The Song Of Sunset
Part 21 - A Vale of Blood
Posted: November 28, 2008
*****
Thranduil watched uneasily as the long lines of archers and swordsmen of Greenwood marched proudly in their King’s stead. He gripped his hands tighter around his stallion’s mane before blending in smoothly with his father’s troops, talking merrily and raising their spirits. Whatever his personal fears were, he would not fail in his duty as the crown prince.
Oropher turned once, to look at his son talking jocosely with his warriors. Proud, handsome, dutiful, Thranduil was everything anyone could wish for in a son. He sighed, as his son’s eyes sought his own, and held them for a long moment before breaking the glance to turn his attention to his comrades. Oropher prayed to the Valar to watch over his son.
Erestor watched the rider disappear swiftly, a smoke of dust the only trace of his passing. He sighed and walked back to the tent he shared with Elrond.
Elrond was already standing outside the tent, arrayed in armour. There was a grim set to his jaw as he hailed Erestor and joined him.
“You leave?” Erestor asked quietly.
“With Glorfindel and Cirdan,” Elrond said hollowly, “I pray that we are not too late. We have betrayed them enough.”
Erestor led him to where Gil-Galad was inspecting the armies, saying firmly, “You will not be late. And you shall not fail, Elrond”, he took Elrond’s hands in his own in an uncharacteristic display of affection before whispering, “The prince is no weakling, he is a proven warrior. Yet,” he hesitated, “I shall wait for you, for all of you”, his eyes lingered on Glorfindel, his mentor and friend and Cirdan, his foster father. He felt fear and anxiety as a bitter wind blew from the east.
Elrond mounted his horse and said in a tightly controlled voice that he hoped betrayed none of his fears, “See you, mellon-nin.” It took him all of his restraint to not fall to pieces before Erestor’s bittersweet smile. They had both lost too much to understand that this was the precursor of many more losses.
Elrond held the High-King’s banner in his clammy hands as he turned once to see Erestor and Gil-Galad stand together, their left hands clasped together and their right hands raised in farewell. He raised his own hand to acknowledge their gesture.
“Is it true that we will all fall?” a young archer asked Thranduil, they had progressed swiftly, and were now crossing into the very courtyard of Mordor, the Morgul Vale.
Thranduil was rather in low spirits, he had jested with his warriors, exhorted them as a good leader should, even if he did not have the belief that they would prevail. And now he was being asked to speculate on their chances of survival.
Biting his cheek to prevent a nasty retort, he smiled at the young archer and asked, “Is the result of any game known before you play it, mellon-nin?”
“But this is no game, this is war”, the archer whispered, “My very first one.”
“Then let us hope that this is the last one you have to fight, mellon-nin”, Thranduil said easily, “Now I see that you have a reason to win, for if you win, then certainly, you need not leave home and hearth and wife anymore.”
“Are you not scared, ernil-nin?” the archer asked hesitantly, “Do you ride willingly?”
Thranduil frowned, this was a question he had never asked himself. He stared at Celeborn and Oropher talking grimly before them, their faces shadowed by the darkness cast by the clouds. The hot wind had stopped, leaving behind only an eerie silence. The horses were tossing their heads nervously.
“What is your name, my friend?” Thranduil asked quietly.
“Menor”, the archer replied softly, “My father was Haor, who died defending your retreat during the war of Eregion.”
Thranduil clasped the archer’s forearm firmly before saying, “I am glad to meet valiant Haor’s son. There is a debt to your father that I am honour bound to pay, Menor. I cannot say if we will all return, but I promise that I will strive to ensure that you return safely.”
Elrond watched Glorfindel close his eyes and cast his mind out to the surround. Whatever he sensed made him frown.
“What is it?” Elrond asked quietly, passing the banner of the Noldor to his second.
“Wraiths”, the Balrog Slayer muttered, “but they seem going northwards, towards the vale. Our scouts say that the armies of Oropher and Amdir have already entered the foul valley. They will be in trouble if the wraiths attack from one side and the goblins from the other.”
“What are we waiting for?” Elrond said curtly, as he signalled the warriors to move faster, “We have to stop the wraiths.”
Glorfindel paced his horse beside Elrond’s and asked incredulously, “How would you propose to do that?”
Elrond said emotionlessly, “I do not know, yet we must atleast draw them away.”
Thranduil felt a cold dread rise in his heart as the last of the warriors entered the valley. Before them stood the black gates of Mordor. He broke away from the lines of warriors and made his way to the front.
Amroth, Durin, Celeborn, Orophin and Amdir were discussing the plans. They looked up as he rode quickly, a grim expression on his handsome features.
“Ion-nin?” Oropher asked quietly.
“Wraiths”, Thranduil said flatly, “They will cut us off into the valley, we are trapped. When the gates open, there shall be no escape out of this cursed vale.”
Durin said coolly, “Yes, young prince. Then it is made imperative that we go on into Mordor. Battling orcs is easier than battling wraiths.”
“I agree”, Amdir said quietly, “We ride on.”
“And the wraiths?” Thranduil demanded as he scanned the dark skies, “I am more worried about the effect they will have on our warriors.”
“Two of us must stay at the rear”, Oropher said calmly, “To hold the warriors together. I would go.”
“Nay, cousin”, Celeborn said quietly, an unspoken fear in his eyes, “You and I are required to lead the armies. As is Amdir and Durin.”
“My son is too young!” Amdir spluttered, “as is the prince!”
“”I will go”, Thranduil said wearily, “Celeborn is right, the leaders cannot be spared. You are needed to lead the warriors. The fighting will be intensive and long at the frontlines.”
Oropher said softly, “I am glad, then, for I will not have you step in Mordor, better this accursed vale than the Dark Lord’s land.”
Amdir was about to protest but Durin said firmly, “So be it, then young prince.”
Gil-Galad watched Erestor study the maps, his brows crinkled in concentration. The dark black obsidian mane was tied back into a loose braid. The brown tunic that the chief counsellor wore today fluttered gently about his frame.
“You are becoming thinner”, the King commented as he hugged Erestor from behind, “The war rations do not agree with you, melme. Come, let us see to our repast now, the messengers will not be here before dusk.”
Erestor leant back against Gil-Galad’s broader, stronger frame and closed his eyes saying wearily, “I am worried.”
“As am I”, the King sighed, “Yet I cannot unburden myself like you do, I am forced to take decisions which I don’t necessarily like....I wished to ride with our army today, yet if I do, who will manage the alliances?”
“Is Kingship a burden?” Erestor arched his neck and lifted his arms to twine them around the King’s neck.
“It is lonely. I was lonely”, Gil-Galad said softly, “When my father fell, I had to take up the crown. I was unprepared and too young. The expectations, the decisions to be made by me, the criticisms it was more than enough to push me over the brink of sanity. If not for Cirdan, I would never have lasted. The kinslayings, the fall of Doriath, of Nargothond, the retreat to Ered Lindon, it was terrible to live through. I wished more than once that I had kin, kin to whom I could just tell my fears.”
Erestor sighed, they had all lived through turbulent times, and now it was being repeated again, he said quietly, “You have kin, Gil. Is Galadriel not your aunt? Is Elrond not of your blood? Why, even Isildur carries Fingolfin’s blood!”
