Deep within the earth’s crust where magma lakes heat the stones, a creature lies languishing in the sleep of ages.  Steaming vents hiss as warm spouts of heated water spray the air with a humid mist and cover all with saturated clouds of vapor.  Heat, scorching heat permeates the atmosphere and fires plume and disappear within the rock crevices.  The rock sweats a river of fog that pools in quiet nooks and alcoves and the beast rolls and stretches with lazy groans, reluctant to awaken.  But it is time.  The young ones gestating in its belly twitch, now eager to leave their ever shrinking environment.

          Undulating muscles rippled along the lizard-like body and dried and wrinkled scales slid off its back and rained down upon the ground as it shed its ancient hide.  New, glistening ebony skin shown through the low hanging vapors and thick sharp talons clicked against the stones as the primordial behemoth slithered farther along the rocks, its yellow underbelly glowing orange with the heat it absorbed.  A huge yellow eye languidly opened; its vertical pupil a black slit against the fire-golden hue of the surrounding iris and a long, red tongue flicked out tasting the muggy air.

          Naurnyar yawned, opening wide her jaws and exposing row upon row of sharp, spiking teeth and then she roughly shook her massive head.  Red-orange flames snorted out of her puffing nostrils as her lungs expelled the noxious fumes of long hibernation.  Thin tendrils of black smoke filtered out through her snout and then slowly dissipated about her reptilian face.  A slow rumbling growl emanated from her throat and vibrated throughout the cavern of her den as she extended her claws and flexed her stiffened joints.

          The dragon awoke.

/////////////////////////////

          Strider hastily galloped into the Ranger encampment and swung down from the saddle before his horse came to a complete stop.  He tossed the reins to an awaiting youth and jogged toward the group of rough looking men seated cross legged beside the central fire pit.  He was bone weary and in much need of sleep, but the messenger who found him just north of the Shire had told him he was urgently needed in the North and he had traveled hard both day and night to get here.  With a silent nod, he joined the circle of his fellow Edain.

          “Ah, Strider,” said Lomyr.  “Join us.”  The dark-haired soldier indicated a spot near the warming fire, his weather-beaten face cracking into a smile of pleasure at seeing Arathorn’s son.  When the younger ranger crouched down beside him, he continued.  “We were just discussing the disturbing news out of the Ettenmoors.  It seems that an alarming number of young men have gone missing from the towns and villages along the northern mountains near Gundabad.”

          “Gundabad?  The ancient orc stronghold?” questioned Strider.

          The group of seated northmen nodded.  “The Dwarf Lords overran that citadel ousting the orc forces centuries ago.  Gundabad is supposed to be abandoned.”  Strider accepted a mug of warm tea from one of the rangers and sipped at it gratefully, warming his numb fingers against the sides of the cup.

          “Apparently someone’s taken up residence within the mountain again.  We’ve had credible reports of black smoke and fire seen rising from the peaks.”  Lomyr looked pointedly at Strider.  “We haven’t been able to send anyone to investigate close to hand.”  The older man continued to stare at the young ranger.  “We hoped you’d be willing to go.”

          “And what has smoke in Gundabad have to do with the missing men from the villages?” asked Strider, eyeing each man in turn.

          Caraedry, a youngster just shy of eighteen, shook his head.  “We don’t know for certain if there’s a connection or not, but we suspect renewed orc activity in the mountains.”

          “Right now my men are stretched thin and with the problems in the Wild, we have no one to spare to make the journey north,” added Lomyr.  “Are you willing to take this on, Strider?”

          Exhausted as he was, Aragorn knew that someone had to go and it may as well be him.  He slowly nodded his assent.  “I’ll leave at dawn.”  He rubbed at his gritty eyes and sipped another bit of tea.  “But I need some rest first or I won’t be able to stay atop my horse.”

          The men seated about the fire nodded their heads and looked greatly relieved, some murmuring their thanks.  “Certainly, certainly,” said Lomyr.  “Come, we’ve food at the hall.  Eat and rest first.  We’ll see to getting you all the provisions you’ll need for your journey.”

          Lomyr and Strider arose from the fire and headed toward one of the wooden outbuildings.  Those remaining near the fire watched after the pair and then began to talk quietly among themselves as the two rangers disappeared from view.  Upon entering the rustic structure, Lomyr indicated a table and Strider thankfully dropped into a chair, stretching out his long legs while his host went to the kitchens for a plate of food and mugs of ale.  He returned a short time later with the food and drink and set the platter down in front of Aragorn.

          “Eat up, Aragorn.  You look a mite skinny to me.  Isn’t Lord Elrond feeding you properly down there in Rivendell?”

          Strider chuckled.  “He feeds me just fine; however, I haven’t seen my family in months.”  He picked up a piece of warm bread and breathed in the delicious aroma.  “Actually,” he mused, half to himself.  “It’s been over a year now.”

          Lomyr nodded his understanding.  “I’m sorry to have to send you farther away, Aragorn, but this situation is dire.  It’s more than just a few missing men.”  The craggy ranger hefted his mug of ale and took a long swallow before continuing.  “I didn’t want to alarm the others just yet, but the latest reports I’ve had are that entire settlements have been stripped clean of their inhabitants.”

          Aragorn stopped in mid bite and looked up at his father’s old friend.  There were a lot more worry lines in the man’s forehead now and the black hair at his temples was much greyer than Strider remembered.  “What do you mean ‘entire settlements’?  All were slain?”

          “Not slain,” Lomyr answered.  “Not there.  Gone.  Vanished.”  He shook his head slowly.  “No bodies, nothing.  It has me baffled,” he paused.  “and frightened.”

          Strider frowned and set down his mug.  “Slavers?  This far north?”

          Lomyr shrugged his shoulders.  “No one knows.  Like I said, we haven’t been able to spare anyone to go up there and get a firsthand look.  But it smells of Mordor to me.”

          Aragorn nodded wearily.  Mordor – it seemed everywhere he turned these days that foul darkness was spreading, creeping ever more insidiously into their daily lives.  “I’ll find out what I can, Lomyr, but I may not be able to get word back to you by way of a runner.  If there’s no one there to send, I’ll have to bring back the news to you myself,” Strider answered.  “With the last of the winter winds and snows still lingering in the mountains, it may take me some time just to get there and back again.”

          “Do your best, lad,” the veteran smiled.  “And take care of yourself.”

He rose from his seat and clasped Strider’s shoulder in a brief gesture of farewell.  “I won’t see you in the morning, Strider.  I’m leaving tonight for the Weather Hills.”  He laughed humorlessly.  “Always trouble coming from the Wild.”

          “Take care yourself, old man,” Strider grinned back.

//////////////////////////////////////////

          Lord Udûn walked out onto the steep rock overhang on the western slope of Gundabad and gazed out at the harsh, barren wastelands of the Forodwaith.  The demon maiar despised it here in this vast, cold outland and longed for the heat and warmth of Orodruin and the Sammath Naur.  His long, black hair billowed out and about his pale, harsh features as the north wind whipped it to and fro and he shivered with the cold.  Gathering his dark fur cloak more closely about his shoulders, he averted his face from the wind and looked to the south.  His thoughts returned to Mt. Doom and his beloved balrogs, now without their master.  But the Dark Lord Sauron had ordered him to reawaken Gundabad and here he was, like it or nay.

          The orcs should be returning by now, he mused, his black gaze scanning the narrow southern pathway leading into the mountains.  Far off in the hazy distance a thin, dark line was snaking its way through the foothills and he smiled.  They have been successful, he sighed.  Good, good we need more slaves to tend the fires and work the forges.  He stood upon the rock shelf a moment longer and then hastily turned and retreated back into the mountain’s side, longing to return to the warmth of his personal chambers, but there were other duties he must attend to first.

          As he passed through the rock passageway and came back into the main tunnel, Erashnâk, the uruk-hai captain of the Black Legions was standing there waiting for him.  The foul creature fell into step beside the minion of Sauron and walked with him deeper into the mountain stronghold.

          “News, my Lord?” asked the uruk.

          “The raiding parties are returning.  Hopefully you will have enough slaves now to man your bellows and forges,” Udûn replied.

          The beast nodded.  “Are you ready to inspect the iron works?”

          “Yes,” the dark lord answered. “I need the heat of the fires.”  He quickly glanced at the black captain, sorry now that he had admitted this weakness, but the creature’s face showed no notice of this particular remark and he continued.  “How far down have they dug?”

          Erashnâk consulted a slate tablet he was holding.  “Almost a thousand feet, master.  They should reach the magma pools in short order.  If we can harness the great heat of these flames it will help greatly to temper the iron into steel and our weapons will be superior to anything in Middle Earth made by the hand of man.”

          “Excellent,” Udûn nodded.  “I wish to see this work close up.  We shall go there first.”

          “As you wish, my lord,” the uruk replied, leading Sauron’s deputy toward the volcanic mountain’s core.

          When they reached the massive inner cavern, Udûn stopped to survey the progress that had already been made to convert this mountain garrison into a vast foundry.  Great, billowing vats of hot iron ore bubbled and gurgled along one rock wall, heated by the flames of giant forges, while the banging and clanking of hammers on anvils could be heard throughout.  Hundreds of chained and filthy humans sweated and strained at forced labors, beaten and whipped by their orc overseers should they slacken in their assigned tasks.  Within the foundry itself a huge shaft had been dug, burrowing deep down into the core of the fiery mountain.

          The heat was stifling and humid gases and vapors hung in the air from the numerous cooling vats.  Loud hissing sounds echoed throughout as the hot iron was dipped into the water by the armorers and great clouds of steam arose to the cavernous ceiling.  Udûn nodded approvingly at what he saw before him, and motioned to the uruk-hai guard to move toward the pit.  He could barely be heard over the deafening noise of metal ringing upon metal as the slaves worked to make arms and armor for Sauron’s orc armies.

          “How many slaves do you have laboring down there now?” the demon inquired, raising his deep voice to be heard over the din.

          “About a hundred, my lord,” the captain answered, indicating the walkways and ladders along the sides of the shaft.  “They have constructed scaffolding and bridgework all the way to the bottom.”  He turned his face to the Lord of Gundabad.  “Would you like to go down and see for yourself?”

          “Yes,” Udûn yelled over the noise.  “Lead on.”

          Erashnâk started climbing down the nearest iron stairway and the dark lord followed close behind.  As they traveled farther and farther down into the shaft, the heat intensified.  Udûn smiled.  At last, he thought, heat. Glorious heat.

          Strider gathered the heavy woolen traveling cloak about his shoulders, pulling the hood down over his face and tried to make his body as small a target as possible for the harsh, biting winds coming out of the north.  He hunkered down against the rock ledge overlooking the foothills near the Ettenmoors and rested for several minutes after the steep climb he had just made to reach this lookout point.  But it had started to snow and the cold flakes were now obscuring the landscape and making it difficult to make out much of anything in the graying twilight.

          Aragorn hated the snow and the cold; more so now as he grew older and each year passed that he had to be out in it without adequate clothing or shelter.  He vaguely remembered a time when he thought snow was wonderful, but he had been a child then and the cold had not affected him as it did these days, burrowing deep into his bones and joints, numbing his fingers and toes.  Being human, he also lacked the Elven ability to walk upon the snow without plunging into the deep, wet banks and soaking his legs and feet until they could barely move.  Thinking of snow, however, always reminded him of Legolas and he smiled at the thought of his long time friend.

          He wondered where the Wood Elf was these days, no doubt still in Mirkwood leading the daily surveillance patrols into the forests.  It had been much too long since he had last seen the Elf and he missed him greatly, but after the horrendous ordeal he had suffered in Dol Guldur, King Thranduil was keeping his son close to home on some pretense or another.  Not that Strider could blame him.   They had all come very close to losing Legolas to the demon that had resided in that tower.  Thank the Valar she had been vanquished and the tower was no longer a threat.

          Perhaps I can journey to see him after the last of the winter storms move over the mountains and the passes clear, he thought idly, and if this matter of Gundabad does not keep me overlong.

          The thought of Gundabad brought him back to the present and he squinted through the white flakes at the trail below.  Nothing.  Not a trace of activity of any kind.  It had been several days now since he had even seen livestock of any kind, let alone humans.  Lomyr had been right.  It appeared that all the settlements in this area had been abandoned, either by choice or by some force as yet unknown.

          Strider slowly stood, bracing himself against another icy blast of wind.  He would have to go down there onto the plains and methodically work his way from township to village one by one.  Maybe there were tracks or signs to be seen waiting out there that would clear up this mystery, or some person still left in one of the remote settlements who could tell him what was happening out here.  Slowly and carefully he clambered down from the ice covered rock outcroppings and then remounted his awaiting horse.  Turning the steed into the north wind, he set out for the next hamlet known to the Rangers and as far as anyone knew, still occupied.

          ////////////////////////////////

          When they reached the bottom of the hot core shaft, Udûn and Erashnâk made their way toward the goblin overseer who was busily whipping a young human male.  The youth had fallen to his knees and was about to collapse when Udûn stayed the beast’s hand and prevented another brutal whip lash.

          “If you kill him, he is of no use to me,” snapped the Dark Lord’s servant.

          The goblin lowered its ugly head and groveled before the demon.  “Forgive me, master,” it pleaded.  “I live only to serve you.”

          “Yes, I’m sure you do,” he drily remarked as he lowered his hand from the goblin’s forearm.  He signaled to several orc soldiers and when they scuttled to his side, he indicated the beaten youth.  “Take him back to his work station.”

          While the slave was being returned, Udûn turned his attention back to the overseer.  “How much longer will it be until they break through the rock shelf and reach the magma pools?”

          The goblin’s face brightened.  Perhaps he could return to good graces with pleasing news for the demon.  “It is done, master,” he grinned.  “We have already cracked the ceiling.  A huge cavern lies below.  Even now the slaves are removing the rock to widen the passage so that we can start erecting more scaffolding.”  He gestured toward the laboring human slaves and started toward the opening.  “Come.”

          As the threesome began their trek toward the hole in the shaft’s floor, a terrifying shriek rang through the cavern and humans and orcs alike began running from the newly opened rock fissure.  The sounds of gaseous explosions could be heard emanating from below the stones and a hideous growling, rumbling roar filled the shaft as the very ground beneath their feet began to shake and tremble.

          As they watched in astonishment, huge boulders and crags along the sides of the shaft wall fell inward and down into the hole, dragging the half constructed ladders and gibbets, chained humans and many of the orc and goblin guards down with them into the flaming pit below.  The screams of the dying could be heard intermingled with the tremendous bellows of the horrendous creature that was even now rising up from the depths of the fire pit.

          Naurnyar’s massive, spiked black head erupted from the flames and her yellow eyes scanned the upper cavern as those beasts and humans who had escaped the cave-in now ran for their lives, scrambling up the iron walkways, trying to reach the upper levels toward the top of the shaft.  Her nostrils flared and two jets of white hot flame spewed forth into the melee instantly incinerating the nearest group of fleeing slaves.  Her colossal jaws opened wide and snapped down upon the frantic orcs racing past her, trying to escape.  Their agonizing screeches could be heard as the dragon crushed them between her teeth and then swallowed them alive.

          As the huge behemoth’s ebony body emerged from the depths below, more rock and flooring disappeared into the flames and fires within the volcanic cavity where the beast had been sleeping.  As she arose to a height of stupendous proportions, her gigantic leathery wings unfolded and flapped viciously back and forth within the confined space, sending sheets of heated air swirling around the tunnel and knocking humans and orcs to the floor as they were swept away by the burning air currents generated from her beating wings.   Both Udûn and Erashnâk stared upward at the rising creature with incredulous wonder, bracing themselves as best they could against the howling winds created by her ponderous wings.

          “A dragon!” shouted Udûn above the roar. “Did you know there was a dragon within the pit?”

          The terrified uruk captain shook his head, unable to speak.  Udûn’s eyes glowed with excitement.  “Incredible!  I thought them all extinct!”  He grabbed the captain’s breastplate and shouted above the roaring dragon.  “Quickly!  Set the slaves to forging chains to hold this beast.  They must be made of black iron.”  He released the soldier’s armor and gazed up at the towering firebreather.  “Quickly!  Do as I say!”

          Before the uruk-hai could move, the dragon clumsily lumbered all the way up and out through the hole in the rock floor, dragging her enormous body out of the pit and freeing her long, sinuous tail.  It whipped back and forth across the cavern floor, striking those in its path and sending them crashing into the stone walls.  With a deafening scream, the winged beast lifted off the stones and shot upward into the shaft leaving rocks, dust and debris flying around inside the interior of the cavern.  The whirlwind left behind in the wake of her whipping wings added to the chaos and sent more slaves sliding across the cavern floor.

          “She’s escaping!” yelled Erashnâk, at a loss as to what he should be doing to try and stop the dragon from fleeing.

          “Let her go,” grinned Udûn.  “Just see to the forging of those chains.”  He pointed down into the fire pit from whence the dragon had emerged.  Several large yellow eggs were nestled in a rock bed about a hundred feet below the main floor.  “She’ll be back.”  He turned to face his captain.  “Get me those eggs.”

          Although still petrified with fear, the uruk nodded.  “Yes, my lord.”  He swiftly began ordering his men to climb down and fetch the dragon’s brood.  As he glanced back to his lord, he saw the dark demon grinning with delight.  He did not know if Udûn could master this foul creature.  It was said that only Morgoth alone could control these fire monsters and that particular Dark Lord had been banished from Middle Earth eons ago.  Did Udûn truly think he could harness this beast and bend it to his will?  Terror filled his black heart, but he could do no less than his master commanded.

  ////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

          Once airborne, Naurnyar’s massive wings pounded the air within the shaft and her gigantic black form rose through the constrictive tunnel until she exploded into the main cavern of the mountain iron works.  Her sudden and unexpected appearance sent the humans and their masters screaming with terror and running for what cover they could find as a confused and outraged Naurnyar crashed into the stone cave seeking a way to freedom.

          She reared back upon her thick, muscular hind legs and threw back her mighty head, roaring out her anger at being disturbed from her nest.  The sound of her bellow was horrific and all who heard it covered their ears in an attempt to shut out the unbearable clamor.  Thick gouts of sulfurous fumes were expelled from her lungs and a sheet of flame churned out from her mouth spraying the fleeing humans with liquid fire.  The dead and dying lay before her as she scrambled through the grotto with a speed unhindered by her bulk and passed through the wider tunnels until she emerged from the side of the mountain and lifted off into the twilight skies.

          Within seconds the dragon was several thousand feet up into the atmosphere above Gundabad.  She easily circled the mountain peak in a slow, wide arc, surveying the terrain below her through slatted fiery eyes.  She did not know what manner of creatures had disturbed her lair, only that she would destroy them all if they harmed her young.  She did not like this cold air and wished to return to the warmth of her den’s fires, but she sensed a danger in returning, and so slowly winged her way in ever wider and wider circles about the mountain, searching for a place to alight, hide and think.

          Where was the nauraug* ?  His illumination should have greeted her as she arose from her slumbers.  This was imprinted in the memories of her kind, a ritual remembered from a time before time.  But no such being had eased her transition from the nothingness of the void to the spectacle of awareness.  Only those annoying unknown creatures had greeted her; invading her nest and defiling her den.

          Her mind reached out across the planes of existence, seeking out those of her race, but she touched only emptiness and she despaired.  Was she alone?  Were there no more of her kind in this wretched outer world?  All the more she needed to protect her young ones.  She would have to return to the den, and soon; her eggs were near their hatching time and she must be there when they emerged from their shells.  They would be hungry and she must find sustenance for them and for herself as well.  With a mournful wail she arose to the highest peaks of Gundabad and there settled upon a rocky tor, surveying the lands below.

*firebeing

          Strider slowly walked his horse down the muddy, rutted lane of the last human enclave known to the Rangers of the North.  For the past week he had ridden from town to village to settlement and had found no one alive or dead.  No bodies or livestock, only empty buildings and the remnants of cooking fires and work left undone.  Several of the settlements showed obvious signs of struggle as if the humans residing there had put up a fight, but with whom there was no clue, and little else was visible.  This shoddy refuge was the only Dúnedain encampment he had yet to investigate and it appeared to be abandoned as well.

          The young man halted and looked around at the rude huts and open pens, scanning the area for any signs of life or movement.  Just as he was about to move on he heard what sounded like someone moaning.  He tied the reins of his horse to a post near one of the empty sheep pens and then moved toward the nearest hut beside the lane.  The sounds were stronger and now seemed to be coming from inside the hut.  Strider hastened his step and entered the dimly lit shanty.  His gaze swept the sparsely furnished room and came to rest upon a dingy cot of straw and wood.  Laying half on and half off the bed was an elderly woman, obviously wounded and left to die where she fell.

          Aragorn rushed to her side and gently lifted her thin legs onto the cot so that she now lay completely on the crude bed.    Her eyes were closed and she was barely breathing, but her head rolled from side to side and she continued her low mumbling.  He grasped her bloodied hand and rubbed at the cold skin of her wrist trying to rouse her.

          “Can you hear me, old one?” he asked softly as his healer’s gaze made a critical inspection of the woman’s body, assessing her numerous injuries.  She was severely beaten and appeared to be semiconscious.  A gaping head wound bloodied half her face and it looked like her nose and cheekbone were broken.  Strider closed his eyes and shook his head sadly as he clasped her hand tighter.  Who would do this to an old woman?  What possible reason could they have for beating her thus?

          The woman’s eyelids fluttered and her groaning increased and then her eyes slowly opened and she stared at the young ranger with glazed, unseeing eyes.  “Who’s there,” she whispered in a thin reedy voice.

          “Shhhh,” Strider replied, placing a hand upon her forehead and clasping her fingers more tightly.  “I am called Strider,” he continued.  “I am a ranger of the northmen.  Who did this to you?”

          The woman’s head turned at the sound of Aragorn’s voice.  “A ranger?” she gasped.  “No use now.  Gone, all gone.   Taken to the mountain of fire.”

          Aragorn looked frantically about the small room for any sign of a water skin or pitcher and then spied a bucket near the cooking fire.  He rose from the woman’s cot and went to the pail.  Picking it up, he brought it to his nose, sniffing the contents to make sure that the water was not foul.  It smelled stale and warm, but drinkable.  He found an earthenware mug on the rickety table beside the fire and dunked it into the bucket, rinsed it out thoroughly, then re-dipped it into the pail and brought the cup of water to the dying woman.  He lifted her head gently and set the cup to her parched lips.

          “Drink,” he said softly and the woman responded with a few feeble sips.

          “They came in the night,” she whispered so quietly that Strider had to lean close to her lips to even hear her words.

          “Who came?” he asked.

          “Orcs,” she gasped.  “Took everyone…tried to fight…left me.”

          Strider’s jaw tightened and he lowered her head back down upon the cot.  “Lay still, old one,” he said.  “I have medicines in my bags.  Try to rest now.”

          She made no reply and Aragorn hastily arose and strode through the hut and out to his horse.  Patting the animal as he walked up to it, he untied his pack of herbs and salves from the saddle and hurriedly returned to the shack and the stricken woman.  He dropped down to his knees again and opened the leather bundle to extract several clean cloths.  He quickly placed one on the elderly woman’s head wound and daubed at the blood on her face with another, gently removing the crusted matter from her broken nose.

          It was several minutes before he realized that the woman was no longer breathing.  His dismayed eyes shut tightly and he lowered his head to the cot.  “I’m sorry old one,” he whispered.  “I’m too late.”

          He remained unmoving for some time, and then he gently covered the woman’s body with a tattered blanket that was lying across the foot of the cot.  He slowly rose to his feet, the sack of unused medical supplies still clutched in his hand by his side.  He would have to bury her.  It was all that he could do for her now.  Dejected, he turned away from the dead woman and left the tiny hut in search of a shovel.

          Outside the weak, late winter sun was close to setting and he could feel the temperature dropping.  The ground would be hard and he did not relish digging a grave, but he felt he could do no less for the woman.  He looked toward the mountain chain, closer now, and could see the peak of Gundabad smoking in the distance.

          Orcs, he thought, as the anger built within him.  Raiding human settlements and taking slaves.  Taking them to Gundabad.   For what purpose?

          He looked back at the darkened hut of the old woman and vowed to himself that he would avenge her senseless death, but he would find no more answers here.  He would have to travel to Gundabad and see for himself what new evil the Dark Lord was planning to unleash upon Middle Earth for he was certain now that the Eye of Sauron had finally reached this northern wasteland.

