Triwathon sighed, wiping the back of his hand across his face as he surveyed the latest ruin from the fringes of Oak Village.

Little patches of spurting flame in the undergrowth, blossoms of orange fire in the tree tops where here and there a talan had caught… the now-familiar tale of dragons swooping over the Heart Glade to snatch fleeing elves and toss them, one to another, like a hawk passing its kill to its mate in the sky… it was a horrible thought.

But then, it had been a horrible night. Fires and tales of villagers ripped apart in the air by dragonets, elves lost and panicking in the forest… and yet even now the survivors did not want to leave, and he was losing patience; the rescue teams were already fully occupied in the woods, and of the three score warriors he had set out with, once he had provided these elves with a guard he would be left with ten at his back, the rest having been sent off as escorts, or put on guard around the villages while the flames were brought under control…

An elder broke free of the gathered villagers, gesticulating fiercely towards the burning talain.

'And what are you going to do about our homes?' he demanded. 'This should never have happened!'

'No, you are right, it should not,' Triwathon called back, approaching and trying to control his building anger, borne out of the horrors he had witnessed and the truth of the elder's words… they should not have built this far out, they should not have ignored our suggestions for stationing a guard in the villages, should not have been so fierce in their insistence that nothing could go wrong, not when they had been told, had been warned… 'But had you listened just for one moment to…'

He broke off, shaking his head.

'Well, it is too late for that, now. Meanwhile, you complain you lacked protection, and yet now we offer it, you insist you will not head to safety. What do you expect me to do?'

'Your job…'

'My job, Elder, is the protection of the people of the New Palace, not its satellite villages. We looked at the safety issues in great detail and at every touch and turn you argued against my suggestions. I wish I dared tell you, stay and die, but although you are not my job, you are my responsibility…'

He sighed, suddenly exhausted by all this.

'If you will go with the escort, I can leave two of my troop to combat the flames and…'

'Two? Two? That is not enough…!'

In truth, a dozen would not be enough, but he did not have that many elves available… and those he did have should be fighting dragons, not escorting scared villagers or bullying frightened people into doing what he told them…

'I know, but I do not have the resources…'

'Where are your guard, then? You have four score warriors in your garrison, I do not see them…'

'A troop to hold the New Palace, to protect elves on the near trails… the rest came with me, I have left them fighting the fires around the villages, escorting survivors – and by the time I leave a protective detail with you, I will have but a handful of archers to pit against the dragons which should be my first…'

He broke off to listen to the sounds of the forest; a signifier from the direction of Beech, and he whistled back his own call to have Hannith's response from near at hand. At the same time, further off and in the other direction, he thought he heard an echo of another identification signal.

Sending out a response call, he moved away from the elves, ignoring the mutters from the elder, and went a little way into the forest towards Hannith's signal. Moments passed, and the elleth emerged from the trees, bringing a black-haired elf with her.

'Hannith, well done. And Elrohir.' Triwathon stepped forward to claps arms with the Noldo. 'What news? How are… things?'

Elrohir shook his head. 'She's dead, Rhos… we remember Rhoscthel,' he amended, remembering in time the traditional forming of the news. 'The boys are safe with Rus.'

'Thank the Valar for that!'

'Yes, indeed, Rusdir does not know what to do with the news, of course. It is beyond awful.'

'Hannith, your report?'

'I left as many as I dared to fight the flames – there were tanks of water available – including two civilians, at Elder Edemes' suggestion; Parvon stayed to help, saying that if the villagers were to argue, then he was there as a representative of the Palace Office.'

Triwathon cursed under his breath; in all the confusion, he had not even realised his advisor had gone with Hannith's team. She smiled and shook her head.

'Do not worry, Commander, he has been keeping his eye in, he's as good a shot as any of us and better than most.'

'Thank you, Hannith; yes, I know he is capable, but what I – what the New Palace would do without him, especially now…'

'The dragons are fewer, at least; there have been several shot and so perhaps they will withdraw…'

Triwathon shook his head. 'I think it depends how hungry they are,' he said. 'Hannith, once again there are protests, people even now do not wish to leave.'

