The Song Of Sunset
Part 22 - Even the Stars Fall
Posted: November 28, 2008
*****
“You know that irritates me”, Erestor muttered as Glorfindel continued to sing a wooing song off-key.
“That is precisely why I do it”, Glorfindel said before relapsing into his song.
“Eru!” Celeborn said sighing as he entered the tent and heard the song, “One would think that the war has taught you better, Glorfindel!”
“Certainly”, the golden-haired elf said merrily, “Irritating ‘Restor is mightier enterprise than killing orcs. Would you like to try, My Lord?”
Celeborn shook his head bewildered. Erestor offered quietly, “Gil is with Cirdan at the barracks.”
“Thank you, Erestor”, Celeborn said gratefully and shot a disapproving glare at Glorfindel before stalking out.
“He has a nice body”, Glorfindel commented, “He looks so beautiful when he is angry.”
“And Galadriel might send a balrog at night to finish you off, mellon-nin”, Erestor said wryly, “I refuse to sing a dirge for you.”
“I have mastered the knack of killing Balrogs by now, ‘Restor”, Glorfindel rested his head on Erestor’s lap and continued sleepily, “Anyway Galadriel is forgiving, as the incident with Thranduil proved.”
“Our prince has one thing that you can never hope to achieve, Glor, he has charm”, Erestor said smiling as his left hand nestled its fingers in the thick mane of golden silky hair while his eyes were still on the scroll held by his right hand.
“He is no more a prince”, Glorfindel sighed.
“To me, he will always be one”, Erestor shrugged as he pulled at a tangle in the hair, “Your hair is snarled. How did it come to this?”
“Ah! How the mighty have fallen!” Glorfindel made a dramatic gesture, then he fell back into his pensive musings and said, “I feel ill and depressed.”
“You need a good tumble”, Erestor said firmly.
“Your friend and my tent-mate Gildor is certainly doing that most of the nights”, Glorfindel laughed, “As for you, I hear that you have been thrown out of your tent into Elrond’s bed for your lack of control.”
Erestor sighed saying, “Atleast I am capable of feeling desire. Something you have long forgotten, Glor.”
“Maybe I should take a leaf out of Elrond’s book. He is having a wonderful time with Thranduil. These days, his saddle is lined by soft cushions and he cannot help blushing each time he sees the prince”, Glorfindel said amusedly, “Valar knows what they do in Thranduil’s tent.”
“Whatever they do, atleast Thranduil has returned to the land of the living. I had been worried for him”, Erestor said sincerely, “I would have given him the comfort if I had not been bound.”
“You are so true to your vows, that is why Gil has no qualms in letting you share a bed with Elrond”, Glorfindel observed watching his friend’s expression closely.
“Elrond is remarkable”, Erestor offered thoughtfully, “Celebrian will find it difficult to bridle in his passion. He is aroused half-the-night and his skin is always flushed and hot.”
“And you do not react?” Glorfindel continued with his gentle prodding, “I would find it difficult not to react if I had been you.”
“I am a diplomat first, Glor, I have to play ignorant lest this becomes something sinister”, Erestor smirked, “Enough oaths have been broken in my family; I would not break my vows to Gil, even if the most sensual seducer arrived before me.”
Gil-Galad cursed aloud as he plucked out the arrow head from Celeborn’s arm.
“It is not poisoned”, the silver-haired elf said, “A mere scratch.”
“It shows that nobody is infallible, not even the hardiest of us”, Elendil said quietly as he gazed at the red sun, “So many of my generals have fallen. Three of my grandsons have fallen. I fear for all of us.”
“True”, Celeborn said fervently, “Glad would be I to just walk beneath the mallorn again, to hold my daughter in my arms again and to see my wife again.”
The redness of the dawn caught onto Gil-Galad’s mithril wedding band crafted by Celebrimbor himself, Elendil gasped in horror.
“What is it?” both Celeborn and Gil-Galad asked anxiously, looking about the subdued battlefield for threats.
Elendil said fearfully, “The rays of the blood red sun seem to enter your ring, Gil-Galad. In human customs, it is supposed to be ill-luck.”