“You forget something”, Gil-Galad nuzzled the long, slender neck thrown across his shoulder, “You and I are kin.”
“That is true”, Erestor said unwillingly, “but my house is dispossessed. It is no longer tied to the house of Finwe.”
“Nonsense. Ties of the blood are thicker than those of mere political machinations; we have lived long enough to realize that. Do you know why Maedhros hated me so? I was a living reminder that my father had been intimate with one other than the eldest son of Feanor. Though my father had never spent more than a week with my mother, Maedhros could never bear it”, Gil-Galad sighed, “Love does not take an easy path for us of the house of Finwe.”
“Yet we love, and we are happy”, Erestor smiled, trying to dispel the gloomy tone of the conversation, “Atleast I can say that I am happy.”
“I can never read your thoughts, hervenn-nin”, Gil-Galad mused as he kissed the slender circlet on Erestor’s head, “I admit that I had never expected you to agree to my proposal. I thought that my soul would jump out of my body when you said ‘yes’.”
“Gil!”, Erestor complained, “Who would refuse the King?”
“Is that why?” Gil-Galad cupped Erestor’s face and searched those eyes for a glimpse of the truth, “Was that why you agreed?”
Erestor raised an eyebrow before muttering darkly, “You are lucky that only I hear these unreasonable words! The next thing, you will say that I do not love you!”, he dragged the King to the bed, “I am beset by desire right now. I think we should postpone this conversation for later!”
Gil-Galad laughed as Erestor pushed him down onto the mattress before straddling him and prying his robes loose. He asked breathlessly, “You are so passionate, I am still surprised as I had been all those years ago on the night of our bonding. How did you manage the separation?”
“All those blasted centuries”, Erestor said rolling his eyes, “I had a hard time, Gil. I would escape to the river every night to find relief. But infinitely worse was the journey here, I wanted you so much, yet we were not even on speaking terms.”
“You should never have cared”, Gil-Galad said hoarsely as Erestor ran his fingers down the smooth plane of the king’s chest, “you are my bonded-mate. I have a duty to you. The next time, just drag me to bed. Eru knows, you are quite adept at it!”
“I would never force you to bed”, Erestor said solemnly as he kissed the King’s fingers one by one, “I love you too much to do that!”
“Enough conversation”, Gil-Galad whined as Erestor teasingly smirked, all the while gently kneading Gil-Galad’s chest, “Get on with it before I have to take charge.”
“No”, Erestor said firmly, “You rest, let me do the work. Let me take you to a place where there are no burdens, no worries, no fears, just plain joy and ecstasy.”
“Valar”, Gil-Galad said with a mock furiousness, as he recognized the teasing notes of Erestor’s voice, “You will make me beg, won’t you! The next time I get my hands on that perverted princeling who has taught you these techniques, I will get him to teach me!”
Elrond cursed as a shadow blotted out the sun, next to him Glorfindel was shouting, “Archers! Wraiths, take the mounts down!”
Orcs streamed down the sides of the mountains. Elrond raised his sword and shouted, “For the King! CHARGE!”
Glorfindel and Cirdan took up his warcry and they charged up the slopes to meet the enemies head on. The Balrog Slayer stayed close to Elrond, his eyes alternately scanning the skies and the slopes of the mountains. For now the wraiths seemed to be avoid the hosts of the Noldor making further to the east towards the mouth of the valley. Glorfindel cursed as they met the first line of the orcs, his eyes still on the wraiths, which were disappearing swiftly.
Thranduil closed his eyes for a moment as shrieks of the wraiths rent the silence. As if on cue, the black gates opened and the hosts of Sauron poured out. The army was closed in between the enemy.
He heard the clarion calls of the heralds dimly resounding over the shrieks, the battle had begun at the frontlines. A gigantic shadow loomed over him before the wraith landed with a thud behind the warriors.
Thranduil signalled his second to sound the horn, then he unsheathed his sword and shouted, “DEATH TO THE FALLEN! FOR ELBERETH!”
Yet another wraith landed before him as he charged forth, his hair streaming behind him like rippled silk. A part of his brain observed that he was alone, the warriors had fallen silent, their fear pervading the air.
He promised harshly, “I will come back to you, Ada-nin, I will, even if I have to defy Mandos a second time.”
“An ill-begotten get of the elven king dares to challenge us?” a powerful high voice asked with malicious joy as the two wraiths circled his nervous stallion, “Are you not scared, young fool?”
Thranduil narrowed his eyes and said in Quenya, “There is no fear in a heart that knows no darkness.”
“You will suffer long and hard, princeling, and you shall pray for death. You shall know fear and darkness both”, the wraith said ominously before swinging its mace downwards, colliding with the elven armour on Thranduil’s stallion’s flanks. The horse buckled down, but still refused to collapse, it held its head high and proud. At the next swing of the mace, Thranduil parried with his sword, Galadriel’s green gem set in the metal glimmering brightly.
“You have spirit indeed, let us how long it stays with you, princeling”, the wraith sneered as it swung its mace again. Thranduil easily parried it, though his sword trembled in his hands at the force of the mace. He sensed movement behind him, the second wraith was moving in. The flurry of arrows in the air reduced as his warriors seemed scared of striking their prince. And none of them were ready to join him. Well, Thranduil mused darkly as he swung around to keep both the creatures in his sight, Wraiths are wraiths, and nobody would willingly fight them unless they are stupid, over-loving sons like me.
A moment later the wraith to his right swung its sword at him, he leapt away to just have his breastplate crushed in by the wraith before him. He fell backward, but still managed to somersault once and land on his feet to face them again, his breaths unsteady as he tried to overcome the pain in his chest.
“Tired of the play already, princeling? We thought you had Vanyarin blood in your rotten veins, is this all you can give?” the voice taunted as the wraiths moved closer, their black clad forms towering above.
Thranduil grit his teeth and moved backwards trying to regain his bearings. But he knew when the wraiths swung their blades smoothly, at the same time, that he could not prevail. He shivered once before swinging his own blade. Metal crashed against metal and he fell backwards, this time he landed on his back on the rocky ground. His sword flew from his hand to land nearly six feet away. The wraiths advanced, their swords held loosely as they surveyed the vanquished prince. Thranduil tried to lift his head defiantly though his entire body throbbed painfully from the impact of the fall.
“ELBERETH!” a voice he could recognize anywhere shouted. Thranduil saw a black stallion charge in, shielding him from the wraiths. The battle lust in the rider’s eyes was matched only by that of Glorfindel.
Two of the warriors hurried to help the prince up. He shot them a glower before shaking his head to clear his fogged senses and picking up his fallen sword quickly. He rapidly mounted a mare that had been led to him and turned to face the wraiths, which were fighting fiercely with his saviour.
Thranduil added his own warcry as he joined the rider and they fought together, their movements synchronized by centuries of practicing together. The wraiths were now on the defensive, unable to claim an advantage over the two elves fighting so fiercely.
The clarion call sounded again, two short notes, followed by a longer note, the gates were breached. The warriors cheered lustily and pressed on, the wraiths inched away slowly till they could discard their cloaked shapes and travel formlessly. Thranduil buried his face in his mare’s soft mane, thanking the Valar with all the strength he could find.
