Exciting (and long) chapter this time! Not only is this Chapter 30, but it's... well, you'll see.
Also, sadness warning. And no, I'm not sorry.
"Thranduil!"
The prince's gaze snapped up from where it had been resting on the fabric of his tent as his father burst in.
"Where is she?" Oropher snapped.
Oh, this was about Eithryn. For a moment, he had thought they were being attacked—an easy conclusion on the eve of a great battle—but no, his father was only irritated that Thranduil's wife had disappeared again, likely to visit Gil-Galad. Thranduil was not entirely comfortable with her wandering around right now, either, but his father's mood had been steadily worsening where Gil-Galad was concerned. "I do not know. I expect she will return soon enough."
The king began to pace back and forth. "I suppose she is with that Noldor again."
"She will be here when she is needed," Thranduil said half-pleadingly. His father had been so irritable since they left Greenwood, and seemed obsessed with keeping his elves apart from Gil-Galad's.
"She is needed now!" Oropher snapped.
"Yesterday you said you wished she would disappear," the prince could not resist pointing out.
Oropher had to pause and admit to himself that there was some irony in this situation. "I meant for her to stay out of the way, not vanish entirely."
"She will return," Thranduil repeated.
"She will," the king agreed unpleasantly, "but by then, you will have completed all the tasks she should have been doing."
Thranduil sighed, but he knew better than to argue when his father was in this mood, and besides, he was glad Eithryn was getting some freedom; it would keep her from turning into a nervous wreck like many of the soldiers. Not to mention that he had been pacing all day, and something to do could only help.
. . . . . .
Something was suspicious about this elf, the human guard decided. He did not believe her claim that she was simply a messenger from King Oropher of Greenwood. There was something about that innocent expression that the man, who had three mischievous children at home, knew very well.
She was Silvan, or at least, he thought so. He hadn't seen many elves before, so he didn't have much faith in his reasoning, but she did seem somewhat smaller than most of Gil-Galad's elves, and her green cloak was of different make.
All the same, she was no messenger. That he was sure of.
Maybe it was her appearance, almost exotic even for an elf—the metallic shine to her hair and the burning green of her eyes, combined with a gem-bearing bracelet on her wrist, and an outfit lacking any mark that would show her to be of Greenwood. Or maybe it was the bounce to her step, and that playful grin, that marked her as someone not sent by any king.
Still, she seemed unlikely to cause anyone any harm, and King Elendil would likely be glad to meet her, especially if, as the guard was beginning to suspect, she was more than a common soldier. His choice made, the guard nodded to his companion, who had possessed no doubts at all and was thus rather perplexed by the gesture, and called into the tent.
Sky knew her fib had only worked on one of its targets, but she did not mind; after all, it was a point in the human king's favor that he'd chosen one of his guards so well. She'd understood every subtle shift in the human's expression, and she decided she liked him.
She entered the tent, where she found seven men and three elves arranged in a circle, most of them looking like they desperately needed a break. She knew two of the elves—Gil-Galad, of course, and a newer friend, the half-elf Elrond. She could also guess who the human commander was—King Elendil, co-leader of the gathered armies along with Gil-Galad.
"Skyfire!" the elf king exclaimed. "So you are here. Getting revenge on me for staying out of sight at your wedding?"
Sky grinned; Gil-Galad hadn't seen her yet because she'd gone out of her way to keep from being identified as Thranduil's wife. After all, she wanted to learn about these people, and for some reason, people acted differently around princesses. It was very inconvenient. "You deserve it," she informed him, darting around the table in the center of the room to hug him. "Don't blow my cover," she whispered in his ear.
He winked as they separated, then considered for a moment how to introduce her to the humans. "A friend of mine," he said finally.
"Hi," Sky said with a wave. "And especially hi to you, Elrond."
The half-elf smiled. "Sky," he returned simply.
Sky grinned, knowing she could count on him to keep her secret. "And you're Elendil?" she asked the human leader.
"King Elendil," one of the other men corrected, but the king held up a hand to calm him.
"Well met," he responded, thinking that any friend of Gil-Galad's was a friend of his. "Skyfire?"
"Right."
"And what is that in Elvish?" he asked. He spoke the Sindarin and Quenya dialects, but not Silvan, and he assumed her name would be from the latter tongue.
"Narwilya." He hadn't said which kind of elvish.
He had been mistaken, he thought—she was named in Quenya. "Narwilya, my man said you had a message for us."