“In what way?” Celeborn asked curiously, watching the said ring closely, “It is his wedding band, not a ring of power or of office.”
“Wedding rings hold more power than any ring crafted”, Elendil said solemnly.
Celeborn thought of his tumultuous marriage and said absently, “And they bring more chaos to our lives. But what did you mean by this human superstition?”
Elendil shrugged saying, “Those of Arnor say that it means ill-luck. I have no further knowledge”, but his eyes betrayed him as they met Gil-Galad’s steady gaze.
Elrond kissed Thranduil gently on the soft, passion-bruised lips and left the King’s tent quietly. They had decided to keep their comfort-seeking a low key affair. He turned back once to see the young King awash in the soft torchlight and smiled. Thranduil was one of the most attractive creatures he had seen.
He returned to his tent to find it empty. Erestor had a left a short note on the bed saying that he would spend the night with his bonded-mate. Elrond knew that he should not brood, but a scowl settled on his features as he retired to sleep.
Glorfindel listened to the tell-tale sounds of lovemaking from within the king’s tent. He raised his eyes to the veiled stars and whispered a prayer to Manwe. A stir of foreboding had risen in him as he had spoken with Erestor earlier. It was akin to his sense of doom before the sack of Gondolin. The day after tomorrow, they would all ride for battle, for they planned to lay siege to the dark fortress of Barad-dur itself. Glorfindel did not know who would return.
He was panting in pain and fear as he looked up on the hated face. The same face that had shown so much kindness and curiosity the first time he had lain eyes on it.
“They hope to destroy me, Ring-smith, and camp outside my stronghold with a paltry army of elves and men”, the form said jeeringly, “Fools, will they never understand my might?”
“The one before you was a Valar and he was defeated”, he spat, “You are but a Maia, Sauron.”
“Very well, smith”, Sauron laughed musically, the hatred and power burning in his eyes, “Once I was called Annatar, the giver of gifts. Shall I gift you a companion?”
He felt fear clutch tight his heart, “No”, he whispered begging, “None should suffer my fate.”
“Are you so easily broken then, smith?” Sauron smiled, “Then your line is indeed failing. I remember a proud Noldor prince defying my master, Melkor, till his cousin saved him. Where has that courage gone?”
He did not reply as he prayed desperately that no elf would be taken alive. Sauron continued as if to himself, “Maybe it is only you. Maybe the rest are better. I shall see. There are kin enough of yours in this battle, smith. Remember your high-king who sent an army too late to aid your city? Remember the king’s herald who has Melian’s blood in his mixed veins?”, his lips turned into a leer as he continued with quiet determination, “Ah! I have one more suited, my smith, one closer to you in kinship. You know of who I speak?”
He gazed into those yellow eyes as the realization struck him hard. He grit his teeth and staggered to his feet and tried to lunge at Sauron, but invisible bindings of sorcery held him back.
Sauron said gleefully, “Yes, I have made my decision. It shall be another grandson of the spirit of fire. In him, I have already sensed the flame that shines in your line. Thrice has he defied my servants, the wraiths. Never again.”
Elrond screamed in fear and pain as Celebrimbor’s body was further tortured. Strong arms cradled him and crooned softly until his breathing had become less ragged and he opened his eyes.
“Ernil-nin”, Elrond whispered as he shivered in Thranduil’s arms, tears fell down his face continuously.
“Hush!” Thranduil held him closer and soothed his hair until Elrond regained his composure and said quietly, “I had a nightmare.”
Thranduil remained silent for a few moments before saying softly, “I have one every night.”
“Yes”, Elrond sighed as he buried his head in the folds of Thranduil’s light robes, “I…It was more real than any dream. I saw Celebrimbor…and him.He said that the wraiths would take elves alive in the battle to come..to keep Celebrimbor company, elves related to Celebrimbor.”
“Elrond”, Thranduil pressed a kiss on the sweaty brow, “You are afraid, as you should be. I too fear. What if I fall? Who will take charge of my realm then? All of us ride in fear.”
