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iv. AS KIND AS SUMMER
SEASON 1
EPISODE 3
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IT ALL FELL DOWN
HOUSE OF THE DRAGON
x
THE RINGS OF POWER

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KHAZAD-DUM

       || THE DEAFENING ROAR OF COLLAPSING STONE AND SWIRLING DUST HAD ENTERED THE ROOM SIMULTANEOUSLY. Where earth trembled beneath Visenya's feet as the ancient mine groaned and shuddered—where the sounds of imminent collapse echoed like thunder rolling through the hills. Her heart raced in her chest, a frantic drumbeat watching as Durin darted past— oblivious to the impending danger.

"Durin!" she cried, her voice a sharp blade cutting through the chaos. But before she could rush to his aid, a firm hand closed around her arm—halting her frantic pursuit. Her head whipped around to face the perpetrator—just to see him. Elrond, his expression etched with concern and urgency, implored her to stop. "Visenya, no. I will go after him," he urged.

But Visenya recoiled, her gaze ablaze with determination and fear that haunted her vision—one that clouded her mind like the walls of the collapsing mine. "No, I must save him," she declared with a fierce intensity—wrenching her arm free from Elrond's grasp. Perhaps she could prove herself this one time and save someone she cared for.

Visenya's heart raced as she chased after the disappearing figure of Durin. "Do not follow me!" The prince pleaded to the Targaryen, but she did not heed. The dimly-lit tunnels did not help in the slightest—causing her breath to come in short, panicked gasps. Flickering torches cast eerie, dancing shadows that seemed to taunt her—mocking her futile attempt to catch up.

"Durin!" She called as his figure disappeared around a bend. "Stop!" But he didn't heed to her call and Visenya soon lost the dwarf prince admist the chaos. Frantic, the Targaryen swirled around on her heel—trying to search the cloudy air for him. As she turned a final time, Visenya saw something in the corner of her eye—a fading shadow of a form.

"Durin?" She called hesitatly, before taking off in suit of the this figure. But as Visenya rounded the corner, it was not Durin she saw—but instead there stood her half younger brother, Joffrey.

She skidded to a stop, uncertainty clouding her mind, her mind reeling. "Joffrey..." she asked in a questioning, breathless tone.

" Come on Vis! It is this way," beckoned the young boy, his voice carrying a peculiar echo that seemed to blend Durin's gruffness with Joffrey's innocence. Visenya felt a shiver crawl down her spine as she reluctantly followed, her mind a tempest of confusion and curiosity.

The boy scampered ahead, gesturing for Visenya to hasten her steps—his hand slicing through the stagnant air in a frantic call for her to follow. Visenya, her mind a whirlwind of confusion, trailed after him tentatively. What strange machinations were at play here? Why all of sudden was this happening? Was she truly seeing Joffrey?

As they descended down yet another shaft, the sound of harsh coughing clawed at her senses—where she called out to Joffrey once more. But the young lad disappeared, leaving only a gruff voice to answer back. "I'm here!" Quickly she took off in the direction of the voice, placing the nook of elbow to shield her nose from the dust.

And there, a dwarf, no taller than her waist and as stout as an ancient oak, lay pinned beneath a hefty plank of wood. His bushy brows furrowed in discomfort, yet his eyes sparkled with an unfathomable resilience.

"Oh, fancy seeing you here..."  The old dwarf wheezed, a weak chuckle dancing on the edges of his breathlessness. His frail form was pinned down, stripped of the freedom to move. Visenya, her demeanor a blend of concern—studied the scene before her.

"Not the most favorable circumstances, I must admit," she mused softly, her gaze scanning the precarious balance of the mine's collapsing structure. With a meek smile, she knelt beside the dwarf— her hands upon the rough-hewn timber, she could feel the weight of the world pressing down upon her slender frame.

Straining with all her might, Visenya attempted to lift the stubborn plank, her muscles quivering with the effort. The veins upon her brow stood out like rivers upon a map, pulsing with the frenzied rhythm of her heart. A guttural grunt escaped her lips, reverberating off the walls with an eerie echo that seemed to mock her valiant efforts.