////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

          Naurnyar leapt from her perch upon the mountain top and swooped down to the valley between the great pinnacles of the Misty Mountains.  The hunger in her belly was growing and she needed to expel the noxious gases building up within her lungs.  As she glided along the wind currents, she scanned the stark regions below, but could see nothing but barren wastelands.  Anger and frustration built within her and she flexed her great, black wings harder, pushing her body faster and faster through the skies.  The ground sped by beneath her and then she gracefully circled about and turned back toward the western slopes of the mountain chain.

          As the dragon raced through the air across the plains, she opened wide her jaws and breathed forth a curtain of flame, belching out the smoking fumes that filled her great lungs.  The ground below her erupted into flames as the fires emitted from her throat swept across the sere winter grasses, easily igniting them and swiftly spreading the conflagration for miles.  Her thundering roar could be heard echoing off the cliffs and reverberating throughout the valleys.

          Strider heard the rumbling growl booming overhead and he looked up with a startled frown from the digging of the old woman’s grave.  At first he could see nothing in the darkening evening skies and thought he must have heard thunder in the clouds, but then a dark, massive shape appeared in the sky coming from out of the west.  He shielded his eyes, trying to better see what manner of creature this could be, and then his mouth dropped open in stunned disbelief as the huge black dragon soared over the tiny northern encampment and continued on toward the mountains.

          The shovel dropped from his hands and he stood frozen in place, watching after the vanishing monster as it sped toward Gundabad.  Suddenly everything had changed.  They were not just dealing with orcs and slave raids now.  Somehow, someone had acquired a dragon.  A dragon! His panicked mind screamed.  By the Valar, we cannot fight a dragon!

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

          Udûn, the dark one, stood upon the mountain ledge near the entrance to Gundabad and angrily scanned the twilight skies searching for the errant dragon.  So far, he had seen no sign of the beast and he was growing impatient.  It should have returned to its nest by now and the longer it remained outside the caverns, the greater the chance that it would be seen; and he was not yet ready for the dragon’s presence to be known.  Erashnâk had removed the three dragon eggs from the nest within the bowels of the mountain and they now resided within Udûn’s private chambers, warm and safe.  There they would remain until he was sure that the dragon was under his control.

          He was about to re-enter the main cavern tunnel when he spied the black mass moving toward the mountains.  Ah, he sighed with pleasure.  At last, it returns.  He hastened into the passageway and signaled to his uruk-hai captain.  “Hurry,” he called.  “Clear the passages.  It’s returning.”

          The warrior barked orders to his underlings and the goblins and their human charges were hurriedly cleared from the main caverns and herded into the outer holding pens and storage areas.  Only those at work stations that could not be abandoned remained within the great iron works and continued their tedious labors.

          Udûn made his way to the central shaft, withdrawing a shiny black orb from his tunic as he walked and held it carefully within the palm of his hand.   He stood beside the volcanic shaft, defiantly anticipating the dragon’s approach.  He did not have long to wait before the clattering of the beast’s talons could be heard echoing throughout the rock tunnels, and then suddenly it was there within the main cave.  As Udûn studied the beast he was amazed at the size of the creature and he admired its dreadful beauty and strength of its form.  This dragon was easily over one hundred feet tall and more than three hundred long from snout to tail.  Its wingspan was enormous and its deadly black claws were easily six feet in length.  Magnificent! he smiled.

          Naurnyar lumbered forward toward the core shaft and her rumbling snarl boomed within the interior of the cavern.  She immediately spied the black demon standing alone at the pit’s rim and rose up on her haunches,  arching her neck and preparing to spew out a shower of flame to engulf his body, but Udûn’s commanding voice echoed throughout the caverns and the fell words of the Black Speech halted her.

          “Kul-izg Udûn, ghaash balrog-ob.  Koz-izish agh hiil-izub urdan*!” shouted Udûn, his voice ringing off the stones.  His outstretched arms were held up and outward and the black globe in his right hand glowed with the pulsing red flame embedded within its crystal mass.

          The dragon balked at the dark words and snarled angrily, her fierce gaze fixed upon the black crystal, the Orb of Utumno, and she spit and hissed savagely.  Naurnyar had no desire to heed this creature, but the Black Speech held sway over her mind and she was compelled to obey.  She shook her massive head back and forth in reluctant fury and roared with frustrated wrath.

          “Hiil-izg,”** the dragon growled in reply.

          The beast unwillingly settled down upon her belly and continued to glare at the demon with yellow eyes filled with hatred.  She hissed and black smoke tendrils shot out of her nose, but she made no further move toward the black creature of Sauron.

          Udûn gestured toward the fire pit below.  “I have taken your eggs…”

He raised the orb as the beast rose up at these words and he hurriedly continued.  “If you defy me, I will crush them.”

          A huge spout of flame shot out of her mouth and scorched the rock floor in front of the demon, but did not touch him.  The dragon roared anew with ill-concealed contempt as she eyed this morgul keeper of the Urulóki she saw standing before her.  Were it not for the words of the Black Tongue preventing her from harming him, she would eat this one in one swift bite.

          “What do require of me?” she spat as smoke trailed up and out of her nostrils.

          The deputy of Sauron motioned to several orcs and they scurried forward carrying a huge iron collar attached to an equally massive chain.  Etched upon the metal were the symbols and signs of the Black Spells of Morgoth.  The characters and words shone with a ruddy glow and seemed to pulse in rhythm with the flame flickering within the black orb.  He looked up at the behemoth.  “You will wear this collar and obey my word.  If you please me, the young ones live.”  He lifted the dark crystal again and held it before the dragon.  “If you prove difficult, I will smash the eggs and then I will destroy you.”

          Naurnyar hissed again, but made no move to resist as the orcs placed the iron band around her neck and fastened the locking mechanism.  The chain was then attached to a monstrous link that was entrenched in the rock wall of the main cavern.  She roared again and the orcs fled back to the safety of the alcoves and her yellow eyes glinted with barely controlled ferocity as she slowly lowered her great bulk down to the floor.

          Udûn smiled in triumph.  Now all would tremble in fear at his feet and the dominion of Sauron would reign supreme.  All of Middle Earth would fall before the Dark Lord and none would defy him.

*I am Udûn, flame of the balrogs.  Heed me and obey my command.

** I obey.

          Aragorn looked on helplessly as the grass fires slowly burned themselves out.  After the passage of the dragon, the raging fires had erupted on the horizon and he had watched them sweep across the plains consuming the last of the winter fields and scrawny trees.  Nothing remained now but a blackened dead vista as far as the eye could see.  Ilúvatar help us, he prayed as he scanned the burned grasslands.

          He had a decision to make.  Go on to Gundabad and find out what was going on there, or turn back and warn the rangers and those villages and towns scattered throughout the Lost Realm of Arnor south of the Ettenmoors.  But it was not just the Edain who were endangered by this new threat, the homes of the Halflings in the Shire and the Elves in his home in Rivendell were also at risk.  At the thought of his home, he knew what he must do.  He had to get word of this dragon to his father, Lord Elrond.   The Elf lord would know what to do and could marshal forces that he could not.

          His heart was heavy at the thought of leaving the humans alone in Gundabad to suffer whatever ghastly fate had been forced upon them, but the greater peril to all Free Peoples in this region came from the existence of this fire beast.  There was no end to the destruction and carnage this creature could wreak upon the fields and settlements along the Misty Mountains if left unchecked.   He mounted his horse and wheeled the animal about, spurring him on toward the camps just north of the Shire.  

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////

          Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood, was seated upon a high-backed, carved wooden chair, a smaller version of the great throne upon which King Thranduil now sat, and positioned on the dais down and to the left of his father.  His slender elbow rested on the hard wood arm of the chair, and his chin was lightly cupped in the palm of his hand.  His eyes were open and staring at the ministers, counselors, and people of his father’s court as they petitioned their king for favors and sought his aid in their day to day problems.  He was also sound asleep.

          The king knew that Legolas was napping, and turned a disgruntled frown upon his son as he shifted his weight upon his throne and gave the prince’s chair leg a strong kick.  The chair rocked slightly and Legolas was instantly awake.  He glanced sheepishly at his father before attempting to catch up on the various conversations going on amongst those present at court.   King Thranduil came to his rescue by restating what this agitated man from Lake Town had previously remarked.

          “A dragon, you say?”  The king’s voice betrayed his skepticism.  “There have been no dragons in Middle Earth for hundreds of years.”

          At the mention of a dragon Legolas sat up straighter in his chair and leaned forward to better attend the discussion.  The last dragon he could remember that had threatened Erebor and Lake Town had been Smaug.  Has another beast emerged from the Ered Mithrin? he wondered.  But how?  I thought them all destroyed.

          “Aye, good king,” the man nodded.  “As I’m standin’ here before ye, I swear to ye, I saw it with me own eyes.”  He glanced around at the numerous assembled Elves and men in the Great Hall of Lasgalen as if daring any one of them to disagree.

          “And where exactly did you see this dragon?” asked Legolas.

          The human turned his gaze to the young prince.  “Near Ered Mithrin, as I sailed along the Forest River o’er a week ago, it flew right o’er my head, it did.”

          At that moment a commotion and scuffling began at the back of the hall and an unusually disheveled Elf warrior from one of the Lasgalen patrols hastily pushed his way to the front of the assemblage and stepped up beside the man of Lake Town.  He nodded formally before his regent, and placed his forearm across his chest before speaking.

          “If I may speak, majesty,” he began, “I have just ridden from the northernmost regions.  This human is telling the truth.”

          Anxious gasps and murmurs swept through the hall as those present voiced their thoughts and fears to one another and then turned to their king for his reply.  King Thranduil leaned closer.  “Speak.  What news do you bring?”

          “There is a great fire raging at the northern borders of Mirkwood.  The forest is aflame—many trees have been burned to the ground, the woods scorched, and many are still blazing.  My scouts in the area verify that it is indeed a dragon, or some unknown fell creature that resembles one,” the warrior stated.  “It is causing unspeakable destruction and devastating the forests.  Hundreds of the wood Elves have already fled their homes and are heading this way in search of refuge, my king.”

          The king’s frown deepened, as the shouts and voices within the chamber reached a crescendo, but before he could speak, Legolas arose from his chair.  “I will ride north immediately, father,” he announced.  “I will see firsthand what is happening at the northern enclaves and lend what aid I can.”

          “Very well,” Thranduil nodded.  He did not wish to see his son depart, but knew in his heart that the young Elf was desperately yearning for something more substantial to do with his time than ride surveillance patrols.  He gave his son a concerned and fearful frown.  “I did not think to ever see another foul beast of this nature.  It bodes ill for all our kindred.  But if it is indeed upon a rampage, then we must do all we can to stop it.  If left unchecked it will destroy everything in its path and Mirkwood is doomed.”

          Legolas stepped down from the dais and hurried to the Elven soldier.  “We must leave at once.  I will get my weapons and gear and meet you at the gates.”

          The Elven warrior nodded and bowed to his king one last time as they then both turned to leave the Great Hall.  Legolas left behind him the buzzing of the crowds and the shouts and pleas of the courtiers as once again they turned their frightened voices and protests to their king.

//////////////////////////////////////////////

          Aragorn crossed the last bridge over the Bruinen and quickened his horse’s pace as he eagerly rode toward the House of Elrond.  His heart was gladdened at the sight of his boyhood home and he suddenly realized how very much he had missed his father and brothers.  Lord Elrond was standing upon the steps of the Last Homely House awaiting his youngest son’s arrival.  It mattered not how long Estel was absent from Imladris nor where he traveled, Lord Elrond always knew when he would return and patiently waited for him upon the stairs.

          The Elf lord’s keen eyes discerned that the young human appeared unharmed for once although extremely dirty and quite thin.  He chuckled to himself as he observed the mud stained clothes and well worn boots that made up Estel’s traveling attire—such a complete opposite to his pristinely clad friend, Legolas.   He sighed with the comforting relief of a father who loves his son greatly and prays no harm will ever befall him.

          Strider vaulted from his horse and ran the short distance to his father’s welcoming arms.  He fell into the elder Elf’s embrace and hugged him tightly, tears of joy stinging at his eyes.  Elrond’s eyes glistened as well as he held on to his adopted son much longer than needed.  Slowly he pulled away and looked the young man over from head to foot with a critical eye.

          “You look,” he was about to say ‘older,’ and then settled upon, “taller.”

          Aragorn laughed softly.  “I was hoping you would say I looked a man, or seasoned at the very least.”

          Elrond laughed, placing his arm around Strider’s shoulders and walking him toward the door.  “That, too, my son.”

          Together they entered the house and Elrond motioned Estel into his personal study.  Numerous books, manuscripts and scrolls littered the massive desk and the room seemed much more cluttered than he last remembered it.  As he sat in a chair across from the desk, his smile faded and he looked at his father with grave concern.

          “I’m afraid my reason for returning is more than just to visit you and my brothers,” he began.  “There is much evil brewing in the north and I greatly need your knowledge and wisdom.”

          Elrond frowned and he sat down in his carved wooden chair, gesturing toward the papers scattered about his desk.  “I know,” he said.  “The appearance of the dragon has had us all in quite an uproar.  Glorfindel and I have been scouring the ancient texts trying to gain as much information and detail about these creatures as we can glean, but it is pitifully thin.”

          Aragorn looked incredulous.  “You know about the dragon?”

          Elrond nodded.  “Oh, yes, for over a week now.  I’ve had several dire missives from Mirkwood.  The northern forests are burning and the wood Elves have been driven from their homes and are fleeing to Lasgalen and even farther south to Lorien.  Lake Town has been attacked as well.  Half the wharf is gone and many of the town’s buildings and homes have been destroyed.  A great number of the human inhabitants are fleeing to other settlements, traveling even as far south as Rohan.”

          “Legolas?” Strider’s anxious eyes searched his father’s face fearful of what he might reply.

          “He has gone to the northern enclaves to help fight the fires and to be of aid to his people,” the Elf lord answered.  “I have heard no further word of him.”

          “By the Valar,” Estel murmured.  “I had no idea the dragon had crossed over the mountains.”  His sad eyes fixed upon his father’s.  “It has destroyed much of the grasslands and plains, the settlements north of the Shire in old Arnor, and as far north as the ancient witch-realm of Angmar.  But that is not all—orcs are again residing in Gundabad and they have been raiding the human towns and villages taking everyone—man, woman and child prisoner.”

          Elrond’s eyebrow arched at this new information and he arose from his chair and moved to a sideboard where a decanter of wine and some goblets rested upon a silver tray.  He poured the liquid for them both and gracefully handed a cup to his son, then quietly sipped at his own.  He moved to the open window that overlooked the beauty that was Imladris and sighed heavily.

          “When will the evil that is Sauron end?” he murmured.

          Aragorn joined his father at the window and turned a weary gaze out upon the graceful terraces and elegant vistas of Rivendell.  “What are we to do Ada?  How can we fight this beast?”

          “The power of the Elves alone cannot overcome a dragon of Morgoth if it is indeed ruled by the dark forces.  Dragon’s are very clever and cannot be trusted to speak the truth.  Even if it is not under the control of Sauron or one of his foul minions, we still may be in great danger from the beast,” the elder Elf replied.  “We must have Gandalf’s aid.  I have sent runners to find him and bring him here, but have as yet heard nothing from him.   For the moment we are safe here in Imladris, protected by the power of Vilya.”

          “I cannot stay out of harm's way here in Rivendell when Legolas may need my help.  I will leave in the morning for Mirkwood,” Estel stated.

          Elrond sighed again, knowing that he could not sway his son’s mind once he had reached a decision, especially where Legolas was concerned.   And he knew in his heart that he could not protect Estel forever no matter how much he might wish to do so.  Aragorn’s fate was written and the Dúnadan’s destiny was swiftly unfolding before him and there was nothing that he could do to change that now.

          “Very well,” he smiled slightly.  “I know that you will not rest until you know that Legolas is unharmed.  Glorfindel and I will continue to do what we can here to try and find some ancient writings that might be of help to us.  I will send a runner to you if we are successful.”

          Elrond placed his arm around Estel’s shoulder once again, and turned him away from the window.  “But first you will have a decent meal and a good night’s rest.  You’re much too thin, Estel.  Don’t you rangers ever eat?”

          Aragorn could not help but laugh and smiled fondly at his father.  “Yes, we eat,” he chuckled.  “But eating on the trail is not quite the same as dining at your table.”

          At that moment the twin sons of Lord Elrond exploded into the hallway and rushed to greet their younger brother.  Aragorn was smothered in strong arms as Elladan and Elrohir both hugged him simultaneously.

          “Estel!” came the combined voices of his brothers.

          Strider laughed and tried unsuccessfully to hug them back, but his arms were securely pinned to his sides by his brothers’ embraces.  “Elladan!  Elrohir!” he grinned.  “I have missed you both!”

          Elrond stepped forward laughing and shooed the threesome toward the dining hall.  “Let him breathe you two, your enthusiasm will squeeze the life out of him.”

          The twins quickly released their hold upon the young ranger and instead began punching him in the arm or slapping him on the back.  Estel slid beneath their fists and took off down the hallway.  “You will not beat me to the Hall of Fire this time!” he shouted over his shoulder as the twins took off after him.  Elrond wearily shook his head as he watched his three sons race through the house.  Some things never changed.

          Legolas bent down and lifted up yet another barrel of river water and hoisted it up onto the awaiting dray.   His long, blond hair was tied back and his braids tucked neatly behind his ears.  A hastily fashioned headband covered his forehead and came down over the tips of his pointed ears to keep stray wisps of hair out of his face.  His tunic and leggings were dirty and stained with soot and he was covered with a thin layer of black ash, the remnants of the forest fires.  As he secured the last of the barrels onto the wagon, he waved at the man from Lake Town who was riding upon the seat boards and the heavy conveyance moved off toward the front line of the fire fighters.

          It was back breaking work and the Wood Elf was beginning to grow weary, but he continued to roll another drum forward to await the oncoming wagon as it pulled to a stop beside the river banks.  They had been battling the fires for days with no real sign of progress and now only the strongest Woodland Elves remained behind to help fight the flames; their former homes in ruins, the rest had fled to Lasgalen.  So much of the lush green forest was now destroyed.  The total destruction of the wooded glens and verdant homes of the Elves was devastating and his heart ached at the senseless death of the trees and the ravaging of the earth.

          His thoughts were elsewhere as he reached down to clasp another barrel rim when two strong hands grabbed onto the opposite side and helped to lift the water container onto the flatbed.  Legolas looked up in surprise to see a face he had not seen in over a year.

          “Aragorn!” the Elf smiled warmly.  “What are you doing here?”

          “Helping you lift this barrel, I should think,” Strider grinned as together they slid the wooden cask onto the waiting wagon.

Legolas motioned to one of the Wood Elves loading vats onto another cart and when he approached said, “Keep them busy, Isorfir.  I’ll only be a moment.”

          The equally dirty and exhausted Elf nodded and took Legolas’ place in the line of workers.  The prince then turned to the ranger and clasped his shoulders in a warm embrace, a wide smile forming on his face.  Strider returned the gesture and the two friends silently stared at one another, speaking yet saying no words.  Legolas finally released Aragorn’s arms and motioned Strider to follow him to a small pavilion that had been erected close to the river banks.

          The congested tent area was primarily for the benefit of the healers and their numerous injured and burned patients, but it also served as a rest area for the fire workers.  As they entered, Legolas pulled the ragged headband from off his forehead and moved toward a large water trough.  There he generously splashed water over his face and neck, washing away the soot and ash.  Aragorn handed him a dry cloth to wipe his face and hands and then they both accepted refreshing goblets of cooled water from one of the attending Elf maidens.

          The prince indicated a small space away from the heavier foot traffic and the two friends moved to the corner nook.  Aragorn looked out at the work being conducted by the river and the numerous wagons, carts and sledges being used to haul water to the fires.  He had passed numerous relief stations such as this all along the river on his search for Legolas and he finally turned to the Elven warrior with saddened eyes.  “How bad is it?” he asked.

          Legolas rubbed at his gritty, smoke irritated eyes.  “Very bad,” he sighed.  “We cannot get the fire under control.”  He looked out over the horizon with dismay.  “If the beast attacks us again, I fear all will be lost.”

          “I have come to help in any way I can.  My father is searching the ancient texts for a way to defeat the monster.”  Aragorn looked again at the destruction around him.  “I only hope it’s not too late.”

          “We can certainly use every able-bodied person willing to lend a hand,” said Legolas.  His gaze lingered on the young ranger for a time, and Strider thought the Elf appeared much more serious and careworn than he could remember, but then gradually the Elf smiled.  “I really am glad to see you Strider.  I have missed you greatly.”

          “And I, you, mellon nin,” Aragorn replied warmly, but then his own expression changed and he gazed off toward the mountains.  “But I’m afraid we have more problems to deal with than this dragon alone.”  He turned back to Legolas.  “Orcs have re-taken Gundabad.  They’re taking human slaves.”

          “Ai!” Legolas hissed.  “For what purpose?”

          “I don’t know,” Strider admitted.  “I was scouting the region for the Rangers trying to find out what they were up to when the dragon appeared.”  He set his empty goblet down beside his friend’s on one of the small tables set up along the sides of the pavilion.  “I had to warn the villagers and settlers in the area around the Shire about the danger from the dragon, so I didn’t go on to Gundabad.  I felt it would be better if I went back to Rivendell to see if my father might have a solution to this dilemma.”

          “And does he?” asked the Elf prince.

          Aragorn shook his head sadly.  “No.”

          The two warriors were interrupted from their conversation by the deep resounding tones of Elven signal horns.  Legolas’ eyes held fear and excitement as he hastily moved to the tent’s exit.  Strider was not far behind him.

          “What is it?” asked the ranger as he jogged alongside the Elf toward a row of smaller tents that had been set up as a type of barracks camp.

          “The dragon,” Legolas replied.  “Get your horse.  I’ll meet you beside the river.”  The ranger nodded and turned toward the row of tethered animals on the other side of the main camp area where he had left his mount.

          Legolas halted before a tent that looked no different than the others and quickly entered.  He went straight for his bow and arrows and slung the leather quiver over his shoulder, deftly fastening the straps across his chest as he turned back toward the entryway.  He yanked out the leather thong tied behind his head and shook out his long golden hair and then quickly slipped out from behind the tent flap.  Once outside, he whistled shrilly and a few minutes later, Astalder, his grey Elven horse cantered into view.  As Astalder strode by, he grasped the animal’s mane and lightly swung up onto the horse’s back.  Once the Elf was firmly seated, the steed increased his speed and ran toward the other warriors who were assembling along the riverside.

          “Sen athrad!”* he called to his patrol, signaling them forward and they fell in behind him riding hard to the north.

          Aragorn spotted his friend and turned his horse to join the Elven troops as they sped by.  He raced up alongside his friend and together they charged through the burnt remnants of the forests heading for the grey mountains of Ered Mithrin.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

          The dragon soared over the scorched plains between the grey mountains and the blackened and burning forests of northern Mirkwood.  The demon Udûn had ordered the entire Elven realm destroyed and she would comply, for if she did not her young would suffer.  The forests were of no interest to her and she had no thought for the creatures that lived there.  All that mattered was the safety of her hatchlings and the survival of her kind.

          As her gaze swept the desolate land below she could see many of the two-legged beings and many four-legged creatures coming toward her.  They were insignificant and would not hinder her as she swept over the remaining woods.  She would cover them all in flames and wing her way ever southward until the entire forest was in ruin.  She banked easily and prepared for a diving plummet toward the smoldering trees at the edge of the fire line.  She drew oxygenated air deeply into her lungs and prepared to exhale great sheets of fire and noxious fumes upon the helpless earth.

          It was then that she spied the strange rolling contraption emerging from the burned forest roadway.  It was being pulled by several bulky animals and many of the taller beings were running alongside the huge wooden structure.  Naurnyar’s keen eyes scanned the scene below and sensing danger, she quickly rose upward into the skies, aborting her run and winged away from this strange, new sight.  

/////////////////////////////////////////////////

          Aragorn surveyed the pitiful army that stood upon the plains waiting to do battle with the terror from the sky.  About one hundred mounted Grey Elves with Sindarin bows were seated upon their steeds preparing for the first attack as the dragon flew overhead.  Fifty to sixty Wood Elves were intermingled with the men of Lake Town, some armed with long bows and arrows, some with spears.  How any of them thought they could stop this dragon, was beyond all reason.  He carried his own short bow loosely at his side, an arrow ready in his hand, but he held no hope that it would ever reach its target.

          He surveyed the landscape surrounding them and did not like what he saw.  As he glanced over at Legolas, he shook his head.   “We have no cover out here on the open plains.  We must try to reach the foothills of the mountains before the dragon can cover us in flames.”