“You are afraid?” Elrond asked incredulously, forgetting his nightmare for the moment faced by this unexpected confession.
“Indeed”, Thranduil closed his eyes, “So far nothing has given me the slightest hope of victory.”
“Let us not talk of that”, Elrond rolled over onto his stomach and began exploring the slender neck of his friend with his lips, “Shall we forget?”
“I came to speak with Erestor”, Thranduil said suddenly remembering his reason to come, “Where is he?”
“With his mate”, Elrond murmured as he undid the ties on Thranduil’s robe and caressed the silky soft chest.
“I suppose that is an invitation for another round?” Thranduil said relaxing into Elrond’s touch.
“As long as you do the work”, Elrond said amusedly as he pulled Thranduil atop him, “Start!”
Celeborn frowned when he saw the empty bed in Thranduil’s tent. The guards had already told him that the young king was with Elrond. Celeborn did not understand why Thranduil, who was obviously in deep love with Anoriel, would risk a dalliance with Elrond. Now, the betrothal of Elrond to his daughter seemed all the more bitter. Elrond would not even give her what he gave Thranduil, Celeborn knew that well.
“No rest?” Cirdan’s deep voice roused him from his musings.
“Thranduil is not in his tent”, Celeborn said petulantly, “He is bonded and still carries on with his affairs.”
“Is it jealousy that I hear in your tone, mellon-nin?” Cirdan laughed as he came to stand by his kinsman.
“Whom am I supposed to be jealous of?” Celeborn retorted, “I was merely upset over the fact that he is with Lord Elrond, who is betrothed to my only daughter.”
Cirdan rested his hand on Celeborn’s shoulder and said solemnly, “Have you not heard that the sins of our fathers rest on us?”
“Meaning?” Celeborn asked icily, “Are you saying that I am responsible for this mess? I have never encouraged this match from the first day.”
“One day you will know what I meant, Celeborn of Doriath”, Cirdan said quietly before leaving the angry silver-haired lord to stew alone.
Erestor said softly, “Gil, when we return to Lindon, shall we both spend a few days by the sea?”
“I would be your servant if you asked me to, melme”, Gil-Galad stroked Erestor’s body as they lay together, naked in each other’s arms.
Erestor smiled saying, “The things you say to make my blood rush, Gil!”
“Why the sea?” Gil-Galad asked curiously, “I thought you preferred the valley you built for the refugees.”
“I want you to myself”, Erestor traced idle circles around one of Gil-Galad’s nipples before bestowing a kiss on it, “We have never had the time to be alone all these centuries. I want to know you. And want you to know me. We are bound in body and soul, yes. But in heart, we are yet distant. When have we taken the time off from our duties to have a breakfast together or to ride together or to do things that normally bonded couples do together?”
“If we win, then we shall take off a couple of centuries from work and retire to an isolated wood, and be together, will that please you?” Gil-Galad rested his left hand on Erestor’s, their bands glimmering in the firelight.
“Yes”, Erestor said dreamily as he drifted into reverie.
The high-king of the Noldor watched him for a few moments before whispering, “What shall become of us, ind-nin?”
Elrond rested his head on an elbow as he read his brother’s journal in the flickering torchlight. Next to him, Thranduil lay sleeping exhaustedly. Elrond had experienced the most magnificent coupling he had ever had that night. They were both desperate and starved for comfort. Thranduil had done all the work and was undoubtedly worn out. Elrond was himself feeling pleasantly drowsy yet active. Thranduil is a better elixir than miruvor, he thought dryly as he flipped open the thick book.
A parchment bearing the seal of the house of Finwe flew out and landed on his chest. Frowning, he opened it.
“Dearest Galadriel,
I trust you are well. Our house is in chaos. Aredhel has left Turgon and his hidden city to join Celegorm. Yet, she has not yet passed into his lands. We have all been searching for her in vain for the past few months. Fingolfin is afraid that she has fallen into the enemy’s hands. Maedhros has been organizing the searches. He assures us that his spies would tell him if that had been the case. I pray that he is right. Finrod will come to fetch you back to Nargothond. I know you will be upset to bow to our will. But Cousin, we merely want you to be safely with us.