She'd mostly just said that to get inside, but she did have something to tell Gil-Galad, and it wouldn't hurt for Elendil to hear it. "I wasn't entirely honest—I said my message was from Oropher, but really, it's more about him. See, he has a thing against Noldor, apparently—" She shrugged to show that her own feelings were different. "—and, well, he's not so good at letting other people be in charge, so... I don't know if all his muttering with Amdir is going to turn into anything, but you might want to keep an eye on him. And if I figure out what they're planning, you'll be the first to know."
Gil-Galad nodded slowly. "I knew he was unhappy with the order of things—how could I miss it?" He and Sky exchanged smirks—how indeed? "But I did not realize Amdir felt similarly, and I did not think they would do anything. Though I do not know how I can act on this information, except to speak with him and try to make him see sense."
"Good luck," Sky sighed.
"I will need it," he agreed. "Anyway, thank you... Narwilya." No one else seemed to notice how he emphasized her name.
She grinned and left them to their planning.
. . . . . .
Meanwhile, Oropher had finally run out of things for Thranduil to do, and reluctantly let him go with a warning to keep a better eye on his wife from now on. Thranduil wisely held back his eye-roll until he was out of the tent, though he did exchange sympathetic looks with Taensirion, who was trying very hard to talk the king out of whatever he was planning.
The prince soon found himself wandering through Greenwood's portion of the camp, wishing Eithryn were there. It was not that he did not trust her—he thought he had her trained well enough by now to at least tell him before she decided to try scouting out the enemy's position—but he would have felt better with her by his side, all the same. He was recalling far too many memories of Doriath's last days.
He was walking along, contemplating the reddish tint of the western sky as the sun approached the horizon, when his brother-in-law caught up with him. "We have to do something about this, Prince."
Thranduil turned around to regard Coryn. "About my father, you mean."
The Silvan elf nodded.
"And what makes you think anything needs to be done? My father is no fool."
"How many lives would you bet on that?"
Thranduil did not answer.
"The problem is, I'm guessing that challenging him would only make things worse." Coryn scanned Thranduil's face, but the prince kept his eyes on the ground. "Who's his closest friend? Taensirion?"
"Taensirion will not go against him in this," Thranduil murmured. "He does not even know what my father is going to do."
"Taensirion doesn't know?" Coryn had long been under the impression that the advisor knew of everything Oropher did. "Then who does?"
"King Amdir, most likely. They have been talking together ever since we met up with Lórien."
"He won't tell Taensirion, he won't tell you..." Coryn was shaking his head. He did not like where this is going.
Thranduil looked up at him. "I do not believe he has a clear plan. It is more that he will not share his sentiments with us."
"Do you know what those sentiments are?"
Thranduil slowed his pace, frowning. "I know he is angry to be fighting alongside a Noldor, kin to the elves who destroyed our first home, but my heart tells me there is something more." He sighed in frustration and began walking faster again. "But it is not my place to go against my father, anyway. Taensirion is right. He is the king."
Coryn sighed. "Things were simpler before you Sindar came along, Thranduil."
Thranduil looked down at the Silvan elf. "And you preferred that?"
"I could write a few reports on what's better now and what's worse," Coryn responded, shaking his head. "But we'd have needed to do something by now, and I expect you've all done as well as anyone, so I won't complain." He pulled out a knife—no weapon, just a simple, all-purpose blade—and started flipping and catching it. "And I don't mind your father either, honestly. He's just a little too stubborn for his own good."
"Try being his son."
"Aww, but you love him. Don't try to fool me."
Thranduil rolled his eyes, but smiled in agreement.
Coryn chuckled. "Well, I'm off to see if Kilvara's learned anything on the subject of your way-too-stubborn father. Tell my sister I said hi."
"I shall."
Coryn turned to go, but then paused and turned back. "Hey, in case we die horribly tomorrow, you should know that even if I don't show it... I like you, Thranduil. Still not sure you're worthy of my sister, but you do make her happy, and, well, I guess it's nice not to be the only one who doesn't quite fit in around here."
Thranduil raised an eyebrow.
"It's not an insult. The Silvans are pretty fond of their prince, you know—probably because you and Sky make such a cute couple."
"I agree that I do not fit in. You, however, are fully accepted."