The dwarf, on the other hand, remained remarkably composed, his features stoic and unwavering. Not a drop of sweat adorned his brow, nor did a single tremor betray the ease with which he bore his burden. His gaze met Visenya's with a quiet reassurance, as if to say, it's okay.

"Hold on," Visenya whispered, "I will return... with Durin." Her delicate hand touched the dwarf's rugged shoulder, conveying a silent promise that resonated through the cold stone walls.

With a solemn nod, he acknowledged her pledge, his weathered features softened momentarily by a glimmer of trust in the young maiden. As Visenya turned to depart, a sense of urgency enveloped her, propelling her through the labyrinthine passages fraught with peril. Every step she took felt like a dance with death, the ground beneath her quivering and threatening to give way at any moment.

Suddenly, a cascade of rocks tumbled down with thunderous force, blocking her path and enveloping her in a suffocating shroud of dust. Gasping for breath, she brushed away the particles clinging to her skin, her vision obscured by the fine veil of sediment that settled upon her lashes.

Through the haze, with the acrid taste of dust coating her lips and obscuring her vision, she blinked back the sting when a familiar figure emerged. Standing there in eerie silence amidst the chaos. It was Joffrey, his countenance devoid of emotion "Joff?" Visenya called out tentatively, her voice tinged with uncertainty as she strained to clear her vision.

But as the Targaryen took slow steps towards him, shaking hand reaching out—he turned and quickly darted away. "Joff, no!" she cried, a note of desperation threading through her words as she gave chase, her silver hair billowing like silken tendrils in the unforgiving gusts that battered her frame. His giggles danced the air with a sense of foreboding gripping her heart.

But the echoes of his laughter soon transmuted into the haunting wails of the tormented, a cacophony of agony that rent the fragile fabric of her courage asunder.

Visenya stumbled to a halt, her blood running cold as the cavern seemed to come alive with the tormented wails of dragons in pain— the acrid scent of smoke and sulfur filling her senses. It stirred ancient terrors within the depths of her soul.

Frozen in place, she resembled a statue carved from fear, her violet eyes wide with dread as tears welled up and cascaded down her porcelain cheeks.

"No, no..." she whispered, the sounds of screams haunted her mind like a relentless specter. Her heart raced, each beat resonating like the thunder of a dragon's wings as it took flight to escape.

"Joffrey!" Visenya's anguished cry pierced the chaos, her hands instinctively rising to shield herself from the impending cascade of glass and rubble from the pit's roof.

Unbeknownst to both Durin and Visenya, Elrond had followed suit behind them. His form cutting through the haze of dust like a ghostly apparition. His whispered words, barely audible over the cacophony of destruction, betrayed his concern. "Visenya.. where are you..." he murmured to himself—the name hanging in the air like a haunting melody.

But Visenya's echoing cry rent the air, carrying with it a sense of urgency that cut through the serene tranquility like a blade. Swift as a phantom, Elrond ran towards the sound, his form materializing by Visenya's side. Like a wraith-like figure of grace and nobility amidst the shadows that clung to the darkness.

With a dancer's poise, he knelt before her. The half elf's touch, gentle as a whisper, found her trembling form.

"Are you quite alright?" Elrond's voice flowed like honeyed nectar from his lips—a balm to soothe the shattered fragments of her heart. His gaze, deep as the unfathomable depths of the ocean, bore into her own.

Visenya's eyes, alight with a kaleidoscope of emotions, flickered between fear and relief as she beheld the elf before her. Her hand, clenched into a viselike grip, betrayed the turmoil.

"They are coming...i.. I need to save Joffrey!" She screamed, making Elrond recoil slightly. "Who?..." he whispered, " And who is Joffrey?" Visenya, however, did not like the questions posed by the elf.

