(PREQUEL FOR 'TO FACE A DRAGON')

This is the story of two young soldiers, caught on opposite sides of a war. They dream of peace, and in meeting each other, they might just find a small corner of the world where this dream can be realized.

But like all good things, the end was inevitable.

" ~Aranyash ce'um levan, Saryë sol ül

Aranyash kartosh shador

Ül hart danosh true, Ül cam ce'um journ na

O' ül far takosh le'thalyë~ "

The language was unknown to him. Thranduil's ears perked at the voice. It was smooth like velvet, rising and falling with practiced ease between soprano and alto, the high notes softened to please and the low notes curling with languid pleasure. Each note rang perfectly in tune, sung with strength and training. The singer was quite skilled, her technique just as professional as the best elven minstrels.

It would be a mistake to say that the elven prince was mesmerized, for such a loss of composure would be most distasteful. However he was most definitely intrigued. He was not aware that any others knew of his most cherished hiding spot. The clearing was on the very edge of the Greenwood borders, out of the way for even the farthest reaching patrols, and most definitely forbidden to one as esteemed as the Prince of the Greenwood. Crouching lower, Thranduil proceeded silently through the brush, knocking a bow in caution though the string remained loose.

Crystal blue eyes peered through the leaves to catch sight of a slight figure sitting casually atop one of the rock outcrops which bordered the end of the clearing which merged with mountainous terrain of the eastern lands. The stranger was hidden by a long gray cloak which gleamed silver in the moonlight, the cowl of which seemed mere seconds from slipping off, though it never did. Thranduil could tell from the size and sound of the person that it was a female, though that only confused him further. Why would a woman be wandering alone through the wilds at this hour? Let alone any person during a time of war. Especially when Sauron's forces were closing in on the Greenwood by the hour.

Suspicious, Thranduil began quietly circling around the clearing, hoping to find a position which would allow him to glimpse the woman's face. Sadly, it was not meant to be. The female figure suddenly ceased her song, and Thranduil could feel something in the air shift as her attention somehow focused on him. Impossible! How did she know that he was there?

His question was answered when the woman bolted from her the rock and fled into the shadows of the woods. Her footsteps seemed to make no sound nor leave any trace to follow, a skill attributed almost solely to elven scouts, further increasing his curiosity. He darted after the mysterious woman, but it seemed that one moment the moonlight was alighting upon her position, and in the next the shadows had swallowed her up. He slid to a stop, glancing around as the trail suddenly ended. He looked in every direction, but there were no footprints to follow or broken twigs to signal her path. It was as if the woman had never been there. Thranduil furrowed his brows in irritation, waving his hand as silver magic glowed at the tips of his fingers for the barest moment, sensing for any traces of foreign magic. Still, nothing.

{::..*..::}

The War of the Last Alliance progressed and not in the favor of the Light. Months turned into a year, and since that night he had discovered the stranger in the woods, Thranduil had not seen hide nor hair. He had only been granted enough time to visit his private retreat twice in that time however, and in that time the incident had been forgotten. Most of his days were filled with battle and fatigue. Tonight he was once again returning to the Greenwood from the warfront after a long and arduous deployment. Yet the elven cities did not calm his mind, for Sauron's forces were slowly but surely gaining ground, and the halls of the Greenwood were filled with sorrow and soft, worried murmurs. No longer did the gentle music of his kin float upon the breeze, no longer did laughter grace his ears. Thranduil would even swear that the sun no longer shone as brightly as it once had.

Feeling a sudden bout of claustrophobia, Thranduil threw on his cloak and grabbed a bow and dagger, fixing his weapons into place as he crept out of the city, avoiding the guards who would no doubt pester him about his safety. The shadows gradually lengthened as he made his way through the familiar woods, noting the changes in growth that had occurred during his time at war.

It took some time to reach the edge of the Greenwood, during which time the sun had sunk below the horizon and the only light granted were the stars and a strip of orange glow in the west. Thranduil walked slowly, finally allowing himself to relax. He looked upon each tree as an old friend, brushing their trunks to feel the pulse of earth magic which warmed his fingertips. The silence was welcoming and comfortable, not stiff and mournful as it had been in the elven cities. If he closed his eyes, Thranduil could almost convince himself that there was no war at all.

His illusion was shattered, however, when another magic briefly touched his senses. Thranduil's eyes flew open and he immediately ducked behind a thick oak, battle-hardened instincts already pulling an arrow upon his taut bowstring without conscious effort. Slowly he peered around the oak tree, his eyes widening at the sight of his mysterious guest from so long ago.

She sat in the middle of the clearing this time, the tall grass brushing her arms as a swarm of fireflies danced in the air around her. Once again a gray cloak obscured his sight of her face. She was humming softly, her tune slightly more cheerful than the last time he had heard her, as her hands lifted to cup several fireflies. She trapped the glowing bugs within her hands for a moment, their golden light trickling between her fingers and giving the illusion that she had caught a fallen star. With a soft laugh, the woman threw her hands open, and the fireflies burst forth like an explosion of sparks. She giggled again. Then the woman sighed, and all was quiet once more, save the sound of crickets in the night.

Thranduil was unsure of what action he should take in the face of such an unusual situation. Somehow, he wasn't surprised when the hood of the figure tilted, and he once again felt her attention shift to him. Her back faced the elven prince, yet though her body seemed relaxed, Thranduil's instincts told him that she was not as careless as she appeared. Her head slowly turned to the side, giving him a silhouette of the bottom half of her face: straight nose, lips frowning, a slender neck.

"It is you again." She spoke in a soft voice in the common tongue, and despite the night breeze carrying her voice, his elven hearing barely registered her words. Her voice was soft, and contained an ethereal chime that made her voice ring in his head even after her words had faded. He had heard about magic leaking into people's voices, but had never actually witnessed it before. How strange.

Thranduil was not surprised that she had sensed him yet again. Taking a breath, the prince straightened himself and stepped towards the edge of the clearing, though he remained in the shadow of the trees. The fireflies continued to flit about the clearing, casting a glow on her outline, though their light never revealed the cloaked woman.

"I am unarmed, elf." She stood slowly, her movements hidden by the cloak so that she appeared to glide into a standing position. When the stranger turned to face Thranduil, the fabric of the aforementioned cloak rippled like water in the starlight, and he absently wondered what its origins were, for even elven weavers would be pressed to create a garment of equal quality. The cowl cast the upper half of her face in shadow, though he could see her lips move as she spoke with a strange accent. "I do not wish to fight on this night."

Thranduil remained silent as he studied her, attempting to guess what her race was. This woman was tall enough to be any of the three races; tall for one of dwarven descent, yet short for a human or elven maid. Her slight build made Thranduil doubt that she was a dwarf, yet her accent was not one that he knew in either of the human or elven lands. Was she from beyond Rhûn? He had heard of wild and strange human tribes that traversed the eastern desert to lands in the far east. Still, why would she be traveling alone through the war-torn lands? Thranduil voiced his thoughts.

