Disclaimer:  All the canon locations and characters are the property of the Tolkien Estate.  I make no profit from them.

This is for Laura c is for cookie!  Happy Birthday to Brethil’s Biggest Fan!  :D  I hope you enjoy this one!

This story is set when Legolas and his friends are about 6-8 human years of age, before Brethil’s ada was killed.

Thank you to Dragon_of_the_north for the ‘beastly’ suggestion.  ;)  No oliphants were harmed in the writing of this chapter.  ;D

                                             The Day of the Dragon

                                                              By

                                                       TreeHugger

            It all happened one fine day in Mirkwood the woodland realm of King Thranduil Oropherion.  The sun was shining in a blue sky and the leaves that formed the forest canopy gleamed summer-green; birds sang happily from the branches as squirrels leapt and cavorted about the silvery trunks of the beeches and the mottled bark of the oaks.  To make the setting even more bucolic and idyllic the delightful laughter of happy children rang through the woods, accompanied by the sound of splashing and shouting.  The pools of clear cool water near the elf king’s Hall were very popular when the summer turned warm, a favorite spot for adults and younglings alike.

            On this most perfect morning young Legolas was in his favorite pool with a group of his age mates eagerly engaged in swimming contests of various sorts:  seeing who could hold their breath under water the longest, who could stand on their hands the longest before splashing down into the cool water, who could swim the fastest.  Tavor was eagerly engaged in a ducking match with Mithereg, both young elves desperately trying to get a good hold on their slippery opponent, bright eyes sparkling with mischief from beneath the long sodden locks of hair that fell about their faces.

Talagan had climbed from the pool and sat upon his towel, the sun drying his skin and soaked chestnut hair as he played a merry tune on his harp though he knew that the song might not be heard above the sound of his comrades exclamations of delight and challenge.

A group of four or five elflings had lined up at one bank, begging Talagan to watch and declare who the victor of this race was when they had completed their swim from one bank to the other and back.  As Talagan stood near the bank’s edge to begin the race, agreeing good-naturedly to referee the contest, Brethil suddenly ran into the clearing, his pale grey eyes wide with distress.

            “Legolas!  Tavor!  You have to come with me!  Now!” he called out as he skidded to a halt just a few feet from the edge of the pool, knowing that if he got too close he would be an excellent target for anyone who wished to splash him.

            Tavor sighed in exasperation, his eyes meeting Legolas.  The young prince looked nearly as annoyed as he did.

“After I win this race,” Tavor said with a cocky grin at Mithereg who was his greatest competition.

“Just a minute, Brethil,” Legolas commented, punching Tavor lightly on the arm.  “Just let us finish this one last race, which *I* will win!”

“But, Legolas . . . !”

            “But nothing, Brethil,” Tavor interrupted before their younger friend could draw a breath to begin what Tavor thought would surely be an entirely too long speech.  “Now go play over there until we are done, lend laes (sweet baby).”

            Brethil sighed and moved to lean against a tree, his fingers knotted about his long pale braid.  Tavor insisted on calling him “lend laes” because Brethil was a couple years younger than he and Legolas and was, therefore, the baby of the group.  Brethil resented being termed thus, but he never complained. They were his friends after all, and had been since Brethil had been a mere toddling three year old with the penchant for sucking on his forefinger and they had their first adventure together.  His eyes moved between the elflings in the pool and the direction that he had come from.  He yanked on his braid, turning his worried eyes back to his friends.

            Talagan shouted, “Go!” and they were off with a great deal of splashing and shouts of encouragement from those who had climbed out of the pool to watch instead of participating.  Tavor and Mithereg were in the lead almost immediately though Legolas was trailing right behind them.  For a while the two frontrunners were neck and neck, and when Mithereg pulled slightly ahead Tavor spurred himself to greater effort.  The competition between the two of them was fierce, it always had been, but when the two of them broke their concentration and began to worry about one another, Legolas edged ahead and kicked from the far bank with all his might, speeding back across the pool.  The cheering increased, for Mithereg or Tavor would usually be declared the winner, and nearly everyone thought it would be nice if someone else came out the victor for a change.  Seeing that Legolas was in the lead, Mithereg and Tavor both began to kick furiously to catch up, but still the prince’s fingers brushed the grass on the bank before theirs and Talagan loudly proclaimed Legolas the winner, reaching down to grasp the prince’s hand in congratulations.