Like a wounded doe cornered by unseen predators—she recoiled instinctively, her hand raising in a gesture of self-preservation. Sensing her trepidation, Elrond, with the gentleness of a zephyr caressing the petals of a fragile bloom, enveloped her quivering hand in his own, a bastion of warmth and stability amidst the chaos that threatened to engulf her.

Yet there was the odd warmth of his touch, a radiant ember amidst the encroaching darkness within the recesses of her soul.

"It is okay... it is me, Elrond," his words, a balm upon her frayed nerves—whispered like a benediction in the hallowed halls of her heart. Visenya, like a ship tossed upon a tempestuous sea, felt the taut sinews of her somehow being slacken in the presence of him.

With a deep inhalation that served to anchor her to the present moment, the Targaryen lifted her gaze to meet his own—a flicker of gratitude shimmering amidst the lingering shadows of fear that danced within her soul.

As the tension slowly ebbed from her trembling form, Visenya felt a sense of peace settle over her like a gentle caress, the turbulent seas of her emotions gradually receding like the tide.

Forgive me, Lord Elrond," Visenya began, her voice soft yet laced with an air of remorse. "I came close to striking you, and for that, I must offer my sincerest apologies."

A fleeting smile graced Elrond's lips as he chuckled lightly, his eyes glinting with understanding. "It is quite alright, my dear Visenya," he replied in a calm and reassuring tone.

A brief pause enveloped them, the silence heavy with unspoken words. Elrond's gaze then drifted to her brow, where a gash marred her delicate features, blood tracing a crimson path down her porcelain skin like a macabre work of art. A soft gasp escaped his lips as he reached out with a gentle touch, his index finger grazing her wound.

"You're bleeding..." Elrond whispered, his voice tinged with concern, causing Visenya to flinch slightly from the pain that shot through her. In reflex, she raised her own hand to touch the cut, a murmur of realization escaping her lips.

Elrond's eyes remained fixed on her, his expression a blend of worry and resolve. "I must get you out of here," he murmured, his words heavy with a sense of duty as he glanced around at their predicament.

Visenya, however, shook her head defiantly, taking a step back from him, her eyes alight with determination. "No," she insisted, her finger pointing towards the depths of the cavern. "I cannot leave. There are dwarves in peril down there, trapped and alone..."

Elrond let out a weary sigh, his hand outstretched towards her in a silent offer of protection. "I understand, but Durin has it covered." he spoke softly— gaze unmoving from hers. "It is not safe."

"Brilliant observation..." Visenya snapped back with a light scoff. It was then when the earth groaned and moaned as if bearing the weight of its own demise. But as Elrond reached out for her—there like a thunderclap in the silence, a figure appeared.

Durin's presence was announced by the clamor of falling rocks and the frantic shuffle of boots against stone. His grizzled visage and eyes hardened by the toils of the mine, burst into view. His voice, rough as gravel, cut through the tense atmosphere like a pickaxe striking stone.

"Aule's beard! What are ya doing here?" His words echoed off the walls, reverberating through the chambers with an urgency that sent a shiver down the spine of Visenya. Both immediately met his gaze—a mixture of fear and relief washing over them.

Both elf and Targaryen exhaled a collective sigh of relief at the sight of the prince. Yet, their respite was short-lived as Durin, with a sense of urgency that bordered on madness, began to shove them towards the exit.

"The mine is failing! Out, out, damn you!" His words resonated through the cold stone walls, as though speaking a prophecy of despair. The urgency in his tone was palpable, an unspoken warning of imminent disaster.

Visenya, her mind awash with frantic thoughts, instinctively latched onto Elrond's hand with a desperate grip. The elf, taken aback by this sudden show of emotion, did not pull away, sensing the gravity of the situation. Together, the trio navigated the labyrinthine passages, their hearts pounding in unison as the mine trembled and groaned around them.

At last, they burst forth from the mouth of the collapsing mine into a sanctuary of dim light and relative safety. Behind them, the final crescendo of destruction roared, the reverberations of chaos echoing through the chamber. A whirlwind of dust and debris enveloped them, blinding and suffocating.

