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iii. EVIL OR GOOD?
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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EREGION
KINGDOM OF THE
ELVEN SMITHS

 
      || ONE THING WAS TO BE SAID ABOUT THE OPULENT HALLS OF EREGION; THEY WERE STUNNING, METICULOUSLY CRAVED. That wasn't all, for it was the very birth place of a many crafts, weaponry, buildings—the place of the Elven smiths. But even with all the gallant halls, countless workshops—celebrimbor felt it wasn't enough.

He had plans of a grand building, one that would house the largest of the shops—one that could withstand the pressure and heat to make the most memorable of works. He wanted to be remembered. And that was the whole reason for Elrond going to Khazad-dum, to enlist the help of the dwarves.

Frankly, it was to be a simple mission, nothing more—make the deal and be done with it. Or so he thought... When Elrond had arrived few days ago in Eregion, instead of being completely engrossed in overseeing the work of the dwarves, he spent his time searching for anything on this Visenya...

He knew something was up about her or atleast, that Durin was hiding something within those walls. And that's how he came to see Celebrimbor that morning—more than he truly wanted to. As said, Elrond knew something was up and the old smith just wanted to confirm his fear.

Cerebrimbor regarded the bottom of the building with a raised brow—curiosity dancing in his eyes like silvered fireflies, before walking away. He had arranged a feast fit for kings, with tantalizing snacks and goblets brimming with amber nectar. The air was filled with the fragrant whispers of exotic spices—the soft flicker of torchlight casting dancing shadows upon the polished marble floors.

Elrond remained fixed to the window, whilst eloquent words drifted through the room from his lips—speaking of unity between elves and dwarves. The half-elf found himself quite in good spirits that Celebrimbor would get the grand tower he'd dreamt of. 

But as he spoke, the elven smith watched with keen eyes. Despite Elrond's gracious demeanor, a shadow seemed to linger behind his gaze—a veil of distraction that concealed a deeper turmoil within the Elven herald.

Though every word through Elrond's lips wove tales of Durin's good graces whilst at Khazad-dum—his mind wandered to a far-off place. Visenya, her name called by her voice, echoed in the recesses of his thoughts. He kept trying keep his mind straight, to focus on the architecture outside.

But Celebrimbor, ever perceptive, sensed the shifting tides within Elrond's soul. With a gentle yet firm inquiry, he pierced through the veil of distractions that clouded Elrond's gaze. "Are you quite alright?" His voice was a subtle melody, a note of concern that cut through the symphony of words.

Elrond, startled from his reverie, blinked as if emerging from a dream. His gaze, once distant, now focused on Celebrimbor with a flicker of recognition. "Forgive me," he murmured, a wisp of apology tinged with unspoken secrets. "My thoughts must have wandered to distant shores."

But Celebrimbor, wise in the ways, saw beyond Elrond's artful facade. His eyes, sharp as a hawk's, narrowed with a silent question that hung heavy in the air. There was no need for words. "It seems," he starts, pouring himself a drink into the goblet, his eyes then darting from the amber liquid to the half-elf." What is troubling you?"

Elrond merely sighed, gritting his jaw side to side. He purses his top lip for a moment—index finger tapping his chin. He spoke softly, each word carrying the weight of unknown mysteries. "I cannot say for certain, but while at Khazad-dum, I meant the most peculiar creature—a woman."

Celebrimbor chuckled halfheartedly, " Elrond, there are eleven woman everywhere, surely you must get out more and mingle if you finding a dwarf..." But the smith found his voice trailing upon seeing the half-elf merely frowning at his words.

"No, she is a mortal but there is an aura about her that speaks of another origin." At the mention of man and not that of a dwarf, Celebrimbor bad become quite intrigued.

"How odd for a young woman to find herself amidst the dwarves," he mused, his finger lightly tracing the curve of his chin in thought. "It is a sight rarely witnessed in these halls of stone."

"Truly, Durin was quite protective of her. A woman who's Silver hair was bright as moonbeams and eyes that shimmer like amethysts..." Elrond continued, his voice soft yet filled with awe.

Celebrimbor's eyes sparked with curiosity at Elrond's description of the mysterious woman. "Silver hair, you say? What name does she bear?" he inquired eagerly, his voice tinged with excitement.

"Visenya," Elrond whispered, the name rolling off his tongue like a melody of ages past. Celebrimbor's eyes widened as he snapped his fingers in realization, a smile playing on his lips.

He stood for moment before strolling over to a towering bookcase that lined one wall of the workshop. Running his slender fingers across the spines of ancient tomes, he finally pulled out a weathered one from its resting place—blowing off the dust that had settled on its cover.

"Here it is..." Celebrimbor's voice was filled with anticipation as he flipped through the yellowed pages, the words written in a language long forgotten by most. "I recall a time of such men, mortals, carrying these traits of silver hair and purple eyes..." he murmured, his eyes scanning the text with fervor.

His movement was swift, precise, before he halted at a particular page—his index finger alighting upon the scripted words like a beacon of revelation. Elrond, drawn in by his companion's abrupt halt, approached with a sense of cautious curiosity. His gaze falling upon the painted visage of a man and woman standing in perfect harmony, their silver hair cascading like liquid moonlight, their eyes a mesmerizing shade of amethyst.

It was as though Visenya herself had been captured in time within the pigment-stained lines. In silent contemplation, Elrond parted his lips to utter inquiry, only to find himself forestalled by Celebrimbor's urgent interjection. The words spilled from the elven scholar's lips with a soft, hesitant cadence, as though he were summoning forth a name long lost to the annals of time—a name tethered to a bygone legend.

Celebrimbor's penetrating gaze fixated on the text, his mind a labyrinth of ancient knowledge and forgotten tales. He mused aloud, his words a delicate echo in the cavernous chamber, "I cannot quite recall their name... but these mortals bore a striking resemblance and were whispered to be riders of dragons."

His voice, a mere whisper on the air, carried the weight of centuries-old secrets, each syllable tinged with a sense of mystique and reverence. With a furrowed brow, he ran a hand through his tousled blonde locks, a gesture of frustration and deep contemplation. "Perhaps it was Tar... no, that cannot be correct," he muttered—his tone laced with a subtle vexation that underscored his musings.

