A/N: And so the war with the Great Serpents of the North begins…

War – (noun) an intense armed conflict between different groups within a country characterised by extreme violence, destruction and mortality.

War

Thranduil ducked behind a tree just in time to escape a fiery blast aimed at him by the emerald green coloured dragon he'd been shooting at a few moments prior. His position of safety was short lived however, as the tree burst into a pillar of flame at his back and the Elven King jumped up and away - this time to crouch behind a nearby boulder.

The tree he'd left behind him wailed in agony as it burned alive, and Thranduil clenched his teeth hard at the dreadful sounds as anger at the innocent tree's plight swept through him - hot as the flames that had just been at his back.

Enraged the blonde sprang up from behind his boulder.

The dragon's scaly, menacing face was still low enough to the ground from its fire breathing attack and Thranduil nocked a Black-tipped arrow, aimed and let fly.

The arrow hit home - squarely in the centre of the beast's orange-ringed pupil and the dragon reared back with a shriek of pain and rage that made Thranduil's sensitive ears feel as though they would bleed.

He did not shrink back at the dreadful noise however, but instead took full advantage as the dragon exposed its throat as it threw its head back to howl at the pain of an arrow to the eye.

Thranduil was quick, and ere the beast had time to spot him he ran toward it and jumped upwards, Black-coated sword poised sharp and deadly over his head and aimed directly at the exposed, less scaly throat.

The noise that followed was intense; a horrid gurgling screech as hot, blue-black ichor showered over Thranduil from the large gash he'd put in the dragon's neck even as said beast beat its huge leathery wings all the faster in an attempt at escape.

Twas a futile endeavour.

Thranduil's Elite, his bodyguards selected by trial - Duron, Arodon and Arthon - were ready, and with their own well aimed arrows the emerald green dragon crashed down hard.

Dead.

~o~

Thranduil dumped another basket load of sand upon what remained of a small copse of trees and watched the flames smother to leave behind blackened stumps and a horrible charred smell that he was becoming all too used to. He wiped the back of his hand over his sweaty forehead wearily and took in the scene before and around him.

It was dusk and around him all was ash, charred blackened wood and piles of sand and salt. For that was all that remained of the clearing under a small rocky overhang where Thranduil and his elves had planned on resting for the night.

But the dragons that still remained hadn't taken kindly to the fact that three of their number had been killed by the elves that day. And so, before they'd flown off into the swirling mists at the peaks of the Grey Mountains to regroup for the night, they had blasted the entire clearing with their flaming breath.

Thranduil resisted the urge to sigh and kept his perfect soldier's posture even as he took in the destruction all around him. He had hoped for his people to be resting by now - perhaps settling down to their rationed evening meal - yet here they were putting out the flames from the dragon's petty act of revenge.

After another moment more of simply looking the Elven King turned and made his way back for more sand; all the fires were nearly out and the sooner they finished smothering them completely, the sooner they'd be able to move off to the new location Aglardaer and his scouts had found for them to spend the night. Thranduil wanted all his elves moved and set up in their new position of safety well before the sun rose. If they relocated under the cover of darkness they would have the small element of surprise in terms of attacking the dragons out of an as yet unknown location.

With his thoughts whirling and sand topped up, Thranduil hefted his heavy basket and began to make his way over toward another tree that was wailing miserably in its fiery death throes.

It was not really work a King ought to be doing - but Thranduil wanted this task done with and his people moved as soon as was possible. They were vulnerable in the now treeless, shelter-less clearing and so it was all hands, including his, to the fore.

The blonde dumped his basket load and once satisfied those particular flames had gone out in a hiss of dusty smoke, he ignored the ache of his tired shoulders and heavy feet and made haste back towards their sand store to fill his basket afresh.

~o~

"Thranduil, there you are."

The Elven King could not stop himself from tensing at the sound of his best friend's voice. For Aglardaer was also the Commander of his army and therefore bound to be wanting something or the other from him. Which was the last thing on Arda Thranduil wanted to deal with at that very moment; in fact he'd rather been hoping to have a moment to get himself clean, but never one to shirk his duties the blonde turned to face his friend.

"Aglardaer - what can I help you with?"

"Nothing at all, you simply had us wondering where you'd gotten off to. A word of advice - tis not very wise to disappear away from one's bodyguards when one is a King in the midst of an ongoing war."

Thranduil snorted. "One finds oneself very capable of taking a moment to get clean without running into any of the type of trouble that might require bodyguards. You needn't have troubled yourself Commander."

It was Aglardaer's turn to give an incredulous snort before he threw himself down heavily onto one of the small, smooth boulders that surrounded the spring where Thranduil was hoping to have a makeshift bath - or at the very least get the dragon blood out of his hair.

"You look tired, mellon-nin." The teasing lilt was gone from Thranduil's voice as he eyed his Commander with some concern.

"And do you suppose you look any better?" Aglardaer snarked. "You look like one of those wraiths the edain tell stories about with all that dragon blood covering you."

Thranduil rolled his eyes. If his friend was up to making sarcastic remarks then he had no reason to worry, despite the tiredness he could see clinging to Aglardaer like a cloak.

"Well, if you hadn't come and disturbed me then perhaps I would look less wraith-like and be well on the way to being clean again."

Thranduil turned away from his friend, finished undressing and began to wet his hair.