"Why are you here?" He cared not that his voice bordered on hostile, nor that his words had abandoned the manners that his mother had long ago instilled in him. Elven eyes searched to penetrate the black cast of her hood, but his efforts to reveal her face was fruitless. Thranduil pondered the possibility that there was a charm on her cloak to prevent her face from being seen beneath its cowl.

Her shoulders shrugged beneath the cloak, the light fabric rippling to exaggerate her movements. "It is quiet here. Peaceful. And up until your arrival, solitary."

The prince could understand what she was expressing. The clearing was indeed a tranquil sanctuary, the blades of the winter-grass soft as a blanket, the circle of rowan and sylvan trees sturdy and protective. At the eastern end the clearing became rocky and littered with tall outcrops which provided comfortable niches when one wished to remain out of sight. The tallest of the rocky mounds doubled as an ideal site to stargaze –not that one such as he would waste their time with such idealistic activities.

Thranduil's eyes shone bright blue despite him being in shadow as he regarded the stranger warily. "Where are you from?"

The woman sighed longingly, exuding a heavy sadness. "I am far from home, I am afraid."

"That does not answer the question."

She chuckled very softly. "That is all the answer you will be receiving."

Once again, the two were plunged into silence. The mysterious lady did not move or shift like a nervous person was prone to do, nor did Thranduil feel her attention wander from him. It felt like a small pressure on his mind, as if she was purposely conveying to him that she was watching his every move. Her relaxed posture was a stark contrast to Thranduil, whose body was tense, an arrow notched on his bow, ready to fire at a moment's notice. The quiet stretched on.

Suddenly the pressure on his mind eased, and Thranduil noticed the woman's cowl tilt as her head gave the barest tilt to the east, where the black sky was beginning to lighten to gray. He saw her lips move, and her soft voice chimed once again in a wraithlike whisper.

"Morning approaches."

Her body turned away from him and retreated into the shadows of the trees on the opposite side of the clearing. Her steps were silent and left no indents in the delicate winter grass, just as they did before. For a moment, Thranduil wondered if she was even a physical being, and not some spirit of the forest. Thranduil opened his mouth to call to the stranger again, to question her further on her mysterious presence, but it seemed that the shadows had absorbed her the moment that he blinked.

Thranduil huffed and turned back in the direction of the city. His mind whirled with questions, and his lips were drawn into a severe frown at his ignorant predicament. He did not know whether or not the mysterious woman was friend or foe, but he was convinced that there was more to her that met the eye. She was dangerous.

{::..*..::}

Thranduil returned every night for the next few days in an attempt to investigate the woman further, but she never appeared. He was never known for his patience, and in those last few days Thranduil was aware that he had been acting quite snappish and scowling near constantly. He was saved from his annoyance when Sauron once again made to penetrate their southern defenses. Called to war, Thranduil left the safety of the Greenwood to fight.

He did not know how long he was at the warfront, for elves did not measure time with the care that mortals did. Perhaps he was gone a year, perhaps it was five. To Thranduil, it was still far too long for him to be gone from his homeland, and he was glad to return. Before he had left the frontlines Sauron's forces had been pushed back some, though he inwardly doubted that it would be for long. Still, the lull in the conflict had presented him with the opportunity to return to the Greenwood, which he was eager to make use of.

Though the Greenwood was not nearly as depressing as it had been in his previous visit, Thranduil still felt the weight of the war in its halls. He missed the sound of elven minstrels playing their harps and lutes, and he missed the relaxed air that once permeated the library. Even here, away from the violence, he could see the way elven warriors jumped at moving shadows, dark bags under their eyes due to the nightmares that had followed them home. Slightly frustrated that even in his own home he was unable to escape the war, Thranduil brooded. A memory of the shadow woman flitted across his mind in his musings, and Thranduil found himself surprised that he had, once again, nearly forgotten the situation during his time at war.

When the sun began to set Thranduil set out for his sanctuary (though he supposed it was no longer solely his anymore). Darkness fell quickly, and soon he was navigating the woods by the light of the stars and a crescent moon. As he approached the clearing, a barely familiar tune touched upon his senses. His mystery woman was singing again, and he swiftly made his way to the edge of the clearing, where he observed her perched upon a rock outcrop facing the eastern horizon. Her back was to him, and the moon upon her ever-present cloak turned the fabric into liquid silver, her face still hidden beneath its cowl. It had been so long since the prince had enjoyed music, and so he relented to his desires and rested against a rowan tree, his ears perking as the woman increased the volume of her song and he recognized, in surprise, that she was speaking in Sindarin.

"~ Ngîl cennin firiel vi, Menel aduial,

Dúr, dúr i fuin, Naenol mae.

An i ú nathant, An i naun ului

A chuil, anann cuiannen, A meleth, perónen ~ "

As the last note faded into silence, Thranduil noticed that the hooded figure leaned her head in his direction. Figuring that she was already aware of his presence, Thranduil abandoned the safety of the woods for the first time in her presence and approached her position. Two light leaps and he easily reached the top of the rock that his mystery woman was situated upon. With an ease that he did not truly feel, Thranduil sat casually beside the cloaked woman, one leg stretched out while the other was bent at the knee so that he could rest his arm upon it.

"The Grace of the Undómiel." Thranduil was unable to contain the note of surprise in his voice. Did she speak the Elven language too? "Your Sindarin is very good."

The woman gave an amused hum. "Only when I sing it. I am afraid I have terrible pronunciation when the language is not to music."

Her voice seemed clearer tonight, the chiming tones somehow ringing with strength that he had never noticed that she was lacking. Thranduil turned to study her, now that they were so close. The shadow of her cowl still thwarted his efforts to see her face, however he was able to glean a few facts from what else he saw.

The position in which the woman sat allowed the cloak to fall open, revealing a reinforced leather jerkin and a light layer of chainmail beneath it. Leather gloves reached up to her elbows, and the metal knuckles upon her hands made his eyebrows rise. Beneath her jerkin were leather leggings, which he would guess were also reinforced. Upon her belt the woman made no effort to hide twin daggers that hung on her sides –It would seem that she no longer wandered around unarmed. Her boots reached her knees, plated with metal on the knees, shins, heel and toe. The metal plates were sharpened, meant to cause quite a lot of pain should one be foolish enough to engage her in a fist fight. Not for the first time did Thranduil wonder just who exactly this stranger was.

He felt her attention on him, and he calmly allowed his gaze to return to the black abyss that her cowl created. "You look dressed for battle, my lady." He commented.

"'My lady'?" She repeated, amused. "Since when are you so polite?"

Thranduil scoffed. "Since I am no longer paranoid that you will kill me."

The cloaked woman chuckled. "And how are you so sure, elf?"

Thranduil turned to her, one eyebrow lifted as he cast a disdainful look upon the stranger. "Obviously you would have killed me already."

The woman gave a bark of laughter before quieting and shaking her head. "I do believe that you are slightly insane, elf."

"And what are you?" Thranduil was quick to challenge, more confused than ever as to what her origins might be, since she had referred to him as 'elf' like any outsider would.