The silence hung heavy between Celebrimbor and Elrond, the stillness punctuated only by the soft rustle of parchment and the crackling of the dwindling fire. With a profound sense of melancholy, Celebrimbor's voice pierced the hush once more, revealing the inner turmoil of a wise and troubled soul. "I can fathom Durin's protectiveness, yet I sense a deeper motive lurking within... He turns a deaf ear to my counsel," the smith confessed—his words laden with unspoken truths and unspoken fears.

Taking a thoughtful sip from his goblet, the smith cast a piercing gaze upon Elrond, his eyes shimmering with an otherworldly intensity. "Perhaps I should talk..." he began, his voice a soft murmur filled with untold possibilities. Before he could finish his sentence, however, Elrond raised a commanding hand—his expression solemn and resolute.

"No, no. I shall go and visit with him again," The half elf declared— voice resonating with unwavering determination as he rose from his seat. "If Durin is truly hiding something, then I will find it out."

With a profound furrow of his brow, Celebrimbor took another contemplative sip of his drink, the liquid within shimmering like a captured star—its brilliance a reflection of the ageless wisdom that dwelled within his soul. Elrond, in a decisive gesture, closed the ancient tome with an exaggerated sigh—the weight of forgotten knowledge palpable in the musty air.

As he made his way towards the chamber's stone doorway, Elrond paused for a fleeting moment, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features. Sensing his friend's inner turmoil, Celebrimbor spoke one last cryptic utterance, his voice a whisper of enigma and intrigue. "Are you sure it is for Durin or because you want to know more about her?" he intoned, his words hanging in the air like a lingering spell.

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KHAZAD- DUM

     || THE MIDDAY WAS AS ANY OTHER, WITH DISA READYING DURIN'S FAVORITE DISH AS A REWARD. Amira was off enjoying her day off, mainly because Disa made her take it off. The peaceful humming of the lady dwarf was interrupted with the giggles and squeals from the twins.

Visenya darted through the rock halls of the grand estate, the two twins in tow. Their laughter echoed, bouncing off the towering columns that reached up to touch the painted ceiling. The twins would chase her throughout and Visenya would disappear behind columns—only to leap out and startle her young companions.

She moved with the grace of a woodland spirit, her long hair flowing behind her like a silken cloak as she darted between rooms and leaped over chairs.

Gerda and Gamli pursued after Visenya with eager determination—both having teamed up to catch her. They tried their dampest to hold their giggles in when catching glimpses of her form flitting through the shadows—her lavender eyes sparkling with mischief.

Bow Disa observed the playful trio with a mixture of fondness and exasperation. "Let us maintain a modicum of decorum," she called out, yet her voice was gentle but firm. Visenya's response was a light giggle, her silver hair flowing behind her as she raced past Disa—unfazed by her admonishment.

"We'll be quiet!" The Targaryen yelped as she rounded a corner—but Disa knew better. Fixing a rough sigh as she began fixing the herbs. The sound of a polite knock on the ornately carved door was lost amidst the childish laughter and the patter of running feet. Ignored by the youngsters, the knock went unanswered as they traipsed merrily on, their game reaching the climax once in Visenya's chambers.

Upon the bed, the Targaryen reached forth for the book of her ancestors—delicate fingers turned the pages of a tome, its leather cover worn with age. Light from the flickering candle danced in her violet eyes, igniting a passion within her as she regaled her eager audience with tales of valor and glory that echoed through the halls of time.

As Visenya's voice filled the room like a melodious sonnet, a small object tumbled out from within the ancient pages. It lay there, a tiny piece of ebony and crimson, looking as delicate as if crafted from ivory or porcelain. Gerda reached out to inspect the mysterious token—her innocence shining like a beacon.

Quick as a flash, Visenya snatched the object from Gerda's grasp, her grip possessive and protective. She held it close to her chest, her expression a mix of sorrow and longing. With a deep breath, she concealed the object within the spine of the tome, as if hiding a precious secret from the world.

"It is a piece of the shell from my dragon..." Visenya murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. The weight of her words hung heavy in the air, laden with a sense of loss that seemed to stretch beyond the confines of the chamber.

But Gerda, with her boundless optimism and unwavering faith, refused to accept defeat. She and Gamli, whom was sitting by Visenya's side, placed their hands upon hers in a gesture of solidarity and support. "It is okay, Miss Visenya," Gerda declared, her voice brimming with youthful exuberance, "We can find you a dragon! Surely they still roam the skies, awaiting you."

A ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of Visenya's lips, touched by Gerda's unwavering belief the once mighty beasts were still alive. "The dragons are all gone, my dear," she confessed softly—her tone tinged with a bittersweet nostalgia that spoke of days long past. With a sense of finality, she turned the pages of the tome.

"Nonsense!" Gerda's voice rang out, her hands planted firmly on her hips in a gesture of defiance, her eyes shining with determination, "They must be alive, soaring amidst the clouds."

The young Targaryen merely sighed at the little dwarf's attempt to make her feel better, " I appreciate the effort..." she spoke, before stopping upon the page dedicated to Balerion the black dread.

Seeing Gamli's eyes widened in great enthusiasm, Gerda ran over—pushing herself inbetween them. Both twin's young hearts brimmed with wonder— captivated not by the words but by the intricate illustrations that adorned the pages, especially a detailed drawing of the most fearsome dragon.

Gerda, gaining a thought, jumped up with euphoria—"I have the solution.. May I paint one?" asked the young girl, her voice filled with awe and excitement. Visenya's smile, radiant as the sun over the Narrow Sea, granted permission without hesitation. "If you can't have one, I'll make you into one!" Gerda's voice faded slightly as she ran to her room.

Visenya merely furrowed a brow, her joy turning to confusion when Gerda dashed back in with her paints—her eyes gleaming with artistic fervor.

"Where is the paper?" inquired Visenya, bemused by the girl's sudden eagerness. Gerda, her cheeks flushed with creative passion, shook her head with a broad grin. "You are the canvas! I wish to transform you into a dragon," she proclaimed, brandishing a brush like a tiny sorceress wielding a wand.

Caught off guard by the girl's enthusiasm, Visenya hesitated, her regal composure momentarily faltering. Yet, under the unwavering gaze of the boy twin, his eyes alight with silent pleading, she relented with a resigned sigh. "Very well," she acquiesced, settling onto the floor as Gemily set to work, her youthful energy sparking with inventiveness.

