Chapter Nine: Gladrau

They rode into Edoras, the Golden Hall, the next day and a horror awaited them.

The beautiful Hall made with loving hands by the men of Rohan was destroyed. It had burnt to the ground. The wood was blackened, and that was only the beam that was still in some semblance of the timber. Many of the houses were only piles of ash with bodies intermingled.

"My god," Elessar breathed as he bent to the ground and picked up some of the ashes.

"Elessar!" a strangled choke cried and the King was alerted to a small ring of tents ten metres away from the burnt ground.

"Eowyn!" Elessar said in relief. The wife of Faramir ran towards him and they briefly embraced before she backed away with a slight blush. "My lord, Eomer is injured. He was the only one to make it out of Edoras."

The King with the healing hands strode into the tent and immediately pulled off his leather riding gloves and placed one hand on Eomer's forehead.

The man's eyes opened slowly. "Aragorn," he said in a dry voice.

"What happened?" the King asked helping the man to sit up in the makeshift bed.

"I was making my way out with another of the children when the building collapsed. A prop fell on my leg and I was trapped for a while before I was freed. My leg is only broken. There were far worse casualties. And do you know what the worst thing was?" Eomer asked.

Elessar shook his head and pulling back the covers, inspected the wound. He nodded his head with satisfaction. It had been cleaned properly and was bandaged adequately.

"We don't know what caused the fires," Eomer said quietly. He looked up at Legolas who stood there slightly guiltily for knowing. The elf did not know why he felt so guilty. Perhaps it was the nagging voice in his head that said he could have returned quicker and prevented this.

"Fires? You said fires: plural," Legolas said. "Was there more?"

"Aye," the King of the Mark nodded sadly. "A small village on the edge of the Anduin. Blazed to the ground. My men got there before Edoras was attacked. They had to return; they said no one was alive."

Legolas felt the bottom of his stomach suddenly drop and felt sick. "No," he whispered.

"What is it?" Eldarion noted the sudden change in his love's face. Legolas' skin suddenly went white and the elf himself found his hands shaking.

"Legolas!" Elessar cried as the prince suddenly fled the room.

Eldarion ran after Legolas who had quickly mounted a nearby horse. It had no bridle, the elf did not need it for as with all elves, they had a connection with horses and they will bear them willingly as they are light and gentle.

"Noro lim, noro lim!" Legolas hissed breathlessly and the horse jerked into a gallop and tore across the landscape away from Edoras.

"Legolas!" Eldarion echoed his father's call.

"Eldarion, follow him," Elessar said between gritted teeth. It was times like these that he hated his secretive friend. "I will stay here and help the people. Take Hasufel for he is swiftest."

Eldarion thanked Elessar quickly before running towards the horse of Rohan and mounting him, and then he set out after the disappearing splodge on the horizon.

~

Legolas rode for several hours before he finally reached the ruined village.

The sturdy buildings that the Rohirrim lived in had one main flaw. They were made of wood and straw. Two of the most easily lit natural substances.

All that was left of them was clumps of ashes and small piles of molten metal from where the fire had melted it.

In one small building, there were still some small tongues of flame. Legolas quickly extinguished them with some snow. Then his breath caught in his throat and his legs gave way.

In that small building he saw the charred corpse, hideously scared, but still unmistakable face of Lina's father. His once hard eyes were now glassy with death and stared ahead, transfixed on some spot that only he could see. It was up at the sky. The very spot that the dragon would have flown over from.

Legolas' stomach churned and he felt his food returning. On wobbly legs he got up and ran out of the village before vomiting into some snow. He covered the sick up and returned to the body.

The man's face was black and red, as scaly as an orc's, and his clothes had burnt of him in the heat of the inferno that had engulfed him and his village.

"Lina?" Legolas asked. Whether the question was directed to the father or to himself, he would never know.

"Lina!" he shouted.

Nothing answered him.

Legolas picked up the body and made his way out of the village once more and then with only his bare hands and his knives, he dug a grave and buried the man.

Father to Lina. May he rest in peace.

Legolas scratched in the snow, his fingers turning red from the coldness of it.