A hand gently gripped his shoulder and he arose saying with a wry smile, “What would I do without you?”
“You would try more foolishness like this, two wraiths at a time! Who do you think you are, a balrog slayer?” Erestor shook his head in horror, “I nearly fainted outright when I saw you duelling them.”
“Why are you here?” Thranduil asked wearily as they turned to follow the rest of the decimated army through the path littered by corpses of orcs, men, dwarves and elves, “Has Gil-Galad joined us?”
“No”, Erestor sighed, “The humans of Gondor are giving him a hard time. We received a message from Elrond that their army was hemmed in at the marshes by an orc host. They said they would not able to meet your host. So Gildor and I led what remained of the army of Imladris here, through the pass across the mountains. And I abandoned the host when I saw you having the best fight of your life here. Poor Gildor must be cursing me.”
Thranduil nodded and asked concernedly, “Is Elrond safe for now?”
“Glor will keep them alive”, Erestor said confidently, “All it needs is one fool to save the rest as you proved so eloquently”, he looked over the prince’s form critically, “You should see to those wounds before you fight again.”
“I fear not”, Thranduil sighed, “We are riding into Mordor, in case you did not notice, we are not likely to have time to heal scratches and bruises.”
“We ride together, ernil-nin”, Erestor whispered, “Is it not well that we struggle against this evil so that your children can grow in a safer world?”
Thranduil shook his head darkly, “Evil is not so easily vanquished, yet I am glad that you are by my side in this battle. I would have asked for no other.”
“We fight well together”, Erestor smiled, “That is what Gil said when he bade me farewell. Apparently he saw us duelling.”
“You are incredible to look upon when you fight”, Thranduil said sincerely, “You must have scared them away by your stance alone!”
“Whatever, promise me you won’t try that again any time soon”, Erestor demanded, “I did promise Anoriel that I would direct a rivulet to your secret glade in Imladris so that you can bath after certain strenuous activities. It would be a terrible waste of my time if you are not planning to return.”
“You smell of certain pleasant bodily fluids”, Thranduil sniffed Erestor’s body appreciatively.
“I rode to your aid right from our marriage bed”, Erestor said blushing, as a few of the surrounding warriors watched the prince sniff at the chief counsellor, “We had been, you know, just completing.”
The clarion calls for battle sounded again, their faces changed from the relaxed expressions to that of warriors, on their alert.
“We must reach the frontlines”, Erestor pointed out, “the attack is the most severe there. They will need us.”
“Who said a few minutes ago that I am eager to make myself a martyred fool? You know, ‘Restor, you act unimaginably stupid for a royal consort!” Thranduil shouted as he followed Erestor’s lead to the frontlines.
The dark hair flowed down Erestor’s back as he turned once to spare the prince a withering look before nudging his horse into a canter again. Thranduil sighed, he was grateful for Erestor’s presence by his side.
*****
Gil-Galad snarled angrily, losing whatever control he had over his temper and said brusquely, “They are my kin! My bonded mate, my foster-father, my herald, my aunt’s mate and my seneschal are all fighting! And now you say that none of this is your fault!”
Anarion defended his elder brother, “Isildur had never meant anything other than to distress the young elven prince. Not even in his wildest dreams had he expected Oropher and Amdir, not to mention the King of the Dwarves to ride for war!”
Elendil sighed, “What is done cannot be repaired, My Lords. I will lead an army of my warriors to the aid of the unfortunate soldiers who have been trapped by my son’s folly and Oropher’s over protectiveness. I will wait till the dawn for news before riding east. Isildur, you shall remain here to manage the camps and to liaise with our allies, your brother and sons may assist you to do so.”
Gil-Galad muttered angrily, “I think you should send your sons to fight, Elendil. Obviously all this lack of Gondorian brawling is driving them mad with desire for any young, handsome elf they fix their eyes on. First, it was Lord Erestor. We were all lucky that he did not have Oropher as his father. Now, you have touched Ernil Thranduil and Oropher is unfortunately his father! Eru knows how this is going to end.”
Isildur said sullenly, “I did not mean to hurt Oropher’s feelings. I was drunk. And he looked so beautiful in the light of Ithil. Never have I seen such magnificent perfection.”
“For my sake, Isildur”, Elendil growled, “Pray, keep your mouth shut. You have brought this upon us, and now we must all reap the consequences. Years of plotting and planning have been brought to nothing!”
Galadriel sighed as she watched Anoriel and Celebrian light candles beneath the mallorn trees. Their faces were shadowed by fear and doubts, for their fathers, their cousins, their betrotheds, their kin and their friends. Galadriel smiled bitterly, once upon a time in her younger years, she would have lit a candle for her brothers or her cousins. Now, after years of loss and pain, she could not find it in her to light a single candle for her beloved husband.
She sighed again as the wind rustled through the leaves, the mirror was calling, again. She had been defiantly avoiding the glade since her return to Lothlorien, she did not want to see images of the war and the cost it would claim. She did not have the courage and the spirit to bear that foresight. Nor did she have the ability to withstand the seductive call of her mirror. She turned slowly to walk towards the glade, after making sure that the two young elf-maids were still immersed in their tasks.
Every step she took to approach the innocent looking basin cost her immeasurable pain. As she looked within the silvery depths of the water, tears flowed down her pale cheeks. Gil-Galad was pacing worriedly before a large tent. He seemed alone. The scene changed to show an army led by Elrond and Glorfindel battling an immense orc host. The expression of disgusted pity and revulsion that was mirrored on Elrond’s ivory features was matched in intensity by the hatred on Glorfindel’s fair face.
The water changed to reveal Durin of Khazad-dum battling on the plains of Morannon with his doughty warriors, the grim set to his features the only indication that he did not find the situation pleasing.
Then Galadriel gasped in horror, Thranduil was fighting two wraiths, his stallion had fallen, yet the prince remained fearless. The wraiths brought him down, Galadriel pressed her hand to her chest, panting softly. Then a second rider appeared and put himself between the wraiths and the vanquished prince. Galadriel frowned as she recognized the pale aristocratic features and the ebony black hair of her cousin’s son. She had expected him to be strong to resist the darkness of Mordor, but she had never dreamt that he was capable of such a feat as he accomplished now. She breathed a thank-you to Elbereth for keeping the prince and his friend safe.
The scene shifted again to show her husband and Amdir fighting side-by-side. Their long swords glimmered in the dim light as they swerved, tackled, thrust and parried with the experience of centuries.
A few leagues away from them, she could recognize the helm of Oropher, King of the Sindar. He was fighting gracefully, his eyes calm and focussed on his enemies. She screamed softly, her lips calling out a useless warning, as she helplessly watched a cave troll assail his mount with brute force. The noble creature whinnied in pain before falling to the knees. Oropher dismounted quickly, but not quickly enough to save himself from a fierce orc’s blow to his left shoulder blade. His eyes widened in shock and sudden pain as he clumsily staggered; his sword half-lowered.
Thranduil shouted in anger and pain as he watched his father totter unsteadily, fresh blood spurting from his wound. More than two dozen orcs separated the prince and the king.