Visenya's chest heaved with exertion as she tried to catch her breath—causing her to cough and sputter. With a grace that belied his strength, Elrond swiped at the intrusive particles in a futile attempt to ward them off—his beauty marred by the grit and grime that clung to his skin.

But the Targaryen, seeing the mine shaft closed, rushed towards the fallen rubble— determination bordering on madness. Like a creature possessed, she began to claw and push at the rocks with a strength that belied her small stature, her eyes ablaze with a fire that refused to be quenched.

Observing Visenya's distress, Durin muttered under his breath, his brow furrowed in concern. "Are you mad?" The prince questioned, stepping closer to the frantic figure before him. He gently turned Visenya's face towards his, only to see a solitary tear streaking down her dust-stained cheek. She appeared speechless, her mouth agape, as if grappling with some ineffable sorrow that threatened to consume her.

Elrond, his keen perception ever sharp, sensed a deeper turmoil within Visenya. He watched her intently, his eyes narrowed in contemplation, as though deciphering the unspoken language of her soul. Like snapping out of dream, Visenya, upon noticing Elrond was watching her with concern laced upon his features, immediately fixed her face. She quickly stood to her feet, wiping away the tears upon her chin.

"Nothing, everything is fine. Just worried about the dwarves is all." She muttered before pushing past Durin and then Elrond. The prince never saw her act in such a way before... Both friends stood there for a moment, looking to another in confusion before falling in behind.

It was not long after when the trio, cloaked in a shroud of ash and debris, waltzed their way into the meeting room of the dwarves.. Everyone near had heard the commotion and came rushing—only to be left in shook seeing them covered in dirt. It was only then when Disa learned of the mine failing and the four dwarves that remained stuck.

"Oh, by the stars above!" exclaimed the lady Disa, her voice a symphony of concern—pushing past the others as she hurried to Durin. Her expression a tapestry of worry and relief. Amira, ever the vigilant companion, fixed her gaze on Visenya—her brow furrowed in silent contemplation.

"What has happened?" Amira questioned, her lips shaking upon seeing the wound marring Visenya's brow. "The mine had collapsed, there are dwarves down there." Durin muttered in both desperation and despair as Disa's eyes widened. Visenya was hushed away by Amira to quarters of the prince—away from the group as Disa prepared the women to sing to the mountain.

"But I want to see.." Visenya pleaded with the older dwarf, but she merely nodded no. " You have had enough for one day..." But as Visenya moved to press the issue, Amira shot her a look of annoyance. With an exaggerated roll of her eyes, the Targaryen took one last look at the gathering room where Disa was before continuing on.

    After what felt like an eternity of the singing and rocks rumbling, the ceremony had finally come to an end—leaving a somber atmosphere lingering in the air. It was not long before Disa appeared at the doorway. There was a slowness and solemness to her gait. Her head hang low as she made her way towards the duo. Behind her walked Elrond, his hand raised to his chin in silent contemplation. His features twisted in thought as he slowly followed behind.

When the elf's gaze fell upon Visenya seated there, her presence seemed to cast a spell on the room. The once stoic facade of Elrond softened at the sight of her, like sunlight piercing through storm clouds. Visenya's delicate figure exuded an air of mystery and vulnerability, her meek smile a thin veil hiding turbulent emotions within.

Without waiting for Disa's permission, Elrond approached Visenya with a gentle smile playing on his lips. "How are you?" he inquired, the corners of his eyes crinkling with genuine concern, his arms hanging casually at his sides. Visenya's response was a mere shrug, her eyes flitting nervously around the room before meeting his gaze once more. "I've been better, I think," she murmured softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Elrond's chuckle resonated like a faint melody. However, any semblance of calm shattered as Amira pressed a warm rag against a cut on Visenya's skin, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from the Targaryen. She winced in pain, her hand instinctively rising to swat away the Dwarf's ministrations.