"Nothing that you are familiar with, I am sure." Her amused voice answered him. "Would you like to see?"

Instead of answering her aloud, Thranduil cast his companion a look that quietly conveyed his annoyance and agreement. Chuckling to herself, the woman shifted so that she and Thranduil were fully facing each other, sitting with her legs crossed and back straight. Slowly her arms rose as her hands took a hold of the edges of her hood. Thranduil let out an irritated huff at her dramatics, to which the woman decided to take pity on him and threw back her hood.

Thranduil blinked in surprise at the sight which greeted him. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting to lie beneath the hood, but it wasn't… this.

His companion was definitely humanoid in nature. Her skin was a warm tan, the color of rich honey with its golden undertones, once again reminding him of the mysterious tribes of the eastern desert. Most curious were the markings which disappeared beneath her clothes, though what little he could see appeared to be tattoos, graceful and arcing strokes of black ink which followed the lines of her musculature from her neck and down, even looping across her face like a crown that dripped onto her cheeks. Her features were elegant enough to be mistaken for elven, with a straight nose and high cheekbones, but her eyes were almond-shaped, furthering his theory that she was from distant lands, and her brown eyes seemed to spark with gold when the light hit them at the right angle. His confusion doubled when his attention drifted to the dark brown hair, pulled away from her face into a single braid down her back, and in doing so revealing her ears –and they were not human ears. But neither were they elven ears.

"You… you are not elven. But you are not human. What…" Thranduil trailed off.

The woman gave a barely noticeable smile as she lifted a hand to trail the outline of her ear with her index finger. The tips of her ears were pointed, far more so than the average elf. They were longer, more triangle-shaped, and to Thranduil's astonishment, had quite a few piercings. A few of which were connected together by thin chains, while others dangled small bells, feathers, and even a fang of some kind. She looked like spirit of the wild, not mortal at all but somehow other.

"Astonishing." Thranduil murmured.

The woman smirked, and now that he could see her entire face, Thranduil was struck by how expressive she was. Her eyes lit up with a feral glint, and the way her mouth curled languidly into a half-smile created the illusion that she had fangs (or was it an illusion?). The bridge of her nose crinkled in a mischievous manner, and the prince half expected her to sprout the wings of a forest sprite.

"Call me Lëo." She informed him.

"Leo?" Thranduil repeated.

To his amusement, the woman gave an audible huff. "No. Lëo. Leh-oh."

"Leh-oh." Thranduil repeated slowly. Said woman nodded approvingly before giving him an expectant look. Oh, right, his name. "I am Thranduil."

The prince waited for a sign of recognition at his name, after all, there were not many elven princes in the world, and they were literally on the borders of his kingdom. However there was not even a twitch of recognition as the woman attempted his name. Much to his delight, she seemed to think his name just as odd as he did hers, judging by the furrow in her brow. "Thuh. Thuh." She tested the syllables of his name. "Thuh-rahn-du-il."

The prince smirked as the woman – Lëo, her name was Lëo –struggled to wrap her lips around the pronunciation. Her foreign accent seemed only to hinder her attempts, for her tongue rolled the 'R' sound in a way Thranduil had never known possible, and she seemed to be having a hard time hitting the 'th' just right.

"Your name is funny." Lëo muttered as she gave up on her pronunciation.

Thranduil cocked an eyebrow at her, and the woman already knew that this would be an expression that would irritate her beyond measure. The elf princeling looked so damned arrogant, yet she knew that she would take great pleasure in knocking him down a few notches.

"My name is funny?" The prince scoffed, referring to her own correction of him.

They glared at each other for a moment before Lëo snorted at their immaturity. They were acting like children. How long had it been since the last time she had bantered with anyone like this? Far too long… Speaking of time… Lëo glanced sharply at the sky, sucking in a breath when she realized that the sky was quickly lightening to an overcast gray and the morning was far too progressed for her liking.

"I'm late!" she whispered urgently and she leapt to her feet and jumped off of the rocks. "I need to leave!"

Thranduil followed her, confused at her abrupt departure. "Wait!"

Lëo did not pause to hear him, but slowed down her gait to allow him to catch up, giving him an expectant glance that told him to speak quickly.

"Can we… I mean, when will you come back?" Thranduil inwardly winced at how needy that sounded, silently berating himself for not thinking before he spoke.

Lëo paused for a moment, staring at the waning crescent in the sky. "What if we met on the nights of the full moon?"

Thranduil nodded in agreement.

"Then it is settled. I look forward to our next meeting, Thrahn-du-il." She gave him a small, brief smile before continuing out of the clearing and disappearing into the darkened morning.

Thranduil did not bother looking to see if she left a trail, knowing better. He turned to head back into the Greenwood, feeling much more relaxed than he had in years. He did not know how long he would be granted reprieve from the war, but he was suddenly relieved to see that he had found an outlet to ease his mind. Going over their conversation in his head, Thranduil surprised himself as he began to chuckle, remembering the poor girl's horrid mispronunciation of his name.

It had been a long time since the prince had had anyone to call friend.

Thranduil had never been one to count time. Years turned into decades and decades turned into centuries all in the blink of an eye for immortal beings. Yet as he waited for the cycle of the moon to come to fruition, Thranduil could have sworn that time had slowed to a crawl. His father had always chided him about his lack of patience, a virtue which all immortals ought to learn.

The prince let out a sigh of relief when the day of the full moon dawned. He was sure that the other elves had noticed how tense he had been all day, practically pacing the halls until the sun had finally begun its descent. With that, Thranduil strode purposefully to his chambers and began dressing for a night in the forest.

He reached the clearing as the sun began to touch upon the horizon. When he saw that Lëo had yet to arrive, Thranduil scaled the rocky end of the clearing to sit upon a boulder, gazing into the west sky as the colors changed from gold to orange to pink. As the sun dipped beneath the tree line and the sky faded into violet, he felt the air shift.

"For once you are here before me, elf."

Thranduil turned to look in the direction that Lëo's voice had originated. She was again hidden by the shadow of her gray cloak, though she soon lowered it to meet his gaze. The prince was once again made uncomfortable by the golden glint of her eyes and her outlandish tattoos and ear piercings. There would always be something feral about her, something that was far from human or elven.

Lëo leapt lightly onto the rocks, making her way to his position. She dropped unceremoniously beside him, letting out a pent-up sigh as she relaxed her muscles. Thranduil studied her shamelessly, noting how she held herself cautiously and seemed to flinch at certain points. His eyes narrowed as he voiced his observations.

"You are hurt, my friend."

She froze, before glancing at him with an exasperated expression. "I should have known that you would spot that."

"So you do not deny it." Thranduil admonished. "What happened?"

Lëo shrugged. "These are not exactly peaceful times, Thranduil."

The prince allowed himself to be amused at her odd pronunciation of his name before he once again became serious. "Stop avoiding the question, Lëo. Was it Sauron's men?"

Her flinch was almost imperceptible if Thranduil had not been watching her closely. Lëo responded in a soft whisper, "Not here. Here we can escape the war. Please, Thranduil, let us not speak of the war here."

