams, who had touched her cheeks like he was holding a snowflake, possibly be the same man who could look at her like she was something disgusting at the bottom of his boot? Who could throw her in the dungeons without a second thought?

He simply could not be, she concluded, falling back down onto her side with her legs still tucked. Her hair spilled over her face. She was momentarily relieved by the darkness, a blindfold to the confusing and chaotic things happening all around her.

"That was a brave thing you did."

Aínwar brushed her hair aside, and upon seeing her visitor, quickly sat up. Tauriel — who had hair like autumn, who had shown her a sliver of decency — stood there gripping a tray of food and water. She set it down and slid it beneath the bars. The two women idled in their spots, unmoving, trying to maneuver the tension between them.

Tauriel spoke first.

"Quite honestly, I doubted the importance of your mission," she said. "I thought I'd look like a fool, barging into the throne room and demanding an audience on your behalf. I still I wonder if I am. But seeing you stand up to the Elvenking like that, having faith in your quest, and with such conviction…not many would've dared."

"Better to have tried than stayed home and died regardless," Aínwar sighed, reaching for the water.

"Why do you need fire?" Tauriel asked. "Does it give you strength?"

Aínwar desperately longed for the Tù'gathar. Even a handmade fire would do. She felt a wave of exhaustion overcome her; she leaned further into the wall, catching her breath. "Without it, I would survive," she said, "but it certainly makes things more difficult. I'm very tired. My senses will right themselves eventually. The first few weeks are the hardest."

Tauriel crouched, some emotion — curiosity, or worry? — intent in her gaze. "Do you eat food, or does the fire mitigate your hunger?"

"Yes, I eat and drink." Aínwar delicately sipped her water, trying to make it last, but her throat remained dry all the same. "I wouldn't expect the races of Middle Earth to understand, but dragons — all of us — have a perpetual flame burning within us. It's not a literal fire inside of our bodies, more like…like…"

"Like magic," Tauriel suggested. "Or a soul?"

Aínwar nodded. "When Zenta'ganna assisted Ëarendil in slaying the Black, she gave her own flame—"

"The Tù'gathar."

"Yes," Aínwar said with a smile, almost forgetting Tauriel had been there as she recounted the legend in the throne room. Her pronunciation was perfect. "Most dragons misinterpret the stories. They believe that I attend to a physical hearth. They ask me where it is…but as much as I love my dragons, some are not to be trusted. I'm afraid others would take advantage of it."

She paused, knowing that revealing this information could be dangerous, even fatal if it reached the wrong ears. But Tauriel was listening attentively, and there was something about her that kept Aínwar's words effortlessly flowing.

"Civil unrest disturbs the Northern Waste," she said. "They don't know that I am the hearth, that Ancalagon's fire resides—" She put her hand to her chest. "—in here. It is also the fire of Zenta'ganna, both of which exist inside of me simultaneously. Light and dark, battling each other forever…but that is only a small part of it. It would be tragically simple to release the darkness. Only my living body stands between the Black and those who would release him — the largest, mightiest dragon who ever lived. Does…does that make sense?"

Tauriel processed this information. "I understand," she said, her voice darkening. "I'm sorry that the king doesn't understand how important you are. I know he cares, but…sometimes, he chooses to ignore that which does not directly affect his kingdom."

"This would affect not only Mirkwood," Aínwar said, "but all of Middle Earth and beyond. The Black must not be awoken. I must live, so that he may sleep. At least, I cannot be found and exploited this far deep into the ground. Things are better this way…probably."

"Why did you not share this with Thranduil?"

"I meant to," she admitted, "but, as you saw, he assumed the worst of me from the start. And, Tauriel, I…I have not told this to anyone else. Only three of my closest friends from the waste know this, and I trust them with absolute confidence. I do not know why, but I wanted to tell you. My heart tells me that you're here to help."

Tauriel smiled tightly. "I feel the same way about you. You have my word: I won't share this information with anyone. Not even Thranduil."

"Thank you," Aínwar breathed, reassured. She nervously chuckled. "I feel like a very small fish in a very big ocean, a mere child in the eyes of elves and dragons. I'm less afraid now, thanks to you."

"And how old are you?"

"Three hundred and ninety-seven."

