Belenos, Rhûn Darkmoon, and AelKennyr Rhiano
Súraumo's breath comes in long contented snorts as he lazes in the forest glade. It has been long since he had last felt so content or his belly so full. Pleasantly tired from his long flight the previous day, his stomach replete, he has spent the morning lazing in the sun, enjoying the meager warmth it gave to his old bones. Now though, he stirs restlessly as the temptation of fresh dwarf lured him. Rising carefully to his feet, as always now wary of the pain an unthinking movement may cost him, he shakes himself like a dog, sending grass seeds and dust scattering from his scales. With a last lingering look around the clearing and a thrust of his powerful hind legs, he spreads his wings and takes to the air. He beats forcefully with his wings to gain height, circles twice to gain his bearings and then sure and straight as an arrow he makes for his destination.
Nasi wrinkles his brow in thought as he makes his way back through the winding forest path to what remains of his home. Yet another day of unsuccessful hunting. It seemed life had gone from bad to worse since their settlement had been attacked. "Well, that will teach you for wishing life was different." he mutters to himself under his breath. Nasi has always been a stonemason, as had his father before him, and his father before that, and over time he has become a very good one. His skills have been sought after by other dwarven communities. Even those fancy speaking elves had not been too good to seek him out. But.. something has always been missing in his life. Despite his accomplishments, he has never been content. "Now look where that has led you." he curses himself quietly. "A hungry belly and a ruined home." He had wanted different, yes, but not this. Sighing, he continues to tread the path, the empty sack tucked into his belt flapped limply against his leg at each stride, a reminder of yet another day's failure.
The morning had dawned cold, gray, the air thin with icy whispers of the smoke and soot that clung to the walls, the floors, their clothes and breath and food. Fafnir had arisen long before the others, in time to hear the morning patrol gathered in the great kitchen, spooning up the last of the porridge he made the night before and complaining of the lack of meat. He almost stopped, then, a biting retort on his lips, but he allowed the words to fall away. They are afraid, he realizes. We are all afraid. So he turned his back to them and padded down the corridor, and through the twists and turns to where his own chambers once were, still intact despite the massive damage to the settlement. Parts of the ceiling had caved in here and there, but in one corner was the chest he sought. "Father's clothes," he whispers, and crossing the floor littered with debris, he reaches the wood chest, throws it open and paws through the clothes until he found his father's best and least worn outfit, which he dons right there. There was something in the defiance, though his sire has been a ghost these handspan of years ago and more.
Now, here he stands, the wind bracing , the skies grayish and drained of color. He bends over the cold weather garden bed made of old straw and peeks beneath old and rank pelts to take stock of what harvest they may have. The musky, dead grass smell of the hay tickles his nose, and standing, he sneezes several times, the sound echoing to his ears.
Súraumo's wings ripple and flex as they ride the currents of the wind lazily. He is in no hurry. He knows where his prey awaits and he knows they will be there as surely as he knows the sun will set at the end of each day and rise again on the morrow. The old dragon had lived on the edge of two-legged society for many centuries through the Ages. Cunningly he had studied those who walked the world upright and noted their habits. These short ones, rather like the even shorter hobbits, tended not to go far from home. They were beings of habit and tradition, he had noted, and very stubborn about it too. They would determinedly cling to their settlement. He would not find an empty echoing ruin when he arrived. No. They would be there. There is no rush, no rush at all.
Nasi 's head whips up, startled out of his thoughts by the sound of sneezing ahead. He had not realized his feet had carried him so close to home, yet here, just ahead of him, lay Gamilfûn's kitchen gardens, or what remains of them, and there, standing by the cold weather beds, is Fafnir. Nasi stops in his tracks, hesitating and uncertain of what to do. He can just melt into the forest, unseen and circle around a little to enter from the other side. Or he can just step forward and say hello. "And then what?" he shakes his head at his foolishness. "Dazzle him with your stunning tongue of stone? Impress him with your failure to provide for his pot yet again?" Biting his lip, he shifts from foot to foot uncertainly. Too late, his restless feet find a twig, dry and seer from the winter weather and it snaps loudly. With a gasp, he looks down in horror and then back up to the figure in the garden.
