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ii. UNEXPECTED VISITOR
SEASON 1
EPISODE 2
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IT ALL FELL DOWN
HOUSE OF THE DRAGON
x
THE RINGS OF POWER

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___________                                             ___________

KHAZAD-DUM

    || IN MIST OF VISENYA'S DAZE UPON SEEING THE BIRD, an unforeseen disturbance rudely barged in—-fracturing the tranquility that enveloped her like a fragile cocoon. "Come now! Enough with your fanciful thoughts!" Amira's voice sliced through the air, devoid of the usual warmth—steeped in a bitter discontent that lingered like a discordant note in a symphony of silence.

However, despite the palpable tension that hung heavily, the young Targaryen's demeanor remained composed, a mask of stoicism carefully sculpted upon her countenance—betraying none of the tumultuous emotions that brewed beneath.

Resolute, Visenya compressed her lips into a thin line, the contours of her jaw tightening—before beginning the descent down the rugged path of sharp, jutting rocks. As she navigated, a stark juxtaposition emerged between her measured pace and the hurried strides of Amira, whose impatience seemed to fuel her steps—propelling her forward with a sense of urgency.

Side by side they moved, two figures in stark contrast—the graceful, unhurried gait of Visenya mirroring the leisurely dance of a leaf caught in a gentle breeze, while Amira's frenzied movements painted a picture of a relentless storm approaching—threatening to consume everything in its path.

Unbeknownst to Visenya, her very presence seemed to cast a spell upon the denizens of Khazad-dum, drawing their gaze towards her like moths to a mesmerizing flame. Townspeople and laborers alike turned their heads in unison, their eyes following her every step with a mixture of reverence and unease, as if beholding a creature of myth and legend emerging from the shadows of obscurity into the harsh light of reality.

Some greeted her with open arms, their faces alight with genuine affection and admiration, while others regarded her with a wariness born of centuries-old superstitions and whispered tales of the exiled princess rumored to walk among them once more.

As Visenya's gaze lingered wistfully upon the towering roofs of Khazad-dum, her eyes tracing the intricate patterns etched into the ancient stone, a sense of foreboding crept over her like a cool whisper of the wind carrying secrets untold. Sensing it, visenya still chose to shrug it off—believing it to be just a mere chill.

In the two seconds upon being on the bridge, Amira's tough demeanor had changed, greeting passersby's with a wave and engaged in light-hearted banter. Meanwhile, Visenya walked with silent dignity—her lips forming a thin line that belied the storm raging behind her eyes.

Amira's animated gestures were met by Visenya's subtle nods and fleeting smiles, each one a mere whisper of the happiness she once knew. The turmoil within her seemed to manifest in the shifting hues of her eyes, now a deep lavender, now a vibrant violet.

Yet beneath it all, she felt as though she were fading into the background of her own existence—a ghost wandering through a world that had long forgotten her.

"Remember we need to get..." Amira's voice drifted towards Visenya, only to fade into the recesses of her mind. A passing comment left unfinished as the Targaryen's gaze dropped to the ground. She watched her feet move in rhythm with their steps—the world blurring around her as she retreated into her thoughts.

Mocking echoes of Amira's words played in her mind, her own hand rising to her lips in a mimicry of her friend's infectious smile. Yet, amidst this, Visenya heard a melody unlike any other. It was a chorus of whispers, a symphony that seemed to beckon her closer with each tantalizing note. The princess paused, her heartbeat quickening— turning her head this way and that.

Her gaze then fell upon Amira, whom was oblivious to the sounds. Without hesitation, Visenya approached the edge of the bridge—-the whispers growing louder and more insistent the closer she drew.

Beneath her, the cavern yawned open like the maw of a slumbering beast, the soft glow of torchlight flickering against the rough-hewn walls. Dwarves bustled about like industrious ants, their voices rising in a cacophony of song that echoed through the chamber and into Visenya's very soul.

The princess felt a thrill of excitement shiver down her spine. She knew she should turn back, should heed the warnings of logic and reason by Amira. But the allure of the unknown called to her, like a siren's song luring a ship off course.

With a defiant toss of her silver hair, Visenya stepped off the bridge and onto the jagged rocks below, her boots finding purchase on each stone as if guided by some unseen hand. The echoes of the dwarves' chants grew louder, more urgent, until she stood at the threshold of the gathering room, bathed in warm torchlight and the promise of discovery.