          Legolas nodded his head to the side, indicating the progressing engine now coming into view through the ruins of the forest.  The structure was mounted upon a huge dray and was being drawn by several pairs of oxen.  “The men of Lake Town have constructed a giant crossbow.  We will lure the beast down and they will shoot it from the sky.”

          Aragorn eyed the wooden mechanism with some skepticism.  “They won’t be able to maneuver that monstrosity around.  Unless they have a clear shot, they will miss the beast entirely.”

          “Then we must bring the beast to the crossbow.  It is all we have,” Legolas stated as he spurred his horse to the head of the mounted company of Grey Elven warriors.

          Strider kicked his horse forward and followed the Mirkwood prince to the forefront of the lines.  Once again beside his friend, he scanned the skies above, searching for the beast.

          “There,” Legolas pointed.

          Aragorn looked toward the mountain peaks and saw the huge black mass winging swiftly toward them.  He nodded and waited for the Wood Elf to give the command to his troops to move out.  And then they were in motion, riding forward to meet the flying behemoth.  Strider could feel his stomach clinch with fear as he galloped wildly along beside Legolas and the Elven warriors charged on behind them.  He was about to shout that they were much to close, when Legolas wheeled his horse to the side and the entire company turned as one with him.  It was all he could do to keep up with the Elves as they swung wide and headed back toward the burned forests and the men of Lake Town.

          Overhead the dragon spread its wings wide and glided toward the earth, talons hooked and her neck arched and ready to expel the flames that were roiling within her lungs.  She was quickly closing on the moving mass of creatures beneath her and was opening her jaws wide to breathe out the flames of death, when the company parted half to the left and half to the right and she was left facing the unknown construction that had baffled her earlier.  Too late she realized she was in danger but before she could abandon her dive, the mechanism was sprung and a long, deadly shaft came hurtling through the sky toward her.

          The winged beast vaulted her wings and began beating backward to halt her forward motion and at the same time, she banked her glide so that she was no longer diving toward the machine head on, but it was not enough.  The bolt from the giant crossbow slammed into her hide along the left flank, just behind her wing and embedded itself in her flesh.  A thunderous maddened roar emerged from her and belching gouts of flame flooded from her mouth as the pain of the arrow wound ran through her body.

          The humans dove from the mounted crossbow moments before the dragon’s breath struck the weapon and it went up in flames; the panicked bellowing of the oxen mixed with the crackling of the fires and the screams of the men.  Aragorn pulled up on his horse’s reins and watched in horror as the huge crossbow erupted in a pillar of flame, sparks, and smoke and then collapsed in upon itself and tumbled to the ground.  He could see men frantically running from the fires, some with clothes aflame.  He looked up at the fire beast and could see that it was injured, but apparently not enough to keep it from spewing out more fiery destruction.

          The mounted Elves began to shoot volley after volley of arrows at the dragon, but the majority of their shots either bounced uselessly off the beast’s thick hide or never reached their target at all.  Even Legolas’ bow could not find a clear shot or a killing blow and then the dragon lifted into the air and winged away back toward the Ered Mithrin.

          The ranger watched in stunned disbelief as Legolas turned his horse after the dragon and began chasing it across the plains.  Without thinking, he slapped his steed as well and charged after his friend.  Whatever the crazy Elf had in mind, he was not going to let him risk his life alone.  Together they pursued the dragon as it flew ever nearer to the grey mountains until it finally dived into the midst of the peaks and disappeared from sight.

          Strider rode with Legolas to the base of the mountain chain where the Elf finally stopped and jumped from his horse, running toward the stones and up the rocks of the foothills, starting to climb up the side of the steep cliff.

          “Legolas!  Where are you going?” shouted Aragorn as he pulled his horse to a jerky halt a few moments later and leapt from the saddle.

          The Elf turned to look down upon his friend.  “The beast is wounded.  I am going to see it killed.”

          Aragorn started to clumsily scramble up the rocks after his friend.  “Not alone, you’re not.”

          Legolas frowned and was about to protest and tell the ranger to go back to the safety of the river, but then decided that no matter what he told him, Strider would stubbornly follow along behind him.  Resigned to the risk he was now taking and placing his friend in as well, he nodded.  “Very well, but quickly.  I do not want to lose sight of the place it went down.”

          Without further word, the Elf began to nimbly leap from rock to crag as he easily made his way up the cliff side.  Aragorn followed as quickly as he was able, but he could not match the Elf’s agility and started to lag farther and farther behind.  By the end of an hour’s time, the light was failing and he had completely lost sight of Legolas altogether.  When he finally reached the top of the escarpment, he saw the Elf standing upon the rim of a deep crevice and looking down into its depths.

          “Can you see it?” he called out as he trotted toward the edge of the rock, winded and out of breath and clasping at a hitch in his side.

          “Stay back, Aragorn!” Legolas ordered, holding his hand up in a gesture indicating that he did not want the ranger to come forward any further.  “The ledge is not stable.”

          Strider halted in his tracks and anxiously watched as the Elf leaned ever farther out and looked down over the opening.  As the young ranger peevishly stood at a safe distance from the edge, the Elf moved forward onto the shelf, and then suddenly the stones began to slide.  Legolas rocked back and forth trying desperately to retain his balance but his feet kept slipping under the loosened rock and he tipped farther and farther out toward the opening of the fissure.

          “Legolas!  Get back!” Strider shouted, taking a tentative step forward and then stopping abruptly as the entire ridge that the Elf was standing upon broke away from the side of the cliff and tumbled down into the abyss.

          The look of shock upon the Elf’s face as he disappeared from view was burned into the memory of the young human as he half ran, half fell forward in a attempt to grab for his friend’s flailing arms.  And then he was gone.  Aragorn fell onto his knees and then lay flat upon his stomach and leaned over the crumbling ledge as far as he dared, looking down into the blackness.

          “Legolas!” he screamed as the horrible realization that his much-loved friend was lost to him forever took hold of his mind and wrenched the very life out of his soul.

*This way!

           Aragorn lay flat upon his stomach, stretched out across the loose rocks and stones, his right arm dangling into space over the side of the rim where Legolas had fallen.  His head rested upon his left forearm and silent tears fell from his eyes.  The overwhelming grief and heartbreak that had descended upon him after seeing his Elven friend slip from the ledge now completely consumed him and he cared not if the world around him ended.   He had not the simple desire to make his limbs move nor to think coherently.  He just kept seeing Legolas’ face vanishing into the darkness below and he blamed himself for not being quick enough to clasp the Elf’s arm and pull him to safety.

          “Legolas,” he whispered.  “I cannot bear this pain, mellon nin.”  He choked back a wrenching sob and the constricting pain in his chest felt like a giant hand crushing the breath out of his very existence.  “There is a void within my heart now that can never be replaced.  I need your strength…your wisdom to guide me.  How shall I ever carry the burden of my destiny without you there to hearten me?”

          The darkness of night had fallen and cold gusts of wind whipped about the tops of the peaks of the grey mountains and swept over the prone figure of the ranger.  Slowly and painfully he rolled over onto his back and stared up at the shining stars thorough eyes blurred with tears.  “Eärendil give me the strength to go on,” he whispered, “for now I do not wish to.”

          Strider drifted into an endless void where he lost track of time and reality.  His body lay numbly upon the harsh stones and even though he could feel the cold seeping into his back, he cared not for his own comfort.  When the icy wind finally penetrated his awareness and he was forced to rise from the stones, the moon had already risen high into the night sky.  Still reluctant to leave the broken and jagged rock cliff where his friend had disappeared, but knowing that he must, Aragorn carefully made his way down the steep face of the mountain side toward his awaiting horse.  The pale moonlight cast murky shadows across the rugged terrain, but provided enough illumination for the ranger to safely maneuver among the stones.

          As he reached the bottom of the escarpment he turned to look back up at the dark tower of the cliff.  He would have to ride to Lasgalen to tell King Thranduil that his son had perished—a task he did not relish, but he would have no other relay this dire news.

          I will come back for your body, mellon nin, he thought sadly.  I will not leave you alone and abandoned to spend eternity in some dark cave.

          With a heavy heart and thoughts full of remorse, Aragorn mounted his horse and turned south, heading back to the Forest River and the relief camp at the edge of the gutted forests of Mirkwood.  

////////////////////////////////////////////  

          Strider rode through the dark moonlit plains the remainder of the night, his thoughts centered on the emptiness he felt and the terrible pain in his heart at the loss of his friend.  When at last he finally arrived at the Elven camp, dawn was breaking over the grey mountains and the first stirrings and warm scents of the spring season were upon the air.  Spring is finally here, he thought sorrowfully. The time of year Legolas loved so well. 

          He fought back the hot tears that threatened to start anew and slowly approached the rows of tents beside the riverbank.   A Grey Elf sentry stepped out of the mists and directly into his path barring his way.

          “Daro,” the Elf commanded, and then recognizing the young ranger, his questioning eyes noted that Strider rode alone.  “Manke no caun Legolas Thranduilion?”*

          Aragorn shook his head mournfully, still unable to speak aloud the words, ‘Legolas is dead.’  For if he did, then it would be true and he could not yet acknowledge that unbearable fact.  Even though his mind knew that Legolas was gone, his heart would not accept that certainty.

          The Elven guard paled, knowing that the human’s silence could only mean his beloved prince was dead.  He quietly stepped aside allowing the ranger to enter the encampment and as he rode by, Strider could see the tears glistening within the soldier’s eyes as the harrowing grief overcame him.  Aragorn halted his horse in front of the healing pavilion and wearily dismounted.  He had no idea who he should report to now that Legolas was no longer here, but thought this to be as good a place as any to start.

          He entered the silent tent and glanced about for anyone who might be in charge, or an Elf that he might know, but the tent appeared empty of all save those who were injured and were now resting quietly in the early morning dawn.  As he passed the rows of narrow cots, he could not help but stop and check on the condition of the Elves and men lying injured upon the beds.  He so desperately needed to touch another living being and know that he was of some comfort to them, however small or insignificant his actions might be.  He had to know that he could still help someone; that he was still useful; because he had failed to help Legolas.  Failed to save the only being he loved and cared for more than his own life, and it would haunt him until he no longer walked this earth.

          “May I be of assistance to you?” a melodious voice inquired from behind his back.

          Aragorn turned around with a start to face an elder Sindarin Elf.   Although he did not know him, the Elf healer’s gentle, wise eyes soothed his innermost trauma and he was thankful for his presence.  “How I wish that you could,” he whispered softly, yet the Elf heard and titled his head questioningly.  Strider noted the Elf’s quizzical gaze and took a deep breath.  “I need to speak with someone who can assist me with the recovery of a body.”

          The Elf’s startled expression was soon replaced with one of deep sorrow and compassion for he knew of this young ranger.  He also knew that he was a trusted and devoted friend of prince Legolas.  The Elf looked into Aragorn’s desolate silver-grey eyes and asked. “Is Legolas dead?”

          Strider could only nod as fresh tears appeared at the corners of his eyes and another ragged, shuddering breath escaped his lungs.

          “I see.”  The healer took Aragorn’s arm and gently walked him away from the beds of the wounded and out into the main entryway.  He forced the ranger to sit down and handed him a goblet of mulled wine mixed with a bit of mild sedative to calm his anxiety and then sat down next to him.  “How did it happen?”

          “He fell,” the ranger choked out.  “We were tracking the dragon.  It was wounded and Legolas was going to kill it.”  The ranger took a deep swallow of the wine before continuing.  “He followed it to a rock fissure where it went to ground.  The ledge was unstable.”  Strider’s hand covered his face and he took several quick, ragged breaths.  “I couldn’t reach him. I tried…I tried.”  His words were cut off by a heartrending moan as he once again envisioned Legolas dropping from sight and falling down into the blackness of the shaft.

          The Elven healer placed his strong arm around the young human’s shoulders and drew him closer so that his head rested upon the Elf’s upper chest.  “Peace, my young one,” he said as he softly stroked Aragorn’s dark hair and murmured soothing Elvish words into his ear.  “Rest now.”                   

////////////////////////////////////////////////  

          Aragorn opened his eyes and stared up at the white ceiling of the healing pavilion.  His mind was still groggy and a dull headache was throbbing at his temples, the aftermath of the wine he had consumed.  How he had come to be lying on this bed he did not know, but suddenly sensing another presence he turned and looked into the somber face of the grey wizard Gandalf.

          “Gandalf,” he whispered, half rising up upon his elbows.  “Legolas is…”

          The wizard’s blue eyes saddened and he nodded slowly.  “Yes, dear boy.  I know.”  He reached out and clasped Strider’s forearm tightly.

          Aragorn fell back onto the cot and closed his eyes.  He willed his voice to remain steady as he spoke.  “Have you come with news from my father?”

          Mithrandir sat up straighter upon his stool and placed his hands upon his bony knees.  “Indeed I have,” he replied.  “Lord Elrond believes this firebreather to be of the same nature as Smaug.  If that is the case, it is a formidable adversary, but one I believe I can overcome.”  His expression grew quite serious as he glanced down at the ranger.  “But I will need to know who commands this beast in order to counter any spells he might be using to harness the dragon’s will.”

          Aragorn gingerly sat up, rubbing at his eyes and then looked at the wizard with a concerned frown.  “That I do not know,” he answered. “But I’m sure we will find the answers in Gundabad.”

          “Then we must go there, and quickly,” the seer replied, extending his hand to Strider to assist him in rising from the bed.

          The ranger waved away the helping hand and swung his legs onto the floor.  “I cannot.  There is something I must do here first.”

          Gandalf studied the human before him, noting his anguished grief and the intense pain he obviously felt at the loss of his friend.   He placed a hand upon Strider’s shoulder, firmly gripping the young man’s arm.  “Your father also gave me a message for you alone,” he said.

          Strider glanced up at the wizard.  “Yes?”

          “He told me to tell you that ‘Legolas is the light’,” Gandalf stated.

          Sudden irrational anger replaced the grief and hurt within Aragorn’s soul and he snapped at the wizard.  “And what is that supposed to mean?  Of course he is the light!  He’s an Elf!”  His words halted and choked.  “Was an Elf.”  The anger suddenly vanished as quickly as it had come.  “He was my light,” Strider murmured softly.  “And now he is gone.”

          “Does not Lord Elrond have the sight?” asked the wizard.

          Aragorn looked askance at Gandalf as if the Istari had suddenly gone daft.  “Of course he does, you know that as well as I do, Gandalf.  Why would you,” his words dropped off as he stared at the seer, his heart hammering within his chest.

          “Gandalf!” he clutched the old wizard’s arms, staring intently into his face.  “Are you telling me that Legolas is still alive?”  Mithrandir did not immediately reply and Strider gripped his arms tighter.  “Is he?”

          “I only know that I still feel his spirit,” came the wizard’s cryptic reply.  “That is all I can tell you.”

          Aragorn started gathering up his belongings, a wild, insane elation surging throughout his body.  He desperately grasped upon this slim hope and would not let it die.  “Come, Gandalf,” he said.  “We must go back to the mountains immediately.  If he is still alive, he may be injured and will need our help.”

          The ranger hurried toward the tent entrance and did not look back to see whether or not the wizard was following.  His only thought was to get to his horse and ride as fast as he could push the animal, back toward the cliff where he had left the Elven prince.

//////////////////////////////////////////////

          The dragon rolled her giant body over onto its side to better ease the terrible pain in her back.  A long arrow shaft was protruding outward from below her wing.  Because of the angle at which it had entered her body, even with her long sinuous neck, she had been unable to grip the spear and pull it free from her scales.  Her several thwarted attempts had only managed to push the shaft deeper into her flesh and it was now securely lodged between the heavy plates of her armored hide.

          Naurnyar lay her massive head down upon the stone floor and panted heavily, trying to regain some of her lost strength.  Hot, moist clouds of steam puffed out of her nose and from between her teeth as she lay heaving and she let out a low, rumbling croak as another wave of pain ran through her back and down her spine.  The pain was so severe that when she felt something drop onto her hip from the rocks above, she barely took any notice of it until the offending object rolled onto the floor and halted in front of her.

*Halt.  Where is prince Legolas, son of Thranduil?

          The last thing Legolas witnessed before he fell from sight into the deep, blackness of the volcanic shaft was the look of sheer horror upon Aragorn’s face.

          Oh, Aragorn, he thought miserably.  You will think this your fault somehow and it is not, mellon nin.  I only wish I could spare you that guilt and anguish.  My death is my own.

          As he plummeted toward his certain demise a strange, serene calmness swept over him and he smiled slightly as he gazed up at the stars that were just beginning to shine in the darkening skies so far above his head.  Somehow he had always thought he would outlive Aragorn; see him crowned King of Gondor one day; be at his side when he grew old.  But now he would never see his friend again this side of the Halls of Mandos and it saddened him greatly.

          He believed these melancholy thoughts to be his last; consequently, when he then unexpectedly landed atop a resilient mound that broke his fall and bounced slightly instead of being splattered upon the jagged rocks and breaking his back, he was momentarily disoriented.  Then he was rolling and sliding down the side of this mass toward the rock floor below.  The Elf tried to grasp onto something to arrest his fall, but he could gain no purchase and eventually dropped to the ground, still rolling, until he came to rest flat upon his stomach, his face in the dirt and dust of the cavern floor.  Unhurt, although a bit bruised and quite dusty, he rose up to his knees and slowly gazed about the dimly lit cavern he had fallen into.

          Elf and dragon stared at one another snout to nose.  In the thousands of years that Legolas had lived he had never been as terrified as he was at this moment.  Even the unforeseen encounter with the balrog hundreds of years ago, paled before this monster.  The Elf was petrified as he stared into the huge, intelligent yellow-gold eyes of this beast.  And then, incredulously, the dragon spoke to him.

          “You are the nauraug*?” it asked, moving its massive head closer to the prince, nostrils flaring as it breathed in his scent.

          Thankful that he had not been eaten, or worse, reduced to smoldering ashes, Legolas was nevertheless taken aback by the question and somehow intuitively knew that the answer he gave to this inquiry could very well mean his life or death.   It wants to know if I am the fire demon?  Fire being? What ‘fire being’? he wondered.

          Deciding it would be best not to try and deceive this creature, Legolas simply replied.“I am an Elf.”

          The dragon raised her huge head and looked the prince over from side to side as he slowly rose to his feet in front of her great bulk.  Her appraisal complete, she lowered her face to confront him at eye level once again and stared deeply into his blue eyes.  “I see your fire.  It surrounds you.”

          Ah, he mused.  She sees my Elf glow.

          Legolas had routinely made a habit of suppressing his natural aura when around beings other than Elves, but his instincts were now telling him that he should not resist the dragon’s probing and should open himself up completely, allowing the creature to recognize his inner soul and the light within him.  He inhaled slowly and deeply and then exhaled, relaxing his body and allowing the firebreather to experience the full power and force of his psyche.

          The dragon pulled back as the halo surrounding the Elf grew in strength and brightness until the entire cavern was lit in a soft, white glow.  The beast snorted loudly and blinked her great yellow eyes, and then she lowered her head to Legolas’ feet.

          “You are the Calar,”** the beast stated.  “I am the Flametalker, keeper of the histories of my kindred, guardian of my race.  I await your reckoning.”

          The Elf’s eyebrow rose and he looked down at the great beast’s head hovering a few inches from his feet.  He had no idea what the dragon was referring to by these words, and not quite sure what to do next, he tentatively placed his hands upon the dragon’s head and allowed his aura to encircle her face.  Both Elf and dragon stood immobile for several moments and then Legolas could feel a tingling shock travel through his fingertips and up his arms.  The dragon must have felt the same sensation for she shivered slightly and pulled back away from his hands.

          Suddenly she jerked her head upward and her jaws opened wide, exposing rows of spiked teeth.  Legolas froze.  He was certain he had obviously done the wrong thing by touching her and was now about to be eaten alive, but the dragon whipped her head around and snapped viciously at the irritating crossbow shaft still embedded within her back.

          Legolas let out a frightened, ragged breath and tried to get his racing heart back under control.  Cautiously he moved closer to the dragon’s body and looked up at the cross bolt shaft that had been fired from the human war machine.  It was caught under her wing and to the side of her spine.

          “I am not a healer among my people,” he said.  “But I do have some experience with battle wounds.”  He stepped closer and placed his hand upon the dragon’s heaving ribcage.  “If you will allow me to try, I will attempt to remove it.”

          The dragon hesitated only a moment and then once again rolled over onto her side and stretched out her great wing.  Legolas lightly stepped up upon the wing and she lifted the limb up until it was level with her wide back.  The Elf warily walked across the surface of the giant wing and then carefully stepped onto her broad back.  With one foot placed upon her hip and the other on her spine, he firmly grasped the wooden bolt and yanked it from the dragon’s flesh; once it was clear of her wing, he tossed it to the ground below.

          The creature screeched with pain as the shaft came loose and Legolas had to crouch down upon her back to keep from sliding off her side.  Her huge head whipped around and faced the Elf across her back.  Legolas could feel her hot breath washing over his cheeks and his blond hair flew about his head in the slight wind currents caused by her breathing.  His heart pounded within his chest as he faced the beast before him.   The thought of being burned alive was not a pleasant one and he feared that it might yet be his fate, but the dragon merely lowered her snout and sniffed at the bleeding wound.  Slowly and carefully her long tongue flicked over the scales and lapped at the open injury until the bleeding stopped and the rigid plates moved in to close over the puncture.

          Still crouched upon her back, Legolas kept a wary eye upon the beast’s head as he gingerly rose to his feet.  It was then that he noticed the huge iron collar fastened around the dragon’s neck.  The band was covered with signs and symbols that were indecipherable to the Elf, but even so seemed somehow familiar.  The characters were deeply etched into the black metal and Legolas surmised they were morgul in nature.  He could suddenly feel the darkness and evil issuing forth from the iron ring and he instinctively backed away.

          He looked into the eyes of the dragon and asked. “Why do you wear this foul collar?”

          The dragon’s head rose upward and an angry growl rumbled deep within her throat.  She tossed her black head from side to side and small wisps of smoke snorted from her nose.  Her yellow eyes glowed with a rage barely kept in check and the black irises within the golden pools narrowed to thin slits as she hissed and spat.  Even though Legolas was still standing upon her flank, she rolled upright onto her belly and flapped her great wings raising dust clouds and a great rushing wind.

          It was all Legolas could do to stand straight upon her roiling back.  His lithe form slid first one way and then the other until he eventually came to a stumbling halt between her massive wings.  When she finally settled her bulk down upon the floor once more, she glanced over her back at the Elf and chuffed loudly before moving her head in closer to his face.

          “The keeper has placed this binding collar upon me, forcing me to do his bidding, for if I do not, he will slay my children and I shall be lost and alone, the last of my race.”

          Legolas frowned.  “Is that why you have been destroying the forests of my home?”

          The dragon’s head tilted slightly and then drifted upward and away from the Elven prince upon her back.  “The woods are of no consequence to me, only my young ones.  If they are to survive, I must obey Lord Udûn, the Flame of the Balrogs.”

          The Elf stepped forward along the dragon’s spine and placed his hand upon the black collar.  Immediately he withdrew it as the evil presence of the demon could be felt emanating from the metal.  He glanced up at the creature’s quizzical face hanging above him.

          “And if I remove it?” he asked.

          The beast’s eyes narrowed and she studied Legolas with a crafty intelligence that surprised the fair being.  Her hot breath blew out over the Elf’s head and he could smell the sulfurous fumes issuing from her lungs.

          “I would be free,” the dragon replied.

          Yes, he thought, and under no one’s control.  Dare I take this chance and free her, or will I only unleash more destruction upon my people and the rest of Middle Earth?

          Most of his arrows had been spent in the earlier battle with the dragon, or were lost when he fell into the shaft and he had no idea what had become of his bow; however, his Elven long knives were still snuggly nestled within their leather sheaths upon his back.  He reached up over his shoulder and grasped one of the white knives, gracefully sliding it out of its leather casing.  He tentatively set the tip of the silver blade into the locking mechanism on the iron collar and tried to twist the metal piece free of the band.

          As soon as the Elven metal touched the black band a white hot flash of energy exploded from the collar.  The force of the bolt knocked Legolas backward and off of the dragon’s back and he found himself sailing through the air.  He landed hard upon the rock floor several feet from the dragon, stunned and dizzy.  His entire body was tingling and his fingertips stung as if they had been burned.  Queasy and still lightheaded, Legolas shakily stood erect and looked back at the firebreather.  The symbols etched upon the iron band around the dragon’s neck were now glowing a fiery red, but the beast did not seem to be harmed.