"Valar! The smell of dragon blood is truly disgusting - you would have thought the stench would have faded away by now."

Aglardaer wrinkled his nose. "Tis a foulness I suspect we shall become immune to before long… should things continue to go our way as they did today and we spill ever more dragon blood. Today's battle was every inch the victory, despite the dragons' petty little display of pique there at the end. They are rattled by us."

Thranduil hummed noncommittally. He rather felt as though they were more rattled by the dragons than the other way around. For though they had killed three dragons that day, they had lost five elves. The day prior they had lost two maethyr and the day before that three; they had been here ten days so far and had a death to show for each day spent in miserable war against the winged wyrms. Morale was low and well the Elven King knew it.

Worst of all, he didn't really know what to do about it. Sure, he did his best every morning to rally the troops; to entice them into giving their all against the dragon scum, to fight for the honour and safety of the Woodland realm, but Thranduil knew it wasn't enough. Knew that this war had already begun to take a great toll on his warriors.

It was also having a devastating effect upon him; the acrid smell of burning flesh, the horrible cloying feel of the dense grey ash that covered everything, and the piteous screams and cries of those being burned - both elf and tree - would live with Thranduil for centuries yet. More trauma to add to the trauma he already carried from the last great war he'd fought in.

Thranduil let the fresh pine scent of his soap do what little it could to soothe him as he lathered himself in its delicate sweetness - a blessed reprieve from the foul smell of the ichor that had clung to him for the better part of the day.

What he truly wanted in terms of comfort was to get absolutely blind drunk on the finest red wine Dorwinion had to offer, then sleep until the all-encompassing weariness left his bones.

Alas for him such comforts were a long way off, and would continue to be until they defeated their fiery foe.

"You have gone quiet mellon-nin."

Aglardaer's voice broke into the blonde's dark thoughts.

"I was thinking."

"Of?"

"Of how much of a disaster this war has been for us thus far."

"Hardly a disas-"

But Thranduil cut his friend off with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"We have ten dead, Aglardaer, ten! We've not even been here two weeks yet! We must do better. We have to. I will not see the blood of my warrior's spent for anything less than victory."

Thranduil gave himself one last rinse then grabbed his towel and began to hurriedly dry himself. A plan had begun to come to him. Twas a somewhat daring plan but one he hoped would bring the war to a swift end and see them march back to the Wood victorious.

"Call for a meeting of the Commanders."

"The Commanders will only just be finishing settling in their battalions for the night and are probably hoping for something to eat and a little sleep."

Thranduil shook his head. "They are not the only ones who are hungry and tired - I have not laid my eyes upon any sustenance since two small bites of lembas at sunrise this morn. Call for them regardless - I want everyone assembled in the next fifteen minutes."

The Elven King felt the determination to keep his elves and his beloved Wood safe, harden within him.

"I have a plan."

~o~

"So, am I perfectly understood?"

"Yes Aran-nin." Aglardaer gave a nod of his head and a slight bow to his friend and King as spokesperson for all the gathered Commanders.

"Good. I know it is a lot to ask you all to get up and move again, when we have only just finished settling down for the night, but this will go all the better if we move under the cover of darkness. And the time we shall spend in hiding will be more than enough for us to rest and regain ourselves once more."

"We understand Aran-nin, and if that is all and we are now dismissed, your commands shall be carried out immediately."

"Yes that is all - hannon-le. Dismissed."

Aglardaer watched idly as the Commanders filed from the tent. He was lost in thought about the plan which Thranduil had laid out before them.

The first part of said plan entailed them breaking the camp they had just settled into - located in a few large caves in the lowest hills of Withered Heath. Instead, two-thirds of the warriors would see to the moving of their camp higher up into the foothills that surrounded the Heath, where they would make camp and hide completely out of sight of the dragons for the next month.

The remaining third of the maethyr would march back in the direction of the Wood - making their departure obvious - so as to make it look as though the wood elves had withdrawn or partially retreated. They would then sneak back to the newly established camp and hide out with the rest of them. And all of this was in aid of getting the dragons to relax their guard, to lure them into a false sense of security.

It was Thranduil's hope that the beasts would fly about more openly after their perceived retreat; that they would be less watchful for elves and their arrows and even that perhaps the fire wyrms might become totally brazen and land down in the open valley of the Heath - all things which would make them more vulnerable to part two of the plan which was the attack.

The attack part of their plan did not depend on the dragons coming down from their high roosts to land in the valley - that would simply be an added bonus - one which his increasingly pessimistic friend and King did not think they would be so lucky as to get.

Instead the plan involved them doing what they could to down the beasts by their own power. The archers would aim for the wings - this time with flaming, tarred arrows that would stick and burn and hopefully injure the dragons to a degree that would leave them incapable of flight and bring them crashing down.

To then secure the wyrms upon the ground, rope darts (made with their precious stores of hithlain) would be employed to pin the dragons securely, whereupon the spearmen would put out their eyes which would then clear the way for the swordsmen to sweep in and finish the blinded beasts off by slitting their necks.

It was a plan that would take much preparation - they had an entire camp to move as well as thousands of tarred arrows to prepare. The plan also relied on every battalion working seamlessly together; each employing their separate skills, in the pursuit of one goal - the death of the dragons.