Macalaurë.(Maglor)”
Elrond kissed the parchment where his foster-father’s hands had rested once. He could almost imagine Maglor sitting at his study desk and holding the quill against his cheek. As Elrond smiled wistfully and folded the parchment, he saw his brother’s scribbling, “They are still with us, in our hearts. We shall never forget those who came before us.”
Elrond said quietly, “Yes, gwador-nin, we shall never forget their lives and their sacrifices. You proved yourself worthy of our houses. Now it is my time to take the test, and Valar-willing, I shall not fail.”
*****
Elrond placed his quiver on his shoulder. The last finishing touch to his armour. He walked outside, looking up at the pale dawn.
“Elbereth”, he whispered as he walked to the barracks, the banner of the High-king held in his hands.
Gil-Galad was already at the head of the large army, his finest warriors beside him. Elrond’s gaze travelled over the king’s shining armour that made him look like an infallible Vala. For the first time, Elrond felt hope in his heart as he looked upon his lord. Gil-Galad was the grandson of an elf who had wounded Morgoth himself in single combat.
Next to Gil-Galad stood Glorfindel, his golden mane tied into a long braid, his lips curved in the familiar half-sneer and his eyes dilated with battle-lust. Then there was Cirdan, ever sedate, yet powerful and solid. Elrond held the banner higher aloft. He was proud of his king, of his people and of their cause. Gil-Galad’s eyes flickered over him confidently.
“A pretty picture you make”, Erestor murmured as he came to stand by Elrond. He was dressed in fine elven-wrought armour, his hair pulled away from his face. His dark eyes glittered with fire, the fire of his ancestors.
“A prettier picture you make”, Elrond replied as they began marching for the final assault on their enemy.
They were joined by the hosts of Gondor, for once, Isildur stood by his father proudly as a son should. His face was set in a fierce mask, Elrond could now see traces of Elros in him. The army of the dwarves blended in smoothly and they marched on.
At noon, the host of Greenwood and Lothlorien joined the large army. Thranduil and Celeborn were at the head. Celeborn moved to join his kinsman, Cirdan. Thranduil moved towards Elrond and Erestor.
“Lord Gil-Galad is different today. His soul shines with an unparalleled might. I have never seen an elf look like this”, Thranduil observed quietly, his fair features drawn into an awed expression.
“Yes”, Erestor said, “He looks to me like how Cirdan used to describe Fingolfin and Fingon.”
Thranduil said nothing, but he frowned.
“We may never return”, Erestor continued sadly, “We may never return to our lands that we have toiled so much for.”
“If we fall, we fall for the mightiest cause”, Elrond said softly, remembering Elros’s letter, “Is that not worth it? To me it is. That we follow in the footsteps of our forefathers.”
“Yes”, Erestor sighed, “That is the only thing that makes this bearable.”
“If we fall, we fall amongst friends”, Thranduil clasped them both by their forearms, “I would be honoured to fight beside you.”
“As we are honoured to fight beside you”, Elrond replied steadily, “Our friendships hold no regrets and will see us all through, Valar willing.”
Celebrian watched the candles she had lit for their fallen warriors. She could hear Amroth’s screams from her position. He had not gained consciousness since he had fainted on the journey home six years ago. Anoriel and Celebrian sat with him, talked to him, but there was no response. Celebrian had no idea how Anoriel had managed to cope with her father’s death, her father-in-law’s death, her brother’s condition and her mate’s peril. But the princess remained silently strong, aiding Galadriel to rule their realm and attending to her brother’s needs. Galadriel herself was another concern, Celebrian frowned. Though she bore no extreme love for her mother, it made her worried that Galadriel had changed subtly. Her mother’s eyes had a desperate determination of a person who would use any means to achieve the end.
A soft wind blew through the trees and extinguished all the candles. Celebrian felt tears gliding down her cheeks as she prayed for her father and the rest of those who were still alive.