            Mithereg was quick to offer his congratulations as well, as Tavor sighed in resignation then grinned at Legolas.

            “That was really good, Legolas,” he admitted grudgingly.  “How about the best two out of three?” he then asked, dark grey eyes sparkling.

            Legolas was ready to agree to two more contests feeling that he might actually stand a chance to win again, but Brethil pushed away from the tree and moved to gaze down at them imploringly.

            “You have to come with me,” he said, his eyes filled with such anxiety that Tavor and Legolas exchanged worried, wondering glances.  They clambered out of the pool, slipping on the wet grass as they grabbed their towels and hastily drying before pulling on their leggings and short summer tunics.  Brethil bounced up and down on the balls of his feet, yanking on his braid in impatience.  “Hurry!  Hurry!”

            The three elflings ran down the path through the towering trees, Legolas and Tavor on Brethil’s heels.

            “What is it, Brethil?” Legolas asked as he stopped to tug at his shoe, which didn’t seem to want to slip correctly onto his still damp foot.  “What’s wrong?”

            Brethil and Tavor halted as Legolas made his adjustment to his footwear, Brethil biting at his lower lip.

            “You won’t believe me,” he began hesitantly, with a quick glance at Tavor who snorted slightly.

            “Oh no!  What have you seen this time?” Tavor asked with a snort, staring down at the smaller elfling.  “Another Giant Mouse?”

            Legolas bit back the bubble of laughter that rose in his throat.  Brethil had been quite certain that he had seen a giant mouse by the banks of the Forest River near where the three of them had been playing one day.  He had run immediately to fetch his ada so they could catch it before one of the hunters shot it and ate it for dinner.  Though Bronadui had enlisted the aid of several friends, after assuring his son that no one was going to want to eat a giant mouse for dinner, they had been unable to find the elusive Giant Mouse or any sign of it.  Brethil had been very disappointed and very worried until Thranduil, who had joined the rather merry hunt, had made a decree then and there that anyone who harmed the Giant Mouse in any way would suffer the pain of a severe and swift punishment, including a stay in the dungeons.  No one ever reported seeing the Giant Mouse and Bronadui had told Brethil that he was quite certain that it was safe somewhere with its family.  Brethil was always seeing things that no one else ever did.

            “No,” Brethil answered Tavor, his cheeks reddening slightly, “it wasn’t the Mouse.  It was. . . ,” his eyes grew huge and he yanked on his braid a couple of times, “something much bigger!”

            Legolas looked skeptically at Tavor who shrugged, folding his arms over his chest.

            “And just what was this ‘bigger’ thing?” Tavor queried.

            Brethil glanced down the pathway they were following that lead toward the southern set of mountains before the king’s Hall, then he glanced about to see if anyone was watching them.  He leaned conspiratorially toward his friends and whispered, “A dragon.”

            Legolas stared at him and then at Tavor, his dark brows knit.

            “A dragon?” the prince breathed, frowning.

            Tavor looked incredulous and he tilted his dark gold head to one side, observing the youngest looking member of the trio.  “A dragon, Brethil?  Where did see a dragon here in Mirkwood?”

            Legolas, on the other hand, asked eagerly, “What did it look like?”

            It was a well-known fact that Legolas was quite taken with the idea of dragons and had listened most eagerly to all the tales told about the Great Wyrms that had occasionally wreaked havoc across Arda.  One would surely make a marvelous pet!

            Brethil, having found a willing audience, clasped Legolas’ hand in his, staring up at the prince.

            “Oh, Legolas!” he began.  “It was huge!  It filled the whole cave with its smoke!”

            “What cave?” Tavor asked, finding himself more interested than he wanted to admit, though a slight tingle of fear shivered through him.

            “The one the king told us not to play in as it was too dangerous; the large one just south of the palace.  But we went there anyway and we are lucky we didn’t get eaten!”

            Legolas and Tavor gazed at one another and then turned as one to Brethil, the same thought drifting through their heads.

            “You didn’t tell the king about this, did you?” they demanded in unison, hands placed on their hips.

            Brethil blinked and frowned up at them.

            “Tell him what?  About the dragon?  No, I haven’t, but we really should!  Or did you mean about playing in the cave when we were told not to.  No, I haven’t done that either.  You said I would be in Very Big Trouble if I told the king and he would lock me in his dungeons forever.  I don’t think I would like that.”

