Extract from Black Arrow which tells the Battle of the Five Armies from the coming of the Dragon to its death, and the Battle of the Five Armies, and the aftermath in Mirkwood. For the purposes of THIS story though, it tells specifically of Thalos' encounter with Smaug.

Note: I know I promised the Return of the King at the end of the last chapter but Thalos really won't wait. I have got a lot more of this written so will hope to post it quickly.

Unbeta'd as my dear Anarithilien is currently betaing the next chapter of Seven Stars, so hopefully that will also be out soon.

Chapter 12: Realisation

Thalos lay for a moment longer, staring up exhaustedly into the sky. Rain poured onto his face, drenched his hair and face and though it slid off his lamellar armour, it found its way through the creases and gaps and he felt the cool water against his skin. It will put out the fires, he though with a weary half smile. That will save us much work and many trees.

'Thalos!' Laegrist was weaving his way towards Thalos, his hair plastered to his head and his face muddy. Blood was smeared up his sleeve. When he saw Thalos sit up and look, he lifted his hand in greeting and smiled wearily. 'All is well,' he called over the noise of the rushing river and rain. 'There are no Orcs left on this side of the river.'

Ceredir appeared alongside Laegrist and joined them. 'I am organizing search parties,' he shouted. 'To make their way onto the other side. We will make sure we have killed them all and stop them from joining the other legions in the South and the West.'

Thalos rubbed his eyes; he should have thought of that. 'Of course. Thank you,' he said. 'We should probably dispatch companies to the settlements as well in case any of our people didn't make it here in time.'

Ceredir nodded. 'You have had news of Dale and Erebor?' he said. 'Dain, and Brand.'

Thalos sighed. 'Yes.' He rubbed a hand over his eyes. 'We will march soon and help our friends. We cannot leave them. If Sauron should capture Erebor, we will never be safe and Dale has always been our ally.'

'What of Esgaroth?' Ceredir asked.

'Yes. Esgaroth of course,' Thalos' thoughts lingered briefly on the Long Lake, its cold, black water, and the colossal bones that lay beneath. He had not returned there since Smaug's fall. Thranduil had forbidden it but oh, he dreamt of the Dragon, of the fire over the water, and more.

He became aware that Ceredir was talking and forced himself back to the present; now was not the time to dream…

'Captain? Shall I start to select those who have not been on the front lines perhaps?' Ceredir was looking at Thalos curiously and Thalos realised it was not the first time he had asked.

Thalos licked his lips, they were dry and he shook his head slightly but then, realizing that Ceredir thought he meant no, he replied quickly, 'I mean yes. Yes, please do' He caught Ceredir's arm and added, 'Try to leave out those with families if you can.' He did not want to force his men out so quickly again, but they had no choice.

Thalos felt his limbs heavy and leaden from exhaustion and Laegrist pulled him towards a bench and the two sank down upon it. A child who was helping in the kitchens was hurrying past and seeing his great heroes, fetched two wooden bowls of stew which he bestowed upon them with adoring eyes.

'Eat first,' Laegrist said to Thalos, laughing lightly and smiling at the child.

Thalos shoved the spoon in his mouth, barely tasting it and only then realized how very, very hungry he was. He noticed Laegrist gobbling up the stew with much the same hunger. 'We have become Legolas and Anglach,' he said with a grin. 'Their first thought after any battle is always food.' And then his face sobered and after a moment, he put the bowl down beside him and leaned his head back against the stone wall, looking up. Anglach. He still burned with that. And Naurion.

After a moment though, Laegrist pushed the bowl into Thalos' hand. 'Eat. We cannot join Dale if we are weak. We cannot take our revenge unless we are strong. And we do not know how the battle in the West, or the South is going. Laersul and the King have sent no word yet.'

Thalos knew he was right and finished the bowl of stew and put it down, looking about at the tired and exhausted men and the women who had fought. Those who had been sheltering in the stronghold were gradually emerging, to search for their loved ones with fearful anxiety. Over to his left, someone was wailing with a familiar stunned grief and he wiped his hand over his eyes. He had lost too many. How could he ask them to march again, to fight in another battle?

He hoped Legolas was safe, and that Laersul was recovering where he had been taken to Beorn's house in the Woods. He wanted Thranduil to return swiftly, unharmed, a complaining Galion beside him, and Galadhon riding nearby.

