All the pain and worry of just moments before had disappeared in a matter of seconds. The grievous tears had given place to helpless cries, drawn swords and readied bows.
And suddenly, there was fire.
A great serpent, slender and wingless, towering above freshly burnt trees on its great pedestal of blackened stone. No one had expected a dragon.
Before the infuriated beast, many had fled to safety, but there were the ones who chose to fight. Thranduil was one of them. If there wasn’t someone to drive the dragon away, it would certainly chase them all to death, and he could not bear any more losses. Sword in hand, there was no courage at all, and it was the desperate desire of living that drove him to battle.
Even now he could still hear it; indistinct sounds of metal, screams and roars. He still could see his fallen comrades, misshapen bodies from the infernal flames. And he could not take it off his mind. A cut off scale and his sword pierced through reptilian skin. A pained screech and hell descended upon him. The heat was unbearable, and although he manage to escape a fatal assault, Thranduil felt his armor melting, burning his skin further. He could not see anymore, and he barely felt it when his body hit the ground.
Trapped in a limbo, he felt nothing but numbness. Thranduil knew not if the battle had come to an end, or how many were dead. Hell, he knew not even if himself was truly alive. What about his father? Was he still alive or had he fallen too? He could not tell.
Smoothly, song filled his ears. A well known ditty of the Doriathrim, one of his favorites. Focusing on it, he slowly returned to reality. He was alive, and badly hurt, it seemed. His good eye fluttered open, slowly, painfully, and he spotted Silevren. He wanted to speak, to ask about his father, about the others, but he could not to, he was helpless. So instead, he tried to turn his head, and a cry escaped his throat.
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