History Lessons, by Nilmandra

Chapter 20: Preparing for War

Elrond disengaged himself from the many craftsmen and artisans who were waiting to speak with him and walked up the hill to a small overlook with a view of the shipyards. The sun gleamed off the golden wood of a new ship being prepared for her maiden voyage. Below him he could see Elros slowly walking the length of the deck, his hand sliding along the polished rail. He paused as he neared the ship’s wheel, walking to it and running his hands lovingly over the smooth wood. He turned it slowly in one direction, then the other. Every touch spoke of the devotion and passion he had poured into the craft. Elrond felt pride welling up within him at his brother’s accomplishment, for Elros had overseen the building of this vessel. Elrond was sure that his brother knew every plank and sail, every rope of the rigging. Círdan had watched over him, meeting with him regularly at first to ensure that construction was proceeding as planned. But as the years of labor progressed, Círdan had entrusted the ship wholly to Elros, for the young peredhel had proven his ability.

“What shall you name her?” Elrond called.

Elros looked up, a broad smile crossing his face at the sound of his twin’s voice. “Círdan has given that privilege to whoever captains her,” he answered wistfully.

“When will she be tested for sea worthiness?”

Elros laughed. “I do not know. But she will pass any such test with flying colors!” he answered confidently. He ran his hand up the main rigging as he spoke, the touch a caress as gentle as any one might reserve for a lover. “I shall speak to Círdan about when she will go to sea.”

“Elrond!” Lasbelin’s voice interrupted him.

Elrond grimaced slightly at the sound of the counselor’s voice and waved to Elros as duty beckoned him. “She is a treasure!” he called as he departed.

“Elrond, there are men from the village near Sirion here with concerns. Also, Calendîn is here on behalf of his people. The green elves are troubled by the number of trees being felled. I have explained the plans to both parties, but they are not satisfied. They wish to speak to the King. Will you hear them?” Lasbelin asked, exasperated. “For some reason they listen to you.”

Elrond smiled graciously, despite Lasbelin’s less than genial tone, and allowed the elf to lead him to the waiting parties. Calendîn nodded nearly imperceptibly to Elrond, indicating he should speak with the men first. Elrond bowed his head in return, acknowledging the favor respectfully.

“Mae Govannen, Garman,” Elrond greeted the leader of the Men with a slight bow. “How fare your people? Have you had any further difficulties with the eastern invaders?”

“Mae Govannen, Elrond,” Garman replied, relief showing openly on his face now that he was no longer dealing with Lasbelin. “Our people are well, and we have not had difficulties since the elves began their harvest near our village.”

“I am glad for this, and I know the King will be as well,” Elrond assured them. “How may I assist you today?”

Elrond watched as Garman stiffened and his eyes narrowed, and he heard the sigh behind him indicating Lasbelin had drawn near. He turned to face the elf.

“Lasbelin, would you deliver this message to Círdan? Gil-Galad indicated it was of some importance,” Elrond explained as he held out a missive bearing the King’s personal seal.

Lasbelin took it with a sniff, turning on his heel and leaving them without a word. Elrond counted to five before turning back to Garman.

“My apologies for the interruption. Please do continue.” Elrond smiled at the man, wondering what Lasbelin had said to cause such animosity. To his amusement, Garman relaxed as soon as Lasbelin was out of sight and hearing.

“My people have learned that these ships are being built so that the elves can escape from an attack. We have tried to learn details of this attack, so that our village might plan as well, but information has been denied us. We have aided you in obtaining supplies and transporting them to the havens. I would consider us allies, yet your King has not seen fit to even inform us of a risk that you are taking great pains to prepare for!” Garman finished, frustration and dismay evident on his face and in the tone of his voice.

Elrond felt a great empathy grow within him for this man. The elves were trusting of Círdan and Gil-Galad’s plans for the most part, but even they had difficulty at times with preparations they did not understand. He reached out, laying his hand gently on Garman’s arm.

“Come sit with me,” he counseled, deftly leading the man to a bench with a view of the shipyards. He took a deep breath, choosing his words carefully. “In a time such as this false information seems to prevail, and this hardly is surprising when one considers the dearth of accurate information. However, this lack is not due to anyone withholding the truth. We who are so young in years cannot understand the wisdom of those who have lived through the ages.” He looked Garman straight in the eye. “We do not know why these ships are being built. We do not know if or when they will be used, how or by whom. But we trust the one who bore the message, for he knows the one who sent the message.”

“You do all of this on such faith?” Garman asked incredulously.

Elrond smiled. “Yes, and the King does not forget his allies,” he promised. “When there is information to be had, it will be shared with our friends.”

Garman continued to stare at him, momentarily speechless. “Do you trust this plan?” he finally asked.