Reluctantly, the prince dropped the subject, though he frowned at the thought that his friend was hiding her wounds. Another thought occurred to him. "Do you have access to a healer, Lëo?"

Lëo huffed. "Honestly, stop mothering Thrahnduil. It will heal soon enough."

Thranduil's frown deepened but he felt that there would be no winning an argument with Lëo. "Fine. I'm horrible at healing magic anyway."

Smirking at him, Lëo playfully bumped his shoulder. "Yeah, I can tell you are not too bright."

"I just do not have the patience to learn it." Thranduil protested with a scowl. His companion only snickered at him, her eyes glinting with feral gold, and for a moment the prince thought he saw her pupils narrowed into slits, but then the moment had passed and he shook his head. He was seeing things, surely.

They lapsed into comfortable silence, sitting shoulder to shoulder and staring into the night sky. As the night dragged on, Lëo eventually raised her finger to point at a constellation hanging above the eastern sky.

"My people called that one Escalireth." Lëo murmured pointing to a cluster of stars in the eastern sky. "She was a dragon of wind and sun, queen of the desert. The legends say that she fought against the forces of darkness which threatened to plunge her desert kingdom into an age of ice. A dark witch had conjured monsters of ice to attack her kingdom, but Escalireth rose high in the sky and opened her great golden wings to welcome the sun. Gathering the rays of light into her, Escalireth angled her wings down upon her enemies and from her wings the sun itself burst forth. Her enemies were burned to ashes from the heat of the light, and the shadows of the witch's magic were stripped bare. The witch turned to flee but Escalireth cut her off. Gathering the last of the sun's power within her, Escalireth sent forth a ball of flame that consumed the witch and destroyed her dark magic. But the power of the sun came at a cost, and Escalireth owed payment to the sun. And so with her dying breath she rose into the air and flew into the sky, where the sun embraced its servant. Honored by her sacrifice, the sun made room for her in the night sky, so that Escalireth may always gaze down upon her kingdom from her final resting place."

As Lëo's voice drifted off, Thranduil stared at his companion. "Your people worship dragons?" He could not imagine such a thing, for the dragons of these lands were servants of Sauron. They were cruel and barbaric, with no regard for the lives of people.

To his surprise, Lëo laughed and shook her head. "We do not worship them, no. But they are respected creatures in my homeland. Escalireth gave her life for the people that lived under her protection in the desert." A saddened look crossed her face. "The people of your lands misunderstand dragons. They are not born of darkness. Just like any man, elf, or dwarf, dragons are capable of both great good and great evil."

Thranduil was silent at the thought. Perhaps the dragons of Lëo's homeland were kinder than those that he frequently saw on the battlefield fighting for Sauron. He turned his attention back to the constellation that his friend had pointed out.

"My people call that constellation Remmirath, the Netted Stars." Thranduil stated, remembering long forgotten lessons that he had been forced to learn as a young elfling. "There is no myth attached to them, however their rising in the summer signals a spiritual fasting, a time of reflection and peace. We meditate for the three weeks leading up to the summer solstice, whereupon we break the solemnity with a great festival full of music and dancing and feasting." Though as Thranduil described the festivities, he was saddened to realize that the elves had not celebrated any of their holidays since the beginning of the War of the Ring. There was too much sorrow in the land for such revelries.

"It sounds wonderful." Lëo smiled softly, the expression tempering her usually sharp features.

"It usually is." Thranduil admitted. "Though we have not celebrated in many years due to the war."

Lëo frowned at that and admonished the prince by playfully pinching the tip of his ear. Thranduil startled at the action, rubbing his ear with a scowl. "We do not speak of such gloomy thoughts here, remember?"

Thranduil rolled his eyes at his companion but relented. Oddly enough, Thranduil's thoughts drifted to his arranged marriage. As royalty, his father had chosen a young elleth of noble birth to be his future wife long before Thranduil had emerged from adolescence. He wondered if his future wife would understand him as much as this strange woman did. He had never felt so relaxed and comfortable in the presence of another person before. With Lëo, he was not a prince or a future king. He did not have to worry about manners or reputation with her, or worry that she might give away his secrets or start inane rumors in the courts. He was just Thranduil.

He felt her shoulder knock into his, pulling the elf out of his thoughts to see her leaning against him with a familiarity that few dared to display with the prince. Meeting his gaze, Lëo smirked at the elf and they drifted off into other subjects, conversing long into the night.

{::..*..::}

They continued the ritual for years to come. As the War of the Last Alliance progressed, their rendezvous became less frequent, as Thranduil was called to war with increasing regularity. The same was said for Lëo, who was also called away more often as time went on. When she was unable to meet Thranduil, she would send a small crow to the rock that they often sat on. At the sight of the black bird, the elf prince knew that his friend would not be joining him for a nightly conversation. And when Thranduil was called to the war front, he would leave a small message at their meeting place explaining how long he expected to be away.

Thranduil had lost track of how long he had been fighting. The Greenwood became nothing more than a short respite from a war which seemed unending, a place to eat and sleep in peace before plunging back into the conflict. War had hardened him, nursing a hatred for the darkness which left him feeling empty and angry. His only sanctuary in an ever-darkening world was the clearing where he would meet with Lëo and pretend, if only for a night, that the war did not exist.

"You are troubled, my dear prince."

Lëo interrupted his brooding, pulling the elf prince from the dark corner of his mind, his lips twitching with amusement at her teasing tone. He always marveled at her ability to calm him. When Lëo spoke, there seemed to be a charming quality which always put Thranduil at ease. Her voice was low, slightly gravelly, and thrummed with layered tones, like a small hum that rang in his ears even after the words left her mouth. He often wondered if there was some sort of magic that affected her speech.

"I am indeed." Thranduil answered her, staring into the starry sky. He did not need to look at her to know that those brown eyes of her would be flickering golden with concern. One's first impression of Lëo would be that she was carelessly blithe to the troubled world around her. But Thranduil had come to know better. Lëo was observant and sharp, but she hid her skills behind a façade of ignorance. And much to his frustration, she refused to burden him with any of her troubles.

At the moment, his friend was sitting behind him with her fingers intertwined in his pale gold hair. After years of pleading and persuading, Lëo had finally convinced Thranduil to allow her to braid his hair. She was currently attempting to wrestle his hair into the intricate braiding patterns that her people used, though the silkiness of his damnable hair meant that it was prone to slipping out of place. Lëo hummed a lilting tune as she wove Thranduil's hair into a crown around his forehead, before plaiting several braids across his scalp so that they took on the appearance of a net. She then pulled the rest of his hair into a low ponytail, brushing her fingers through the star-lit strands as she debated whether or not to plait that too.

Deciding against it, knowing that to go any further with his hair would be an insult to Thranduil's sense of masculinity, Lëo shifted to sit beside the elf prince and lean her head on his shoulder. It had taken years for the two to become comfortable with close contact. Both were accustomed to a lonely lifestyle, and had long been unused to the kinship which their reluctant friendship had provided. As Thranduil felt Lëo relaxing into him, he could feel his own muscles easing in response.

