Durion fell face down onto a grassy hill. With a groan, he rolled onto his back and coughed. After he took some very needed steadying breaths he looked around. As his eyes were assaulted by the setting sun, he frowned and tried to remember what place he had in mind while drawing Raidho. The only place he could think of was Eregion. That checked out when he noticed the overgrown ruins of an elven city. Actually, now that he looked around into the distance, this had to be the ruins of Ost-in-Edhil, the ancient chief city of Eregion. The City of Elven-smiths. It was here where the three elven rings were forged by Celebrimbor. And it was also here where Celebrimbor was tortured and died at the hands of Sauron.
Durion walked around, through town squares, gateways, small and big streets until he came upon ruins of a palace. He stepped inside, curiosity winning over cautiousness. Many tapestries lay on the ground by the walls, decay easily visible on them, some of the roof collapsed inwards, leaving broken stone for Durion to climb over. Some paintings still hung on the stone walls, though the picture was, excluding some basic shapes, unrecognizable. Suddenly, there was a quiet noise behind him. Durion turned around, reaching for his sword, only to realize he left almost everything he had with his horse that was left in Isengard.
"Damn it." He groaned and squinted into the ever so deepening shadows. Durion sighed in relief when he saw it was just some mice. He let his heart calm down and thought about his options. Then he got a very bad idea. "I'm gonna regret this..." He muttered to himself and drew Othala in front of himself. The glow was still off, but the rune seemed to work fine. It, again, changed into a line and began to move through the air in a snake-like movement. It headed into one of the side corridors and Durion curiously followed. It curved and took so many turns that the elf thought he was never gonna find his way out. When it finally stopped and the glow dimmed out, Durion was confused. It left him staring at a dead-end hallway. Durion frowned and looked back down the hall. The closest door was well off from the end, so why build such a long hall. Durion raised his hand again. Anzus was the rune for truth, but its other interpretation could be true vision. As the rune took effect, one of the stones in the wall gave off a dim white glow. Durion walked over to it and tried to push it in. The stone didn't budge.
"Maybe the mechanism is rusted over?" Durion mumbled to himself and pushed harder.Then he leaned his whole body weight at it. A frustrated groan left him and he tried punching it, only to regret it shortly after as his knuckles cried in pain. He cradled his hand to his chest while suppressing curses. Then he heard something in the wall move. He stumbled away from the wall and looked down at his hand in surprise. The skin on his middle finger knuckle was split open, a bit of blood seeping out of the wound. Then he looked at the stone and saw the crimson red on it as well. Durion tried to push the stone again, but it didn't move. "Blood trigger?" Durion frowned, then focused back on the rest of the wall as the noises from inside abruptly cut off. Then there was a bang, and some of the stone popped off. The very well concealed, stone door revealed itself. Durion pushed it open and examined the mechanism. It looked dwarven made. On the very bottom of the door was in an Elven script written the name Narvi. When he continued inside, he found himself in a private study. It was quite small compared to the rest of the palace and very dark. He frowned at the mess on the desks, searching for anything to light the torches that hung on the walls with. Nothing. Durion sighed and drew Kenaz on one of the torches after checking if it was dry enough. The burst of flame was white before it settled into its natural orange. His eyes sweep over the mostly crumbled papers on the desks, trying to see through the thick layer of dust what was once written on them. His hand hovered over each and every one of them and his eyes looked up at the walls every once in a while to look at some papers that still hung on them. Then he came upon a frame. Durion took a few steps back and squinted at the painting, trying to decipher the people on it through the layer of dust and faded paint.