“I trust in those who make the plans. They have never failed me,” he answered.

Garman was quiet for a few moments as he pondered all that Elrond had told him. He stood and looked out over the shipyards, watching the activity of the many builders and artisans.

“There are men working in your yards,” he said suddenly.

Elrond stood and joined him. “Yes, Elros met several young men with an interest in sailing and shipbuilding. They work on his crew.”

Garman turned to face Elrond. “Please tell your King that we renew our alliance with you today. We will share any information we gather and continue to aid your wood harvesters.”

Elrond reached out and clasped the man’s forearm. “We welcome your alliance, as always, and will also share any information we gain with you.” He paused, choosing his words carefully, “When we do know more of the future, you will be told all that we may tell.”

Garman bowed and, with a nod of his head, walked from the shipyards with his men at his heels.

Elrond drew in a deep breath and released the tension from within him. The elves needed the aid of the Men in harvesting the wood to build their ships. If they had to perform that labor on their own, it would greatly delay their shipbuilding efforts. He walked to where Calendîn waited for him.

“Calendîn.” Elrond bowed to the green-elf respectfully.

Calendîn intently studied the young half-elf before him. “I heard much of what you said to Garman,” he stated matter-of-factly.

Elrond nodded and waited for the elf to continue.

“The trees are restless with all the activity in their midst. The harvesters are somewhat careful in the trees they fell, but they are thinning some areas too greatly. They also are not thanking the forests for their gifts,” Calendîn said softly.

“For this I am sorry,” replied Elrond honestly. He did not have the connection to the forest that the green elves did, but he also did not doubt their deep ties to the trees. “Have you any suggestions for how we might work differently?”

Calendîn nodded thoughtfully. “Will you allow me to direct the workers to where they may cut each day?”

“I know I speak for the King when I say we would be grateful for your assistance,” Elrond answered with an inward sigh of relief. “Will you also assist those leading the work in offering thanks to the forest?”

“Yes,” replied Calendîn simply. “My people will also help, to ensure that these changes do not slow your shipyards.”

“I will speak to those leading the harvest later today. Beginning tomorrow they will follow your direction. Will you send word of any problems, with either the workers or the schedule?” requested Elrond.

“Yes,” answered Calendîn, and with a slight bow he disappeared into the trees beyond the shipyards, melting into their waiting arms soundlessly.

Elrond watched him go, amazed at how quickly and easily the elf had blended into the woods. He smiled, glad the wood elves were willing to assist, for their skills were unique and invaluable and would likely lead to increased production.

“I am glad you have not left. I do not need to waste my morning searching for you,” said Lasbelin imperiously. “That missive was for Círdan, but it also had instructions for you.”

“Thank you, Lasbelin,” Elrond answered, forcing his voice to stay calm at Lasbelin’s tone. He turned to walk past the elf, but to his dismay the counselor fell into step beside him.

“Tell me about your conversations with Garman and Calendîn, so I may inform the King of any actions that he may need to take,” said Lasbelin stiffly.

“I need to speak to several others to complete my part of the agreement,” Elrond answered calmly. He would not trust Lasbelin to accurately convey his conversations second hand. “When I have done so, I will report to the King.”

“Elrond!” called a gruff voice.

Elrond smiled at the interruption, for Lasbelin would not continue at his side in Círdan’s presence. He took pleasure in knowing the counselor was intimidated by the old mariner.

“Suilad, Círdan,” Elrond greeted him, quickly falling into step with the spry elf. He grinned as Lasbelin lagged behind them. He felt Círdan’s eyes upon him, and purposefully kept his gaze ahead, so he would not laugh in Lasbelin’s hearing.

Círdan, however, felt no such reservations. “That elf can organize anything, but he should not be allowed to talk to others,” growled Círdan. “If he was half as rude to the Men and Calendîn as he indicated he was, I would forbid him from speaking in the future.”

As they approached Elros’ completed ship, Elrond asked, “When will she take her maiden voyage?”

“That was the message you were supposed to deliver,” teased Círdan. “Her captain, name and maiden voyage are ready to be announced. Gil-Galad will be present.”

Elrond arched a brow in surprise. “Why is the King coming? He did not mention anything this morning.”

Círdan laughed. “You will see.”

They stopped near the ship, where many had already gathered. Elrond sought out his brother, wishing to lend his support and comfort to his twin, for he knew despite Elros’ earlier smile, giving over his ship to her first captain would pain him. He found him tying ribbon from the ship’s wheel to the rail, ribbon the new captain would cut when he named the vessel and turned her wheel to the sea.

“What shall you do next?” asked Elrond softly. “Will you build another ship?”