Coryn smiled to himself. "Yes, I am. Don't get me wrong, I love Greenwood, but I never belonged here like Sky does. I've always been a wanderer; if it'd been up to me, we probably wouldn't have spent much time at home—we might've even found a new one someplace else—but she always loved the trees... and the people. We both loved to explore, but I was the one who never wanted to go back. I mean, I like my friends in Greenwood—Felrion and Kilvara and everyone else—but if they wouldn't come with us, surely we could find new friends who would. It might be selfish of me, but I think I could just take my bow and swords and leave without looking back. Maybe I will someday."
"I could not do that," said Thranduil, who was not sure he wanted to be compared to his brother-in-law.
"But you'd follow Sky without hesitation if she did." Thranduil had no response to that, and Storm smirked. "That's another thing we have in common—we both love her. You could say she anchors us." He winked at Thranduil and left, vanishing into the sea of tents. "See you tomorrow, Prince. Let us know if you learn anything."
. . . . . .
"You are being unreasonable!"
"Oh? Do explain how that is, as I have not actually done anything."
Gil-Galad sputtered. "We both know you were going to!" The Noldor was at the end of his rope. Could this ridiculous Sindar not have a single civil conversation? Even Gil-Galad could only take so much of him.
Oropher smirked and did not turn, continuing to pretend he was watching the soldiers outside the tent as they made their final preparations for the next day. Behind him, Taensirion shook his head at Gil-Galad, warning him to stop there; Oropher was not in a good mood, and with Gil-Galad getting angry (though not without reason, Taensirion thought), this visit could easily go downhill.
The Noldor meant to end the conversation there—mainly because he knew Taensirion (who he liked a lot better than Oropher), and trusted that the advisor was trying to keep the peace, not dismiss him—but he could not resist making one last point. "Strange that you are so fond of your Silvan elves, as much as you hate Noldor."
Oropher half-turned his head. "The Silvan elves have never destroyed my home."
"My kin would not have if—" Gil-Galad stopped and took a deep breath.
Oropher turned a little more. "If what?"
Gil-Galad did not answer. He could not afford to start a fight with his fellow king tonight.
"If what?" Oropher snapped, spinning around and stepping up to Gil-Galad in two long strides. The Noldor stepped back so he did not have to look up, as Oropher's eyes were a good six inches above his.
Taensirion moved forward, too, catching his king's arm to hold him back. "Oropher!"
Oropher ignored him. "If our king had not been so foolish as to keep a Silmaril, you mean." His eyes flared dangerously.
Gil-Galad gritted his teeth. "Yes."
Oropher's hand moved for the hilt of one of his swords, but Taensirion's fingers caught his wrist. "Oropher, do not," the advisor said quietly, but there was weight behind his words.
Oropher locked eyes with Gil-Galad for several long heartbeats. "Get out of my camp."
The Noldor wisely did so. Taensirion did not let go of Oropher until the other elf was gone.
"How dare he imply that it was our fault—" the king snarled as soon as he was free, spinning a few steps away from Taensirion.
"Oropher..."
"Oh, calm down, Taensirion, I am not going to do anything extreme." Despite his words, Oropher was glaring icily in the direction Gil-Galad had gone.
"I do not think I have ever once believed you when you said that," Taensirion remarked.
Oropher smirked a little despite himself—and there was real amusement on his face this time, at least until he remembered the setting. "Indeed, I think I have a good idea of what I shall do. Now if you will excuse me, I shall be going to bed." He abruptly turned and walked briskly outside, turning in the direction of his personal tent.
Taensirion hurried after him. "Can we talk about this?"
"No." Oropher had that smile now that he always got when he had a "good" idea. Taensirion had long ago learned to worry whenever he saw that look.
The advisor stepped in front of his friend. "My lord, this is no time for petty rivalries—"
"Petty," Oropher scoffed. "Go to bed, Taensirion."
"But—"
"Go."
Taensirion realized he was not going to get anywhere with this tonight; indeed, the more he tried, the more determined Oropher would become. He would have to try again in the morning. "Yes, my lord..."
. . . . . .
Thranduil, waiting outside his tent for his wife's return, saw the king approaching and decided to make another attempt at speaking with his father.
"Ah, Thranduil," Oropher said, seeing his son coming his direction and stopping to wait for him, waving absentmindedly for his two guards to step back a few paces. "Have you tracked down your wife yet?"
The prince relaxed as he reached his father. Oropher seemed to be in a much more reasonable mood than that morning. "No, I have not."
"Perhaps that is a good thing," Oropher mused to himself. "Because that Noldor came to speak with me a few minutes ago," he explained, smirking at his son's unamused look.
Warning bells went off in Thranduil's head. Never in his experience had his father been in a good mood after meeting with Gil-Galad. "And what did he have to say?" he asked cautiously.