"Ow..." Visenya whimpered, her features contorted in discomfort as Amira's touch stung against the wound. The older dwarf, undeterred by Visenya's protest, pushed her hand away with a mockingly stern expression. "Oh, stop it," she reprimanded—tone firm yet laced with a hint of fond exasperation.

Amidst the quarrel, Disa paced back and forth with the grace of a caged lioness, her raven curls cascading like a waterfall down her back—framing a face etched with worry and frustration. The intricate patterns of her gown seemed to ripple with every step, the vibrant colors a stark contrast to the somber mood that enveloped the room.

Amira continued tending to Visenya's injured brow with meticulous care, her movements gentle yet purposeful. Visenya in all her glory, continued to wince ever so slightly as the cool dampness of the cloth made contact with her delicate skin. Her crimson tresses cascaded like fiery rivers down her shoulders— a stark contrast to the coolness of her porcelain complexion.

With a heavy heart and a weary sigh, Amira's voice cut through the tension like a sharp blade through silk, "For just one day, I plead...". Her words hung in the air like a delicate tapestry, laden with unspoken emotions and unshed tears. She paused, her slender fingers deftly wringing out the rag before tenderly placing it back on Visenya's brow.

"I depart for but half a day, and lo, this is the calamity that happens," she lamented, her eyes betraying a mixture of exasperation and deep-rooted concern. The room seemed to echo with the weight of her words, each syllable reverberating like a haunting melody in the stillness of the night. Visenya merely casted her sight elsewhere in embarrassment.

It was then when Disa's eyes locked upon Visenya—ones that held a depth of sorrow. "What troubles you so?" The Targaryen muttered lightly, to which Disa sighed heavily. "I cannot stop thinking that if Elrond had not gone down there," she continued, her voice trembling with emotion. "Though I'm still upset that," she points a finger towards visenya, " That you were so keen to show Elrond around down there..."

The young Targaryen's features dropped slowly at the accusation, knowing what she had done was wrong. The guilt she felt for Joffrey was slowly coming too once more—one where she had blamed herself.

"But if you had not...Durin might have been in that shaft when it..." Her words trailed off, as her gaze shifted towards the half-elf—being filled with an unspoken regret. It was her words that sent a shiver down Visenya's spine—she truly had saved someone this time.

"I'm sorry I lied to you," the lady dwarf confessed, her honesty cutting through the darkness like a blade. But Elrond merely shook his head back in forth. "You were faithful to my friend," he reassured her. "That is all we need to remember." It was his eyes that held a glint of sorrow tempered by a smile—of which Visenya, offered a solemn nod of agreement.

Amira remained silent, though her heavy sighs and the glares was enough for the Targaryen to get the hints. "I am sorry Disa." Visenya muttered, lowering her head slightly. The lady chuckled before coming closer to her. Placing a hand upon her cheek, Disa speaks softly, " No not to apologize... I have every right to be upset as you are under my care..."

A ghost of a smile played on Visenya's lips as Disa's thumb caressed her cheek. It was Footsteps echoed through the corridors, causing both to glance over. Durin strode in with purpose. "They just pulled out the last one. Alive, all of them are alive," his voice pierced the heavy atmosphere, breaking the silence like a hammer on an anvil.

Disa let out a relieved sigh. "Oh good.., Your father must be relieved," she said softly, her eyes a mix of worry and hope. Durin's face darkened at the mention of his father. "He shut it down. The whole vein is to be sealed off," he muttered, his displeasure evident.

"Give him time. Even the hottest coals eventually cool," Lady Disa offered, trying to ease the tension that gripped Durin's heart like a vice. He glanced at the ground, his eyes filled with turmoil. "Yeah, but sometimes I wish they wouldn't. Sometimes I wish I could tell him exactly how I think of him," he confessed with a voice heavy of constrained emotion.