"Thranduil… my dear prince..." Lëo trailed off as she hesitated, staring down at her hands twisting together in her lap. He waited as his friend collected her thoughts, knowing that she liked to express herself very explicitly and only with the most appropriate wording. Her back pressed against his, he felt her take a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I… I will not be able to return after this night."

Thranduil froze. Well, he had certainly not been expecting that. Sharply, he turned his head to glance at Lëo, but her head still rested on his shoulder and he could not see her expression very well. His throat constricted with a foreign feeling as he pushed down his panic.

'Why are you leaving me?' He wanted to growl, but his voice was suddenly thick with emotion and he fought to hide how sharply it was affecting him. The only word he could manage was, "Why?"

He could feel Lëo's muscles tense as she struggled with her own regret. Lëo exhaled sharply, pulling away to curl into herself, still refusing to meet his eyes. She brought her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, resting her chin atop her knees to stare into the distance. She looked so much like a child, then, that Thranduil wondered how old she really was. Lëo seemed so much larger than she was with her intelligence and daring aura, but in the end, weren't they both just children? Youths thrown to the slaughter as lords waged their war?

"Something has happened and..." Lëo cleared her throat to keep her voice steady. "And I will not be returning. I… I can't. I am sorry, Thranduil."

Thranduil continued to stare at her, incredulous. What? Why? It was too soon! Too inconceivable! Was it the war? Did she find out about his title? Was she in danger? The decision was so sudden that Thranduil felt left out. Something else was behind this, but she clearly refused to say.

Then his sorrow turned into anger. "What do you mean you can't return?" He snapped.

To his increasing frustration, Lëo seemed unaffected by his wrath. She just sat still, avoiding his gaze.

He couldn't believe this. He would not accept this. The world was going up in flames around them and his only source of comfort was leaving him? No, he refused to just let her go as if he had never meant anything to her. What they had could not be thrown away and forgotten so easily!

"I'm sorry, Thranduil. I'm really -"

"Stop that." Thranduil hissed, narrowing his eyes in anger. "If you think I'll just let you walk away from me –"

"I don't have a choice!" Lëo exclaimed in an unusual surge of emotion. She froze at the outburst, surprised at her own outburst, so out of character for the usually calm and collected woman. Her eyes flashed gold as they clashed with the crystal blue of Thranduil's, and he was found himself confused by the pain in her expression.

"I… I should leave before this gets out of hand." Lëo muttered in a rush as she leapt down from the rock outcrop which they had always sat upon to stargaze.

Thranduil growled inwardly at the sight of her leaving him, forever. He raced after her, grabbing her arm and forcing her to a stop. "There is always a choice! I find it hard to imagine anyone forcing you to do anything against your will, Lëo . And yet you choose to leave me!"

Lëo whirled around, dark brown eyes flashing golden as her braids nearly smacked him in the face, tinkling softly from the beads and bells interwoven there. "Let go of me, now."

"Tell me why you must go." Thranduil demanded, looming over her, forcing her to look up into his face.

"I can't, dammit!" Lëo snarled, tugging fruitlessly at his grip, frustration marring her features. The way her lips curled and eyes narrowed gave her a feral look that once again reminded Thranduil that she was not quite human nor elven. "Why do you have to make this so hard, you pig-headed elf? Why couldn't you just leave with a simple goodbye? Why do you have to make this worse?!"

Thranduil froze at the sight of something glinting on her cheek, but Lëo quickly brushed it away. His chest was heavy and he felt as if the air around him was constricting. His anger was fading into a feeling far more alarming and Thranduil was hard-pressed to ignore it.

"Please don't leave, Lëo." He whispered, his voice hitching.

"Stop!" Lëo begged, squeezing her eyes shut and trying to turn away from him despite his hold on her arm. "I have to. I can't stay here, I can't."

"And why not?" Thranduil reigned in his temper and lowered his voice, urging his friend to listen to him. "Just tell me how I can help you!"

Somewhere along the line he figured out she was not exactly on the side of the Light, but that didn't matter to him. It was clear to him that Lëo had a good heart, even if she was afraid to show it. He had armies, he had men and weapons and magic. He could protect her from whatever darkness dogged her footsteps. He could give her a home, share his world with her, shelter her from the war.

"I can't tell you." Lëo whispered, staring at the ground and shaking her head. "I should never have come here, and I should never have returned when you began appearing. Now we are both in danger and I –"

"I'll protect you." Thranduil promised. "Whatever you are afraid of, I'll protect you."

Lëo stared at him in shock, as if such a notion had never occurred to her. Perhaps it was so. Perhaps no one had ever cared about her enough to protect her. Perhaps she had always been on her own.

With a fond but sad expression, Lëo shook her head. "You fool. You lovely fool." Lëo smiled bitterly. "Why do you think I am leaving? I am protecting you."

"I don't need your protection." Thranduil scoffed.

"Well you have it anyway. And you always will." Lëo replied, calming down. She had hoped not to part with her only friend on such strained terms but the endearing idiot was intent on keeping her around.

She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Thranduil, surprising the elven prince at the intimate gesture. After a beat, Thranduil returned her embrace. Lëo hugged him with all her strength, burying her face in his chest to memorize his scent. She would never forget him, this stubborn, arrogant elven prince that had somehow become her first and only friend. When she died, she would remember him – his scent, his eyes, his hair, his haughty laughter and annoyed scowls. And when she joined her comrades on the path of the stars, he would be there, welcoming her into oblivion.

Home.

"Don't forget me." Lëo whispered as she pulled away. Thranduil opened his mouth to respond, but a sudden spark of magic interrupted him. The elf fell forward but Lëo was already there to catch him, circling her arms around him and gently lowering him to the ground. She kissed his forehead as his eyes drooped shut and the darkness closed in.

"Thank you, my dear prince. For everything."

Thranduil was in a foul mood for a long time after he woke up alone in the clearing, the cheerful sunny morning greeting him like a slap to the face. It felt as if Lëo had stolen a piece of his soul and disappeared into the night, never to return it. He would never be whole again. Despite his anger, he returned to the clearing the next night, and every night after that for several weeks without fail, hoping that somehow, she had changed her mind.

She never came back.

Thranduil threw himself into his work, waking up early to attend drills and going to bed late after reading and writing reports or meeting with his generals. When he wasn't in the field or in his office he locked himself in his rooms, speaking only to servants and turning away any other visitors. He stopped attending parties and other royal functions unless his father ordered him to be there. He became unsociable, cold, and distant, rarely speaking to anyone unless it pertained to the war, was rude to the servants and terse with his family.

Eventually King Oropher confronted his son about his constant state of anger, after Thranduil had snapped at a visiting diplomat and humiliated a young elleth that had been flirting with him. His father had a sneaking suspicion the elven prince had had his heart broken.

Thranduil had sneered and laughed derisively at the very idea. His father had stopped pressing him for answers soon after.

Weeks turned into months and months turned into years.

The war waged on.