Aglardaer ran a tired hand through his hair - he could only pray it would all work as Thranduil hoped and that the dragons would indeed take the bait of their 'retreat' and become more relaxed and sloppier in their defences.

It was a plan that depended as much upon the dragons as it did them, but Thranduil was right - they had taken a beating over the first few days of this war and they could not carry on as they had been doing. It was definitely worth a shot to try something else.

As the last Commander tiredly trudged out through the tent flaps Aglardaer gave Thranduil a hearty clap on the shoulder, what he hoped was a confident smile and strode out into the brisk smoky night. He had much to do.

~o~

The month that followed was the longest in Aglardaer's life.

Despite the discipline that was routinely drilled into the Woodland army's warriors, it was still no mean feat keeping them all well out of sight and quiet once restlessness (and no small amount of fear and battle fatigue) had a chance to set in.

The Crown Commander did his best to keep everyone busy as they prepared the tarred arrows by the hundreds, checked and rechecked the hithlain on the rope darts and sharpened every spearhead and blade in their possession.

Still, Aglardaer could not deny that as the final day of their hiding dawned he felt anything but sweet relief at the fact they would soon be allowed to show themselves to the enemy, and turn all their feelings of restlessness, anger and fear into a driving force that would push them on and help them thoroughly rout the fire wyrms.

The silver haired Commander turned, from where he'd been getting a moment's fresh air at the mouth of the cave that had been his home for the past month, and went in search of Thranduil.

Aglardaer found him studying a map of the area; his friend had done nothing but make plan after plan after plan in case this one did not go their way. Thranduil was determined to bring things to as swift an end as possible and to not shed any more elven blood.

"Plotting again Aran-nin?"

Thranduil looked up from his maps. Despite all their recent inactivity he looked tired.

"Yes, I was just plotting what route might be best should we have need to climb up to where the dragons roost."

"I do not think it will come to that. This plan of yours seems to be working out very well. The dragons look as though they have fallen for our ruse and have been spotted flying lower for longer periods of time. Also a number of them were seen to have landed in the Valley both yesterday and the day prior - I believe they have been trying to find us or they were seeing what is about that they might hunt."

"Poor dragons - they'll not be finding us until we wish to show ourselves." Thranduil sounded smug.

As well he might for it had been his idea to hide their scent from the keen nosed dragons using the ash that now so liberally coated the valley and hillsides of Withered Heath. Though it was a thoroughly uncomfortable and disgusting experience, that had elicited a great many murmurs from the maethyr, it had worked very effectively at masking their scent and had prevented their discovery.

"Indeed." Aglardaer tossed his friend a grin before he turned serious once more. "And when do we show ourselves? I know our planned period of hiding comes to an end tomorrow but…" the Commander let the question hang.

"That depends on our dearest winged friends," Thranduil replied dryly. "If they are becoming as bold and as brazen as you say and landing themselves right at our feet within the valley then we may as well take advantage of such an opportunity. We shall move the troops into position tonight, give it until midday tomorrow and see whether the beasts land again. If they do, we will adjust our plan accordingly and attack them all at once from on high. If they do not, then it is of no matter - we shall proceed as previously planned."

Aglardaer nodded. "I shall see it done Aran-nin. I go to prepare the maethyr. And you might want to consider taking a break from your maps, plans and plots and getting some meaningful rest. Everyone will be looking to you to lead us tomorrow and I would so hate to see you swoon in front of the troops."

Thranduil rolled his eyes so hard Aglardaer was worried they might roll clean out of his head; but his little jest had done as he'd intended it to, for there was the barest hint of a smile upon Thranduil's lips and better yet he'd begun to fold away his maps.

Aglardaer strolled away feeling better than he had since they'd first arrived all those weeks ago.

~o~

The thundering, nerve-jangling screech of a dragon in its death throes sounded so very close to Thranduil that the Elven King had a split second of worry that he might go deaf.

It was only a fleeting worry though; for Thranduil had a dragon of his own, firmly pinned by rope darts, to deal with.

He did so with extreme prejudice and no small amount of malicious glee as he rammed his sharpened, Black-tipped sword into the fiery yellow eye of the dragon before him.

This elicited another tooth-jarring round of screeching, even closer to his sensitive ears this time, but Thranduil paid the awful noise no heed as he continued to firmly ram his sword into the eye socket of the dragon - pushing hard until he was shoulder deep in the warm, disgusting gloop of a ruined eyeball.

The blonde pulled his slime covered arm back with a sickening plop, then immediately jammed it back into the beast's eye socket at an angle that would result in a strike to the brain; a fact they'd rather happily (for them) discovered left the dragons little more than stupid, drooling lizards that were then rather easy to finish off.

It was an improvisation to Thranduil's original plan; implemented once they'd realised that with the dragons so firmly pinned, the softer, less scaly bit of their long throats were difficult to reach to slit. Aglardaer had been the one to make the accidental but happy eye socket discovery and had wasted no time in passing word along to everyone else.

Thranduil jumped back, thoroughly covered in ichor just as a troop of swordsmen dove in to complete the work. He let himself watch his warriors at work for one short moment in grim satisfaction before he turned his eyes to the rest of the battlefield.

