"What do ya mean, ya left 'im there???" Gloin roared. "He can't fight a dragon alone!"

Kalan sputtered, trying to come up with an answer. "What difference would it make whether I was there or not?? Hmm??"

Gloin slammed a fist on the stone table that the two were sitting at. "Moral support lad! I'm sure the boy is scared out of his wits right about now!"

Just then a loud roar shook the cavern, causing several of the nearby dwarves to run to cover.

"That's not good! Not good at all!" Kalan cried, springing to his feet. "I shouldn't have left 'im!"

Gloin rose and grabbed Kalan by the shoulder. "Too late lad, there's nothin' we can do!"

A few more roars echoed through the halls, each one slightly less intense than the other. Eventually they stopped completely, and after a few moment of terrified silence, the dwarves carried about on their business.

"That lad better not be dead..." Kalan muttered, pulling his long beard over his face in shame.

"I'm sure he's not," Gloin said with more reassurance than he felt. "I've traveled with him for a while now, and he's not one to die so easily."

Kalan didn't seem convinced and quickly walked away. Gloin put his head in his hands, and fear began to fill his heart. What if Gerithor is dead? He's what kept our motley group together for as long as it has been... What'll become of it?

========================================

Meanwhile, Edhael sat perched atop a destroyed pillar in another nearby cavern, strumming his lute casually as he watched the goings on in the cavern, blissfully unaware of what had happened in the other cavern:

Gil-galad nan Edhelchír

dim linnar i thelegain:

Im Belegaer a Hithaeglir

Aran ardh vethed vain a lain.

Gariel maegech Gil-galad,

Thôl palan-gennen, ann-vegil;

A giliath arnoediad

Tann thann dîn be genedril.

Dan io-anann os si gwannant

A mas, ú-bedir ithronath;

An gîl dîn na-dúath di-dhant,

vi Mordor, ennas caeda gwath.

Dan io-anann os si gwannant

A mas, ú-bedir ithronath;

An gîl dîn na-dúath di-dhant,

vi Mordor, ennas caeda gwath.

Edhael played a few more melancholy notes before stopping. By now every refugee and soldier had stopped to listen to his fair voice. Most did not understand the words, nor what it meant, but elven music had a way of reaching even the coldest heart.

"That's a fine tune," one of the rangers, Belon, said. He seemed lost in thought, as if imagining the fall of Gil-galad, the hero of the song.

"It is, my good ranger," Edhael replied. "A bit gloomy for my tastes, though. Say, I wonder when Gerithor will return. He's been gone for quite some time now."

As if on cue a loud clang sounded, and Gerithor emerged from a drainage pipe along the wall. Several of the nearby dwarves leapt back in fright, and the rest looked at the disheveled ranger with a mixture of surprise and disgust. He was covered in a muddy looking substance, and he was leaning awkwardly to one side.

Kalan, who had just entered the room, looked over at the ranger wide-eyed. "Laddie! There ya are!"

"Gerithor!" Edhael exclaimed, bounding over to the ranger and helping him limp across the room. "We were beginning to suspect the worst!"

Gerithor let out a short laugh. "Well, I have to admit what just happened was almost the worst that could've happened."

Edhael looked over the ranger, scrunching his nose up at the smell. "I can see that there's a story behind this... Do tell!"

=================================

And so Gerithor told them of his strange adventure through the caverns beneath the throne room, as well as the unusual vision that had come to him.

"Tis a strange vision indeed," Edhael said after a moment of contemplation. "This woman... Describe her in more detail."

"She was regal... Like a queen from a time long past," Gerithor said, struggling to remember the now-fading image of her. "She wore white, and her hair was as bright as fine starlight. And now that I recall..." He lifted one of his hands and looked at his ring finger for a lingering moment. "She wore a ring upon her finger. It too was bright. She was beautiful beyond all description, but somehow she seemed dangerous."

Gloin, who had arrived sometime during the telling of the story, stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Sounds like quite a woman," he said. "Perhaps it was the witch we've been hearing so much about."

At this Kalan raised an eyebrow. "Witch? What witch?"

Gerithor let out a sigh. "That's better saved for a time when we can discuss the whole situation in more depth. For now I feel that the most relevant part is what she said in the vision."

"Not to trust your visions?" Edhael replied. "Why would our enemy give us such a warning?"

"That is a fair point," Gerithor said. "Perhaps we have an unknown ally then."

"What of the words uttered at the beginning of your vision?" Edhael asked. "They seemed relevant."

"They seemed hopeless and dark words to me," Gerithor shrugged. "Spoken by an evil being."

"But let us examine them more carefully," The elf said. "After all, I am quite good with words from time to time..."

Gerithor nodded halfheartedly. "Very well then. What do you think they mean?"

