Anariel of Erudin: The Age of Revolution | Lord of the Rings

7. Dragons and Snares

They were dragons, I swore as Turin and I walked through the Wood of Greenleaves. Yesterday's storm was no more than a horrible memory now, but so vivid. I could still feel the cold air stinging my cheek, and hear the people's screams, and see the giant wings—so huge they seemed to take up the entire sky. With a few flaps, they created a hurricane strong enough to turn Mirkwood back into a pile of wood.

"It was a flight of dragons," I told Turin, "but what were they doing in Mirkwood?" I waited for his response, but it never came. "Turin, are you listening? Turin, we have to talk about this."

"No, we don't."

To clear a path within the thorny thicket, he pushed back a few of the sharp branches and stepped through, but when I tried to follow, he suddenly released them. If I hadn't ducked out of the way, they would've struck in me the face, and I would've been plucking barbs out of my cheeks for hours. Perhaps I was mistaken, but his actions seemed intentional.

"Turin, is something wrong? Turin, please talk to me!" I rushed to catch up with him, and when he was just within arm's reach, he whipped around and glared at me.

"There's nothing to talk about!" he shouted, his voice full of anger that seemed to extend far beyond the issue at hand. "There were no dragons. They're all dead, remember? So stop talking about them!"

"What's the matter with you?" I asked. There was such fear in his eyes. I hadn't seen such fear since ... "Are you still having those dreams, Turin? Dreams of the dragon?"

His eyes widened at my words, and he retreated in a hurry. "No. Just forget it."

"You are, aren't you?" I pressed as I chased after him. "For how long?"

He dashed around a tree, but I caught his arm and pinned him to the trunk with all my strength. At first, Turin struggled, and he nearly broke free, but then he slowly started to calm down.

"Are you still having those dreams?" I gently asked, staring right into his green eyes. "Turin, please tell me."

He was looking right through me, as if lost in a memory. "Every night," he uttered in a weak voice. "I see it every night. The fire, I can still feel it licking my cheek and searing my flesh." He was reliving the dream in his head, I knew, for as he spoke, his face was contorted with pain, as if someone was putting a flame to his cheek. "I'm powerless against it, Ana, and I'm afraid."

"They're just dreams, Turin."

He laughed, though I couldn't understand why. "You speak as though you have seen it, Ana. You haven't seen it. You don't know what it's like to see what you will become, to see what you will do, the misery you will bring to so many people. No, you haven't seen what I have seen, and so you cannot tell me it's just a dream."

"Turin ..."

He broke away from me and resumed his stride. "Come. We don't want to keep your prince waiting, do we?"

I stayed behind for a moment, reflecting on what he had just said. Years ago, I too had been plagued with visions of a dragon. Red as a flame, it soared through the skies and turned my most precious memories to ash. At first, I thought the visions were mine alone, but then Turin said he had seen it too. I thought they were the same dreams at the time, but now I wasn't so sure. I did know one thing for certain, though: never in my life had I seen a terror so great as the terror Turin exhibited that night in Valmoria's dungeon, where he lay trembling, too afraid to even shut his eyes out of fear that he would dream.

I looked at Turin, whose form had become diminished by the distance, and then ran to catch up with him.

"This wood holds so many memories," I said as I gazed thoughtfully at the black trees, "good and bad."