Time dulled his pain, and soon Thranduil was once again preoccupied by the War of the Last Alliance. The war seemed to be drawing to a close, for the dark forces were retreating and the armies of men were pressing into the borders of Mordor. However the more losses that Sauron's armies suffered the more dangerously they fought, desperate to stall retreat. Thranduil had had more near-death experiences in the past year than he had in centuries.

The years blurred together until he lost sense of time and suddenly, he found himself facing Sauron's armies in the final battle upon the plains of Dagorlad.

The Alliance had pushed into Mordor itself, and the armies of men, elves, and dwarves clashed against orcs, ogres, men, and all manner of dark creatures on Sauron's very doorstep. The human king and Lord Elrond were attempting to carve a path towards Sauron himself, their best warriors and knights alongside them, cutting down any soldier of darkness who dared attack their kings.

A roar thundered overhead as a great black dragon soared above the chaos. Thranduil watched in awe and horror as the black plates upon its breast began to glow, its scales glowing orange at their edges before a great plume of fire burst forth from his maw. The smell of ash and burnt flesh rose in the air as the flames collided with the earth like a meteor, raining down upon the soldiers below, scorching both sides of the conflict. Thranduil sneered at the monster as it circled high in the air, clearly without any regard for any of the soldiers below, whether they fought for the Light or the Darkness.

His momentary distraction nearly cost him his life as a company of orcs bore down upon him. Ducking out of the way, Thranduil whirled around as his twin blades leapt into his hands, their familiar weight strengthening his bravado. He called for his fellows to come to his aid, and soon Thranduil and a company of elves and men were engaged in an age-old fight with the orcs.

A shadow loomed over them.

"Everybody scatter!" A human soldier cried out, and men, elves, dwarves and even the orcs were all skittering about like ants to avoid the fireball that came crashing down from the sky as another dragon, this one a crimson red like the blood which soaked the battlefield, soared overhead. Thranduil was shocked to hear a deep, rumbling laughter, and snapped his head up to see that, yes, it was the beast from which the sound came. The dragon was laughing with dark malice, its golden eyes filled with bloodlust and excitement, its grin revealing fangs as long as a greatsword yet sharper still.

A piercing shriek split the air as a giant eagle slammed into the dragon, digging its talons into the side of the beast, hot blood splattering the soldiers below. The dragon roared and barrel-rolled, and then the two beasts were off, chasing each other through the sky as fire and feathers filled the air, joining the wails of men burning alive. Thranduil glanced down with indifference to an orc soldier rolling on the ground as it tried to put out the flames of a dragon that was supposed to have been its ally. The elf's face remained impassive as he cut the orc's head off.

He turned to leap back into the conflict, sparks flying as his swords clashed with orc steel. A cry from the humans made him pause to glance up from his latest kill, only to see that the human king Elendil had been cornered by Sauron. Glancing from side to side, Thranduil made eye contact with his kinsmen, nodding to each other in agreement. Then he and several other elves were leaping above the fray, stepping across orc helms and human shields as they raced to rescue the human king. Another dragon swooped through the sky, ridden by a Nazgûl of all things.

A great screeching ripped through the air, and a large shadow was quickly growing bigger and darker on the ground before them. Thranduil and his men slid to a stop before quickly backtracking as a dragon fell from the sky, separating them from the fallen human king. A dark green dragon slammed into the ground with such force that the earth shook and caved beneath it, creating a small crater. Blood splattered across the ground, alerting Thranduil to the dragon's imminent death.

The creature roared in anger and pain as it flapped its one remaining wing, the other one somehow torn from its socket, leaving a large hole where Thranduil could see shards of bone and limp flesh bleeding profusely. The dragon's only other wing was shredded beyond repair, leaving it with only its hind legs. That did not mean that the beast was done, however, for it began to snap and wildly breathe fire as the armies of light attempted to descend upon it. However it was a losing battle, and Thranduil felt momentary pity as a human leapt onto the creature's head and began gauging its eye out. The dragon wailed in a keening scream which no creature should have been able to produce, and the sound haunted all the men who were present to hear it. Finally the human atop the creature seemed to stab deep enough to penetrate to the dragon's brain, and as the great head of the beast fell, Thranduil felt a shiver go through him at the sight of its remaining golden eye losing its luster.

The sound of the dying dragon seemed to attract the other dragons' attentions. Orc and men alike cried warnings as two more of the winged beasts approached, breathing flame down upon the men who had dared killed one of their own. The black dragon Thranduil had seen before roared as it landed beside its fallen brethren, and Thranduil shuddered when he realized that the sound was less of a raging beast, but reminiscent to that of a mourning cry.

"Move!" Someone screamed, and Thranduil began running away as the black dragon let out an anguished snarl and began destroying anyone and everything in its path. He could feel the blast of heat on his back as a plume of fire shot out from the dragon, though thankfully Thranduil had managed to avoid the flames.

"Prince Thranduil!" An elf cried, approaching him nearly out of breath. "Quickly! To the Black Gates, my lord! The other kings have gathered there to face Sauron!"

Thranduil nodded and began to follow his kinsman through the fray of battle. The dragon behind them did not give chase, but continued to shake the earth with its roars. He was swift to join the elven armies and lords as their company began the final push against Sauron himself.

"The king! The dark lord has him! Quickly men!" Isildur encouraged the human soldiers as not far off, Sauron was advancing upon Elendil's company. And with that the armies of the light surged forward.

Sauron was a powerful enemy. He was a descendent of the Valar, with all the power of a divine being. Centuries old and wizened by many a war, the fallen Maia could fight by both sword and magic, and would not fall easily. Men, elves, dwarves and wizard threw themselves at him, but Sauron seemed to effortlessly toss them aside like rag dolls. Thranduil felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see his father beside him.

Oropher smirked at his son, and nodding with a silent agreement, the two elven lords leapt at their enemy. They moved in sync, both familiar with each other's fighting style. They were swift and dexterous, the best warriors that the elven kind had to offered. Still, Sauron batted their swords away like it was child's play. With a dark laugh the fallen Maia swept his arm out with black magic, and Oropher was sent reeling away. Before the elven king could recover, Sauron's arm shot out and grabbed Thranduil by the neck, hoisting the young elf high into the air. Thranduil choked as black magic began to seep into his throat and lungs, Sauron's touch burning his skin like cold fire. He struggled to find purchase, but Sauron was twice as large as any humanoid, and so even a tall elf like Thranduil was unable to even kick out at the dark lord or find any purchase.

"Thranduil!" Oropher called out, freezing at the sight of Sauron holding his son's life in his hands, quite literally.

"So eager to die, little elfling." Sauron drawled darkly. "I hear that children are quite precious to your kind. To lose one's offspring is a crippling tragedy." Sauron squeezed his hand around Thranduil's neck even tighter, leaving the prince gasping for air. "If I kill you, little elf, will it break your father?"

"No!"

Oropher yelled, but he was not the only one.

Sauron froze as a shadow swept over them and suddenly he was knocked back wards by a great gust of wind. The surprise attack made Sauron loosen his death grip on Thranduil, and the elf prince rolled free. Thranduil stumbled as he attempted to stand up, and was surprised to see who helped him gain his bearing.

