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.