            Legolas and Tavor heaved huge sighs of relief at this and each grabbed one of Brethil’s arms.

            “Show us the dragon, Brethil,” Legolas said as they walked arm in arm down the path that lead toward the Forbidden Cave.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

            The three elflings peered out from behind a large oak tree, eyes wide.

            “Do you see it?”  Brethil whispered.

            “No,” Tavor answered his eyes sweeping over the area of the cave, coming to rest on the dark opening, shaded by the tangle of brush that grew on either side of the entrance and clung to the rock above.  “I don’t see anything.  When did you see it?”

            “Earlier today.  There was smoke coming out of the hole and I went to see what was making it.  I saw two huge eyes glowing in the dark, down near the back of the cave.  It is a dragon!  I know it!”

            “Well, I don’t see anything now,” Tavor commented dryly, sure that this was another wild goose chase.  “Maybe it was just your Giant Mouse cooking breakfast.”  He turned to grin at Legolas who looked decidedly disappointed that no huge, scaled monster had emerged from the Forbidden Cave.

            “I did see it!” Brethil insisted.  “It had great glowing eyes and there was smoke!”

            Legolas’ gaze moved back to the cave and he bit his lower lip.  A surge of unhappiness washed over him.  He had hoped there would be a dragon; not a wicked dragon perhaps that would devour everyone and destroy the palace and the elves’ homes or steal his father’s treasure, but a nice dragon.  One with wings perhaps that he could ride on.

            “Oh, come on,” Tavor sighed and pushed away from the tree, starting back down the path.  “Let’s go.  You owe me some races, O Great Prince.  There is no dragon.”

            Legolas had to agree, trying not to see the hurt look on Brethil’s small face as he continued to stare at the cave.  Suddenly the younger elfling gasped.

            “Look!” he said, pointing toward the entrance once more.  “Look!”

            Legolas turned back and could not stop his own gasp of excitement and disbelief.  A curl of smoke drifted from the black opening and drifted away on the morning breeze.  He moved swiftly to kneel by Brethil once more.

            Tavor turned when he realized they were not following him.  His eyes widened in astonishment and he hurried to join them, fearing to linger out in the open all alone.

            “That’s not a dragon!” he choked out.  “That’s not a dragon!”

            “Yes, it is!  Yes, it is!”  Brethil face flushed happily.  “I told you!  A dragon!”

            Legolas watched in amazement and growing excitement as more smoke issued from the cave’s mouth.  A dragon!  A real dragon!  He smiled and drew a breath to speak when suddenly a deep, sonorous voice echoed from the black depths, “Why don’t you elflings come just a little closer?  I am feeling rather peckish this morning; it has been an Age since I’ve eaten any Elves.  I also understand that your king has some very nice jewels that I might like to make my own.”

            Tavor jumped and yelped, and Brethil stood yanking his braid, grey eyes huge.  Legolas suddenly did recall that there were no “good” dragons, and he rose hastily to his feet.

            A deep, rich chuckle filled the morning air.

            “Just a little closer, elflings.  I promise that it will all be over quickly.”

            Legolas shuddered with fear.

            “We have to tell my ada!  Now!  He will know what to do!”

            Tavor and Brethil nodded in agreement and the three elflings edged down the path, then turned suddenly and ran as fast as they could toward the palace, faces white with fear.

            Behind them the dragon chuckled again and more smoke and a few brightly colored sparks filled the air.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

            King Thranduil was standing before his Hall, surveying the joyful preparations for the Midsummer Celebration that would take place that night beneath Elbereth’s stars.  He placed one arm about his wife’s shoulders, feeling her lean against him, her soft hair tickling his cheek.

            “It looks beautiful,” she murmured contentedly as they watched garlands of greenery and flowers being hung over the doorways and twining up the columns.

            Thranduil smiled, plucking a single rose from one nearby garland.  He gently placed it in her hair.

            “You are beautiful,” he murmured, his lips brushing the tip of her ear.

            She smiled up at him, turning so her arms twined about his slim waist.  Thranduil stared down into her luminous eyes and bent to kiss her, not caring who saw them.  He was very happy and content with the life they had made for themselves here in northern Mirkwood, and if he kissed his lovely wife in full view of his subjects no one would care.