A scaled tail was wrapped gently around his middle, supporting him as he regained his balance. Oropher was already racing to his side, grabbing Thranduil's arm and slinging it over his shoulders so that his son could lean on him. Then the elven king signaled his guards to surround them while he looked over his son for any injuries.

Thranduil stared at the dragon that had rescued him. He had never been so awed by a creature. It was… It was beautiful. The dragon was slimmer than the others he had seen, body sleek but muscled, built for speed and agility rather than brute strength. The creature's scales were a light purple, almost lilac, its hide marred by battle wounds still weeping blood. And when it opened its wings, Thranduil and Oropher were dazzled at the sight. The thin leathery material stretched between the bone structures was iridescent, reflecting every color imaginable as the light shimmered across its surface. And when the dragon turned to regard him with bright golden eyes, Thranduil was hit by a wave of familiarity.

The dragon turned away from the two elven lords and placed its body between them, crouching in a predatory manner, its tail curling up to bare a sharpened point that could easily pierce steel.

"You will not touch him."

Again Thranduil was struck by how familiar the voice sounded, not as dark as other dragon voices that he had heard, but still deep and chiming, ringing with a musical quality. Oropher gave his son a quizzical glance, but Thranduil was just as confused as he was.

"You pathetic lizard!" A dangerous voice growled as Sauron stood up. "You would dare stand against your master?!"

"Dragons do not have masters." The dragon snarled. "And it is time we remembered that!"

She was a female, Thranduil realized from the dragon's voice, though it was only discernible by the fact that her voice was less gravelly than the black dragon that had spoken earlier that day.

"Thranduil," Oropher murmured to his son. "What is the meaning of this? Do you know the beast?"

"I don't know. The voice is familiar but… I am quite sure I have never met a dragon before." Though Thranduil began to have his doubts as memories of a mysterious girl with golden eyes appeared before his mind's eye, her strange accent and outlandish appearance. But she had still been humanoid, making Thranduil doubt his suspicions.

A roar shook the air around them, and Thranduil's head snapped up to see Sauron engaging the dragoness in battle. Fire billowed out from her powerful jaws and Sauron countered it with a warding spell. He leapt into the air and slammed his mace against the side of the dragon's face, leaving multiple gashes down on its cheek, just under the eye. The dragoness snarled and swiped with razor-sharp claws at the fallen Maia, sending Sauron flying into a group of orcs. Enraged, the Maia jumped back to his feet and sent a blast of dark magic towards the dragon, only for the creature to block it with another plume of fire.

"Why is it not taking flight?" Oropher muttered, his eyes glued upon the fight.

Thranduil continued to wrack his mind for a clue about any connection between him and the dragoness. He was broken from his reverie when the dragoness roared in agony as Sauron's magic destroyed her right wing, decimating the fabric of the membrane until all that remained was the structure of the wing, her flesh hanging off of it like tattered cloth. Blood and bits of flesh coated the ground around the blast, making Thranduil nauseous. Still, the dragoness stood her ground.

"She… She is keeping herself between us and Sauron." Thranduil realized with a gut-wrenching feeling.

"What?" Oropher exclaimed, his gaze whipping to stare at the lilac-colored dragoness fighting against an equally monstrous being who, by all definitions, was equivalent to a god.

Sauron raised a steel-clawed hand and sent forth a blast of black magic. The dragoness opened her mouth and shot forth not fire, but light magic, much to the astonishment of the elves around them. No one knew that dragons could harness magic like that!

But it was not enough. The dragoness was bleeding out from several serious injuries, and she had already lost one limb, forced to lean her weight on her left wing to ease the pain of the destroyed right wing.

As their magic clashed, the dragoness' tailed curled upwards and shot towards Sauron, intent of impaling him. But the dark lord leapt out of the way of both her magical blast and the tail, and in the same movement drew his sword and hacked off the dragon's tail. The dragoness let out a screech in pain, rearing back and swiping her left claws in an attempt to force Sauron away from her. This caused her to accidentally place weight on her right limb and the dragon screamed as the reduced ability of the wing caused her to stumble. Sauron rounded on the dragon and continued blasting her with black magic, forcing her to stagger further away from the elves.

Suddenly Oropher seemed to realize what the dark lord was trying to do, as he hauled his son up and yelled at the guards to be ready to charge. Thranduil attempted to protest but his father had pushed him out of the immediate path of Sauron and Thranduil was left to watch as Oropher and his guards rushed Sauron. The dark lord scoffed at their approach and held up his hand, black energy swirling around his fingers. Thranduil's eyes widened as a wave of dark magic rose up around them and paralyzed the elven warriors. Sauron laughed malevolently as he strode forward and easily beheaded all of them, and then taking a moment to stab Oropher in through the chest and slitting the elven king's neck.

"Ada!" Thranduil gasped, his voice strangled.

Sauron turned to regard the young elf, laughing darkly. "And now it is your turn, little elf."

Thranduil felt cold with fear, his mind screaming at him to jump out of the way, but as he stumbled back Sauron cast a curse to paralyze him in place. The fallen Maia conjured a wall of black power, dark as the void and writhing with wraith-like shapes that seemed to silently scream.

And then Sauron was sending forth the void-magic, and it was all Thranduil could do to close his eyes and accept his death. But it never came.

A high, keening wail tore through the sound of war, shaking the ground and making the air quiver. Every living being in the area froze at the sound, for the cry did not stop, but only seemed to scale higher in pitch until it was grating on the ears of every human, elf, dwarf and orc. Thranduil winced, covering his ears before he realized that could move again.

At the realization his hands dropped limply to the side and he stared at the fallen dragoness. She had leapt in front of the dark curse Sauron had meant for them. The dragon writhed on the ground as black goo began to ooze from her wounds, her nostrils, her ears, and most alarmingly, her eyes. Her right limb was limp, but her left clawed at her chest as if there was something eating her from the inside out.

And the screams.

The screams.

"Make it stop!" One of the warriors near Thranduil begged, covering his ears and squeezing his eyes shut, a young human boy that looked at once terrified and angry.

The whole valley could hear the howling of the tortured dragoness. A glance to the sky showed that the remaining dragons had stopped their terrorizing and now hovered just out of range, gazing intently at their fallen sister. Thranduil wondered what they felt.

But above the screams of the dragoness Thranduil could hear the laughter of Sauron as he walked away, leaving the dragon to die a slow and painful death.

Thranduil ducked away from the remaining elven soldiers, ignoring their protests as he raced to the dragon's side. He hesitated upon reaching her head, gazing down the length of the dragon's body to see a plethora of cuts and gashes, jagged wounds oozing with poisonous black substance. The dragoness was taking labored breaths, and with each exhale she coughed up blood and black toxin. All that remained of her right wing was skin and bone, looking skeletal without the leathery membrane stretched between the digits. The stump where her tail had once been left a lake of crimson in its place, staining the ground beneath her.