He scoured the whole village and when he found that Lina obviously wasn't there, he repeated the process many times.

There was a row of thirty bodies by the time Eldarion finally arrived.

"No one knew them and no one will mourn them," Legolas said and burst into tears.

Eldarion walked towards Legolas and wrapped him in his embrace, wishing he could shelter such a compassionate and beautiful creature from such a cruel world.

"Lina, Lina!" Legolas sobbed into the warm velvet of the man's cloak.

"Come on Legolas," Eldarion said and took the elf's hand as if he was a troubled elfling once more. "We'll look for her." The prince did not even know for who he was looking, but he did all the same.

The pair walked through, inspecting the burnt ruins of the houses and burying any bodies or things that the scavengers would get at, in the snow. Finally Legolas gave a strangled sob and ran forward with each step his legs felt weaker and closer to collapsing.

There lying on the snow, partially hidden underneath a piece of wood was a slender wrist. On that wrist was one small copper bracelet.

"No!" Legolas shouted and pulled the board away.

It revealed Lina's small body. Her eyes were the same as her father's. The dark orbs gazing into the sky, on her face a mask of horror and intense fear.

The rosy cheeks were pale with death and her glossy hair had lot its shine. Legolas choked and with a strangely cry flung himself onto the ground next to the body.

"Legolas," Eldarion said, his hands moving in soothing circles.

The wood-elf sat up reluctantly, his eyes wide and red with tears. "I-I could have prevented this," he whispered. "Because of me people have died."

Legolas believe that whole-heartedly. He had been told and warned of the dragon days before this had happened. He could have prevented this, but he was too busy doing other things, things that now seemed petty in comparison.

"If I had got here quicker, she could still be living today," Legolas said in a voice that Eldarion could hardly hear. "Lina, oh Lina," he sobbed and let himself be held by his patient friend.

Eldarion rubbed his back and ran his fingers through knotted hair as you would to a child and finally when Legolas' weeping had subsided, he pulled away. "Let us bury Lina next to her father."

And they did. Her small body was placed in the snow next to that of her father. Legolas found a piece of charred wood and on it he carved:

Lina. May she find eternal peace.

~

The survivors that could move and were well enough to, went about the arduous task of burying the dead.

Most wept openly as they buried their family and friends and the stonemason made for each, a small grave stone and engraved into it in the tongue of Rohan their name and a small message.

Even King Elessar could not hide back the tears as he helped one grief- stricken mother bury her own daughter. "It should be the other way around," the woman howled as she covered the face of her child with soil.

Neina, daughter to Neris

Was the only recognition that she received. The stonemason was working flat out and was under demand from the families.

"If I had more time, I would have thought up words that would make a grown man cry," the stonemason said gruffly, his tears soaking into his beard.

Elessar thought it was a rather vindictive thing to say and not sympathetic, but later when he watched the stonemason bury his wife, he came to the conclusion that everyone handles death differently.

Another young girl, her face streaked with soot, worked in stolid silence as she buried an iron torque. It was the only thing that remained of her brother. He had been in the Golden Hall at the time and was in the middle of the flame. The torque had melted and then cooled again in the cold night air. It had lost most of its shape, but it could still be identified as some kind of jewellery.

Then she picked up a handful of ashes and scattered them in the wind.

Briefly the girl closed her eyes and murmured something in the rolling phonetics of the Rohan tongue before opening her eyes and carrying on, doggedly cleaning up her home.

Elessar cast his cloak away, rolled up his sleeves and started to help her.

~

Night had drawn close when Legolas and Eldarion finally stopped toiling. They had buried everyone and had cleaned the village. Propping things back into place and moving the pieces of wood that had fallen in the way.

Legolas had also finally stopped crying. The tears had dried on his cheek leaving a silvery track. Eldarion traced them with his thumb and where they ended, he kissed them.

Legolas did not protest. All the emotions he had felt today had completely worn him out. He just lay in Eldarion's arms and smiled weakly as the man kissed and fussed over him.

