Fate's Mirror 31

Fate's Mirror

Part 31

Posted: March 2004
Author: Larien Elengasse

*****

May 3434, Second Age, Dagorlad

Thranduil sat on a low stool in his father's tent, watching him as he poured over maps and troop rosters. Oropher was silent, but Thranduil knew what he was thinking, he could read the frustration and apprehension in his father's knitted brow.

"This is foolishness," the King grumbled. "Every moment we stay encamped here leaves us vulnerable to the enemy. We should be attacking, not planning!"

Thranduil said nothing. He had been privy to the conversations between his father, Master Elrond, Gil-galad, and Elendil. He understood the need to proceed with caution, they were in the Dark Lord's realm, on his battlefield, and they were greatly outnumbered. There was a part of him that understood his father's impatience. If he were to die, he would prefer that happen sooner rather than later; waiting for death was near unbearable. Oropher's troops had always functioned as a solitary unit; each elf knew the other, knew how they would react. They knew each other's strengths and weaknesses, and they combined their skills with deadly results. They were primarily archers; however, each warrior had skill with the blade whether it be sword or knives.

Other than the small unit that had fought in Eregion with Glorfindel, they had never fought side by side with others before, and this battle was far different from the ones they fought in their woodland home. Oropher's troops practiced stealth, they swooped down upon their prey from the treetops, dropping on them and dispatching them with lightening speed. They had never faced open warfare before on a field that provided no cover. Even in Eregion, those who had fought with Glorfindel had been used in a way that took advantage of their skills. They were placed in towers and along city walls, perched high in trees and under cover of brush to fire with deadly accuracy at the oncoming foe. Now, they would march into the open, no rock or brush to take cover in, and present a frontal assault upon the forces of Mordor.

The tension in the camp was thick; the air was still but for the soft murmuring of the men and elves that wondered what awaited them. Thranduil's visions had been coming for weeks, since they had left Greenwood. They replayed at will in his mind now, his regiment falling in battle, driven into the swamps, surrounded and cut down by swarms of orcs, and wargs. He saw his own fall as if he were watching it from the outside. He saw the hideous face of the orc that ran him through, saw the point of the black spear reddened with his own blood as it came through his back, and he saw himself sink to his knees, falling face first into the black mire of the swamp.

He was going to die there, he was convinced of that. His last days before passing to Mandos' Halls were to be spent in this desolate and dark place, where the air reeked of death and smoke. He stared blankly past his father, Oropher's growling complaints barely registering in his ears. He thought of all that he would have liked to have done, of all those he would miss once he was gone: Gildor, his father, Nessa, Glorfindel…

"Thranduil… Iôn?"

The sound of his name on his father's lips pulled him back from his thoughts and he looked up to see Oropher crouch in front of him.

Oropher placed his hand upon Thranduil's thigh. "Are you unwell, Iôn?" he asked softly. He had never seen his son look so defeated or despondent.

Thranduil smiled wryly and answered, "Elves do not fall ill, Adar. You know that."

Oropher reached up and caressed his son's face. "I do, but never have I seen you look thus, Iôn. You look as if you have lost someone dear to you."

Thranduil smiled wearily. "I am thinking of all that is to come, of all that will come if we fail, Adar."

Oropher smiled, it was a sight that he did not see enough, Thranduil mused. "We will not fail, Thranduil. The Dark Lord's final hour approaches." He placed his hand upon the back of Thranduil's neck and pulled him forward, pressing his forehead into that of his son's. "I want you to promise me something, Iôn."

Thranduil softly answered, "Promise you what, Adar?"

"If I fall, promise me you will marry, promise me you will have a son." He placed his fingers upon Thranduil's lips and silenced him. "You will rule in my stead should anything happen, Thranduil. As King, you must have an heir. Promise me this, Iôn, it is important to me."

Thranduil did not have the heart to tell his father of his visions. He nodded and answered quietly, "I promise, Ada."