            “You have a room, you know,” someone said from directly behind them.

            Brenillass started slightly and then turned to see Tanglinna surveying them, his arms folded over his chest.  She laughed as Thranduil cocked his head to one side, eyebrow raised.

            “You always show up at the most inconvenient times,” the king muttered, though his eyes danced with laughter.

            “Just doing my job.  I promised your adar I would watch over you, and so I am.  If you didn’t wan t me here you should not have given nearly everyone the day off for the preparations.”  Tanglinna smiled as he took one of Brenillass slim hands and raised it to his lips.  “You do look beautiful,” he said with a grin, “as always.”

            “Unhand my wife, you villain,” Thranduil growled, and carefully extricated his beloved’s fingers from Tanglinna’s and then swatted at the archer’s hand.  “You may think you are a charmer, but you will never win her away from me.”

            Brenillass raised her brows and looked speculatively between the two.

            “I don’t know,” she said, tilting her head to one side.  “I have always fancied silver hair.”

            Before anyone could answer to this the three terrified elflings ran across the bridge, panting for air as they skidded to a halt before plowing into Arasceleg who was carrying a basket filled with summer berries.

            “Be careful, younglings,” the older elf chuckled, “unless you want to spend the afternoon picking these up from the grass or scouring the berry bushes for more.”

            They hastily apologized then Legolas moved quickly to his ada.

            “Ada!  There is a dragon! You have to come and kill it!  It wants to eat us!”

            Tavor remained where he was, but nodded vigorous agreement with Legolas’ statements, and Brethil stood perfectly still, eyes wide, as he stared up at the tall, regal elf king.

            Thranduil gazed down at his son, cocking one golden brow.

            “What are you talking about, Little Greenleaf?”

            “There is a dragon in the Forbidden Cave!  We saw it!”

            Tavor continued to nod and Brethil to stare.

            “A dragon?”  Tanglinna asked with a smile playing about his lips.

            “Yes, Master Tanglinna!  A big dragon with eyes of fire!”  Brethil managed, easing across the space to stand staring up at the tall archer.

            “A dragon?” Thranduil repeated as Brenillass gently brushed a stray lock of her son’s damp hair out of his eyes.  “Do you really think that we would believe you if you told us there was a dragon in the . . . the what?  The Forbidden Cave?  Truly, Legolas, if this is one of your tricks . . . !”

            “But, ada!  It’s true!  It said that it wanted to eat us!”

            “It did!” Brethil piped in.  “It said it hadn’t eaten any elves in Ages.”

            Thranduil continued to look skeptical and was about to question his son further when Tanglinna frowned.

            “You do remember what Mithrandir said, don’t you?” he murmured, bending close to the king, his voice so low that the elflings almost couldn’t hear him.

            Thranduil’s brows knit as he considered this.

            “Hm, I had forgotten it until now as I thought it was too fantastic a tale to countenance.”

            “Surely you are not saying that . . . ?” Brenillass voice trailed off, her hands moving onto her son’s shoulders protectively.

            “What did Mithrandir say, naneth?” the little prince asked, more fear biting through him.  Had Mithrandir known about the dragon and warned his father about it?

            “Perhaps you had better go and alert Galion,” Thranduil told the Master Archer.  “We may need his expertise after all.”

            Tanglinna nodded, gazing uneasily at the younglings before turning and leaving the Hall in search of the butler.

            Legolas looked up at his adar in confusion and mounting anxiety. 

            “What can Galion do?” he asked, thinking just how huge this dragon must be and how small any elf would look.

            “Haven’t I told you about Galion the Gallant?” Thranduil asked, looking at all three of the young elflings.  When they shook their heads he cleared his throat, and began in his very best story-telling voice, “Galion is not merely a butler.  He is also a famous slayer of monstrous beasts.”  The king was rewarded for this amazing statement by three pairs of eyes widening in disbelief and wonder.  “Oh, yes.  You should hear some of the stories he has told us.”  Thranduil continued with a smirk at Brenillass who shook her head and smiled.

            “Has he killed a dragon before?” Tavor dared to ask.

            “Well, I don’t know about dragons, but he has slain a giant warg single-handedly once when he was lost in the snowstorm with Tanglinna.  Tanglinna was wounded and no help at all so Galion saved them by slaying the warg that attacked.”