'We had to threaten to bind the villagers of Beech before we came to a compromise,' she said. 'But now they have left, they seem to not wish to return.'

'You must get back to them,' Triwathon said. 'Wait for a few moments. Elrohir, would you come with me?'

'I can't leave Rus for long…'

'I know.'

Triwathon led the way back to the huddle of survivors.

'This is Elrohir, married to Rusdir who was one of my captains. They have just come from Beech Village.'

'I remember Rhoscthel,' Elrohir said. 'And there are others. No doubt you, too, have losses. But would you add your own names to the list? These dragons – they are unpredictable, but their leader is clever. It drives with its flame so that you are forced into open ground where it can snatch you. Do you know, have you seen what happens then? I am told my honour-sister's will not be the only empty shroud to receive rites…'

A murmur at this.

'These are our homes,' someone, an elleth, said. 'You are not Silvan, you cannot know how close we are to our trees…'

'I am not Silvan, no; I am just married to a Silvan hero of the Battle Under the Trees. And he is mourning his honour-sister, her children are without other kin. If not your own lives, think of those you love who will be left to mourn you…'

From the north, a signal, clear and unexpected, and Triwathon suddenly lost interest in the discussion.

'Very well, there is no time. Elrohir, please lead the way back to your company, ask Hannith to escort these people. Company, escort these good people to Hannith. Prod them if you must, carry them if you have to. Provide reinforcements, whatever Hannith needs. Any others, come back and try to contain the fires. Listen for my call, I am heading towards the signal we just heard. Elrohir, be well.'

And with that he turned away from the village and loped off through the undergrowth in the direction of the signal; he knew the call, knew the elf to whom it belonged, although the thought of him, here, and who might be with him…

He paused to send out his own identifier and the answer came back, distant still, but clear and undoubted.

Arveldir was somewhere in the forest ahead. With companions.

As he ran he wondered, who was with his old friend, were they all safe and well? What had brought them, why? Could it be, was… was Glorfindel in the forest tonight…? Triwathon hardly knew if he wanted it to be so or not; to see his dear iphant again would be wonderful, but to see him in such circumstances, the forest at its most dangerous…

Another signal from off to his right caused him to halt: Parvon. In its own way, the call was just as welcome and he called again, waiting until the forest stirred and his advisor emerged from it, his soft, tawny hair dark with soot, all of him dirty and grimy and scored with scratches and scrapes, but essentially unharmed. And yet, at the thought of who might be with Arveldir, Triwathon could have wished Parvon had not found him…

Even so, as the New Palace's advisor approached, the Commander realised he was actually far more relieved to see him than he was annoyed to be interrupted on his way to the reunion.

'Parvon, you are safe and well? What news?'

'We have done all the firefighting we can; most of the talan fires are under control but the civilians are just too weary to keep working. I sent them back under escort on Hannith's trail. We came under attack from the skies and shot down a small dragonet, we drove off the big one which retreated with two smaller ones behind; it has been most distressing, Commander, the larger one has been grabbing elves and dropping them in the sky for the smaller ones to catch…'

'I have the same tale, it is terrible indeed. Come; I am responding to Arveldir's signal, did you hear it?'

'I did indeed; it is relief to me to know he is here; his advice will be most welcome.'

'Parvon… yes, it will be hard, sorting all this out, will it not? And Arveldir is wise above all else. But do not forget; you are the Chief Advisor for the New Palace and I have every faith in you.'

At the shrill song of the response to his call, Arveldir lifted his head.

'It is Triwathon,' he said. 'He is on his way to join us.'

'That is excellent news!' Erestor said.

'Yes, indeed, he will know more of what is going on, and…' Arveldir broke off, glancing at Glorfindel. The Balrog-Slayer was trying to look unconcerned. 'Glorfindel? Commander Triwathon is on his way.'