"Well, the beginning speaks of a dark tower and a 'flaming wheel'. That much is obvious. The voice was speaking of the Eye of Sauron and his dark tower, Barad-dur. The next lines seem to go along with that... Wails, laments, all sorts of dreadful things that follow in the Dark One's wake. 'Fell beasts' could be just about any of his servants. So that much is quite clear to me. Sort of like poetic introduction to the important part." The elf crossed his arms expectantly, as if waiting for the others to congratulate him on his good work.

"...Well? What of the important part! Spit it out lad!" Kalan exclaimed.

Edhael sputtered before recovering his confidence.

"Well... It says 'do not fear the red eye's glare,' which I think is just going to say that we shouldn't be afraid of the enemy. We need to have courage," Edhael said. "As for the last line, that is the most important one. 'The winged one shall fall to one man's prayer.' The 'winged one' would naturally be the rather oversized lizard in the throne room. As for 'one man's prayer...' Perhaps it means that you're supposed to beseech the beast to leave?"

Gloin let out a snort, and Kalan laughed loudly. "Aye, after the beast bargin' into our mountain and killin' our folk, just ask and he'll leave! It's that easy! Not bloody likely!"

To the surprise of all, Gerithor seemed to agree with the elf. "Perhaps he's right. Defeating a dragon in battle would be impossible... Especially one of Drogoth's size. Caledorn was just barely able to defeat Aldernari, and he was only half the size of Drogoth. It's at least worth a try."

Gloin frowned. "At the cost of you? It's not worth it. We're a motley crew to be sure, we wouldn't be working together if not for you."

"I appreciate the sentiment, Gloin," Gerithor replied with a smile. "But it's all we have. Storming the throne room would cost every man, elf, and dwarf here their lives. Talking with the beast will only possibly cost mine."

"What do we do if you fail?" Kalan asked. "We need a plan just in case."

"Flee. Flee and hope that the beast does not pursue you," Gerithor said. "Now that I've seen him myself I know what we're up against. If we cannot persuade him to leave then we shall all die regardless of what we do. Our only hope then would be that he's only interested in holding the fortress."

"You make it all sound so hopeless," Edhael shook his head. "Take heart, mellyn! Gerithor's visions are coming from someone! Someone out there wants us to succeed!"

"We can only hope that that is indeed the case," Gerithor replied. "The woman in white said not to trust my visions any longer."

"But can we trust her?" Edhael asked.

"I suppose we're about to find out..." Gerithor replied as he stood. He knew that his next move could very easily cost him his life, for he had seen what the dragon was capable of. But he held some small amount of hope within him that his visions had not yet forsaken him.

===================================

Gerithor once more entered the throne room, this time stealthily and warily. Drogoth was not asleep this time however. The massive dragon sat in the center of the room, gazing ahead through the gates with his fiery eyes.

"I smell you, Ranger," The dragon said without looking toward him. "I am surprised you survived the fall."

Gerithor jumped a little at Drogoth's booming voice, but quickly gathered the courage to approach.

"I don't die so easily," He said.

"No?" Drogoth replied, turning to face the ranger. "I could have easily killed you, had I so desired."

"But you didn't," Gerithor countered. "Why not?"

"Because there was no need. I do not hunger for man flesh, nor do I hold any grudge against you."

Gerithor suddenly saw an opening in the conversation, and he decided to take it.

"You do not hold a grudge against the dwarves that dwelt here either! They are not the ones who harmed your kin!"

"They may not be... But they are dwarves," The dragon replied. "Greedy, miserable little beings who only care for themselves and their gems and gold. They do not care for other living things."

Gerithor thought that he could hear a certain sadness in the beast's voice, as if Drogoth was speaking of something specific.

"What makes you think that?" Gerithor probed.

Drogoth was silent for a moment. "Come into the light, ranger. If I am to tell you a story, I'd like to see your face."

Gerithor slowly stepped forward, and Drogoth's eyes immediately fixed on the ranger. His head descended until his massive eyes were even with Gerithor's, then stopped.

"You have courage, ranger. I respect that. But dwarves do not share that trait with you." Drogoth's head rose once more into the air.

"Long ago, when these mountains were yet young, my people lived in the far north. We came down into the green southern lands on occasion to hunt, but we never had any desire to dwell there, for we loved our homes in the great mountains to the north of the Withered Heath. We had done this for many years, before the sons of Durin walked upon the earth. But when they came, everything changed. No longer were we safe in the skies to the south, for the dwarves crafted great bows of bronze and steel to shoot us down. My kin began to starve in the lifeless northern lands, and so we realized that we would have to fight the bearded folk to survive. And that is why our feud with the dwarves is a bitter one. Because they are the original aggressors."

Gerithor nodded slowly, the words of the dragon making unusual sense to him. He knew that he was under the Dragon Spell, but he also knew that he could use this to his advantage; He had even counted on it.

"That is a sad tale," The ranger began. "And I am sorry that you and your people had to suffer in such a way."