Each verse seemed to beckon her, guiding her through the labyrinthine paths to the gathering room where the Prince Durin roared with jubilant fervor.

Visenya glided into the room as if she were a shadow seeking solace among the luminous stars. The air hummed with the vibrant melody of clashing glasses and dwarfish roars, a symphony of celebration drowning the world in merriment.

With a grace befitting a whisper in the wind, she lowered herself to the rugged ground, attempting to blend seamlessly into the tapestry of dwarven revelry. Yet, in this sea of ale-filled goblets and raucous cheers, Visenya stood out like a luminous moon amidst a sky of twinkling stars.

As she navigated through the boisterous crowd on bended knees, Visenya's ears caught only the remnants of Prince Durin's impassioned oration. "And if the elf shall lose," his voice echoed, the weight of his words hanging in the air like a promise carved in stone.

An unfamiliar voice responded, shattering the jubilant atmosphere with its indifference. "Exile... Understood..." The words drifted towards her, wrapped in an enigmatic veil of mystery that piqued Visenya's curiosity. Furrowing her brow ever so slightly, she pressed forward with cautious steps, careful not to disrupt the dwarf-born revelry that surrounded her. Some dwarves made way for her, their eyes filled with wary curiosity, while others grumbled under their breath, casting disapproving glares in her direction.

At last, she found her coveted vantage point, a hidden alcove offering an unobscured view of the makeshift arena at the heart of the room. The thunderous rhythm of axes meeting stone resonated through the air, sending a shiver down her spine. Flanking the central space were two colossal boulders, hewn with unparalleled skill to form an arena where Prince Durin stood as a colossus among his brethren.

Yet, it was not the regal dwarf prince who commanded her unwavering attention, but the ethereal figure who stood facing him—the very one whose voice had cut through the revelry like a blade sharpened on moonlight. A being of celestial elegance, a man whose ears tapered to delicate points that spoke of a lineage steeped in ancient grace—a creature unknown in the lands of Westeros.

As the clash of steel and stone reverberated through the room, ensnared by the silent dance unfolding before her eyes—a tapestry of contrasting worlds weaving together in a symphony of fate and destiny. Now the stage was set, the players in position.

Visenya found herself captivated by this elf. It was a rare occurrence for the young Targaryen, who had lived amidst the rugged and sturdy dwarven folk since she was but a mere child of nine cycles. Yet, here she stood, mesmerized by the presence of an him—unlike any she had ever encountered.

The elf, tall and lithe, exuded a sense of ethereal elegance that seemed to defy the laws of nature. As he wielded the axe with a fluidity and precision that left Visenya in awe, she couldn't help but marvel at the grace with which he moved.

Unlike her father, whose strength waned after battling a mere few opponents in a jousting match, this elf showed no signs of exhaustion. Each swing was a dance, a symphony of motion that spoke of strength and skill honed over countless lifetimes.

Unlike the dwarves with their stout frames and sturdy builds, the elf seemed almost otherworldly in his appearance. His attire was a work of art in itself, a long tunic of shimmering blueish grey that held silver lines akin to water under the moonlight.

Feathers, as light as a whisper, adorned his shoulders in a display of regal splendor—framing his form with a touch of divine majesty. His hair, a rich shade of brunette, cascaded down in into short, perfect waves—a halo of elegance that crowned his features with an air of sophistication.

As the game drew to a close with the elf conceding defeat, Visenya found herself torn between admiration and curiosity. She had never witnessed such a display of skill and grace, and yet, his graceful surrender left a bitter taste in her mouth. Despite her initial fascination, a scoff escaped her lips—betraying her disappointment at the elf's willingness to yield.

The young Targaryen moved to break the silence and share her misgivings about his quick surrender. Her eyes, the color of amethysts, fixated on him, observing as he sat with bowed head. It was precisely at that fleeting instant when Elrond's attention turned to the silver-haired maiden, standing out amidst the bustling crowd like a glimmer of moonlight in the darkest crevice of a towering mountain.

Perplexity knit his brow, for she bore no resemblance to a dwarf but instead possessed the delicate features of a mere mortal. No matter how much she tried to hunker down to their height. Their eyes locked, engaging in a wordless dialogue of curiosity and wonder, before she was whisked into the obscurity of the shadows—leaving Elrond quite bewildered.

