Last chapter. Thanks to those who did review! It really did encourage me. Well, this is the last and longest part of the story. if it's necessary, I can write an epilogue, but I think this is a nice moment to stop. The last image I got partly out of the film 'Dragonheart'.
As I said before, next story will be in dutch, the next then in english. Hope to see you soon!

The sky was no longer blue, but grey. The plains were no longer green, but red. The river wasn't clear anymore, but filled with wreckage. No sun there was to be seen, but smoke, dark and asphyxiating.

Arwen shivered. Her sensitive elven-ears could hear the earth screaming in despair for this new torturing, so short after the other, in the War of the Ring. The shrill cries pained her. With a livid face, she turned away from the battlefield, that was now being visited by the night and Death. The living had since sunset escaped this place of horror, some to the tents and boats of the Corsairs, others to the White City. Only the dead remained.

"Such sadness," Eowyns voice whispered behind her. The shield maiden was still staring with wide eyes to the place where the battle had raged. "How could it come to this?"

It was a question that was ubiquitous in the City. Everything had been so fine… The trade routes had been extended and very often used. Several friendship treaties had flourished between Gondor and the other regions of Middle-Earth. The art of the Dwarfs, the ale of Man and the singing of Elves had mixed freely. Middle-Earth had seemed even more blessed than in the times of Numenor, when there was still Sauron to remember.

But meanwhile, the Corsairs had licked their wounds, as a wounded tiger, until they were ready to strike back.

And striking back they did.

On a beautiful summer's day, a day that was made for pleasure and love and feasting, the ships had turned up. Half of the city had been by the river at that time, the mothers washing and chattering, the children playing, the men bathing and laughing. They had been taken by surprise.

It had been a massacre.

The first, chaotic minutes, nobody had had enough sense to even try to think about defending himself. And the Corsairs hadn't made any difference between man, woman or child. The river had been flowing red for days.

The Valar be blessed, at some point the soldiers had seemed to remember their training. They had set up a defence line to protect their families and gain time for time to make it into the city. Only then, they had rejoined them. Faramir, Gimli, Eomer and Aragorn had been the last to enter the First Level.

And that day, the siege had started. Every day, the united forces of Gondor and Rohan stormed out of the gates to expel the Corairs, and every day, the Corsairs held their ground. The torturing was endless. Already, the fine artwork of the Dwarfs on the First, Second, and partly the Third Level was destroyed, and the gifts that Legolas – thank Eru he wasn't here to experience this downfall – had brought, the trees and the flowers, were used to nourish the people. And still, the Corsairs didn't leave, and the city didn't surrender. It was a clash of titans, and nobody would be victorious where so much suffering was provoked.

"Let's go inside, Arwen," Eowyn interrupted her dark thoughts. "Let's welcome our husbands back. We may be glad they returned."

"Yet so many others will mourn tonight the loss of their fathers or husbands," whispered the Elf silently, unhearable for Eowyn, who was walking down towards the palace.


A red sunrise. The bright jewel of heaven seemed to have absorbed all blood that had been spilled during the siege that now was going on for several weeks.

At least, this time they saw the sun, Aragorn thought wryly. Normally, she would be hidden behind the clouds. Even Aurien seemed to be curious what this new day would bring.

He looked down at his troops. Every day, their numbers declined. There were even wounded who insisted on fighting on, for their homes and their families. Aragorn had given them a place behind the archers, as a kind of reserve. When the first lines faltered, and the semi-unarmed archers were exposed to the steel of the Corsairs, the wounded could fight off the attack –for a while. It would at least buy them some time to reorganise the army.

If it would come that far. That was the trouble. The Corsairs were skilful in the art of war. They were deceptive and dextrous with their weapons. There was no possibility to foresee the development of the day.

A horn blared. Aragorn looked up and saw the Corsairs advancing. Their dark weaponry casted a shadow on the fields and halved the sun. He waited.

Waited.

They crossed the mark of two yards.

Waiting.

One and a half yard.

Waiting.

One yard.

Waiting.

Three-quarter yard.

He nodded to Faramir. Immediately, the banners went up. A roar arose. The cavalry stormed across the plains, while a cloud of arrows whizzed above their heads. The spearman stood ready to await the return of the horseman, and the Corsairs that would follow in their lead.

A new day of battle had begun.


"Watch out! Kailin! Watch out!" Just in time, the young Gondorian soldier kneeled, before the spear could enter his flesh. He screamed a swift gratitude back to the nameless man who had just saved his life, and continued fighting.

A Corsair took up the duel with him. He was still young, his adversary. And good. But Kailin was better still, thanks to the lessons of a certain elf. Legolas, his name had been, before he was banished from the city, because of an unknown crime. Kailin couldn't imagine the fair being doing anything dark, but who was he to question the decisions of the king and the Council? It had hurt him though, to watch his master go, so forlorn. During their daily, hidden sparring, a bond had grown between them, one that only can be created by a shared secret.

The Corsair charged. His sword dove as an eagle towards Kailins head. Every soldier would have parried the blow with a horizontal whack, only to expose their chest to the second, covert blade that most Corsairs carried.

Every soldier who hadn't been trained by an elf.

Kailin ducked, dodged and stroke in one elegant movement. His enemy was dead before he touched the ground.

He suspected it was exactly this tricky part of his character that had drawn Legolas' attention, though he would never know for sure. Do not go to the elves for council. Anyway, after his training, the elf had suddenly appeared next to him, and had offered him to teach him some elvish techniques. No further explanation. But he would be a fool not to accept such an opportunity. And thus their daily lessons had started, in secret, because Kailin didn't want anybody –and especially not his mother- to know that he was in teaching by an elf. There was still much misunderstanding towards the ethereal creatures.