It was a quagmire. There were several huge dragon carcasses scattered across the valley - many still covered in flaming tar; there was also torn up turf, the odd glimmer of a torn off scale from where the wyrms had struggled futilely against their rope dart bonds, and the terrible blue-black blood of the dragons in large oily pools.

Unfortunately there were also eight broken elven bodies Thranduil could see mixed in with the rest of the mess. For though they had been exceptionally successful on this their first day of attack after leaving their hiding place - it had not been without cost.

Their seeming retreat had indeed caused the dragons to get lazy, complacent and cocky and it had only been a few hours after sunrise before the first of the winged lizards had come down to land in the valley - presumably to bask in the sun. Thranduil and Aglardaer had had the troops hold their positions until noon when, in what seemed like a gift from the hands of the Valar themselves, all of the remaining dragons landed down in the valley. Figuring they would get no more of an opportune time than this the Elven King and his Commander had ordered their warriors into battle - attacking the dragons from on high.

The element of surprise along with the rope darts had been a great success and a brilliant aid in helping the elves pin their foes exactly where they wanted them, ere too many of the dragons had time to react and fly off. For those that had managed to get their great wings moving and attempt to lift off, there'd been flaming arrows tipped with boiling tar that soon brought them down to earth with a ground-quaking thump and screeching aplenty.

It wasn't a total success for the elves however, as the large flailing limbs of dragons attempting to flee as well as the fiery malicious breath of others trying to burn away their bonds had caused grievous injury, and a were the cause of the crumpled elven bodies Thranduil could see scattered across the plain.

The sight reignited the Elven King's anger and gave him a fresh zeal. They had almost won - they had nearly routed the dragons in their entirety. They needed only one last push to finish off the two that had managed to escape.

"Come on my warriors! Fight! We have all but routed them but we must not let those two escape our hand. Join me! Gurth anin limlyg!"

No sooner had Thranduil given his roared battle cry than there was heard an ominous rumbling crackle that they had all become far too familiar with. Twas a noise they had come to recognise as a portent of fiery doom.

"Dragon fire!"

The shout went up not just from Thranduil but rang round the entire battlefield and the Elven King ran full pelt over toward the body of the dragon he'd just helped slay, and tucked himself far into a crevice between the fallen wyrm's arm and body - for they had learned early on that dragon skin was immune the horrors of their own flaming breath.

Thranduil couldn't help the way he winced and closed his eyes as the whooshing hiss of dragon fire beat down upon the ground not more than a foot away from his place of refuge. He could only hope that all his maethyr had similarly managed to take cover. Death by dragon fire was not a fate he would wish even upon an orc.

They needed to bring down those two remaining beasts and soon - the longer they remained free the longer they'd be able to terrorise them from the skies.

Thranduil tucked himself further into his hiding place and fought not to gag at the stench of dragon that threatened to overwhelm him. They needed only to bide their time. For the dragons, so far as they had observed, seemed to have three fiery blasts within them ere what seemed to be a small refractory period kicked in. This recovery period only seemed to last between eight to ten minutes but it was time enough for his warriors to execute their plans of attack.

Yes, they only needed wait just a little longer and victory would be theirs.

~o~

Flammar wheeled himself up and away from the valley where the elves cowered, yelled and screamed at the fire he and Smaug had just rained down upon them. The pair of them flew up high, far beyond reach of any elven arrow into the misty cover provided by the clouds and Flammar, Dragon King, turned to give his only surviving subordinate a hard look of determination.

"We must kill them Smaug, breathe flame upon flame and unchecked fire down upon their pointy-eared heads. They are nothing but murderous, filthy wretches and we must show them their place and the true order of things."

Smaug snorted. "Or we could just cut our losses and leave now. Erebor is but a night's flight away. Or have you forgotten our original plan?"

Flammar snarled - a wordless expression of rage. "The cunting dwarves will have their turn yet! But these…these elves!" Flammar roared the word. "They must be stopped, punished - they cannot be allowed to think Flammar and his great horde have run scared from mere elves."

Smaug gave a greatly exaggerated roll of his eyes that made Flammar want to leap upon him and scratch them out.

"Would you truly fly away now?" Flammar challenged instead of giving in to his urge to physically harm Smaug. "Like some sort of a coward?!"

Smaug snorted again. "Yes, I would fly away - for in case you haven't noticed, your 'great hoarde' is no longer so great - not when their bodies and blood so liberally decorate the plains below us."

"And that is the exact reason we must rid ourselves of these wretched elves - I would have revenge for the spilt blood of my fellows."

"A wise leader knows when to retreat Flammar, so that he may live to fight another day. Come with me to Erebor as planned; we can take rest there, comfort ourselves in the gold and when we are strong again we can visit ourselves upon the beloved Wood of those filthy little elves - catch them unawares. But right now we will achieve naught - for they are well prepared, well-armed and desperate to spill more dragon blood and I shall not let it be mine that they bathe in."

Seeing his words were having no effect on his leader, Smaug gave an exasperated snarl. "See sense and come with me Flammar."

"Nay, I will not turn tail and run before any elf. I am Flammar, chiefest calamity of Carn Dûm and one time servant of the Witch King himself, I cower before none!"

"I do not ask you to cower - only to pull back for now; take time and plan carefully our next attack, for to rush in now when the blood of the elves is high and they scent victory is nigh is an utter folly. One I shall not follow you into. I am going to Erebor as previously planned and you should come too."