“Go, I will take charge”, Erestor shouted as he signalled the warriors to guard Thranduil’s back.
The prince did not need to be told twice. He pushed his way desperately through the battling orcs and elves, paying little heed to his own safety as he rushed to his wounded father’s side. He shouted again as another orc slashed its foul blade across Oropher’s broken, blood-spattered armour. Oropher fell to his knees, his lips parted in a silent scream of pain. Thranduil reached him, furiously slashing his way through orcs. As he dropped to his knees to catch his father’s collapsing form, he was sobbing helplessly. His father’s blood stained his hands.
Oropher smiled painfully, “I know you would rescue a rusty old blade.”
“Ada-nin”, Thranduil whispered frantically, “Stay with me, we will leave, we shall never return to this forsaken place. Stay with me, saes!”
Erestor approached them and gently pried Oropher’s wounded body from his son’s hands and ordered, “Thranduil, take my stallion, ride for the camp with your father. I will guard your retreat.”
“The battle must be fought”, Oropher whispered, his eyes glazed in pain.
“It shall be, hir-nin”, Erestor said grimly, “Now, quiet and go safely with your son.”
Galadriel tried to send her energy to the wounded king, wishing desperately that she could bring him back to health. Thranduil was riding fiercely, salty tears streaming down from his green eyes onto his father’s face. He could feel Anoriel’s mind reaching out to him, in silent support. Maybe it was her strength that held him on his stallion, for he was weary, grieving and scared. As he literally ran his horse into the healer’s tent at the edge of the encampment, Gil-Galad arrived, the scouts having informed him of Oropher’s fall. The healers quickly helped the prince lower his father onto a mattress. As they began removing the broken armour, Thranduil stood by, tears streaming down his face, his father’s right hand still closed over his own.
“My Lord, may we see to your wounds?” a healer asked tentatively.
Thranduil shook his head fiercely as he knelt beside his father’s bed and prayed desperately. Strong hands guided him firmly, yet gently towards the next bed and coaxed him down to a sitting position.
“He will be all right, he is stubborn and strong”, Gil-Galad offered weakly, as he sat beside the distraught prince, “Let us see to your wounds now.”
“He was twice pierced by foul blades, the poison has seeped through his blood”, Thranduil said bitterly, “I am no child, to make me feel safe by saying that he is all right.”
Gil-Galad sighed sadly as they watched the healers bleed Oropher to drain the poison away. The Sindar King was biting his lips, his eyes closed in pain, but he did not make a single sound, desiring to save his son from seeing him thus.
Thranduil got to his feet and approached his father again watching the healers work silently.
A few hours later, Elrond and Glorfindel entered the tent, their armour black with orc blood. Glorfindel stood next to Gil-Galad while Elrond approached the prince, who had not moved from his position.
“Ernil-nin”, Elrond said quietly as he inspected the bandages on Oropher, who was breathing harshly, “We need to draw out more blood. The poison still has a strong hold on him.”
Oropher gained consciousness for a moment, his green eyes automatically seeking his son’s and smiled gently.
“Save your energy, Ada”, Thranduil said brusquely, “They want to bleed you more. I knew you could not even be trusted to look after yourself!”
Erestor entered at the moment with Celeborn, Gildor and Cirdan, pallor even more than usual on his features. Celeborn rushed to his cousin’s side with a cry of horror.
Oropher painfully raised his hand and ran the fingers down Celeborn’s smooth face, whispering, “I wished to see you, I am glad you are here, I…I do not know how longer your lady’s energy can sustain me.”
“ ADA!” Thranduil knelt by his father’s side, “what are you talking about? Stay silent and let them heal you.”
Oropher shook his head, “Ion-nin, bleed me not again. I am not strong enough to resist his call. I leave.”
Thranduil sobbed brokenly, “You cannot, I will follow you, Ada, I cannot live without you. You are my life.”
“As you have been mine, ion-nin”, Oropher gasped, “My treasure, my most precious treasure, yet, this is right, I go now to join my beloved and you shall return victorious to our realm as King and demand your bride from Amdir.”
Galadriel panted painfully as Mandos called to Oropher more determinedly, her energy was not enough to keep him here.
“Cousin”, Oropher said weakly, as he greedily pulled his son’s sobbing frame to his chest, “My treasure, I leave in your keeping. Keep him safe. I have sent a letter to his mother-kin. I pray he listens to them. Crown him.”
“Your son is my son, Oropher”, Celeborn said quietly, “By death or life, I will do my best for him.”
“I would see Amdir before I lose my body”, Oropher said quietly.
“He…he is wounded”, Celeborn hesitated, “As is Amroth. Durin has fallen”, he said sadly, “Ai! Isildur, look at what you have wrought!”
“It is the song of Iluvatar”, Oropher said simply, “Erestor, Elrond”, he lifted his head slightly, “Be there for my son, see that he reaches his beloved safely.”
Erestor knelt by him and kissed his forehead whispering, “He is a brother in all but blood, my King.”
Oropher smiled and then looked at Elrond, their eyes meeting each other, “And I thank you for the kiss, mellon-nin, to you and Glorfindel, I wish you luck in love”, he looked at the golden haired elf. Lastly he stared at Gil-Galad one long moment before saying quietly, “Iluvatar’s song, not your fault.”
Galadriel fainted and fell on the mallorn leaves of the forest floor, her link to the Sindar King’s mind severed, only a faint wave of gratitude on his part for her assistance reached her.
Oropher convulsed before raising his eyes to meet his son’s imploring gaze and said serenely, “No father would have a better son. My golden star”, his eyes lost their light and his hands stilled in his son’s golden hair.
“ Ada?” Thranduil whispered fearfully, “ ADA!”
Oropher, Prince of Doriath, King of the Greenwood, had left his son alone in the cruel valley of Morgul Vale.
Thranduil bowed, his head crushed against his father’s chest as he sobbed stricken. Gil-Galad, Cirdan, Glorfindel and the healers moved out of the tent, their hearts cringing at the scene they had witnessed. Elrond watched the relaxed, calm features of Oropher’s body. Serene, soft-spoken, stubborn, sensitive, that was how the Sindar remained in life and death. An old worldly aura of refinement and decency hung onto him.
Celeborn told Thranduil gently, “Pen-neth, we need to break this to Amdir.”
“You do it”, Thranduil whispered, “Elrond?”
Elrond nodded swiftly and left with Celeborn. They could hear Thranduil’s sobs even when they had stepped into the outside world.
“The first casualty of war”, Cirdan said brokenly as he stood with Gil-Galad watching the long lines of wounded and the dead being brought to the healing encampments.
“Why is that only those who are loved the most are claimed?” Gil-Galad asked his foster-father sorrowfully, “They took my own father, well loved was he.”
“As was your grandfather, Fingolfin”, Cirdan sighed, “As was my own kin, Finrod, son of Finarfin. I have no idea, Gil, why is it that some are left to decay while others fall nobly.”
Gil-Galad rested his head against his foster-father’s shoulder whispering, “Glad am I that you and Galadriel have always been there for me. I do not know what I would do without you to light my way.”
“As Oropher said to his son, I say to you. You have a worthy bonded mate, he will light your path always”, Cirdan said gently, stroking the King’s dark mane, “He is a noble soul, caring and intelligent.”
