Title:  Dragonrider

Author:  Legorfilinde, Dark Forest Singer

E-mail:  mary.l.edgar@vanderbilt.edu

Rating:  PG-13

Summary:  The Dark Army awakens a dragon beneath Gundabad and now Legolas must gain its trust and prevent its destruction of the northern realms.

Disclaimer:  I do not own anything that has to do with J.R.R. Tolkien’s works/characters/stories/histories/maps and am not being paid for this piece of fan fiction.  I am only using Mount Gundabad in this story because I really like the sound of that word!

 

 

Part One

 

          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.

 

hhhhhgggg

 

          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.

 

ššššš›››››

 

          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.

 

 

Part Two

 

          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.

         

ššššš›››››

 

          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.

 

›››››ššššš

 

          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

 

 

Part Three

 

 

          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.

 

›››››šššš

 

          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!

 

›››››ššš››

 

          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.

 

 

Part Four

 

          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.

 

›››››ššššš

 

 

          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.

 

›››››ššššš

 

          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.

 

 

Part Five

 

         

          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, mellonin,” 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.

 

›››››ššššš

 

 

          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.

 

ššššš›››››

 

          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!

 

Part Six

 

 

          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, mellonin.”  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.  “My life has no meaning any longer. Without your honor and love for life to sustain me, I am nothing.”

 

          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 I have no desire to live.”

 

          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, mellonin, 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.

 

ššššš›››››

 

          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 Estel’s dark hair and murmured soothing Elvish words into his ear.  “Rest now.”

                  

›››››šššš

 

          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 of 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.

 

          Estel 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.

         

 

ššššš›››››

          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?

 

 

Part Seven

 

 

          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, Estel, he thought miserably.  You will think this your fault somehow and it is not, mellonin.  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.  T