          “So much for that,” the Elf muttered as he dusted off his leggings and sore backside.  Then looking about the cavern, he spotted several large flat boulders.  He motioned to the rocks and asked. “Can you place your neck across these stones?   I may be able to shatter the lock upon the rock’s surface.”

          The dragon did not appear overly convinced, yet she swung her head over to the large stones and settled her neck across the rocks until the metal band lay flat upon the surface of the rock.  She then froze and held her head and neck still.  The metal sealing ring lay horizontally upon the stone and Legolas once again raised his knife.  This time he held the weapon with both hands and concentrated all his effort into one smashing blow.  The blade tip crashed down onto the iron lock and sparks flew outward as yet another energy bolt shot forth from the collar, but not before the locking ring shattered into numerous brittle pieces.

          After the blow had been delivered, Legolas jumped back and away from the collar avoiding a second sizzling jolt from the collar’s morgul spell.  Replacing his knife as he walked forward toward the beast, he quickly clasped the ends of the iron band and pulled them free of the dragon’s neck.  The huge metal ring fell to the ground with a dull clang.

          The monster rose up upon her hind legs, roaring in triumph and spread her wings outward as her head arched upward.  Legolas watched her with a mixture of awe and fear, not knowing what would happen next.  He took several steps backward and away from the beast, preparing to flee if he could find some means of escape, but the dragon slowly lowered her head back down to his face again and looked resolutely into his blue eyes.

          “Now you will free my hatchlings,” she stated.

          Legolas took a few cautious moments to collect his thoughts before answering, unsure how to respond to this new demand.  Finally he spread his arms wide and gestured about the cavern, employing a delaying tactic.  “I see no way to climb out of this cavern.  I cannot free them if I am trapped here.”

          “You shall ride upon my back,” the beast answered.  “Udûn holds them captive within Gundabad.  We go there now to free them.”

          The thought of riding a dragon was at once exhilarating and terrifying and Legolas was not sure if he was quite up to this challenge.  Yet it did seem to be the only way he would be able to escape this crevice.  The sheer walls towering overhead did not offer any hand or foot holds that he could see, and he had not seen any opening in the rocks that might lead him through the mountain’s interior and then out onto the plains.

          “I cannot swear to you that I can save the young ones,” the Elf stated.  “But I will do all that I can to rescue them.”  He paused.  “However, you must do something for me in return.”

          The beast stirred angrily and her wings flexed out and back along her sides.  “What do you ask?” the dragon questioned.

          “You must cease the destruction of the forestlands of Mirkwood,” Legolas stated.  “And before we travel to Gundabad, I must first return to my kinsmen.”

          The dragon growled with restless frustration, her tail twitching and slashing behind her.  Her agitated wings flapped and roiled the dust and debris within the fissure and her massive talons scratched at the rock surface digging out slight grooves within the stone.  Eventually the beast ceased her writhing protest and glared at the Elf.

          “Very well,” the dragon reluctantly agreed.

          Legolas approached the beast and once again she lowered her wing for him to stand upon.  He easily climbed up the bony edge and then once astride her shoulders, lowered his body down onto her back, tucking the calves of his legs under her wings.   He gripped the hard ridges along her neck and tried to convince himself that riding this dragon was no different than riding Astalder—just bigger—much bigger.  He could feel the dragon’s muscles tense under him, and then she sprang upward into the air and he felt the soaring wind flying across his face as she shot up through the mountain shaft and out into the gray skies of the early dawn.

*fire demon/being

**Lamp of Light/Illuminator

          The winds whipped at his face and sent his long, blond hair streaming outward behind his shoulders in a golden wave and Legolas grinned with euphoric delight as the world swept by beneath them in a blur of browns, greens and grays.  The dragon effortlessly winged southward toward the Forest River and the smoldering remains of northern Mirkwood and Legolas leaned forward into the wind.  Even racing with Aragorn on the fastest Elven horses could not compare to the thrill of this moment.

          The sensation of flying above the clouds was something the Elf had never felt before and he was like a child, filled with wonder and excitement, exhilarated and laughing as the dragon soared through the air.  And when the diminutive white specks along the riverbank marked their approach to the Elven campsite, he was saddened that this miraculous experience—riding upon the back of a dragon—was about to end.

          Legolas glanced down at the tiny scurrying figures of Elves and men as they raced to the riverside, pointing upward at the dragon.  He could hear the signal horns bellowing and saw the Elven warriors and the men of Lake Town gathering up their weapons, preparing to fire upon the dragon.   Frantically he searched the crowd for the one face he longed most to see and finding it, did not turn his gaze from the human he loved more than any brother.  The face staring up at him was filled with stunned shock and incredulous disbelief at seeing the dragon and its incongruous rider.  The Elf smiled down at Aragorn, waving his hand to the ranger in a joyful greeting.

          “Hold your weapons!” Gandalf shouted to the assembling warriors, raising his staff in the air and waving at the panicked crowd.  “It is Legolas!  Do not attack!”  The wizard pointed up and the soldiers gazed in confused wonder at the golden Elf sitting upon the back of the ebony fire beast, riding the dragon as if one born to it.  Slowly they lowered their bows and stood gazing skyward as the dragon languidly glided by over their heads.

          The Elf prince yelled into the roaring wind, hoping that the dragon could hear his words.  “Down there.”  When the great beast’s head turned to face him, he pointed to the river camp beneath them and repeated.  “Down there.”

          “As you wish,” the dragon answered.  “I will return for you at the next rising of the sun.  We fly to Gundabad and you will honor your pledge.”

          Legolas nodded.  “I will do this.”  The dragon gracefully banked and curved back around toward the Forest River to make another pass over the burned forestlands and the cluster of tents along the crowded shores.

          Aragorn stared up at the ethereal vision of the Elf upon the black dragon’s back and was reminded of the numerous murals that adorned his father’s home in Imladris.  The white gold aura that surrounded Legolas was almost blinding and the light of the new spring morning sun radiated out from behind him like a solar eclipse.  His long blond hair billowed about his head like an amorphous cloud and Aragorn could not be sure that what he saw was real and not some apparition of the Valar, or a mystical hallucination of his own grief-stricken mind.

          As Elf and dragon sailed past overhead, the ranger turned to Gandalf and whispered. “It is a vision, a dream of some kind.”  He stared at the wizard with awe and uncertainty.  “My eyes deceive me.”

          The ancient Istari laughed heartily and clasped the young man’s shoulder in a blissful one-armed hug.  “Your eyes do not mislead you, dear boy, but it appears our Wood Elf has a talent for riding dragons that he neglected to mention to us.”

          Wizard and ranger watched as the beast veered over the river and then made a slow shallow glide back toward the Elven camp.  Legolas deftly swung his right leg over the dragon’s neck and inched his way over to the leading edge of her left wing.  When the creature was barely twenty feet above the riverbank, he slid down her extended wing and agilely dropped off the tip to land upon the ground below.  His forward momentum sent him running along the ground a few paces, but he gracefully came to a halt several yards from the astonished Strider and Gandalf.   Its rider safely deposited upon the ground, the dragon sharply lifted upward in a steep climb and was soon winging away high above their heads, moving off toward the Misty Mountains in the northern wastes.  

          Legolas grinned broadly as he stood before Aragorn.  The young ranger had gone ashy pale and stared at the Elf as if he beheld some phantom wraith returned from the Halls of Mandos without warning to once again walk the earth.

          “Did you not miss me then?” asked the Elf with an impish twist to his lips.

          The remark broke through Strider’s stupor and he charged the short distance toward Legolas, reached his arms around the Elf’s slender shoulders, and crushed him to his chest in a smothering hug.  The prince uttered a strangled woof as Aragorn’s arms tightened around his chest and he unsuccessfully tried to return the hug but could not move his pinioned arms.  Fresh tears sprang to Strider’s eyes, but they were tears of joy and he finally drew back and looked into the sparkling blue eyes of his friend.

          He smiled at the Elf through his bleary eyes, but could not yet speak and Legolas clasped his forearms tightly.  “Then you did miss me.”

          Gandalf came to Strider’s rescue when it became obvious that the young human was still too overcome to find his voice.  “Indeed he did, my boy,” he smiled at the prince.  “We all did.”

          Aragorn released his hold on the Elf and swiped at his eyes.  “I thought you were…how did you…I can’t believe…Legolas, you were riding a dragon!”

          Legolas laughed and draped his slender arm across Strider’s shoulder.  “One thing at a time, if you please.”  He gestured at the tents facing the river and his tone grew serious.  “We must talk.”

          By this time the rest of the Elves and men within the camp had reached the threesome and were shouting, crying, laughing and cheering to see the Mirkwood prince alive and back among them, not to mention the fact that he had come back to them upon the back of a dragon.  Legolas greeted them all with gracious poise and received their well wishes, only managing to finally extricate himself from their boisterous exuberance by telling them that he would explain everything later that evening.

          When the crowds finally dissipated he turned back to Gandalf and Strider.  “Come.  I have much to tell you.”

          “Indeed,” said Mithrandir.  “I shall be very much interested in this tale.”

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////

          “You actually landed on top of the dragon?” Strider laughed, giving Legolas a sidelong smirk.  “And it didn’t roast you on the spot?”

          The Elf chuckled softly and handed Aragorn a cup of warm bark tea.  “I was terrified.”  He sat down upon the ground next to the cook fire his friend was stoking and measured the span of an inch with his thumb and forefinger. “The dragon’s snout was no further than this from my face.  I could feel the heat of her breath across my cheeks.”

          Mithrandir chortled at the mental picture those words provoked and then asked the Elf.  “What did you do to gain its trust?”

          The Elf prince sipped his tea thoughtfully and gave the wizard an uncertain frown.   “I am not exactly sure; I think she sensed, or actually saw, my aura. The dragon believes I am someone called the Calar—the illuminator.  When I placed my hands upon her head there was a tingling sensation that flowed between us.  She calls herself Naurnyar—Flametalker.  Apparently she is some kind of custodian of her race’s histories, or memories.  I am not quite sure.”

          Gandalf nodded. “Of course,” he said.  “She preserves the chronicles of her kind to pass on to each new generation, or to each new Flametalker as it is born.  The Calar must refer to the being who originally gave the annals to the first Flametalker.”  He glanced over at Legolas with a curious expression upon his wizened face.  “Why would she think you were this being, I wonder?”

          The Elf shrugged.  “She asked first if I was the ‘fire demon.’  She said she could ‘see my fire.’  I simply thought she was referring to my Elf glow.”

          A silence descended upon the three as the wizard pondered this new information.  He slowly puffed on his pipe as if each inhalation aided in the recalling of some bit of memory from his mind.

          “Melkor,” the wizard finally murmured to himself.  “Seeker of the Flame Imperishable and breeder of the first of the Urulóki.”  He glanced up at Legolas whose eyes had grown wide at the mention of the dark Valar.  “She has mistaken you for Melkor.”

          Legolas visibly paled and Aragorn bristled in protest.  “That is nonsense!  Why would she think Legolas was Melkor?  How could she possibly confuse an Elf for the vilest evil ever to set foot upon Eä?”

          Gandalf held his hand up to assuage Aragorn’s anger.  “Ah, but Melkor wasn’t always dark.  In the beginning he was one of the most powerful of Ilúvatar’s Ainur.  He even deceived Manwë once with his fair countenance.”  The Istari looked back at the stricken Wood Elf.  “Apparently you have some innate power that holds sway over this beast.”

          Legolas shook his head.  “I have no such power,” he vehemently denied, although his expression was haunted by memories of Dol Guldur and the morgul blood he had been forced to consume.  Tortured thoughts and remembered horrors raced through his mind. Did the dragon sense this evil within me? Was it evil the beast had seen surrounding me, not the light?

          “No matter,” the wizard continued as if thinking out loud.  “For whatever reason it is responding to Legolas, we can use this to our advantage.  Perhaps we could persuade it to join forces with us against the enemy in Gundabad.”  He glanced meaningfully at Aragorn and then back to Legolas.  “However, dragons are very devious beasts.  They are also extremely duplicitous.  You cannot always trust what they say to be true.”

          Strider could sense the Elf’s distress at the turn of this conversation and he moved protectively closer to his friend.  “We will not use Legolas to help us manipulate this beast.  It is enough that we have him safely back with us.  We cannot place our trust in a dragon of Morgoth’s creation.”

          The prince was appreciative of the ranger’s attempt to shield him from danger, but Strider was not aware of the agreement he had made with the dragon and in his own heart he knew that he could not endanger Aragorn with this folly.  It was something that he must do alone.

          “It will not help us.”  Legolas’ voice was subdued and he would not look directly at the ranger or the wizard as he spoke.  “Its only concern is for the safety of its young ones.”

          “Young ones,” Aragorn replied.  “You mean to tell us there are more of these foul beasts?”

          Legolas reluctantly nodded.  “They are held in Gundabad by a demon called Udûn.  He is…was controlling the dragon by means of an iron collar wrought with a morgul binding spell.  It was about the dragon’s neck.”

          At the mention of the demon’s name, Gandalf’s face grew somber.  “Udûn, you say,” he muttered.  “The Flame of the Balrogs.”  He shook his head with grave concern.  “He is a daunting foe, Legolas.”

          “I saw no collar upon the beast,” Strider commented.

          Legolas quickly glanced at the wizard and saw that Gandalf was watching him closely.  “I removed it,” he answered quietly.

          “Did you think that wise?” questioned Mithrandir.

          The Elf looked helplessly at the wizard.  “I do not know, Gandalf.”  Legolas rose to his feet and started pacing back and forth in front of the cook fire as if the movement would help him to gather his thoughts together.  He finally stopped and faced the ancient Istari.

           “I followed the dragon to the mountains intent upon killing her, but once down in the cavern with the beast, I found that I could not.  She was wounded by the very crossbow that we used against her, yet I pulled the spear from her side.  That is when I saw the collar.”

           He glanced from Aragorn to Gandalf and saw that they were both intently following his narration.  “Naurnyar told me the demon is holding her young ones.   She is being forced to comply with his foul commands.  If she does not obey, he threatens to kill the hatchlings.   As long as she wears the iron band she is bound to his will.  It was the morgul force of the spell that was forcing her to devastate the lands and burn down the forests of Mirkwood.  I thought if I removed it, I might be able to persuade her to stop the destruction of my homeland.”

          “And she asked you for nothing in return?” the wizard inquired.

          Legolas did not answer straight away and Aragorn’s mind made a serendipitous leap.  “Oh no,” he said.  “You didn’t.  You didn’t tell that beast you would rescue her eggs.”

          The Elf turned his most innocent expression upon the ranger and Strider threw his hands up into the air.  “You did!”

          “Oh, dear,” added Gandalf, and then both he and the ranger were talking at once and seemed to have completely forgotten about the Elf standing before them.

          Legolas angrily shouted above the din.  “It was my decision. I do this alone.”

          Both wizard and ranger stopped speaking and looked up at Legolas.  No one spoke for several heartbeats and then Strider also rose from the ground to stand beside the Elf.  He stared hard at his long time friend and his stern expression was resolved.  “You will not go alone.”

          The Elf’s pleading eyes looked back at the ranger.  “I must, Aragorn.  The dragon returns for me at daylight tomorrow.  I gave my vow to help aid her and I will not go back upon my word, but I cannot risk your life in this pursuit.  You are much too important to all of Middle Earth.”

          Before Aragorn could reply, Gandalf touched his forearm and slowly shook his head.  Leaning heavily upon his gnarled staff, he glanced from ranger to Elf.  “Then we must convince the dragon otherwise.”

          Both Legolas and Strider stared at the wizard and he smiled at their identical puzzled expressions.  “If as you say, the dragon is no longer under the control of the demon, perhaps we can enlist her support against him and his orc armies.”

          “You mean to control the dragon yourself?” asked Legolas.

          “Oh no,” the wizard laughed.  “I doubt that anyone can actually do that.”  His merry eyes looked at the two friends.  “We must encourage Naurnyar to assist us in defeating Udûn.  We must convince her that serving our effort will also help her regain her young ones.”

          “And how do we do that?” asked Strider.

          “Not we,” the seer turned pointedly toward the prince of Mirkwood who looked much like a bug caught exposed when its covering rock has been disturbed.  “Legolas must convince her.”

          Udûn paced back and forth across the spacious quarters of his private chambers, trying to concentrate on what his uruk-hai captain was saying.  His harsh features were set in angled lines and sharp edges and his eyes glowed with an orange fire.  He could hear the dragon hatchlings screeching and squawking in their iron cage where they squabbled with one another near the warmth of the fire.  The din they were making only added to the dark lord’s wrath.  Naurnyar’s eggs had hatched several days ago and had not ceased their continuous cacophony since breaking free of their shells.  If the dragon did not return soon to attend to the hungry monsters, their infernal racket would drive them all mad.

          The demon suddenly stopped his pacing and whirled angrily around upon the dark warrior who was standing only a few paces within the entryway to his quarters.  Erashnâk’s goblins had recently returned from a scouting foray into the Ered Mithrin and his forthcoming report so far had not been favorable.

          “Where is it?” Udûn growled.

          Erashnâk flinched.  “It has not been seen since leaving the grey mountains, my lord.”  He halted, reluctant to continue with the news his underlings had just given him but knew the demon would not be put off.  “It was seen flying back toward the Mirkwood forests.”

          Udûn sensed the information he was about to hear from this creature would not please him and his expression hardened.  “Tell me!” he roared.

          “The beast no longer wears the iron collar you placed upon her neck.  The scouts say when she arose from the fissures within the cliffs several days ago, she was being ridden by an Elf,” he answered.

          “By an Elf!” Udûn raged as he stomped back and forth across the stone floor, unconsciously pacing once again.  “An Elf!”

          The black soldier dared not move and fervently hoped the demon’s rage would spend itself in the heated pacing; he had no wish to bear the full brunt of his lord’s anger.

          Udûn finally halted in front of his captain and snarled.  “Bring me this pretentious Elf who dares to steal my dragon!”  His eyes narrowed and he drew closer to the uruk-hai.  “I want him alive, Erashnâk.”

          The uruk nodded vigorously.  “Yes, my lord!  I will see it done.”        

/////////////////////////////

           The sun had not yet risen and the Elven camp was quiet as Legolas silently made his way through the dawn mists coming off the river and walked toward the ancient rock outcroppings close to the plains.   He effortlessly climbed the small hill until he reached the flattened top of the mound and then gracefully sank down onto the rocks, settling himself cross-legged upon the stones and turned his tranquil face to the rising of the sun.

          He breathed in the cool, fresh air, moisture-tinted from the first of the spring rains that came during the night and had mercifully extinguished the lingering fires.  His gaze traveled over the blackened desolation that had once been thriving forestlands and knew that it would be hundreds of years before the earth healed itself and was whole again.

          As the first rays of the sun began to appear over the horizon his thoughts returned to the planning of the previous night.  There had been much hustle and bustle as Mithrandir had sent missive after missive throughout the night by way of runners or carrier birds, to Rivendell, to Lorien, to Lake Town and the Ranger camps of the north, asking all to muster as many warriors as could be spared to converge upon Gundabad and prepare for battle.  Now it was up to him to enlist the aid of the dragon.

          As the Elf patiently awaited the arrival of Naurnyar, the sun rose higher and brighter and the ground fog began to dissipate and in the distance his keen eyesight could distinguish the dark shape of the dragon approaching.  He remained seated upon the stones and watched as the beast drew nearer, its massive wings slicing through the air with incredible speed until it was circling overhead.  The dragon surveyed the surrounding plains and riverbanks, ever mindful of danger, and then slowly glided down to the earth, landing a short distance away from the waiting Elf.

          So graceful in flight, the beast was a lumbering giant upon the ground and she awkwardly moved across the burned grasses to stand near the rocky hillock.  She lowered her neck and head to face Legolas eye to eye and spoke.  “You are ready?”

          The Elf nodded slightly.  “Yes, I am ready.   But first I would speak with you.”

          The dragon glanced about suspiciously, scanning the Elven camp for any signs of a trap, but all was quiet and there were no other beings visible save the Elf upon the stones.  She turned her gaze back upon the prince.  “Speak.”

          Legolas stared into the ancient yellow-gold eyes of the beast and began.  “I am the Calar?”

          “You are he,” the dragon replied.  “Speak and I attend your word.”

          The ritualistic reply was not lost on the Wood Elf and he dearly hoped that the beast would indeed heed his words.  “As the Flametalker of the dragon kindred, Naurnyar, what is your most fundamental obligation to your race?  What duty must you never shun?”

          The dragon blinked and drew back slightly from the Elf and her head tilted in a questioning attitude.  After a long, thoughtful silence the beast finally replied.

          “I must recite the lineage of my ancestors to each new generation so that all might know the saga of our creation.  I must keep in memory all that are born and continue the narration of life.”

          “And in order to do this, what must you do?” asked Legolas.

          “I must return to the fire pits of my awakening.  I must seek out those as yet unborn and protect those newly arisen.  I must go back to the flaming lakes of Gundabad, for I despair of this cold outer world and I long for the fires of my ancestral abode.”

          Legolas nodded slightly as he studied this extraordinary firebreather towering above him.  If there was ever a time he needed to make use of his golden tongue, it was now.  He had one chance to convince the beast to help them defeat the demon residing within Gundabad.  If he failed, he would still honor his pledge to the dragon, but even if he was successful and could somehow save her children, there was no certainty that the dragon would not return to its previous rampages of destruction.

          With grave reservation, he began.  “As long as the demon Udûn resides within Gundabad, this yearning to return to your home will never come to pass.  Once he discovers that you are no longer under his control, he will destroy your hatchlings and attempt to enslave you once more.  By bending you to his will and inflicting his evil upon you, he will thoroughly corrupt you and you will no longer hear the songs of your ancestors.  He will use you to carry out his evil bidding and when he has finished with you, he will use the Orb of Utumno to destroy you.  There will be no Flametalker to recite the histories for the next generation for there will no longer be any left to hear.”

          The dragon hissed at the Elf’s abhorrent words and drew back her weighty head, great nostrils flaring wide with anger.  Legolas forced himself to remain still and he continued to calmly hold the dragon’s yellow-eyed glare, showing no outward signs of the inner terror he felt.  Tendrils of smoke issued forth from the beast’s nose and mouth and a thunderous, rumbling roar sounded deep within her throat.

          “You must help us rid Gundabad of this demon, Naurnyar,” Legolas continued.  “If you wish to return to your flame pits to live in peace, you must do as I ask.”

          The dragon rose up upon her haunches and raised her head up into the sky, bellowing out another booming roar.  A curtain of fire spewed forth from her mouth, shooting upward into the air and then raining down upon the already blistered earth.  Legolas slowly rose from his seated position upon the stone mound and called up to the beast.  “I will help to save your children.  Help me defeat this demon.”

          Naurnyar lowered her regal head and placed her snout in front of the Elf’s nose.  The residual heat from the recently expelled flames was still emanating from her nostrils and the hot air blew over Legolas’ face, but he ignored the warmth and the smell of brimstone.  With a careful and unhurried motion, he brought his hand to his chest and reached inside his suede tunic.  He slowly withdrew a silvery metal circlet.  A sparkling, clear crystalline stone was embedded within the center of the band and caught the sun’s rays in a brilliant explosion of light.

          “The Istari Mithrandir has crafted this stone of power from the Flame of Anor.  It is infused with the magic of the Maiar and will protect you from the Orb of Utumno.”

           He presented it to the dragon for her inspection.  “If you wear this upon your forehead, Udûn’s Black Speech cannot dominate your will any longer.  He cannot force you to submit to his vile mandates.”  Legolas stared deeply into the dragon’s golden eyes.  “Without his morgul spells he cannot control you.   By the power of this stone, you can effortlessly defeat him and return unhindered to the flaming lakes of your birth.”

          The dragon warily sniffed at the metal band and then stared at the Elf standing fearlessly before her.  Gradually she lowered her massive countenance and leaned forward toward Legolas.  “You may set it upon my brow,” she rumbled.

          The Elven being moved forward and placed the circlet upon the dragon’s head.  The clear crystal stone rested snuggly between the two large horns protruding from the beast’s forehead and settled comfortably above her bony brow ridges.  Legolas quickly fastened the chain clasps around her spiked horns, locking the diadem in place so that the amulet would not come loose while the creature was airborne.  When he was finished, he stepped back and bowed slightly toward the dragon.

          “You will help us?” he asked the beast.

          Naurnyar nodded.  “I will help you.”  