“Círdan is being evasive,” answered Elros dryly. “He will not say what he wishes me to do next. He tells me to be patient, that I will be told when he decides.” He paused, drawing in a deep breath. “I wish to take her to sea.”

Elros turned then, facing seaward, his hands gripping the rail so tightly his knuckles were white. His jaw was tightly clenched and his cheekbones prominent, and Elrond felt the pain of his twin. He moved to stand at the rail and leaned into his brother, and was pleased when Elros relaxed against him, accepting his comfort.

Voices and movement behind them distracted them soon after, and they turned to see Gil-Galad and Círdan boarding the ship. Elrond watched as Elros forced a smile and stepped forward to greet the arriving guests. She was his ship until her captain was named.

“We are here to announce the captain and plan for the maiden voyage of this fine ship,” began Círdan without preamble or greeting, his voice gruff but a twinkle visible in his eye. “Elros, come forward.”

Elrond watched with dismay as Elros stepped forward, and thought for the first time in his life that Círdan was acting cruelly, unintentionally perhaps, but he seemed not to notice Elros’ discomfort. Elrond felt his own muscles tense as he willed all the strength he had to his brother. Intent on his twin, he did not notice Gil-Galad coming to stand near him until he felt a strong arm slip around his shoulders.

“Elros is completely ignorant of Círdan’s plan, is he not?” murmured Gil-Galad in Elrond’s ear.

Elrond turned sharply, nearly knocking the king off balance. Gil-Galad held up his hand, motioning Elrond to silence. Gil-Galad’s eyes were dancing and Elrond turned back to watch Elros, who was now standing near Círdan.

“Elros, do you accept command of this vessel?” Círdan asked.

Elros turned to stare at the old mariner, and much good-natured laughter was heard in the audience as the young peredhel was rendered momentarily speechless. Elros gripped the ship rail for support and attempted to answer, but no words were forthcoming.

“A simple ‘yes’ will suffice, although an answer is merely a formality,” added Círdan after a moment. He clapped Elros on the back then, and that seemed to bring him back to reality.

“Yes! A thousand yeses!” Elros finally managed to reply.

“What shall her name be?” continued Círdan, a broad smile now covering his face.

“Her name shall be Mîriel, for she is a treasure,” Elros replied as his eyes met Elrond’s.

“She sails in two weeks, time for you to finish outfitting her and choosing her crew,” announced Círdan, as glasses of wine were passed out to all present. He lifted his cup, “To the Mîriel! May she be worthy of her captain. May she fly like the wind when an enemy is at your back or need or good fortune before you. May she serve you well and always bring you safely home to those who love you.” With that, Círdan lifted his cup to the young half-elf he had raised and mentored, and downed the contents.

Cheers erupted and Elrond joined in, lifting his glass and drinking with Gil-Galad to Elros’ good fortune. He watched with joy as Elros cut the ribbon and turned the ship’s wheel, and then turned to accept the congratulations and good wishes from those he had served with and those who had worked on the Mîriel. Elrond was fairly certain that bids were being made by those who wished to sail with his brother. Then Elros began working his way to where his brother stood, finally flinging himself into Elrond’s arm with a cry of glee.

“Did you know, Elrond?” he asked breathlessly.

“I did not,” admitted Elrond. “Círdan and Gil-Galad held this secret close.”

Gil-Galad laughed as he embraced Elros. “It was decided the day Círdan turned over primary building responsibility to you. Did you really think Círdan would let you build her, and then take her away from you?”

“That was nearly two years ago,” said Elros, astonished. “It was decided then I would captain her?”

“It was decided then you would captain her IF you managed to complete her successfully,” interjected Círdan gruffly as he joined them. “You exceeded my expectations, Elros. I am well pleased with you.”

Elros nearly glowed in the hard earned praise of his mentor, and Elrond knew that his brother would remember this day as one of the best of his life. Círdan steered Elros away to lay further plans for choosing a crew, and Elrond was drawn back to the present by the king issuing orders.

“Elrond, I need a report prepared for the military council outlining the current status of relations with each of our allies. Also include a list of all the other groups of people in Beleriand and an assessment of which side they would fight in a war. I need an update on the wood harvest and the progress in the shipbuilding project. I understand there are some issues with the Men near the havens of Sirion and the green elves; include an update on what you have done to alleviate those problems. Word has come of an attack near Nan Tathren; learn what you can.” Gil-Galad paused, as if thinking, then added more slowly. “Galadriel plans a journey across the Blue Mountains. Please speak to Celeborn and ensure that he has what he needs, if possible, for the trip. I fear we cannot spare many to accompany them, but some of the elves of Doriath remain loyal to them and will attend them on this trip.”

Elrond’s questions regarding the reason for Celeborn and Galadriel’s journey remained unasked as Gil-Galad’s attention was turned to advisors competing for his attention. Instead he bowed slightly, and slipped away.

