When I woke the snow had solidified around me.
Frozen blood clung to my ribs and packed itself into the gaps between my broken scales. My right wing lay twisted next to me, half-numb from the cold and torn from what the Balrog had done to it. Every breath hurt, as the ice bit sharply, though the pain was reduced due to the temperature.
I did not move at first, sensing the presence near me, trying to gauge the situation.
The mountain was quiet except for the wind and the faint rubbing of a cloth along wood somewhere to my left.
Turning my head slowly, I found the elf sitting on a flat outcrop a short distance away. Her bow rested on her lap as she spread oil along its curves. A sword lay next to her, the hilt facing toward me.
She had not started a fire to remain warm; a cloak of furs buried her frame. She simply waited, watching the slope and watching me with unerring calm.
When she noticed my eyes gazing at her, she rose smoothly to her feet. The bow still in her hand and the blade sticking to her side.
"You live," she said.
Her voice was light, like a warm breeze in spring, but carried clearly across the space between us. The language was in Lossoth, not the elvish of the movies, though I could hear her "accent" in how she pronounced some of the words. She had chosen the only tongue I could understand.
"Unfortunately," I rasped.
The attempt at humor died in my throat and turned into a cough, sending spikes of pain through me. The hurt was enough for specks to dance across my vision, forcing me to shut my mouth until it settled.
The elf did not smile.
Instead, she stepped closer, her grip tightening further in her bow, though not close enough that I could lunge if I wanted to. Which I did not. Between the damage to my ribs, the ruined wing, and blood loss, attacking would have ended badly for everyone.
Her pale hair moved in the wind, catching against the clasp of her cloak, and her eyes carried calmness and serenity in their grey depths. Taking her in fully, I could see the weathering on her boots and the slight wear on the fingers of her gloves. She was no court ornament or protected peasant. She moved like someone used to the hunt and ready for a fight.
"You are far from your valley," she said, probing.
I kept my eyes on her. "So you know where I dwell."
"I know where you hunt," she corrected. "And the realm where no orc no longer dares tread."
Grunting in acknowledgement, I tried to pull one foreleg beneath me and failed halfway through. Pain lanced through my side in a new wave that forced a hiss from between my teeth.
The elf watched without moving to help, which I appreciated but never expected anyways. If she had tried to touch me now, I would think her stupid.
"You have been watching for a while," I said as the waved passed.
"A while."
"How long?"
"Long enough."
I snorted in amusement and let my head settle back against the stone. "That is not answer."
"It is the one you get."
"Not much of a people person are you?"
That got a glare out of her.
We held each other's gazes for a few moments longer before she shifted her weight and looked toward the southern horizon. From there Utum could not be seen, but the smoke of collapsing rock still clung to the air, climbing ever higher.
"You went into the ruins," she stated.
I did not bother denying it. "Yes."
"And? What did you find?"
I considered lying, though I could not think of a reason to.
"A Balrog."
Her face did not change much, but her hand twitched just enough that I saw it.
"You are certain?"
"It tried to kill me," I scoffed. "I feel pretty confident about it."
She let out a slow breakthrough her nose and turned her head back, eyes narrowing. The wind caught the edge of her cloak and pressed it briefly against her form.
"My people speak of the old fortress," she said after a moment. "They call it a grave. A place where cold and evil were birthed together into unholy abominations. Like you."
"I feel like a very miserable abomination," I chuckled. "Must have done a bad job."
Her eyes snapped to me, taking in my rumbling amusement. For a while more neither of us spoke, the silence was not comfortable but no longer carried the edge of a drawn blade. She was measuring me. And I was measuring her.
Finally, she crouched, circling closer but eyeing my claws and fangs. She stopped at the burns along my shoulder, chasing the rough edges of flesh with the eye of an experienced hunter.
"The Balrog did this?"
"Yes."
"And the tear in your wings was by its claws?"
"Yes."
Her eyes moved across my ribs, where the scales were missing and the blood was crusted. "And you escaped."
"I hope." Hopefully, that thing stayed buried.
That almost earned a smile from the she-elf. Almost.
"You should not have survived," she examined. "Your wounds are debilitating and a Balrog, if legends hold true, is bigger than you."
"I am just lucky I guess. Or fat. Depending on how you look at it."
This time the corner of her mouth did shift, if only for a heartbeat.
She reached for a pouch at her belt and took out a water skin, uncorking it before setting it down in the snow between us. Then she stepped back again.
I eyed it, then her.
"What am I supposed to do with that," I asked.
I wiggled my claws, causing me to wince. "No thumbs here."
Red crept up her neck even as her face remained stoic and posture rigid. She was embarrassed.
Chuckling in amusement, I struck down with my claw, piercing the leather skin. She shifted slightly.
Raising up the now skewered pouch, I flicked it into my mouth. Swallowing it and the water together, luckily dragon stomach's can process anything.
As I chewed, a soft chuckle reached my ears and I pretended not to hear it.
"My name is Aerlinn."
The name fit her voice better than I expected. I finished swallowing.
Lowering my head, I met her gaze again. "Tiberius."
Her brow lifted a fraction. Surprised I had a name or that the name was foreign, I could not tell.
"You speak Lossoth well for a dragon," she teased.
"I had great teachers," I responded.
"Forcefully or voluntarily," she queried.
"If you mean they volunteered to force me, then yes."
That earned another small smile, brief and reluctant though it was.
I gathered my legs beneath me again and this time managed to rise, grace non-existent. My right wing dragged in the snow and my chest felt as if a castle was pressing down on it. Once upright, I stood still for a moment until the black swimming at the edges of my sight receded.
Aerlinn watched the whole process with the detached patience of a hunter trying to decide whether their prey would still have enough energy to bite.
"Where will you go," she asked.
"I am starting to notice a pattern in this conversation."
"I have yet to decide if you are an enemy or not."
I paused at that. From her perspective, I was supposed to be a creature of evil. I had forgotten.
Pushing it from my mind, I tested my weight and winced. "My den is north."
"I am aware."
I rolled my eyes. Of course she did.
"You have seen the settlement."
I had suspected when she did not kill me while I was unconscious. She was aware of who I was.
"I have seen enough." Her gaze shifted past me towards the ridges beyond which the basin lay hidden. "You kill the orcs that move toward them. The land where no orc now dares tread."
That was… oddly specific.
"You have been watching me for a while," I tentatively prodded.
"It is my duty to watch the north."
"Why?"
This time she remained silent. I could only shake my head and give up.
She stepped forward, not to offer help, but with intent plain in her stance. "Can you walk?"
"Yes." I hope.
"Can you fly?"
"That… no. I cannot." I felt annoyed for some reason.
"Then. May I accompany you to your… Den?"
I looked northward, gauging the ridges and distance back to the basin. Under normal circumstances it would have been a short and easy flight back home. In my current state, it would be an ugly series of climbs, glides, slips, and hard landing all the way.
Turning back to Aerlinn, I nodded my head in agreement. I was very open to the idea of traveling with a beautiful elf in Middle-Earth.
The first dozen steps were miserable. The snow dragged at my claws and my injured wing left a line behind me as I trudged forward.
Aerlinn stuck close to my left flank, far enough that I could not reach her quickly, but close enough to use my as cover if needed. It was amusing.
This was going to be an arduous journey for me. It was time to go home.