"Oh, only a few insults to our former king," Oropher said, waving his hand dismissively as if he had not nearly attacked the Noldor.
Thranduil raised an eyebrow. Oropher had never been fond of either of Doriath's kings, no, but even so, he doubted his father would so easily accept any such comment from his rival. "Father... Do you not think that I, your son and heir, should know what your plan is for tomorrow?"
Oropher was torn. Thranduil was right, but somewhere deep inside, the king did not want to tell him; he would not admit it, not even to himself, but he was just a little bit ashamed of how he was handling the situation.
He raised an eyebrow to echo Thranduil's expression. "Would you tell your wife?"
Thranduil winced. He could not exactly promise to keep his father's plans from Eithryn, since she would learn them from him somehow even if he tried. "...Most likely..."
"And she would tell her friends," Oropher said smugly, growing more comfortable in his excuse.
"Well..." He knew she would, if only to prepare them to stop the king if his plan got out of hand.
"And do you think the whole kingdom should know?"
Better that than only you, Thranduil thought. "No."
"Well, then." Oropher patted his shoulder. "You will find out tomorrow."
Thranduil was very much aware that his father was avoiding the question, and he said so with his expression.
Oropher had been about to say something about how this was what Thranduil got for marrying Eithryn, but Thranduil's disapproving look distracted him. Did Thranduil realize who he looked so much like when he did that, the king wondered?
Did he realize he looked just like his mother, who was killed so long ago—by orcs, yes, but only because the Noldor had shattered the kingdom?
Oropher sternly reminded himself to concentrate on the present. "Good night, Thranduil. Do not stay up all night waiting for that crazy she-elf." He rolled his eyes, thinking it would not be unlike Eithryn to stay out all night exploring; of course, if they were exhausted in the morning, it would give him an excuse to keep Thranduil out of the battle. Even after all these years, it made him uneasy to know his son would be risking his life as well.
"If she does not return soon, I will find Coryn and ask him to help me look for her. Good night, father."
Oropher half-smiled. "Thranduil," he said as his son started to turn back for his tent, and he stepped forward and hugged the younger elf tightly. "I love you. You know that, yes?"
Thranduil was startled—Oropher, as a general rule, did not hug. "Of course." He pulled back to scan Oropher's face in mild concern; the king seemed rather amused by his reaction. "I love you too, father."
Oropher put his hand on his son's shoulder, then went into his tent.
. . . . . .
A while later, when the night was completely dark except for the few campfires still burning, Thranduil nearly fell over as someone tapped him on the shoulder.
"And you told me I couldn't sneak up on you anymore," Eithryn said smugly.
The prince regained his balance and his aloof expression, turning his gaze back to the elves around the nearest campfire as if he had been fascinated by them all along. "Enjoy the moment; it will not come again."
"I don't know, you fall asleep pretty often," she disagreed innocently.
He spun on her. "Asleep? I was not asleep!"
"I'm your wife. I think I know what it looks like."
"Oh?"
"You were doing that thing where your eyes close for half a second every time you blink. If you weren't asleep, you were about to be." She stretched up to kiss him on the cheek. "At least you can say it wouldn't have happened otherwise."
He narrowed his eyes at her, but then dropped the pretense of annoyance and pulled her into his arms. "All right, then, what made you take so long that I may have fallen asleep?"
"Were you worried?" She hadn't meant to cause him stress, but her responsible side had trouble making itself heard sometimes.
"Not as much as I would once have been. However, I am going to be quite irritated if you did not enjoy yourself enough to make up for everything my father made me do earlier due to your absence."
She rolled her eyes. "He wasn't even making me do anything. Which reminds me—"
"I do not know," he interrupted. "None of us do."
Eithryn sighed. "I might stab him this time, Thranduil. I really might."
"I would appreciate it if you waited until after the battle," he said dryly.
"If you insist... But I still don't understand why we have to let him do this."
"He is the king," Thranduil reminded her. "He has every right to do whatever he wishes."
Eithryn was not an advocate for the special rights of kings. Thranduil ignored her doubtful look. "Have you eaten?"
"Of course."
Unlike King Elendil, he knew to specify. "This evening?"
She was caught. "Mmm. No."
"Eithryn!" the exasperated prince scolded. After all these years, he was still trying to train her to eat regular meals. Normally, attempts to make her eat did not have much effect, but he was not having her excuses tonight. He herded her toward the cook's tents, where some soup was being kept warm for the soldiers on guard duty. "What were you up to?" he inquired, ignoring her complaints that she was not hungry.