With careful precision, Gemily painted swirls of color on Visenya's skin, transforming her into a living canvas of fantasy. As the dragon's likeness took shape, each brushstroke a testament to the child's boundless imagination, Visenya felt a flicker of joy warm her noble heart. Something she had not felt in a long while.

Visenya hesitated, her uncertainty fleeting as she glanced at Gamli, who grinned in anticipation. With a resigned sigh, the Targaryen acquiesced, allowing the dwarf to transform her.

Gerda and Gamli set to work, their tiny hands carefully painting elaborate swirls and patterns upon Visenya's porcelain skin. With each brushstroke, they transformed her into a mythical creature of legend—a dragon, fierce and majestic—with scales that shimmered like liquid fire. Well, diamond shapes made to look like scales.

As the twins worked their magic, Visenya closed her eyes and let herself be swept away for a moment. Away from this world...Remembering the land of her home, dragonstone...
her brothers Aegon and Viserys using her to play knight. Riding upon Jacaerys's back like they were at some great tournament. Oh how she missed them, with her bigger brother being there to carry her on when she was tired. Who was to do that now?

Tears had long left her tears ago, but the memories still left a gnawing claw of darkness upon her heart. Ones of her dancing along with Lucerys at Driftmark or throwing food at another during meals. The muffled giggles of the twins had craved their way into her memory.

"Done!" Gerda proudly proclaimed, dropping the brush to the floor with fervor. It was only then the vision of Visenya dancing with Lucerys slowly faded. Only then once it was truly gone, that she opened her eyes. Her gaze meeting theirs with warmth and affection.

It was then that Gerda proudly brought the mirror over for the princess to gaze at herself. Visenya stifled a laugh at the way she looked, it surely was not that of Balerion the black dress or even a dragon. It was certainly something though. "How do you like it?" Gerda asked with a polite, teeth bearing smile, her hands resting behind her back.

Visenya was quite lost for words, her lips parted to speak but only little grunts came out. "You don't like it?" Gerda asked, but Visenya quickly jumped, " No, no I love it..." she paused for a moment, trying to fix a smile upon her lips. " It is great darling."

Gerda, her eyes as blue as the summer sky, reddish locks cascaded down her back like a waterfall— jumped up with glee. Before Gamli joined her in dance around Visenya. The siblings' laughter cascaded like a melody through the still air.

Visenya remained at the center of the swirling duo—Her visage was one of bewilderment. Trying to understand what the twins were doing. But it was Gerda who stopped first, Turing to face Visenya head on.

"I want to be picked up! I want to ride the dragon as you did!" Gerda voice rang out, a symphony of innocence and longing that resonated with the very essence of the realm. Her eyes sparkled with unbridled enthusiasm, mirroring the luminescence of the enchanted glade around them.

Visenya's gaze softened as she beheld the fervent plea of the young girl—resembling much of how her brothers were. With a graceful gesture, she extended her hand towards Gerda, " Of course..." Visenya smiled, inviting her to step closer.

The young dwarf felt the gentle weight of Visenya's touch upon her armpits as the Targaryen lifted her with such strength. With a radiant smile that mirrored the sun's gentle caress, Visenya placed the giggling mess of Gerda onto her shoulders—cradling her in a cocoon of ancient magic and boundless love.

Visenya now with Gerda perched precariously on her shoulders, raced through the expansive halls of Prince Durin's grand abode. The intricate marble columns towered like ancient sentinels above them as they galloped—Gerda's gleeful screams echoing.

"Onwards, Balerion!" Gerda's voice rang out as she used Visenya's silver braids as makeshift reins, guiding their imaginary dragon steed onward. Visenya, in perfect harmony, let out a fierce dragon's roar, her arms outstretched like majestic wings as she pranced around.

Their playful escapade reverberated through the corridors, catching the attention of Disa, who hastily tried to pacify them before they barged into the dining hall where Elrond continued his interrogation.

"Let's maintain some decorum, everyone!" Disa's urgent plea fell on deaf ears as Visenya, lost in her dragon rider fantasy, paid no heed and continued her whimsical journey through the manor's opulent interiors. Elrond merely flickered a half smile, " It seems the twins and their friend is quite energetic this afternoon.."

Disa huffed in response, even as Elrond pushed further.
Despite her attempts to hush their exuberant play, the duo continued their dragon dance, their footsteps blending with the echoes of their laughter as they approached the dining hall where an intense conversation between Elrond and Disa was taking place.

Unaware of the presence of a guest, Visenya rounded a corner, fully intent on swooping down upon Disa. As they rounded the corner, Gerda's grip tightened, laughter bubbling forth as she pushed visenya on. Yet the fun abruptly faltered at the unexpected sight of Elrond seated at the table.

As Elrond made a subtle move to address the issue gnawing at him, he felt her presence like a ghostly whisper, her amethyst gaze piercing past Disa—locking with his own, like a vibrant gem glowing in the darkness.

"Aye me..." Visenya gasped, halting abruptly and causing Gerda to gasp and nearly lose her hold—teetering precariously on Visenya's shoulders. "Whoa!" The little girl exclaimed.

The awkward silence that followed was thick with tension, as Visenya's "dragon wings "seemed to falter to her sides in the face of Elrond's piercing gaze. Why was he here again?

Her silver hair shimmered like a cascade of moonlit mist. Elrond's breath caught in his throat as their eyes met, his gaze drawn to the ethereal beauty that seemed to radiate from her very being.

The Targaryen stood there bewildered, her countenance a portrait of perplexity and chagrin. Those eyes, usually bright with determination—now widened with confusion and embarrassment. "What are you doing here?" Visenya asked in confusion, her hands gripping onto Gerda's legs.

Elrond rose slightly from his seat, " Typically when someone is a guest, you introduce yourself." He mocked arrogance, but there was a hint of humor beneath his words. Being closer to her, he could make out the myriad of hues that adorned her once pristine complexion—causing Elrond to raise a single elegant brow. A silent question hung in the air, questioning the creature she sought to embody with curious embellishments.

A palette of colors – black, red, green, and yellow – splattered across her face in a whimsical display. However, amidst this, Visenya still remained an ethereal vision, her silver tresses flowing around her like liquid moonlight. Despite the incongruous display upon her face, Elrond knew it was her right from the second she stepped foot in there.