"A child, indeed!" she laughed, seeming excited by this for some reason. All of a sudden, she stood up and curtly addressed the guard down the hall, "We must give her fire. Should she abuse this charity, I'll take the blame myself."

The whole charade came off as very serious, but as she inclined her head, she gave Aínwar a playful wink.

"I don't know when I can return, but I will," she promised. "I'll bring you everything to make fire — a small one, of course."

Aínwar clutched her water cup, feeling even tinier than before, and yet somehow also feeling awash with gratitude. "Thank you. I—" She meant to say more but could not find the words. "— just…thank you."

Tauriel nodded, then walked away without another word. Aínwar listened to her footsteps until all was quiet again. She leaned her head against the bars, closing her eyes with a loud exhale. The guard on duty edged near the perimeters of her cell, glaring suspiciously at her, as if he expected her to breathe fire at any moment.

She wanted to toss out a snide remark, just for the fun of it...but refusing to give the elves any more ammunition to use against her, she quietly sipped the remainder of her water and greatly wished that she had walked alongside an ally like Tauriel from the beginning.

x

Tauriel did indeed bring supplies to make a fire, a detail which somehow remained secret from the Elvenking for the weeks they spent together; with every new guard that reported for duty, Tauriel would insist that the Elvenking had ordered it, which Aínwar could not believe was true…she uncertainly surmised that Legolas, whom she had come to learn was Thranduil's only son, had something to do with it.

Regardless, she had her fire and plenty of time to sit around and consider what she would say when finally released.

If she was ever released.

Tauriel was innately curious and made visits often. In the days that she came, she would sit on the stone floor — smelling like the forest, bow and quiver resting upon her crossed legs — and ask many questions about Aínwar's homeland.

Initially, they were basic and naive: What truly lies beyond the Ered Mithrin? The dragons, do they speak to you like a friend? Have you ever ridden one?

She gently touched Aínwar's horns, and leaned in close to see the golden scales scattered across her cheekbones, like glittering freckles.

"Fascinating," she would whisper. "Quite beautiful…in their own way."

Then she started asking questions with many layers to unfold, those which required hours of storytelling for context: Ancalagon the Black, how can you host his soul within your body? Does it not kill you? How did Zenta'ganna come to look like a mortal woman? You can procreate with any race?

Truthfully — and she made sure Tauriel was aware of this — Aínwar didn't always know the answers, and the she-elf would nod her understanding and disappear for another few days, only to return with more questions. Sometimes, she brought back knowledge learned from the scribes and scholars within Mirkwood's kingdom, but for the most part, she arrived at the same conclusions Aínwar always had: that Aínwar's lineage was dictated by a very strange magic, and it was old. Far older than anything than the woodland elves had ever written down in their history books.

"Perhaps Lord Elrond of Rivendell would know," Tauriel said one day, broodingly.

"Who is that?"

It was then, with dismay and outright embarrassment, that Aínwar realized that she hadn't asked Tauriel many questions about Middle Earth in the past fortnight. She'd been so distracted talking about herself, and worrying about the state of things in the waste. Her childhood self would be absolutely ashamed.

"He's an elven lord, far to the west of here," Tauriel replied sympathetically, probably wondering how anyone could be as blatantly ignorant as Aínwar.

She delved into a lengthy explanation of the differences between the elves in Middle Earth and their past — she summarized in great detail the Calaquendi, the Sindar, the Undying Lands, the Two Trees, and everything else in between. Aínwar listened most faithfully, wondering how much of the Matron Mother's tales stayed true to history. She would lean against the bars with a slight smile playing at her lips, warmed by the firelight...falling asleep to Tauriel's rhythmic and charismatic storytelling.

When Tauriel finally caught up to the present in the Third Age, she added surreptitiously, "You know, Lord Elrond was summoned to Mirkwood the day after your arrival. The Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn from Caras Galadhon too, as well as a few others...they're all coming to meet with you and discuss your fate. I believe Thranduil has no idea how to handle you."

"I do not need to be handled," Aínwar said waspishly. Tauriel looked sympathetic at this too, like she completely understood. "Will the king named Oakenshield attend this meeting?"

Tauriel looked highly amused. "You keep throwing that name around. Didn't you see the anger in the king's eyes when you said it?" She leaned closer to the bars, smiling. "It was very entertaining, seeing how you reacted to his anger. I admire your brazenness."