He gave a deep sigh that was part relief, part misery and with the knowledge that everyone was still in danger. Orcs would be fleeing through the forest, violent and vengeful and murdering anyone they found. He was glad that so many of their folk had fled to the stronghold for refuge. Galadhon's family amongst them he had been told. He had heard that Miunieth, Galadhon's wife, was helping in the healing tents and she would have the children with her, so he knew they were safe. And Silaneth? Galadhon's little sister who was old enough now to be courting and who turned the heads of many a young warrior. When had she grown up, he wondered, for he noticed that she walked differently, and her hair was long and thick and smooth. They did not laugh together in quite in the same way. She no longer swore that she would marry him, and he found he missed her.

He suddenly wanted to find her, to speak to her and assure himself she was safe, and he was surprised at the strength of his feeling. She will be with Miunieth, he knew, and he had so much to do.

He saw that Laegrist's chin had sunk onto his chest and his eyes were unfocused, hands loosely in his lap, his face slack.

Thalos glanced at him. 'Are you all right old man?' he asked softly for he recognized that the fervour of battle was slowly ebbing and Laegrist was exhausted. He knew that many of their men would be the same, the sudden weariness as their bodies recognized that the imminent danger was over. 'Come on.' He stood up himself and reached down to Laegrist, grasping his outstretched hand. 'Don't stop. Keep moving.'

With a grunt, Laegrist stood. He nodded. 'Indeed. And I will not have Lagorúthon tell me I am slacking.' He grinned suddenly. 'I hear that he told you to go on without him when he was wounded on that ledge and you cursed him roundly for his sudden show of nobility.'

Thalos gave an amused smile. 'Did you now? I used some helpful phrases I picked up from Legolas and Anglach that would make you blush.'

Ah, there it was again. He could not excoriate Anglach from his thoughts. Nor do I wish to, he reminded himself. Laegrist slung an arm around his shoulders companionably.

'You will have to teach me them, they sound very useful,' he said.

Thalos smiled slightly for he was bone-weary but he should check on Lagorúthon. 'There will be bands of Orcs still looking for plunder on the other side of the river,' he said with a sigh. 'And we do not yet know if our campaigns in the West and South have been successful.'

'Pray that the King is well,' Laegrist murmured for he was an old friend of the King as well as his sons. 'Right. I will relieve you of the need to see Lagorúthon.' He grinned for the two were old friends in truth. 'He will be trying to run the rest of the campaign from his sick bed.'

0o0o

Beyond the river, thick steam rose up from the fires that smouldered now in the heavy rain rather than burned with the frenzy of before. Thalos was grateful for the rain, but he thought the fog would hamper any search and rescue. Nevertheless, he had to organize that right now before he fell asleep on his feet. Wearily he plodded towards the command point, past the healing stations with their red ribbons fluttering to show their function.

As he went, he promised himself a moment to get a wound to his arm cleaned and bandaged once he had dispatched the search parties to the various settlements to check that all were either gathered safely into the stronghold or had hidden in the refuges built near the settlements.

Mentally he began running through a checklist of what he needed done: which troops were least exhausted, and had not been involved as much in the fighting, he thought. Then a register of all those within the stronghold, he ticked off his list. And then intelligence about which settlements were not represented, dispatch search parties to those first. He nodded to himself as he plodded towards the Command. Then he would find Silaneth.

Lathron stood, arms crossed, dignified and as still as a tree. Oldest, Unbegotten, the Listener. Around him the people flowed, some inclined their heads in respect to him as they passed and some touched the copper bands about his arms for luck or comfort. For it was Lathron who sang the Songs of the Wood, who called back the sick and dying, gave them their yaré-carmë. His own intricate and hypnotic yaré-carmë seemed to vibrate, to pulse with colour and richness.

Thalos almost walked into him and suddenly looked up, eyes wide and startled.

Lathron gave his strange, slow smile and inclined his head towards Thalos. 'The Wood sees your worth today Thalos Thranduillion. Apâraigas. Nagiru.'

Apâraigas. Nagiru.

Thalos stared. It was Lathron who had called to Thalos in his dreams of dragon-song and grief so he was not shocked that Lathron knew those words, for they were etched deep on his heart and Lathron had read all that he was. For in speaking aloud the names that Thalos had been given by the Dragon, Lathron invoked the Dragon himself and Smaug resurfaced from Thalos' dreams of fire on gold, fire on water.

Lathron gave an enigmatic smile. 'He is always with you, is he not?' he murmured. 'The Úruloki? He is in your heart.'

It was true. In his dreams, Thalos relived endlessly his brief moments with Smaug, and he could not forget.