            “He must be very brave,” Brethil breathed, eyes wide.  Legolas looked less certain, for he couldn’t see the kindly butler facing any horrifying monsters single-handedly.

            “Oh, he is,” Thranduil assured them, “and he can save us from this dragon.”  The king turned to wink at his wife, which only confused Legolas.

            Brenillass mouthed, “You are incorrigible” at her husband who merely tipped his head in acknowledgement.

            A short time later Tanglinna reappeared followed by Galion who did look magnificent in his silver breastplate and green leather helmet decorated with the golden beech and silver oak leaves of Mirkwood; a long, heavy spear with a wicked silver head that Oropher had jokingly named his ‘Dragon-Gutter’ clasped in one hand. The butler’s long black hair had been braided back from his fine-featured face in what Thranduil had come to term ‘Tanglinna’s Battle Braid’.  Only Galion’s eyes didn’t fit with the fierce warrior image.  They were filled with confusion and anxiety.  The king glanced over at the archer, his brows raised in question.  Tanglinna smiled and shrugged.

            “Ah!  Galion the Gallant!”  Thranduil exclaimed suddenly, stepping forward to clasp the butler’s forearms.  “You look magnificent!  A true warrior of our realm!  We have need of your services, O Renowned Wicked Beast-slayer!”

            “Your. . . Your Majesty, I  . . . !”  Galion glanced back at Tanglinna whose face was unreadable.  “I. . . .”

            “I know,” Thranduil said, taking the butler’s arm.  “Come, younglings.  We will get to see Galion the Gallant in action!”

            “But ada,” Legolas began, trotting to his father’s side, “the dragon . . . .”

            “Never fear,” the king said, “for Galion will save us all.”

            “But Your Majesty!”

            Thranduil smiled down at Galion before continuing down that pathway.

            “I have every confidence in you, Galion,” he said in what was a reassuring tone that did everything but reassure the ‘Wicked Beast-slayer’.

            Galion bit his lower lip, wondering how he had gotten himself into this mess.  It was with great dismay that he saw two elves marching from the palace bearing long silver trumpets bearing the green and silver banner of the king.  They bowed to Thranduil and Brenillass before raising the trumpets to their lips and blowing several crystal notes into the morning air.

            “What are they doing?!”  Galion gasped.

            “Announcing the arrival of our champion,” Thranduil explained as they continued merrily down the pathway and across the bridge.

            Galion watched with apprehension as several elves left the preparations to join in the procession, falling in behind the king and himself and the trumpeters.  Some of them wore flowers in their hair, already decked out for the celebration.  Bronadui and Heledir were among them, and the brown-haired Silvan moved to scoop up Brethil.

            “What is happening, tithen min (little one)?” he asked, planting a kiss on his son’s brow.

            “The dragon, ada.  Galion is going to slay it, though that seems mean and he should just chase it away,” Brethil said with a glance at Tavor and Legolas.

            Bronadui smiled. 

            “I see,” he said.  “This should be interesting.”

            Soon the growing group of elves neared the ‘Forbidden Cave’ and Galion leaned forward trying to catch a glimpse of the ‘dragon’, for surely this was some sort of prank on the king’s part.  Wasn’t it?  He swallowed uneasily and started as the king spoke suddenly.

            “Is this where the dragon is, Little Greenleaf?”  Thranduil asked, his own gaze upon the cave’s mouth.

            “Yes, but ada. . . .”  Legolas hand tightened about his naneth’s in uncertainty.

            “Well, well,” a voice growled.  “It is the mighty elf king himself!  Are you wearing any pretty jewels that can be the beginning of my Mirkwood hoard?”

            “The dragon!” Tavor yelped, leaping behind his father then peering out around Heledir’s arm, who reached down and patted his son’s head encouragingly.  He grinned over at Bronadui, who smiled.

            “Are you the dragon that has invaded my land?”  Thranduil asked, stepping bravely forward and scowling fiercely.

            Galion hesitated, but was beckoned forward by the king.  He wished that he were back in the palace doing his mundane job.  Why did he ever mention that he found life a bit dull at times?  Dull was good.  Dull was safe!  He wished it were dull right now!

            “You are clanking, Galion,” Tanglinna commented wryly, “but I guess that way the dragon will know that you are Mirkwood’s champion.”