Visenya scoffed in embarrassment, gently lowering Gerda to the ground—before absently wiping her hands upon her garments.

"Very well then, hi..." Visenya's voice faltered, the sound barely escaping her lips, "Elrond... again." The words hung uncertainly in the air, carrying a tinge of embarrassment yet tinged with a hint of whimsy. At the mention of his name, Elrond emerged from his reverie, a warm smile gracing his lips.

"It is nice to see you," Elrond's voice was as gentle as the caress of a feather. The air tingled with anticipation as she sensed his empathy, his understanding of her unease. Skepticism had made its home upon her soft features, knowing this elf was up too something.

With a graceful gesture, Elrond extended his slender hand towards her—-brimming with a quiet warmth that seemed to seep into her very soul. Visenya's hand, in return, radiated a kindness that touched Elrond deeply, stirring a long-forgotten sensation within.

Lost in a moment suspended in time, their gazes locked in a silent exchange, until Elrond's chuckle broke the spell. "What is funny?" Visenya snapped back in mock exasperation—since having grown up with brothers. She cocked her head slightly until he gestured to his own face, indicating the dragon scales clumsily painted on her face.

"Ah that...The twins..." she began, taking her hand away from his in a hurry—a hint of laughter dancing in her eyes. She tried to wipe away the paint, "Probably not the best second impression." her voice tinged with self-deprecating humor. Feeling quite troubled for being so upfront towards him.

Elrond's smile was like the first light of dawn, a silent reassurance that all was well—it remained her greatly of Jacaerys. He bowed his head slightly, "It's quite alright. I, too, have made less than stellar first impressions," he remarked— a twinkle of mirth in his eyes that mirrored the spirit within Visenya.

"But why are you truly here?"

"I am here for prince Durin, but it seems I've been told he is mining..."

Visenya's playful expression changed slightly, placing her hands upon her hips—her violet eyes dancing from Elrond to the corner where Durin's mining gear lay. "That can't be true, Durin..."  But her words were cut short before they could truly be birthed from her lips.

Like a delicate thread, it was then, upon hearing visenya muttering and potentially giving Durin away, Disa burst back into the conversation. She had to make it believable and being extra was her expertise. Her cry of disbelief echoed through the halls, her hands flying to her head in a dramatic gesture of dismay.

"Aule's beard! What sorcery is this?" Her voice filled with incredulity as her eyes widened at the sight of Visenya's painted face. With a swift motion, she reached out, her finger tracing a line through the colorful scales—her confusion palpable in the air. Even Elrond was quite taken a back, with him stumbling back softly.

"Visenya, dear child, what madness has befallen you?" Disa's words carried a blend of concern and amusement, as she tried to make sense of the fantastical display before her eyes. " We have a guest a here and this is how you present yourself? Oh lord..." She muttered, flashing a forced smile at Elrond before turning her burning gaze back to Visenya.

The half elf clasped his hands together in front of himself, " I think it looks quite alright..." he swiftly remarked to which Disa shot him a glare as fiery as the forge itself. "No, do not be giving her more of an advantage."

In the midst of it, Gamli, not wanting to see visenya in trouble, pointed a stout finger at Gerda. "It was her!" He accused, eyes flashing with indignation. Her reddish hair cascaded down her shoulders like a waterfall of fire— met his accusatory stare with pleading blue eyes.

Gerda's response was swift and sharp, her voice rising in protest. "Visenya allowed me, I swear it!" she insisted, her hands clenched into fists at her sides— before fidgeting with the hem of her tunic.

The twins, as identical in appearance as the reflection in a still lake, then began a dance of verbal sparring. Their words were like a playful duel, sharp but lacking real intent as they traded accusations. Both tradinv playful slaps and taunts until Disa intervened. "Enough!" she boomed, her voice carrying the weight of centuries of tradition.

"Amira leaves for just one day, seeking solace, and this is what happens? ," her voice carried an edge of frustration, cutting through the bickering of the twins.

After separating the quarreling pair, Disa ushered them away with a stern command, her words as sharp as the edge of a sword. "Go and find mischief elsewhere," she scolded, her eyes flashing with authority.

As the twins sulked off, both still playfully punching another, Disa turned her attention to Visenya—who still stood with regal composure despite her disheveled appearance.

Disa's sharp tongue lashed out at Visenya, her words dripping with discontent. "Why is it always you at the center of chaos?" she chided, "Clean yourself up immediately. This behavior is unbecoming of a princ."

A moment of silence hung heavy in the air, pregnant with unspoken words. Disa realized her mistake, her eyes widening in realization as she stopped herself from uttering the wrong title. Elrond, a guest of great esteem with a face as ageless as the stars, observed the exchange with keen interest, his expression betraying a hint of curiosity.

As Visenya's gaze met Elrond's, a flicker of defiance danced in her eyes—a silent challenge to his unspoken judgment. Though Disa's scolding words stung, deep down she harbored a sense of gratitude for the interruption. And yet, she would never concede to such thoughts aloud.

But now, Disa's mind raced, trying to excuse why Durin was gone and why Visenya needed to leave the room. The flickering candles casting dancing shadows across the worn stone walls.

"Press! She need to press the...the," Disa muttered to herself, frustration evident in her voice. Her brows furrowed, lost in a sea of uncertainty until a sudden spark illuminated her darkened thoughts. "Clothes! Yes, clothes... for when Durin comes back from mining," Disa exclaimed with a glimmer of hope in her eyes, a faint smile playing on her lips.

But as she attempted to guide Visenya towards the hall, a sudden halt in the young girl's movement caught Disa off guard. "Mining with the other group? No, Durin is..." the Targaryen's words hung, pregnant with unspoken questions—before Disa swiftly silenced her with a deft stomp on her foot. Visenya's startled gasp was drowned out by the lady's firm voice.

Elrond shout both a startled look, to which Disa merely waved his gaze of confusion off with her hand. "Oh, just ignore that," the lady urged—willing that Elrond to understand and not ask more questions.

With forced determination, Disa propelled Visenya towards the hall—her grip on the situation slipping with each passing moment. "Now go on to your room and get cleaned up!" Those words resonated—tinged with hidden desperation as Visenya reluctantly walked off, her footsteps fading into the distance.