Durin's approaching figure disrupted the elf's trance, drawing his attention back to the reality of their surroundings. Though he had surrendered, and with the burning gaze of Durin, the silver-haired woman still lingered in the air like a haunting melody, weaving its tendrils around Elrond's thoughts.

"To whom was that?" The half-elf inquired, his furrowed brows betraying his confusion. Durin, ever stoic, merely shrugged his broad shoulders in response.

"I do not know of whom you speak," the prince stated plainly—his voice echoing off the stone walls of the chamber. But Elrond sensed a hint of reluctance flickering in Durin's eyes—a reflection of the unanswered questions that lingered between them.

As the dwarves dispersed and the echoes of their discussions faded into the depths of time, Elrond found himself wondering; Who was she?

"Ow, ow!" Visenya let out a sharp cry of pain, her delicate voice echoing through the air—the sharp pinch of Amira's fingers on her ear brought her quicken her pace. Despite the princess's lofty stature and majestic presence, it was the diminutive figure of Amira that held her in place, asserting her authority with a fierce determination that belied her size.

"Why must you persist in making every task a Herculean feat, wandering off like a lost soul?" Amira's voice was gruff, laced with a hint of exasperation as she scolded Visenya, her wrinkled face etched with lines of worry and care.

As Visenya winced under Amira's hold, her hand instinctively reached out to touch the dwarf's weathered skin—offering a silent gesture of pleading. Her thoughts, however, were far from the present moment, haunted by the figure of the outsider who had captured her imagination and set her heart ablaze with curiosity.

Together, they approached the prince's residence, a grand estate standing proud amidst the rugged landscape, a silent sentinel bearing witness to the ebb and flow of time's relentless tide and the deep scars it left in its wake. Amira's steady knock on the door reverberated through the air like a solemn drumbeat, heralding the arrival of revelations yet to come.

With a mournful creak, the heavy door swung open, revealing Disa standing on the threshold, her gaze flickering from Amira to Visenya with a mix of trepidation and curiosity. The older dwarfs voice rose in pitch as she presented the princess.

"Look what I have found ," Amira's voice held a high note, a bittersweet melody of resignation. The words hung in the air like a fragile veil, separating past from present, hope from despair. Visenya stood behind the weathered dwarf, trying her damnest to act small and unseen.

But Disa's gaze settled upon the duo, where a flicker of joy danced on her lips, before the weight of the world draped her expression in layers of disapproval. "Oh, finally Visenya. Here to grace us with your presence," she muttered—her voice a whisper carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken words. With a dismissive wave, she ushered them inside—disappearing like a wisp into the shadows of the proudly lit kitchen.

Visenya released a heavy, world-weary sigh, an echo of countless similar encounters in the past. She followed Amira's footsteps into the heart of the spacious abode, where towering columns reigned and gorgeous gold held the brightest of fires.

The air was thick with the familiar scent of simmering herbs and stale memories, a bittersweet concoction that tugged at Visenya's senses. Her elegant features contorted subtly, betraying a faint grimace as she took in the lackluster spread splayed upon the gorgeous stone and gold table.

Emerging from the shadows like a spectral apparition, Disa reappeared, a rag clutched in her weathered hand. Weariness clung to her like a cloak, her eyes a mosaic of reproach and muted concern as they met Visenya's unwavering gaze. With a delicate motion, she gestured towards the large pot resting upon the coarse surface. "Dinner will be ready shortly," she announced.

Yet, Visenya, like the princess in exile, raised a hand in graceful refusal—a serene smile gracing her regal countenance. "I appreciate your efforts, but I must decline for now," she murmured, her voice a melodic whisper that resonated through the room like a fleeting prayer. In that simple gesture of refusal, Disa was ready to let all hell loose.

Amira's weathered hands gently caressed the surface on the stone cook top as Disa's stern gaze bore into Visenya's defiant demeanor. The air hung heavy with unspoken tension as the Targaryen of regal bearing stood at the gathering table—her elegant fingers dancing absently over a corner.

Amira watched the Targaryen with a mixture of sorrow and concern etched into the creases of her brow. "Child, you must nourish yourself," she implored softly, her voice a gentle caress against the thick silence that enveloped the room like a heavy blanket.

