The Lord of Gifts [Anorien, 1694 SA]
Nov 12, 2017 16:51:28 GMT -5
Post by Skor the Ruinous on Nov 12, 2017 16:51:28 GMT -5
The Druedain wanted nothing to do with him.
Though thought to be without guile they were perhaps in this respect wiser than the great lords of Middle Earth and the Sea Kings of the Western Isle. History would prove it so. If indeed they possessed wisdom it was the low wisdom of fen and field and forest, not the lofty lore of Valinor shining abroad from the Uttermost West. Their ancestors likely knew nothing of the Valar as they did not, or perhaps only as a vicious clamour in the north when the world was remade. Had they known any in person it would have been Melkor who now lay chained beyond the Door of Night.
This thing that was not quite an Elf though, this was new. Skor could smell it on the dank wind that whistled to his cave’s hoard of glittering gold and jewels. As the figure approached he would look out at first on the vast wealth of the dragon as an unbroken sea which glimmered as if in waves in what little light penetrated so deep. The first he would know of the ancient serpent would be the roiling of the golden tide as Skor’s massive figure broke from its magnificent burrow, coins and cut stones flowing over his powerful form and tinkling to the ground with a sound not unlike rain.
Raising up his long snake-like neck the Lord of Anorien spared a glance at his visitor, finding him at once not so fair as he would appear, though he could not ascertain why. The Eldar he knew fancied themselves a people of light and children of the stars, but their hearts he also knew could be black as the enveloping night. Had it not been Maeglin that had opened the way for him and his into Gondolin so many, many years past?
From time to time Elves, Men or Dwarves would steal in to his cave fancying his favour or his treasure for themselves. Few left. For those who did, they did not return unchanged. For the King of the Druedain was not kind, he was selfish and never known to remit upon a debt. Sooner or later all dues were paid and this pale, fair seeming creature would learn soon enough the price.
Rounding on the figure he flexed his mighty muscles to rear up on his hind legs, bracing his claws on the ledge which overlooked his great golden sea and stooping his head low to regard the Elf-thing now barely two dozen feet from his powerful jaws, still seeming unfazed. Taking another draught of his scent the fire-drake concluded he did not smell altogether fair, as though carrying an ill-wind behind him, but not the stench of orc or Easterling or any other servant of Melkor all of whom he would know well. This was something quite different, something almost new.
Exhaling a great huff of hot, dry air as if to portent what fate would befall should his guest speak false or fail to answer, Skor the Magnificent finally bestowed him his first utterance. ’Many years now it has been since I had one of the Eldar in my hall, though they tarried not long. Tell me, what is thy name who would come so readily, alone and unbidden to Turgon’s Bane?’
Though thought to be without guile they were perhaps in this respect wiser than the great lords of Middle Earth and the Sea Kings of the Western Isle. History would prove it so. If indeed they possessed wisdom it was the low wisdom of fen and field and forest, not the lofty lore of Valinor shining abroad from the Uttermost West. Their ancestors likely knew nothing of the Valar as they did not, or perhaps only as a vicious clamour in the north when the world was remade. Had they known any in person it would have been Melkor who now lay chained beyond the Door of Night.
This thing that was not quite an Elf though, this was new. Skor could smell it on the dank wind that whistled to his cave’s hoard of glittering gold and jewels. As the figure approached he would look out at first on the vast wealth of the dragon as an unbroken sea which glimmered as if in waves in what little light penetrated so deep. The first he would know of the ancient serpent would be the roiling of the golden tide as Skor’s massive figure broke from its magnificent burrow, coins and cut stones flowing over his powerful form and tinkling to the ground with a sound not unlike rain.
Raising up his long snake-like neck the Lord of Anorien spared a glance at his visitor, finding him at once not so fair as he would appear, though he could not ascertain why. The Eldar he knew fancied themselves a people of light and children of the stars, but their hearts he also knew could be black as the enveloping night. Had it not been Maeglin that had opened the way for him and his into Gondolin so many, many years past?
From time to time Elves, Men or Dwarves would steal in to his cave fancying his favour or his treasure for themselves. Few left. For those who did, they did not return unchanged. For the King of the Druedain was not kind, he was selfish and never known to remit upon a debt. Sooner or later all dues were paid and this pale, fair seeming creature would learn soon enough the price.
Rounding on the figure he flexed his mighty muscles to rear up on his hind legs, bracing his claws on the ledge which overlooked his great golden sea and stooping his head low to regard the Elf-thing now barely two dozen feet from his powerful jaws, still seeming unfazed. Taking another draught of his scent the fire-drake concluded he did not smell altogether fair, as though carrying an ill-wind behind him, but not the stench of orc or Easterling or any other servant of Melkor all of whom he would know well. This was something quite different, something almost new.
Exhaling a great huff of hot, dry air as if to portent what fate would befall should his guest speak false or fail to answer, Skor the Magnificent finally bestowed him his first utterance. ’Many years now it has been since I had one of the Eldar in my hall, though they tarried not long. Tell me, what is thy name who would come so readily, alone and unbidden to Turgon’s Bane?’