Elrond, his noble features etched with a furrow of concern, moved towards the prince dwarf—with a gentleness that belied his ancient wisdom. A delicate touch graced Durin's shoulder, a silent plea amidst the storm. "Hold your tongue, my friend," his voice, as soft as the murmur of a brook, flowed like a soothing balm over Durin's troubled soul.

Yet, beneath his breath, Durin muttered words shrouded in shadows, words that pierced through the veil of composure that Elrond had carefully woven. His eyes searching Durin's, as the prince dwarf revealed a vulnerability that spoke of deeper wounds. "I would give everything in this world to sit with my father once more," Elrond confessed, betraying a vulnerability that seldom surfaced,"To ask him if he is proud of what I have accomplished with his legacy..."

"Would he be proud of me?" The weight of his doubts hung in the air—a silent echo of the prince dwarf's yearning for paternal approval. Visenya, her gaze a canvas of empathy and understanding, felt a pang of sorrow tug at her own heartstrings. She empathized with Elrond's silent plea for validation, for connection with a presence that lingered only in memory.

With a grace that seemed to defy the confines of mortal movement, Visenya rose from her seat, a vision of ethereal beauty amidst the gathering shadows. Her steps, light as the dance of woodland sprites, carried her to stand before Elrond and Durin. Her eyes, pools of violet fire reflecting the dual flames of sorrow and determination, met theirs in a silent communion of shared pain and resilience. It was as though she carried within her the echoes of forgotten whispers,

Elrond's somber gaze met hers,—a silent understanding passing between them in that fleeting moment. And then, like a fragile blossom unfurling under the first light of dawn, Visenya spoke.

"I too," she interjected with a soft yet unwavering tone, her words cutting through the tension like a delicate blade, "would give anything to speak with my father again." A bittersweet smile played on her lips—revealing a depth of emotion that words alone could not convey.

Her fingers intertwined in a nervous dance, her gaze shifted between the inquisitive glance of Elrond and the puzzled expression etched on Durin's weathered face. "Though I must admit," she continued, her voice carrying a weight of memories and unspoken truths, "He may have not been the best father ever. But he was still my father who in the end gave up everything to save his little girl."

Elrond, with his piercing gaze, could not shake off the curiosity that gnawed at him like a stubborn thorn. His eyes, usually veiled behind a mask of wisdom and restraint, were now clouded with a rare vulnerability as he spoke of his past.

"To whom he was, he must have been somewhat great to have a daughter who is kind. Accepting," Elrond's voice, usually smooth like silk, faltered slightly, betraying a crack in his composed facade. "Something, I had not been accustomed too."

Visenya stood opposite him, her presence commanding yet gentle. She met Elrond's probing gaze with a knowing smile, a glimmer of mischief dancing in her eyes like the flickering of a candle in a dark room. The subtle curve of her lips belied the sharpness of her mind, a keen intellect that rivaled even the wisest of scholars.

"I'll take that as a poor compliment," The Targaryen teased, her voice like honey and fire, laced with a playful edge that masked the gravity of their conversation.

Elrond pressed on, his curiosity piqued by her elusive charm. "What was his name?" But with this prodding for more information, a surge of unease rippled through Disa, the air around them crackling with unspoken tension. Sensing that Elrond was treading dangerously close to forbidden territories, she interjected with a gentle touch, a silent plea for restraint.

"Okay, that's enough," Disa's voice echoed in the chamber, firm yet tinged with an undercurrent of apprehension. Her words hung in the air, a final note in a melody of secrets and shadows. "I think this is good for now."

Amira, weary from the day's toil, cast a tired glance at the group before voicing her exhaustion with a theatrical sigh. As she tossed the dirtied rags into a waiting bowl, her actions spoke volumes of the physical labor that had drained her.

"I am ready for a nap. You all have worked me out," Amira announced, her words a testament to the exhaustion that clung to her like a heavy shroud.

Visenya, ever the picture of grace, turned to Elrond with a gentle smile that spoke of unspoken understanding between them. "Well, hopefully next time we meet, it will be under better circumstances." she spoke—a hint of genuine warmth coloring her tone as she prepared to take her leave.

