Tiberius POV
Consciousness returned like thawing frost. Slow. Lethargic.
I did not awaken all at once, but surfaced in fragments – the taste of blood in my mouth, the ache of a broken wing, and the cold pressing into places where my scales were now missing.
For a moment, I did not remember. Or maybe I chose not to.
Then I did.
Mother. Black Dragon. Fire. Ice. Light.
The memories pressed forward eager to make me re-live their agony again. I tried to move, to rise, and see my mother. But I blacked out again.
My body was weak. My right wing lay flat and useless, membrane torn, bone misaligned. My flank felt raw where scales had been ripped free. Frost had crept over me and into me, sealing my wounds at the cost of my body temperature.
I did not care. I rose, or tried to, again and again and again. My mother was right there, what if she had something to say? She should not go without a loved one by her side.
So I pushed and struggled and prayed to every god I could think of as dragged myself inch by inch to her side.
I was too late.
Reaching her, I placed my clawed wing – hand? – against her face. She was dead.
Her eyes still open, staring at nothing, a glassiness encompassing them of unnatural quality. My claw brushed her scales that had hardened into solid metal. Breath was absent, her chest did not rise or fall, a stillness had settled on her that allowed frost to encroach.
My mother. Who had looked at me with love. Who laughed. Who worried. Who treated me as a son.
I wept. I begged. I raged. I cried.
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I do not know how long had passed before my grief subsided. Eventually, the sobbing stopped. Not because I had found peace, but due to having no strength left to continue.
My body sagged against her side, my breath shallow and uneven. The cold had long crept in and the world felt distant. Muted.
The death of my parents in my human life was much the same. In a way, it is probably the mind's way to survive. In a world that is right, every child will have to bury their father and mother first. It's nature.
It was due to my sorrow that I did not notice for a long time a new absence in my existence.
The pressure. The call. The Hunger.
The constant undertone in my blood that had pointed south and commended me to go – it was gone. Vanished.
The world had changed.
Then the sky screamed.
I flinched instinctively, claws digging into snow as a shadow tore across the clouds above me.
A dragon. Not the black one. Younger and wounded. Its scales were charred and cracked, one wing trailing smoke as it flew – low, erratic – fleeing north.
Fleeing?
My heart pounded. Behind it –
The sky split with white as a feathered being pierced the clouds. An Eagle.
Not a bird. A GIANT Eagle.
Vast and terrible. Golden feathers catching the sun as though lit from within. Its wingspan dwarfed the young dragon's. Each beat sent pressure through the air as it glided with ease.
I stared, breath shallow. I knew that shape.
My instincts screamed for me to hide, but I had only wonder in my mind. This was –
The Eagle struck. It came down from above, talons extended, colliding with the fleeing dragon midair – the impact thundering across the wastes. The dragon roared, twisting, spewing fire that missed the experienced Eagle as it clung to the dragon's back.
It raked its talons downward, tearing through scale, ripping flesh free in a spray of blackened blood that fell like rain into the snow below.
The dragon tried to climb, it couldn't. It wasn't allowed to.
The Eagle climbed instead. Higher. Dragging the dragon with it.
The two of forms spiraled upwards in a mocking dance – fire and feather locked together in the sky. And then –
The eagle released. The dragon fell.
It hit the mountainside to the east of me with a thump that made me wince. Stone shattered.
And the body did not rise again.
The Eagle circled once above the corpse, before turning west. Towards Valinor.
I had figured it out as soon as I saw the Eagle. After all, dragons are abundant in fantasy, but how many Great Eagles are there instead?
Honestly, as it all comes back to me, the greatest indicator should have been "Morgoth", the master of Sauron. The signs had been there, but I had simply refused to see them. Maybe it's part of the plot.
I chuffed at my own joke. Calming back down, I organized my thoughts.
Morgoth. Dragons. The War of Wrath.
Glancing at the still smoking corpse of that dragon, I came to an obvious conclusion.
The War is over. Right now, the forces of Light are hunting down stragglers.
A reckless part of me wished to see the ruin of Ancalagon before the sea claimed him. To see the fall of the greatest dragon ever wrought.
Eärendil. The Host of Valinor. Would they spare me?
Of course not. I guess that option is off the table. Unfortunate.
My breath hitched. Beleriand sinking. A terrible thing that cost many kingdoms but would also be one of the most unique things to ever witness. Who can say they have seen a landmass sink into the sea? Especially one so large.
Too bad I couldn't take the risk.
Tolkien. Arda. Middle-Earth. Elves. Dwarves.
My breath quickened with excitement. These are the heroes and stories I adored ni my human life and now they are about to unfold before me. How could I not be excited?
Right. I glanced down at my claws and scaly stomach. Damn.
Anyways, I refocused. The First Age has ended, if I remember correctly, and that guy was gone. What happened in the Second Age again?
Oh, right. Sauron.
The name sent a shiver down my spine. Not in the subservient way my body reacted to Morgoth, but in the "that is a serial killer" disgust.
Annatar. The Rings. Númenor. Arnor. Gondor. The Last Alliance.
Stil very far away from the movies I remember. From Frodo and Sam. Pippin and Merry. Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli. Gandalf and the Istari. The War of the Rohirrim.. I guess.
My excitement eventually subsided as my mind wandered back to reality.
My mother was gone. I did not have the strength or the time to bury her properly.
My frustration surfaced as I slammed my fist into the ground. I was rewarded with a searing pain, that was my right wing. Cursing and angry, I tuned to look at my mother for the last time.
Silence stretched. I had many words I wanted to say, so many thank to give. But she was gone, her soul, if dragon's had one, would be gone by now. Either to the afterlife Ilúvatar provides, if he is truly benevolent, or, the more likely, the void to wander until it ceases to exist.
I don't want to think about it anymore.
I couldn't stay here, the Eagles would eventually find me. If I flew South, I would be hunted by the Host. If I revealed myself to Elves, I might be slain on sight. Dragons were marked as Evil Creatures.
I looked west on final time as the Eagle vanished beyond the Horizon, then I dragged myself into the shadows of a shattered ridge.
I would heal. I would grow.
I needed to decide what should be changed in the world to come and what must not.
The First Age has ended and I am still alive.