Glorfindel insisted on leading the way, of course, Thandir at his side. Behind, Arveldir kept Erestor close, trying not to be obvious about it but failing; his husband nudged him.

'I know you are worried for me, but I am not a frail little librarian, you know! I can shoot, I can move through a forest quietly and I can take care of myself!' He smiled up at his beloved fëa-mate to take any sting from his words. 'But thank you for worrying. I think, however, perhaps our Galadhrim friends are more in need of protection than I.'

'We heard that,' one retorted to be hushed by Lumormen.

'Let us hope the dragons did not hear you, also!' he said. 'It is a fair point; when did we last lift a bow in anger? Our skills are not known to our friends. Let us try not to let them down.'

'We're probably all right for a little while,' Glorfindel said, looking back. 'The smoke isn't that strong, we're not close yet. But… it wouldn't hurt to speak softly and move swiftly. Let's pick up the pace a little, if you can manage, Thandir?'

The company fell silent and increased their speed as much as possible. It dawned on Erestor – an obvious fact, but one that had hitherto escaped him, that the attack had, of course, been ongoing for however long it had taken Thandir and friends to escape and to find them… a considerable delay was not helpful.

'How long since the attack commenced, do you think?' he murmured to Arveldir. 'Twenty minutes?'

Arveldir sighed in the darkness. 'Perhaps. I can feel the fear of the forest now.'

It wasn't good. Around them the trees shifted, shivered the last of their leaves, sent out distress pheromones passed on from further in. To those attuned to such things – Arveldir and the Galadhrim – it increased tension, built fear, and the whole company flinched when someone burst from the trees ahead and to the right. Several bows targeted the Silvan who dropped to her knees.

'Friend, I am a friend, there are… do not go that way, dragons! Young Beech Covert is aflame, as is Oak Stream Crossing and… oh, do not…!'

'Steady, there.' Glorfindel knelt at the elleth's side, his voice gentle. 'Are you hurt?'

A shake of the head.

'Good, that's good. Your name?'

'Nellthel.'

'I'm Findel, Nellthel, and my friends and I know about dragons; we're on our way to help. Now. Some of our friends were visiting in Young Beech Covert, I don't suppose you know if…'

The elleth shook her head.

'There are flames, but I do not know…'

'Never mind, don't worry about that. Now, you can come with us if you like, but we're on our way to help…'

'No, I – oh, I don't want to go back…'

'Well, you don't have to. So what I want you to do, if you can, is circle round through the woods, take the long way, find one of the southern settlements and go from there to the New Palace, yes?'

The elleth nodded.

'But, it is… there are at least three, one huge one and others small…'

'Ah, well, we're used to that sort of thing. Now, there's a group of elves on their way to safety with two of our friends looking after them; you might run into them, but if not, can you find your way alone?'

'Yes, of course. Thank you. Thank you.'

'Just go the long way round, remember that.'

'The long way. I shall.'

Glorfindel rose to his feet and glanced at his friends.

'All right. Let's get going.'

Arveldir led the way now, Thandir just behind with Glorfindel at his side providing support and reassurance. Everyone so equipped checked their bows again, Erestor and Arveldir included, nocking arrows and taking turns to watch the patches of sky riding between the skeletal trees.

Another shadow soared overhead, cruising the darkness. This one was huge, bigger, broader, and it swooped down, losing altitude over the forest about half a mile away. The watching elves saw a gush of orange and yellow burst into the air, angled down into the canopy. The backlight showed the reality of creature; a dragon, massive and dark and deadly, targeting something amongst the trees. The dry undergrowth flared like tinder and caught, and spread…

'That's near Spring Water Elm village!' Thandir exclaimed. 'Oh, my friends live there…'

'Hush now, Thandir,' Arveldir said. 'We know there's more than one attacker in the night; do we wish to be calling the other down on our heads?'

'Why not?' Glorfindel said. 'We are armed, we are able…'

'We are indeed.' The advisor shrugged. 'Very well; let us advance, and then make a noise; it may distract the smaller one…'

'Ones,' a Galadhrim corrected. 'And I don't think we need worry about attracting attention. I see two shadows south of east, coming swiftly…'

All the elves lifted their bows, seeking the shape in the sky. Arveldir released first, the twang and slap of his bow string followed by half a dozen others; the dark patch above keened suddenly, halted in the sky, dropped in a screeling, shrieking tangle of intermittent flame to hit the trees with a smash and a crash and a burst of yellow light that died almost at once. The second shadow wheeled over the crash site and spun away.