Flammar gave a bellowing roar of rage that shook the peaks and crags of the mountains around them where they had landed. Smaug was a damned coward, and if he wanted to run scared to Erebor like some lily-livered hatchling then Flammar would waste no more time upon him.

"Be gone then coward - I will smite the elves myself - all future songs shall sing the praises of my desolation!"

~o~

Smaug gave his erstwhile King one final long look before he shook his head at Flammar's stubborn stupidity and lifted off with a calamitous rush of flapping wings.

Flammar was not behaving like a King ought to, but rather a heartsick and rage filled idiot. He knew Flammar was grieving and reeling from the unexpected and surprisingly brutal attack from the elves, but that was no excuse to let go of all sense and rush in towards certain death - all for the sake of pride and revenge.

So far as Smaug was concerned the elves could have their victory - their time of calamity would be visited upon them in due course. And as for the dwarves of Erebor…well the same could go for them.

Smaug had taken a few of those awful, flaming tarred arrows of the elves to his left wing and one rather close to his eye. He was not in the best shape - his wounds twinged and burned in a most uncomfortable way and the carmine coloured dragon came to a swift decision.

He would rest a while.

Find himself a lovely deep cave and sleep for a decade or three - regain his strength. And then when the time was right, he'd seek to find out what became of Flammar and the elves, and most importantly he'd pay those cocky dwarves and all their lovely, shiny gold a little visit.

He was a dragon - long lived and patient. He could wait.

~o~

Flammar watched Smaug as he flew off southwards into the misty clouds in the direction of their initial target - Erebor.

Flammar too felt the pull of the dwarvish gold; of all the lovely gems and treasures the greedy dwarves had amassed, but he felt his hatred of the elves in the valley below tug at his heart all the more. They would burn and die by his hand - all of them - of that he was determined.

And he would start with their 'intrepid' leader - that runt of the failed King Oropher - Thranduil.

~o~

Gathering his strength Flammar lifted off his rocky perch and dived downwards back toward the valley below, determined to crush and kill the blonde King.

An easier endeavour in thought than in practice, for though Flammar was loath to admit it, Smaug was right - the blood of the elves was up and they were ready and spoiling for the fight. They'd peppered him with arrows (that he'd only just managed to evade), easily ducked his sprays of fire by using hastily cobbled-together shields made with the flame retardant scales of his fallen followers (a thing that had made Flammar see red) and worst of all he found himself getting fatigued. Exhausted by the way he had to weave and bob and twist to avoid the flaming arrows and the rope darts the elves happily launched at him.

The elves were wily, strong and resilient with the feeling of imminent victory and though Flammar was now wise to their dragon slaying tactics, the realisation that the elves did not fear him - that they in fact expected to conquer him…made the anger that seethed within him double in intensity.

In a blind rage Flammar let loose a barrage of flames upon the valley below him, hoping he'd been quick enough that the elves had not had time to flee or duck under their horrid little shields.

He did not wait to find out and instead gathered his breath and breathed out more flames over the scant shrubbery and small, stunted, stubby trees the elves liked to duck in and out of.

Still not satisfied, Flammar rose above the black smoke that billowed upwards from the destruction he'd just wrought and spun himself in a circle as he flew - coating the sides of the hills, where he was sure the elves kept their supplies and injured in caves, with bright orange flame.

The mountainsides and valley burned. A bowl filled with flames that would be sure to be hurting the elves and still the rage within Flammar's heart was not satisfied.

Flammar perched upon an outcropping of rock, just above the roaring flames and bellowed down toward the elves. "I will kill every elf here and then I will kill all those you have left behind. Do you hear me Elf King? I will burn your precious forest to the ground and all the filthy elves that live there along with it!"

~o~

Fear, pure and true flowed through Thranduil at the dragon's bellowed threat and chilled his very veins. It was a fear he'd battled to keep at bay for the entirety of this wretched campaign; the fear that the dragons would fly off and lay waste to the Wood while they were here, hundreds of miles away, unable to help.

Of course he'd left the remainder of the army that hadn't marched with them posted all along the borders with strict instructions to keep an eye on the skies, but it was a very cold comfort in face of the threat the dragon had just issued.

Thranduil had to kill Flammar.

And he needed to think of a new way to do it and fast. For he had noticed their previous tactics were no longer working - the Dragon King now wise to them.

The blonde fought down the panic that rose within him like bile and turned to face his Crown Commander with the beginnings of a hastily put together and rather dangerous plan.

"I am going to offer myself to Flammar."

"What?!" Aglardaer's reaction was immediate and outraged. "What on earth has possessed you Thranduil? What are you saying?"

"Exactly what I just said - I am going out there and I will offer myself to Flammar, his own personal elf, in exchange for him leaving the Wood be."

"You cannot!"

"I must!" Thranduil screamed in hoarse frustration, his throat irritated from his constant breathing in of smoke and ash. "He has us pinned here, trapped by his flames, and I also have to think that he is very serious in his threat to the Wood. Should Flammar go there…the cost…the destruction would be unimaginable."

"And so you are to just offer yourself up? Are our people truly to lose their King to this bone-headed and foolish plan?"