Fafnir raises his sleeve up to his face, to rub at his itching nose, his eyes suddenly itchy and dry, the smell of moldy hay, fecund earth and chilly damp air clinging to him as much as the smoke and ash does inside. The snap of a twig! He freezes, his eyes furtively sweeping about the area, looking for the cause. He is alone in the midst of the hay-built beds, and he almost convinces himself that it is some bushy tailed squirrel. "Rats with fluffy tails," he mutters, which was his mother's description even as she would skin them for their supper. But then, as he gives one more look, he catches sight of the stonemason. Nasi! He swallows hard, his mouth dry, his arm still halfway to his face. He stares at the other dwarf for another moment, taking in the expression on the other's face. He lowers his arm- oh, so carefully-- and relaxes his body, which had tensed at the sudden noise. Resting his hands on the belt of his jerkin, he calls out to Nasi, "Heigh-ho, Handsome," He lifts a hand and gives a casual wave, a playful smile upon his face. He feels his palms grow sweaty, but yet he fights the urge to wipe them upon his father's most treasured vest.
Súraumo knew he must be close now, and his eye gleams with malignant pleasure as he locates the ruined entrance to the settlement in the distance. No longer as discretely hidden as it had been, but now a ruined gaping maw in the mountainside, it is easy to spot even from this height. Long strings of rank drool stream from his muzzle as he contemplates yet another easy meal, whipping away in the wind of his passing to speckle the scales of his flanks. With a nonchalant shift of his tail he alters course a little, beginning a wide circle of the settlement.
Nasi feels his tongue cleave to the roof of his mouth at Fafnir's greeting. Well, the fat is in the fire now, he thought. Not daring to risk speaking, he gives a gruff nod in greeting in return as he steps forward. He heaves a sigh as he reaches the other, relieved he had not tripped over his own feet at least, and then quickly masks the sigh by turning it into a cough. He dares to risk a glance at the other dwarf now he has reached him, and his breath catches as he realizes his eyes are the same golden color of honey. Suddenly aware that he has not yet spoken, he nods towards the winter bed and his voice is gruff, lest it come out as high pitched and squeaky as a girl's as he says, "I hope you are having more success with your quarry than I have had with mine."
Fafnir watches Nasi as the stonemason-turned-forager/hunter steps out of the green wood and makes his way over to where Fafnir stands, rooted to the spot. A fine quiver runs up his legs and through his body, and in response, his brown eyes widen briefly. How now, he wonders at himself. How is it that the mere sight of the handsome mason approaching has his legs turn weak as water and his heart to give a flip-flop. His brow creases for a moment, and then smooths. He favors the other's question with an answer by pulling back a corner of the rough tanned hide, revealing a small crop of radishes, beets, cauliflower and cabbage. "Well, handsome," he says and shifts his weight to lean against the damp hay as he gestures with a hand. "As you see, I have decided to accept the beet's surrender. The radishes refused to submit, so tonight it shall be off with their heads, and as for the cauliflower and cabbage...well, they must give leal service and dance attendance upon our supper." He then reaches out and flips the hide back over, to keep the precious store warm and protected. He drops his light tone for a moment, and the words that spill from his mouth are gentle. "You do know, handsome, that it is no lack of skill in you that keeps our trestle meatless at night."
Súraumo's snout snuffs at the air greedily as he slowly drifts lower, hunting for confirmation that the settlement is indeed populated. Yes! There it was! He snorts in a great gout of air, taking in the puff of slightly warmer air and gusting it gently out over his tongue, tasting the thin smoky smell of it. Cooking fires! Not nearly as strong as he had found the last time he passed this way, but then when he thinks of the feast he and the Balrog had shared together, he is not surprised. There would be a lot less dwarves to cook and to cook for. Suraumo's ears waggle in pleasure at the thought of that feast and one yet to come. Tilting his wings, he begins to glide down to the clearing just in front of the settlement entrance.