* * *

It was late in the night when Elrond heard the door to his study open. He recognized the shadow of his twin even in the darkness, and smiled at the figure that moved to sit next to him.

“You are working late, little brother,” Elros said softly, a yawn escaping him.

“I will be working until well into the morning to gather all the information Gil-Galad has requested,” replied Elrond. He laid down his quill, turning his attention to Elros. “Have you chosen your crew?”

“I have had a crew picked out for weeks,” laughed Elros. “We could leave in three days, if need be. Círdan has assigned Magor to me.”

“Such experience will doubtless be helpful,” answered Elrond with a grin as he thought of his first encounter with the elf.

Elros grinned. “I have no complaints. He likes Men, and I have chosen several to serve on the Mîriel.”

“The assistance of Men has been invaluable,” Elrond said suddenly. “We are stretched thin, our food supplies are low and so many of our people are working on the ships or patrolling the areas where the wood is being harvested that everyday tasks are being neglected. The aid of men has helped some to alleviate the stress.”

Elros grew somber. “I did not know all of this, Elrond.”

Elrond turned away quickly. “Your job was to build that ship, and you have done that. It is the job of others to insure you had what you needed, and to allow you to focus on your task.”

Elros studied his brother for a moment, then embraced him, smoothing back the dark hair from the face that mirrored his own. “You deserved as much credit as I today. Make sure you rest, Elrond. Your mind needs rest, even if your body seems as if it can continue forever.”

Elros slipped from the room as quietly as he had come, and Elrond pulled the lantern closer as he bent back over the parchment he was writing on.

* * *

“Ereinion! Elrond! Elros!” shouted Círdan.

Elrond leapt to his feet, nearly colliding with his brother as they left his study where they had been talking about Elros’ leaving the next morning to captain the Mîriel on her first voyage, and they both crashed into Gil-Galad in the hallway. Gil-Galad grabbed them both by the scruff of the neck, righting them, and Elrond was surprised at the strength in the King’s arms that let him nearly lift them both off their feet. They raced to the back door of the house, the anxious faces of the house staff watching them from half opened doors as they came to see what could cause Círdan to shout. Some of them had served the old mariner for centuries, and many were trying to remember if they had ever heard his voice raised in such a manner.

Gil-Galad led them out the back door and they followed Círdan’s voice to the cliff where so often he had stood and gazed westward. This time, however, he gazed to the northwest.

Elrond gazed upon the western sky, but instead of the darkness he expected to see with Anor having long completed her day’s journey, he saw flashes of light, a brilliance unlike any he had seen before. It was not light as he had seen from a forest fire, or the fiery glow of the sun as it settled beyond the horizon, or the cool reflection of Ithil. This light was as the brilliant sparkle of the rays of the sun as they reflected off the many prismatic surfaces of a fine jewel, yet magnified as if the jewel were the size of a large vessel.

“What is it?” he finally asked, unable to tear his gaze away from the light.

“It can be only one thing,” replied Círdan solidly. “The Valar have come to throw down Morgoth once and for all.”

“They march northward to Angband,” breathed Gil-Galad.

“War has come,” answered Círdan. He stepped back to stand with them, never taking his eyes from the brilliant light. “The end of Beleriand as we know it is upon us. When the fury of the Valar is spent and Morgoth is cast down, the lands you see will not exist as you now see them, if they exist at all,” he predicted.

“It is for this that we have been preparing,” said Elros, disbelief in his voice. “You knew this would come!”

Círdan did not answer.

“Go to rest,” instructed Gil-Galad. “Elrond, we will meet early to discuss what word we will give our people and send to our allies. Elros, you are still to sail in the morning.”

“Stay well east of the ruins of Barad Nimras, Elros,” added Círdan.

Elros nodded, and the twins left silently, each glancing back one last time before their view of the light was blocked by the trees. They entered the house, the servants watching them curiously, but they did not speak of what they had seen. They entered Elrond’s room, shutting the door behind them before speaking.

“What do you think will happen now?” asked Elros.

“I think we will go to war,” answered Elrond after a moment’s contemplation. “We have more ships to finish, so I do not know how many warriors we can send. I wonder how the Valar fight? Do they use swords and bows?”

Elros flopped back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. He rolled on his side, then got to his feet and walked to the window. He stared out into the darkness briefly, then began pacing restlessly. “It will be a glorious battle,” he said, a hint of excitement in his voice. “Everything will be different after this, Elrond!”

“I think we are soon to find out,” replied Elrond somberly.

Elros moved quickly to sit next to his twin. “Are you not excited? This could be the end of Morgoth! The end of attacks and people living in fear. A chance to build new cities and new ports!”