Finally the elf prince fell asleep, warm and comfortable. Eldarion watched over him as nearby Hasufel champed on a patch of grass that had been uncovered.

~

The yellow eyes were so wise and intelligent. The pupils were black slits that didn't allow any sign of movement and where the creature was looking at.

His skin was tough and leathery, a carmine colour: dark red with the slightest tinge of purple. Upon his snout was a row of sharp, jagged yellow bone. Standing up like the lower set of teeth on a wolf, they were a dull yellow colour after his many years of sleeping lazily in the mountain reaches.

Then at the end there was two deep, black holes that went into his nose. Every so often as he slept, smoke puffed out of them. Each of these puffs of smoke was large enough to be the amount that would come from a normal human cook pot while something was roasting.

That was just how large and majestic this creature was.

His wings were each the size of a normal sized wooden-structure house. His talons were long enough to be used as javelins and they were sharp enough to dig without any trouble through hard ground.

The row of bone continued down his back and gradually lessened in size as they made their way down his long tail. Used, as one would wield a club. The dragon threw it around, the jagged bone adding to the brutality of the force it struck with. The dragon didn't really need his talons on the end of his feet. They were used before when there were more dragons and they fought over territory and meat.

Nothing left in Middle-earth except the Oliphaunts (who were as large as elephants) needed the claws to help devour them. The smaller prey of men and other beasts were easily swallowed whole.

This dragon was the last of his kindred on this earth.

Smaug had been a distant relative and when he had left as well, slain by Bard, the man of Laketown, Gladrau had placed it on himself to remain the final dragon.

Gladrau the Inferno: he had been feared when he had originally walked the earth during the age when the myth of the Silmarils and of Morgoth the first dark Lord, were not stories, but hard facts of life.

He had sired several mighty dragons that were not written of in the history of the world for they were also killed. Gladrau was the Ancient, the Firebringer. Long he had lurked in the depths of his cave knowing that nothing would ever harm him. But one night he had awoken from a dream that foretold of his downfall.

Gladrau had risen with a mighty bellow and had flown across the sky, both terrible and awesome. He had opened his mouth and the toxic acids had caught fire and so he had breathed flame across Edoras.

Iaurhen he was called in the Sindar tongue- Ancient Eye. Gladrau had the awful power to freeze a person to the ground with one look of his eye. Those were caught in his gaze were terrified to death and it is said that through his eyes they saw all things ancient and ruined. It was called Dragonfear and it was Iaurhen's most potent and deadly weapon.

Finally he had found who it was that was going to challenge him and utmost be his downfall.

In his dream he had seen the slender and sinewy frame of an elf.

Golden hair rippled down his back, flowing over the quiver of arrows that was slung there. Those and the long knife at his belt would not protect him, for Gladrau could only be slain one way.

The skin of his underbelly was tougher than that of his ancestors due to all the lying he did on it all those years on the hard ground of his mountain home. He could not be pierced by arrows as Smaug had.

~

Legolas stood in front of the mighty dragon.

Gladrau blew a small puff of smoke out of his nostrils in a flippant gesture towards the elf who stood in front of him, his bow aimed and bent.

Galdrau blinked lazily and rolled his eyes. "This is too easy," he said in a deep rumbling voice that made the very ground beneath Legolas shake.

He turned his eyes towards Legolas and the prince immediately let go of the arrow.

It sprang from its hold and flew straight at the creature. It bounced straight off Gladrau's skin and fell, bent and dented to the ground.

Legolas fired again. He hit the same exact spot, such was his skill with the bow, but it was to no avail. The same thing happened.

Gladrau smiled, if a dragon could smile. His white gleaming teeth, honed into vicious points, shined at Legolas, yet still his heart did not quail. Then the eyes lowered.

Legolas' eyes were instantly drawn to the thin, black pupil and there the wisdom of Ages met the wisdom of millennia.

Gladrau blinked and the wood-elf reeled back, staggering slightly. The dragon's hold on him was almost magnetic. He wanted to look back up. He had seen so much in those brief instants. So much power, knowledge and magic. Legolas wanted to see more.