'Good shooting,' Glorfindel said. 'Anybody want to go and see if it's really dead, then?'

'We should take cover,' Arveldir said. 'The other marked us. It will be back, or it will bring the big one.'

'Yes. Get off the trail, everyone!' Glorfindel said. 'Thandir – it's up to you, but we could really use a guide…'

'I will show you the way.'

'Good lad, I like your courage, penneth! Come, then.'

'Look there!' Triwathon pointed up through a gap in the trees. High above and to their left in the sky, a shadow that stopped to hang in the air, to scream and plummet and light up the forest with a blast of orange flame.

'Somebody got one!' Celeguel shouted. 'They can be arrow-felled in the sky, at least!'

'If we can get close enough. I wonder whose shot it was?' Triwathon asked. He cupped his hands around his mouth and sent out a powerful whistled sequence and waiting for an answer. 'No. We're too far away from the archers. Or else they are too busy. Where the shadow crashed, logistics, anyone?'

'Between Elm and Oak village,' Hannith said. 'On our side. There are streams, but the forest, Commander, is too dry…'

Triwathon shook his head.

'I know, I know, it hurts to let the forest burn! But, Hannith, if the elves are able, they will fight the fires themselves. If they are not able, they will need our help. It is not what I like, but we must press on.'

He led his company cautiously onwards to the edge of Elm Village. Through the trees they could see the central space of the village, its Heart Glade, empty and bleak. Flame crackled around the outskirts, advancing in spurts across the dry leaf litter and seeming to form an outer and inner ring. Here and there, patches of flame high in the trees beyond the clearing suggested the talans were burning; the cries and calls of elves in the woods beyond came as the villagers tried to douse the flames, but muted, as if they did not want to draw attention by making too much noise.

Triwathon nodded to the rest of the rescue team to start working on the fires and sent out an identifier call.

An elf on the far side of the clearing emerged from cover, saw them, and broke towards them, heading straight across the open space. Immediately a chorus of voices from around and behind rose in protest.

'No – do not!'

'Stop! Do not cross the Glade, you will…'

'Go back!' another voice called. 'Those of you there, do not try to cross the Glade! Save yourselves!'

Even as Triwathon beckoned to several of his company to go with him, two huge downblasts of air, the sound compressing in a whumf! displaced the flames in the trees so great was its power. The running elf panicked as dark wings folded from the sky. Even as the watching elves released their arrows, the dragon had reached with its talons and snatched the ellon up, backwinging away. Several of the shots hit and bounced off, one or two catching for a moment first in the scales of the creature, the ellon screaming as the talons tightened around him and he was borne off into the night.

'Sweet Eru have mercy!' Triwathon muttered.

The elves opposite dispersed into the edge of the trees as the Commander looked round, looked up. There was a huge, dark shape high overhead, flanked by smaller patches of blackness, three or four. As he watched, the large dragon opened its talons before wheeling away; a scream fractured the air and the smaller dragons converged on the falling ellon in a frenzy of tugging, ripping talons. The screams stopped.

From nearby, someone began weeping softly.

After a moment or two, the voice that had called them to go back came again.

'Who comes? Who is it, there?'

'Commander Triwathon of the garrison. Come, we will lead you to safety.'

'Did you not see what just happened? It is not the first time; we lost three of our elves in the initial attack when several small wyrms stooped at once…'

'The skies are currently clear above. We are well armed and unafraid. I am coming round to you.' Triwathon looked behind, to the rescue team. 'We will watch the skies, go to the villagers, do what you can to stop the flames spreading. Hug the treeline, keep undercover if you can. Prioritise the ground fires; the talain trees will try to draw away from their neighbours to avoid spreading the flames if they can. And remember – these creatures are vulnerable, and nor are they stupid; one has already died, we shot at the others; they have retreated, and presumably will continue their work elsewhere…' Triwathon sighed. 'There are, after all, three villages from which to choose…'

The Galadhrim's successful felling of the dragonet buoyed the spirits of the Imladris elves, but soon the shadows were cruising the sky once more. Smoke thickened in the air and screams and yells so distant as to be on the edge of even their hearing made them flinch as they progressed through the forest.