Elrond smiled at his brother’s enthusiasm. “It will be exciting,” he agreed, pushing aside his own thoughts about the action they needed to take and what such changes might mean to their people.

* * *

Elrond woke early and the sound of low voices in Gil-Galad’s study, next to his own, drew his attention. He closed his door and the voices ceased, then he heard his name called. He entered to find Gil-Galad and Círdan seated, and by all appearances they had talked all night.

“Join us, Elrond,” Gil-Galad said, motioning him to take a seat. “We have plans to make.”

Gil-Galad had a map of Beleriand spread out on his desk. “We shall lead our army northward towards Angband. We will need to send advance word to the Valar, to see what position they wish us to take. I am inclined to believe that we will be involved in mopping up the stragglers and preventing any forces from the east from arriving to aid them.”

“What shall be our priorities between the shipyards and sending warriors north?”

“Both are priorities,” answered Gil-Galad. “I need information regarding how many need to stay behind to defend Balar and continue work in the shipyards, as well as what kind of support our warriors will need heading north.”

“Will our allies go north with us?”

“We will need to send word. Any who will follow my command may join us,” replied Gil-Galad.

“They will follow your command,” murmured Elrond. He pulled out a sheet of parchment and began taking notes as Gil-Galad and Círdan spoke. When they had finished several hours later, cook having the grace to serve them breakfast in the study, Elrond had a list of tasks and assignments as long as his arm.

“Let us go see Elros off,” Círdan ended their session.

Elrond stopped briefly in his own office to organize his day, but overheard Círdan and Gil-Galad continuing to speak in the hallway.

“Is it wise to entrust so much to Elrond?” Círdan asked. “He is young and has never fought in a war.”

“He is more reliable and more accurate than any other advisor I have,” replied Gil-Galad. “He makes good assumptions, notes them appropriately and is willing to learn what he does not know. His ego and pride do not limit his abilities, as it does with others. And you trusted his judgment many years ago to start the shipbuilding project.”

“I saw the potential before you is all,” laughed Círdan, and then the voices receded.

Elrond smiled, pleasure spreading warmly through him. He knew he was meant to overhear the words, but that did not lessen his appreciation for them. Praise from the King and the Shipwright was hard earned and seldom given, and he would treasure it. With a smile still on his face, he followed them to the shipyards to see the Mîriel depart.

* * *

Elrond mounted his horse, then waited, watching as the columns of warriors lined up in ranks. The last ship was just setting sail to return to Balar, its sails catching the breeze and its size diminishing as it returned to its home dock.

They were going to war.

He repeated the words in his mind, barely comprehending them despite the months of preparatory work he had done for this day. He recalled the first day after Círdan had seen the lights, when they had announced to their people that the Valar had come. Such excitement there had been on the Isle! Fear there had been also, from those who had left Aman so many years earlier. Most believed that this sign meant they had been forgiven, while a few despaired of facing those who might yet pronounce their doom. Gil-Galad had rallied the people, reminding them of Eärendil’s voyage and the message he carried, and how his sacrifice had not been in vain.

Messengers had been sent to all their allies with word of what was to come, and they were asked to send representatives to Balar. Men came, some in disbelief that the stories of old were true. The tale of Eärendil the Mariner was known to them, for he was a Lord of Men and Elves, and the knowledge that his voyage had been successful caused joy in the hearts of Men. In this Elros had particularly delighted, and he had greatly enjoyed the attention that came from the resemblance he bore to his sire. The rumblings in the Earth and the lights to the northwest were other visible proof that great change was coming, and hope was born anew that evil might finally be destroyed.

In the end, several of the villages of men had emptied, sending their old, their women and their children to Balar. They would be safer there with their fighting men gone, and many of the older men could practice their trades and crafts on the Isle, filling a need with Balar nearly emptied of its males. Círdan remained behind to see to the ships – building, outfitting and patrolling the coast –and he had a contingent of workers with him.

The female elves would see to the isle’s defense, work in the shipyards and care for the children. Galadriel would rule the isle. Elrond was glad she and Celeborn had been caught before they had left on their trip. He understood now what Galadriel wished to do – she also feared that Beleriand would be changed forever and wished to explore east, across the Blue Mountains, for new settlements for the elves. Long they had discussed the ban of the Valar.

“The Valar have not come to destroy Angband and bind Morgoth only to leave the elves to die in an upheaval of the land,” Galadriel had predicted. “They will end the ban for most and those elves will be free to seek the peace of the West.”

“What about the Men of Beleriand? Will they allow them to go west?” Elros had questioned.

“No,” Galadriel had answered sadly. “But many of the elves will not choose to live in Valinor either, thus the need for us to think about new homes in the East, should Beleriand not survive.”