But Disa halted Visenya in her tracks with a simple command. "Missy, I will need you to help put the twins to bed then of too bed yourself," she remarked with a voice brooking no argument.

Visenya with her stance defiant yet vulnerable— jaw clenched almost imperceptibly, the tension in her muscles a silent protest against the cruel decree that she retire early for the night. The flicker of frustration that crossed her features painted a vivid picture of her inner turmoil.

"Why must I go in early, I still have.." she murmured under her breath, her words heavy with a mixture of resignation and lingering irritation, like the soft whisper of a breeze before a storm.

Disa, her gaze unwavering as she held onto Durin, raised a hand in a gesture that cut through the dimly lit room like a blade. "You know exactly why... this is your punishment for today..."she stated firmly, her honey eyes locked with Visenya's lavender ones in a silent exchange where spoken words were but whispers.

Reluctance mingled with defiance in Visenya's gaze, a masked turmoil that spoke volumes in the silent language shared between them. Finally, a subtle shrug of her shoulders signaled her surrender, a tacit admission that this was a battle she was not destined to win. With a defeated sigh that whispered of restless rebellion quelled, she turned to retreat from the gathering.

But as Visenya's form receded into the shadows, a new flame of discord danced in the hall as Durin's voice rang out, filled with the embellished tales of camaraderie. "No, it was not two trolls—it was only one!" His words reverberated off the stone walls, a testament to youthful exuberance and the art of storytelling.

Elrond, a figure of wisdom and grace amidst the flickering torchlight, stepped forward into the circle of eager listeners, his voice a calm river cutting through the turbulent currents of Durin's embellishments. With a gentle smile that held the weight of years lived and tales untold, he set the record straight, revealing the truth that lay beneath Durin's colorful narratives.

VISENYA SPENT AN HOUR IN THE DEPTHS of her own room, scouring through the book of her family—trying to understand what happened in that mine. The visions of her brother, the voice speaking of where to go. What could it all mean? She happened upon one section talking about dreamers—that daenys was the first recorded one and Visenya knew for a fact that her aunt. Helaena, was one.

But Helaena started having hers from an early age, not now whilst in her twenties. Something just wasn't adding up... But the more she flicked through the book, the more frustrated she became. With a final groan, Visenya slammed the book shut.

Slowly she slipped off her bed, finally wandering out to make her way to the twin's rooms. But as Visenya stepped out, there the two dwarven guards stood, fixed head to toe in armor with little slits upon the helmet for eye holes. They merely grunted at her sudden appearance, before one spoke up. "You must be back in 10 minutes tops..." visenya merely bowed at the dwarf's command—though she was less than pleased.

Once reaching the twin's room, both boy and girl were out of their beds—chasing after another with giggles filling the air. Yet both tried to scramble their toys together upon hearing the latch of their door click. Upon entering, Visenya ushered them into their shared bed with the flick of her hands. "Come on now, you know what time it is."

Both groaned in annoyance before haphazardly climbing the small wooden ladder to their bunks. Watching them struggle, Visenya finally helped tuck them in—placing the blanket delicately up to their chins. The air was filled with a sense of warmth and tranquility as she pushed the fabric beneath them—just as Rhaenrya had with her and her brothers.

As visenya stood up to bid them farewell, it was Gerda that begged her to stay and give them a story. "The dragons!" The little dwarf said, " Tell us the story again." She stood there a moment, before giving in. With a sigh, Visenya took a seat at the edge of the bed—her hand reaching for a dragon figurine perched on the nightstand. Carved with intricate details, it was a remnant from her own childhood, a cherished treasure. One that Joffrey had carried with him everywhere.

With a grin, Visenya brought the dragon to life, making it soar and swoop above the twins' heads as she mimicked the sound of its mighty roar. "Look out little ones," she whispered, her voice soft and filled with wonder, "here comes the dragon of old, ready to protect you from any harm."