As Disa trudged her way back through the winding paths of the ancient forest, a heavy burden weighed down her every step. Her once determined demeanor now wilted like a fragile flower petal, revealing a hidden vulnerability beneath her stoic facade. The air around her crackled with a sense of impending loss, as the bond she had painstakingly woven with Visenya threatened to unravel before her very eyes, akin to a delicate silk tapestry being torn asunder by an unseen hand.

With a heavy heart, Disa finally approached Elrond, the wise half-elf who stood amidst a lush garden, his eyes mirroring the depth of the vast ocean. Despite her best efforts to mask her inner turmoil with a semblance of cheer, a flicker of sadness betrayed her true emotions. "Oh, those children... am I right?" she murmured with a forced smile, attempting to divert Elrond's attention from the tumult raging within her soul.

However, the piercing gaze of the half-elf saw through her facade, his keen perception cutting through her veiled words like a finely sharpened blade. Gathering vegetables with a serene grace, Elrond carried on the conversation, his voice as melodic as a gentle stream flowing through the forest. "She seems quite spirited. A rare quality in these bleak times," he remarked, his words hanging in the air like a lingering melody.

Disa's lips curled in a derisive scoff before she turned to meet Elrond's unwavering gaze. "You mistake spirited for stubbornness," she retorted, a spark of defiance gleaming in her stormy eyes, challenging the half-elf's perception of Visenya.

With a knowing smile playing at his lips, Elrond offered a cryptic reply, "Perhaps her lineage plays a part in shaping her spirit." Elrond remarked, his keen eyes fixed on the flickering flames that danced in the hearth. The aroma of roasting meats and fresh bread filled the air, mingling with the soft murmur of Disa discontent as she went about her tasks.

But Elrond's thoughts were far from the tranquility of his surroundings; they were consumed by a burning curiosity that had taken root in his heart. Whilst he had come for Durin, his mind kept drifting back to Visenya. There was an air of difference that surrounded her—a whisper of ancient magic that seemed to cling to her very being. Elrond found himself inexplicably drawn to her, his soul yearning to unravel the secrets that she guarded so closely.

"So Visenya..." Elrond began, his voice soft yet filled with an intensity that made Disa look up from her cooking, her brow furrowing in curiosity. "Yes?" she replied, wiping her hands on her apron as she faced the elf.

Elrond cleared his throat, his gaze unwavering as he spoke, "Of where does she come from? I've never in my years seen someone who bares her likeness." His question hung in the air.

Disa's hands stilled, a flicker of indecision crossing her weathered features. She knew the weight of Elrond's inquiry, the unspoken desire that lay hidden beneath his words. As a guardian of Visenya, she hesitated, unsure of how much to reveal.

"Her origins are shrouded in darkness... that's all you need to know," Disa finally answered, her voice tinged with a hint of sorrow. She could see the hunger for knowledge in Elrond's eyes, the thirst for understanding that drove him to seek out the truth of Visenya's birthright.

Disa knew bounty hunters had been near a few times, but none never dared to enter Khazad-dum. Was Wlrond perhaps working in cahoots with them? A pregnant pause hung between them, the weight of unspoken truths lingering in the air like a heavy mist.

Sensing Disa's discomfort, Elrond gracefully changed the subject, his gaze unwavering yet filled with unspoken empathy.

"I believe we have treaded deep waters today. Let us leave the mysteries of ancestry for another time," he suggested gently.

Disa exhaled a breath she didn't realize she had been holding, a fleeting sense of relief washing over her like a gentle breeze. With a grateful nod, she acquiesced, allowing the shadows of the past to recede for now, knowing that some secrets were destined to remain buried until the time was ripe for their revelation.

Visenya released a weary breath, observing as the remnants of paint twirled into the chasm of the sink, vanishing into the darkness below. A parallel could be drawn to the fading hues draining away, reminiscent of the familial ties that once bound her kin.

With a heavy heart burdened by the weight of tradition, she collapsed onto her bed, the softness of the covers welcoming her with a deceptive warmth. Like a damsel in distress, she buried her face in the fabric, muffling the turmoil threatening to consume her. Visenya's violet eyes, tinged with defiance, reflected both weariness and unspoken rebellion against the expectations imposed upon her by the world.

In a fit of exasperation, she reached for the aged tome resting on the bedside table, its leather cover weathered with time, whispering secrets of a bygone era. As she delicately turned the fragile pages, each one filled with intricate illustrations depicting the ancient art of dragon taming, a spark ignited in her eyes—a longing for adventure, for a life beyond the stifling walls that enclosed her.

The tales of Valyria, a realm draped in the tapestries of magic and mystery, danced off her lips as she recited the legends of yore. Her voice, lilting and haunting, reverberated through the silence of the chamber, infusing it with a sense of wonder and enchantment. The untamed spirit within her yearned for a reality where dragons soared and heroes reigned supreme—a world far removed from the constraints of her existence.

As the flickering candlelight cast elongated shadows around her, Visenya's slender fingers traced the lines of the illustrations, as if trying to capture the essence of a forgotten time. The soft rustle of parchment filled the space.

Visenya's mind wandered back to the days of yore, where her kin regaled her with tales intertwining heroism and treachery. Her father Daemon always held her spellbound with his recounting of daring escapades that danced between danger and valor. These narratives painted colorful tapestries in her mind, bringing to life the grandeur of Kings Landing and the awe-inspiring dragon pit that once housed the beasts.

Among all these legends, it was the dragons that held a special place in Visenya's heart. Memories of her time spent amidst these majestic creatures fueled her spirit, even though the bond of blood that once connected her to them had long been severed. In the sacred chambers of the dragon pit, where power resonated in every breath, she imbibed the ancient secrets that bound dragon to rider—a legacy of strength and courage that coursed through her very being.

But fate had dealt her a cruel blow, for her beloved dragon had met a tragic end at the hands of those they had sought to shield. Visenya conjured a vision of her cherished black and red dragon, its scales shimmering in the sunlight as it playfully approached her—emitting joyful purrs and chirps.

She could almost feel the gentle touch of its claws as it attempted its first flight under her watchful gaze, the courtyard echoing with its playful antics.

The mere thought of her dragon's tender coos stirred a deep ache within her, a sorrow that gnawed at her very soul. Tears welled in her eyes as she grappled with the knowledge that she had failed to protect her faithful companion. The weight of that loss pressed heavily upon her heart, a poignant reminder of the fragility of the bond between dragon and rider.

