"I came to thank you." The voice came from above him. Thranduil lurched to look up, surprised by the sudden words. There, in the tree he leaned against, was an elf, with dark skin, and eyes that were the same shade, so much so that they almost blended into each other. He wore black leather armor and plates, and, well, in honesty, Thranduil had no idea who he was.
"My sincerest apologies, but do I know you?" The elf gave a thin smile.
"Perhaps you would recognize me better like this." His face morphed to scales and his nose flared out and his hair fussed to his scalp. For a moment, the Elvenking found himself staring at the head of a dragon. And the scars on Thranduil, hidden under a layer of glamor, *burned* for looking at the one who had given them to him. But then the elf shifted back.
"What are you?" he asked in a morbidly fascinated whisper. The elf, again, smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.
"It matters not." The words were sorrowful and soft. "I came to thank you," he repeated.
"For what?" Whatever the creature was here to thank him for, Thranduil couldn't begin to guess it. Why would the dragon that had burned him feel grateful to his slayer?
"For killing me," he said without hesitation in a quixotically light tone, "For setting me free." He didn't wait for a response and flipped himself backward off the branch, turning into a dragon midway to the ground and flying away.
"Ada!" Legolas ran up to him, then paused at the expression on his father's face. "What is it?"
"Nothing, ion." Thranduil told him in a far-away tone as he watched the dark blotch on the sky fade, "Nothing at all."