Arshagal, Thalos had breathed. Prince of the Heavens. And acknowledging Thalos as his Apâraigas, naming him Nagiru, Smaug had rested his head on his forepaw, for all the world like a sleepy hound and allowed Thalos to put his hand upon the scaly skin. Thalos had expected it to be cold and hard…but it wasn't. It was not soft but velvety, smooth, utterly unexpected. Warmth rose through him and curled in his belly like a fine wine and he had listened to the heart song of the Dragon, the single notes that blazed through the emptiness and silence of space, that ignited in the deep dark, the velvet dark, a spark of fire …Fire at the heart of the Universe; light exploding, ignited, kindled by the breath of Eru.

And Thalos felt himself falling into darkness.

Even now, so many years later, in the deepest of his dreams, Thalos clung to the spikes on the dragon's spine, knowing Arshagal would never let him fall. The silk-thin wings beat the wind, soared high, higher and lifted beyond the boundaries of the world, spiralling upwards on the thermals higher than any eagle. When Thalos looked down, he saw the whole of Arda like a blue-green jewel below them and the sky around them darkened and there were stars, great globes of white fire.

Now there was only the colossal bones in the ice-cold water of the Long Lake. But Thalos had not forgotten and the heart song of the dragon remained entwined with his; he could never escape. He did not want to.

Only in hearing his name spoken, that none other knew but Lathron, did Thalos realise how he grieved for Smaug Arshagal. The deep warmth, the heat of fire, the molten heart of the dragon. He felt tears in his eyes and blinked them away.

Lathron stood close now, leaning in slightly and Thalos had the strange and comforting sensation that his own yaré-carmë stirred, the rich inks that Lathron had etched upon Thalos' skin to tell his tale of being the danedh-amlung; the dragon's wings folded around Thalos guarding, keeping him, his head laid on Thalos' shoulder and he curled about the warrior's waist like he wrapped himself warmly about him. In the painted dragon's eyes were the far flung galaxies and stars that were numberless and nameless and there, there, far and deep in the painted dragon's eyes was the secret fire from which all things sprang, which Smaug had yearned and yearned for and never reached. Smaug curled protectively about him, like a cloak of fur, or an embrace.

Lathron held his gaze. 'I have come to remind you that is not only the dragon who is in your heart,' he said softly and Thalos felt something in him shift, like a splinter that had stopped him from understanding something. Just beyond his grasp.

'I do not forget how I love the Wood, and our folk, my father, my brothers.' His voice choked a little. Silaneth, he thought slowly and for the first time, he recognized that when he had been left by Lathron on the riverbank, dazed still and dreaming, the reason why it was Silaneth to whom he had awoken. *

Lathron smiled slowly and touched his cheek. 'Now you begin to see,' he said softly, tilting his head slightly, and smiled like a benediction and drew away to speak with the other Oldest ones, Unborn, who were wisest and knew what to do. Thalos stared after him.

0o0o

The stronghold itself was a hive. Erédis had commanded everyone who was old enough to help with bathing wounds and applying dressings, making the injured warriors comfortable. Others were scurrying about to the orders of Úrloch, the chief cook of the palace, was ordering everyone else about and there were bowls of stew and bread being taken to hungry men, not only the injured but those who had been fighting. And Ceredir was quietly going about marshalling the next army, getting horses and wagons ready, letting the captains know they had two nights rest but they would be marching once more.

Thalos had already posted a watch and reserves in case the enemy attacked again although reports from Fendir, who was leading the pursuit of the remaining Orcs through the Wood, said that the Orcs were heading south and more likely to attempt to rejoin the forces held back by Thranduil. Now Thalos was moving purposefully between the men and horses readying to march upon Dale and Erebor when he heard someone shouting his name.

Looking up he saw Miunieth, Galadhon's wife. Relief swelled his heart and he looked behind her for the familiar slim figure with long dark hair and a mischievous grin. But Silaneth was not there.

When she saw him, Miunieth broke into a run. 'Oh Thalos, please tell me you have news of Silaneth? I have been praying all this time that she is safely with you.' She had smudges of ash on her pale cheek and there was blood on her sleeve

Thalos heart gave a thump. 'No, I have not seen her.' He grasped Miunieth. 'When did you last see her? Where were you?' She looked up at him, wincing and he immediately loosened his grip.

'We came here for the market. It was a treat for the children. They are with me.' She cast a glance over her shoulder as if she might see them. 'Silaneth was going to Esgaroth with...' Miunieth blushed a little and Thalos frowned. 'She was going on the rafts.' She stopped, blushing more deeply but Thalos did not care the reasons why. His fear made him hard and cold, and he shook her.

'Do you mean she was in Esgaroth when the alarms were sounded?' he demanded. He knew his fingers were bruising her, but he did not care.

