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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

          “I have displeased you,” she rumbled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

          “Aye, mellon nin.”

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

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

          “Udûn?”

          Legolas grimaced with distaste.  “Well digested by now, I should think.”

          Strider thought it best not to garner any further details on that subject and instead looked unabashedly at Legolas as if to convince himself that the Woodland Elf was indeed alive and sitting there beside him and not some trick of his grieving mind.  Elf and ranger silently stared at one another and then slowly they leaned forward until their foreheads touched and each clasped a hand to the back of the other’s neck.

          They remained locked in that gesture of shared trust, friendship and brotherhood, bound one to the other, until finally Aragorn pulled back and smiled at the Elf.  “Come home with me and spend the summer at Imladris.  What better place to spend time relaxing and enjoying the beauty of that haven?”

          Legolas laughed.  “And you think nothing catastrophic will occur while we are together?”

           Strider could not be help but laugh as well.  “That I cannot guarantee!”

           Legolas rose from his place beside the ranger and smiled down upon his friend.  “I must return to Mirkwood first.  I am sure by now my father has heard dire reports of my demise,” he chuckled softly.  “Several times over—I should like to put his mind at ease and let him know that I still live and breathe.”

           Strider stood as well and walked with his friend to the tent opening.  “Very well, but I shall look for you by month’s end.”

           Legolas smiled and clasped the ranger’s forearm in farewell.  “You have my word.  Namaarie, mellon nin.”

          “Namaarie,” Strider answered as he watched the Elf’s slender form disappear into the darkness of the night.

The End