"Indeed?" Drogoth raised a scaly eyebrow. "Few of the small folk care for the troubles of dragons."

"It is a tragedy that any, be they small or great, should befall such an ill fate," Gerithor replied. "But perhaps you've been looking at the entire situation wrong."

"Oh? How is that?" The dragon's interest seemed to be genuinely piqued.

"Perhaps striking back is not the way to solve this problem," Gerithor said as he strode slowly toward the dragon. "Maybe, just maybe, mercy is the answer."

Drogoth flinched slightly and drew back. "Mercy? How could mercy possibly help?"

"The dwarves, and indeed all of the free folk of Middle Earth, see dragons as the aggressors," Gerithor said slowly, careful not to anger the dragon. "But if you showed mercy, maybe they would see that that isn't the case at all. Perhaps then they'd see that your people do not desire death."

Drogoth's head lowered, and his great orange eyes flickered. "Once we did desire death," the beast replied. "When I was young, and my people were many, destruction was our joy. But we are few in number now, and I am old, believe it or not. My days are few, though they may seem like many to your mortal mind. I do not wish for any more destruction, I only wish for a good ending for my race, though they be doomed to die."

Gerithor looked up in surprise. "Then you'll leave?"

The dragon looked down upon the ranger, small yet stalwart in the face of the great winged beast. "You have shown me that your people still hold honor in high regard, ranger. Whether the dwarves do or not, I don't much care. They can rot upon their wealth. But for your sake, and the sake of Men, I shall leave this wretched place. But I ask for one thing in return."

"And what would that be?" Gerithor asked, hope returning to his heart once more.

"Your people shall never travel north of Angmar, nor shall they make sport of my race any longer. The lands to the north will be ours, and ours alone."

"I agree to your terms, they are most generous, Drogoth the Lord of Dragons," Gerithor replied with a bow. The dragon snorted and rose to his feet.

"This place was rather unpleasant anyway," He growled as he lumbered toward the gate. "Dwarves may make things look nice, but they know nothing of comfort!"

"I agree with you there," Gerithor replied as he cautiously followed the dragon through the gates into the crisp mountain air. He let out a sigh of relief and peace when he felt the wind, cold and pleasant, across his face.

"I would say, 'until next we meet,' but I am sure that we shall never again meet in this world again, ranger." Drogoth spread his massive black wings and inhaled deeply. "So instead I will say what my folk say in farewell; 'Aal fin lein kos mal hinviing.' May the world be small beneath your wings."

Gerithor bowed politely. "And may the winds carry you to bountiful lands."

Drogoth lifted his huge black wings into the air and rose into the sky, letting out a great roar before soaring high above the mountains and disappearing into the clouds above.

===================================

The dwarves and rangers alike gazed on in surprise as Gerithor returned to the now-empty throne room.

"Urkhas-Abzag!" One of the dwarves cried as the ranger strode by. Several more echoed the phrase, and soon the words were on the tongues of every dwarf.

Gerithor, confused by it, approached Kalan and immediately asked for an explanation.

"They're calling you the Demon Bane, lad," He said with a laugh.

"But I didn't kill Drogoth!" Gerithor replied.

"No, but you banished him all the same. These dwarves view you as a hero now... And frankly I do too!" Kalan laughed again. "Though, to be fair I have since you slew that rascal Arnakhor!"

Gerithor joined in the laughter. "I'm surprised I'm not a pile of burnt flesh, to be honest! I thought he'd kill me for sure!"

The strumming of a lute brought their attention to Edhael, who was in the process of writing a new tune:

The dragon turned tail, the dwarves he did spare

To the Demon Bane's wisdom, his could not compare

The mountains did sing of the ranger's bravery

And the dwarves would not face the Dark Lord's...

Slavery?

"No, no... It needs to be better than that!" The elf set his lute down, slightly miffed that he had been unable to write a whole song.

"Well done though, Gerithor! That was... Well, it was something that has most likely never happened in the history of Middle Earth! To convince a dragon to spare the lives of dwarves... It's worthy of a song to be sure!" He clapped the ranger on the back and let out a clear laugh.

"We don't have time to celebrate though, I'm afraid," the elf continued. "Our friends in Mithlond most likely are in dire need of our assistance!"

Gerithor nodded and turned to Kalan. "I know this is not your quest. But we could use any help you would be willing to give us, be it supplies or soldiers."

"Are ya kiddin' lad??" Kalan exclaimed. "I'd best be packin', cause me and all me boys are comin' with you!"

Gerithor smiled kindly at his old friend. "Then we set out at dawn. There is much ground to cover, and much evil to be repelled, 'ere the light shines in Middle Earth again."

I may rework this chapter slightly, some of it doesn't flow incredibly well... I've been sort of out of it for the past couple days. I hope you enjoy anyway!