Before we knew of the other lands, Arda was the only lands we knew existed. We didn't know dragons lived free from the hands of Morgoth, ugly things could be good, or that elves could be mortal, nor would we have believed it. But it was all true. We didn't believe it back then, but it was true. But it would have never happened if a mother dragon had seen away a of few remaining eggs to save them from the war between the Dragons and Mortal-Elves...
On a distant shore, far away from the lands of Middle-Earth...
A lone dragoness sat upon a nameless shore. The tireless wind tugged at her wings, and the sands swirled around her claws, but she felt nothing. The sunset was as red as blood, reminding her of the pointless bloodshed between the merciless pointed-ear-two-legs, and the dragons.
The war had her and her mate lost many an egg and dragonlet...too many for her heart to carry. And many other dragons had too, prolonging the fight.
Her thoughts on what she was about to do weren't like the thought you and I have, but swirling and moving emotions and memories...
Emerging from her egg...her first egg hatching from a distance...her dragonlet playing in the sands of the desert...the shear, raw, joy of flying among two perfect dragons that were of her blood...the sudden arrive of the pointed-ear-two-legs...the war that started...the hours of bloodsheed...the shattering of the eggs, her's among them...the slaughtering of the attackers and the destruction of their glowing-sharp-sticks as she desperately fought to save a few eggs of the remaining eggs, and the sacrifice of her mate...and getting the eggs to safety...
And what she was about to do know. Seven perfect, amazingly unscratched eggs lad upon a makeshift raft made of a hollowed tree, carefully covered in leaves and moss. Their colors were of iron and copper, of night and clouds, diamonds and pearls, and of blinding sunlight. These eggs would be her kins' hope, one day, she knew it deep in her hollow bones. But until then...she had to let go.
She gently nudged them, pressing their shells to her snout. She breathed in their scent and touched their minds, carefully checking on them. Deep inside their shells, they were safe.
Then she gently pushed the raft, letting it drift away, slowly at first, then the tides took it, speeding it into the unknown, until it disappeared behind the waves.
Dragons do not cry, but a tear slide down her pale scales. And then she wailed, a roar that when for miles around, shaking the cores of Mortal-Elves and dragons alike. She would be one day be known as Du Osthato Menoa Skulblaka, The Mourning Mother Dragon, and she would mourn the lost eggs, until the day they come home...or till the day she dies.
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The Dragons of Arda(Originally The Dragons of Doriath)
FanfictionWhat if Morgoth wasn't the creator of all dragons? What if there were dragons that were free of Morgoths control? And what if there were elves that were not immortal, and there was land so far away only Eru knows about it? A young elleth finds a b...
