At the edge of the Cormallen Fields, Estelyn and Chrysophylax sat, talking quietly. A common love for all things Tolkien had yet again succeeded in reconciling two formerly hostile races; the princess and the dragon had become fast friends.
Estelyn looked down at her dancing shoes regretfully – she would have loved to keep going, but apparently everyone was either sleeping or cleaning up. The festivities would hopefully continue with the dawning of the new day, but until then, what was an enterprising princess to undertake?
“This will never do,” she thought. “I am Estelyn of the House of Telcontar – I do not get deserted by all of my dancing partners!” With a sudden gleam in her eyes, she whispered to Chrysophylax and kicked off her sliver slippers, hoping that some gallant gentleman/dwarf/hobbit/elf would find them for her later.
She carefully mounted the dragon’s back and held on while he spread his wings and circled the party grounds. They spotted Sindacuion in his tree; he was so startled when the dragon flew under his branch that he dropped right onto Chrysophylax’ back. “Hang on,” shouted Estelyn, “we’re going for a ride!”
Now for the other dance partner, who had basely deserted not only the princess but also the Barrow-Downs’ birthday party! “Beatles concert indeed!” she humphed, “who needs a yellow submarine when you can have a live dragon?!” Chrysophylax swooped over the concert grounds, where only a few stragglers lingered. One looked particularly apathetic and melancholy. “That’s Stephanos, alright!” Estelyn cried out, and the dragon landed next to him just long enough for Sind and Esty to grab a hand each and pull him onto Chrys’ back. Bewilderment gave way to recognition, then to fear, then to delight as they rose higher and higher above the party fields.
“Now for the show,” Estelyn urged, “or the sun will rise and spoil the effect!” Chrysophylax began producing the most wonderful fireworks, combining smoke rings with fire images for spectacular effects. The cleaning crews stopped and gazed in wonder; those sleeping awoke, frightened and thinking it was a nightmare at first, then awed in astonished appreciation.
A proud Chrysophylax was greeted by enthusiastic applause as he landed near the Barrow-Wight’s tent-encased mound. (“Do be careful not to come too close to Cimmerian,” Estelyn had admonished him, “if he realizes that you’re a talking dragon, he’ll pester you to take part in the RPGs!” [img]smilies/wink.gif[/img]
As the sun rose to a new day of partying, Estelyn stood on Chrysophylax’ back and led the assembled Barrow-Downers in a rousing song:
“Happy Deathday to you,
happy Deathday to you,
happy Deathday, dear Barrow-Wight,
happy Deathday to you!”
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'Mercy!' cried Gandalf. 'If the giving of information is to be the cure of your inquisitiveness, I shall spend all the rest of my days in answering you. What more do you want to know?' 'The whole history of Middle-earth.. .'
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