            “Come out, O Vile Dragon,” Thranduil challenged, “ and face our champion Galion the Gallant in honorable combat!”

            A puff of red smoke emitted from the cave’s mouth followed by a deep chuckle.

            “Send him in to me,” the dragon rumbled, “I haven’t had breakfast yet.  Just have him remove that clanking armor; it will give me indigestion.”

        Galion blinked several times and gazed at the king, who looked as though he were considering this request.

            “Sire, I can’t . . . !”

            “You are quite right, Galion,” Thranduil agreed with a nod, and waves of relief swept over the butler.  This was just a prank after all!  He was about to congratulate the king on his cleverness when Thranduil said, “You needn’t remove your armor.  You will need it, no doubt.”

            While Galion stood shaking in his armor, making even more noise than before he wondered what could possibly have done to get into this most unwanted situation. 

            Thranduil called out to the dragon, “If you are too cowardly to meet our champion here then he will gladly come to face you in your lair!”

            “Send him in, by all means,” the dragon answered in a polite tone.

            “Your Majesty!  I. . . I can’t do this!  It is a dragon!  I have never fought a dragon before!”

            “But you did slay a giant warg once, saving yourself and Tanglinna,” Thranduil told him, gripping his shoulder and gazing steadfastly into the grey eyes. 

            “Send Tanglinna in!  He can shoot it!”

            “I don’t have my bow,” the archer replied calmly.

            “Why don’t you have your bow!?”  Galion demanded, turning to glare at the silver-haired Silvan.  “You are an archer! You’re supposed to have a bow!” 

            “I have the day off,” Tanglinna answered with a shrug.

            “You have to do it, Galion. There is no one else that can,” Thranduil explained.  “Now go and slay that dragon for the good of Mirkwood!”

            The trumpets blew and the elves cheered.  Galion gazed helplessly about him, but drew the sword from its scabbard and straightened his shoulders.  He could do this.  He had indeed slain a giant warg single handedly and he could handle a dragon.  He didn’t see the pleased smiles of the others as he moved toward the cave, his face set in brave lines.

            Thranduil glanced back at Tanglinna, Bronadui, Heledir, and his wife.  They were all smiling as well to see Galion moving determinedly toward his foe.  Legolas moved to his father’s side and gripped his hand.

            “Ada!  What if it eats him!?  Ada, please!”

            “Don’t worry, Little Greenleaf.  Galion will be fine.”

            The butler moved to the cave’s mouth which filled with more smoke at his approach.  He blinked and, hefting his sword before him, entered the darkness, his face grim and very brave.

            Silence fell over the assembled elves as they waited with bated breath for the dreadful ‘fighting’ to begin.  When there were no sounds of combat or bursts of flame Legolas looked up at his ada, and thought he saw a slight smile curve on his lips.  The prince frowned and gazed about him.  No one seemed overly concerned except for he, Brethil, and Tavor.  What was going on?

            Suddenly Brethil buried his face against Bronadui’s shoulder, making odd hiccupping noises.

            Legolas and Tavor exchanged glances, knowing how hard this must be on their tenderhearted friend:  either Galion or the dragon would be slain, neither of which would make Brethil very happy.

            “Ada, please do something!” he pleaded, tugging on Thranduil’s embroidered cuff.

            The king gazed back at Bronadui and Brethil, the same odd smile touching his lips.

            “Well, Bronaduion,” he began, squeezing Legolas’ shoulder, “have you enjoyed your part in the fun?”

            Legolas’ eyes widened, and he stared in confusion from his adar to his friend.  Brethil raised his head and, to Legolas amazement, he was not crying at all.  His eyes were bright with delight and mirth.

            “Yes, I did, Your Majesty,” he said with a giggle, sliding to the ground and moving to stand before Legolas and Tavor, who had crept out from behind Heledir.  “I am sorry that I played a prank on you without telling you, but it was so much fun!  Happy Midsummer!”

            “Prank?!”  Legolas and Tavor yelped in unison.

            “This was a prank?”  the prince continued in an incredulous voice.  “You played a prank . . .  on us!?  But. . . but. . . !”

            Brethil grinned, looking very pleased with himself, and nodded.

            “But what about the dragon?”  Leoglas demanded, glancing back at the cave.  “And Galion!”