The Targaryen sighed heavily as her hopes begin to drain away, sorrowful filled eyes stared longingly at the pictures before her. Her cheek melts even more into her hand causing wrinkles to pile up beside her eye.

The room was awash in the warm glow of the flickering hearth, casting playful shadows that seemed to breathe life into the stone walls. Her delicate fingers traced the elegant script, lost in a world that once held her family at peace.

Suddenly, a faint sound broke the tranquil silence—a soft, rhythmic cadence of footsteps echoing down the corridor outside her chamber. With a furrowed brow, Visenya glanced towards the door, puzzled by the unexpected intrusion. It was far too early for the guards to be making their rounds; a sense of unease crept into her heart.

Setting aside her book with a quiet sigh, Visenya rose from her seat and padded towards the heavy oak door, her curiosity now fully awakened. Pressing her ear against the ancient wood, she strained to discern the source of the footsteps. They grew fainter, then disappeared altogether, like whispers carried away by the wind.

With cautious determination, she cracked the door open, a sliver of cool night air brushing against her cheek. Casting a wary glance in either direction, Visenya slipped into the hallway, her soft footsteps muffled by the thick rugs lining the stone floor. It was a labyrinth of shadows and silence, the only sound the soft rustle of fabric in the gentle breeze.

Time seemed to stretch as Visenya followed the ghostly echo of footsteps, her heart pounding in time with each breath. Finally, she saw a figure up ahead—tall and slender, bathed in light filtering through candles.

Visenya's eyes widened to realize it was Elrond, prowling the shadows, his brunette hair gleaming in the dim cavern. The air around him seemed heavy with secrets, and she could almost taste the deception that clung to him like a shadow.

Her gaze followed him as he moved with a cat-like grace, his steps light but purposeful as he scoured the area. It was then that her heart quickened as the half elf approached the curtain, his hand reaching out as if drawn by an invisible force.

A shiver ran down her spine as she witnessed his actions, a sense of unease settling in the pit of her stomach. Durin's warnings echoed in her mind, and visenya knew that he had been right all along. Elrond was not to be trusted; he was here for one thing and one thing only – the precious stone that lay hidden within the depths of Khazad-dum.

A surge of anger filled her as she watched him, his very presence a violation of the sanctity of this ancient place. She felt the urge to rise, to confront him and demand answers, to slap him for his audacity in trespassing where he did not belong.

"What a liar..." she muttered under her breath in Valyrian, the words heavy with disdain and disbelief. The syllables hung in the air like a curse, a vow of retribution against the intruder who dared to defile the sacred halls of Khazad-dum.

In that moment, visenya felt a fierce determination welling up inside her, a fire that burned bright and hot in her chest. She would not stand idly by while this interloper desecrated her home—not like she had back in Westeros.

But as Elrond reached to part the heavy velvet curtain, Visenya's foot dislodged a small stone, sending it tumbling to the ground with a muted clatter. Elrond spun around, his eyes locking onto hers with a knowing twinkle. "I know you are there," he said, his voice soft as a summer breeze.

A flush of embarrassment painted Visenya's cheeks as she emerged from her hiding place, her eyes wide with a mix of curiosity and caution. "Well, you caught me," Visenya announced, a sheepish smile playing on her lips.

But then she crossed her arms over her chest, her demeanor that of a playful rogue. "Or more like, I caught you..." Her voice trailed off as she gestured towards the tapestry Elrond had been inspecting.

He merely chuckled softly. But his breaths were labored, his words coming out in a jumble. "It is not at all what it seems..."

Visenya's eyebrows shot up in mock surprise, her gaze flickering towards the ornate curtain concealing the room beyond. "Really? That's not what I'm seeing..."

The tension between them crackled like static in the air, a dance of wit and charm unfolding in the shadows of the ancient halls. Elrond's composed facade faltered under that scrutinizing gaze of hers.

Visenya's eyes blazed with an intensity that could rival the flames of a dragon's breath. The dimly lit chamber seemed to shrink in the face of her formidable presence, her silhouette casting long, ominous shadows against the weathered stone walls. Elrond, usually a master of eloquence, stood before her like a mere mortal, his composure shattered by the weight of her accusations.

Visenya's voice, clear and unwavering, cut through the stillness, echoing off the ancient stones that lined the hall. Her words carried a weight of suspicion and challenge, daring Elrond to reveal the truth buried deep within his heart. "So I'll ask again, why are you truly here?" she demanded, her eyes sharp and searching. "Is it solely for Durin that you tread these hallowed halls, or is there a deeper purpose that you hide behind your soothing words and gentle demeanor?"

Elrond, usually a master of eloquence, found himself at a loss for words in the face of Visenya's relentless questioning. However, he gathered his thoughts like gathering fallen leaves in a forest, choosing his words with care. Meeting her gaze with a quiet intensity, there was a flicker of sorrow and understanding in his eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the pain that lay hidden beneath the surface.

"I could ask the same of you," Elrond replied, his voice soft yet firm, like a river flowing steadily over a bed of stones. "It is not common for a man to be raised by Dwarves, just as it is rare for an elf to walk among mortals." The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken truths and unexplored depths, striking a chord within Visenya's heart.

Visenya's eyes widened in realization as Elrond's words sank in, the revelation unfolding like a delicate flower blooming in the early light of dawn. She felt the weight of his words pressing down on her, stirring something deep within her soul. "Do not place the questions upon me," she countered, her voice tinged with a hint of defiance. The air crackled with tension, like lightning dancing across a darkened sky.

The grand chamber echoed with a haunting melody, as Elrond's voice rose like a gentle symphony enveloping the cavernous space.

"Visenya," he began with a reverent tone, his words weaving through the air like tendrils of mist, "I perceive the shadows of doubt that shroud your noble heart. But rest assured, my intentions are as pure as the starlight that dances upon the waters of the Mirrormere. My bond with Durin is an ancient tapestry, etched with threads of valor from battles long forgotten. I have journeyed to Khazad-dûm not to exploit this cherished friendship, but to stand as a steadfast guardian, to honor and protect that which is dear to both your realm and mine."

The Targaryen's countenance softened ever so slightly, a cent of doubt still flickering behind her piercing gaze. Her eyes, a reflection of years past, bore the wisdom of ages and the wariness. She had seen the noblest of hearts tainted by shadows, and she harbored a cautious skepticism beneath her regal facade.