“The earth already trembles and the trees cry out,” Celeborn had growled. “Let us win the fight before worrying about what shall occur after the war.”

A shout broke Elrond of his reverie and his eyes were drawn to the standard bearers – the main flag the banner of Gil-Galad, High King of the Noldor, – but smaller banners were borne beneath of Doriath and Gondolin and Nargothrond, tribute to his realm being formed of the remnants of others. The Men also carried their banners, and the many colors waved merrily in the morning breeze.

Gil-Galad took up position at the front of the column and Elrond heard him cry, “An auth! To war!” A chorus of shouts answered him and the formation slowly began to move forward. Elrond began the journey at the rear, but moved easily in and out of the companies of elves and men. As he rode thus he learned the hearts and minds of those he would fight with. At night they would camp, and he would join Gil-Galad in his tent and tell him all he had learned.

“Garman’s men are untested in anything but defensive maneuvers. They are brave, however, and they will follow you.

“The men who lived further up the coast, just beyond the Cape, have driven orcs to the sea and are mighty fighters. They see value in numbers, but will follow Tauron should he choose his own course to fight. Including him in council will go far to ensure his continued support.

“Tarias was born in Gondolin and his parents died in the fall when he was a small child. He fears meeting the Valar, for his parents spoke of the doom and curse laid upon them.”

Elrond watched with an ever growing respect for his King as Gil-Galad led them northwards. He met with the leaders of all the groups in council, hearing their opinions and concerns. He moved among the warriors, speaking words of hope and encouragement. And when they first encountered battle, Gil-Galad led with sound orders and fighting tactics. On occasion Elrond rode at his side, but Gil-Galad usually encouraged him to act independently, saying that Elrond’s eyes and ears doubled the information they could gather. Elrond soon came to realize that all his young life he had followed Gil-Galad because he was family, for the elf had raised and mentored him, but now he would follow Gil-Galad as his King.

* * *

They engaged in their first large battle north of Nan Tathren, with a band of orcs fleeing from the Hosts of the Valar. Gil-Galad’s forces had been victorious, their large host destroying the even larger host of orcs, but they had suffered casualties, with the majority of the dead and seriously injured being Men. The orcs were routed long before Anor rose, yet Elrond and the other healers worked until she was nearly ready to end her journey that day. Exhausted, he allowed the cold waters of the Sirion to wash over his tired and filth covered body. He had just finished dressing in fresh clothing when a messenger summoned him to a meeting with the King. It took all the strength he could muster to walk to the King’s tent, and he slipped inside quietly with hopes of being quickly questioned and excused.

The enclosure was warm in the autumn air, and Elrond feared he might drowse in the dim light. He stood to the side of the tent, mentally preparing a concise report on the status of the wounded. Exhaustion still weighed heavily upon him, and he found himself learning against one of the tent supports as he waiting for Gil-Galad to call upon him.

“Elrond, what is your assessment of why the Men took such heavy casualties in the battle last eve?” Gil-Galad had asked.

Elrond looked up in surprise, coming suddenly to attention when he realized all who remained were elves. All of those elven eyes were turned towards him, and he felt a growing heat in his face. He realized that some debate must have occurred prior to his arrival, and now wondered what he had walked into.

“My Lord,” he began slowly, “the enemy appeared desperate in their escape, but they were also fierce and experienced fighters. The men who were most grievously injured and killed had the least experience among us. Yet due to the timing and place of the initial attack, those Men were at the front of the battle. Perhaps they were even targeted for their weakness.”

Elrond watched as Lasbelin and Gaerion, who had headed the military council of Balar, exchanged smug glances, but his attention was immediately drawn back to Gil-Galad as the King posed a second question to him.

“So you would say that the inexperience of the Men was a contributing factor to their heavy losses.”

“Aye, my Lord, how could it not be so? They are young and untried, and have never faced so great an enemy before this day,” replied Elrond, his brow arched quizzically. “Taruron’s warriors fared better, but have more experience. Their forefathers have long fought orcs and taught them well.”

Gil-Galad’s face remained impassive, showing neither pleasure nor displeasure at Elrond’s answers. “What is your solution for how such losses will be avoided in the future?”

All within the tent were silent and all eyes remained on him, leading Elrond to wonder if he was being used to test another or if the test was of him. In the past when Gil-Galad had wished to teach him or show him a flaw or error in his thinking, he had done so privately. Elrond’s thoughts raced as he quickly tried to recall any lapses in judgment he had made this day, of any gross error that would lead the king to rebuke him before all of his advisors, but the ongoing silence recalled his thoughts and he forced himself to focus on the question posed to him.