Visenya's response was a mere shrug of her slender shoulders, her gaze distant as if her thoughts were carried away by the whispering winds beyond the windows. "I'll manage," she replied indifferently, the words falling flat against the weight of the unspoken worries that hung heavy in the air.

Before Visenya could make her escape; a sharp, echoing scoff shattered the fragile peace of the moment. Disa, the force to be reckoned with despite her kind appearance, fixed Visenya with a gaze that brooked no argument. "You will eat, child. And yet again, I hear you were found out on the outcrop again and then I hear you walked away from Amira. Have you taken leave of your senses?" Her words—tinged with equal parts scolding and apprehension, cut through the air like a finely honed blade.

Visenya's eyes, a captivating shade of violet that mirrored stormy skies at twilight, rolled in exasperation. "I fear I am not hungry and yes, to escape the world inside this mountain," she explained, her voice tinged with a hint of frustration at the constant vigilance that surrounded her every move. " And well the other, I wanted to see what was going on..."

But Disa would have none of it, cutting her off with a sharp gesture of her hand. "That does not matter. You know the dangers of wandering around. You must always be with someone," she insisted, her voice tinged with an undercurrent of sternness.

Visenya's gaze flickered to Amira, who sat across from her like a silent sentinel—her reddish hair cascading over her shoulders like a silken waterfall. She then leaned back in the chair, a picture of poised elegance—her arms crossed over her chest in a silent display of solidarity with Disa.

"I feel I'm being punished when I did not do anything wrong. All I did was watch a dwarven game. What is wrong with that?" Visenya protested, her voice a melodic defiance that echoed through the ancient chambers, a stubborn vine determined to defy the forces of fate. Disa, with her steely gaze and weathered hands, merely rolled her eyes in exasperation.

"Oh, don't you start with that," Disa retorted, her voice a sharp blade cutting through the tension that hung thick in the air like a heavy fog. "You know as well as I do, there could be bounty hunters. And here you are wandering around, heedless of the dangers that lurk in the shadows."

Visenya, silver-gold hair cascading like a waterfall of moonlight down her back, rolled her eyes in response, a soft huff escaping her lips like a whispered sigh. "It's been years, Disa, and there has been no sign of any here," she argued, her voice tinged with a note of frustration that mirrored crashing waves against cliffs.

But Disa, a seasoned warrior of words and deeds, was not one to yield easily and having been married to Durin. With a determined glint in her eye, she muttered a warning as she tossed another carrot into the bubbling cauldron of soup that simmered over the hearth. "Oh, you better watch your tongue...I will chase you if I need to."

Visenya, her defiance unyielding as the dragon's flame, smirked slightly in response, as if daring Disa to follow through on her threat. "Fine," she muttered, her voice a silken whisper that carried on the wind like a haunting melody, before turning on her heel and storming out of the chamber in a flurry of silk and shadows.

Disa, her resolve as unyielding as the stone fortress that bore witness to their clash of wills, unfurled a towel in her hand like a banner of authority, her footsteps echoing with purpose as she pursued the young Targaryen with a fiery determination that burned as bright as the dragons of old.

Euphoria lit up Visenya's face as she taunted and teased, a spirit dancing just out of reach. Agile as a gazelle, she leaped over the chair with a grace that belied her frustration, swiftly darting under the arches of the home like a wisp of wind. Laughter bubbled from her lips, a melody of mischief that echoed off the walls, mingling with Disa's fervent cries.

In a whirl of movement, Visenya circled Amira like a playful nymph—her feet barely touching the ground as she weaved between the two women. " you are not 9 anymore!" Disa's playfully yelped—-her eyes alight with fiery resolve as she lunged and parried with the fluidity of a seasoned warrior. "Visenya, come back here!"

The dance continued, a ballet of camaraderie and competition, until Visenya glimpsed an opening and seized her chance. With a surge of energy, she raced towards the towering doors, her heart pounding with exhilaration as Disa's footsteps thundered behind her like a relentless storm. Caught in the throes of their game, Visenya's gaze lingered for a fleeting moment on the diminutive figure of the lady dwarf, her presence a curious anomaly in the midst of their exuberant chase.

Visenya found herself engulfed in a moment of playful escape. The silken fabric of her cape billowed out behind her like a comet's tail as she dashed through the corridors of the ancient home—each step a melody in the symphony of her laughter.