////////////////////////////

          Aragorn leaned across the makeshift table and stretched out the large parchment maps of the Northern Waste and the Forodwaith.  The assembled Elven and human warriors leaned forward over the maps and listened as Strider traced his finger along the Anduin River northward past the Hithaeglir and through the pass to the west of the Ered Mithrin.

          “We can travel through this valley and come in behind Gundabad if we stay to the eastern mountain ridges.  There is sure to be orc activity throughout this area, but hopefully with the dragon’s help, we can learn where they are hiding and be prepared for any attack.”  He glanced meaningfully at Legolas.  “You are certain it will help us?”

          The prince nodded.  “Yes, she will aid us, but only because her young ones are in danger.  Once they are secured, I cannot say.”

          “I just don’t like it,” stated Tharel, the leader of the Lake Town soldiers.  “You can’t trust a dragon.  They’re foul, evil tempered monsters.”

          There were more than a few voices raised in agreement with the old veteran and Aragorn looked significantly from face to face around the table.  “We must all be of a mind, gentlemen,” he paused, his gaze finally resting upon his Elven friend.  “Do you trust this dragon, Legolas?”

          The Elf looked at each man and Elf in turn as he spoke.  “Naurnyar has given me her word.  I see no reason not to believe her.”  He looked back to Aragorn.  “If she will allow me to ride upon her back, I can easily survey the peaks and strongholds from the sky looking for signs of yrch. I can then bring that information back to you before you travel through the gorge.”

          Strider nodded, a final decision made.  “That is good enough for me.”  He turned to the gathered men and Elven warriors.  “We will leave at dawn tomorrow.”

          The small group of fighting men and Elves surrounding the table nodded their assent, some more reluctantly than others, but all appeared to accept Aragorn’s final judgment and were confident in his leadership.  He would guide them through the mountain passes successfully and boldly lead them in the fight against the threat in Gundabad.

          Once everyone had departed and only the Elven prince and Gandalf remained, Strider glanced at his friend with some trepidation.  “Are you sure it is wise to trust this beast?”

          The Elf was equally reticent about the dragon’s ultimate intentions, but he knew they would have to maintain this uneasy alliance with the beast until the demon of Gundabad was defeated.  “We have little choice in this matter, Aragorn,” he answered.  “I would rather trust the dragon, than fight it.”

          The ancient wizard stirred from his chair and slowly rose to his feet.  “Legolas speaks the truth, Strider.  Let us hope that it will serve us well.”

          “Very well,” the ranger conceded.  “Let us get some rest.  I fear we will not get much after tomorrow.”

          Aragorn walked the length of the army lines assessing his troop’s strengths and weaknesses.  The hastily assembled band was larger than he had first supposed and many more men from Lake Town had arrived during the night bearing all type of arms and armor as well as anything else that could be used as a weapon—pitchforks, scythes, even hammers from their smiths.  The mounted Grey Elven archers from Lasgalen were over one hundred strong and the Woodland Elves added another fifty or so bowmen to the Elven contingent.  All in all, it was a strong advance party and should have little trouble clearing a path for the others who were hopefully on their way to join them at Gundabad.

          When he saw Legolas approaching, he moved away from the mustering troops and walked forward to meet the Elf.  He gazed up at the empty grey skies and then back down to the prince.

          “I do not see the dragon,” he commented.

          “I cannot just whistle for it,” the Elf tersely remarked.

          The Elf’s words and exasperated expression forced a snorting laugh from the ranger.  “No, I don’t suppose you can.”  He gestured toward the warriors who were already geared up and set to deploy.  “We are almost ready to move out.  Will you ride with us?”

          Legolas shook his head.  “The dragon is approaching.  I can see it hovering above the mountain peaks.”  He glanced at the large number of warriors and horses milling about.  “The horses will be skittish.  You should keep them back until the dragon and I have departed.”

          Aragorn nodded.  “Where will we meet you?” he asked.

          “I will find you,” the Elf replied.  He clasped Strider’s shoulders in a gesture of farewell and grinned at the ranger.  “Try not to get lost.”

          Aragorn chuckled and took a playful swipe at the Elf’s head, but as Legolas turned to leave, he stayed his arm.  “Be careful, mellon nin.”

          Legolas nodded and drew his arm across his chest, bowing slightly, his gaze never leaving the human’s face.  “And you.”

          The panicked neighing of the horses announced the dragon’s arrival and Legolas trotted out onto the open plains to meet the beast.  It landed upon the scorched grasslands with a ponderous thud and settled itself onto the ground as the Elf came near.  Aragorn watched anxiously as the prince and the firebreather spoke and then the Elf scrambled nimbly up her wing and onto her broad back.

          He really does act like riding that beast is something he’s done for centuries, Strider thought as he observed Legolas settle himself into a comfortable position atop the dragon’s shoulders and then Elf and dragon were airborne and winging away toward the north.

          Strider watched his friend fly off through the skies until he could no longer distinguish the dragon’s mass from that of the mountain peaks and then moved to his awaiting horse and swiftly mounted.  Raising his arm into the air, he brought it forward and down.

          “Let move out,” he shouted to his ragtag army.  The gathered alliance of Elves and men started out from the ravaged Mirkwood forests and began their march toward Gundabad.  

//////////////////////   

          By day’s end the forces from Mirkwood and Lake Town had crossed the plains and reached the pass between the Misty Mountains and the Ered Mithrin.  There had been no sign of Legolas or the dragon since dawn and Aragorn was more than a little concerned.  As the army began to set up camp for the night, he sought out Gandalf and drew the wizard away from the main body of soldiers to talk privately with the ancient Istari.

          “I am worried about Legolas,” he began.  “There has been no sighting of him since we parted this morning.”

          Mithrandir gazed up at the mountain peaks and sighed.  “We shall have to trust that he is well, Strider.”  He patted the human’s back affectionately.  “Legolas is not some naïve Elfling,” he chuckled.  “I’m sure he will be fine.”

          “You’re right, of course,” Strider grudgingly admitted.  “It’s just that I have this uneasy feeling that something has happened to him.”  He looked up at the wizard sheepishly.  “Or will happen to him.”  He shrugged his shoulders and tried to smile.  “I guess I’m just being foolish.”

          “Not at all, my boy,” the seer answered.  “You thought him dead only a few short days ago.  It is only natural that you would fear for his safety.”  He guided the young ranger back toward the main campsite.  “Come.  Let’s get some food and rest.  I’m sure Legolas will appear when he has something of value to report to you.”

          Aragorn nodded in resignation and walked back alongside Gandalf toward the rows of tents that now lined the mountain foothills.  As they neared the cook fires, Tharel approached with several other men in tow.

          “Strider, we have the first watch in place and sentries posted at the camp’s outskirts.  Do you have any further orders for me?”

          “No, see to your men, Tharel, and get some rest yourself.  We’ll head out again at dawn,” the ranger replied.

          The Lake Town warrior nodded curtly.  “Very good.  I’ll tell the others.”

          After the men departed, Gandalf was about to suggest that Strider sample some new pipe weed the wizard had recently procured when the golden head of Legolas appeared bobbing up and down among the rocky outcroppings of the Hithaeglir just beyond their encampment.   The Elf was swiftly jogging toward their camp, easily threading his way through the boulders and down the rock slope toward the tents.    

          “It seems your fears for Legolas were unfounded,” Gandalf stated as he gestured toward the foothills beyond the outer reaches of the camp.  “Here he comes now.”

          Aragorn quickly turned toward the hills and saw the Wood Elf trotting lightly toward the base of the mountain.  As he came up to the ranger and wizard, Strider could see from his troubled expression that he did indeed have information to relate.

          “You’ve seen something?” he asked.

          Legolas nodded.  “Yes.  The mountain passes ahead of you are covered with concealed ridges and deep caves.  They are teaming with orc and goblin warriors and I have seen several uruk-hai among them.  I counted hundreds of them swarming around and about the cliffs no more than a day’s march from here.  Naurnyar is confident she can dispatch these yrch with little trouble, but be on your guard, Strider.  Once their scouts bring word to Gundabad that the dragon is attacking, your element of stealth and surprise will be lost and we can expect Udûn to send out his armies in droves.”

          Aragorn nodded, digesting this information and forming alternative battle strategies within his mind.   “Also, as we draw closer to Gundabad the trails narrow down to bare boot paths.  By the end of tomorrow’s trek, we will be forced to dismount and lead our horses through the gorge.  We must get through that canyon by daylight while the orc hordes are within their caves.”

          “I will attempt to persuade Naurnyar to fly over the Misty Mountains tomorrow and determine if there are indeed any armies coming from Rivendell and the Ranger Encampments.  If they are sighted, I will return and let you know their numbers and how long it will be before they arrive.  We can then coordinate the convergence of these forces before we reach Gundabad,” Legolas stated.

          “Let us hope they will be forthcoming with troops,” said the wizard.  “I know how ministers and affairs of state can delay decision-making.  I feel sure there will be no shortage of Rangers willing to fight, but Lord Elrond will have a difficult time convincing his Council that this battle is necessary.”

          The three were silent for a space and then Aragorn glanced about uneasily.  “Where is the dragon?” he asked.

          Legolas pointed toward one of the peaks above their camp.  “It has settled in for the night upon those mountain tors.  I will climb up to meet her in the morning.”  He smiled at the ranger.  “Do not worry, Strider.  We are safe here.”  His smile faded as he continued.  “Although, I must say Naurnyar is getting somewhat irksome.  She believes the young ones have hatched by now and is most anxious to get to Gundabad.”

          Aragorn was not pleased with this news.  “Can you manage her?”

          The Wood Elf shrugged.  “I cannot say.”

          Gandalf herded both of them toward the cooking fires.  “Time enough for talk later,” he smiled.  “Let’s eat and take our rest for the remainder of this evening.”

          Strider looked as if he had a great deal more he would like to discuss with the Elf, but deferred to the wizard and followed him toward the warming fires of the mess tent.  “Very well, Gandalf, we will eat first,” he said.  “But we still have much to go over tonight.”

          “Certainly, certainly, my boy,” the wizard replied but his interest had already shifted from battle strategies to food and he eagerly joined the men and Elves seated about the various cook fires.

          “Well, I suppose we must wait upon Gandalf’s stomach before we can continue our discussion,” Strider laughed.  “He’s developed a Hobbit’s appetite.”

          Legolas nodded in understanding and the two friends moved forward to join the company of the soldiers lining up to get their evening meal.  

//////////////////////

          “We will have to determine how to get those people out of Gundabad without injury,” Aragorn was saying as he steadfastly paced from one end of the small tent to the other.  Legolas and Gandalf watched the ranger move back and forth until the Elf finally stuck his leg out in front of the human, blocking his well-trodden path.

          “Enough, Strider,” he smiled slightly.  “We will get them out somehow.  I will have more information tomorrow after the dragon and I travel to the western slopes of the Misty Mountains.  Once the armies join outside the stronghold, we will have the benefit of your father’s wisdom to guide us, or Glorfindel’s at the very least.”

          Aragorn reluctantly sat, his elbows resting upon his knees and placed his head in his hands.  “You are right, my friend,” he replied as he rubbed his aching temples.  “I just feel that I abandoned those people to their woeful fate.  I should have done something.”

          “And what would you have done?” asked Legolas.  “You would have needlessly endangered your life and become enslaved as well.”  He placed a strong hand upon the ranger’s shoulder.  “You cannot take blame for something you cannot control.”

          Strider stood up, and would have started pacing again, but one look from Legolas halted him.  “I know, I know,” he agreed.  “I just…”

          The Mirkwood prince smiled slightly and knowingly looked upon his dedicated friend with an expression of unswerving reassurance and genuine compassion.  “You are a king who is concerned for his people,” he said quietly.  “It matters not that you do not wear a crown.  It is who you are, Aragorn.”

          Strider stared at the Woodland Elf and they silently shared an unvoiced commitment, one to the other, that neither would sever save in death.  Gandalf smiled fondly at the two warriors and then wearily arose from his seat.  It would be a very long and hard road they would travel together, but one that would eventually lead them both to their destinies.

          “I think we all need some rest,” the wizard commented.  “The days ahead will be hard enough.”  

/////////////////////////////

          Another day of their journey had come and gone but Aragorn could not find sleep and now restless and on edge, he stood alone a short distance apart from his tent and the army encampment.  He gazed up at the darkened night skies, looking, searching, yet seeing nothing but the blackness of the mountains and the few stars visible above the peaks.  He silently fought the panic rising within his heart, threatening to spill over if he gave in to it and he knew that he could not.

          His band of warriors had traveled with speed and they were now well into the passes and valleys much closer to Gundabad and the western passage through the Misty Mountains.   They were nearing that region of the cliffs where the ridges would prove dangerous and they would be exposed and without cover as they journeyed through the narrow gorges.    It was in this area that Legolas had seen the heavy orc movements and had warned him that resistance would in all probability be strong.  This night would be the last they spent in relative safety.

          He scanned the skies once more and found nothing but stars and a few scattered clouds on high and his anxiety increased.  It was growing past the midnight hour and none but the sentries were awake and positioned around the camp perimeters.  Legolas and the dragon had not returned.

          The sun had not yet risen and the air was cold and biting atop the barren mountain ridge.  Small patches of snow still covered many of the peaks and tors but the weather and temperature were of no particular importance to Legolas.  He had been quietly waiting for the dragon to appear and now watched with heightened interest as the beast skillfully maneuvered its way through the towering rocks toward him. As the first of the sun’s rays began to clear the mountain crests, Naurnyar drew closer to the shelf where the Elf was patiently seated upon the stones.   She extended her huge wings and slowly began to decrease her speed as she approached the cliff side and she adeptly searched the rocks along the rim for a suitable perch on which to land.

          Legolas sat comfortably upon the small ledge overlooking the narrow gorge and watched as the dragon gracefully landed upon the mountain’s craggy side.  Her massive hind claws swung out from beneath her body and then dug deeply into the rock and dirt of the cliff’s face, as she firmly entrenched her talons into the rock and stone of the angling slope.  She easily balanced her massive body upon the jutting ridge of the mountain, although her wings periodically flexed outward as they were buffeted by the shifting wind currents flowing through the mountain passes.

          The prince nodded his head in a greeting to the beast and said.  “We must fly to the western slopes of the Hithaeglir to search for troop movements.”

          Naurnyar’s yellow eyes narrowed.  “No.”

          Legolas’ eyebrow rose at the blunt, although not completely unexpected, refusal.  “No?” he questioned.  “And why not?”

          “You will fly with me to Gundabad.  You will free my hatchlings as you have promised.”  A rumbling, threatening growl emanated from her throat.  “I tire of this delay.”

          Legolas sighed.  “Naurnyar, we cannot just go storming into this orc stronghold alone.  There are too many orc and goblin hordes residing within Gundabad.  We must wait for the combined armies to arrive.”

          “I will rid the mountain of the foul black ones.  One breath from my lungs will consume them all.  I have but to enter the cavern and spew the flames of my destruction throughout.  All will die,” she thundered.

          “You cannot do that.  There are hundreds of innocent humans enslaved within that mountain.  They will be killed along with orcs and goblins alike if you heedlessly raze everything within your path,” Legolas countered.

          “Humans mean nothing to me, only my young.”

          The dragon’s head rose higher and her nostrils began to open and shut as her breathing increased.  By now Legolas could recognize the overt physical changes that occurred within Naurnyar’s body that signaled a forthcoming release of smoke and fire from the dragon’s lungs and he knew she was readying to expel a gout of flame.  In a single, swift movement the Elf rose defiantly to his feet and boldly glared at the beast.

          “Then I will not help you.”

          Naurnyar bellowed her rage and a stream of fire scorched the rocks just to the left of the Elf’s position.  Legolas did not flinch or waver from his stance and the dragon hissed with displeasure at her failure to unnerve the fair being.  Her great wings flapped with unbridled agitation and her long, snakelike tail whipped from side to side, striking the rocks and stones along the ridge and sending boulders tumbling down into the valley below; and still Legolas did not move.  Elf and dragon glared at one another in silent, stubborn determination.

          Finally the Mirkwood prince relented.  “Very well, we shall fly to Gundabad first.”  He paused, his expression stern and commanding.  “but only to reconnoiter.  Then we move on to search for the summoned armies.  If we cannot verify any troop advances, then we will return to Gundabad to monitor the orc movements within and without the mountain.”

          The dragon shook her black head back and forth, snorting and snuffling loudly as clouds of smoke billowed out from her nose.  “As you wish,” the dragon spat out.   She eyed the Elf with an ill-concealed and angry acquiescence.  “This time.”

          Legolas prudently refrained from commenting any further, knowing he was treading upon dangerous ground and understanding all too well that at the slightest provocation, the dragon could easily turn upon him.  Instead, he stepped lightly to the edge of the stone shelf and jumped down upon the dragon’s back.   He sank down onto her shoulders and settled into his usual position just forward of her wings.

          Naurnyar glanced back at the seated Elf, the anger still clearly visible upon her formidable visage, and then she dropped from the cliff and spread wide her wings, gliding upon the air currents that wafted through the canyons below.  She rose up elegantly and soared along the peaks, wings beating in long, slow sweeps.  As they cleared the topmost ridges and flew northward, Legolas could see the imposing façade of Gundabad looming in the distance.  

////////////////////

          Since the lowering of the sun beyond the mountain range, Erashnâk had watched the raging conflagration caused by the dragon and the futile attempts of his orc armies to combat the raging inferno.  The black horde was on the defensive now and hundreds of the goblin foot soldiers had already been burned to ashes.  Fires were rampant along the entire length of the canyon and the roasted and charred remains of his warriors were left in smoldering piles.   He was losing a great many yrch to the dragon’s fiery breath and as the carnage unfolded below him, he observed the huge losses with a detached concern.  He could readily acquire more orc soldiers, but he could ill afford to lose the Elf and the dragon.

          The unlikely pair had spared him the long, arduous trek through the mountains to search for them.  Instead, they had arrived with the morning sun to circle the towering peaks of Gundabad before eventually veering off and flying to the south along the western edge of the Misty Mountains.  He immediately sent out patrols to follow them and the reports from the returning surveillance teams indicated the dragon was traveling toward the Ettenmoors and moving steadily southward.

          Erashnâk could not be sure what they were doing in those regions, but he surmised they were searching for reinforcements.  His goblin scouts had already reported a small army approaching from the Ered Mithrin.  There would be time enough to deal with them later.  Right now, however, his attention was focused upon the dragon and the Elf seated upon its back.

          Both had returned to the mountain peaks near Gundabad as the sun was sinking in the west and his over eager minions thought to shoot the dragon down.  Their precipitous attack had only served to enrage the dragon and this battle had ensued.  He would have to do something soon.  The flames were rapidly racing along the mountain sides toward his position and he was running out of warriors.  He raised his own bow and sighted upon the Elf.  The blond warrior was expertly dispatching arrow after arrow and effectively diminishing the troops lining the upper peaks.  Those who were not burned alive by the dragon’s breath were being efficiently slain by the Elf’s bow.

          The uruk-hai glanced at the orc beside him.  “Get the cage,” he ordered.

          The orc bowed and hurriedly scuttled into the passageway behind the captain.  The entrance had been carved into the mountain’s side by Dwarves and was of sturdy construction.  The tunnel led back into the bowels of Gundabad and was used as a means of egress to the valley below.  A short while later the orc foot soldier returned with an enormous iron cage covered by a black drape.  Inside, the three dragon hatchlings screeched in angry protest at the rough, rocking motion of being carried and bounced about.

          “Place it where the dragon can plainly see it,” instructed Erashnâk.  As the orc dragged the cage over to a large overhang and set it atop a jutting rock formation, the uruk again sighted along his arrow, fixing the Elf in his sights.  When the cage was in place, he nodded toward the orc who quickly removed the covering cloth and the hatchlings were exposed to the fading daylight.

          As he had hoped, once the concealing sheet had been removed, the young ones set up a raucous shrieking and the dragon immediately turned her head toward the trapped hatchlings flapping within the cage.  She balked in mid-flight and careened toward her squawking dragon children, the burning of the yrch forgotten.  The unforeseen lurching movement of the dragon nearly unseated the Elf and the blond warrior was forced to lower his bow in order to grasp the bony ridges along the dragon’s neck and back to keep from falling.

          Erashnâk saw his shot and let fly his arrow.  

///////////////////////////////////// 

          The bolt struck Legolas high in the shoulder just below the collarbone and knocked him backward along the dragon’s flank.  His bow fell from his hand as he bounced and slid down the dragon’s side and he frantically snatched for the beast’s flapping wing.  At the last moment his right hand snagged on the pliant under skin of Naurnyar’s left wing and his body swung out into the nothingness of the air and then came back toward the dragon, slamming into her belly.

          Legolas cried out in pain as his shoulder smacked into her ribcage, pushing the arrow deeper into his flesh.  The pain was incredible and he could feel himself growing dizzy and lightheaded as he was battered and bashed along the dragon’s side by the wind and the continuous flapping of her beating wings.  He could feel the fingers of his right hand losing their grip on the leathery skin of her wing and they began to slide downward along the edge.  Frantically he tried to raise his injured left arm to grasp the wing flap as well, but his wounded arm no longer had any strength and the jerky movement sent another wave of pain through his shoulder and chest and made his pulse race.

          He was going to fall and he knew it as he looked down at the jagged spikes and peaks of the rocks below.  He felt Naurnyar suddenly rise and was momentarily lifted upward, only to slide farther down the wing as the dragon’s yawing motion once again tossed him outward from her body.  Then he saw the cliff side rushing toward him as he crashed into the rock wall.  The hard blow knocked his shoulder and head into the stone abutment and his hand lost its tenuous grip upon the dragon’s wing.  He dropped through the air in a semi-conscious daze and landed heavily upon a rock outcropping just above Erashnâk’s head.

          “Get the Elf!” the captain shouted, pointing up at the shelf above his lookout.

          A score of orc foot soldiers scurried up the side of the mountain toward the spot where the Elf had come down.  The uruk-hai quickly turned to the caged young ones and gestured to the remaining goblins.

          “Get them inside!  Hurry, before the dragon attacks!”

          The creatures snatched the iron cage from off the ledge and jostled it toward the cavern entrance.  Erashnâk fired off a volley of arrows at the screaming dragon and then ran for the safety of the hidden fissures of the mountain.  A flaming jet of fire chased him into the cave and roiled down the corridors behind him.  The uruk flattened his body against the stone walls and let the fires rush past until they eventually dissipated and were gone.

          He could hear the dragon’s enraged bellowing as he ran down the narrow tunnel toward the mountain interior.  His armor was smoking and wisps of burned and crisped hair fluttered down and off his head as he ran down the passage toward Udûn’s quarters.  

//////////////////////////////////// 

          Legolas groaned as he attempted to rise and found he could not move.  His head was pounding, his vision blurred and the pain in his shoulder was excruciating.  He could feel the point of the arrow ruthlessly scraping his collarbone with each ragged breath he took. He tried unsuccessfully to shift his weight and ease his shoulder, but he could not gain any leverage and he fell back exhausted by the effort.

          When he heard the snorts and growls of the orc warriors, he tried once again to move, but all too soon he looked up to see a circle of hideous faces leering down upon him and he knew he could not escape.  Rough hands pulled at his arms and yanked him upright and he gritted his teeth to keep from crying out as the arrow in his shoulder shifted position.  The black soldiers stripped him of his weapons and then pulled his arms around behind his back and tied his hands with course leather thongs.  The leather bit into his skin and he could feel his fingers starting to numb.

          He could hear the dragon roaring somewhere below him and could see the flames from her lungs leaping skyward, but the orcs were half dragging, half carrying him along the mountain path toward a cave entrance and he momentarily lost sight of the dragon.  As they pulled him inside he glanced back over his shoulder and saw Naurnyar’s enraged features rising above the ledge where he had landed.  He looked into the dragon’s yellow eyes and hoped that he could convey the terrible sorrow he felt at not being able to fulfill his promise to her.  The last thing he saw as he was dragged into the tunnel was the shining crystal upon the dragon’s forehead—it was glowing with a bright, white light.

          Legolas lost track of the numerous tunnels and warrens as the orcs rushed him along the stone passageways.  His head was pounding and he was nauseous from the blood loss and the crack to his skull.  When the black soldiers finally pushed him through a final doorway and shoved him to his knees, he was so disoriented that it took him several moments to realize that he was facing the demon Udûn.  The dark lord was speaking to a slightly charred uruk-hai, but he could not concentrate on the words and ultimately his head dropped forward onto his chest in a dazed stupor.