The twins' eyes sparkled with curiosity as they gazed up at her, their faces illuminated by the soft glow of the candlelight. "They are still alive," they asked in unison, their voices a blend of eagerness and innocence. The gentle glow of candlelight flickering around the room like playful fireflies.

Elrond had been making his rounds through the prince's household after cleaning himself. Drying his hands off, he set out on a mission to find Durin. He passed by a slightly ajar door before hearing the giggles from within. Curiosity made him stop, pondering whether it was Durin in there with his twins. held him captive and so, he got closer. Glancing through the crack, it was Visenya sat upon the lower bunk bed, making noises with a figurine within her hand. A smile tugged at his lips as he watched—the bond between them shimmering like a thread of starlight.

There was something about Visenya, Elrond thought, something that reminded him of a long-forgotten memory, a fragment of his past that he could not quite grasp. But in that moment, as he stood in the doorway, bathed in the soft glow of candlelight and laughter, he knew that he was witnessing a precious moment that would be etched in his heart forever.

In the midst of Visenya's performance, the flickering candle seized its final breath, extinguishing the honeyed glow that once bathed the room. The gradual dimming evoked a shiver from the twins, delicate whispers of fear curling around their small forms. Gerda clutched the blanket to her chin, her eyes wide with dread as the encroaching darkness seemed to stretch forth icy fingers towards her.

Sensing the children's unease, Visenya rose from her seat gracefully, a portrait of ethereal beauty amidst the encroaching shadows. With a gentle touch upon Gerda's knee, she reassured the trembling child with a soft smile that held the warmth of a sunlit meadow. "Fear not, my dear," she murmured, her voice a soothing melody against the encroaching night.

As Gerda's voice trembled with anxiety, a plea forming on her lips for mama to intervene, Visenya intercepted the worry with a gentle resolve. "Allow me to fetch them for you," she offered, a beacon of compassion in a world tainted by shadows. Elrond, an observer cloaked in the role of a stranger, found a rare smile gracing his lips at the genuine kindness displayed before him—a rarity in a land steeped in darkness.

However, Visenya's heart faltered as she tenderly returned the figurine to its rightful place upon the mantel, the absence of the dragons piercing her soul with a sudden, harsh reality. A single tear glistened in the waning candlelight, a fleeting moment of vulnerability swiftly concealed as she brushed it aside, masking her sorrow with a veil of composure.

The atmosphere shifted as Elrond's gaze lingered upon Visenya, his initial amusement giving way to a flicker of concern as she turned and strode purposefully towards the door. Panic etched lines of worry upon his features, compelling him to retreat discreetly from his vantage point, concealing his watchful presence with a pretense of nonchalance. Each step she took towards the threshold seemed to echo with foreboding, a silent prelude to the unknown that awaited beyond the confines of the room.

In a world tainted by darkness and despair, her kindness was a rare gem—a glimmer of hope in a sea of uncertainty. His curiosity piqued, Elrond pondered the enigmatic nature of this enigmatic woman, whose motives remained shrouded in mystery.

As Visenya approached the dying candle, her graceful movements belying the sorrow that weighed heavy on her heart, a wave of realization washed over her. The dragons, once proud symbols of her past glory, were no more than relics of a bygone era, their absence a painful reminder of loss. A solitary tear cascaded down her cheek, a shimmering trail of sorrow that mirrored the glistening candlelight before she brushed it away with a resolve that belied her vulnerability.

Elrond, ever the astute observer, felt a pang of sympathy for Visenya as she turned away, her figure silhouetted against the dimming light like a fleeting shadow. With a heavy heart, he watched her retreat towards the door, her graceful stride a poignant contrast to the turmoil.

It was there the panic threatened to consume him, realizing she was going towards the door. Elrond made his own silent exit, a ghost in the darkness, leaving behind the echoes of a fleeting moment that had touched his soul in ways he could not yet comprehend.

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AUTHOR'S NOTE

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I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK FOREVER

I've been sooooo busy ☹️