“We have not the time to set up a full training camp for them, but we are in need of a several day respite to allow the wounded to mend and decide where those too severely injured to continue shall reside until they may rejoin us or return to their homes. I would propose that the battle strategists determine the best placement in the column of all of the men and elves with less experience, so that they are not grouped to cause a weakness in any one flank of our army. I would also propose that in these days battle tactics are reviewed and basic strategies in offense and defense are taught to them,” Elrond finished, his eyes fixed on Gil-Galad.

“Shall you also be the one to teach these strategies to those less experienced?” asked Gaerion in a slightly mocking tone.

Elrond flushed slightly and his eyes sought Gil-Galad’s, but the King merely waited for him to respond.

“No, Lord Gaerion,” he replied. “I am hardly experienced myself, and not qualified to know what skills or strategies would be most useful in the short time available to teach them.”

“Lasbelin, what are the flaws in such a plan?” Gil-Galad turned his gaze to his oldest advisor.

Lasbelin always stood ramrod straight, but seemed to Elrond’s eyes to further raise his head and neck.

“The Men have cost us time and resources this day, neither of which can be spared. Food, medicine and weapon stores must be closely monitored so that the weakest among us do not drain these valuable commodities from the strong. It is the strong who will ultimately win this battle,” replied Lasbelin with firm conviction.

Eyes turned expectantly to Elrond and a nod from Gil-Galad indicated he should answer such a defense.

“Lasbelin’s concerns are valid and should not be lightly considered,” he answered after a moment, shifting his weight to stand with his hands behind his back, thus preventing him from indulging in the desire to wipe his sweating palms against his trousers. “However, such rationing of medicine and food hardly seems an issue at this time. In addition, these men learn quickly and have the potential to become worthy warriors with but a little effort. Lastly, if in this war the weak are to be so judged I believe we may as well all turn back now, for next to the mighty Hosts of the Valar all here may appear as weak and unworthy vessels.”

There was a lengthy silence in the tent and Elrond’s face burned hotly at the impertinence of his words. Lasbelin’s face twitched in anger and Gaerion nearly shook with rage. Other advisors regarded him with twinkling eyes and hints of smiles.

“What shall you do, Elrond, if the King decides it is best to split from the Men?” Gaerion spat.

“The King I serve would not casually dismiss the young and the inexperienced as weak and leave them to fight alone when we can be made a stronger unit by working together,” Elrond answered tersely, anger finally rising in him that Gaerion would question his loyalty to the King.

Yet despite his brave words, a horror rose within him that he had spoken on behalf of Gil-Galad without knowing his thoughts on this matter and without his permission. He did not back down, however, and instead turned to face Gil-Galad. If the King chose to censure his words, so be it.

Gil-Galad rose from his chair. “Thank you, Elrond, you are excused. I expect a report on the status of the injured in the morning.”

Elrond let out his breath, unaware he had been holding it, and watched in disbelief as Gil-Galad turned his attention to another matter entirely. He bowed, though Gil-Galad’s attention was already focused elsewhere, and left the tent.

The cool night air caressed his face and he breathed in deeply, as if cleansing himself of the anger and tension he had just experienced. Most nights he slept in a tent with some of the advisors and healers, but now he just wished to be alone. He saw Elros sitting next to a tree, sharpening his sword and fletching arrows. Grabbing his bedroll, Elrond tossed it next to his twin and flopped down upon it, pulling the woolen blanket up snugly about him. Elros smiled at him, and despite his weariness, Elrond could not help but ask, “What is the total this battle, brother mine?”

“Fourteen, but I came late for I was posted on the far side of the column,” answered Elros with a grin. “You?”

“I lost track of the number of stitches I sewed, but my blade did manage to finish an orc that thought to take advantage of an injured man,” yawned Elrond.

“There will be plenty more opportunity for both,” Elros answered wisely. He turned slightly, straightening his legs and folding his blanket over both of them. He glanced down at the prone form, now silent, and realized his twin was already deep in sleep. “Well, at least this time you managed to clean up and find a bed before collapsing from exhaustion, little brother,” he whispered.

* * *

The camp was dark and quiet when Gil-Galad located Elrond and Elros asleep near the tree. Elros roused despite the nearly soundless movement of the King, but Gil-Galad motioned him to silence. He effortlessly lifted his young advisor, and signaled for Elros to follow him. Entering his tent, he laid the sleeping Elrond on a cot and covered him with a blanket, then directed Elros to the cot next to it.

“Ah, there are some advantages to having such an important little brother,” quipped Elros as he looked appreciatively at his improved accommodations.