"Why?" Thranduil asked the dragoness.

She opened one large eye, the other swollen shut after being hit with Sauron's mace. Thranduil looked into the golden depths, the pupils a vertical slit like a feline. The pain in her expression was momentarily eased by a glint of amusement.

"Apologies…my dear… prince" the dragon rumbled, hacking up blood stained with black, the fluids dribbling down the side of her mouth. "I had hoped –" she coughed, her lungs rasping –"you would not… see this…"

Another seizure wracked her body, and Thranduil stared at the thrashing dragoness as an alarming realization dawned on him. He hesitated to ask, if only that he could deny the truth for a little longer.

"Lëo?" He breathed in horror.

They were interrupted as a powerful shockwave echoed throughout the valley. The forces of darkness froze, before the armies of Sauron suddenly turned and began running away. A cheer rose up at the far end of the valley and gradually made its way throughout the rest of the free armies. But Thranduil paid no heed and stared down at the fallen dragoness, his chest twisting and gut wrenching and for some reason, he felt like he was the one dying.

"Lëo…" His entire body shuddered as he fell to his knees, his burning eyes locked with her own great golden orb. "Please, don't…"

"Don't cry." Lëo crooned, her gravelly voice trilled. Her body continued to convulse from the black magical poison, but Thranduil could see that her body was tired, as the seizures became less frequent, more lethargic. "You'll ruin that pretty face."

The dragoness hacked up more blood and black ooze as she wheezed a laugh. Thranduil couldn't help a small smile at her teasing, even as more black toxin leaked from Lëo's mouth and ears, as well as the edges of her eyes, like poisonous tears.

"Don't leave me." Thranduil shamelessly begged, his voice rasping and hitching, tears catching on his eyelashes as he thought about the death of his mother, then his father, and now… her. "I don't want to be alone!"

Lëo hummed, and with her dragon's vocals it sounded like a rumble, yet it still held the chiming quality that her voice always did. "I am truly sorry –" she convulsed again, this time bile joined the mixture of blood and poison which dribbled slowly from her lips. " Thrahn…du..il…"

Her golden eye regarded him warmly, before closing slowly. The great body of the dragoness heaved and shuddered, before going still.

"Lëo?" For a moment Thranduil actually felt his heart stop. Then it was beating faster than ever before, thundering in his ears as he shot forward, placing his hands on the scaled cheek of the dragoness, trying to shake her awake.

"Lëo! Lëo please! LËO!"

A shadow loomed over them, and distantly Thranduil registered the cries of soldiers and the sound of bowstrings twanging. He closed his eyes for a moment, ignoring the commotion, before turning away to look up into the sky.

Another dragon hovered just out of bowshot from the men, golden eyes staring intently down at the dead dragon beneath his hands.

Thranduil stood, turning to his men. "Stand down! That is an order!"

The men stared at him as if he had gone mad – and perhaps he had – but reluctantly complied with his words. When the dragon saw that it was not in danger of being attacked, it circled slowly before landing softly next to the still form of Lëo. The dragon was a dark violet, nearly black if it weren't for the purple glint its scales gave off in the light.

The new dragon arced its neck gracefully as it studied Lëo's form. Then its large golden eyes turned upon the elven prince, studying his blood-encrusted armor and tear-streaked face.

"Why do you protect the body of my sister?" A deep female voice rumbled from within the violet dragon.

Thranduil met her golden gaze with weary eyes, heavy with loss and sadness. "Lëo… was my friend." He swallowed thickly. "My dear… dear friend."

The dragoness' eyes widened in surprise, though nothing else betrayed her bewilderment. Then they softened, regarding the young elf sadly. "Her full name was Lëonora." The dragoness snorted in sad fondness. "And she was always too kind for her own good."

Thranduil turned to look upon his friend in her true form, the greatest of beasts and most powerful of magic. Here too, she was beautiful, even despite the wounds which mangled her body. He could imagine the power of her wings, her stream-lined body faster than the winds. Her golden eyes full of intelligence and curiosity, sparking with sharp wit. And he knew, deep down, that there would never be another like her in the world again.

"Lëonora…" Thranduil whispered. Yes, the name fit her.

The violet dragoness gave a heavy sigh and ducked her head to scoop Lëo's body onto her shoulders. She shifted and shrugged a couple times to make sure that the body was balanced so that she could fly without dropping the dragon's body. Then the dragoness turned to regard the strange elfling that had befriended a dragon of all things.

"Where will you take her?" Thranduil asked softly.

"Somewhere far from here." The dragoness replied. "Men will desecrate the bodies of dragons for trophies or magical artifacts. It takes a great deal of effort to hide our own from such treasure hunters."

Thranduil grew angered at the thought of grave robbers tearing apart Lëo's body for her teeth and bones and scales. The violet dragon watched his emotions flash across his face with intrigue, once again surprised at the bond between a dragon and elf. Her long neck arced as she turned to grip one of Lëo's scales and tore it loose from the dragon's body.

Thranduil was interrupted from his thoughts when something was pushed into his hands. He stared at the lilac dragon scale in his hands, shimmering with pale iridescence as he tilted it in the light. His emotions were so haywire at this point that he wasn't sure whether it made him happy or sad.

"She would want you to have this." The violet dragon told him, her tone gentle despite her gruff attitude.

"Th-thank you." Thranduil muttered, still staring at the dragon scale to avoid looking at the limp body of Lëo, one eye swollen shut and the other half-open, no longer gold and staring at everything and nothing.

The violet dragoness hummed in response before he heard her giant wings snapping wide. Thranduil backed away as the dragoness began beating the air with powerful strokes, rising slowly into the air before wheeling around and flying east.

Thranduil watched them until they were but a speck in the distance, clutching the dragon scale to his chest. Then he glanced down at the scale, tilting it so that the sunlight caused it to shimmer like a pastel rainbow, stroking the surprisingly soft surface with his bloodied fingertips. His world felt hollow now, his chest empty. The echoes of her dying breath haunted his ears, rattling and gasping for air. And he had been helpless to comfort her. Lëo was gone, his Ada was gone… and how many elven soldiers had they lost in this war? Too many to count. Their deaths weighed heavily upon his mind, and Thranduil could only ache with their absence.

"Lord Thranduil!" An elven soldier approached their silent lord warily. "Those dragons… were you harmed?"

Thranduil took a deep breath and straightened himself, slipping the dragon scale into his breastplate so that it lay against his heart. Then he turned to face the elven messenger, carefully keeping his face stoic despite the tear tracks which stained his cheeks.

"I am fine." He assured his soldier. "Gather my father's body, as well as that of any other elf you can find. We will take them back to the elven cities for burial."

The elf bowed. "Yes, my king."

Thranduil froze as the elf hurried away and began ordering the rest of the elven warriors to start retrieving the bodies of their fallen brethren.

His father was dead.

He would be king, now.

He glanced over to where Oropher's body was being placed in a cart and covered with a silken sheet.

"I'm not ready for this, Ada." Thranduil whispered, staring at the still body.

But Fate had never been a kind mistress.