Miunieth pulled away from him, rubbing her arm. 'They have not returned. Their raft is not moored by the river but the rest of their village is here,' Miunieth said anxiously.

'They are still missing?' He was cold with fear now and irrationally, his father sprang to mind, nursing his grief and deep, inconsolable loss. 'When did she leave? Who was she with?'

Miunieth was white and her breath came now in short little gasps. ' Tivilien is frantic with worry too. She says that both her sons were on the raft with Silaneth and none of them have returned. Tears sprung to her eyes and she hid her face. ''Oh Thalos. I cannot bear it if… I was certain that he would bring her back when they heard the alarms. Even if they were as far as the …., surely they would have realised that there was an attack coming on Dale and Erebor?'

Thalos was frozen in shock. He remembered the reports of the legions marching alongside the margins of the forest, towards Erebor, Dale. They would burn everything in their path. Esgaroth would not be immune. Defended by the water it was true but Orcs could easily build rafts to cross the lake. And once they had finished in Dale, they would see Esgaroth as easy pickings.

Miunieth clasped her chest and leaned over. 'What if she…?'

Thalos felt the same terrible pain in his own chest. What if she is dead? Or worse?

''I am going to Erebor anyway,' he said. 'The battle there is not finished. I will look for her. I will go first to Ascar-Legrin and see if they are hiding there near the village, and if not, I will go on to Esgaroth.'

Miunieth clung to him. 'If anyone can find her it is you, Thalos. She has always…'She swallowed and glanced up at him. 'She has always loved you,' she said softly, tears in her eyes that he could not bear.

He squeezed his eyes shut to block it out, to try to dull the knifing pain that shot through him and then strode away quickly, shouting for Ceredir, Laegrist, horses, the fastest and freshest, the least weary men. He passed Lathron, who watched him and said nothing.

0o0o

Thalos had told Ceredir, 'Get the fastest horses.' But he had been unable to hold still and as soon as he had given the order to fetch horses, he had followed Ceredir into the stables himself and taken over.

'A vanguard,' he called. 'The freshest men and horses. We go to find our own folk first and then we will ride to Esgaroth's aid ahead of our main army.' Thalos's heart pounded in his chest like he had been running for a very long time. And because it was Thalos, the dashing, gallant Captain of the East Bite, who had saved the stronghold with his wile and cunning, many of the company wished to go with him. Still he looked them over and told some that they were too tired, injured, had families and bid them have two days to rest. He chose twenty to go with him now to search for the raft elves. For Silaneth.

A memory of long ago, before he had gone to Erebor, the eve of his departure struck him like lightning. Silaneth had still been a child and he and Galadhon had been drinking cider when Silaneth found them and thrown herself at Thalos in childish delight. Thalos had caught her up, flinging her over his shoulder so her feet were kicking before him and she squealed with delight.

'What? Did you say Silaneth was here? But I can't see her,' he had said, looking about himself in the silliest way as if he could not see her, and Silaneth was giggling fit to burst.

'I am here, silly!' she had shouted, whacking him on the back. But he had whirled around dangerously near the cold, deep river as if he did not know she was there. He had deliberately wobbled over the edge of the water, so her feet and legs were dangling over the riverbank and she had shrieked in delight and horror.

'Oh? Is that you, Silaneth?' Thalos had said suddenly looking over his shoulder and into her bright eyes. And he had carefully set her down on her own two feet and she flung her arms around his waist and buried her head in his belly.

'I am going to marry you, Thalos,' she had said, her voice muffled by his tunic. There had been an indulgent laugh from Miunieth who had come to join them, her hand was in the small of her back and her belly was round and very pregnant. Galadhon had tutted and trotted over to his wife, fussing and coddling her. Thalos had watched, swinging Silaneth gently off her feet and back and forth as he had done with Legolas and Anglach when they too were but waist-high and light as ducklings.

'You have to promise me you won't marry anyone else while I am growing up,' Silaneth had said, pulling at him insistently. She had stared at him with adoration in her bright eyes, like he was some sort of god.

Thalos had smiled down at her. 'But what if you meet someone you want to marry instead of me?' he said gently.

'I won't.' The certainty in her voice had touched him strangely and he had looked down into her eyes, feeling a little squeeze of compassion in his heart for this little girl who had been orphaned and was living with her brother and his wife, neither old enough to be of help nor young enough to forget her previous life. He had knelt before her and brushed her hair out her eyes.

'But how can you be my little sister if you marry me?' he had asked. 'For I have no sister. I have only orcs and goblins for my brothers.'*

He wondered why it had taken him so long to realise that she was where his heart had always been.

0o0o0o0o