There were three figures on it. Two of them were very tall and in between them stood a third, the top of their head barely reaching the others' shoulders. One of the tall figures and the short one had identical, long, black hair. The other tall one had blond hair, though the yellowish tint might have been due to the damage to the painting. Durion dared to blow at it, getting some of the dust off. The picture became clearer to him and his eyes widened. The only male in the picture was Celebrimbor. At least it looked like him from the few paintings of him that were in Rivendell. He wore a calm smile on his face, his icy blue eyes seemed to spark with each flicker of the torches. Next to him stood a female elf, beautiful face with black eyes framed by two small braids. She too wore a smile as her hand laid on the shoulder of the girl in front of them. The girl's smile was excited, her hair black like Celebrimbor's and her eyes just as dark as the woman's. Durion let out a breath. He didn't know Celebrimbor had a daughter. He tilts his head in curiosity as he notices a slip of paper peeking from behind the frame. He touches the frame, intending to push the painting a bit to the side to reveal what's behind it, but the nail the painting hangs off of decides in that exact moment that it's job is done.
"Shit!" Durion scrambles to catch the falling piece, but the weight of the frame surprises him and he only manages to slow down its fall. The surprisingly loud crash carries through the halls of the ruins and Durion freezes. His heart hammers in his chest as he carefully listens to any foreign sound that might be heading his way. Then he shakes his head. He was being ridiculous. Saruman couldn't have any idea where he went. He looked up at what the painting revealed and leaned over the table to look closer. It was a hidden shelf carved into the stone wall. There were only three things on it. A mithril circlet with sapphires, a rolled up letter and a chain with a sigil ring that was wrapped around the paper. Durion carefully picks up the letter and slips the chain off of it. He examines the sigil ring and sees the crest of Eregion on it. He places the ring back on the shelf and unravels the letter. The contents of it are written in elvish.
If these words reach your eyes, then what courses through your veins is drawn from mine, and the path that awaits you may, unfortunately, mirror my own tragic fate. Thuriniel is the name I once bore, though the shadows now cloak me, likely in eternal embrace. My life began in the year 460 of the Second Age, in the era before my father, Celebrimbor, ruled over the City of Elven-Smiths. Alas, our lineage succumbed to the cunning machinations of deceit. Annatar, a guise veiled in treachery, ensnared my father's trust, coaxing his hand in the forging of the Rings. But beneath the mask lay Sauron, the deceiver, whose malice shattered our sanctuary. Behold, these desolate ruins, silent witnesses to the tragedy that befell my kin and home.
I never envisioned a return to these accursed remnants, yet here I stand, my existence dwindling into shadow. My beloved perished shielding me from the relentless pursuit of dark forces. With my life tapering towards its twilight and the stirrings of new life within me, I carry a child destined to inherit a formidable strength—a beacon of hope in these darkest times. Yet what use is his strength if I am not present to shield him through his fragile early years?
In desperation, I seek the counsel of the Istari, for they alone command my dwindling trust.
To my unborn son, should these words ever find you, let them be a testament of my undying love. All that was mine, all that belonged to your grandparents, and all that your father possessed, now rests in your hands. You are born of strength, under a sky devoid of stars and moon. May you find in these words the strength to forge your destiny in a world I may never see. For you are Durion, the rightful king to the ruined Kingdom of Eregion.
Durion dropped the letter when he reached the final sentence, stumbling back and crashing into a dust covered bookshelf. His face was illuminated by the white light of Perthro, rune of secrets, fate and the unexpected. One of the shelves broke and the heavy tomes fell to the ground with a crash. Durion trembled as he stared at the letter laying there so innocently, as if it hadn't just turned his life upside down. He never tried not accepting a rune. But now, he was too shocked to lift his hand and clasp it around the glowing symbol. The rune didn't like that. It glowed brighter and shot to Durion's chest. The elf gasped in pain as the rune burned itself into his skin. He hunched over and cried out when he peeled the burnt fabric of his shirt from his skin. But he couldn't dwell for long. He heard a noise. The terrible noise of many footsteps very near. He has been found.
Alright, the backstory is now out! Soooo...What do you think? I hope you like it. If yes, don't forget to vote and leave some cool comment under this chapter. Thank youu<3
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In the Ruins//Legolas
FanfictionDurion's heritage is painted in mystery. Being the last elf born in the Second Age, with his mother dead and his caregivers nowhere to be found, he battles with what his future holds in store for him. What reason would a mother have for naming her c...