          Before Udûn could question him further, Erashnâk stepped back and the goblins carrying the cage filled with the shrieking dragon’s young burst into the room.  Still confined within their iron prison, the squawking hatchlings loudly voiced their fear and distress with deafening mania.  The dark lord scowled at the chaotic interruption and Erashnâk cringed.

          “I am well aware of the debacle outside,” Udûn sneered as he turned back to face the captain.  “I observed much of it from the watch tower. At least your men have delivered the Elf to me,” Udûn nodded his head indicating the kneeling captive.  “What of the dragon?”

          Erashnâk averted his gaze from the demon.  “As you predicted, my lord, the dragon was lured closer to the mountain by the cries of her young, and I was able to shoot down the Elf, but the dragon’s attack has all but destroyed my troops.”  He chanced a glimpse at his master and then quickly looked away.  “I only just escaped before she sent her flames throughout the upper tunnels.”  He paused again, knowing his next words would not please the demon.  “I know not what became of the dragon.”

          Udûn growled at the uruk’s failure and turned his attention on the Firstborn kneeling between two very large and ugly orcs.  He marched forward until he was standing directly in front of the pinioned Elf.  Without warning, he viciously grabbed the arrow shaft protruding from Legolas’ shoulder and gave it a harsh, upward twist and Legolas gasped in agony.  His head came up and his eyes opened wide in anguished torment as he tried vainly to quiet his ragged breathing.

          “Where is my dragon?” the demon snarled, giving the arrow bolt another hard jerk.

          Legolas sucked in another shaky breath through gritted teeth and desperately fought the urge to scream.  He slowly looked up at the blurry, wavering image of the evil being standing in front of him and glared at the demon with a bravado he did not feel.  “It…is…not your…dragon.”

          Udûn lunged forward and shoved the arrow shaft deeper into Legolas’ shoulder.  Despite his best efforts, Legolas cried out at the pain.  His head fell forward upon his chest once more as a wave of queasy sickness swept over him.  If he had not already been on his knees, he would have fallen there as he felt his body suddenly weaken and go limp between the orcs holding his upper arms.   Their hands dug into his flesh as he sagged between them and they cruelly jerked him back upright.

          The dark lord nodded his head toward an iron ring dangling from one of the stone columns within the room.  “Tie him up,” he ordered.

          The orcs dragged Legolas toward the stone pillar and then quickly cut away the leather bindings from about his wrists.   Each took an arm and lifted the Elf to his feet, securing his wrists to the ring overhead with a pair of iron manacles.  After they had chained him to the column, the orcs backed away, slavering with excited anticipation.

          Without the support of the orcs, Legolas fell toward the floor, his legs too weak to support him.  The metal bands cut deeply into his wrists as his full body weight pulled against them.  He buried his face into the side of his upraised arm, raggedly panting and trying in vain to regulate his breathing, but the pain in his shoulder was sending a fire throughout his body and he knew then that the arrow’s poison was rapidly coursing through his veins.

          Udûn reached for a long, heavy whip and once in his hands, began to fondle the course leather.  “I ask you again, Elf, where is the dragon?”

          Legolas turned his head to face the dark being and his expression hardened, but he made no reply.

          Slowly Udûn extended the whip’s tail and began to chant in the Black Speech until the whip turned into a red-hot flame.  He drew his arm back and then brought the lash down upon Legolas’ back with a brutal crack.  The suede of his outer tunic began to sizzle and smoke and then the material burned away exposing the flesh of his back to the flame.  Legolas fell forward into the pillar, his fists clenching, and he bit down on the heavy leather material of his sleeve to keep from screaming.  His back was on fire and he could feel the flame burning down into his skin.

          Legolas’ continued silence earned him several more lashes until his tunic hung from his body in burned and torn shreds and his back was crisscrossed with angry red burns and gashes.

          “How are you controlling the beast?” shouted Udûn.

          Legolas shook his head trying to force the all-consuming pain from his thoughts.  He stared back at the demon and compelled his lips to move.  “I…do not…control Naurnyar.”

          Udûn’s reply was swift and brutal.  Legolas moaned into his arm and the welts marring his back began to bleed.  “By what power do you manipulate this beast and sway her from my dominion!” Udûn yelled.

          When Legolas failed to answer swiftly enough, the dark lord struck him again and again until Legolas was finally reduced to uncontrollable screams as his horribly abused body shook and convulsed.

          Thwarted by the Elf’s resistance, the demon angrily threw aside the whip and turned upon his captain.  “I will get nothing from this Elf and the dragon has betrayed me.”

          “The dragon…wants…her young,” Legolas gasped.  “I…do not… command her.”

          Udûn glanced back at the Elf with disdain.  “I warned what would happen to her hatchlings if she defied me.”   He pointed at the iron cage.  “Now she will reap the rewards of her insolence.”

          “No…you must not,” Legolas began, fearing the dark lord would turn his wrath upon the young ones.

          “Silence!”  Udûn ordered.  He gestured toward the orcs standing to either side of Legolas.  “Turn him around so he may witness their destruction.”

          One of the orc guards scurried over and grabbed Legolas around the chest and roughly spun his torso about.  As he did so, the Elf’s injured back scraped against the stone pillar.  The harsh rock cut into his already bleeding back and he moaned anew.  The orc grabbed a fistful of his golden hair and pulled his head up.  Legolas winced at the brutal snap of his head and the pain in his scalp as the orc twisted his hair around his fist, holding his head immobile.

          The demon came over to the column where Legolas was chained and clasped the Elf’s chin between his thin fingers.  He gazed into the blue eyes of the Wood Elf and smiled malevolently.  Slowly he withdrew his hand from the Elf’s chin and reached within his tunic, drawing out a small black orb.   He held it casually in his left hand so that Legolas could see it.

          “Do you know what this is?” he asked.

          Legolas did not reply and the demon did not expect an answer.  His gaze had already moved from the Elf to the ebony crystal and he caressingly rolled the globe around within the palm of his hand.

          Udûn glanced back at the Elf and saw Legolas’ glazing eyes start to shut.  He nodded angrily at the orc holding onto the prince’s hair and the beast yanked upward, pulling his head up farther and stretching his neck back.  Legolas gasped in renewed pain and tried to breathe but his taut throat would not accept air.

          Udûn moved forward and leaned close to the prince’s face.  “I ask you for the last time.  What have you done to the dragon?” he asked.

          “I have done nothing,” Legolas choked out.

          Udûn snarled his frustrated anger and whirled about to face the iron cage holding the young dragons.  He held the black sphere out in front of him and began to intone the fearsome words of the Black Speech.

          “Khlaar-izg! Mat, foshân kulkodor-ob.  Shuk Utumno-ob, barashul! Azul!”*

          The dark orb began to glow with an inner red fire and at the end of the vile speech, a white hot bolt of energy shot from the orb and struck the iron cage and the dragon hatchlings.  Legolas watched in horror as the cage and its prisoners exploded into a horrendous fireball of flame.

          “No!” the Elf wailed as he struggled against the chains binding him to the stone pillar, but it was too late.  The dragon’s young were nothing but smoking grey ashes.  “No,” he whispered as tears filled his eyes.  Heartsick and defeated, his energy spent, he once again slumped down and hung limply from the iron ring above his head.

          Udûn returned the orb to his inner tunic and turned to face the Elf.  His expression was cold and heartless.  He glanced at the waiting orcs and waved his hand at the Elf with callous indifference.  “Kill him,” he said.

          The orcs sprang upon the Elf, snatching at the chains above his head and quickly lowering him to the ground.  As they seized his arms, the demon abruptly raised his hand.

          “Wait,” he commanded and the orcs halted in their frenzy over the Elf;  Udûn's decree now meant they could not have him and the disappointment was evident upon their hideous faces.  “Better yet, chain him to the mountain side like Maedhros and let the vultures have him.  Let him serve as a warning to all who would defy me.”  

///////////////////  

          Legolas barely knew what was happening to him as he was literally dragged through the tunnels of the mountain and then out onto the hard rock of the outer ridges.  His body was on fire and he could feel the poison fever raging throughout his limbs.  The arrow still lodged in his shoulder was continuing to secrete its vile toxin and his ripped and shredded back bled profusely.  He was weak and sickened by the enduring abuse and was rapidly losing his hold on consciousness.

          He tried to concentrate on his current dilemma as the orcs fastened a heavy iron band to his right wrist.  The manacle was attached to a heavy chain that was secured to a large spike pounded into the rock and protruding from the top of the ledge.  Once the metal cuff was secured they began rolling him toward the edge of the cliff.  Realizing they planned to heave him over the side, Legolas tried desperately to fight back, but in his weakened condition he was no match for the heavily built orcs.

          He dropped over the edge and was momentarily weightless until the chain jerked taut and his shoulder was ripped out of its socket by the sudden jolt.  Legolas screamed at this new torment and then fell silent as merciful unconsciousness swept over him and he was troubled no more.   

////////////////////////////// 

          Billowing black smoke and flames could be seen above the mountain peaks as Aragorn and his army struggled up the narrow, rocky terrain of the trail.  Strider expertly led the band through the paths in a single file and quickened his step as they drew nearer to the slopes adjacent to Gundabad.  The stench of burned orc hide rolled over them from the valley below and the ranger knew that a recent battle had been fought here.

          As he rounded the last of the crags and entered into the small vale he beheld the harrowing carnage and decisive destruction of a great many orc warriors.  The dragon had been particularly thorough in her devastation, for there was not an inch of land left untouched; scattered all about were the remains of charred bodies and lingering fires.  Hundreds of orc lay dead and the landscape was blackened beyond recognition.

          Aragorn’s gaze drifted upward and for the space of a horrifying second, he froze, and then he fell to his knees and screamed out a wail of tortured anguish and ultimate despair.  His body sank back against his heels and he rocked back and forth, howling in sorrow and pain.

          Tharel saw the ranger suddenly drop to his knees and thinking him struck by an arrow, dashed headlong down the sloping terrain until he reached the young man’s side.

          “Strider!” he shouted.  “Strider!  Are you hit?”

          The ranger did not answer; he only swayed back and forth, his gaze never leaving the mountain side in front of him.  Tharel turned his head to look in the direction of the ranger’s glazed stare and his breath caught at the sight he beheld.

          “Ai!” he gasped, his hand seeking Strider’s shoulder and finding it, clamped down tightly.

          He looked back up at the cliff side hoping that what he had seen before had only been an illusion, but it was not to be.  The appalling reality of the prince of Mirkwood hanging suspended from the mountain ledge was all too real.  Legolas’ body dangled by one wrist, brutally encased in a metal shackle and attached to a great iron spike above his head.  The shaft of an arrow was plainly visible piercing the Elf’s left shoulder.  He saw no movement, and from this distance he could not determine whether the Elf was dead or alive, but several large, dark carrion birds circled menacingly above.   Even as he watched, one of the vultures landed upon the Elf’s bloody shoulder and began to snatch and jerk at one of Legolas’ blond braids.

          The bird’s vile assault upon his friend roused Aragorn to action and he rose to his feet with a seething rage.  He brought up his hunting bow and snatched an arrow from his back and then fired at the offending vulture.  His blind rage marred his aim and the shot missed wide of the mark, but it served to rouse the vulture from Legolas’ body.

          By this time Gandalf had pushed his way to the young ranger’s side and gazed up in horror at the spectacle of the tortured Elf.  He clasped Strider’s forearm tightly and murmured close to his ear.  “Steady.  Draw on your strength, my boy.  We will get him down.”

          Aragorn barely heard the wizard’s remarks.  He could not to move, nor could he force himself to turn away from the ghastly image of Legolas hanging from the mountain side.

*Hear me! Die, dragon spawn.  Orb of Utumno, crush them!  Kill them!       

          Naurnyar furiously winged northward along the mountain range and out into the wilderness of the Northern Waste.  Her mind was in turmoil and filled with confused anger and uncertainty.  The black ones had taken the Calar into the mountain and before she could reach her trapped hatchlings, they had been spirited away as well.  She had seen the sorrow in the golden one’s eyes before they snatched him from her sight; and now, what of her young ones?

          When they had returned to Gundabad just before nightfall, their only thought had been to watch and wait and although this had not been her desire, she had relented and agreed to adhere to the Calar’s judgment.  But the black ones stationed upon the towering peaks had seen them approach and had chosen to attack, and she, Naurnyar, was not one to turn away once provoked.  All too soon the dark horde realized the error of their folly and had suffered the consequences of their ill-thought challenge.

           She had handily dispatched wave after wave of the dark enemy with her fiery breath and was triumphant in her success when the vile creature had suddenly appeared upon the open ridge and dared to flaunt her hatchlings before her.  She had been consumed with a blinding rage upon seeing them trapped in that terrible iron box, and had no other thought than to reach her young.

           But now, as she sped across the barren, empty lands below and thought back upon her actions, she realized that her reckless lunge for the cliff had somehow unseated the Elven rider upon her back.  She could remember sensing him tumble down her side and then the forceful tug as he grabbed her wing.  She recalled him crashing into her underbelly and then sliding along the edge of her wing as she rose up and over the cliff side.  She thought only to drop him safely onto the mountain ledge, but instead she had delivered him into the clutches of the hated demon and the remorse weighed heavily upon her.

           It was at that moment, when her fear and rage were at their peak, that the stone within the metal circlet atop her head had started to hum.   And perplexed by this unexpected occurrence, she had hesitated just long enough for the black ones on the ridge below to snatch up the cage and whisk away her young.  Frustrated and furious, she had sprayed the cavern openings with flame, but too late, and now she flew alone, brooding over her failures.

           The stone upon her brow had ceased its throbbing and the tingling sensation had all but passed, but while it was pulsing she had felt a power surging throughout her body; a power greater than any she had ever felt before.  When the energy reached its peak, she sensed the ability to create fire by thought alone.  This was an astonishing notion and one she did not think possible, and yet somehow she felt it could be done.  But now the stone was quiet; this power no longer evident within her body and she did not know how to recreate the phenomenon.

          Her mind in a quandary and the anxiety for her young ones’ safety growing ever stronger, Naurnyar raced through the skies as if hoping the winds would speak to her and resolve her uncertainties.  And as with any mother, concern for her children ultimately overshadowed any and all other thoughts.  She knew she must return to Gundabad and gather up her hatchlings no matter what the cost to herself or to others.  The Calar may not wish her to wantonly destroy one and all, but she saw no other alternative.  She would burn down the mountain and all within if need be.  All save Udûn—that one she would relish eating alive.  

///////////////////////////////

          The full compliment of the small army finally spilled into charred valley and one by one were forced to behold the gruesome sight upon the mountain side.  The Elvish warriors were particularly unsettled by the grisly atrocity and many of the men murmured heatedly among themselves.  But all seemed to be waiting for Strider to act.  To tell them what must be done.  To assure them that Legolas was indeed alive and would be returned to them safely.

          Gandalf grasped the ranger’s upper arms and shook him forcefully and sternly.  “Strider!” he stated firmly.  “You must steel yourself to this.”  He lowered his voice so that none but the human could hear.  “The others need your leadership and courage.  You cannot help Legolas if you do not return to yourself.   Now.”

          Aragorn’s silver eyes slowly cleared and then focused upon the old Istari’s face.  He nodded his head and took in several deep, shuddering breaths and then looked back at the wizard, his strength and resolve returned.

          “You are right, of course.”  He looked up at the cliff side once more.  “He is alive, Gandalf.  I know it.”

          The wizard lowered his hands from the young man’s arms and placed a comforting arm around Strider’s shoulder.  “I believe it as well.  But, we must …”

          His words were cut off as a dark shadow crossed over the sun and caused both ranger and wizard to look skyward.  The huge mass of the dragon soared by overhead and flew directly to the mountain peak where Legolas hung suspended.

          “By the Valar,” whispered Strider.  “Will it save him?”

          The maiar watched as the dragon gracefully approached the cliff wall.  “I’ve no idea.”  

/////////////////////////////////// 

          Naurnyar circled the peaks surrounding Gundabad and the outer mountains and glided lower and lower with each pass until her keen eyes spied something along the cliff side that did not belong there.  Her yellow eyes narrowed and a low, menacing rumble reverberated within her throat as she confirmed what was hanging from the mountain’s side.  She pulled her wings back and dived downward through the thin air, streaking toward the ledge and the pinioned Calar.

          She sailed over the lower valley and the army of men and Elves below and then drew up abruptly, rapidly flapping her wings until she was hovering in front of the dangling Elf.  She stretched out one of her hind claws and wrapped her talons around his limp body and then slowly lifted him up and onto the ledge above.   She extended her claws and gently dropped Legolas onto the rocks.   Her head bent forward and with her snout hovering over the fallen Elf, she prodded the metal rod embedded within the rock shelf.  Angrily, her massive jaws snapped at the iron spike and ripped it from the stones.

          She rose up above the ledge and then easily settled her enormous body down upon the rocky spires and folded her wings back along her flanks.   Her neck and head lowered until her nose was resting near Legolas’ face and she sniffed at his motionless body as he lay sprawled before her.  She could smell blood, dirt, and burned flesh upon his body, but the smell of death was not present and she nudged him over onto his side.  She flicked out her tongue and tenderly began to lick away the blood and dirt covering Legolas’ ravaged back until she had cleaned the wounds of the dried gore and covered the torn flesh with a thick layer of protective saliva.  With that chore completed, she scooped up the Elf with her lower jaw and lightly held him within her mouth. Spreading out her wings, she leapt off the ridge and glided out and down toward the valley.

          Gandalf and Strider watched the unbelievable drama unfold above them in stunned amazement and followed the incredible rescue effort as the dragon purposefully carried the Elf toward them.  As she neared, Naurnyar arched her wings and then floated down, talons extended, to land upon the ground. Once settled, she lowered her head and opened her mouth.  Legolas rolled out and onto the ground in front of her.  She then twisted her tongue around her teeth and eventually spat out the offensive chain still attached to his wrist.  Once shed of the noisome metal restraint, she rose up and patiently waited for the creatures to come forward and take charge of the Calar.

          Putting aside his real fear of the dragon, Strider ran toward his injured friend and dropped to his knees beside Legolas.  Gandalf joined him as soon as his old bones could get him there and he, too, knelt down beside the wounded prince.  Aragorn made a swift but thorough examination of Legolas’ body and looked grimly at the Istari.

          “Besides the obvious arrow wound, his right shoulder is dislocated and I think his wrist might be broken.  He has been brutally beaten as well.”  He quickly removed the hefty pack and supplies from his shoulders and began to rummage for his medicines and herbs.

          Gandalf, certain that Strider could competently tend to Legolas’ injuries, nodded and pushed his ancient body erect.  “Stay with him.  I must speak with the dragon.”

          As the wizard moved off, Tharel and several of the other men in his troop trotted up, carrying water skins and heavy blankets.  “Here, Strider,” said the soldier.  “You’ll be needing these.”  The men relinquished their burdens and stepped back, allowing the ranger to tend to the Elf.

          Aragorn gave them a grateful smile and nodded his thanks.  “Get some fires started, Tharel.  And get the men busy setting up a camp.”  He nodded meaningfully toward the Elves in the distance.  “See if you can get them involved and their minds off Legolas.”

          Tharel followed his gaze to the band of stricken Elves now intently watching their every movement, and then turned back to his men.  “Gaenry, gather up the Elves and have them set up a perimeter watch.  Send out an Elven scouting party to look for the other armies on the western side of the mountains; the rest can help you with the tents and cook fires.”  He turned around to Strider.  “Shout if you need further aid.  I’ll send someone.”

          Aragorn nodded and then turned his attention back to the injured Elf.  He quickly spread a blanket out upon the rocky ground and cautiously lifted the Elf onto the clean cloth, head and shoulders first and then his legs.  He grimaced as he inspected the ruin of his friend’s back, but marveled at the thoroughness of the dragon’s washing.  The thick, read welts were no longer bleeding and the swelling appeared to be receding.

         Once he had Legolas laying flat upon his back, he skillfully pulled the arrow from his shoulder and quickly pressed some dampened athelas leaves into the wound, then covered the puncture with a clean cloth.  He then moved to the dislocated shoulder.  He rose to his feet and while holding the Elf’s arm, carefully placed a booted foot against Legolas’ shoulder.  He deftly stretched out and realigned his arm and then with a swift jerk, pulled the joint back into the socket.  The bones made a snapping crack as they settled back into their original positions and he gently draped Legolas’ limp arm across his chest.  The prince moaned softly but did not appear to be conscious.

          “Thank the Valar you are not awake, my friend,” he muttered as he once again knelt down beside him.  “Resetting joints is always painful.”

          A weak, croaking voice replied.  “Who says I am not awake?”

          Aragorn’s head spun toward the Elf.  His anxiety and joy and a mixture of other equally potent emotions flooded over him and a relieved smile spread across his face.  “Legolas!  Ai, Elbereth!” he said, clasping the Elf’s hand and holding it tightly.  “How did this happen?”

          Legolas’ eyes slowly opened and he tried valiantly to smile, but groaned instead.  “I fell off the dragon,” he managed.

          Aragorn snorted.  “Fell off or shot off?  That was an orc arrow skewering your shoulder.”

          This time the Elf did manage a small grin.  “Both,” he whispered.

          Strider noted the effort it was taking for Legolas to speak and he placed a strong hand upon the Elf’s chest.  “Shhh, don’t try to talk.  Your injuries are severe, my friend.”

          “Must get them out, Strider,” Legolas started and then his voice trailed off.

          Aragorn slid his arm under the Elf’s head and shoulders and raised him up, offering a cup of water to his lips.  Legolas sipped at the cool liquid and it seemed to revive him.  He fervently clutched at the sleeve of the ranger’s leather coat and stared intently into the human’s eyes.  His voice was lowered but strong and the Elvish words were meant only for Aragorn to hear.  “Strider, you must get them out of Gundabad.  The young ones are slain.  I do not know what the dragon will do when she learns of this.”

          Strider stiffened and slowly set the cup of water down upon the ground.  He looked over toward the dragon and saw that Gandalf was engaged in deep conversation with the beast.  “Gandalf is talking to it now,” he commented.

          Legolas turned his head to observe the dragon and then suddenly understanding came over him.  He raised his hand from his chest and saw that the iron band was still upon his wrist.  “How did I get here?” he asked.

          Aragorn looked at the metal cuff and then nodded toward the dragon.  “The dragon brought you down.”  He indicated the manacle encasing the Elf’s slender wrist.  “I haven’t gotten around to getting that off yet.  You did have some serious injuries that needed tending to first.  The marks of a merciless beating decorate your back.  Your shoulder was dislocated and I believe your wrist is broken, not to mention the arrow wound.  You won’t be pulling a bowstring for some time to come.”

          Legolas chuckled at the human’s diagnosis.  “I am not a human, Strider.  My wrist is not broken.”  He flexed his fingers several times for the ranger to see.  “And although my shoulder is sore, it will not hinder me from firing an arrow.   As for the arrow wound, the athelas seems to be draining the poison from my body well enough.”  He rose up on his elbows and eyed Strider suspiciously.  “My back does not hurt whatsoever.  What manner of ointment did you put on me this time?”

          It was Aragorn’s turn to laugh.  “I did nothing.  The dragon washed you clean like a newborn pup.  Apparently, it was successful.”

          Legolas’ lips twitched in distaste at the thought of being lathered in dragon spit and his expression of chagrin had Strider laughing outright.  But when the Elf attempted to rise, he placed a firm hand upon his chest and pushed him back down upon the blanket.

          “Rest my friend.  You can get back in the fight tomorrow.”  He drew out his dagger and began to twist the blade into the locking mechanism of the iron shackle.   As he worked he spoke softly in Elvish.  “Now what’s this about the dragon’s young?”

          Legolas glanced over at Naurnyar and then back to Strider.  “The demon killed the hatchlings as retribution for the dragon’s betrayal.  You must get the humans out of Gundabad and quickly.  I do not know what the dragon will do when she learns that her young are dead, but I am certain it will be swift and lethal.”

          The metal band popped open in Strider’s hand and he pulled it off Legolas’ wrist and tossed it aside.  “That, my friend, may be a difficult task.  Were you able to sight any reinforcements from the west?”

          “Yes,” the prince replied.  “I saw several hundred mounted archers and lancers from Imladris, headed by your brothers.  The Rangers of the North were riding with them as well.   If they ride all day and into the night, they should reach us tomorrow morning.”

          Aragorn nodded.  “That is indeed good news.”  He rose to his feet once more.  “I’ll be back with some tea.”  He shook a warning finger at the Elf.  “Do not move until I return.”