Unbeknownst to her, the heavy metal doors had swung open like the jaws of a slumbering giant, and fate threw its dice with whimsical cruelty. As she rounded a corner with the grace of a startled deer, her lithe form collided with an unseen force, the impact stealing the breath from her lungs and sending her tumbling to the cold, stone floor with a muffled thud.

"Ow..." Visenya's soft groan mingled with the echoes of the collision—her hand instinctively reaching to soothe the back of her head as she leaned forward. Her eyes slowly glancing from the floor to meet a hand extended towards her. It's owner a figure cloaked in shadows of blueish hues.

"I am so sorry, Miss," the figure's voice wavered, once noticing it to be her... A melody of regret painted the air between them. His gaze danced from her to another, realization dawning like a rose at dawn. "It was you... Durin did not inform me of your presence," the elf admitted, his confusion a tapestry of painted expressions.

Durin, being the pillar of stubbornness, snorted in response. "I do not owe you an explanation for every facet of my domain," he declared, his gaze flickering to Visenya with an icy edge. "But yes, it is a surprise to find you here," he muttered—the weight of her transgression heavy on his brow.

Before the syllables could form on Durin's lips, the elf had swept forward with the grace of a swan, his hand taking hers in a gesture of kindness towards the fallen princess. Visenya's eyes met his, twin pools of honey that held the mysteries of a thousand constellations.

"It is quite alright," Visenya whispered, the lilt of her voice a fragile melody in the cavernous hall. The elf's touch was as gentle as a butterfly's caress, his fingers tracing the delicate curve of her palm. Elrond felt a surge of warmth at the touch of her skin against his own. And visenya felt a shiver as his touch was soft and cool, like a gentle breeze on a summer evening.

Their eyes locked in a silent dance, here he could see the color of which her eyes were, instead of blue or green, like he had originally thought—they were violet—with the slightest hints of purple added in. And for a moment, time seemed to stand still. He was struck by her beauty, a beauty that seemed to shimmer with a light all its own—like the glow of a distant star. Her presence was both commanding and delicate, a paradox of strength and fragility that drew him in like a moth to a flame.

Words eluded the elf as he struggled to find the right thing to say, his usually silver tongue rendered mute by the spell of the woman's presence. He was sure Durin was thriving at the contradictions he was facing.

The elf had never encountered another being quite like her, with hair of such a rare hue. His usually nimble fingers trembled slightly, betraying the unusual fluster that overcame him, rendering him momentarily immobile in her presence.

Durin cleared his throat with deliberate urgency, dispelling the enchantment that seemed to bind the two strangers in a realm of unspoken understanding. "Uh, pardon me," Elrond began, finding his voice at last, though it emerged as a mere whisper carried on the breeze. "I am Elrond, of Lindon. I trust our unexpected meeting has not cast a shadow upon your thoughts."

Durin, unimpressed by Elrond's attempt at civility, rolled his eyes and folded his arms in a defensive stance. The tension between them crackled like static in the air, waiting to be discharged.

"Visenya.." she hesitates saying her last name, placing a meek smile upon her lips as she removes her hand from once noticing Durin's look. "Uh thank you, it has not. It was my fault anyway for not paying attention." Visenya, for her part, seemed content to let the silence stretch between them, her eyes holding his in a steady gaze that seemed to see straight through to the core of his being.

Elrond felt exposed under her scrutiny, as though she could read his thoughts and desires with effortless ease. And then, like a breath of fresh air, Disa finally appeared, her presence a soothing balm to the escalating unease. Though she was out of breath, she muttered, "Oh my! That isn't Elrond is it?"

"I'm afraid so, fair lady," Elrond replied with a gentle smile, and before he could utter another word, Disa enveloped him in a warm embrace. "Durin didn't tell me you were coming," she chided him playfully. The prince's brow furrowed, glancing to Visenya then back, "Durin didn't know,"

Disa's eyes, pools of mischief and charm, danced with a playful gleam as she shifted her focus to Visenya, a sly smile curving her lips. "And you, Miss... I will get you later," she teased, a promise hanging in the air like an unspoken challenge—before enfolding Elrond in a tighter embrace, her silent plea for his presence at dinner palpable in the very air.