Nasi lifts his eyes from their preoccupation with the garden bed at the other's words. For a moment he forgets his bashfulness and looks full into the tall dwarf's eyes, his own dark and thoughtful. He is kinder than he pretends to be, he thinks to himself, and far more insightful too. He turns his gaze to the edge of the forest as though seeking answers and gives a small shake of his head. "I do not understand it. It's like the game has just vanished." He lifts a hand and rubs his chin thoughtfully for a moment and then turns to Fafnir, "Although there were no deer or even rabbits to be seen today, I.. I happened to see some wild mushrooms growing not far from the path just now. I don't know if they are edible or not, but perhaps they might be. I mean, you might know, if you want to come see. If you are not busy. If you would like. I... I could show you. I mean.." his voice trails off as he realizes he is babbling nervously, and he scuffs the toe of his boot on the edge of the garden bed in embarrassment.
Fafnir listens to the other dwarf stammer and babble about mushrooms, and, unbidden, his lips curl into a smile, and his eyes light up. He drinks in the features of the stonemason's face, the piercing brown eyes, so warm, brown velvet, they seem. Beneath his thick mustache his lips were full, and the silver rings which gathered his beard neatly gleams softly in the weak sunlight. The ebony hair fell into the waves...suddenly Fafnir realizes that he is staring, and a silence has fallen between them.
He clears his throat and turns his head to look in the direction of trees. "Well, then, my stalwart and hardy protector," he says and without thought, one of his hands slides into one of Nasi's. "What say we warriors gird our loins and prepare to take on those wild mushrooms in fierce battle. 'Let no mushroom remain toadstooling in defiance!' I say." He gives Nasi's hand a squeeze. "For, handsome one, with you beside me, even this inept hunter cannot but fare well." Then he pauses, realizes what he has done and drops his gaze to say, softer and far less certainly, "For I would fain be with no other in such a situation, you know." He then peers up quickly, gauging the reaction of the other before taking a step forward, toward the trees and the wild, dissident mushrooms.
Nasi stands as one transfixed as the tall dwarf smiles. Those clear golden eyes seem to shine as they gaze back at him and Nasi feels his chest squeeze tightly. Until now he has dared not take to heart the words spoken so lightly, "Handsome." How many times was it now? Five, six? "My stalwart and hardy protector?" If he could only believe they were sincere. But then he feels the warm firmness of the other's hand in his and looks down at it in wonder, his thumb moving gently against it as though to test and see it is real. He is still gazing at it in wonder when it is tugged as Fafnir takes a step towards the forest. Bemused, Nasi follows. "For I would fain be with no other in such a situation, you know." Did he really just say that? He had! With no false cheerfulness, but with a sincerity and touching uncertainty. Nasi 's normally stern lower lips curves into a small smile, and he steps out to draw level with the tall dwarf. "It is over this way," he says, his ebony eyes shining with pleasure as he glances at Fafnir and draws him into the edge of the forest. "I will show you."
Súraumo lands as gently as he can, hopping forward on his rear legs once or twice, his great wings still flapping gently as he eases his foreleg to the ground. Even with the care he takes, the impact of his landing still causes the earth to tremble as does his hops, and his wings stir up a swirl of dust and dry, dead winter grass. But Súraumo cares nothing for this, however, for just as he lands, directly in front of him, a group of dwarves step forth from the ruined entrance. A hunting patrol from the looks of them, the old dragon guesses, by their lightly armed and lightly armoured attire. Well, we shall see who does the hunting! Joyously, with a loud roar, he leaps forward, fire pouring from his maw, jaws snapping.