          Legolas smiled and nodded.  “You have my word.”  

//////////////////////////

          The wizard looked up at the huge beast towering above him and bowed deeply.  “Many thanks, Naurnyar, for returning Legolas to us.”

          The beast lowered her neck and head until she was looking directly into the wizard’s eyes.  “You will awaken him?”

          “Yes,” Gandalf laughed softly.  “We will awaken him.”

          “Then I leave to destroy the mountain,” she announced and started to rise up from the ground.

          “No, no, you must not,” Gandalf shouted up at her.  “You must wait for Legolas.”   When the dragon did not appear inclined to heed his words, he hurried on.  “You must wait for the Calar.”

          The dragon hesitated with indecision; wanting to leave and rescue her young, yet uncertain if she should do so without the Calar’s approval.  Her eyes narrowed as she observed the grey-clad maiar, and once again she lowered her head to his face.  “And why must I do this?”

          Gandalf moved closer to the dragon and reached out a hand to touch the stone resting upon her forehead.  “You have felt its power, have you not?”

          The dragon blinked her astonishment at the wizard’s startling words.  How could he know of the surging energy, the tingling throughout her body, the making of fire by thought alone…

          “Yes,” she rumbled.  “What is its meaning?”

          The Istari stared intently into the dragon’s ancient eyes.  “It has awakened the power within you, Naurnyar.   You already command the fire within.  Now you must harness the fire of thought.”

          “And once I have done this?” she asked.

          “You will defeat Udûn and the Orb of Utumno and no longer will you be subject to Shadow.”

          Udûn strode into the ironworks cavern, Erashnâk chasing at his heels.  The two were inspecting the ancient fortifications of the stronghold and noting areas that needed attention.  The dark lord motioned toward the vats of boiling and bubbling metal, and the bone-weary humans laboring at the forges.

          “Get all the slaves working on these reinforcements.  All of them, do you hear, even the females and brats below.”  Udûn whirled around to face the uruk-hai.  “The dragon will return.  We must be prepared.”

          “Yes, lord,” the captain answered as he struggled to keep pace with his master.

          “What of the army approaching from the Ered Mithrin?”

          “They are nearing the valley where we fought the dragon,” Erashnâk replied.  “They will see your warning as they enter the gorge.”

          Udûn laughed cruelly.  “Yes.  That dangling Elf should dampen their spirits and give them cause to re-think their purpose.”  He turned back to the uruk warrior, his musings set aside.  “Hurry.  I want these shields in place before nightfall and the metal plating along the entranceways.  Get those slaves moving.”

          “At once, my lord.”

          As Erashnâk hastened to do his lord’s bidding, the demon moved on into the foundry, inspecting the work being done there and nodding his approval.  What he did not observe was the subtle exchange of words between the two slaves working at the nearby forges.  The taller and brawnier of the two men had overheard much of the demon’s conversation with the foul uruk-hai and now passed this news on to the others in his work crew in hurried whispers.  They must remain alert.  An army was near; perhaps their salvation was close at hand.          

////////////////////////////////////// 

          Elladan silently watched as the rider approached.   Knowing it was his younger brother and eager to hear what Elrohir had learned from the scouts sent ahead days earlier, he narrowed his eyes against the brightening sunlight and patiently waited for his twin’s arrival.  As he calmly sat atop his horse, he took note of Lomyr riding up from the lines behind to join him.  The dark ranger was an old friend and had ridden with the Sons of Elrond in many a skirmish, but none quite as unusual as this expedition.  Never before had any of them joined ranks with a dragon in common purpose.

          As they made their way along the trails north of the Ettenmoors yesterday, the warriors had watched in fear and awe as the dragon passed over the mountain peaks and circled above them; they had also seen one Legolas Greenleaf riding upon the monster’s broad back.   Even now, Elladan was not entirely sure what to make of that incredible vision.

          What in the name of the Valar was Legolas doing riding that dragon? he wondered, but he had no more time to indulge in idle reflections as Elrohir skidded to a jouncing stop at his side.  The horse was wild-eyed and prancing, but finally settled enough so that his brother could bring him around to stand beside the others at the forefront of the lines.

          “Gundabad has been sighted upon the horizon,” he reported.  “But it seems Estel has started this war without us,” Elrohir grinned.

          “How so?” asked the elder twin.

          “The scouts say the valley below the mountain is scorched and yrch lay in burning piles.  It can only be the work of the dragon.  Estel and the Mirkwood forces are camped just south of the stronghold.  I have sent runners to the camp to let him know we approach.”

          “Good.  What do they say about the dragon?” asked Elladan.

          Elrohir laughed.  “Apparently all is as Mithrandir wrote to Ada in his letter seeking our aid.  The dragon appears to be aiding them with the assault upon the mountain.”  He nodded, anticipating Elladan’s next question.  “And, yes, it seems our friend the prince has somehow coaxed this beast into allowing him to ride atop it.”

          “Amazing,” the elder twin mused.  Then his thoughts turned to more pertinent issues.  “What of the orc activity within the mountain?”

          “They took quite a beating from the dragon’s attack, as the razed valley will attest; however, we’ll still have plenty to deal with, as well as the dark lord.  No one knows for sure how many farmers and settlers have been enslaved within.  I only hope we can get them out without too many casualties.”  Elrohir turned to the ranger.  “Do you have any estimate of the numbers missing?”

          The older warrior shook his head sadly.  “Not really.  I’d guess between four and five hundred men, women and children.”  He waved his arm to encompass the northern plains.  “All the villages north of the Ettenmoors were raided.”

          Lomyr stretched within his saddle and turned back to face the Elven warriors.  “The rangers are rested and prepared to ride hard if need be, Elladan,” said Lomyr.  “If we don’t stop during the night, we should be able to join up with Strider by dawn tomorrow.”

          Elladan nodded slightly.  “Very well, Lomyr.  Let us make haste.  I am very much interested in learning what our younger brother and Legolas have been up to this time.”

          Lomyr turned his horse about.  “I’ll pass the word along.”

          As the ranger rode away, Elladan glanced at his brother.  “Well, what are we waiting for?  Do you want Estel to claim all the glory?”

          With a widening grin, the younger twin raised his arm and signaled the Elven army to action.  The riders moved forward as one and began the last leg of their journey to Gundabad.  

////////////////////////////////// 

          Gandalf sat down beside the recovering prince and placed a hand upon the Elf’s forearm.  “It is good to see you alive and well my dear Legolas,” he smiled fondly.  “You gave us all quite a start, seeing you hanging there upon the cliff side.”

          Legolas returned a rueful smile as he rose up to a seated position.  “Aye, Mithrandir,” he murmured.  “It was definitely not by choice.”

          The Elf’s slight grin faded as he watched the dragon lift off and wing her way toward the mountain tops.  “Where is she going?”

          The wizard followed the prince’s gaze and replied.  “To consider what I have told her I should think.”

          “And what did you tell her?”

          Gandalf turned back to face Legolas.  “That she can defeat Udûn and be free of Shadow.”

          The woodland being lowered his eyes and clasped his elegant hands together in his lap.  “Her young are dead,” he murmured sadly.

          Gandalf looked away and nodded thoughtfully.  “Ah, I feared as much when first I saw you chained upon the mountain.”  He turned back to the Elf.  “The dragon does not know?”

          Legolas shook his head and his blond hair wavered about his shoulders.  “No.”  He gazed at the wizard with sorrowful, pained eyes.  “I cannot bear to tell her.”

          Gandalf stared intently at the prince.  “But you must.  I fear what might happen if she learns of this from any other.”  He reached out and gently squeezed the Elf’s shoulder.  “You must help to heal her and strengthen her for what she must do.”

          Legolas turned a confused frown upon the Istari.  “I do not understand, Mithrandir.”

          The wizard smiled warmly and slowly rose to his feet.  Looking down at the golden Elf, he said.  “You will, Legolas, for you are the light.”

          Gandalf muttered something to himself as he wandered away, leaving Legolas to brood over his cryptic remarks.   His parting words, however, only served to perplex the Elf anew, but before Legolas could question the Istari further, Strider approached and dropped down at his side.  The ranger was carrying a plate of food, a flagon and several cups, and a rolled bundle under his arm.  He handed the Elf the plate and began pouring out a mug of warm tea.

          “Are you up to some nourishment?  If so, the meat is fresh not dried,” Strider smiled.

          Legolas turned from the ranger to follow the wizard’s retreating back.  “I, wait, Gandalf,” he glanced at Strider as if for assistance to recall the grey pilgrim, but upon turning back found the maiar had already disappeared amid the rising tents.

          The tone of the Elf’s words gave Aragorn cause for concern.  “Legolas?  What is it?”

          “Nothing,” the Elf demurred.  “It was just something Gandalf said.”  He smiled at his friend and looked down at the plate of steaming venison.  “This smells wonderful.  I am hungry.”

          Strider knew the Elf was avoiding the question and adroitly attempting to steer the conversation away from his words with the wizard.  Knowing, too, that he would never draw anything out of Legolas that he did not wish to share, he decided to let the matter drop for now.  Instead he handed Legolas the bundle of clothing he had wedged under his arm.

          “You might want to rid yourself of that soiled and shredded tunic,” he smiled.  “I need to check your arrow wound anyway.”

          Legolas nodded as he set the plate of food upon the ground and unbuckled his belt, allowing the bloodied outer tunic to fall away from his body.  Strider helped pull the torn garment from his shoulders and slid the ripped and bloody inner shirt over his head.  As he did so, he could not help but notice the Elf’s back and how quickly the welts were healing.  The angry red streaks had faded to thin pink lines and appeared almost healed.

          “I should dearly like to know what compound is in that dragon’s spit that causes wounds to heal this swiftly,” he stated, giving Legolas a sidelong grin.  “I don’t even think my father has this kind of healing power.”

          The prince grimaced and hastily pulled on the clean shirt, covering his back and shoulders.  “You need not remind me,” he grumbled and glared intently at the ranger.  “And if you even so much as mention this to your brothers…”

          Strider threw his hands up in surrender, laughing merrily.  “You have my promise.  Not a word.”

          Legolas’ eyes narrowed as he studied the ranger, not quite sure that this incident would be so easily forgotten.  As Strider worked on his shoulder wound, Legolas continued in a whisper.  “I could always tell the twins about the time you disturbed that sleeping skunk…”

          The human leaned back on his heels, eyes wide and mouth agape.  “You wouldn’t!”

          Legolas grinned.  “Good. Then I think we understand each other.”

          Before Strider could reply, Tharel, accompanied by several Elven warriors from Imladris by the look of their attire, approached the pair.  Tharel nodded and gestured at the trio of Elves.  “Runners from the western troops.  They have news for you, Strider.”

          The ranger stood and then bowed formally to the Elves as they in turn greeted him.  “I bear greetings from the sons of Lord Elrond to their younger brother, Estel,” the scout began.  “The combined forces of Imladris and the northern rangers ride to Gundabad and will join with you at dawn.”

          Shrugging into the fresh tunic and refastening his belt, Legolas also stood and took up a position behind Aragorn.  He bowed to the Elven soldiers and they saluted him as well.

          “Prince Legolas,” the envoy acknowledged.  “I bring you greetings from Lord Elrond.  He wishes you to know that your strength and power are your allies, and your ability to commune with the dragon will determine the outcome of this battle.”

          Legolas stiffened at the startling portent and nodded his understanding to the warrior.  Strider glanced meaningfully at his friend and wondered if this message from his father was similar to what the Elf had been discussing with Gandalf.  And if so, just what was he supposed to do?  He slowly turned his attention back to the runners and gestured them toward the cook fires.

          “I thank you for your information.  Come.  Take your rest.  I would hear more news of my brothers,” he smiled as he led the Elves away.

          Legolas looked up toward the towering mountains and tried to spot the dragon’s roost, but could not see any evidence of the beast.  He knew what he must do, but first, he needed to replace his lost weapons.  Alas, his cherished long knives were gone, but perhaps he could find adequate replacements until they defeated the dark lord and he could search Gundabad for his own.  For he could feel the power growing within him, the tingling within the air, the anticipation of battle.  The days ahead would see an end to the rule of Udûn.

          Legolas rose before dawn and gathered together his weapons.  Silently, he slipped from his tent and made his way through the sleeping encampment toward the foothills of the Misty Mountains.  Once there, he gazed up at the steep ridges and crests above him and caught the barest glimpse of dark, ebony wings flexing in the gray light of the morning.  With surefooted agility, he leapt from stone to stone and purposefully made his way up the side of the cliff toward the summit where the dragon awaited.

          The climb took the nimble Elf more than an hour, but finally Legolas grappled his way up the last few feet of the vertical trail and stood upon the rugged mountain shelf overlooking the valley below and Gundabad a short distance to the north.  The breathtaking vista spread out before him, silent and beautiful.  Snow crystals sparkled in the first rays of the sun and there was the promise of a clear blue sky to come.  Legolas sighed with sadness, knowing that this idyllic scene would soon become a frenzied battlefield, marred by the foul creatures of Shadow and the deaths of many.

          A soft, rustling sound made him turn and he looked upon the giant dragon, leisurely stretching the sleep from her limbs.  Her great wings were opened outward and were slowly moving up and down in the cool, thin air of dawn.  Her head, tucked down within her coiled neck, moved up and outward as her long neck unwound.  Naurnyar gazed at the Elf with sleepy eyes and then opened her jaws in a wide yawn.  Her head shook noisily from side to side as she rid her mind of its muzzy dream remnants and looked at Legolas with expectation.

          The prince stepped closer and bowed his head to the dragon.  “I am the Calar,” he stated.

          “You are he,” the dragon replied.  “Speak and I await your word.”

          “I owe my life to the great Naurnyar,” Legolas began.  “For you released me from great torment and doom.”

          The beast lowered her head and placed her dark snout in front of Legolas, puffing out soft, hot breaths upon his cheeks.  Her yellow eyes held his blue in momentary silence and then she spoke.

          “By my reckless action were you delivered to the demon.”  Her large eyes blinked and lowered.  “I am at your mercy.”

          Legolas reached out his hands and placed them upon the sides of Naurnyar’s face.  His aura heightened and glowed and soon enveloped and then fully covered the dragon’s head.  Slowly he leaned forward and touched his forehead to the beast’s rounded nose and with a sad and heavy heart began to softly sing to the dragon.

          Naurnyar’s huge eyes closed and she lost herself in the beautiful melody of the mournful lay, sung in the old tongue of the Woodland Elves.  She did not understand the words the Calar sang, but she understood within her the sadness of his soul.  When the song was finished, Legolas raised his golden head and looked intently into the dragon’s eyes.

          “The young ones are dead, Naurnyar.  Now you must live to sing of their memory for there is no other.  You must return to the fire pits of your ancestors and lie beneath the lakes of flame to await the hope of eternity.  You are the last of a great race and you must not be forgotten.”

          Elf and dragon stood frozen in time atop the majestic mountain, surrounded by a glowing white halo of light and energy.  And as the first pale rays of the sun broke over the tops of the ridges, the dragon slowly raised her head up and back and let forth a terrible keening wail of desolate grief and sorrow for the loss of her young.  Legolas, kneeling before her, lowered his head and silver, anguished tears fell down his pale cheeks as he shared her wretched loneliness and heartache.  

/////////////////////////// 

          Aragorn walked briskly through the waking encampment in search of the grey wizard and upon finding him at the cook fires, hastened to his side.

          “Legolas is missing,” he began.  “I don’t suppose you’ve seen him this morning?”

          Gandalf looked up from his hot mug of tea and was about to reply when a terrible, unearthly wail echoed throughout the valley sending chills up Strider’s spine.  His hand went instinctively to his sword hilt and he glanced at the wizard for explanation.

          “By the Valar,” he whispered.  “What was that?”

          Gandalf turned toward the mountain peaks.  “He has told her,” he said quietly.  Seeing Strider’s puzzled expression, he continued.  “Naurnyar has learned her hatchlings are dead.  Legolas is with her.”

          “Ah,” Strider sighed, lowering his head sadly.  “So that is where he’s gone.”

          The old sage turned to Strider and gazed solemnly into his eyes.  “Naurnyar is in great need of our woodland friend.  He will help to turn her from blinding revenge to merciless justice, but it will take time.”

          Aragorn looked back up at the hazy, gray peaks.  “I have known that stubborn Elf for many, many years, Gandalf.”  He glanced back around at the wizard.  “But until now, I don’t think I ever fully understood what an ancient and magical being he really is.”  He paused as if searching for words to convey his thoughts.  “I am awed and humbled that he considers me his friend.”

          Gandalf smiled and placed a comforting arm about the ranger’s shoulders.  “Do not sell yourself short, my boy.  You are worthy of any man’s—or Elf’s loyalty.  Your destinies are entwined, you and Legolas.  Together you will do many great things.”

          Strider’s reply to the wizard’s prophetic statement was cut short, when Elven horns abruptly sounded and the pounding of many horses’ hooves could be heard approaching the camp.  Aragorn’s lips spread into a wide grin as he glimpsed his brothers leading the western troops into the valley toward their camp.

          “They are here,” he grinned at Gandalf.  “Come.  Help me welcome them,” he called over his shoulder as he ran forward to meet the Elven twins.

          Elladan and Elrohir leapt from their horses and ran to greet their little brother, crushing him with dual hugs, pounding fists, back slapping, and a great deal of laughing.  By the time Lomyr and several of his lieutenants ambled up to the trio, Strider was ready for the excuse to escape his brothers’ exuberance.

          “Lomyr,” he smiled, extending his hand to clasp the ranger’s forearm.  “I am glad to see you once more, my friend.”

          The older soldier nodded.  “I only wish it were under better circumstances, Strider.”

          The veteran’s sobering remarks served to remind all of the reason they were now standing beneath the slopes of Gundabad and the cheery grins turned to grim expressions of determination.  “Aye,” Strider acknowledged.  “Gentlemen, shall we talk?”

          At the nodded heads of Elves and men, Aragorn gestured toward his tent and they followed the young ranger to his quarters to discuss plans for the siege of Gundabad.  While the leaders met, the newly arrived soldiers began setting up camp alongside their Mirkwood and Lake Town allies and within hours the valley was filled with the sounds and smells of an army entrenched.

          The men were tense and on edge, knowing that the battle was near, while their Elven companions were serene and calm, yet ever alert.  All were seeing to their weaponry and horses, checking and rechecking to be sure that all was in readiness for the confrontation to come.  Gandalf moved steadily throughout the complement, giving his encouragement and lending support to those in need.  His progress eventually brought him to the tent where the leaders of the armies were in great debate and he eagerly joined their ranks as the planning continued on into the evening.  

//////////////////////////////////////// 

          Sweating and straining under the weight of the heavy iron plating, Dol slid the metal sheet against the stone corridor entry and added his strength to those around him as the spikes were placed into the shielding joints and the plating was set in place.  Wiping his brow, he nudged his companion and they silently moved away from the other toiling men.

          “Are the men ready?” Dol whispered.

          Dûrel nodded, glancing quickly from right to left to be sure that they were not being observed.  “The vats are on rollers.  We need only slip out the blocks and they will tip.”  He turned back to his fellow slave.  “The spikes have been tampered with as well.  While the metal sheeting is as strong as ever, the spikes holding the plates will snap like a twig if any considerable weight is placed upon them.”

          “Good,” Dol answered.  He looked back at the narrow passageway.  “What about the women and children?”

          “Maredeth has told them to watch for my signal.  They will make for the main caverns once we have created enough of a diversion within the foundry,” Dûrel answered.  He looked hard at his friend.  “Are you certain we can expect an attack upon the stronghold?”

          Dol nodded.  “Yes.  The orcs are in a near frenzy.  Something is going to happen, and soon.”

          Just then a whip cracked against Dol’s back and a huge orc appeared, blocking their path. 

          “Get back to work, you worthless vermin!” the orc sneered, raising his whip again.  “No talking.”  The whip cut into Dûrel’s legs and he winced as he hastened back to his place in the work line, but not before his gaze locked with that of Dol and he silently nodded his head.  Soon—freedom was at hand.  

////////////////////////////////// 

          “And what exactly will the dragon be doing?” asked Elladan.

          “Clearing a path into the mountain so that you might enter freely,” commented Legolas.

          All heads within the tent turned to face the entrance.  Legolas stood beneath the tent flap, yet none within had heard him approach.  Aragorn grinned.  “Ah, Legolas, at last.  Come, come.  We need to know your thoughts, my friend.  Much of what we do will depend upon you and Naurnyar.”

          Legolas moved into the tent and came to Strider’s side.  He nodded at the twins, noting Elrohir’s smirk, and then nodded to the others within the tent before seating himself next to the ranger.

          “By now I am sure you are all aware that the dragon has agreed to aid us,” Aragorn stated, glancing at those assembled around his table.  “She has developed an affinity for Legolas that we can utilize to our greatest advantage.”

          “She?  I should like to hear more of this relationship, Legolas,” Elrohir grinned and several others around the table snickered in nervous agreement.

          “Perhaps when this engagement is over I can regale you with entertaining stories,” came Legolas’ sarcastic retort.  “But for the present, know that the dragon will be the juggernaut of our attack, clearing the way for your troops to enter the mountain and free the humans enslaved within.  She will also deal with the demon Udûn.”

          Aragorn looked to Lomyr.  “You and I will lead the rangers into the stronghold once the dragon has breeched the shielding they have erected.  We will see to getting the settlers out.”  He turned to his brothers.  “The Rivendell archers will give us covering support and deal with the orcs that will surely try to stop us.  The Mirkwood forces and the men of Lake Town will be our rear guard, cutting off any means of escape they might try from the numerous tunnels and egresses.  If we are swift, we should be able to rescue the prisoners with minimal loss.”

          He looked up at each man and Elf in turn.  “Any questions?”

          Those present were silent and Aragorn slowly rose from his seat.  “Very well, gentlemen.  Let’s try to get some rest.  We will attack at dawn.”

          The Elves and men also arose and with murmured comments and quiet leave takings, slowly left the tent.  Elladan lingered a moment and turned to his younger brother.  “You have done well, Estel,” he smiled.  “I am proud to ride beside you.”

          Strider clasped his brother’s forearms and smiled back his appreciation.  “You have no idea what that means to me, Elladan,” he choked.  “I thank you.”

          The elder Elf touched his human brother’s cheek lightly and smiled.  “Father would be proud as well.”

          Strider nodded, unable to speak and watched as Elladan moved off into the night.  Legolas came up beside him and stood silently waiting until the ranger composed his thoughts.

          “Well, my friend,” Aragorn said, glancing at Legolas.  “This shall be a defining day for us all.”

          As dawn broke over the valley below Gundabad, the warriors of Imladris, Mirkwood, Lake Town and the Lost Realm of Arnor silently moved into their positions before the towering mountain stronghold.  The morning mists hung just above the ground in swirls and eddies and absorbed any noises made by men or Elvenkind.  Aragorn walked back and forth among the men and Elves as he surveyed the precise lines of the Elven archers, four deep and commanded by Elrohir, and the lancers and swordsmen positioned behind them awaiting the signal from Elladan to take their places once the fighting began.

          The men of Lake Town were ready with the huge battering ram they had fashioned from a burly oak.  Tharel led the party of ten hefty warriors who would carry the ram forward and crash it into the iron plates before the entrance to Gundabad.  They would be the first to move forward and assault the cavern entryway.  Lomyr and the rangers would follow once Legolas and the dragon had cleared the way through the main tunnel.

          Strider looked up at the Misty Mountains and saw the dragon diving from the peaks toward their ranks.  He raised his arm and the amassed army tensed, their weapons held at the ready.  An eerie stillness fell over the warriors as they watched Naurnyar’s silent approach.  Although all there knew of the dragon, few had actually seen the beast until this very moment and her enormous size awed and amazed them one and all.

          Even more incredible than the dragon was her Elven rider.  Seated upon her back, long, blond hair flying about his head like a golden crown and his enveloping aura a blue-white blaze of light against the sky, Legolas rode the beast with skill and ease.  The spectacle was not unlike tales told to children of mythical heroes and beasts.  Aragorn gasped at the vision; even though he had seen Legolas perform this particular feat several times, the mere sight of his friend astride the flying behemoth was somehow mystical and instilled within him the will to prevail over shadow and darkness.

          Strider brought his upraised arm down in a swift slashing movement.  “Now!” he shouted.

          Tharel turned to his men.  “Heave!”