Anoriel gently helped Galadriel to a sitting position and asked her worriedly, “What was it that you saw?”
Galadriel shook her head mutely, her eyes red with her crying. Anoriel said firmly, “Tell me. I have lost my connection to Thranduil, though I can sense him safe. What is it?”
“Oropher”, Galadriel said quietly, “Oropher has fallen.”
Anoriel gasped and stood up, her eyes flashing with worry, “I must go to Thranduil; he will fade!”
Galadriel watched the young princess, dully thinking of her true resolve to aid her fiancé, before saying flatly, “It is a war, Anoriel, and that is why you will stay here. I will not let Thranduil fade. My husband will keep him safe.”
Anoriel left the older elf alone, running to Celebrian for comfort and solace, all the while sending her own strength to her bonded mate.
Elrond lent his healing energy to Amdir, the king of Lorien had suffered three blade wounds and lingered in the darkness of the poison. Elrond closed his eyes wearily thinking of the lives lost that day. Nearly the entire dwarven army had been decimated. Thranduil’s kingdom had lost most of their swordsmen and so had Lorien. The losses to the Noldor army was also immense. Elrond wished, not for the first time, that he could kill Isildur painfully. He had to admit that Glorfindel’s idea of kidnapping the human and using him as orc fodder had its merits.
Thranduil maintained his vigil by his father’s corpse, even after the healers had come to prepare the body for cremation. The light had gone out of his eyes, his face pale and stricken as he sat slumped by the mattress on which the corpse was laid out. The call to fade was strong, but Anoriel’s mind had opened to him, sending him comfort, love and solace. He sighed, he could not fade. He would have to continue his duties to his realm. At some point of time, Erestor had quietly helped him out of his broken armour and dressed his wounds.
“He led half our army into the halls”, Thranduil said softly, “Fool.”
“He did that which the rest were afraid to do”, Erestor replied quietly, “He won the gates.”
“What shall I say to those who will question his folly in the days to come?” Thranduil said bitterly, “That Oropher, King of Greenwood led half his army to death merely because a human prince desired his son?”
“You will say that you had a noble, loving father, who always cared naught for his happiness and comfort as long as he saw you happy. You will say that he was a King, much loved by his people. You will say that he taught you to love”, Erestor said softly, his hands gently massaging Thranduil’s shoulders.
“I am lost without him”, Thranduil whispered, “More than I can admit.”
“You are the son of your father”, Erestor said firmly, “He will not see you waste away with remorse, he called you his greatest treasure. Prove it, to the rest of us who doubt your father’s legacy. Prove it that you are your noble father’s son!”
“I am glad that I do not have to prove anything to you”, Thranduil said wryly, “For you have always seen me whenever I am broken or vanquished.”
“As you have seen me”, Erestor said tenderly, embracing the prince, “What are friends for?”
“Hold me tonight”, Thranduil pleaded, “For I fear that being alone with him..his body, would drive me insane.”
Erestor leaned his back against the tent wall and pulled Thranduil to him. They kept the silent vigil until dawn, their heartbeats the only sound in that tent of grief. Not for the first time, Thranduil wished that he could kill the human of Gondor slowly and painfully.
*****
Gil-Galad asked the healers worriedly, “How is Amdir? And his son?”
“Lord Elrond is still with the King, my Lord”, a healer replied respectfully, “He has asked not to be disturbed.”
Celeborn joined them, a haggard expression on his features as he waited for the healers to leave. Gil-Galad dismissed them quickly and turned to face his aunt’s Sindarin mate.
“Did you hear of the dwarven losses?” Celeborn asked quietly, his eyes deep pools of sadness.
“Yes, that Durin fell bravely with his mightiest warriors”, Gil-Galad sighed, “Elendil and his men are bringing the wounded and the dead hither. They sent a missive to inform me of the situation. Cirdan’s warriors hold the gates that has cost us dear”, anger flashed in Celeborn’s sapphire eyes, Gil-Galad said wearily, “I would return him to you if I could, my Lord Celeborn.”
Celeborn nodded curtly before saying, “We conduct the funeral tomorrow at dawn. He loved the dawn so. Amdir is recovering, as is Amroth. Elrond has not spared the least of his skills to make sure that they live. Anyway, all the kings and the leaders will arrive for the ceremony at dawn. I would be pleased if you take upon yourself the task of informing your indispensable human alliance partners.”
Gil-Galad said quietly, “Will the prince be able to light his father’s pyre?”
“He is not wounded”, Celeborn said coldly.
“I know well the pain of lighting a parent’s pyre, for I have done it twice”, Gil-Galad offered humbly.
Celeborn’s features softened as the silver-haired lord said quietly, “So have most of us, My Lord. I pray that Amdir and Amroth escape the clutches of Mandos.”
Elrond watched Amroth’s blue eyes focus on him confusedly.
“Welcome back”, Elrond offered as he raised a glass of water to the invalid’s dry lips, “I hope you are not in much pain.”
“Oropher?” Amroth asked hoarsely, “Did Thranduil get him here in time?”
Elrond forced him to swallow the water before saying quietly, “He was not able to resist the call.”
“The Ernil!” Amroth made to get up, Elrond frowned and pushed him back down saying, “Thranduil is not wounded. He is keeping vigil with Erestor in Oropher’s tent. And set your mind at ease, he is not fading.”
“ Ada?” Amroth whispered, “Where is Ada?”
“He was brought wounded, he is in the next tent. Do not worry”, Elrond reassured the prince, “He is recovering as we speak. Now rest.”
Elrond pressed his ear to Amroth’s falling and heaving chest. There was something malicious at work that he could not identify. He closed his eyes and sent his healing energy once more through the prince of Lothlorien. It was repulsed. Elrond frowned. Though the prince seemed to be recovering fast with typical elven standards, there was a nagging doubt in Elrond’s mind that just refused to go away. He took a deep breath and decided on his course. Casting his mind out, he tried to contact Galadriel.
“Lord Elrond?” a weary voice asked him as he touched Galadriel’s mind.
“Yes, My Lady, Amroth is wounded, and I am not able to sense what exactly is amiss”, Elrond said quietly, taking care to shield his thoughts from the lady’s powerful mind.
“Take his hand in yours, and let me try to sense his soul”, Galadriel replied.
Elrond complied and he felt the powerful Eldar lady invade his mind completely. He gasped in pain as his energy weakened, unable to withstand the invasion. Just as he was about to ask Galadriel to stop, she withdrew her thoughts and said thoughtfully, “It is the poison and more. He cannot fight any more, send him to me after… after tomorrow’s ceremony.”
Elrond assented and was withdrawing from her mind when she said softly, “Take care of the prince for me.”
“I will, even if you had not asked. He is dear to me”, Elrond replied seriously.
Thranduil watched the torches burn out, leaving the tent lit dimly by the red rays of the approaching dawn. He sighed, as he looked upon his father’s body, arrayed in state, so perfectly calm, that he could believe that Oropher was merely resting.