Nasi glances upwards as a shadow passes overhead, hoping it is not more spring showers gathering. Even here just at the edge, the forest canopy is thick, and it is impossible to see the sky clearly. Turning a little, he glances back the way they had come, hoping to glimpse the sky, but he is forced to slit his eyes as an unexpected gust of wind swirls around them, showering them with grit and bits of twig and dead grasses. Surely the weather was not turning bad so swiftly? But his pondering on the vagueness of the weather is cut short by a resounding thud as the ground shakes a little beneath his feet. A dragon!
Nasi wrinkles his brow in thought as he makes his way back through the winding forest path to what remains of his home. Yet another day of unsuccessful hunting. It seemed life had gone from bad to worse since their settlement had been attacked. "Well, that will teach you for wishing life was different." he mutters to himself under his breath. Nasi has always been a stonemason, as had his father before him, and his father before that, and over time he has become a very good one. His skills have been sought after by other dwarven communities. Even those fancy speaking elves had not been too good to seek him out. But.. something has always been missing in his life. Despite his accomplishments, he has never been content. "Now look where that has led you." he curses himself quietly. "A hungry belly and a ruined home." He had wanted different, yes, but not this. Sighing, he continues to tread the path, the empty sack tucked into his belt flapped limply against his leg at each stride, a reminder of yet another day's failure.The morning had dawned cold, gray, the air thin with icy whispers of the smoke and soot that clung to the walls, the floors, their clothes and breath and food. Fafnir had arisen long before the others, in time to hear the morning patrol gathered in the great kitchen, spooning up the last of the porridge he made the night before and complaining of the lack of meat. He almost stopped, then, a biting retort on his lips, but he allowed the words to fall away. They are afraid, he realizes. We are all afraid. So he turned his back to them and padded down the corridor, and through the twists and turns to where his own chambers once were, still intact despite the massive damage to the settlement. Parts of the ceiling had caved in here and there, but in one corner was the chest he sought. "Father's clothes," he whispers, and crossing the floor littered with debris, he reaches the wood chest, throws it open and paws through the clothes until he found his father's best and least worn outfit, which he dons right there. There was something in the defiance, though his sire has been a ghost these handspan of years ago and more.
Now, here he stands, the wind bracing , the skies grayish and drained of color. He bends over the cold weather garden bed made of old straw and peeks beneath old and rank pelts to take stock of what harvest they may have. The musky, dead grass smell of the hay tickles his nose, and standing, he sneezes several times, the sound echoing to his ears.
Súraumo's wings ripple and flex as they ride the currents of the wind lazily. He is in no hurry. He knows where his prey awaits and he knows they will be there as surely as he knows the sun will set at the end of each day and rise again on the morrow. The old dragon had lived on the edge of two-legged society for many centuries through the Ages. Cunningly he had studied those who walked the world upright and noted their habits. These short ones, rather like the even shorter hobbits, tended not to go far from home. They were beings of habit and tradition, he had noted, and very stubborn about it too. They would determinedly cling to their settlement. He would not find an empty echoing ruin when he arrived. No. They would be there. There is no rush, no rush at all.
Nasi 's head whips up, startled out of his thoughts by the sound of sneezing ahead. He had not realized his feet had carried him so close to home, yet here, just ahead of him, lay Gamilfûn's kitchen gardens, or what remains of them, and there, standing by the cold weather beds, is Fafnir. Nasi stops in his tracks, hesitating and uncertain of what to do. He can just melt into the forest, unseen and circle around a little to enter from the other side. Or he can just step forward and say hello. "And then what?" he shakes his head at his foolishness. "Dazzle him with your stunning tongue of stone? Impress him with your failure to provide for his pot yet again?" Biting his lip, he shifts from foot to foot uncertainly. Too late, his restless feet find a twig, dry and seer from the winter weather and it snaps loudly. With a gasp, he looks down in horror and then back up to the figure in the garden.Fafnir raises his sleeve up to his face, to rub at his itching nose, his eyes suddenly itchy and dry, the smell of moldy hay, fecund earth and chilly damp air clinging to him as much as the smoke and ash does inside. The snap of a twig! He freezes, his eyes furtively sweeping about the area, looking for the cause. He is alone in the midst of the hay-built beds, and he almost convinces himself that it is some bushy tailed squirrel. "Rats with fluffy tails," he mutters, which was his mother's description even as she would skin them for their supper. But then, as he gives one more look, he catches sight of the stonemason. Nasi! He swallows hard, his mouth dry, his arm still halfway to his face. He stares at the other dwarf for another moment, taking in the expression on the other's face. He lowers his arm- oh, so carefully-- and relaxes his body, which had tensed at the sudden noise. Resting his hands on the belt of his jerkin, he calls out to Nasi, "Heigh-ho, Handsome," He lifts a hand and gives a casual wave, a playful smile upon his face. He feels his palms grow sweaty, but yet he fights the urge to wipe them upon his father's most treasured vest.