"Look around you, Aglardaer. Truly look! We have gone from almost assured victory to a great number of our maethyr being injured or killed in that last blast. The rest of us are trapped and unable to get back up to the caves for that scaly bastard has set fire to the very hillside, and worse he now threatens the very civilians we marched out here to protect. He is now wise to our tactics and I can think of nothing else that will intrigue him enough to keep him here and away from the Wood save the offer of myself." Thranduil gave Aglardaer a hard look. "Of course it is not to be a permanent transaction - I expect you and your men to be ready and waiting to extract me as soon as the opportunity presents itself."

Thranduil saw that his Crown Commander and best friend had now caught onto his idea and within a few more hoarsely whispered moments they had finalised their plan.

~o~

"Hail Flammar, King of the great Dragon Horde. I would treat with thee."

Flammar peered down through the still burning flames and billowing plumes of smoke and ash to see none other than Thranduil Oropherion himself had stepped out of the shadows where what remained of the elves no doubt cowered in fear of him.

Flammar bared his teeth. He hated Thranduil desperately in that moment - knowing that the Elf King had likely only shown himself due to somehow having figured out that he had a small refractory period before he could belch flames at them again. Flammar was almost tempted to fling himself down upon the audacious blonde and crush him.

Bloody elves! How he could not wait to blast them again - and this time he would be more precise with his strikes. Ensure they all died the painful, fiery deaths they fully deserved.

But…for now…Flammar had to admit he was more than a little intrigued at the boldness of Oropher's runt.

Slowly, Flammar allowed himself to slither down to a lower perch of rock so that he could better see Thranduil.

"Very well Elf King," Flammar spat the title like a curse. "Come forward - let us treat."

~o~

Thranduil willed his knees not to knock and his voice to remain steady and took a few steps further into the exposed, scorched, ash-covered valley.

He felt in that moment desperately afraid and acutely aware of exactly how stupidly foolhardy his hastily cobbled together plan was.

Aglardaer was right; he was putting himself at great risk - Flammar could easily kill him. Even without his flames for the moment, it would take but a swipe of the beast's great tail or flash of his huge sword-like talons to put a swift end to Thranduil.

Yet when he thought about their current situation - about the fact he suddenly had a lot more dead on his hands thanks to Flammar's last attack; about his grievously injured and burned maethyr who might yet join their fellows in Mandos, and about the fact they'd been cut off from the caves which housed their supplies, medicines and their most skilled field healers - Thranduil could see little other choice.

Had it not been for them taking refuge beneath the oversized corpse of one of the dragons they'd felled near the treeline at the edge of the valley, and their shields of pillaged dragon scale, things would have been much different. Much worse.

They were in a dire situation and Thranduil had to do something to rectify that - needed to buy time, needed to find some way to get close enough to land a killing blow upon Flammar, and this crazy plan was the best he'd managed to come up with.

And so, he took a deep breath, pushed his fear deeper down and forced himself to look Flammar in the eye.

"I have a proposition for you Flammar - an offer."

Thranduil thought again of all that hung in the balance; of his people, including his children, back home and all his maethyr here who depended on him, who needed him to succeed in this. The thoughts bolstered him, strengthened him against the galling nature of what he was about to do.

Thranduil took a few more tentative steps forward and dropped to his knees, head bowed in supplication. "I offer myself Flammar - myself in exchange for the lives of my people."

~o~

Flammar blinked in surprise. "Come again?" The erstwhile Dragon King could hardly believe his ears. "Are you surrendering Elf King?"

The blonde below him dipped his head even lower before he spoke again.

"Aye. I have come to negotiate our surrender and I offer you these terms: I will give myself to you, your own personal elf to do with as you see fit, and you will let my warriors retreat unmolested. You will also leave the woodland home of my people be, and I give you my word that they shall never lay a hand against dragon-kind again. And to further sweeten the pot, I will have a tribute of gems and jewels - all from my extensive personal collection - brought to you."

The elf lifted his head and Flammar could see contrition and fear within his eyes.

"So, what say you to my offer Dragon King?"

Flammar stared at the elf in bafflement for a long moment. He had not thought Thranduil, warrior King he'd heard much tell of, would be one to surrender. But then again (and here Flammar could not stop the smug self-confident smile that stole across his features as the thought came to him) Thranduil had never faced off against him.

Clearly that last attack had knocked some sense into the elf - had shown him that despite his surprise victories over Flammar's comrades he could not hope to win against Flammar himself - chiefest calamity amongst the northern fire drakes.

Then there were the terms to consider. Very attractive terms they were - very attractive indeed - particularly when Flammar had no intention of keeping his promises to leave the elves be.

He let his eyes take in Thranduil - truly take him in.

The Elf King was very comely - handsome beyond even the typical beauty found amongst the Eldar. And his inner light, though dimmed a little by some lingering miasma of grief or perhaps physical pain, (Flammar could not tell and did not truly care) still shone brightly enough to be endlessly attractive to a creature of Darkness such as Flammar was.

It would also soothe Flammar's rage and bruised ego immensely to have none other than Elven King Thranduil Oropherion as his personal plaything. He would carry the blonde back to his lair - dress him in naught but emerald necklaces and secure him with golden chains, hands and feet. He'd make the Elf King dance for him, force the elf to count his gold for him, pet his pretty blonde hair…and carry Thranduil with him and force him to watch as Flammar burned his former kingdom to the ground.