Erestor’s hands enfolded him tightly and he leant back, cherishing the quiet strength of his friend. Anoriel’s mind was still supporting him silently. He sighed again, Oropher was right. Even the bride that he had chosen for his son was the most perfect choice. Thranduil gently sent his own gratitude to Anoriel for her support, taking care to shield the raw magnitude of his grief from their bond.
“We should get ready”, Thranduil observed to Erestor as Celeborn and Elrond entered the tent quietly, “It is almost time.”
Erestor bent over Thranduil’s head to press down his soft lips on the prince’s nose whispering, “As you command, mellon-nin.”
Celeborn helped Thranduil to his feet and said quietly, “I have brought you the robes.”
“Hannon-lle”, Thranduil whispered as he stretched himself, “I will just wash myself and get dressed.”
Celeborn said gently, “Pen-neth, I have had a barrel of water brought into the next tent. Come with me, I will help you ready yourself.”
Thranduil nodded and they left silently. Elrond looked over Erestor’s blood and grime splattered form and said firmly, “You come with me to our tent, you need to change. Glorfindel and Cirdan as well as Greenwood warriors will stay here.”
Erestor got to his feet unsteadily, Elrond quickly looped an arm around his friend’s slender waist to support him. He frowned as Erestor gratefully leant in towards him.
“You are wounded”, Elrond accused as he caught the stench of fresh blood.
“I guess so”, Erestor tried a weak attempt at a smile as they made for their tent, “I was fighting in a battle that claimed half the warriors.”
Elrond pushed him in before closing the tent flap. Then he proceeded to get his healing kit and faced Erestor, an eyebrow raised. The chief counsellor sighed as he removed his armour and sword. Elrond winced as he saw the cut in Erestor’s tunic just above the stomach. Fresh blood shone dully on the cream tunic.
“It is healing fast and it is not poisoned”, Erestor offered weakly, as he tore away the tunic clinging to his body. Elrond nodded in relief as he saw the fast closing skin above the long wound. He advanced and gently pushed down Erestor onto the mattress saying reprovingly, “You might have had a scar if you were unlucky.”
“Scars make a warrior, do they not?” Erestor bit his lips as Elrond’s fingers worked to stitch close the wound quickly and efficiently.
“Well”, Elrond smiled inspite of his dreary temper, “They do, atleast according to a certain Balrog slayer’s opinion.”
“Do not tell him”, Erestor begged, “He would kill me himself.”
“What was it?” Elrond asked as his fingers ghosted over Erestor’s pale unflawed torso despite himself.
Erestor closed his eyes wearily, “I am not sure, Elrond, it may have been my own blade for all I know. I barely remember anything. All my thoughts were for Oropher.”
Elrond sighed as he wet a cloth and gently scrubbed Erestor’s skin, his hands those of a clinical, duty-bound healer. Erestor relaxed beneath his skilful hands and a semblance of peace settled on his pale features. He got to his feet saying, “A set of black robes would do, will you get me one from my chest? I will just scrub down the grime from my lower body meanwhile.”
Elrond averted his eyes as the chief counsellor removed his leggings. He strode across to the chest and rummaged about until he found a rich, sombre set of black robes befitting the occasion.
He straightened out the creases and asked in a tightly controlled voice, trying not to think of the scene behind him, “Is it safe to turn?”
“You are a prude, Elrond!” Erestor remarked teasingly, “Well, it is safe to turn.”
“You have been spending too much time in Thranduil’s company”, Elrond retorted as he turned back and shuddered at the sight of Erestor wrapped in a thin towel. Erestor was running a comb through his dark tresses unmindful of Elrond’s fanciful dreams as he snatched the set of robes and threw them on carelessly before tying up the various knots and sashes deftly. Elrond decided that changing his tunic was not an option with his current bodily dilemma. He decided to wear his formal robes directly over his tunic to solve matters.
“As if it is not hot in this accursed land already!” Erestor said sarcastically as he shook his head at Elrond’s actions.
“Comment on it more, and I will have to tell Glorfindel and my cousin about that pretty stitch I put in a few minutes before”, Elrond warned.
Erestor gracefully tilted his head in acknowledgement saying, “Point taken.”
They walked to Gil-Galad’s tent. The King was already waiting with Cirdan, clad in deep brown royal, yet sombre robes.
Gil-Galad kissed Erestor tenderly and then embraced Elrond before saying lamely, “It is time”
“Will the humans come?” Elrond asked concernedly, “I do not think they should. The Sindarin warriors will not forgive them any time soon.”
Cirdan replied, “Elendil is yet in the plains of Morannon. His sons and grandsons are sure to arrive.”
They walked to the Greenwood encampment. A large space had been cleared hastily for the funeral. Amroth and Amdir were already there assisted by healers. Celeborn arrived to greet the Noldorin delegation saying softly, “We are beginning. The Ernil is ready and wants to get this over with.”
A procession of Greenwood warriors silently bore the body of their fallen King to the slightly elevated firewood stand built for that purpose. Elrond felt Gil-Galad shudder beside him as the pallbearers set down their burden.
The herald of Greenwood announced, “Crown Prince of Greenwood, Thranduil Oropherion.”
Elrond felt his breath catch as Thranduil walked to his father’s pyre-side, clad in pristine white flowing robes that fluttered about his slender frame. His hair was unbound and free of braids as it flowed behind him rippling in the dawnlight. Only the grief in his once twinkling eyes gave away his pain.
His features were calm and serene as he bowed to the warriors and spoke softly, “The King of Greenwood loved the most to watch Anor rise. It is but fitting that we bid him farewell at the same hour of the day. We have shared many sunrises, each special to me. Yet, none of them were as special as yesterday’s dawn, for it was condemned to be our last sunrise together on Middle-Earth”, he smiled gently, “There is no defeat in fighting nobly and failing, that is what he taught me. He taught me to do my best, to never lose hope. That is what I promise to do. Before my father’s pyre, I swear before you, in the name of Eru himself, that I shall carry his burdens as long they are mine to carry. This war shall be fought and won, my fellow warriors. My father’s fall will not be avenged unless Sauron is thrown down!”
He took up a blazing torch from a near-by aide and then stooped down to press a last kiss on his father’s forehead before setting the pyre aflame. Elrond convulsively grasped Erestor’s arm as they watched Thranduil unsheathe his sword and hold it aloft to the east in defiance. It was a sight none of them would forget as long as they lived, the defiance of a grieving son highlighted against the greedy flames of his father’s pyre.
“In the name of the Valar, we ask Lord Celeborn, kin to King Oropher to crown the heir to the throne of Greenwood”, the herald announced clearly.
“That he should be crowned before his father’s burning corpse”, Cirdan cringed, “It is not a fate I would wish on even Isildur of Gondor.”
“Yet that may be his fate”, Glorfindel said seriously, “To predict the song of destiny is folly.”
Thranduil knelt down on one knee, as Celeborn placed the mithril circlet of kingship on his nephew’s head. When the younger elf rose again, Elrond could no longer identify the fey, woodland prince whom he had met in Lindon centuries ago. Almost mechanically, Thranduil accepted the sceptre of office from his chief advisor and then taking out a dagger from his swordbelt, he rend a cut on his right wrist and anointed the sceptre with his blood.
Celeborn proclaimed in a steady voice, though his eyes were sorrowful, “The King of Greenwood shall spare neither his flesh nor blood to protect his realm. HAIL, Thranduil, King of Greenwood!”