"Let's see... I met Elendil," she remembered. "I like him."
Thranduil put a hand over his eyes. "Did you call him Elendil to his face?"
"Of course; that's his name, after all. He didn't seem to mind."
"What an interesting queen you would make," the prince muttered under his breath. "What else?"
"I, um, kind of thought it was a good idea to introduce Felrion to Haldir. They didn't fight or anything, but... oof. It was awkward."
"I can imagine."
"Yeah... And you should've seen him when he saw Kilvara and Felrion together. I feel guilty."
He smirked.
She noticed and smacked his arm. "It was sad."
"Of course," he agreed quickly, but a yawn interrupted him. "Eat quickly, please."
She drifted toward the tent. "I don't have to eat at all..."
He picked her up and slung her over his shoulder.
She huffed. "Fine."
. . . . . .
The next day was gloomy, with clouds covering the sky as the human and elven armies lined up, looking across the desolate landscape. Across the way, thousands of orcs milled about like a dark mirror.
Sky fidgeted at the front of Greenwood's forces, holding her bow; she meant to kill a few of the orc leaders before they got close enough to cause trouble.
If only she could get rid of another of their problems that easily.
Oropher had been dropping hints all day about "showing the Noldor who is in charge"; even now, he was muttering with Amdir a short distance away, while Taensirion hovered anxiously where Oropher had told him to wait. Sky wondered if Amdir was going along with her father-in-law's plans because he considered Oropher his friend, or if he had a grudge against Gil-Galad, too. Or maybe, as would be so in-character for the king of Lórien, he was just there for the fun of causing trouble.
Even Thranduil was increasingly uneasy. The prince was more cautious than his father, more inclined to consider the consequences of each decision, and Sky didn't imagine he liked where this seemed to be going.
Curse Oropher. Sky was reckless, but she would never put everyone in danger like this, and if Oropher tried, she just might fight him.
Thranduil noticed the stare she was giving his father. "Easy, Spitfire. My father is already angry; let us not make him more so."
Sky knew he was right, and she didn't like it. "This is killing me," she told him, taking his hand.
"I know."
. . . . . .
Gil-Galad made his way over to speak with Elendil one more time before the battle began. "Keep an eye out for Oropher, but I do not think he will directly interfere with us. Stick to the plan if possible."
"Agreed." The human king's eyes found the Silvan armies, and leaned back a little in surprise as he noticed that green-eyed "messenger" holding hands with their prince. He chuckled as he turned to Gil-Galad, suddenly understanding the strange visit of the day before. "What does Skyfire mean in Silvan?" he asked wryly.
Gil-Galad smiled.
. . . . . .
"Coryn, go through the ranks and check that everything is ready," Oropher ordered. "Taensirion, Thranduil, you know your places. And you," he continued, fixing his eyes on Sky, "go tell Gil-Galad we are ready. Quickly."
Sky, obeying orders only because she thought it might be more pleasant over there, made a face at the king and squeezed Thranduil's hand. "I'll be right back."
Oropher smirked as he departed and exchanged nods with Amdir.
Thranduil figured it out first. "Father!"
The king hesitated for just a moment and looked back at his son, but no, he had decided his course. He held up his hand, and the soldiers tensed. He heard whispers here and there as some of his elves realized what they were doing.
Thranduil spun toward the one other elf who might be able to change Oropher's mind, but Taensirion was staring at him with a look of equal helplessness and shock. Their king was past listening to either of them.
Oropher gave the signal to charge.
. . . . . .
Sky had gone only about half the distance when she realized her mistake, but it was too late; even as she turned around, the armies of both Greenwood and Lórien began their charge. Looking behind her, she saw an expression on Gil-Galad's face that echoed the way she was feeling—of course Oropher would go for an early charge! It was fairly safe, in theory. As long as the orcs didn't get behind them...
She ran toward her people, her friends, her brother, and, most of all, her husband with all the speed her legs would give her.
. . . . . .
"Stop!" Storm shouted as everyone around him broke into a run. Oh, they were so stupid. Of course Oropher would send him and Sky, the only two who might be able to overrule him, away when he made his move. "All of you, stop!"
Only about half the elves in his immediate vicinity did, and some of those changed their mind and raced to get back into formation.