"Prove it, then," she challenged, her voice resolute as the ringing of a hammer against the anvil. "Let your deeds and choices be the testament of your loyalty, let them echo through the depths of Khazad-dûm and resound with the melodious song of our kin. For I shall not be swayed by mere words, nor shall I abide any hint of treachery or deceit."

Elrond hesitated, his noble visage a mask of contemplation as he bore the weight of her challenge upon his shoulders. His lips formed a silent prayer to the Valar as he pondered her words, his gaze searching the depths of her soul as if seeking answers to questions unspoken.

"You speak with the weight of one who has borne the burden of betrayal, as if the shadows of treachery have cast their long shadow upon your path," he remarked, his voice a tapestry woven with concern and curiosity.

Visenya's regal facade wavered for a moment, her composure slipping like a silken veil to reveal a flicker of vulnerability beneath her steely exterior. With a scoff that carried the weight of centuries of defiance, she crossed her arms—her finger digging into her thumb like a spearhead seeking its mark. "Nonsense, do not presume to unravel my soul, elf."

Elrond, his hands trembling in desperation, reached out to the maiden with a yearning that pierced the very fabric of the room, he whispered words of apology. "My dear Visenya, I implore you to understand, my actions were never meant to wound your gentle spirit," he pleaded, his voice but a whisper in the vast expanse of their shared space.

Visenya, her face a mask of conflicting emotions, clenched her jaw so fiercely that it seemed as though her very bones might shatter under the weight of her anguish. The memories of betrayal and deceit that had unfolded in the grand halls of Kingslanding lingered like a bitter aftertaste, poisoning the well of her trust for all who dared to approach.

Elrond, sensing the walls of silence closing in around them, felt a chill of dread grip his heart like the icy fingers of a wraith. "Durin," he murmured, the name heavy with unspoken truths and shattered illusions, "he hides a secret, merely avoiding me like a plague." The weight of his words hung in the air, suffocating the once tranquil atmosphere with a sense of impending doom.

Visenya, her resolve faltering like a fragile flower in the storm, felt a pang of empathy pierce her hardened exterior as she beheld the turmoil etched upon Elrond's noble visage. The mask of indifference she had worn like armor melted away like frost under the sun's warm embrace, revealing the tender heart that beat beneath.

"You really are here for the prince then..." she whispered softly, the words barely escaping her lips as if afraid to be heard by the night itself.

The man, a figure of elegance and purpose, met her gaze with a solemn expression, his eyes like shards of ice reflecting the moonlight above. He listened intently, his presence commanding the attention of all who dared to look upon him. She had thought him a seeker of riches, a hunter of treasures untold, but now she saw the truth laid bare before her.

"I am sorry for accusing you..." she began, her voice tinged with regret and apology. A flicker of uncertainty danced in her eyes before she continued, "Durin is behind the curtain in a certain enclosed mine..." As the words left her lips, a sense of relief washed over her, the weight of suspicion lifting like a veil from her mind.

Elrond arched a single eyebrow at the sudden shift in her demeanor. The warmth and kindness that had once seemed distant now returned, like a long-forgotten ember reigniting in the darkness. With a deliberate motion, he turned towards the tattered tapestry that hung askew.

His hand, steady and sure, reached out to touch the rough-hewn stone that blocked their path. Ancient runes, etched deeply into the surface, shimmered with a faint, ethereal light as he began to chant the words of power. The air around them seemed to hum with energy, the very essence of magic crackling in the air.

Visenya watched with amusement as Elrond's efforts faltered—the door remaining stubbornly closed. She chuckled softly, a musical sound that filled the chamber with warmth and mirth. But Elrond, undeterred by failure, placed his hands once more upon the stone, his eyes alight with determination and reverence.

Her voice, akin to silk spun from ancient looms, rose like a melody in the stale air as she murmured, "Usually, when it comes to mines, most of the time you have to find a way to Open it."

With a graceful flourish, she placed her slender hand flat against the rough surface, the flicker of a smile playing upon her lips like a crescent moon floating in a starlit sky. "Like this, rich crone, kiss the stone, polish your gems and gold," she intoned, her fingertips tapping the cold rock in a rhythmic dance, as if coaxing a long-dormant magic to stir from slumber.

Elrond, the half-elf who stood beside her, watched in awe, his sapphire eyes reflecting the flickering torchlight as he followed her movements. When Visenya turned to face him, a mischievous glint sparkled in her gaze as she teasingly remarked, "The twins, learn quite a few things from them," giving the wall one final knock.

A tremor rippled through the rock, causing Elrond to instinctively step back, his breath catching in his throat. Visenya's laughter rang out, melodic and light, as she teased, "You know, for an elf claiming to know the dwarven ways, you are surely lacking in the ancient art of stone rhymes." With a casual brush of her hands against her worn pants, she beckoned Elrond to follow as she strode further into the depths of the mine.

The half-elf's head bowed slightly in defeat, "Aye, it would seem I'm a tad rusty." admitted, a touch of humility softening his features. Visenya offered him a gentle smile, before leading the way—their footsteps echoing in harmony with the whispers of ancient spirits that lingered in the dusty air,

As they rounded the corner, a guttural scoff pierced the stillness, sending shivers down Visenya's spine. From the shadows emerged Durin, his rugged features etched with suspicion and indignation.

"I knew it," his gruff voice reverberated off the stone walls, his gaze piercing as it landed on Elrond. "Came to spy on me, elf?" Durin growled, his demeanor as unyielding as the mountains themselves.

Elrond, cloaked in wisdom and calm, began to speak, but Durin's ire turned towards Visenya, his eyes ablaze with accusation. "I'll deal with you in a minute," he said, his finger pointing like a judge's gavel. "You, little lass, why would ya bring him down here? You of all people should know how sacred this is."

Visenya's defiance ignited a spark in her violet eyes, a silent rallying cry for her beliefs. Before she could defend herself, Elrond interjected. "Durin," his voice resonated with a serene authority that brooked no argument, "it was not her fault."

But Durin, unrelenting in his displeasure, stood tall like a mountain peak. His hands found their way to his hips, a stance of judgment and resolve. "Oh, is that true now? Then whose fault is it? The wee fairy's?" he taunted, the air heavy with tension and unspoken truths.