Another enemy. Another trick. Another dead man. The fight went on and on. Kailin completely lost himself in the tide of the battle, attacking with the flood, roaring with the breakers, retreating with the ebb.

And then, suddenly, a storm rose. The waves hit him with an incredible force. He fell out of his trance, his pattern and stared at the arrow that had punctured his shoulder. Sharply, he could see every detail of the weapon. The markings on the shaft. The black feathered end. The blood that was dripping down from his shoulder upon his chest and legs.

Strange.

There wasn't any pain. He thought it would have hurt.

But before he could ponder upon this remarkable absence of pain, a Corsair noticed his vulnerability. Just in time, Kailin could fight off the attack. He grunted as his movement shot a flash of fire through his vains. So far the blessed insensibility of the shock. Cautiously, the two circled around each other. The Gondorian boy gave himself a brief moment to evaluate the situation. What he saw startled him. Only Corsairs there were to be seen. Where was the rest of his legion? Where were the other Gondorians?

And then, he saw it. Or rather, he felt it. A cool eclipse of the blood-sun. Forgetting everything for a moment, Kailin looked up, trying to find the source of this icy silence that had fallen over the battlefield, and froze.

No.

No.

Impossible.

A dragon.


"Noro lim, Lebenlhach! Noro lim!" Legolas moaned. The wind was flogging his face, tugging on his hair, blowing the tears out of his eyes, but still, to the elf it seemed they were hanging motionless above the battlefield. Behind them, the Nymphs marched on. They wouldn't fight, they had never fought, but they would aid the wounded and divide food and water.

Legolas and Lebenlhach however, had other plans.

Nearly a week ago, the news had trickled into their protected world. Minas Tirith, the great city of king Elessar and queen Arwen, was under attack. It had taken almost two hours to calm Legolas down, enough at least to figure out what they had to do, otherwise, he would just have stormed towards his friends. The council was still going on when a second, even more disastrous message reached the camp.

The Corsairs had a dragon.

The brother of Lebenlhach. Apparently, the Darkness had succeeded in stealing one more egg from the friend of Lindariel, Legolas' mother, and had created a dark dragon. Estel would be chanceless against this power.

Unless, off course, he would be aided by a white dragon.

And therefore, Legolas and Lebenlhach now flew above the horror. What he saw, pained the elf. The Gondorians had been beaten back severely because of their fear for the dragon. Or the two dragons actually. They couldn't imagine how the so cursed creatures could be at their side. Desperately, Legolas sought for a way to tell them he wasn't a danger for them, but in vain. The soldiers just had to endure.

And stop shooting upon them.

Fortunately, the elf and the dragon had created a deep bond during their banishment. They could read each others mind and fight as one in the air. It was because of this union, neither Legolas nor Lebenlhach had been hit by an arrow –so far. But it made it more difficult to challenge the dark dragon, now that Legolas had to alert Lebenlhach for upcoming projectiles, and the dragon had to dodge continuously.

If only they could warn Estel…

The elf sat up and spied through the smoke. There!

"Lebenlhach! Right! The king!" Immediately, the great creature swerved towards the spot were Aragorn, Faramir and Eomer were fighting courageously, while trying to reorganise the ranks. The arrival of Lebenlhach didn't aid them actually. In horror, Legolas saw his friend span his bow… and lower it, with a perplexed expression on his face. The elf sighed relieved. Estel had seen him.

He waited a few seconds more to give Lebenlhach the time to float lower, then he yelled above the wind.

"Estel! Order your men to stop shooting at us!"

Intently, the king seemed to read the words of Legolas' lips, then nodded. He screamed something to Faramir, who let a clarion blare. The command was taken from group warriors to the other group. The cloud of arrows paled.

"Good," Legolas muttered, "now it's time to fight." His eyes found the black dragon.


What happened next, has been told in many stories. They would survive long after the carcass of the dragon had turned into dust. They would be the favourite tales of young boys who were dreaming of a life as a knight, in a time of peace. They were glorious and famous.

They told about two dragons, who clashed upon each other. Of roaring so loud, that hunters for months after the battle couldn't find a single animal in a range of ten miles around the fields. Of fire, burning the sky and the sun. Of heath, falling down upon the frozen soldiers. Of claws, magnificent, silver, scratching and jarring till they were red of blood. Of teeth as big as a man's arm, glittering in the fiery light of their breath. Of a furious, brotherly hate in their flaming eyes. Of the warrior-prince, glorious as the sun, with his bronzed spear and golden hairs.

But as in all great stories, the poets never looked down from their ivory tower. Their silken words were only devoted to the heroes, never to the victims. None of them ever mentioned one Gondorian boy, miles below the fight, who died by the sword of the one of the few Corsairs who had been able to tear their gazes away from the dragons.


A red sunset. The bright jewel of heaven seemed to have absorbed the blood that has been spilled during the encircled the sun. Faraway, thunder rumbled. The first raindrops started to fall down.

It was a curious sight.

They burst upon the bowed head of the elf, who was towering above the corps of a young, handsome soldier. He looked asleep. Only a dribble blood out of the corner of his slightly-opened mouth revealed something else.

The elf stood motionless, letting his mind run through the memories of their daily sparring. He had been so full of life. A sparkle of curiosity. A handful of cunning. A most concentrated look whenever Legolas explained a new trick. It had reminded him of Estel. He had liked the boy.

But now he was dead.

Legolas bowed his head even deeper and wept.

It was a curious sight.

The corps of the young boy. The motionless body of the standing elf. And the majestic dragon, who was holding his great wing above the two figures, protecting them from wind and rain.

It was the last sight the Gondorians could see, before the light waned.

End

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