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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

          “Did you think that wise?” questioned Mithrandir.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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