Súraumo knew he must be close now, and his eye gleams with malignant pleasure as he locates the ruined entrance to the settlement in the distance. No longer as discretely hidden as it had been, but now a ruined gaping maw in the mountainside, it is easy to spot even from this height. Long strings of rank drool stream from his muzzle as he contemplates yet another easy meal, whipping away in the wind of his passing to speckle the scales of his flanks. With a nonchalant shift of his tail he alters course a little, beginning a wide circle of the settlement.
Nasi feels his tongue cleave to the roof of his mouth at Fafnir's greeting. Well, the fat is in the fire now, he thought. Not daring to risk speaking, he gives a gruff nod in greeting in return as he steps forward. He heaves a sigh as he reaches the other, relieved he had not tripped over his own feet at least, and then quickly masks the sigh by turning it into a cough. He dares to risk a glance at the other dwarf now he has reached him, and his breath catches as he realizes his eyes are the same golden color of honey. Suddenly aware that he has not yet spoken, he nods towards the winter bed and his voice is gruff, lest it come out as high pitched and squeaky as a girl's as he says, "I hope you are having more success with your quarry than I have had with mine."
Fafnir watches Nasi as the stonemason-turned-forager/hunter steps out of the green wood and makes his way over to where Fafnir stands, rooted to the spot. A fine quiver runs up his legs and through his body, and in response, his brown eyes widen briefly. How now, he wonders at himself. How is it that the mere sight of the handsome mason approaching has his legs turn weak as water and his heart to give a flip-flop. His brow creases for a moment, and then smooths. He favors the other's question with an answer by pulling back a corner of the rough tanned hide, revealing a small crop of radishes, beets, cauliflower and cabbage. "Well, handsome," he says and shifts his weight to lean against the damp hay as he gestures with a hand. "As you see, I have decided to accept the beet's surrender. The radishes refused to submit, so tonight it shall be off with their heads, and as for the cauliflower and cabbage...well, they must give leal service and dance attendance upon our supper." He then reaches out and flips the hide back over, to keep the precious store warm and protected. He drops his light tone for a moment, and the words that spill from his mouth are gentle. "You do know, handsome, that it is no lack of skill in you that keeps our trestle meatless at night."
Súraumo's snout snuffs at the air greedily as he slowly drifts lower, hunting for confirmation that the settlement is indeed populated. Yes! There it was! He snorts in a great gout of air, taking in the puff of slightly warmer air and gusting it gently out over his tongue, tasting the thin smoky smell of it. Cooking fires! Not nearly as strong as he had found the last time he passed this way, but then when he thinks of the feast he and the Balrog had shared together, he is not surprised. There would be a lot less dwarves to cook and to cook for. Suraumo's ears waggle in pleasure at the thought of that feast and one yet to come. Tilting his wings, he begins to glide down to the clearing just in front of the settlement entrance.
