When a darkness spreads across Mirkwood, a mighty elven kingdom is robbed from its bliss. A once vibrant people hides behind the walls of their kingdom and the forest grew into a bleak and uneasy place.
The other realms suspected Thranduil of being...
The huge monster raised its blue head and growled. Its low bass shook the ground beneath his feet. That sound would stay with Thranduil for a long time.
The beast's grey-brown eyes reminded him of a stark sky on a cold, bitter winter night and he shivered. Breathing hurt, maybe it was because he had travelled an incredibly long distance, or maybe it was the fear for his wife's life that seemed to bother in his lungs. And perhaps his own too.
He clamped his hand even tighter around the cold iron of his sword. A single breath rolled over his lips before he threw himself into battle.
With each blow of his sword on the rubbery scales, an overwhelming wave of tension sliddered through his body. Whether the blood on the cave floor belonged to him or the ferocious dragon eluded him.
The dragon's mouth opened and blue fire flowed through the cave. The searing heat could be felt from a distance and Thranduil had to squeeze his eyes shut lest his vision be taken away from him.
When the dragon lowered its head, Thranduil leapt in front of him, as immediately afterwards he was pursued by a sea of fire that engulfed the cave. Taking on a fire-breathing monster alone was an impossible task, but the King did not give up. Every second he lost hope, he thought of his wife and then raised his sword again.
The beast manoeuvred between the rocky pillars with ease. With a clattering noise, its tail whipped against the pillars, so that the rock pieces flew around Thranduil's ears and he had to take cover.
Panting, he looked past the rock at the dragon. The monster seemed to be almost waiting for him and made absolutely no move to continue the fight itself. Challengingly, it flicked its tail on the ground, causing the cave to rumble. Thranduil could be mistaken, but it seemed the beast was grinning at him.
Thranduil took a deep breath and jumped out from behind the rock. He raised his sword high above his head, but the moment he wanted to storm towards the dragon, something made his heart stop. Not far away from him, he saw a shadow on the floor of the cave, flickering in the light the dragon. An arm protruded from a sleeve.
Thranduil stiffened, but the trace of life was gone by the time the dragon closed its mouth. He should have known better than to avert his eyes from the huge beast.
His reflexes were not fast enough.
The fire that the horrifying beast spewed from its mouth hit Thranduil like a sloppy whipping in the face. Thranduil bellowed. The heat on his face resonated through his body as his skin melted under the destructive fire. He clawed at his face, jaws clenching together to take away any of the pain. Even this could not allow him to break his concentration, otherwise it meant his death.
The image of the lifeless arm shot through his mind and gave him the strength to stand up. With all his energy, he stormed towards the beast, half-blinded and fighting the pain. Flames surrounded him on all sides, but the king did not let himself be thrown off guard. The next moment the beast stretched its neck to breathe its fire into the world, the sharp blade slid along its throat and the beast clenched its mouth. Glossy blood graced the silver material like an oil painting.
Blood gushed onto the dark cave wall as the ponderous head sank down into the dust. Cracks peaked out from under its scales. The Frostdrake shrieked, before Thranduil climbed nimbly onto its head and drilled his sword through its skull. He put his entire weight into it until he could hear the bone cracking beneath him and the screeching stopped.
Time passed.
The grooves in the rocky ground now resembled rivers of blood.
Thranduil stood impassively, afraid that any movement would bring the beast back to life. The fact that he had won did not yet dawn on him, nor did it feel that way. All he did feel was the pain on his face.
Thranduil pulled his hands back from the sword, blood still clinging to the hilt. And let himself slide off the beast. His legs trembled as his soles touched the ground. In the silence, only his panting could be heard, which frightened him.
He stumbled to the back of the cave, where he had seen the arm lying. His eyes had deceived him. The king sank through his knees and picked up the torn piece of cloth from the ground. Tears stung his eyes. His hands recognised the soft fabric he had previously felt around his wife's waist. Beneath it was the necklace he knew so well.
He balled his fist and pressed the fabric against his forehead as his sobs filled the cave with grief. He did not feel the salty tears sliding down the open wound. He did not feel his tired feet and aching muscles, the bruises forming on his skin. Nothing could match the pain his heart caused when it broke.
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