"Forget it," Storm told the elves who'd listened to him, and now he joined the charge. "Just fight." Once he could have stopped a significant part of the army, but now Greenwood followed a king. Maybe it was for the best; if they were going to attack now, they needed to attack all at once. He raced sideways through the army, ducking between elves until he found Kilvara. "Go find Sky!"
She began working her way toward her Storm's sister as the copper-haired elf ran as fast as he could toward the leaders, not knowing what he was going to do, but knowing he needed to do something.
. . . . . .
Thranduil did not disobey his king, though he very much wanted to. He knew that to do anything now could throw the army into chaos, and with the orcs ready to attack...
He could only hope his father knew what he was doing.
. . . . . .
Sky caught up with the back of the army just as the leading elves smashed into the orc legions. She darted and wove through the elves as if they were branches in her forest, her progress slowed only slightly when orcs began to block her way, and sped up again when Kilvara caught up with her.
The other armies did not come; they had another mission, one more important than helping the Silvan armies, and the Black Gate was straight ahead, not to the right where Oropher had charged. It seemed, however, that despite Sky's fears, things might turn out all right; despite having simpler armor and less training than their allies, the Silvan elves were cutting through the orcs like butter.
Until the tables turned dramatically.
The roar washed over the armies like a wave on a stormy beach, and every elf (and more than a few orcs) not too closely engaged with an enemy stared up at the sky.
More than a hundred elves were caught in the first blast of fire, which came at the back of Greenwood's army. Elven screams cut through the ranks as the immortals' souls were torn from their bodies.
Kilvara stopped and gaped at the scene in horror, but Sky spun in one fluid motion and raced back the way they had come, past elves and even orcs frozen in terror. "Go for the inside of the mouth!" she shouted over her shoulder as she went.
Kilvara did not see what the two of them could possibly do to stop the monster, but she could not fail her friend or her people. She took a deep breath and raced after Sky, readying her bow.
The she-elves could not see it from where they were, but as soon as the dragon struck, the orcs, guided by a foul power, began to push them further south, away from their allies and from the battle for the gates. They were fighting on four sides now—left, right, front, and above—and no help was coming.
Sky smiled grimly as orc after orc fell by her sword and knife. This was her first real battle, and she hated it—hated to see her people dying around her, cut by orc blades or scorched by dragonfire—but she loved killing orcs. There were few games more challenging, more thrilling, or more justified than this one.
The dragon swooped down again, aiming a fair distance ahead of her.
Thranduil would be furious with her, and he would be right to feel that way. Chances were she was about to do the most insane, reckless thing she, or any Silvan elf, had ever tried, and that was saying something.
So be it. Now how was she going to get the beast's attention?
. . . . . .
The dragon, soaring over the masses of lesser creatures, thought herself invincible. No blade could cut her; no creature on the rock below could withstand the inferno of her breath. She feared only one being in Middle-Earth—Sauron, the one who held the forces of darkness at his command.
She feared him, but she also wanted to please him, and that was why, when she saw the silver glint of a crown—no, two crowns!—she turned her massive form as tightly as she could and dove for it.
. . . . . .
On the ground, Kilvara saw the dragon coming lower, heading straight over and past her, and, begging her hands to stop trembling, she drew her bow, aimed, and released. The arrow flew straight and true, between the dragon's jaws, into the plate of bone that separated the mouth from the brain—
—and stuck fast. The distance was too great, the arrow too small, and the angle not quite right.
There is no sound in the world like the roar of a wounded dragon. The thunderous cry shook stones loose from the nearby mountains and threw the closest orcs from their feet, though the agile elves remained largely unaffected. But a desire for vengeance makes dragons twice as dangerous, and the monster turned back to the Elvenkings with renewed fury.
Oropher, Amdir, and Thranduil found themselves with few choices as the dragon descended. Amdir stammered something about shields, but Thranduil snapped, "Wonderful; perhaps you could find us some that will not melt?"
"Do you have a better idea?" Amdir snarled back, thinking this was not how he had wanted to die.
. . . . . .
Storm saw where the dragon was headed and felt a chill run down his spine as he ran as fast as he could toward where he knew the kings and prince were. He didn't see how he could get there in time, but dragons did tend to gloat...
He put his head down and tried to push the image of Sky grieving over her husband's charred corpse out of his mind.
. . . . . .
"Fools!" the dragon thundered, spitting Kilvara's broken arrow out of her mouth. "You cannot stop me with your sticks! Prepare to die!" She thumped down heavily in front of the three elves and the soldiers who surrounded them protectively, but ultimately as uselessly as if they, like Taensirion and his elves, were watching helplessly, too far away to save their king.