Arveldir sent out an identifier and a few desperate, scattered calls came back; a frightening mixture of warnings to keep back and pleas for aid. They heard screams from off to the left, and looking over, saw an elf being lifted into the sky by the largest dragon.

Arveldir lined up his bow, hearing the small noises of all the other archers doing the same, but he held his shot.

'If we fire, the elf in its talons…'

Then three smaller shapes darted in and the large dragon released the elf to be caught, mid-air, by one of the younglings and borne off with the other small ones in pursuit.

Now they released; Arveldir lining up on the largest shape, the Galadhrim making the smaller creatures their targets. A hit; the big shadow stalled in the sky, veered off on a different trajectory and the rest tried to match the turn. But too late to avoid the cluster of arrows from the Galadhrim bows; one shrieked and fell even as the other followed after the bigger dragon.

'Well shot!' Glorfindel called.

'How many of these things are there?' someone muttered.

'Two fewer than half an hour ago,' Fin pointed out. 'Come on. We need to hurry; there's a chance it might drop him and…' He broke off; it was a vain hope, and they all knew it. 'Well shot, Arveldir.'

'My thanks; I do not think I did much harm, however.'

'That's how it goes, though, with the big ones; if you can't stop them, you can at least slow them down and that makes them easier to hit next time.'

Canadion drew closer against Thiriston for courage as the screams of the dead ellon faded away. The horror of the moment echoed through Triwathon's quiet calm, and he was glad to hear the order to begin fire-fighting. Although they had expected to find the village in flames, they had not expected quite this much of a conflagration.

The outskirts of Elm village were blazing now.

The leaf litter had caught first, had kindled the undergrowth and now lapped at the feet of trees which held talain amongst their branches. The tops of several trees, too, had caught the flames, were burning like torches. Now the dragons had retreated, elves in the canopy shouted, screamed, threw water, more moving in to help those caught between fire above their talain and fire beneath.

Canadion found his voice.

'Trees do not burn so; it is – it is usually the leaves that catch, but here…'

'Nothing fiercer than dragon flame, penneth,' Thiriston's deep tones rumbled softly. 'They say some of the old ones could make even water burn. And… bedding and such. Building wood, that's drier than living trees.'

Hannith issued orders to her part of the rescue team.

'Split up now, prioritise rescue work where possible; there is no hope of saving the village, just its elves,' Hannith said. 'All we can do is try to stop the flames spreading. And have a care to the skies!'

Of course, Canadion and Thiriston didn't split up, not from each other; they had always worked together, faced death together, saved each other more times than either cared to remember. Moving in cautiously, a glimpse through the trees showed them the inner ring of flame around the central open space of the village trying to join up, being battered back by elves.

'Not looking good.'

Thiriston sent up a call, an offer of aid, to be answered faintly off to the west, further from the heart of the village. Leading Canadion through towards the call, he ducked automatically as several dark shadows passed overhead. Some half mile into the undergrowth, a voice answered his repeated whistled signal.

'Here, we are here.' A figure limped out from the trees. He supported himself on a stick, was covered with burns and blood, his clothing ripped and the tunic hanging in shreds from his shoulder. 'Have you a healer?'

'Captains Thiriston and Canadion, volunteering with the garrison. Not healers, warriors. Field training, though. What do you need from us?'

'Well met. We need…' The one who had spoken broke off. 'In truth, I do not know what we need. I am Arastor, an elder here. My leg is injured, broken, I think; I fell from… I was… my friend is badly hurt, and my child… my child, I do not know where she is, we sent them to hide near the water tanks, the children. And my wife is dead… we need a way for these dragons to be killed, safe passage for our people, for the flames to stop killing our trees…'

'Safe passage. That'll be us, then.' Thiriston spoke with bluff confidence. 'Dragon killing and fire-fighting – the garrison guard and the other rescue teams, already working on it. We'll lead you back to the village, the guard. Patch you up a bit if…'

'No! No, I cannot leave my wife!'

'Is your lady here?' Canadion asked softly.

The ellon nodded.