"Like I said," Aínwar said, feeling a little petty, "I know nothing about the politics between the races of Middle Earth. Most of the history I was taught goes further back to the First Age. Whatever frivolous matters are between those two, I care not."

"It is hardly frivolous," said Tauriel. "The Durin's Folk are — were — greedy men. Erebor was a mountainous palace of grandeur, filled to capacity with more treasure than anyone could ever imagine. So glorious, in fact, that it would also become their tomb. Smaug was tempted by these treasures…but you know this part of the story." She ran her thumbs along the others, thoughtfully. "When Smaug rained his devastation upon Erebor, Thranduil was called to aid the dwarves…but he abandoned them." At this, a flash of anger passed over her face. "Oakenshield has not forgiven him since. And rightfully so."

"Why would Thranduil do that?"

Tauriel bitterly cast her eyes downward. "Spite, perhaps? The dwarves had fashioned the white gems of Lasgalen for the Elvenking. They were fashioned and handcrafted for Êlúriel, his wife. The day we visited the Lonely Mountain to behold these jewels, the dwarves wouldn't relinquish them, having demanded three times the price that was agreed upon. Feeling scorned, the Elvenking left with hatred in his heart. That was the day Smaug came. We could've turned around…we could've helped them…but Thranduil did nothing."

Aínwar had not seen or heard of the Elvenqueen, Êlúriel, but she was beginning to accept that she had been seriously mistaken in thinking Thranduil was the man of her visions.

"He is a caring king," Tauriel went on. "I've seen it before…in how he treats his son…how he protects our people. Spite may have encouraged him, but ultimately, I don't think he wanted to rally elven lives against Smaug. Have you seen it, Firekeeper — the destruction a single dragon can cause?"

Aínwar bit her lip. "I have not," she said reluctantly.

She had always known deep down…the dragons only followed her because that was how things had been for thousands of years. They kept quiet; they obeyed orders, sometimes unwillingly; and the few that had known her mother and the preceding Firekeepers helped maintain the peace. But Aínwar, at such an insignificant three hundred and ninety-seven years of age, had never seen a dragon's devastation. There was nothing to devastate in the waste. Her knowledge was not based on experience — only the tales of the Black's army, and how his fall sunk an entire continent.

Tauriel nodded. She didn't voice exactly what Aínwar was thinking, probably out of pity. "Well, I admire your courage," she said. "I cannot imagine what you're feeling."

"Thank you again," said Aínwar, smiling weakly. "Your companionship brings me sanity in this world beneath the trees. I've never been so far away from the sky before…"

For the first time since she closed the Matron Mother's eyes, Aínwar began to cry.

"I'm afraid," she whispered. "I knew what I had to do before I got here. I had a purpose that I was prepared to die for. But now, I almost don't want to leave this cell. I don't want to face these kings and lords and ladies of yours, to let them judge me and my intentions. I hope I can communicate that I'm pure of heart, that I only want to help. But…but my meeting with the Thranduil, it wasn't—"

"Productive?" Tauriel asked, laughing softly. "That's in his nature. I think you will find the other lords of Middle Earth to be much more agreeable."

Aínwar hoped so. She had been formulating a strategy to enter Erebor, with or without Oakenshield, so that she might have the opportunity to send Smaug home — it was the only way she thought to stop, or at the very least, postpone a climax of tension in the waste. It was a foolish and embarrassingly underdeveloped plan, but a plan nonetheless, and she would probably need the council's permission.

"Tauriel?" she asked timidly, just as the she-elf was getting up to leave. "The Elvenqueen…will I meet her?"

Something about Thranduil's dilemma had resonated with her; she had never loved anyone in the same way a man would love his wife, but she could try to imagine. Should she gain access to the mountain, she fully intended to return the white gems of Lasgalen and, thus, hoped to meet with the Elvenqueen to properly explain herself.

Tauriel tilted her head, intrigued.

"The queen has been dead for a long time," she said. "Thranduil has not been the same since. I know what you are thinking, Aínwar. I can read your intentions. Your foolhardy bravery might save Middle Earth…but I am beginning to think that your heart might be what saves our king."

x

TA 2940, May 27th.

The next time Tauriel visited, Legolas accompanied her.