Oropher reached up and drew his son into his arms and held him tight, he turned his head and whispered into his ear, "Melin chen, Thranduil, you have made me very proud."

"Melin chen, Ada," Thranduil answered. "I am proud to be your son."

Oropher drew back and patted his son on the shoulder. "Now go and get some rest. Tomorrow we make war."

Thranduil nodded and rose from his stool, leaving his father's tent in silence.

Oropher watched his son go with a heavy heart. He had a vision, he had seen his son's death in the marshes and he knew Thranduil had seen it too. The Dark Lord's black arts hung heavy over the place they were in, and perhaps the evil one overestimated his talent for striking fear into the hearts of all that he touched. Oropher would not let his son fall, he would not let Sauron take him and use him cruelly.

He left his tent in the middle of the night, climbing to the top of a small hill and gazing into the sky. He smiled as his eyes beheld the light of Eärendil, and he whispered so quietly that no one else could hear him. He nodded and covered his heart with his hand and bowed his head, the words "Hannon le…" falling silently from his lips. He then returned to his tent and slid inside his bedroll, turning his sleepless eyes to the ceiling above him.

* * * *

Gildor awaited his lover in their tent, a single candle cast a pale glow inside and he threw some extra furs over their bedroll as a cold wind blew from the east. He was worried about Thranduil. His lover had grown so withdrawn and melancholy since they left the Fords of Isen. At first, he had thought it was seeing Glorfindel that had been the cause, but he quickly discerned it was more than that. Something heavy weighed upon his lover's heart and mind, and Thranduil would not speak of it.

A gust of wind blew into the tent as Thranduil stepped inside before turning and tying the flaps shut. He walked to the edge of their makeshift bed and lowered himself to the ground, sitting and removing his boots.

Gildor crawled across the furs and heavy canvas of their bedroll and knelt behind his beloved, sweeping his lover's golden mane over one shoulder and pressing his lips to the side of Thranduil's head. "You look weary, melethen," he said quietly.

"Aye, I am," Thranduil answered. He shifted and turned to face his lover, his fingertips ghosting over Gildor's brow. "I am sorry I am so dispirited, seron vell. The weight of all that is to pass sits heavy upon my heart."

"I know, ernil vain, I can see it in your eyes," Gildor answered. He took Thranduil's face in his hands and drew his lover's lips to his own. "Come," he whispered against Thranduil's mouth, "let me make you forget all that troubles you."

"Promise me something, Gildor," Thranduil said softly as he pulled back from the kiss.

"Anything, melethen," Gildor answered.

"Promise me that should I fall, you will go on to love another."

Gildor sat back with his eyes wide. "Why do you say such things, Thranduil?" He shook his head. "No, you will not fall, I will not allow it."

Thranduil looked at his lover in earnest. "Promise me, Gildor."

Gildor shook his head violently. "No, I will not do this. I will not sit here and talk of your death. I cannot make such a promise, melethen. I cannot bid my heart to do other than it will."

A tear tracked down Thranduil's cheek. "Please, melethen. I need to know that you will go on, I need to know you will be happy. I can face what is to come if I know this, Gildor. Please, promise me."

Gildor furrowed his brow. "What have you seen, Thranduil? Have you had a vision? You must tell me."

"Promise."

"I cannot. Please do not make me do this."

"Promise me, I beg you."

Gildor sighed and looked at the ground. In a voice so small Thranduil could barely hear it, he answered, "I promise."

Thranduil took him in his arms and held him tight. "Hannon le, melethen. I can face what is to come now with honor and dignity."

"Melin le, Thranduil," Gildor whispered into his ear. "I know I have not been the best lover, I know I have hurt you being so far away. Believe me when I say my heart aches as well, that each moment spent away from you is a moment that reminds me I am incomplete without you."

Thranduil pressed Gildor to his back and covered his form with his own. "Melin le, Gildor. Do not blame yourself for doing your duty. Yes, our separation has been hard, but I have not blamed you. I will love no other as I love you, Gildor, not for the rest of time."