'Yes, I heard. It'll be nice to see him.' Glorfindel shrugged and failed to prevent a beaming smile from finding his face. He wasn't fooling anyone, and he knew it. 'All right, yes, I'll be very glad to see him again. But this is a hard night for him, he won't have time for the pleasantries, so don't anyone be minding if he seems a bit… preoccupied. Do you hear? And I'm fine.'

'Of course you are, Glorfindel.' Erestor squeezed his shoulder. 'But in case you are not… well, do not worry about it.'

Soon the rustle of the undergrowth announced a new arrival, and Triwathon emerged from the trees.

'Well met!' he called out, and as if it was the most natural, unthinking thing in the world, ran to greet them, throwing his arms around Glorfindel in a rather-more-than-friendly hug. 'Ai! Glorfindel, I did not think to see you here unannounced! But welcome, and come, tell me? What brings you to my forest in such order? Arveldir, Erestor, greetings. Galadhrim, be welcome, I am Commander Triwathon of the New Palace garrison and I am afraid we are having a little difficulty with the local wildlife…'

'Hardly local,' Arveldir said with a smile, stepping forward to clasp arms with the Commander once he had stepped away from Glorfindel. 'We had no native dragons in my day, at least. In fact, it is your dragons that brings us…'

'Oh? How so?'

'I dreamed them,' Glorfindel said. 'That is, our old friend Lord Námo came and told me about them. And Elladan had a dream of Elrohir that left him shaking. So we thought we'd have a little ride out, come visit for Yule, sort of thing… Oh, and there's a couple of our friendly Galadhrim leading a group of villagers back to safety, and this is Thandir who's been very helpful and courageous getting us through the forest. It's been a bit rough on him, though. Brave lad.'

'Thandir, yes, I know your people. Well met, indeed. You will be glad to know I saw your parents not an hour since, they are safe, headed for the palace.'

'Commander, thank you.'

Now that the first flurry of greetings were done, Parvon came more quietly out from cover and bowed to Arveldir.

'It is good to see you, Lord Arveldir, my friend. Master Erestor, be welcome.'

'Master Parvon.' The words of formal welcome should have seemed out of place, stiff and stilted, but Arveldir understood; it was how the King's Office was, always formal, always aware that its elves represented the king himself. 'It is good to see you, also. What news? Come, take a few moments; you look exhausted.'

'Fighting fires and fighting dragons will do that to you, of course.'

'Several small ones have been killed,' Arveldir said. 'So there are fewer now. We were trying to get to the villages…'

'Do not try,' Triwathon said. 'I and my company have come from thence. All that can be done has been attended to and now I am trying simply to ensure everyone gets to the safety of the palace until we can destroy the rest of this brood. It looks like an entire nest has descended upon us…'

'That's what Glorfindel said,' Arveldir agreed. 'So, Commander; we are at your disposal. Where would you have us serve?'

From off to the left a cry went up, a panicked, anxious wail, an elfling's cry, bringing everyone instantly alert.

'Over there seems like a good place to start,' Triwathon said. 'Come.'

Signals through the forest as they ran; Amathel, calling for aid, the voice of the elfling again, and they came upon her in a clearing standing guard over the child, arrow ready in her fist; her other arm tucked awkwardly into her jerkin, her bow at her feet.

'Commander, keep to cover, there are three wyrms,' she shouted. 'They have been circling and hiding and circling again; I cannot fire and my knives are spent…'

'They are not here now, Amathel.'

'I know, it is what they have been doing, hiding and then attacking…'

Triwathon nocked an arrow and Arveldir followed suit. With two of the Galadhrim, they eased into the clearing and encircled Amathel and the elfling, backing away to the edge of cover.

'There; we have you,' Triwathon said. 'Now, we…'

'Ware dragon!' one of the Galadhrim shouted; flame spurted amongst the leaf litter, pushing the rest of the Imladris party out towards the clearing. Similar bouts of fire opposite kindled on the far side of the open glade.

'Ready your arrows, they are corralling us, do not let it happen…'

But there was no sign of the dragons, just the spurt of flame, the awareness that their escapes were being cut off. Glorfindel's joy in the reunion with Triwathon turned to dismay as he realised the only clear route was on the far side of the clearing and the gap was narrowing even as they stood and stared, seeking targets even as the danger of becoming trapped grew almost to certainty.

