lawrence Blackbart and AelKennyr Rhiano
The Lord of the Teleri casts his gaze down to the grass beneath him, the sweet smelling of green growing things filling his lungs with every breath, even as the words of the dragon chilled him. “Why let me live?” asks the dragon before him, and Olwe has no answer, only more questions the longer Dometis talks.
And talk the dragon does, in a voice heavy with loss, with grief, with pain. In tones that Olwe would never thought to hear from a creature whose origins could be attributed to the Dark Lord himself. Above all of Morgorth’s creations were the dragons feared. In heavy tomes in the library treasure trove of Alqualonde were the deeds of the vile Dark Lord’s creatures recorded, the deeds of his dragons: Glaurung, the Father of Dragons, Ancalagon, the winged one; Scatha, the one who lived in the northern wastes; and Smaug, the dragon most recently recorded by travelling Teleri merchants, like Nole.
Olwe shifted his position on the ground sliding a leg up and resting his entwined fingers atop the knee. Glaurung the Urulokë, firedrake, was the first, coming from Angband and disappearing with his master for a time. Until the Battle where he cleared the way for the Balrogs. Olwe feels the old coldness at the memory of the uruloki. Azagahal was able to wound Glaurung in the battle after, dubbed the Unnumbered Tears by the Eldar elves of the Blessed Land, and saved the Noldor from wholesale slaughter. But even Turn was bespelled by the firedrake for a time. As Turambar, Turin finally slayed the creature while Glaurung was asleep, but that was not until after the Fall of Norgothrond. Nothing prevented the dragon from turning the innermost hall into his own personal lair, resting atop the wealth of Felagund.
This, this was the heritage of the dragon. Blood and slaughter, cruelty and enslavement, tools used by a Vala who spurned the grace of Illuvatar. Olwe stared down at his hands and wondered if Dometis had any clue of his race’s beginnings. Somewhere inside this rather clumsy but well-meaning blue dragon, did the lust for bloodshed, desire for destruction, hatred for all other races lie sleeping? His mind casts back in his memory, to a conversation with the Ainu Lindor, who lived in the sky palace of Tilion, Guardian of the Moon, and keeper of Olwe’s heart.
“Do you mean that dragons exist, free of Melkor?” he had asked.
Then had appeared the black dragoness, Ithilia of Arador. Not that he had ever heard of Arador. Ithilia who, as a young one, was enslaved to the Dark Lord. “We are deeper in spirit than even he could have thought. There were some who would never stand for his evil.”
And the Lord of the Teleri had reached out, then, and touched the black dragoness. He saw in her, not a creature of darkness, or cruelty or ugliness. He saw a fierce pride and beauty. She had done what he had not known any of her kind to do: she had found the Straight Road to the Blessed Lands. The Straight Road was only kept open to the elves, who sailed their ships between the Undying Lands and Middle Earth. How many times had Teleri merchants travelled that sea route? But Ithilia of Arador had followed that same route, and by the grace of the Valar, she had found Alqualonde. And now, a second dragon has managed to find Alqualonde here, in the mortal world. Truth be told, Olwe admits to himself, can he afford to treat as a possible enemy, such a creature as this? For to have a dragon on their side against the darkness which closes its fist around them would be a mighty ally and would embolden those who otherwise may hang back and not join in the struggle against the coming Shadows. At least, that is the hope that Olwe fosters as he watches the dragon eat.
Where did Dometis come from? It all comes back to that, and to what caused such a large creature to fly until he dropped from the skies. Anything that would cause a dragon to such extremes is not a thing he wants to see find its way to the Swanhaven. Suddenly aware that the dragon had fallen silent, Olwe raises blue eyes, dark with concern, to meet the gaze of the dragon. “For one of your kind to fly until you drop from the air in exhaustion,” he starts, then stops and clears his throat, knowing what he must ask next.
“What pursues you, Dometis?”
And talk the dragon does, in a voice heavy with loss, with grief, with pain. In tones that Olwe would never thought to hear from a creature whose origins could be attributed to the Dark Lord himself. Above all of Morgorth’s creations were the dragons feared. In heavy tomes in the library treasure trove of Alqualonde were the deeds of the vile Dark Lord’s creatures recorded, the deeds of his dragons: Glaurung, the Father of Dragons, Ancalagon, the winged one; Scatha, the one who lived in the northern wastes; and Smaug, the dragon most recently recorded by travelling Teleri merchants, like Nole.
Olwe shifted his position on the ground sliding a leg up and resting his entwined fingers atop the knee. Glaurung the Urulokë, firedrake, was the first, coming from Angband and disappearing with his master for a time. Until the Battle where he cleared the way for the Balrogs. Olwe feels the old coldness at the memory of the uruloki. Azagahal was able to wound Glaurung in the battle after, dubbed the Unnumbered Tears by the Eldar elves of the Blessed Land, and saved the Noldor from wholesale slaughter. But even Turn was bespelled by the firedrake for a time. As Turambar, Turin finally slayed the creature while Glaurung was asleep, but that was not until after the Fall of Norgothrond. Nothing prevented the dragon from turning the innermost hall into his own personal lair, resting atop the wealth of Felagund.
This, this was the heritage of the dragon. Blood and slaughter, cruelty and enslavement, tools used by a Vala who spurned the grace of Illuvatar. Olwe stared down at his hands and wondered if Dometis had any clue of his race’s beginnings. Somewhere inside this rather clumsy but well-meaning blue dragon, did the lust for bloodshed, desire for destruction, hatred for all other races lie sleeping? His mind casts back in his memory, to a conversation with the Ainu Lindor, who lived in the sky palace of Tilion, Guardian of the Moon, and keeper of Olwe’s heart.
“Do you mean that dragons exist, free of Melkor?” he had asked.
Then had appeared the black dragoness, Ithilia of Arador. Not that he had ever heard of Arador. Ithilia who, as a young one, was enslaved to the Dark Lord. “We are deeper in spirit than even he could have thought. There were some who would never stand for his evil.”
And the Lord of the Teleri had reached out, then, and touched the black dragoness. He saw in her, not a creature of darkness, or cruelty or ugliness. He saw a fierce pride and beauty. She had done what he had not known any of her kind to do: she had found the Straight Road to the Blessed Lands. The Straight Road was only kept open to the elves, who sailed their ships between the Undying Lands and Middle Earth. How many times had Teleri merchants travelled that sea route? But Ithilia of Arador had followed that same route, and by the grace of the Valar, she had found Alqualonde. And now, a second dragon has managed to find Alqualonde here, in the mortal world. Truth be told, Olwe admits to himself, can he afford to treat as a possible enemy, such a creature as this? For to have a dragon on their side against the darkness which closes its fist around them would be a mighty ally and would embolden those who otherwise may hang back and not join in the struggle against the coming Shadows. At least, that is the hope that Olwe fosters as he watches the dragon eat.
Where did Dometis come from? It all comes back to that, and to what caused such a large creature to fly until he dropped from the skies. Anything that would cause a dragon to such extremes is not a thing he wants to see find its way to the Swanhaven. Suddenly aware that the dragon had fallen silent, Olwe raises blue eyes, dark with concern, to meet the gaze of the dragon. “For one of your kind to fly until you drop from the air in exhaustion,” he starts, then stops and clears his throat, knowing what he must ask next.
“What pursues you, Dometis?”
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