Elrond said along with the rest of those assembled, “Hail!” The jade, green eyes that flickered over him before moving to Erestor was shadowed by eternal grief and bitterness. A single tear flowed down Elrond’s cheek as he grieved for his friend’s loss.
As the new King of Greenwood arrived to greet his guests at his father’s funeral feast, Elrond stood back to watch him carefully. Thranduil greeted Amdir and Amroth politely, enquiring about their injuries and well-being. Then he turned to acknowledge Cirdan and Glorfindel.
Gil-Galad joined them and bowed to Thranduil saying, “King Thranduil.”
Thranduil smiled before returning the obeisance saying, “High-King Gil-Galad, I am glad that you could be here today.” He turned away swiftly before Gil-Galad could reply.
Elroond sighed as Isildur and Anarion entered the tent, dressed in black tunic and leggings, their deportment sombre. Thranduil waited for the human prince to approach him and bow.
Isildur said politely, “My condolences for your loss, Prince Thranduil.”
“I am King now because of the afore-mentioned losses, Lord Isildur”, Thranduil said emotionlessly, maintaining eye-contact till the human was forced to look away in deep shame and guilt.
“Our Ernil is lost somewhere in the person standing before us”, Elrond remarked to Erestor, who had been standing next to him, “Will he ever return?”
Erestor sighed, “It will take a lifetime of men or more in the gardens of Lorien to heal his soul, I do not think we will see the woodland prince again. But he will survive, I pray.”
“We will make sure he does”, Elrond said reassuringly, “What else are friends for?”
*****
Elrond wiped his sword on his soiled tunic before commanding his men to start the dreadful task of carrying the dead and the wounded back to their camp. Yet another day in Mordor, he sighed, it had taken forty days of battle to claim the gates completely. Now they had moved their camps into the vale of Morgul.
“Glad to see you standing”, Glorfindel pushed his way through the throng of warriors to Erestor, who was calmly counting the corpses and jotting down their names on a piece of parchment.
Erestor smirked but did not look up, his friend’s voice reassuring him of his uninjured state. Elrond joined them and clasped Glorfindel’s arm in a gesture meant to provide as well to receive solace. Erestor looked up and nodded to himself taking in Elrond’s uninjured form.
“You left out a few lying to our right”, Glorfindel said sarcastically as he peered at the list over Erestor’s shoulders, “You do know that you are worse than a carrion bird!”
“Indeed, Glor”, Erestor raised an eyebrow, “You bring me someone who will take this upon himself and I will stop.”
“Unfortunately, Lord Erestor”, Glorfindel smirked, “Nobody is as cold-blooded as you.”
“I do what I need to do”, Erestor said reprovingly, “Make yourself useful or leave me alone!”
“Thranduil will fight from the next battle, I hear, he will come out of mourning this week”, Elrond remarked as he surveyed the battlefield to make sure that there was none he could help with his healing skills.
“I hope not”, Erestor sighed sadly, “Amroth has left and Amdir is wounded. Celeborn has enough tasks with their absence. If Thranduil fights then the silver tree will have to take on more responsibilities. Our friend has always been a risk taker.”
“I heard about the episode with the wraiths from Gildor”, Elrond said furiously and turned to Glorfindel, “Did you know that he charged on two wraiths alone?”
Glorfindel turned to ask Erestor incredulously, “Is he right?”
“Are you accusing dear Elrond of lying?” Erestor raised an eyebrow before returning to his count.
Glorfindel said angrily, “I will speak with Gil concerning this! One of these days you will pay for your recklessness, Erestor!”
“Is heroism confined to your domain?” Erestor spoke innocently before resuming his toll unperturbed.
Glorfindel opened his mouth to retort, but a rider hastened across the plains, dressed in the green and brown colours of Greenwood. The rider pressed a scroll in Erestor’s hands before hurrying towards Celeborn’s troops on the far side of the plains.
Erestor cleared his throat and said softly as his eyes scanned the unsealed scroll, “Amdir has left us for Mandos’s halls. Thranduil will need us.”
Thranduil dressed himself hastily in white robes, it was the second time he was wearing them. He sighed as he tried to provide Anoriel whatever succour he could through their bond. Amroth was fading. Amdir was dead. Thranduil wondered how she could possibly cope with this.
“Are you sure that you are strong enough to do this?” Celeborn asked quietly as he entered the tent.
“Yes, Celeborn”, Thranduil said firmly, “His son is not here, none of his kin are here. I am the closest to him, and moreover he asked it of me as his last wish.”
“Valar save us all from further losses”, Celeborn said softly, “Amdir asked me to take your command in the matters of the army.”
“I know”, Thranduil sighed as he strapped his belt, “I pray that I can lead us all out again.”
Gil-Galad watched Elrond lead their warriors in silent procession to the funeral field. He followed his herald with the nobles of their realm, his brow heavy with sorrow and fears.
Thranduil lit his second pyre in forty days. His face was harsher than it had been at the beginning of their journey east. He was as handsome as before, but the fire in his eyes had been replaced by a coldness that was forbidding and distant. The barracks did not resound with his melodious laughter anymore.
Elrond said clearly after they had all been summoned in the high-king’s tent, “We hold the Vale and the gates. We should press on and use our advantage while we can.”
“Yes”, the leader of the dwarves agreed, “Our warriors lose spirit with each passing day spent in this valley. Our leaders are falling.”
Elendil bowed in assent, “True, my lords. Yet my warriors would have a few days of rest and peace before they fight again.”
Gil-Galad nodded thoughtfully before saying, “What do you say, Lord Thranduil? You are to make the decision not only for your own realm, but for Lothlorien also.”
Thranduil rose to his feet gracefully, the black robes of morning floating about him gently, and said in an unwavering voice, “It is so, Lord High-King. I have decided to send back home the direly wounded and the weary of both my realm and Amroth’s. The remaining forces I shall club together and fight for our cause.”
“Who will lead them?” Isildur asked quietly, “You are in mourning.”
Thranduil met his eyes calmly saying, “Prince of Gondor, I will lead the warriors in forty days when I am finished with the rites and the mourning. Before that, Greenwood and Lothlorien will not lift their swords.”
“That will deplete our strength”, Gildor frowned, “Mayhap it is better for us all to rest for the forty days.”
They broke after the meeting. Elrond ran to intercept Thranduil before he could leave.
“You have been avoiding me”, he accused as he fell into step with the king, “I wish for an explanation, Thranduil.”
Thranduil said forlornly, “I have not been deliberately doing that, Elrond. I am merely trying to cope with all of this. At times like these, I feel out of my depth. I did not wish to make you endure my torments.”
Elrond pulled him into a nearby tent, which was empty fortunately. He hugged Thranduil tightly whispering, “I loved him too, mellon-nin.”
“True”, Thranduil relaxed into the hug, “But I loved him more, Elrond. And I have not yet accepted that it is over. You will stay with me tonight?”
“Of course!” Elrond said softly, “You have to ask me?”
“I am afraid that I am in need of more than normal consolation tonight, Elrond”, Thranduil sighed, “I need to forget everything. I need senseless pleasure.”