Far away, on the banks of a river, a Silvan maiden sang lightly of love and freedom not knowing that she was the cause of a prince’s insanity. Celebrian cursed Nimrodel’s fair voice as she wrapped her arms around herself.
“It is a cold dawn, my lady”, Haldir stepped before her, his eyes flickering on the reddening skies above them. A shooting star fell from the skies, its brilliant light momentarily eclipsing the red dawnlight.
“It is a red dawn, marchwarden”, Celebrian said sadly, “And many more will fall in the cursed land.”
“Your mother’s house is to blame”, Haldir said harshly, “If not for their greed and pride, we would still be in Doriath!”
“Haldir”, Celebrian said quietly, the earnestness of her voice making him stare at her, “We do not choose our destiny. It has been pre-decided. Is it not better that we accept it and make the best of it?”
“Small comfort is that to me!” Haldir spat, “My brothers fight in Mordor. My king is dead. The crown prince is sick and fading. The king’s daughter is doomed to wear black when she should be rejoicing with her mate under the mallorn.”
Celebrian thought of Elrond, of their alliance by marriage. It would happen, however they strove to oppose it, for Galadriel’s will could never be vanquished. What then would remain for her? She looked at the handsome, yet, forlorn elf standing before her and sighed.
“My lady?” he asked concernedly.
“You said my words are cold comfort. Maybe my body can be better comfort”, Celebrian met his eyes steadily.
“You are betrothed”, Haldir said uncertainly, his face shadowed by the trees.
Celebrian noted amusedly that he did not reject her outright. There was still hope. She crossed the distance that separated them and embraced him loosely saying, “That is my concern. Let us not think of what we are in this world. Think simply of these two bodies and the comfort we can derive from each other.”
Elrond tried to be everywhere at the same time, exhorting his warriors, helping Glorfindel lead the charge, and co-ordinating their armies. Erestor and Thranduil had separated themselves from the main charge and were engaged in a fiery, daring assault on the wraiths. Elrond stared at their synchronized dance of death for a moment before reverting to killing more orcs. Gil-Galad and Elendil fought side by side, their helms shining in the harsh sun. Elrond wondered at the strange light in his cousin’s eyes. Gil-Galad turned once and met Elrond’s gaze with a reassuring nod. Elrond smiled grimly, they would win.
A sudden horn, more piercing than any he had ever heard, disrupted the war. From within the ranks of the wraiths, a shadowy figure rose. It became larger and larger until Sauron the fallen stood before them, in black armour holding a large mace. Elrond’s eyes widened in fear as the yellow eyes, that he had seen only in dreams before surveyed the field. The eyes lingered on the high-king a moment before the figure raised his sword with a roar. It was then that Elrond realized that Erestor and Thranduil were still combating the wraiths, they had not even seen the arrival of the dark lord of Mordor.
Thranduil raised his sword in defiance as he stood back to back with Erestor, surrounded by a circle of nine wraiths. The witch king of Angmar, the leader of the wraiths, strode forward his blade dully shining in the sun. As Thranduil charged, his battle cry in Quenya, the entire battle seemed to have stopped. The witch king parried easily, the wraiths’s power increased by the presence of their lord. Erestor caught Thranduil and helped him regain his balance, and they began the deadly dance again. Elrond and Glorfindel rushed with a war cry to the aid of their friends. Celeborn, bound by his promise to his cousin, rode to Thranduil’s side.
Sauron’s eyes flickered over to them before he raised his arm, and swung his mace at those who stood before him Scores of elves and men were smote in the ash of Mordor by Sauron’s hand. Elendil raised a warcry and charged, the ring on Sauron’s hand shone and the hand swung the weapon throwing the last of the true kings of Numenor to the ground. Isildur rushed to his father, grief and fear on his dark features, abandoning his panic-stricken swordsmen.
Sauron turned to face the lone soul who had withstood his charge. Thranduil watched in horror as Gil-Galad, High-King of the Noldor, son of Fingon, son of Fingolfin stood his ground, his sword raised in eternal defiance of the darkness.