Oropher gripped his son's shoulder. "When I say the word, run. Get to Taensirion if you can. We will distract the dragon."
Thranduil shook his head violently. "No!"
Oropher felt as though dragon claws were squeezing him, crushing his chest. "Thranduil, I will die for my mistake. Do not make our people lose their prince as well." Tears welled up in his eyes, and he blinked them away. "Do not make me watch my son die!"
"I will not leave you!"
"You cannot save yourselves!" the dragon raged, caught up in her moment of victory—the Dark Lord would reward her greatly for the deaths of two kings! "I will melt the flesh from your bones and destroy your armies! I will burn your forest to the ground and feast on your children! I will—"
"DRAGON!"
A hiss erupted from the dragon's mouth as her head snaked around to see what creature dared interrupt her.
An elf with copper-and-black hair stood behind the dragon, breathing hard. "You can burn down our forest, but you'll never win!"
The dragon's previous targets stared at Storm in utter amazement while backing away to what they hoped was a safe distance, praying the Silvan elf knew what he was doing.
Storm did not know what he was doing. He supposed he was stalling for as long as he could in the hope that Thranduil and the others would get far enough away. Yes, it was for Thranduil more than the others, because Storm's sister, the elf he loved most in all the world, cared about the prince so deeply. Storm was willing to die to save him, if that was what it took. "Look, you oversized lizard—" Was he going to go out insulting a dragon? "—fire isn't everything. You'll need cunning and—um—persistence to catch us! Why, I'll bet you can't even kill me without fire!"
The dragon decided to get rid of the annoying little elf before she obliterated the others. "WE SHALL SEE!" she roared, swinging a gigantic claw at him.
Storm dropped onto his stomach as the enormous talon swished over him, then leapt back up. "Missed!" There, he certainly had the dragon's attention now.
. . . . . .
Sky slipped unnoticed into a crevice near the dragon, biding her time and watching as her brother confronted the massive reptile. "Please, Storm, be careful," she whispered.
. . . . . .
The dragon lunged again, and again Storm escaped unharmed. He was starting to gain courage now, wondering if he could whip out his bow and shoot the dragon from close range if it tried to bite him, or even stab his sword into the roof of its mouth...
But the beast ran out of patience. "YOU THINK TO DISTRACT ME, FOREST-RAT? KNOW THAT YOU HAVE FAILED!" The dragon's chest glowed red-hot, and she turned her head and released her inferno.
. . . . . .
Oropher saw the fireball coming for them.
He saw Thranduil staring at the flames, their orange light reflected in his blue eyes.
There was only one thing he could do.
As dragonfire erupted around them, Oropher knocked his son to the ground, shielding him with his own body in a desperate attempt to save his child.
. . . . . .
Sky screamed as the dragon whipped its head back toward Storm and exhaled again, and loosed an arrow at its face. Only the dragon's scaly eyelid kept the arrow from burrowing into its brain as it blinked, but as it was, the shot did nothing but draw the wyrm's attention.
That probably should have been the end of Sky—her shallow hiding place wouldn't have protected her against a furious dragon—but rage and pure stubbornness showed her a way. Even before the dragon's head turned her way, she was sprinting at it, firing two arrows at once at its eye just to make it flinch and give her that extra second.
The dragon had too little concept of love to comprehend why this seemingly suicidal elf was charging her, but it hardly mattered. She sucked in a breath and blasted it at the elf full-force.
Sky dove for the only shelter available—the dragon's fireproof scales. Waves of searing heat washed over her as she hid in the folds of the dragon's wings, hoping the monster's hide was too thick for it to feel a tiny elf crawling on it.
When the flames and smoke dissipated, no elf stood in front of the dragon, and the wyrm concluded that the pest lay among the many now-charred corpses on the ground. She paused to consider the rest of her handiwork. One of the first elves she had targeted was still screaming, as was the king that looked like him—or had until the fire did its work, anyway—though with far less volume; it was more of a pathetic keening, really. And the annoying distraction was sobbing quietly, so it was still alive.
The dragon was happy enough to let them die slowly and painfully, but as she spread her wings, she noticed a strange lump. What was this?
Two burning green eyes met the dragon's.
The wyrm roared and beat her wings, trying to dislodge the elf, but Sky only wrapped her legs more tightly around the wing claw and leveled her bow at the dragon's face. She was Silvan, used to leaping between branches as they tossed in a windstorm. This was nothing.