          As one, the husky men of Lake Town lifted up the battering ram and trotted forward toward the gates of Gundabad.  With each forward step they increased their pace until they were running full tilt toward the massive iron plates barring the entrance to the cave.  The huge ram smashed into the iron shielding with a horrendous crash and a great wrenching and screeching of metal shattered the stillness of the dawn.

          The sabotaged spikes, unable to withstand the strain placed upon the joints in the metal plates, snapped and popped in their slots and the massive doors fell backward into the cavern with a thunderous boom.  Their job done, the men carrying the battering ram dropped it to the ground and leapt to the sides of the entrance ramp as the dragon landed upon the stone entry with talons extended and her massive wings outstretched.

          The silence within the mountain was suddenly broken as a sea of goblin soldiers scurried out of the cavernous opening and out into the daylight.  Their shrieking clamor echoed throughout the small valley as they charged forward to engage the forces waiting without.  Naurnyar rose up on her hind legs and arched her neck and with a roaring bellow spewed forth a curtain of fire upon the advancing dark horde.  The battle frenzy of the black creatures turned to dying screams as the fires consumed them; yet wave after wave flooded out from the mountain.  Those fell warriors not burned to ashes as they ran were skewered with arrows as Elrohir’s archers sent volley after volley into the seething fray.

          As the dragon plunged forward through the breeched opening, Strider shouted to the rangers.  “Forward!  Into the tunnels!”

          Lomyr and his forces surged forward behind the dragon and with swords raised the rangers of the north barreled into the caverns of Gundabad.  Strider shouted above the din and gestured hurriedly to his men.

          “Break into groups!  Search all the tunnels!”

          As the men separated themselves into smaller teams of three and four, they fanned out and entered the various corridors leading off from the main entrance.  They were met by more orc and goblin forces as these soldiers erupted into the tunnels from their underground warrens and metal rang upon metal as they met in deadly combat.   Atop the dragon, Legolas fired arrow after arrow at the orc soldiers as Naurnyar lumbered deeper into the passageway heading for the huge foundry and ironworks.  Her fiery breath preceding her, the dragon forged an opening through the ocean of dark warriors, sending hundreds of the enemy to their deaths in a blazing inferno.

          When Naurnyar and Legolas burst into the foundry, they found more black soldiers waiting, well armed and carrying large iron shields before them.  Naurnyar’s flaming breath rolled over them, but many were protected by the shielding and lunged toward her, axes and scimitars slashing at her legs and underbelly.  Growling her anger, she turned her great body about and swept her mighty tail back and forth, tossing yrch and goblins through the air to smash into the cavern walls.  Her wings began to flap in quick, rapid surges and the winds churned up by their motion sent scores of the black creatures rolling backward across the stone floor where they were then consumed by the curtains of fire showering from her mouth.

          From the balcony deck above the foundry, Erashnâk watched the dragon’s devastating assault upon the orc army below him and as a great many more of his warriors were killed, he swiftly turned from the rail and hurried back into the depths of the mountain interior to report back to Udûn.  

////////////////////////////////  

          At the first sound of the ram hitting the iron plating, Dol lifted his arm and waved to the men positioned within the ironworks.  From station to station across the cavern, the men moved to their pre-determined locations and awaited further signals.  Dûrel slipped away from his forge and backed into a nearby passage.  Once inside, he ran down its length until he reached the slave quarters where the women and children had been moved.   He skidded to a halt at the entry and scanned the crowd of frightened women until he found Maredeth among them.

          “Get them ready!” he shouted.  “Stay together and move as quickly as you can.”

          The older woman nodded and began issuing orders to the women around her.  She herded the children together and instructed some of the younger maidens to take charge of the smaller tots.   In short order, all were prepared and waiting beside the entryway.  Maredeth stood at the door and glanced down the long passage to the main cavern.  With her finger to her lips, she gestured the women to begin moving out along the corridor.  Quickly and quietly, they hurried out.  When the last of the women had left the slave compound, Maredeth ran to the head of the group and flattened her body against the stone wall.  She leaned around the corner and chanced a glimpse at the chaos reigning within the foundry in front of her.  At the sight of the dragon, her heart seized and she pulled back into the dark tunnel.  Frightened beyond words, but determined to carry out her part in this escape, she leaned back against the stone walls and waited for Dûrel to return.  

////////////////////////////// 

          Strider charged down the dark tunnel, battling the few orc or goblin warriors that barred his path until he rounded a corner and came out onto one of the upper levels of the ironworks.  A tall, solidly built man was shouting orders to his companions and it appeared that they were about to topple several of the molten vats of liquid iron onto the floor below.

          He ran up to the slave and shouted over the furor.   “Gather your fellows together. You need to move quickly.”  He gestured toward the tunnel he had just exited.  “Head for the main entrance.  How many are there?”

          Dol turned at the ranger’s voice.  “There are hundreds of us here and we are ready.  We have tampered with the shielding spikes.  The plates will not hold.  We’re also setting these vats loose.  The hot iron will spill onto the foundry floor below.”

          “What about your women and children?” asked Strider as he watched the men slide the huge vats closer to the edge of the upper level.

          “Once we overturn the vats, Maredeth will get them moving.”  He pointed to a lower level corridor.  “Down there.  Once we signal her, she will lead them through to the main tunnels.”

          Strider glanced down at the passageway and barely caught a glimpse of a tall woman, hidden back within the shadows of the lower tunnel.  He looked back at Dol.  “She will need help.  There are still orcs about.  Gather what weapons you can and get your men out.  I’ll see to getting aid to the women.”

          Dol nodded.  “We won’t be long here,” he replied, and as if to confirm his statement, several of the iron vats upended and liquid metal poured over the ledge and down onto the ironworks floor below.

          The agonized screams of the dark enemy rang throughout the cavern as the molten metal covered them where they stood, transforming them into grotesque statues.   Naurnyar bellowed as the hot metal splashed and slapped at her legs and she hastily leapt up onto the rim of the volcanic shaft dominating the middle of the cavernous room and safely perched above the river of iron ore that gushed by beneath her.

          Strider watched the scene below with horror and fascination as the dragon, with Legolas still atop her back, continued to battle the few remaining black warriors.  He pulled away from the edge and glanced back at Dol.

          “Hurry.  Get your men out now.”

          Dol nodded his understanding and turning, waved to the waiting Dûrel.  As his companion moved toward the outer scaffolding and then lowered himself to the levels below, Dol turned back to Strider.  “We’re on our way.  Dûrel will help you get the women to safety.”

          Strider clasped the man’s arm briefly and then moved toward the side of the cavern and down the stone stairway cut out of the mountain’s interior wall.  As he reached the lower levels, he met several of the rangers from Lomyr’s party who were just entering the caverns.

          “This way,” he yelled, signaling with a wave of his arm for the men to follow him.

          The men fell in behind him and jogged down the tunnel until they came to the passage holding the women and children.  Strider rounded the corner and glanced about for any signs of orc or goblin soldiers.  When he saw none, he motioned for the women to move out into the wider passage.

          “Quickly, this way,” he called.

          Maredeth jerked into action and began shoving the women out of the tunnel ahead of her and past Strider and the rangers.  “Quickly ladies, move, move.  Come on, children!  Run!  Hurry!”

          As the first of the women ran into the corridor, Strider waved the rangers forward.  “Go with them!  As fast as you can!”

          Dûrel ran into the corridor as the last of the women were herding the terrified children along in front of them.  He glanced at Strider and shouted.  “I’ll follow behind them and watch for stragglers.  Our thanks to you, ranger!”

          Strider nodded.  “Get them out safely.  That will be thanks enough for me.”

          As he watched Dûrel and the women fleeing for their lives, Aragorn turned back toward the main cavern and the ironworks.  Naurnyar was still balanced upon the rim of the shaft, belching flames from her lungs and incinerating the seemingly endless hordes of the dark lord.  As he watched the melee, a movement above his head caught his attention and he looked up to see a pale raven-haired being step out onto the ledge overlooking the dragon.  A huge, black uruk-hai followed behind the creature and Strider suddenly realized that he was gazing upon the visage of the demon Udûn.

          Rushing to the edge of the scaffolding, Strider shouted down a warning to his friend.  “Legolas!”   He frantically pointed up to the balcony above.  “Above you!”

          The Elf turned at his shouted name, and spotting Strider’s pointing arm, turned to gaze up at the demon he knew only too well.  Udûn heard the warning shout as well and could not keep the surprise from his face as he looked down upon the very Elf he thought hanging dead upon the mountain side.  Angrily, he spun about and grasped the uruk’s armor, pointing down at the dragon and its apparently indestructible rider.  The captain stepped forward, bow drawn, but he was much too slow.  Legolas’ arrow slammed into his forehead before the captain could even lift his bow to shoulder height.  The uruk fell forward and down, landing in the molten iron still inching sluggishly across the stone floor of the cavern.

          Naurnyar’s head spun around and she stared into the eyes of the demon who had slaughtered her young.  Her yellow eyes narrowed and she hissed and growled as she moved her bulk around to face the dark lord.  Udûn reached into his tunic and withdrew the foul, black orb.  As he began to chant his dark spells, the ebony sphere within his hand began to glow.  Legolas shouldered his bow and then placed both his hands upon Naurnyar’s shoulders, chanting Elvish words that were too indistinct for Strider to hear over the roar of the dragon.

          The crystal upon Naurnyar’s head began to shimmer and a strange humming sound began to vibrate within the tunnel.  Aragorn glanced about him as a tingling sensation started to flow over and around his body and he could feel an energy surge within the very air of the cavern.  His ears began to ring and a painful pounding erupted within his skull.  Strider cried out as the ache in his head increased and he pressed his hands to his temples in an attempt to ease the stabbing pain.

          Huge chunks of the ceiling rock began to shake and crack, finally falling to the cavern floor below.  Strider looked up fearfully as several more large rock formations fell only a few feet from where he stood.  He threw his arm up over his head as a shower of pebbles and rock dust rained down upon him.

          “Legolas!” he yelled.  “The place is coming down!  Get out!”

          The Elf did not appear to hear as he continued to chant, his concentration solely upon the dragon.  Naurnyar rose up upon her hind legs and her massive head lifted until she was directly facing Udûn as he defiantly stood upon his lofty roost.  Dragon and demon glared at one another with a seething hatred.

          At that moment Legolas turned to face Strider, his blue eyes intent.  “Aragorn!  GO!” he shouted.

          Strider was about to protest, when more of the ceiling caved in and a gigantic slab of stone shattered upon the floor just behind the dragon.  Before the ranger could move, a huge bolt of energy shot forth from the black orb and raced toward the dragon.  At the same instant, a jolt of white-hot intensity issued from the crystal stone upon the dragon’s brow and the two power sources smashed together in a terrific explosion that rocked the cavern from the foundations to the roof.  This time the stones forming the ceiling dome cracked wide open and the entire cavern roof slide down until it seemed the mountain was coming down upon his head.

          Aragorn was forced to retreat as gigantic boulders crashed in front of him and Legolas and the dragon disappeared from sight in a cloud of dust, smoke and debris.

          As the men, women and children of the northern settlements came pouring out of the thundering mountain, the ground shook beneath their feet as seismic quakes rumbled from deep within Gundabad, and billowing clouds of dust and smoke gushed out of the cavernous entranceway behind them.  The panicked women and children screamed in terror and strong hands reached out to guide them down and out of the stronghold and into the safety of the southern valley behind the battle lines.  The freed men fled the destruction within the foundry and followed closely after the women as the ironworks of Gundabad collapsed around them.  Dûrel and Maredeth gathered the refugees together and hurried them along while Elladan’s lancers and Elven swordsmen formed a protective barricade around them.

          Strider came running out of the tunnel, choking and coughing through the dust and debris that continued to spew out of the mountain side.  Tharel saw him stumble and snatched at his arm, leading him away from the smoke and rushing him behind the protective lines of his warriors.  Although most of the dark army lay dead upon the plains of the valley, there were still a few battle-crazed stragglers roaming about.  Those fleeing from the destroyed ironworks were struck down as they emerged from the cavern and any attempting to escape through the tunnels at the rear of the mountain were met by the Mirkwood forces and quickly slain.

          The volcanic quakes issuing from within Gundabad increased in their intensity and the ground around the main entrance shifted and split.  Higher up along the sides of the cliffs, fissures opened and hot, red lava oozed outward and slid down the sides in burning channels.  Tharel waved his soldiers back and shouted to the Elven twins to retreat from their positions before the entire mountain came down upon them.

          Strider leaned heavily against Tharel and tried to clear his lungs as Gandalf suddenly appeared at his side and shouted over the rumbling and roaring of the heaving earth.  “What of Legolas?”

          Aragorn only shook his head, swiping at his dirt-streaked face and eyes.  Gandalf looked to the smoking cavern mouth and then back to Strider, his expression questioning yet hesitant.

          “Strider!  We have to get away!  Now!” Tharel yelled.

          The ranger coughed and gagged the last of the smoke from his chest and took hold of the wizard’s arm, pulling him away from the tunnel and out toward the massing and retreating troops.  All three ran after the combined armies as they made their way back toward the tents and relative safety of the southern encampment.

          As they entered the camp area, Strider glanced back over his shoulder at the growling mountain to see black smoke and ash spouting from the topmost peaks.  Rivulets of lava ran down the western slopes from the cracks and opened fissures and the ground continued to rumble and shudder beneath their feet.  He only hoped the southern valley where their camp was currently established would be out of harm’s way, at least for the present; however, if the volcanic activity continued to escalate, they would be forced to flee back along the Misty Mountains.

          Right now, he needed to get the armies regrouped and try to determine how many of the imprisoned settlers were unaccounted for; how many of his warriors were dead or missing.  The thought of Legolas came unbidden to his mind and he shuddered.  He could not think about Legolas now; if he did, he would shut down and he could not afford to do that.  Too many people were depending upon him for decisions and leadership.  Later—later he would grieve; when the numbness left him and the tears came.  

//////////////////////////////////////////// 

          Legolas clung to the dragon’s neck as the ground beneath the beast began to slide sideways.  Huge sheets of rock broke off from the cliff walls and slid down the sides of the cavern and a massive piece of the ceiling fell to the floor just behind Naurnyar.  He was barely able to catch a glimpse of Strider running back toward the outer tunnels when the dragon’s stone perch disintegrated under her weight and they fell backwards into the volcanic shaft.  He could feel the dragon’s muscles tense beneath him and her wings thrashed, trying to gain lift from the hot air flowing upward through the shaft.  Within a few minutes, their fall became a controlled drop and then slowly they began to descend into the wide caverns of Naurnyar’s former den.

          When they landed upon the edge of a burning lava lake, Legolas glanced around at the fiery landscape with uneasy apprehension.  Everywhere he looked, steaming pools of liquid fire hissed and spit and gaseous clouds hovered above the stones.  The heat was intense and oppressive enough that even he could feel the blazing temperature.  He knew he could not remain here for any great length of time and live to tell about it.

          A thunderous roar sounded above their heads and Legolas looked up to see the upper mountain wall come tumbling down the shaft toward them.  Naurnyar moved backward, flapping her wings and sending gusts of wind forward to stave off the falling debris.  Amid the clouds of smoke and dust, Udûn flailed about as the ledge he was standing upon fell downward along with the rest of the collapsing wall.  He was thrown backward and lost his balance and the shining ebony Orb of Utumno flew from his grasp and bounced along the rock walls, ever downward until it plunged into one of the magma pools at the bottom of the fire pit and was gone—lost to the world forever.

          Udûn’s rock shelf crashed to the cavernous pit in a plume of dust and debris; he lay stunned and momentarily disabled, but still alive upon the burning stones.  Naurnyar growled fiercely, the sound emerging deep from within her throat, and she lunged forward toward the fallen demon.  Legolas clutched her neck ridges to keep from falling off her back and watched in horror as the dragon, true to her vow, reached her sinuous neck forward, stretched wide her jaws and snapped them shut upon the body of the prone demon.  Udûn’s piercing scream echoed throughout the fire pit as Naurnyar’s sharp teeth gnashed and sawed his body in two and then she jerked her head back and swallowed him, still alive and aware, down her gullet.  Legolas’ stomach lurched as he watched her powerful neck muscles undulate as they rolled the demon’s body down her throat and toward her belly.  The dragon raised her head up and roared with triumphant vindication.  

////////////////////////////////////////////// 

          Gandalf quietly entered Strider’s tent and observed the scene within at a glance.  The ever vigilant Sons of Elrond were present; one on either side of the ranger, and the Lake Town captain, Tharel was trying to get the young man to eat something.  Lomyr was standing near the rear of the tent whispering softly to several of the rangers from his troop.  Elladan glanced up as the wizard entered, and silently rose from his seat beside Estel and came toward the Istari.

          He lowered his head toward Gandalf and murmured.  “Now that he knows that the captured settlers and farmers are secure and safe, he has let the pain of Legolas’ death take hold.”  Elladan looked over his shoulder at his human brother.  “He is devastated, as you can well imagine.”  He looked back at the wizard.  “Even Elrohir cannot seem to reach him.”

          Gandalf nodded sadly.  “Perhaps it would be best if everyone left him for a time.”

          Elladan was quite reluctant to do this, but deferred to the wizard’s judgment and moved about the room, quietly ushering the men out of the tent and then finally taking Elrohir’s elbow and raising him up from his seat.  “Come, brother.  We should leave Estel with Mithrandir for now.”

          The younger twin began to protest, but one look from his elder brother silenced him.  Slowly he nodded and allowed Elladan to walk him out of the tent, leaving Estel alone with the grey wizard.   Once everyone was gone, Gandalf sat down beside Strider and placed a gentle hand upon the man’s forearm.  He said nothing, merely letting his presence be known, and quietly waited.

          Eventually, Strider stirred and turned toward the maiar.  His silver eyes were wet with tears and filled with a deep pain.  He turned his gaze away from the wizard and down to his clasped hands, his dark hair falling forward and obscuring his face.

          “I have thought him dead many times in the past, Gandalf, only to have him miraculously re-appear, but this time I fear there will be no such occurrence.”  The ranger glanced sidelong at the grey pilgrim. “Was all this worth his life, Gandalf?”

          Mithrandir placed his gnarled hands upon his bony knees and sighed.  “It is not for us to judge, my boy.  We are all a part of Ilúvatar’s Song and must fulfill the roles for which we were chosen.”

          He patted Strider’s arm with a loving and heartfelt touch.  “Perhaps Legolas was destined to serve as the means by which Naurnyar’s path to enlightenment was achieved and the time of the dragons’ reign in Eä brought to an end.”  He shook his head sadly and slowly rose from his seat, placing a strong hand upon the ranger’s shoulder. 

          “It is not for us to judge, my boy,” he continued.  “Many lives were saved today and the forces of Shadow dealt another heavy blow.  You must think on this and not dwell on Legolas’ fate.”

          Strider made no comment and the ancient wizard gave the young man’s shoulder one last squeeze before he turned and left the ranger to his thoughts and memories.  Aragorn continued to stare at his hands and did not respond to the wizard’s parting words.  Perhaps by morning he could put these sorrowful thoughts aside, but not tonight, not just yet.  The pain was too sharp, too overpowering and he gave himself up to it willingly.  

/////////////////////////////////////////// 

          Naurnyar turned her head around over her back and stared down at Legolas.  The Elf still looked fairly nauseous after having witnessed her consumption of Udûn and she met his eyes with an expression of guilt and uneasiness.

          “I have displeased you,” she rumbled.

          Legolas gazed back into the blinking yellow eyes and shook his head negatively.  “That would not have been my solution,” he answered.  “However, it was certainly effective.”

          He looked around at the flaming pits and molten lakes within this deep cavern and coughed as the fumes from a nearby fissure wafted over his head.  Steaming geysers of hot lava bubbled and gurgled anew and the humid, heavy air was making it increasingly difficult to breathe.

          Legolas turned back to face Naurnyar.  “I cannot stay here.”

          Naurnyar raised her head and looked up through the volcanic shaft above them.  Satisfied by what she observed, she gazed back down at the Elf upon her back.  “I will take you to the surface.”

          Legolas nodded and clasped the stiff ridges along her back in preparation for her flight.  Once she was certain that her rider was settled, Naurnyar sprang from the lake edge and spread her wings.  With rapid sweeping strokes of her wings, the dragon shot up through the mountain’s core and into the blackness above and in what seemed to Legolas a mere blink of an eye, they flew out of the volcanic crater and into the cold night air above the mountains.

          Naurnyar circled the peaks several times searching for an appropriate landing spot, and then settled down upon a sturdy ridge.  Legolas threw his leg over her neck and eased himself down onto her wing and from there slid down to the rocky ledge.  He walked forward and stood before the beast, waiting as she lowered her head to his eye level.  He placed his hands upon her face, bringing his forehead down to touch her snout.  He did not speak, but a message was shared between them, and when complete, he slowly raised his head to look into her ancient, golden eyes one last time.

          “Go now to the home of your ancestors, Naurnyar, and be at peace,” Legolas murmured.

          The dragon snuffled at Legolas’ chest and a soft rumbling growl issued from her throat.   She pulled back away from the Elf and spoke one final time.  “I shall sing of this day in the eternities to come and when the chronicles are recited, all will remember the defeat of the evil demon Udûn and of the time when the Calar joined with the great Naurnyar to triumph over Shadow.”

          Legolas bowed to the dragon as he placed his arm across his chest in the Elven gesture of respect.  He then stepped away as Naurnyar rose up and launched her body into the skies above Gundabad.  She circled the shaft opening one last time and then dove into the crater and disappeared into the depths of the mountain’s core.  Legolas stood atop the rim and looked down into the cavernous shaft.   A feeling of deep sadness overcame him as he realized he would never see Naurnyar again.   The day of the dragon was at an end and never more would Middle Earth witness their greatness and power.  

///////////////////////////////////// 

          Aragorn sat alone within his tent, his back to the entrance in an effort to avoid any contact with anyone trying to cheer him up.  Many had tried; man and Elf alike, but he did not want to be happy.  He wanted to grieve alone for Legolas and he wanted to feel the deep, angry hurt.  So when the firm hand touched his shoulder, thinking it was Elladan come back to try once more to talk with him, he did not even raise his head.

          “Go away, Elladan.  You can do nothing for me.  Take your rest and leave me to my sorrow.”

          The hand did not move, but a melodious voice, velvety soft, spoke.  “Surely you do not grieve for me.”

          Strider’s shoulders stiffened under the hand and he found that he could not breathe.  He kept his head lowered and dared not chance a glimpse at the figure he now felt standing behind him.  The voice was one he knew so very well, and if he turned around, it would surely vanish.  The hand upon his shoulder would melt away to nothingness and the illusion would fade as smoke on the wind.  But if he kept his eyes tightly shut, he could hold on to the sound of that voice and imagine it was real; for one more moment, he could believe.

          “Seeing you mourn my death is becoming quite a morbid habit,” the voice softly chuckled.

          Aragorn sobbed out a shuddering breath, his shoulders sagging, and then he spun around, tears glistening within his eyes.  “Legolas,” he choked.

          “Aye, mellon nin.”

          “But how?” Strider asked.  “I saw the roof collapse upon you and the dragon.”

          Legolas laughed as he sat down next to the ranger.  “Oh, it fell down upon us right enough, but Naurnyar managed to get us to safety.”

          “Udûn?”

          Legolas grimaced with distaste.  “Well digested by now, I should think.”

          Strider thought it best not to garner any further details on that subject and instead looked unabashedly at Legolas as if to convince himself that the Woodland Elf was indeed alive and sitting there beside him and not some trick of his grieving mind.  Elf and ranger silently stared at one another and then slowly they leaned forward until their foreheads touched and each clasped a hand to the back of the other’s neck.

          They remained locked in that gesture of shared trust, friendship and brotherhood, bound one to the other, until finally Aragorn pulled back and smiled at the Elf.  “Come home with me and spend the summer at Imladris.  What better place to spend time relaxing and enjoying the beauty of that haven?”

          Legolas laughed.  “And you think nothing catastrophic will occur while we are together?”

           Strider could not be help but laugh as well.  “That I cannot guarantee!”

           Legolas rose from his place beside the ranger and smiled down upon his friend.  “I must return to Mirkwood first.  I am sure by now my father has heard dire reports of my demise,” he chuckled softly.  “Several times over—I should like to put his mind at ease and let him know that I still live and breathe.”

           Strider stood as well and walked with his friend to the tent opening.  “Very well, but I shall look for you by month’s end.”

           Legolas smiled and clasped the ranger’s forearm in farewell.  “You have my word.  Namaarie, mellon nin.”

          “Namaarie,” Strider answered as he watched the Elf’s slender form disappear into the darkness of the night.

The End