Elrond's noble features were etched with surprise at the accusations thrown his way, his piercing gray eyes narrowing as he struggled to comprehend Durin's sudden hostility.

"She was only following me before, in order to see what I was doing," Elrond's voice rang out, cutting through the silence like a dagger through the night. His words were steady and measured, betraying none of the turmoil swirling within him.

Durin's response was swift and cutting, his tone edged with suspicion and accusation. "Oh? So you're trying to make her into a thief as yourself..." His voice dripped with disdain, his dark eyes flashing with a fierce intensity that matched the fire burning in the hearth.

But Elrond refused to be cowed, stepping forward with a grace that belied the tension in the room. He extended his hand in a gesture of peace, a silent plea for understanding in the face of mistrust. "No Durin, I never do that... I just wanted to know what this place is?" His voice remained calm and unruffled, carrying a hint of icy determination beneath its cool facade. "You've been avoiding us like the plague."

Durin's anger flared anew, his grip on Elrond tightening as he shoved him against the cold stone wall. The forcefulness of his action was a physical manifestation of the distrust and suspicion that festered within him. "You really expect me to believe you do not know?" Durin's words were a challenge, a demand for Elrond to lay bare his true intentions. "That this was not the true reason he sent you here to begin with? You want it for yourselves."

Elrond's confusion deepened, his brow furrowing in consternation at Durin's accusations. "Durin, want what?" His question hung heavy in the air, a plea for clarity amidst the swirling storm of mistrust and misunderstanding. "I care nothing for what is in that chamber. Secrets should not come between us." Elrond's gaze held steady, unwavering beneath the weight of Durin's penetrating stare.

For a brief moment, a flicker of doubt passed across Durin's face, his features softening ever so slightly as the tension in the room began to ease.

Visenya's brow arched gracefully as she fixed her gaze unwaveringly upon the prince. The flickering torchlight cast dancing shadows upon the ancient stone walls, lending an air of ominous solemnity to the scene.

A heavy silence hung in the air, broken only by the distant echoes of dripping water. The prince's grumble reverberated through the chamber before he spoke, his voice low and laden with authority.

"I require your solemn oath," he declared, his weathered hand pressing firmly against the cold, rugged surface of the stone. "Hand to mountain. Swear upon your life that not a whisper of the secrets I am about to impart shall escape your lips. Dwarf grudges are as eternal as the mountains themselves, their wrath enduring even beyond the long memories of the elves. Should you break your vow, the very stones will rise up against you and your descendants, dooming you to a fate worse than death."

Visenya's eyes widened with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity as the weight of the prince's words settled upon her. The gravity of the oath Elrond was about to take pressed upon her like a leaden cloak.

With a slow, deliberate movement, the elf extended his hand towards the prince, fingers trembling slightly as he prepared to seal the pact that would bind him to an unbreakable vow. The chamber seemed to hold its breath, waiting for a response, the shadows lengthening and intertwining like the threads of fate woven by unseen hands.

"I swear," he whispered, his voice resonating with a solemnity that seemed to echo through the very stones themselves.

In the chamber before the mine opening, where shadows danced and flickered in the dim light cast by the lone flames, Visenya and Elrond stood amongst the grandeur of the tall columns and the ancient fireplace that lined the stone walls. It was a space of forgotten whispers and untold secrets, where history intertwined with the present.

Durin sat in his grand, stone-carved chair, his deep-set eyes fixed on the stone before him. Visenya remained by the towering pillars—her elegant figure highlighted by the soft glow of the torches that lined the chamber. Elrond lingered near the other side of the table—his keen eyes scanning the surroundings with a watchful gaze.

As Elrond and Durin conversed in hushed tones over the precious milthral gem, Visenya's gaze was captivated by the mesmerizing dance of the flames. The crackling sizzle of the fire conjured memories of nights spent by the dragonstone hearth with her mother, a time of warmth and security amidst the stormy chaos of the world.

But amidst the gentle crackling, a strange voice echoed from the depths of the mining shaft, calling out her name in a haunting whisper. "Visenya..." it beckoned, each syllable dripping with an otherworldly allure that sent shivers down her spine. At first, she brushed it off as a trick of the mind, a mere figment of her imagination.

Yet the voice persisted, growing more urgent and insistent with each call. Ignoring the bemused gazes of Elrond and Durin, who seemed oblivious to the ethereal voice that tugged at her very soul, Visenya felt a strange compulsion pulling her towards the yawning mouth of the mine shaft.

Durin's raised brow and Elrond's concerned inquiry were lost on her as she walked as if in a trance, her mind swirling with fragmented memories and ancient whispers in a language long forgotten. Her Valyrian mutterings filled the chamber, a ghostly chant that spoke of things unseen and truths unspoken.

"Visenya?" Elrond's voice cut through the fog that clouded her mind, his hand reaching out to touch her arm gently. Just as they drew near, a sudden clarity washed over her, dispelling the illusions that had ensnared her senses.

With an eerie calmness, she turned to face them, her gaze clear and her voice steady as she uttered a chilling prophecy. "The mine is about to crumble."

Durin's scoff of disbelief was cut short as the very ground beneath them trembled and groaned, ancient stone walls shaking with unseen fury. Suddenly, a deafening rumble shook the very foundations of the underground hall. The ground quivered beneath their feet as a mine shaft adjacent to the room began to groan.

Panicked shouts erupted from within the mineshaft, the desperate cries of trapped dwarves echoing through the tumult. Without hesitation, Durin leaped from where he stood—his sturdy boots clanging against the stone floor as he dashed past Visenya into the crumbling passageway.

"Durin, no!" Her voice pierced through the chaos, her hands clasping out for him. But he shrugged her off, paying no heed to the dangers within.

————————————————————-

AUTHOR'S NOTE
—-

OKAY I AM SOOOO SORRY
THIS TOOK FOREVERRR,
but I'm really picky about my writing.

Also, we got the building up slowly between
Elrond and Visenya,
we just love a confused queen 💅

ALSO LAST NIGHTS EPISODE BROOOO???

NEXT ON IT ALL FELL DOWN
——-

Visenya ignores all and charges in after Durin.
Worried, Elrond runs after her. She tries to reason with herself of whom the voice was. While out, Visenya hears a call from something...