Nasi lifts his eyes from their preoccupation with the garden bed at the other's words. For a moment he forgets his bashfulness and looks full into the tall dwarf's eyes, his own dark and thoughtful. He is kinder than he pretends to be, he thinks to himself, and far more insightful too. He turns his gaze to the edge of the forest as though seeking answers and gives a small shake of his head. "I do not understand it. It's like the game has just vanished." He lifts a hand and rubs his chin thoughtfully for a moment and then turns to Fafnir, "Although there were no deer or even rabbits to be seen today, I.. I happened to see some wild mushrooms growing not far from the path just now. I don't know if they are edible or not, but perhaps they might be. I mean, you might know, if you want to come see. If you are not busy. If you would like. I... I could show you. I mean.." his voice trails off as he realizes he is babbling nervously, and he scuffs the toe of his boot on the edge of the garden bed in embarrassment.
Fafnir listens to the other dwarf stammer and babble about mushrooms, and, unbidden, his lips curl into a smile, and his eyes light up. He drinks in the features of the stonemason's face, the piercing brown eyes, so warm, brown velvet, they seem. Beneath his thick mustache his lips were full, and the silver rings which gathered his beard neatly gleams softly in the weak sunlight. The ebony hair fell into the waves...suddenly Fafnir realizes that he is staring, and a silence has fallen between them.
He clears his throat and turns his head to look in the direction of trees. "Well, then, my stalwart and hardy protector," he says and without thought, one of his hands slides into one of Nasi's. "What say we warriors gird our loins and prepare to take on those wild mushrooms in fierce battle. 'Let no mushroom remain toadstooling in defiance!' I say." He gives Nasi's hand a squeeze. "For, handsome one, with you beside me, even this inept hunter cannot but fare well." Then he pauses, realizes what he has done and drops his gaze to say, softer and far less certainly, "For I would fain be with no other in such a situation, you know." He then peers up quickly, gauging the reaction of the other before taking a step forward, toward the trees and the wild, dissident mushrooms.
Nasi stands as one transfixed as the tall dwarf smiles. Those clear golden eyes seem to shine as they gaze back at him and Nasi feels his chest squeeze tightly. Until now he has dared not take to heart the words spoken so lightly, "Handsome." How many times was it now? Five, six? "My stalwart and hardy protector?" If he could only believe they were sincere. But then he feels the warm firmness of the other's hand in his and looks down at it in wonder, his thumb moving gently against it as though to test and see it is real. He is still gazing at it in wonder when it is tugged as Fafnir takes a step towards the forest. Bemused, Nasi follows. "For I would fain be with no other in such a situation, you know." Did he really just say that? He had! With no false cheerfulness, but with a sincerity and touching uncertainty. Nasi 's normally stern lower lips curves into a small smile, and he steps out to draw level with the tall dwarf. "It is over this way," he says, his ebony eyes shining with pleasure as he glances at Fafnir and draws him into the edge of the forest. "I will show you."
Súraumo lands as gently as he can, hopping forward on his rear legs once or twice, his great wings still flapping gently as he eases his foreleg to the ground. Even with the care he takes, the impact of his landing still causes the earth to tremble as does his hops, and his wings stir up a swirl of dust and dry, dead winter grass. But Súraumo cares nothing for this, however, for just as he lands, directly in front of him, a group of dwarves step forth from the ruined entrance. A hunting patrol from the looks of them, the old dragon guesses, by their lightly armed and lightly armoured attire. Well, we shall see who does the hunting! Joyously, with a loud roar, he leaps forward, fire pouring from his maw, jaws snapping.
Nasi glances upwards as a shadow passes overhead, hoping it is not more spring showers gathering. Even here just at the edge, the forest canopy is thick, and it is impossible to see the sky clearly. Turning a little, he glances back the way they had come, hoping to glimpse the sky, but he is forced to slit his eyes as an unexpected gust of wind swirls around them, showering them with grit and bits of twig and dead grasses. Surely the weather was not turning bad so swiftly? But his pondering on the vagueness of the weather is cut short by a resounding thud as the ground shakes a little beneath his feet. A dragon!