            Thranduil chuckled and gently tugged a stray lock of his son’s hair.

            “I believe that Galion has found the ‘dragon’,” he commented dryly, nodding toward the cave.

            Legolas spun back to the cave, his mouth hanging open in astonishment as Galion emerged, a sheepish grin on his flushed face.  Following him, grinning widely, was a tall figure in long robes.

            “Mithrandir!” Legolas gasped, staring at the wizard in amazement.

            “Greetings,” Gandalf chuckled in the dragon’s voice and then bowed as the elves applauded his performance.  Then he clapped Galion good-naturedly on the back, and the butler chuckled and moved toward the king.

            “Did you enjoy your adventure, Galion?”  Thranduil asked, raising his eyebrows.  “Not too . . . ‘dull’ for you?”

            Galion tried to gaze at him indignantly, but failed and laughed instead.

            “It was marvelous, Your Majesty,” he admitted, “but why did you give me this, ahem, ‘adventure’?  You nearly made my heart stop with fear!”

            Thranduil grinned roguishly and threw his arm about the butler’s shoulders.

            “I felt you deserved one after all these years of faithful and, yes, ‘dull’ service to your king.”

            “It is never quite *that* dull, I assure you,” Galion chuckled and shook his head.  “Thank you anyway.  It was most . . . exciting.”  His grey eyes swept over the assembled elves who were all smiling at him.  “You were all in on this?” he asked incredulously, feeling very pleased and very humbled to see he had so many friends.

            “Almost everyone,” Thranduil answered, gazing at Legolas who couldn’t decide if he liked this or not.  Then the prince felt his mother’s arms about him and he smiled.  It had been a good prank.

            Suddenly they heard squeals of delight punctuated by calls of distress.  Laerlend flew into view, her blonde curls bouncing, eyes snapping.

            “Dragon, ada!  Dragon!”

            She flung herself into Thranduil’s waiting arms and then turned to look back the way she had come.  Celebross and Aralith, who were giving merry chase, skidded to a halt, looking very chagrined for having been eluded by a three-year-old.

            “I am sorry, Adar, Naneth,” Celebross began, straightening and trying to look princely.  “She is as slippery as a little silver fish!  She didn’t . . .ruin the . . .surprise, did she?”

            “No, Celebross.  The ‘dragon’ has been slain.”

            Laerlend wriggled down from her ada’s arms and flung herself at the ‘dragon’.

            “’Randir dragon,” she chirped, tugging at his long white beard that she found very fascinating.

            “Laerlend knew!?”  Legolas gasped, feeling not so happy any more.  “Ada!  Naneth!  Why did you tell her and not me!?”

            “She overheard us speaking of it one night when we thought she was sleeping, Little Greenleaf.  The next time we plan an adventure for someone who is feeling a bit bored with their job, you will be the first to know,” Brenillass assured him.

            Legolas scowled, looking somewhat more appeased.

            Tavor lifted his chin haughtily.

            “I wasn’t scared,” he announced to no one in particular.  When he heard the laughter that erupted at this statement, he grinned sheepishly and joined Legolas and Brethil who had moved toward Mithrandir.

            “You weren’t scared, eh?”  the wizard asked, eyes twinkling.  “I shall have to work harder on my dragon imitation then.”

            “It was a good trick,” Legolas admitted, and Tavor nodded in agreement.

            “Do you still want a pet dragon, Little Greenleaf?”  Thranduil asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

            Legolas’ cheeks reddened and he shook his head.

            “No, ada.  I don’t.”

            “Good.  Then this prank has worked quite well all around.”

            “Will there be fireworks?”  Tavor asked suddenly, remembering the dragon’s colored smoke and a comment that Legolas had once made that if they had a pet dragon it could make fires and smoke whenever they wanted.

            “I am sure the king won’t mind if I set a few off,” Mithrandir said with a grin and a glance at Thranduil, who nodded his assent.

            Legolas crowed happily.  “Can we go and tell the others?”

            “Yes, yes.  I know how busy you young ones are,” the wizard said with a warm chuckle, hefting Laerlend to a more comfortable position.

            The three elflings scampered off, chattering excitedly.  Suddenly Brethil halted and ran back to the wizard.

            “Thank you, Mithrandir.  You did make a good dragon!”

            Mithrandir blushed, eyes bright.