A ripple of tension flickered between Durin and Disa, a clash of unyielding wills as they locked eyes in a silent duel, each refusing to back down from their stance. "He is leaving," Durin's voice cut through the room, sharp and unwavering in its resolve. Yet, Disa, a force of nature herself, stood her ground with unshakable determination. "He is staying," her words were like tempered steel, each syllable carrying the weight of her conviction.

In the midst of this familial turmoil, Visenya, weary of the ceaseless bickering, interjected with a roll of her eyes and a determined huff. "I would like him to stay... for once, I find myself in agreement with Lady Disa," her voice, though soft, held a note of quiet authority that demanded attention.

Durin, ever the astute observer, felt a subtle shift in the fabric of the room—a hidden current tugging at the edges of his perception. His narrowed gaze swept over Visenya, a flicker of suspicion clouding his features as he pondered her motives. "Hmm," was all he murmured in response, a vague sense of unease settling in the space between them.

The tableau of conflicting desires was shattered by the sudden cascade of footsteps, a cacophony of sound heralding the arrival of the two children. Their small figures, burdened by oversized helmets that threatened to topple their delicate balance—careened into each other in their haste to reach their waiting mother. It was quite a chaotic symphony of motion and noise, brought a fleeting moment of levity to the room.

Gerda's melodious voice rang through the clearing, a symphony of laughter and mischief. "Visenya!" she called, her words dancing playfully in the evening air. "Come play with us!"

Disa, her ebony hair like a silken river, let out a scoff that echoed— attempting to catch the mischievous twins darting around like woodland sprites. With a gracious smile, she turned to Elrond. "Please, make yourself at home," she said softly, her honey eyes alight with warmth, "while I gather up these nightly rascals."

Visenya, watching Disa chase after the boy, approached Elrond with a gentle grace that seemed to rival the sun above. "It was a pleasure to meet you," she murmured, her voice as soft as a whisper of wind through the leaves—before bowing ever so slightly in respect.

With a playful glint in her eyes, she skipped over to help Disa. "Be gentle, Visenya," he heard Disa caution, a playful twinkle in her eye mirrored by the maiden's light-hearted response. The elf watched in silent admiration as she effortlessly scooped up one of the twins, the child squirming like a playful pup in her arms.

"Easy there, little one," Visenya chuckled, her laughter as melodious as a babbling brook. "You're going to tire me out before the night is done." With the lightness of a feather, she carried the twins towards the back of the clearing, disappearing into the shadows with Disa.

Elrond's attention shifted back to the ancient tree before him, the very essence of his people etched into its bark and branches. Its branches reaching towards the darkening sky like fingers seeking the stars. This tree, a Tree of Lindon, whispered tales of their people's history, of ancient days long past.

But amidst this, Elrond found his thoughts drifting to the silver-haired maiden. Her presence lingered in the air like the scent of night-blooming jasmine, a haunting melody that filled his heart with a longing he could not name. Who was she truly? And why was she here?
  
As twilight descended upon the halls of Khazad-dum, a serene calm settled within the grand dining room. The flickering candles cast a soft glow, illuminating the intricate designs of the elven tapestries adorning the walls. The air was tinged with the fragrant aroma of roasted meat and spiced wine, creating an ambiance of luxury and opulence.

Seated at the head of the table was Elrond— Beside him sat Visenya. Across from her, the lady Disa—with her watchful gaze fixed firmly on Visenya.

The feast laid out before them was a sight to behold, a true testament to the culinary mastery of Disa's cooking. Gone were the meager soup and bread of everyday fare, replaced instead by platters of succulent salted pork and tender turkey legs. The tantalizing aroma wafted through the room, enticing even the most discerning of palates.

Silence reigned over the table, broken only by the occasional clink of silverware against stone. Durin sat grumbling to himself, his features etched with a permanent scowl. Elrond's gaze lingered upon the dwarf couple, a flicker of empathy dancing in his ageless eyes.

He then interjected with a question, "How did you two first become acquainted?" His inquiry lingered in the air, a thread connecting past to present.

It was Visenya who dared to break the silence after, her voice soft yet tinged with defiance. "I think we'd need more than just a simple dinner to unravel the tale of our acquaintance," she mused, her gaze flitting between Disa and Durin.

"Oh please," Disa's voice was like velvet over steel, "We have plenty of time to tell you all about how we met."