The shaking would have made it nearly impossible for even the best archers to hit the side of a barn at close range, but Sky was far beyond the ranks of the best archers.
And her eyes almost glowed from sheer fury.
The dragon's teeth flashed, but too late. Sky was far, far closer this time, too close for the armored eyelid to come down.
The dragon spasmed once, then crashed to the earth. Sky hit the ground hard, rolled head-over-heels a few times, and raced, falling every few yards, to her husband, who now lay quietly except for the occasional moan. She fell to her knees, her hand hovering over the charred side of his face.
What was left of Oropher was silent and still.
. . . . . .
"Sky?"
The green-eyed elf looked up from her sleeping husband. "Hmm?"
Kilvara pointed outside the tent. "Elrond and Haldir want to talk to you."
After the dragon's death, with the orcs understandably demoralized, the two Silvan armies had managed to pull out of the battle, taking with them a fair number of their wounded, but their kings were dead. Greenwood, which had taken the brunt of the dragon's attacks, had lost two-thirds of their soldiers.
Two-thirds.
Oropher was dead, and his son unconscious; that left Sky in charge, apparently. Lórien was in a better state, with Amdir's son still alive and unharmed, but Sky's dear friend Gil-Galad had fallen to Sauron himself, leaving Elrond to guide his elves for now. The battle had been a victory, but four days later, all three elven kingdoms seemed ready to fall apart.
The other three elves waiting in front of the king's tent seemed as close to collapse as Sky felt. Elrond leaned on his horse like it was the only thing keeping him from falling over, Haldir clearly hadn't slept in a night or two, and Taensirion... well, he'd managed Greenwood's whole army for the first day and a half, until Thranduil was stable enough for Sky to leave his side, and that was right after losing his oldest and closest friend. He didn't look well, but none of them did.
Elrond got straight to the point. "We are going to hunt down as many orcs as we can before they scatter into the mountains."
"As will we," Haldir added. Elrond, along with Elendil's son, Isildur—also called upon to replace his king—had sent messengers to the leaders of each army the day before to ask for assistance.
Sky looked at Taensirion, and then both shook their heads. "We've lost too many. I'm sorry, Elrond."
"We will have enough trouble making our way home," Taensirion added.
"I understand," Elrond told them simply, and he and Haldir mounted their horses and rode off. A tear fell from her eye, but she didn't brush it away. Felrion and Kilvara and Taensirion were all right, but so many were dead; the only thing she had to remind herself that the world would make sense again was Felrion's assurance that Thranduil would recover. He'd already been awake once, but they had given him so much medicine to ease the pain that he hadn't made sense.
She jumped when he spoke unexpectedly, in a voice that was weak and rough, but clear. "What happened to you?"
She blinked, then giggled, sounding slightly unhinged, even to herself. "You're asking what happened to me?"
Thranduil grimaced, seeming to notice his own pain for the first time, and raised his hand to touch the burned half of his face.
Sky caught his hand and held it tightly. "Someone gave me responsibilities, that's what happened."
He glanced over her with a slight smirk. "Yes, that would do it."
She forced a smile.
"How is my father?" Thranduil asked suddenly. He turned white when Sky flinched.
"Thranduil..."
"No!" he shouted, making her recoil. "Do not say it! Do not..."
Do not make it real, Sky thought. She hadn't wanted to. Not yet. Her body shook with a silent sob, but Thranduil was too tormented to notice. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." She put her free hand on the closer, undamaged side of his face and leaned down to touch her forehead to his.
. . . . . .
Much later, the whisper of the tent flap sliding back into place announced Storm's entrance. Almost all of his face was burned, but not so badly in most places as to be black like Thranduil's, and he'd been strong enough, or maybe determined enough, to be back on his feet within a day. He took in his sister's red, puffy eyes and the way Thranduil was tossing and turning in his sleep. "You told him."
Sky nodded, not trusting her voice enough to say she hadn't meant to.
Several minutes passed before Storm spoke again. "I'm staying to help track down the orcs."
Sky didn't ask how he planned to do that, hurt as he was. She would have joined him if she wasn't needed here.
She didn't look up again, but she knew Storm had left. She traced her finger along Thranduil's jaw, thinking about how much their world was about to change. Taensirion was going to have the remaining elves vote tonight, and... well, they'd see. The end result was inevitable; it was only the timing that was up for debate. She wasn't sure if now or later would be easier.
Either way, she was painfully aware that it was time to start a new chapter of their lives.