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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

/////////////////////////////////// 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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