Tauriel hung back near the stairs, granting them a private conversation. Up close, Aínwar could see the resemblance between the Elvenking and the prince of Mirkwood: they had the same cutting jawline, pale hair, thin lips, and steely, wise eyes — Legolas, on the other hand, seemed quicker to smile, and the overall atmosphere he exhibited was far kinder and serene.

When he approached her cell, she immediately stood and bowed, feeling like it was the right thing to do.

"No need," the prince said, holding up his hand with a slight bow of his head. He surveyed her with polite scrutiny. "I must admit…Tauriel and I have known each other many years. I trust her with my life, despite—" At this, he looked pointedly back at her. "—having irresponsible judgment at times. But her intentions are always true, and she believes in you. I had to see you for myself."

"I'm sorry if I have disrupted the natural order of things here," Aínwar said. "I've been made aware that there are dangers, and in increasing numbers, prowling about Mirkwood. I understand that you're only being protecting what's important to you. I would exercise the same vigilance if a stranger had come into my mountains."

"An apology," said Legolas, lifting a brow. "You're off to a good start."

"I'm no primitive savage from the wilderness," she joked back, "and, contrary to your father's beliefs, am not here for gold, glory, or gore."

"You are a strange creature then, for in all the realms of men and dragons and everything in between, we all want at least one of those things."

"As I told him, I only do whatever duty necessitates. My purpose is to serve, and to serve is to protect what is most valuable: all things done in good."

"That I understand very well." Legolas returned the smile, but it was warm and genuine. "My father may not see that, but I believe Lord Elrond and the Lord and Lady of Caras Galadhon will. They're wise, perceptive, and above all, trusting of what is good at heart. At the very least, I'm sure they'll agree your arrival was fated to happen…and fate, they don't intrude upon. All will unfold as it should. Do not fear, Aínwar."

Hearing her name said so tenderly, after having been grabbed and pinched and cursed, nearly brought tears to her eyes.

"So tell me," Legolas continued mildly, "are you able to fly?"

Aínwar laughed. "I cannot," she said. She laughed even louder at the prince's almost comical, and very teasing, look of disappointment. "The sky and all the stars above are sacred to dragonkind. It's our home, where we rightfully belong. It was Zenta'ganna's greatest sacrifice, relinquishing her wings. She was doomed to a life upon the earth, where she would always look up, yearning to be joined with Ëarendil the Evening Star once again."

"Did she love him?"

"I like to think so. But such things are not in our destiny, to love a being of flesh." She pursed her lips, hesitating. "May I show you?"

"Of course," Legolas said with well-disguised apprehension.

"Don't tell Tauriel I showed you this. I think she takes great pride in knowing that I have bequeathed her all the secrets of dragonkind."

"Oh, most definitely. Hurry now, she's giving me an eye…"

Chuckling, Aínwar loosened the top of her clothes and turned around. Raised scars ran down perpendicular to her spine, all the way from her shoulder blades to the dip of her back, their milky white color a stark contrast against her tawny skin.

"You were born with those scars?" Legolas asked quietly.

"Yes," said Aínwar, dressing herself again. Feeling suddenly cold and exposed, she edged closer to her small fire. "They are a testament to what we, as Firekeepers, forfeited in exchange for peace. When I doubt myself or my purpose, I touch them. I remind myself that I have little entitlement to the luxuries of life and, for things to go on as they have and should always be, I must put duty before my own personal wishes."

"We're all deserving of the wonders life gives us."

Aínwar's hands paused over the fire. She took a deep breath. "Easily said as a being undying."

"But you're nearly four-hundred years old. You aren't immortal?"

"I will die when my calling is served," she said solemnly. "Worry not, Legolas, I'll have my one true prayer granted in the end. When I birth a daughter, I will touch the sky with my own wings and pass into the stars, like my mother and the mothers before her. A miserable existence upon the earth is a small price to pay."

Legolas steeped into thoughtful silence.

"We don't yet know your mission," he said eventually, "and I realize you wish to withhold that information until you're seen before the council…but as Tauriel does, I believe in you. I greatly appreciate your honesty with me, Aínwar."

Aínwar smiled softly. "Anything to keep my head another day."

"If you present yourself to the council with the same candor, you may get to see your quest to the end, after all." At this, Legolas whisked forth a set of jangling keys, and her heart nearly skipped a beat. "They're here, and they await your acquaintance most eagerly."

TBC