            “It was my pleasure, Brethil.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

            Later that night the elves of Mirkwood gathered for the Midsummer Celebration. The skies above the palace were filled with Mithrandir’s fabulous fireworks which drew quiet murmurs of delight from the audience; there was much excellent food, wine flowed like water, and many songs and tales filled the air, several about Galion the Gallant and the Giant Warg and even a few about Galion the Gallant and the Dragon of the Forbidden Cave.

            Galion sat at the king’s table with Thranduil and his family, and was the recipient of many joyous toasts.  The butler had never felt quite so happy, not since he and Tanglinna had returned bearing the fur of the giant warg he had killed by himself to everyone’s astonishment.

            When at last the celebration came to an end near dawn many were the comments about this most marvelous Midsummer, and King Thranduil himself escorted his butler home.

            “I hope you enjoyed your day,” the ruler of Mirkwood said with a smile.

            “Very much, Your Majesty,” Galion answered with his own smile.

            “Here is something to remember your day.”  Thranduil handed him a small box of polished oak, which Galion opened in amazement.

            Inside, resting on a black velvet cloth, was an exquisite pale gem engraved with a coiled dragon.  A small role of paper was tucked in the lid.  Galion removed it with trembling fingers and read the elegantly flowing script in the king’s own hand,  “Galion the Gallant is hereby named ‘Mirkwood’s Master Beast-slayer’ by order of King Thranduil Oropherion.”

            Stunned and pleased beyond measure, Galion thanked the king and Thranduil clapped him heartily on the back.  Then he left the butler to go and find his wife who was tucking the children in for the night.

            Galion was even more surprised when he entered his small house to see a bottle of the coveted Dorwinion sitting on his table.  It had truly been an incredible day, and one he would never forget.

            Thranduil found Brenillass in Legolas’ room.  He moved to perch on the edge of the bed and smiled down at his youngest son. 

            “It was a good Midsummer Celebration, ada.”

            “Yes, Little Greenleaf, it was.”

            Brenillass leaned against her husband’s shoulders, smiling at their son.

            “Did you enjoy Brethil’s prank?” she asked him.

            Legolas laughed and squirmed slightly beneath the covers.

            “Yes, it was very clever. . .but I think it was ada’s prank.”

            “No,” Thranduil said, “it was Brethil’s idea about the dragon when he learned that Mithrandir was coming.  I merely decided to capitalize on it.  Of course Mithrandir was only too happy to help out.”

            Legolas smiled sleepily.

            “It was a good prank.”

            “Yes, it was,” Brenillass agreed, “but now it is time for elflings to go to sleep.”

            “Exactly,” Thranduil agreed.  “No one gets the day off tomorrow!”

            Legolas giggled and curled on one side.

            “Good night,” he whispered, trying to keep his sleepiness at bay and not succeeding.  “Next time *I* get to do the prank.”

            “I don’t doubt that at all,” Thranduil said, grasping his temples in mock annoyance, then grinned down at his son.  “The next time someone has a ‘dull’ day you may assuredly plan a prank for them.  Just remember. . . No Pet Dragons!”

            Legolas laughed in delight at this.  No, he no longer wanted a dragon for a pet, but a spider might be good, but now didn’t seem the right time to mention it.  “I think maybe Brethil and I should plan on a prank for Tavor.  He wasn’t scared of this one,” he said slyly with a smirk.

            “You may do that, but not tonight,” his mother said, moving to kiss his brow.  “Now go to sleep.”

            “Brethil was very clever,” Legolas continued, eyes sparkling.  He knew all the tricks to staying awake.

            “Yes, but not as clever as you.  Goodnight, Little Greenleaf,” Thranduil kissed him and then tucked the covers about him.  He and Brenillass stood in the door gazing at their son for a moment, and then quietly moved out of the room.

            It had been a good day and very exciting.  Legolas felt himself slipping into elven dreams.  He would think of a prank to play . . . tomorrow.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

            In a small tree house not far from the palace Brethil Bronaduion stood at his window watching Mithrandir sitting in a clearing touched by dawn’s early light, a small flute lifted to his lips.  Dancing to his music was the Giant Mouse.  Brethil waved as Mithrandir bowed to him and winked, continuing to play until all the stars had disappeared from the sky.   Then he and the mouse disappeared from sight.

THE END