Gil-Galad felt a dark calm pervading him. As he saw Sauron’s mace swing towards him, he smiled grimly. This was what his aunt had foreseen, he realized immediately. He would not return. He would not get the chance to fulfil Erestor’s wish, to know him better. It was over. He raised his lance and charged, his voice proud and clear as he shouted, “FOR ELBERETH!”
Celeborn watched in horror as a shining star rushed across the lines of fallen warriors towards the black lord.
Erestor felt fear and love rush through their wedding bond in a staggering amount, disturbing his concentration and nearly making him faint. He turned about and screamed in fear and despair as the mace of Sauron smote down his king, his mate and his shining star that he had never had the chance to know completely. The white hot pain that flashed through their bond made him scream louder and he convulsed falling to the ground limply. Strong arms dragged him up, but he did not care, not anymore as the bond between their minds broke leaving behind nothing but darkness.
Elrond’s sword fell from his arms as he watched his cousin being turned to ash at the burning hand of Sauron. He was dimly aware of Celeborn and Glorfindel rallying their soldiers, but made no attempt to assist them. The wraiths closed in around them. A hand, he did not know whose it was, placed his sword back in his hands.
Elrond whispered to the skies above him, “Fair shall the end be”, though he no longer believed it would be. A star had fallen and it would never shine on them again.
Tears flowed down Galadriel’s pale features as she watched her nephew die. The last of those who knew her as Artanis had passed to the eternal keep of Mandos.
Isildur took the shards of his father’s blade, Narsil, and got to his feet with a wild scream. He was alone, against Sauron. The elven leaders were fighting the wraiths and the human commanders had all fallen.
Sauron laughed, at the mortal man who had dared to challenge his might and swung his mace again. A surge of power shot through the human prince as he sliced the hand of the darklord and it fell with a thud on the ashes, the ring on one of the charred fingers. Isildur fainted, but in his last moment of consciousness, he reached out to grab the ring.
The wraiths disappeared, and the orcs scattered as the essence of Sauron vanished. The sun shone more brightly upon the battlefield.
“Elrond”, Thranduil’s voice was weary, “Come with me.”
“I have to lead the warriors into Mordor and save any prisoners”, Elrond closed his eyes, his mind recalling the sharp images of Erestor falling limp in Thranduil’s arms when his bond with Gil-Galad had been severed, “I can trust in you and Glorfindel to keep him alive.”
“Mordor can wait”, Thranduil snapped, “He is dying, he is already on the brink of Mandos. There was some evil in Sauron’s sorcery, that is pulling him after the high-king to death.”
“The bond is broken”, Elrond murmured fearfully, “How then will it be possible?”
Thranduil’s hand pulled Elrond around so that they were face to face. There was a strange expression in Thranduil’s eyes, almost fanatical.
“You said once that you would die to keep him alive, to keep safe”, Thranduil said sharply.
“I will”, Elrond said steadily, “If I can take his place, I would do so now. I would gladly enter the halls of death if it will save him.”
“Then there is a way”, Thranduil replied as he dragged Elrond into the hastily made tent where Erestor was.
Elrond smelled the pungent fragrance of athelas as he entered with Thranduil. Gildor was sitting beside the prone form, holding Erestor’s limp hands in his own and rubbing the athelas. But the despairing expression on Gildor’s face sent coldness along Elrond’s spine.
“I cannot even penetrate the darkness surrounding his soul, Lord Thranduil”, Gildor said gloomily, “He is fast dying. Celeborn was here and Galadriel channelled her healing energy through him, in vain.”
“Gildor, will you get Glorfindel?” Thranduil asked softly, “There may yet be a way.”
Gildor nodded and left hurriedly leaving Elrond and Thranduil alone with Erestor. Thranduil moved quickly towards the prone form and hastily peeled away the shattered armour from the slender body saying, “Come, Elrond. Now is our chance to keep him with us.”
“My healing energy will not be enough”, Elrond said with tears flowing down his cheeks as he watched Erestor shiver in Thranduil’s arms.
“Your healing energy is not required”, Thranduil said angrily, “Bind with him now, and pull him back.”
*****
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