“I am in more or less the same mood”, Elrond whispered heatedly into his friend’s ears, “To just feel without trying to understand. But I must remind you of your vow to your bonded mate.”
Thranduil released his hold on Elrond’s shoulders and stepped back sadly saying, “That is true. I cannot. I am sorry, Elrond. If I could-”
“Don’t, mellon-nin”, Elrond raised a hand in protest, “You made a promise and we know that Thranduil Oropherion always keeps his promises’, he smiled tenderly before kissing Thranduil chastely on the forehead and whispered, “I will leave now. But never think twice to approach me should you need me whatever the matter is.”
How Elrond wished that he had been less noble. But he could never do a wrong by Anoriel how much ever he wanted Thranduil’s company.
Elrond watched Glorfindel walk away sullenly from the tent he shared with Gildor.
“What is it, Glorfindel?” he joined his friend, “Are you in mood for company?”
Glorfindel tilted his head thoughtfully before replying with his customary frankness, “I would talk with Erestor if I could. But, no, Elrond, I am not in a mood for your company, however much I love it.”
Elrond tossed about in his large, extra-large, bed waiting for a repose that never came. Sighing, he slipped on a tunic and walked out. In the dim starlight, a hooded figure stood before him.
“Thranduil”, Elrond whispered as he stood by to let the king in, “What of you vow to her?”
“She has given me leave”, Thranduil spoke softly, a gentle smile gracing his lips, “Now take me to the lands of peace and ecstasy, Elrond.”
Gil-Galad watched his herald walk slowly, carefully suppressing a wince whenever he increased the pace.
“Are you hurt?” the king asked his much younger cousin imperiously.
Elrond turned to face him. There was a fresh look in his grey eyes and a happier aura. Gil-Galad frowned, “Elrond, come nearer.”
Elrond approached slowly, biting his lip as he took a longer stride.
Glorfindel and Erestor, who had been talking softly with each other, turned to observe the proceedings. Erestor raised an eyebrow at Elrond smirking.
Glorfindel remarked, “I hope it is not your dastardly kin, Elrond.”
Elrond blushed before muttering, “It is not. Gil, I am fine. It is just over-exertion.”
“Stay in bed then”, Gil-Galad said worriedly, “You look ill-rested.”
“Are you sure that a bed is the best place to send him, my lord?” Glorfindel said teasingly, “That is how he came to be in this sorry state.”
“ELROND!” Thranduil strode quickly to their midst, dressed in one of Elrond’s own tunic and leggings, he winced in pain as he ran, “Celeborn has asked me to see him urgently. I must go.”
Gil-Galad raised his eyebrows saying quietly, “I did not think that you would repeat it with him. He is a king now and bonded to the princess of Lothlorien. Don’t you dare jeopardise his personal life! After the lengths his father went to avenge that Isildur incident, I am surprised that you would repeat the same folly!”
“Gil”, Elrond frowned, “I would never risk his personal life! And anyway it was nothing more than mutual solace.”
“Keep this away from Celeborn’s ears”, Gil-Galad muttered to his cousin darkly before walking away. He paused a few paces away and turned back to his herald saying, “Would you mind if Erestor moved in with you from tonight?”
“It is simple reasoning”, Erestor explained as he unbraided his hair before turning in for the night, “He will ride for battle from tomorrow. And he doesn’t want distractions at night in his tent.”
Elrond asked curiously, “But you are so quiet, I never hear the sound of your comings and goings.”
“I am not so quiet always”, Erestor offered before dousing the lamp and slipping into the bed beside Elrond.
Elrond forcefully pulled his mind away from the very creative imaginings it was drawing. Erestor continued, blissfully oblivious to his companion’s distress, “And I must say that you were very loud. Thranduil is intoxicating, but even so, you were loud. I had a hard time dispersing the guards before your tent this dawn.”
Elrond said disgruntled, “ Is there anything in the camp that you are not aware of?”
“Oh, yes”, Erestor said laughing softly, the sound a balm to Elrond’s ears, “Glorfindel and Gildor have fought, I do not know the reason yet.”
Glorfindel’s voice sounded from the tent opening, “’Restor, Are you asleep?”
Erestor got up from his bed muttering furiously, “And I was unhappy that I was unaware of the reason! I should learn to stop wishing.”
Elrond did not know when Erestor had arrived, but when he woke from his sleep, he saw the advisor sleeping next to him, eyes closed in exhausted sleep. Glorfindel had worn him out.
Elrond indulged himself as his fingers threaded through the sleeping elf’s long dark hair. Erestor smiled in his sleep as Elrond’s fingers brushed his neck and snuggled closer.
“He is so peaceful in his sleep”, Gil-Galad murmured as he came to stand by the bed.
Elrond hastily withdrew his hands saying, “You ride today, cousin?”
“Yes, Elrond”, Gil-Galad sighed, “I cannot let Glorfindel and Isildur ride together. Sauron would not need to even stir from his lands to win the battle.”
They remained silent, the only sound the steady rise and fall of Erestor’s chest. Gil-Galad sighed again and kissed Erestor’s cheek chastely before nodding to Elrond and leaving the tent. Elrond shook his head at his own folly at being caught while secretly playing out a fantasy. He groaned as he determinedly slipped out of his bed. Erestor’s robe had parted open as the elf turned in his sleep. The fine rib bones jutted against his skin in obvious proof of Erestor’s emaciation. Elrond felt a sudden wave of tenderness lap against his heart. He strode out of the tent, the cold winds soothing his flushed, hot skin.
“Marchwarden, I must ask you to take a suitable force and bring our prince Amroth here. He is sick and fast fading”, Galadriel asked Haldir, as she entered his talan.
“He has to be crowned”, Haldir said softly, his fair features contorted by grief for his fallen King.
“Yes”, she said determinedly, “but it shall be under our mallorn. We will not crown our ruler in Mordor.”
“Thranduil was crowned thus”, Haldir said coldly, “And the command of our elves has been given to him!”
“Our wounded and weary elves are returning with the sick prince”, Galadriel said, “We must concentrate our resources to save their lives. Let Thranduil be guided by the Valar to save the rest.”
“How many more will fall?” Haldir said as if to himself before taking leave of her. She stood alone, the wind rippling through the folds of her dress. She had forseen the fall of the one kin left to her on this side of the sea.
“What have you done, Celebrimbor?” Galadriel sighed in despair, “Who of us will repair your folly? Our houses are all but gone. Gil-Galad and I are the last of my father’s line. He is heirless. My daughter will ever be more Sindar than Noldo, thank the Valar for that. Elrond Peredhil is the last of Fingolfin’s house, he is more a healer and a scholar than a warrior”, her face twisted into a bitter expression, “And my uncle’s house! The dispossessed house, ever have they led us into peril. Celebrimbor, it was less your folly and more your cursed house’s fate that sealed your destiny.”
The wind became harsher. She took a deep breath and vowed, “By Eru, I will not let Sauron triumph as long as I draw breath. Whatever I sacrifice, I care not in the least if it will avenge the deaths of all parted from me. I will strive to save what remains of my grandfather’s kin at whatever cost. Enough have the house of Finwe sacrificed for the song of the Valar.”
*****
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