In the dappled light, Visenya couldn't help but chuckle at the retelling of Durin's clumsy attempts at courting Disa. The prince, with his regal airs, tried to protest, insisting that she was exaggerating. But Visenya could see the truth in the playful glint in his eyes.

While the trio bantered back and forth, Visenya's gaze drifted to Elrond, who stood a few paces away, his eyes fixed on the golden tree that Durin had lovingly tended to each day since its planting—coinciding with Visenya's own arrival on the mountain.

"You seem quite taken with that tree," Visenya remarked, her fingers deftly picking at a piece of roasted meat.

Elrond's smile was gentle, the corners of his lips touched with a hint of reverence. "It is a descendant of our great tree of Lindon," he explained, his voice carrying a weight of history and pride. "A symbol of our people's resilience and endurance." Durin at that precise moment burped rather loudly and on purpose—causing both women to cast him a side eye.

"Anyways, Some did called him a fool for believing this tree would grow in such darkness." Disa remarked with a cheerful expression.

"Where there is love it is never truly dark." Elrond muttered lightly, "how could it not grow in a home like yours?" he then looked to Visenya with a meek expression.

The young Targaryen felt a spark of fascination ignite within her at the significance of the tree. "Like the Godswood in the Red Keep..." she began, but her words were cut short by a sudden kick to her leg from Disa—causing her to yelp in surprise.

Elrond found himself immersed in a whirlwind of emotions, his inner turmoil mirroring the wild, untamed currents of the Bruinen River. The sudden yelp from Visenya had stirred a question within him that now lingered like a shadow in his mind. "A godswood? Of what is that?"

The term "godswood" echoed, a mysterious melody that tugged at his curiosity like an elusive whisper on the wind. His mind, usually a sanctuary of clarity and wisdom, now resembled a maze of doubts and questions—each corridor leading to a dead-end of confusion. Turning to Disa, his eyes sought answers, but she shrugged nonchalantly as if the subject were inconsequential—a mere ripple in the vast ocean of their conversation.

"It's nothing," Visenya murmured softly, her voice a delicate melody in the midst of the cacophony of uncertainty. But her words, like fragile glass sculptures, only served to mask the enigma that hovered in the room like a ghost seeking recognition.

Durin's devotion to the tree painted a picture of paternal care and love, each touch a silent verse in the poem of nurturing. His care for the tree, like a fourth child. Raised Elrond's brows in a silent question. "Fourth child..." he murmured, his voice trailing off as he pieced together the fragments of information laid before him.

Visenya's hands trembled slightly as she gripped the fork and knife, the weight of Elrond's gaze pressing down on her like an invisible burden. Her hesitation was palpable, a delicate dance of truths and half-truths that spun around her like a spider weaving an intricate web of deception.

Disa's sigh carried the weight of the years they had shared, a heavy sigh laden with untold stories and whispered secrets. With a flick of her fork, she directed the spotlight towards Visenya.

"We took her in as a mere child," Disa's words unfurled like petals in the dawn's first light, revealing the fragility and resilience of a bond forged in the fires of destiny. "We've raised her as one of our own. Though she's a tad weird looking," Disa added with a light chuckle, her laughter like a melody that danced through the cavern. Her eyes met Visenya's, a silent reassurance in their depths, a bond that transcended blood ties.

As Elrond gazed fondly at the silver-haired maiden seated before him, he couldn't help but feel a swell of curiosity about the untold tales that possibly lingered behind her amethyst eyes. "She's our child," Durin then declared, his gruff voice softened by a rare tenderness, "Though she may be a pain in the arse sometimes, we love her the same as our two twins. So she's been with us ever since."

The air in the room seemed to shimmer with unspoken stories, each whispered breath carrying the weight of history untold. Elrond, ever the seeker of knowledge and understanding, probed gently, "That must have been quite the experience. Living here..."

Visenya raised an eyebrow in response, a wry smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she brought the cup to her mouth, the delicate crystal emitting a soft chime against her lips. With a nonchalant sip, she remarked, "Yes, but I am very grateful..."

A heavy silence descended upon the group, the clinking of silverware against porcelain the only sound in the room. Elrond's inquisitive nature got the better of him as he leaned forward, his piercing gaze locked onto Visenya, "To where are you from?"