A large self-satisfied smile broke out on Flammar's face. Yes, the terms would do nicely indeed.

"I accept your offer Elf King Thranduil."

~o~

Thranduil had fought not to flinch as the dragon looked him up and down lasciviously and fought even harder not to react when he heard his name spoken in Flammar's vile and cruel voice. He had to keep his wits about him - so far his plan was working swimmingly.

"You are gracious indeed King Flammar and I would impose upon your mercy one last time if I may."

Thranduil did his best to radiate humble, defeated contrition. This next bit was the riskiest gamble of the entire plan, and if Flammar did not take the bait Thranduil would be in very serious trouble.

"Ask what you may elf."

Thranduil took a deep breath in effort to keep himself from gagging on the words he was about to speak.

"My request is twofold. As I am now I make a poor prize for yourself - covered in ash and smelling of blood and burnt things. I would request you allow me to bathe in the river in the small woods over yonder - this will also allow me the mercy of being amongst the trees one last time before I become yours."

Flammar, who had slithered all the way down to the valley floor by this point, gave a huge, gusty snort of disbelief and Thranduil had to fight the urge to duck and hide from the flames he half expected to follow.

"How do I know this is not some little trick of yours, Elf King?"

Thranduil again did his best to look fearful as he answered. "I love my people too much to put them at such risk as turning against the terms of surrender already agreed. There will be no deceit by me and I swear by all the Valar I shall be quick about it. After that I will be yours to command. So please, Dragon King, will you grant my final request?"

Thranduil bowed his head; less in respectful penance but more simply due to the fact that he was unable to affect humble fear before Flammar any longer, and wished to hide his rage from the dragon. This entire simpering act was beyond galling to him, however necessary it was to his plans.

"Very well Elf King. I will agree to your request on the condition that I get to watch…to ensure you have no second thoughts about your surrender."

Thranduil fought off a smirk at the predictable stupidity of dragons before he lifted his head - once more the picture of deferential fear.

"It will be as you wish it Dragon King."

~o~

Thranduilforced himself not to wince at the great crashing noises of trees being felled and crushed behind him as Flammar followed him through the small wood toward the river that lay at its centre. Instead, he contented himself with the thought that he would soon kill Flammar for their loss.

Soon enough his blade would be slick with the foul blood of his would be captor and Thranduil would at last be able to turn his mind to the healing of his warriors and the cleansing of this land.

But not yet. He still had the worst part of his plan to get through, and it was a part he had to execute with excellence if the plan was to succeed and he was to survive.

One final turn of the path and at last the river was revealed to him. Thranduil stopped upon its banks and stared down into its cool depths as he contemplated whether it was really necessary for him to take the next steps of his plan, or whether he could simply turn now and attack Flammar.

The blonde King listened hard to his surroundings before he came to the defeated conclusion that he had to continue as planned. His troops though close were not yet in position and things would go ill for them all if Thranduil rushed and attacked now. Nay, he needed to swallow his pride, force down any sense of shame and do what was needed.

"Do not take my mercy for granted elf - neither make yourself to be a liar. Did you not promise this would not take over long?"

Flammar's growled words sounded closer behind him than Thranduil would have wished, and the hot rancid wash of his breath served as a timely reminder for the blonde that Flammar had long since recovered, so far as his fire breathing capabilities were concerned.

"Of course. Forgive me Dragon King, I was merely communing with the trees - saying my farewells."

With that Thranduil began to strip off. First his weapons, being careful to place his Black-tipped sword within grabbing distance; his armour was then followed by his ash-strewn uniform, before the blonde King plunged into the icy relief of the river for what needed to be the most alluring bath he would ever take in his life.

~o~

Flammar watched the sleek, wet, golden form of the Elf King with hungry eyes as the elf went about his ablutions. Far from the quick dip and rinse Flammar had expected, Oropher's runt was being very thorough - particularly in regards to the mane of silver-gold hair that tumbled down the elf's well-muscled, tattooed back.

The Dragon King had never seen an elf with such markings as he knew were commonly found on dwarrows, and he watched the play of them as they rippled in time with the elf's movements in rabid fascination.

Yes, Flammar thought with a lascivious lick of his lips, he would indeed keep this one in naught but jewels and chains.

~o~

Aglardaer kept half an eye and ear on where his friend and King made a great show of his bath all for the sake of Flammar's enticement. It was a key part of the plan; for whilst the fire wyrm was so predictably occupied by Thranduil's charms - he and his men were able to get into position - slowly but surely surrounding the Dragon King.

The Crown Commander looked around him carefully - the maethyr were all in place, arrows nocked, spears and rope darts at the ready. They could not use the flaming tar here; it would give away their position and would pose a fire hazard to them all here in this dense, dry wood. Nay, their best course of attack was to do their utmost to pin down the dragon - preferably by the wings to stop any escape attempt - so that Thranduil and his Elite, who were positioned closest of all, would be able to strike Flammar with a killing blow.

Satisfied that all was in place and his warriors were as ready as they could be, Aglardaer turned his attention towards Thranduil. His friend had now finished his bath, dried himself and was in the last stages of dressing himself in his uniform once more. A spectacle that Flammar was fully invested in.