Thranduil covered Gildor's mouth with a deep and passionate kiss and he moaned quietly as the elf lord's hands tangled in his hair. He sat up as they broke their kiss and he straddled his lover's strong body, unbuttoning his tunic. He ran his hands across Gildor's fine chest and smiled down at him. He wanted his last night in Middle Earth to be spent making love to the one he held dear.

Gildor looked up at his golden prince, his silken hair spilling over his shoulders, his breathtaking eyes turning a deep midnight blue, his soft lips curved into a beautiful smile. He arched into his lover's hands, trying to forget all that had been said, trying to forget the sense of dread that had settled over his mind. As Thranduil lowered his mouth to his chest he felt a tear fall from his eye, and he made a promise to himself that he would follow Thranduil into death should he fall. For he knew he could never fulfill the oath the Prince had just made him swear.

They made love to one another that night and held each other. Neither slept, as they wanted to waste not one moment they had with each other.

* * * *

Elrond lay in his bed, his fingers caressing a lock of Celebrían's golden hair. He smiled when he thought of her radiant beauty, of her gentle wisdom, and her infectious spirit. He prayed that should he fall she would love another, and he reminded himself that it was for her that he rode to war. He did it for her and all those like her, all those who must be protected from the hatred of the Dark Lord.

He tucked the lock of hair inside his tunic, into a small pocket near his heart, and then he rolled to his side and tried to find reverie before war began in the morning.

* * * *

**War,** Celeborn thought. **So it has come again.** He set his jaw as he gazed upon the Black Gate. He could feel the Dark Lord reaching out for him, his thoughts like tentacles trying to seize his mind and drive fear deep into the core of it. However, Celeborn was as old as time, he knew of the tricks and black arts of Sauron the Deceiver. "Nay, black beast," he said quietly. "You will not plant your seeds of death and doubt in my mind. Take your black arts and be gone, for you will fall, Dark Lord, even if I have to fall with you to see it done."

A loud blast issued from Orodruin; the mountain was its lord's voice. Celeborn smiled wryly and growled, "Rail away, devil, for there is no escape this time. Elves and men will not leave you to crawl into your hole and regain your strength. You will pay for the havoc you have wreaked upon my people…"

"And you will pay for the defilement of Númenor," Elendil added.

Celeborn turned to see the proud King standing beside him and he smiled. "Yes, he will, meldir; he will pay dearly."

* * * *

Glorfindel closed his eyes as a loud blast issued from Mount Doom. Erestor curled against him, his satiated form molding perfectly to his own. It was strange to hold his mate here in this place, to hold such beauty and love in his arms in so black a place. Memories of the first time he saw Angband flashed into his mind, and he looked down into his love's dark eyes to erase it.

"I know what you are thinking, seron vell," Erestor's deep voice echoed in Glorfindel's ears.

"Do you?" Glorfindel questioned playfully. "Then tell me, oh wise one."

Erestor pinched an amber nipple and chuckled. "You are thinking, what was I doing when I agreed to follow that damned Noldo to Imladris?"

Glorfindel laughed heartily and feigned surprise. "That is astounding! How do you read my mind like that, Erestor?"

Erestor chuckled and rested his head back upon his mate's shoulder. "I am wise beyond even your years, rawen."

Glorfindel laughed softly and pulled his love closer. "Erestor?" he said softly.

"Yes, melethen?" Erestor answered, his hands gently caressing his mate's chest.
"Stay close to me, tomorrow. Something tells me I must protect Master Elrond, but I know not from what. I need to know you will be with me."

"Of course, Glorfindel," Erestor answered quietly. "I will stay by your side, I will protect you."

Glorfindel smiled wearily and pressed a kiss to his mate's head. "Hannon le, melethen. I will fight better for it."

They snuggled close and lay awake for the remainder of the night.

Melin chen = I love you
Hannon le = thank thee
Melethen = my love
Seron vell = dear lover
Ernil vain = fair prince
Melin le = I love thee
Meldir = friend
Rawen = my lion

*****

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