Glorfindel sighed. At some point he had become separated from his bow and now pulled the arrows from his quiver and handed them to Lumormen, feeling an odd sense of disconnection from the scene. At least he had seen Triwathon again, he found himself thinking, without really understanding why it seemed suddenly important.

Behind them the flames crackled hungrily and the time left before they had to utterly break cover was diminishing rapidly. A rush of air, and there, above in the sky, the huge dragon and its remaining offspring waited hungrily, circling.

A sinking feeling lined the pit of Glorfindel's stomach with lead as he looked around at his friends, knowing that this was why he was here, what he was here for and suddenly really not wanting to accept it…

'This is what we must do,' Triwathon was saying, his voice crisp and clear with decision. 'We must keep our nerve and nock arrows. Then we will skirt the clearing, some going one way, some the other. They are waiting for one of us to run straight into the open glade, so if we present a different target, then it will confuse them and should we be attacked, then the rest can fire at the creatures; we will reconvene at the break across the glade. We are not panicking villagers, caught unawares, we are tried and tested warriors. We will escape this.'

'Not if you keep wittering on, penneth,' Glorfindel said under his breath. 'Erestor!' he said more loudly. 'Tell Mel thanks for… for everything. It was sweet, he was... just sweet. Triwathon – I'll see you later, we've a lot of catching up to do.'

'What?'

'The rest of you – don't worry about me, I'll be fine.'

And Glorfindel drew his sword and dashed yelling into the middle of the clearing.

A chorus of yells and protests followed him, but Glorfindel ignored them, caught up in his own personal truth; this had always been his task. He'd been the one to have the dream, the one Lord Námo came to. He was the one who was possibly going to die.

Probably.

Well, most likely.

...Oh, sweet Mel…! I am sorry, penneth, I…

The biggest of the creatures swooped, and outstretched talons reached for him. Glorfindel swung his sword, jabbing and stabbing, trying to buy time for his friends to shoot. But he couldn't delay long enough, do enough damage to the scaly claws to deflect them and he found himself encircled by talons that clenched and squeezed his midsection and wrenched his neck back on his head as the great wings flapped and lifted him up into the sky.

Dizzy from the pressure of the encircling claws, his head reeled and almost he lost his grip on the sword. The fear of that, of losing his weapon brought him back to himself and he fought to breathe, looking around in the night to get his bearings.

He was already high above the forest and could see pockets and rings of flame below dotted across the treescape. A hiss of arrows gave him the direction of his friends; he was being carried across the canopy and for a moment he wondered why they were still shooting, when he was the most vulnerable thing in the sky…

But then the by-now familiar screech of a young dragon in pain assailed his ears and he realised there were - had been – two of the younglings following the adult dragon.

He remembered what they'd seen earlier – the elf snatched up, dropped for the dragonets to fight over, and suddenly he hoped one of the arrows might find his heart.

'No!' Triwathon yelled as the dragon struck. 'Glorfindel!'

He made to dash out into the clearing but Arveldir and Parvon grabbed him, held him between them.

'You cannot!' Parvon said. 'We need you too much! And you cannot help him by dying. Come, help us now.'

Several of the Galadhrim loosed their arrows, doing no damage other than to annoy the dragon which lifted out of the clearing bearing Glorfindel in its crushing grip. To those who could bear to watch, he seemed insensible, unconscious as he was borne up. The dragonets followed.

'Fire your arrows!' Arveldir ordered. 'At the young ones, shoot! Then make for the firebreaks, push through anywhere, get safe. Erestor, help Amathel with the elfling. We cannot help Glorfindel now, and his sacrifice is all to save us and draw the dragons away; we must honour his gift.'

One of the young dragons screamed, struck by the Galadhrim archers. Its body plummeted into the forest, disappearing further away than they had expected. The large dragon cried out, opened its talons and Glorfindel's body dropped…