'She… We heard the alarm, there were flames, we went to gather in the Heart Glade… the dragons fell on us and caught us up, me, my wife, my friend, and… it was…' He shook his head, helpless. 'The large one watched as the smaller wyrms caught us, one had her, my wife, but dropped her amongst the trees. I fought free – it was a smaller dragon had grabbed me - and I fell, but I was able to get to her, drag her further under cover, but… but…'

'May I see her?' Canadion asked; Thiriston had turned his head away, throat convulsing – he did not deal well with people dead of dragons, it was too much a reminder. 'Perhaps one of us could carry her for you, and we can bring her with us to the village or the New Palace.'

But as soon as he saw the dead elleth, he knew it would not work; her body had been too badly torn apart and to try to move her, without a bier, would simply cause her remains to fall apart which would cause too much distress.

'I am sorry, Master, for your lady's loss. You are right; she should rest here a little while. But your injuries, and your friend, those we can attend to.'

The friend – an ellon who murmured 'Landaer' when asked his name – was propped against a tree. Three great gashes across his side, his singed hair and burned face all told the same story that they had already heard; snatched by a small dragon and then dropped, or escaped. It did not take proper Healer training to see that he was far beyond saving.

Canadion took his undamaged hand and patted it.

'I am Canadion,' he said. 'And if you like, I will stay with you, for a bit.'

'Just until the other elf comes? He will be here soon'

Canadion nodded.

'Yes, until the other elf gets here.'

He looked up at Thiriston, shook his head slightly. The big elf sighed and turned to Arastor.

'Not sure I can do much for that leg,' he said. 'Needs splinting if it's broken, a proper healer to make sure it goes back right. But I can bind up that shoulder for you. Come and sit down here. No, Canadion will stay with your wife and friend, it's fine. Come away.'

Canadion smiled and reached out to smooth Landaer's hair, what was left of it.

'Tell me all about yourself, Landaer,' he said. 'Were you always a talan elf? Or were you ever in the Old Palace?'

'The forest, always the forest, it's beautiful… don't like rock around me. Will there be rock, do you think, in the Halls of Waiting?'

'In the Halls?' Canadion settled next to the dying ellon. 'Oh, I know about the Halls. My friend Glorfindel – well, he is not my special friend, of course, but he travelled with us once – he died, and was with Lord Námo, and then was sent back again. He says it's nice, considering. The Halls are stone, not rock, but there are windows and pleasant prospects, and different places there, he said there were Silvans. And, he says, Lord Námo is always concerned that his charges are content…'

He broke off. There was a shadow amongst the trees darker than any shadow had a right to be. Canadion had never been so terribly close to dying that he was able to see Lord Námo when he came to collect the fëar of dying elves, but he recognised his presence nonetheless.

'I am sure you will like it there, Landaer. Be at peace,' he finished.

Landaer sighed, an odd, gurgling sound, and his weight shifted against Canadion, heavy, and then light, as if a burden had been taken away. The ellon's eyes were empty and he looked into a distance where only he could see.

Canadion swallowed. Elves were not supposed to die… and here were two of them, dead, and…

Suddenly, he needed to be with Thiriston.

Triwathon set half his warriors to assisting with firefighting and made his way around the glade to where the surviving villagers were mostly clustered.

'Is there an elder here?' he asked.

'Taranith.' An elleth came forward. 'My brother Arastor is the other, but he… oh, he was one of the three… and we do not know what… these dragons… why… why torment us like this? Why not just attack, why…?''

Triwathon swallowed. In all his training he had been taught, dragons do not use their flame to kill, not if they can help it. To harry and chase, to corral their prey, yes. And sometimes to play… it was not a pleasant thought, that was what had happened to his best friend, chased and tormented by a dragon. The Battle of the Three Dragons, youngsters – older than these here, still refining their hunting methods…

…something clicked.

There was only one dragon of any size here, the others probably its offspring... some predators, he knew, would take live prey back for the young to kill, to practice hunting… perhaps this was what had happened here, the young had been making their first kills, and the dragon had been helping, grabbing up an elf to drop for the young to fight over and…

He dragged his mind away from the mental images that crowded in and tried to talk to Taranith.

'Even the largest creature here is nowhere as huge as Smaug, for example; but still, it needs open spaces, glades, clearings – such breaks as were made in the fires following the Battle Under the Trees; if you keep under cover, keep within the forest's compass, you cannot be snatched so readily,' he said. 'I know; it is the dark of the year, the trees have little foliage to hide you from sharp eyes; but the young can be brought down by archers; we saw one fall.'