Aglardaer sneered at the sight of the dragon whose tongue lolled out of his mouth with a greedy, lustful want. Thranduil had done very well indeed with his distraction but it was now time to put him out of his misery; for Aglardaer knew this entire charade would have caused his proud friend a huge amount of humiliation.

With one last glance to ensure all was in place, Aglardaer gave the signal (that Thranduil was likely desperate to hear by this point) in the form of the innocuous call of a wren.

~o~

The call of the wren felt like one of the most beautiful sounds Thranduil had ever heard in that moment. It had taken everything within him to keep his humiliated rage in check as he put on his little show to keep Flammar focused on him rather than the fact he was slowly being surrounded by elves hell bent on killing him.

The dragon's rapt stare had made Thranduil's skin crawl all the while long but at last his maethyr were in place. It was time to end this war, time to end Flammar.

Thranduil, who had made a show of putting on his uniform and nothing more - leaving his armour and weapons to lie where he'd first shucked them off - took a few steps forward toward Flammar. They were also a few steps that placed him in the perfect position to be able to sweep his sword up into his hand and into Flammar's neck.

"I thank you again Dragon King for your mercy, I am ready now…I am yours."

And with that Thranduil dropped to his knees as though in a reverential bow before he popped back up, sword in hand and charged.

At the very same time the maethyr, who had been primed to attack with the phrase 'I am yours', let loose a torrential volley of arrows and spears from all sides - every one targeting the beast's great wings.

Flammar, so suddenly and rudely jolted from the reverie into which Thranduil had expertly lulled him, lifted his head in alarm and unwittingly gave the Elven King perfect, unguarded exposure of his long, slender throat.

Thranduil did not hesitate.

With alacrity he leapt forward and plunged his sword deep into Flammar's neck.

A hot spray of blue-black blood rained down upon him as he pulled his sword free, and Thranduil revelled in it as well as the snarl of rage Flammar gave when he realised he was pinned and would not be able to flap off into the trees.

With a roar of the rage he'd kept in check for so long, Thranduil spun and thrust his sword to carve another great gouge in Flammar's serpentine neck.

~o~

Flammar howled; first in surprise and alarm at finding his great, beautiful wings pinned with horrid, painfully sharp elven arrows and then in agony at the sudden piercing sting of an elven blade in his neck.

Fucking elves!

How he hated them and their scheming ways.

How he hated their bastard King.

There came another sudden and violent piercing pain in his neck, and Flammar could feel the slick warmth of his life force as it gushed forth from him at a rather alarming rate.

He was bleeding out. He would be dead in a matter of moments due to the elves' lying, tricksy ways.

The elves had won.

Or had they…

With a great gulp of air Flammar gathered what little remained of his strength. He would not be the only one to lose today, of that he was determined.

He would fill this place with flame and smoke. This war would end in fire and they would all burn together.

All of them. Starting with their King.

With a sudden sweep of his tail Flammar dislodged the elves that had had the audacity to begin creeping up along his body toward his head. Quicker than any knew he could move, he twisted his long neck round and spotted his quandary - arm raised in preparation to strike him yet again.

Thranduil.

With an inarticulate roar of fury Flammar used his massive tail to cut Oropher's spawn off from the rest of the elf army.

The Dragon King watched in malicious glee as panic filled Thranduil's eyes as the blonde realised his precarious position cut off from elven aid. With his dying breath, Flammar let forth his last ever blast of fire.

Aimed directly at the Elf King.

Strength spent, Flammar crashed to the ground with an earth quaking thud and died with the pleasant sound of elven screams ringing in his ears.

~o~

Thranduil was utterly unaware of the foe he'd put so much effort into killing, succumbing to the wounds he'd dealt.

He was far too busy screaming.

Screaming as he desperately grabbed and clawed at his clothes, his hair, his face. Desperate to get it off. Desperate to get it to stop burning.

Too late had he seen Flammar's wicked intentions. He'd panicked at being cut off from his army, from his Elite by the coiling prison of the serpent's tail; he'd not been paying the attention he should have and it had almost cost him his life.

Were it not for the speed and flexibility of elven reflexes Thranduil would be dead.

As it was, upon realising Flammar intended to roast him like a suckling pig, Thranduil had ducked and rolled and thrown himself half under one of Flammar's great, now crippled wings.

It was not enough.

Hot flame had still caught him and licked all down his left side.

And so Thranduil screamed as he fought to put it out. Writhed around in the dirt like an earthworm, and when that still brought no relief he tossed himself into the ever growing pool of Flammar's blood, in hope the viscous ichor would put out the flames that felt as though they would devour him.

Stop, drop, roll. That was what he'd been taught.

Scream, writhe, claw at skin. That was all Thranduil could manage as he rolled about in frenzied agony.

Screamed and screamed and screamed as he fought to put it out, put it out.

Put. It. Out.

Before, rather mercifully, Thranduil passed out.

TBC.

Mellon-nin – My Friend

Edain – (Plural of Adan) Men

Maethyr – (plural) Warriors

Lembas – Elven Waybread

Aran-nin - My King

Hannon-le – Thank you

Hitlain – (Sindarin) Literally: mist thread - a material used by the Elves of Lórien to make ropes that were very light, slender and flexible; yet extremely strong. **I head canon that Thranduil traded with the Galadhrim in order to build up his own supply

Gurth anin limlyg – Death to the dragons

Eldar – Elves