The dragon lowered his eyes once again and mentally dismissed the dreams that had haunted him so much. How could an elf kill him? One elf? One puny First-born. They had much magic in their blood, but it was nothing in comparison to him.

Legolas was drawn to those eyes as the moon and stars are to the night sky. He stared into them and saw the past, the present and the future. He saw so much truth in them.

He saw the first elves as they walked into the new world. He saw the creation of men and their first fumbling steps. He saw the rape of the Silmarils. He saw Melkor's lust and greed for them. He saw Feanor's slaughter of the elves. He saw all that in one second and more.

Time sped up and Legolas saw himself staring into the eyes of the dragon. He saw Eldarion and he saw his death body being cradled by the sobbing and crying man.

Gladrau sniggered nastily and with one more blink, he sent the full Dragonfear into Legolas.

An icy cold fear gripped Legolas' heart. His eyes rolled around in their sockets as blood stopped going to his head and then he-

"Legolas!" Eldarion slapped the elf across the cheek, leaving a fast appearing red mark.

The prince sat up with a jolt, his blue eyes wild and delirious. "Where is he?" he cried. His heart was thumping so heavily in his chest that Legolas thought the organ might explode from the effort.

"He is not here," Eldarion said, slightly remorseful for waking Legolas up so. But he had been writhing in his sleep and had such an awful and terrified look on his face.

"Gladrau!" Legolas gasped and tried to stand up, but Eldarion's arms were wrapped to tightly around him and the elf found that after his near-death experience, he was too weak to struggle. "He's the one! My ancestor's souls! He's going to pay!"

"Who?" the man asked.

"Gladrau!" Legolas repeated. "Iaurhen in elvish: Ancient Eye. Eldarion!" he turned to his love and for a minute his face was almost rapturous. "I looked in his eyes and I saw everything. I saw the beginning!"

Then the elf's face sobered and he turned his head away from Eldarion's bright gaze and looked into the darkness around him. "I saw..." he trailed off and covered his mouth with one hand to stop the wail that threatening to come out.

"What?" the man asked.

"I saw.... my death." Legolas turned back to Eldarion. His eyes were so wide and the prince from that day onwards swore he had never seen someone so terrified.

"I am not afraid of death," the wood-elf went on. It was true. Legolas was not an elf that suffered from fear. He had stood defiant and fearless against thousands of orcs. He had fought a cave troll without wincing and he had trodden the Paths of the Dead without distress. Gaining entry to the Halls of Mandos would make up for ending his life. Once more he would be with his mother.

But what he feared was Eldarion.

In a remarkably short time, a bond had been formed between the two that they both were reluctant to say, was almost unbreakable. Legolas was scared of leaving Eldarion behind. Eldarion may well die from grief, but the elf did not want the man to go through that.

"I am afraid of leaving you," he whispered and nestled his head again Eldarion's chest and lay there, listening to the comfortingly regular beat of his heart.

Across Eldarion's face fluttered an expression of almost guilt. He would be the one to leave Middle-earth and he would be the one to leave Legolas on his own. He knew that the elf was strong in body, but not in spirit. Grief was a far deadlier killer in the elves than men. Their love was stronger and therefore so was the consequences.

"You'll never leave me, melamin," [my love] Eldarion vowed and kissed the trembling lips. He would do anything in his power to stop Legolas from feeling such dread and remorse. "LimVeru earda nandin ii oron atal`ta, lle anwo ematte` nin." [The seas will run dry and the mountains will fall, but I will never leave you.]

The man's elvish was shaky after such a long sentence in the language but the meaning was still there.

"I love you," Eldarion said in a soft voice.

Legolas's eyes lifted and they were filled with such hope that it made Eldarion nearly weep. "Show it to me," he begged.

Eldarion nodded. "You sure you want this?" he asked cupping the elf's smooth cheek.

Legolas nodded his eyes ardent. "Eldarion," the prince said softly, a slight dusting of colouring on his high cheekbones and the tips of his ears.

Eldarion nodded again and gently started undoing the buttons on his love's tunic while all the time Legolas lay in his arms peacefully murmuring his approval in a mixture of elvish and Westron.