The forest was deadly silent and the Elvenking stood there between the trees, still as a stone, listening. His sword was held tight in his hand and he was working hard to quell his rage. When a guard had spotted one of his people by the river with an unusual looking creature beside them of course they had immediately ran to the king! A dragon. On his lands? He'd thought all the dragons were gone, all the eggs destroyed, so how did it come to be that one of his people had been seen with a baby dragon in the middle of the night?

He'd sent guards immediately but the person was no longer by the river, and neither was the dragon. Thranduil set off in the opposite direction, following a trail like a predator on the prowl, hunting you and your beast down. His mind was racing, full of anger at this act of treason as well as memory from the past - a dragon burning him, mutilating him, giving him the scars he now concealed beneath magic. His eyes narrowed, his grip on the blade tightened. No, it could not be allowed to live, this creature. And for such a betrayal, perhaps, neither could you...