'And that helps us how, Commander?' Taranith asked, her voice as bitter as the smoke-filled air. 'We have one dead, three lost, probably dead… our elflings are cowering near the water butts where we would hide them, if we must…'

'It helps because you know I understand what is going on here,' Triwathon said. 'I, personally, have survived four dragons and many of those with me likewise.'

'Triwathon…' Elrohir pushed forward, impatient. 'The other villages… my honour-sister…'

'Yes, I know.' The Commander sighed. 'Taranith, have you had news of the other villages?'

'Signals from Oak; nothing from beyond…'

'That's good, isn't it?' Elrohir asked, hope in his voice.

'Smoke on the wind,' Taranith said abruptly. A far – a very far, distant scream made her shudder and glance up. Through the trees, it looked as if a large shadow dropped a smaller one, a third crossed its path to catch. 'And it is in that direction. I am sorry.'

'Get ready to leave, Elder Taranith,' Triwathon said. 'Hurry; gather your people, as many as you can. We are starting to make headway with the ground fires, but there are too few of us to fight the talan fires. One of my captains will escort you under guard to the palace.'

'But this is our home…'

'I know. I am sorry; you have worked hard to build here, but there are two other townlets in danger and I cannot save your homes without ordering all my warriors to the task and that risks other lives.'

'Commander Triwathon, you cannot just order us around like…'

'I can. Under these circumstances, I can order you to do anything I see fit for your safety. Now, gather your people. Captain Celeguel, I want you to scout the perimeter, make sure nobody is left behind; Thiriston and Canadion are somewhere on the outskirts. Captain Pengnir, you're now on escort duty. You and this half of the company, get the villagers safely home. Give them five minutes to muster, keep under cover.'

'Yes, Commander. Elder Taranith, where's the muster-point?'

'Why, the Heart Glade, of course…'

'Where it is not safe to gather, what contingency have you?'

'We have never needed…'

Triwathon left Pengnir arguing and called Rusdir.

'I need to get to Oak; if I give you half the company, will you and Elrohir follow them to Beech to seek your kin under Hannith's command?'

'Yes, Commander. Thank you.'

'Hannith, do as we have here, get as many out as possible.'

'Yes, sir.'

Once Canadion and Thiriston had done what they could to staunch the wounds on Arastor's shoulder, Thiriston went to where the bodies lay to tidy them. He took off his cloak and folded it around the body of the elleth, tried to arrange Landaer more comfortably, not that it mattered, except that it did, it always mattered; how you treated those who died defined how you lived, really.

He returned to his fëa-mate to find Canadion's mouth set in a determined expression and Arastor apparently oblivious of the danger he was in.

'Problem?' he asked.

'I was explaining to Arastor that it would be better for him not to walk on that damaged leg,' Canadion began. 'And suggested one of us carry him while the other watch the skies.'

'And I do not have issue with that,' Arastor said. 'It is undignified, and we hardly know each other, but I recognise I would slow you down too much otherwise. It is that the ellon said he would do the carrying while he is obviously not as strong as you, Captain…'

'To be fair, they say there's not many are, Master Elder. And I'll admit he may be a better shot. But he's stronger than many and would bear you with ease. He's also my husband, so don't fear him taking inappropriate liberties.'

'Oh, I did not mean…'

'But your leg is broken, if you walk on it, you'll do more damage. Not to mention the pain of it. So what will you do, let Canadion bear you, or hop? Or stay here and hope that someone else happens by sooner or later?'

'Could you not…? A stretcher…?'

'And who will look skywards?' Canadion asked. 'Who will shoot down the dragons, or at least hold them off, if we are both carrying you? No, it is be borne, or hop along swiftly, or stay here, I am sorry. There is no other safe choice. I will not drop you, I promise.'

'Very well, then. By which… I am grateful.'

'Yes, you keep trying and you will sound it, perhaps.' Canadion spoke briskly, deliberately taking the focus of Arastor's attention to stop him thinking about his dead wife and dead friend; he did not know if it would help, not really, but it was a technique he and Thiriston had used to get civilians off a battlefield many times in the past. 'Now, arm around my shoulder… that is it… and…'

He lifted Arastor and found his balance, nodding to Thiriston.

'Which way?'

'Let's start with 'away' generally, shall we?'