In that moment, Visenya's expression shifted imperceptibly, her amethyst eyes darkening with memories unspoken, emotions swirling in their depths like a tempestuous sea. Her lips parted as if to speak, yet no words emerged, the weight of her past bearing down upon her like a heavy cloak of shadows.

Durin, ever the pragmatist, interjected with a gruffness that belied his concern, "No need to worry ourselves about that nonsense..." His tone brooked no argument, yet beneath the gruff exterior, there lay a hint of protectiveness, a silent vow to shield their enigmatic charge from prying eyes and probing questions.

Elrond's sigh echoed off the stone walls, a lament for unspoken words and unresolved tension. Durin, with a furrowed brow and clenched jaw, remained seated, his displeasure a palpable aura around him.

As the elf rose to his feet, the silence thickened, broken only by the rustle of fabric and the soft shifting of feet. Disa mirrored his movement—her gaze flickering between the two men like a flame caught between shadows.

"You're not leaving, are you?" Disa's voice cut through the stillness, a plea tinged with concern. Even Visenya, with her fiery silver mane and piercing violet eyes, paused in her meal, fixating on the unfolding scene with uncharacteristic stillness.

"I fear I have overstayed my welcome," Elrond's words hung heavy in the air, laden with a sorrow that tethered him to the stone beneath his feet. His gaze, a mix of regret and resignation, swept over the small gathering before settling on Visenya.

"And it was nice to meet you..." His parting words carried a weight of finality, a thread of connection severed too soon. Visenya's reaction was swift—a clash of defiance against the impending departure.

"You can't just leave," she then glared at the prince, "Durin..." Her protest was met with stubborn silence, until the weight of Disa's stern gaze finally tipped the scales in her favor. Durin relented, his stormy eyes betraying a mixture of relief and resignation.

"I do not think he can hear you, Durin..." Visenya's words dripped with sarcasm, her arms crossed in a display of defiance. The prince's jaw clenched, a steady rhythm of frustration as he fought to contain his temper.

Seated once more, Durin exhaled heavily, his voice tight with a lingering anger. "I'm still upset," he admitted gruffly, his gaze fixed on Elrond. "But I would like to hear more about your king's proposal."

But before the conversation could unfurl its wings and take flight, Amira materialized like a specter—her wrinkled countenance breaking into a gentle smile.

"Miss Visenya... it is time for bed..." the old woman murmured, her voice as soft as the flutter of butterfly wings. Having heard the conversation, Amira feared Visenya was getting a tad too intrigued by this elf.

Her heart sank as she turned her pleading eyes to Disa, seeking refuge in the steadfast gaze of the lady of Khazad-dum. A silent understanding passed between them, knowing she needed to leave.

With a heavy sigh that seemed to echo through the room, she rose from her seat—the silverware clinking lightly against the plate.

Turning to Herald Elrond, she forced a smile that did not quite reach her eyes. "It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance... but as you can observe, I am a mere puppet dancing to the tune of bedtime," she remarked wryly—a hint of sarcasm lacing her words like poison.

The corners of Elrond's mouth twitched imperceptibly, a flicker of amusement dancing in his grey eyes. "Rest well, Lady Visenya," he replied evenly—his voice a soothing balm in the gathering darkness.

With a final glance at Prince Durin and Disa, Visenya followed Amira towards the looming shadows of the keep, her footsteps echoing in the silence of the night.

Once far enough away, Visenya felt the need to pose the question lingering at the tip of her tongue, "Do you think we will see him again?" Her voice was soft, almost wistful, as she turned to Amira—a glimmer of hope flickering in her eyes.

Amira, with her sharp wit and cynicism, scoffed dismissively. "Oh, please,"her tone laced with a hint of amusement. "He is an elf, Visenya. Do not get attached now."

But Visenya was undeterred, her spirit as untamed as the wildflowers. Beisde the dwarves, he was the first person close to her that she meant in a long time. Visenya could not deny the pull she felt towards this elf who had crossed her path—his eyes like shards of Saphire amidst the sea.

As the metals closed and distinctive clang that came with it, Visenya's thoughts drifted to Elrond once more. She tried envisioned how his kin must have been like—if they were all just as kind...

—————————CHAP. II—————————

AUTHOR'S NOTE
———

Yes, the chapters are slowly coming but I wanna take my time writing them. Just as I had with my HOTD fic.

Do we like longer or shorter chapters???

Who's ready for some more Elrond and Visenya?