Gil-Galad merely smiled. “I am nearly positive he did not eat, and I just questioned him despite his exhaustion before my council for reasons he knows little about. Do not let anyone waken him too early and make sure he breakfasts before going about his duties. Even the brother of such an important member of the king’s staff must accept that his improved accommodations come with some additional responsibility,” he teased back, mussing Elros’ hair affectionately. “Fourteen, I hear?”

Elros grinned as he made himself comfortable. “I’ll do better next time.”

* * *

Elrond awoke with a start, confused as to his surroundings, and let forth a cry when he realized the sun streaming into the tent was part way through its morning climb. He threw back the covers and was leaping from his bed when a solid weight threw him back down. He looked up in surprise to see the grinning face of his twin.

“Elros! Let me up! I am late!” Elrond attempted to push his brother off him.

“King’s orders,” laughed Elros, taking a bite from an apple from his perch on top of his brother.

“Where is he? Why aren’t we breaking camp?” Elrond asked as he fought to free his legs.

“I do not know,” Elros answered truthfully. “Some of the warriors are assembling for special training, there is a meeting to reorganize the column and the healers are all meeting to discuss the status of the wounded. I was told to make sure no one bothered you and to make sure you ate. So, I am just following orders.”

“Well, then let me up so I can eat,” growled Elrond.

Elros regarded his twin with a serious expression. He pointed to a prepared tray nearby, and said, “Eat all of that.”

“Lembas are fine,” argued Elrond. “I should be at that meeting.”

Elros took another bite from his apple, his feet firmly planted on the ground as he held his twin in place and prevented Elrond from gaining purchase and flipping him off. He ignored Elrond’s struggles and smiled at the snarling noise issuing from the cot.

The tent flap was flung back and Gil-Galad entered. He moved quickly to his makeshift desk, quickly gathering the maps and parchments he was seeking. As he turned to leave, he noticed the brothers on the cot.

“Elrond, eat this!” Gil-Galad tapped the tray impatiently. “I need you to speak to the healers as well as Garman, he trusts you, and . . .,” Gil-Galad’s voice faded as he left the tent.

Elrond grinned at his brother. “Now will you get off me?”

Elros grinned back. “He said you had to eat that before you can go. I still win. King’s orders.”

Rested and well fed, Elrond joined Gil-Galad a half hour later.

“Speak to Garman first,” Gil-Galad greeted him, “then join the healers. We can tarry here only two or three days. I want details worked out as to where the wounded will stay by this afternoon. Meet me in my tent afterwards.”

Elrond accepted the staccato orders and watched with a mixture of love, pride, respect and admiration as his King moved quickly on to his next task.

* * * * *

Chapter 21: The War

* * * * *

Gil-Galad led his forces north, moving slowly up the steep pathways cut in the rock near the Gates of Sirion and then onward to the forest of Region, near Doriath. Elrond watched respectfully as Celeborn led a group of Doriath’s survivors in words of remembrance as they recalled their flight with young Elwing down this same path so many years earlier, and he listened in fascination as survivors of Gondolin recalled the glory of Ecthelion, Glorfindel and the other captains who died in the fall of their fair city. He heard again how Glorfindel helped to save his father, Eärendil, and grandparents from the orcs and balrogs that pursued them through Cirith Thoronath. Their stories mingled, only a few years separating the tales of grief that led them down the great river Sirion to the Havens where the two Kindreds mixed.

“Perhaps there will be time for us to visit the ruins of Menegroth^[1],” Celeborn spoke softly. “I have never passed through the Hidden Way to Gondolin, but there are those who could lead us there, should you wish to see the home of your father.”

Elrond nodded as he watched the older elves speak. He had lived nearly his whole life on the Isle of Balar, while learning the history of Beleriand from those who had lived in her glorious kingdoms. For these elves, walking again the paths that had carried them far from their homes as they fled the destruction that had claimed the lives of their kings, brought a sorrow to their spirits and hearts that pained Elrond to see. He was hard pressed to describe the emotion that came from knowing how many had sacrificed to see Elwing and Eärendil saved. Mere children they had been, innocent and defenseless, and Elrond was struck by the similarities their childhood tragedies bore to those he and Elros had suffered. And yet, elves had sacrificed to raise them to adulthood too. Already he and Elros had lived longer than Dior, Elwing or Eärendil had in Middle-earth.

“Celeborn, Gil-Galad wishes to see you in his tent.” A messenger interrupted them and Celeborn excused himself.

A hush fell over Gil-Galad’s troops as a small group of elves entered their midst a short while later. All were armed and mounted on magnificent stallions except for the lead elf, who led on foot, his hands held up in greeting. He was tall and of a proud bearing, and yet when he looked upon them a warm light seemed to emanate from within him, and he nodded and bowed to them graciously. His horse walked at his side, a large white stallion with a flowing mane of white. The animal seemed intelligent and Elrond was convinced the horse nodded his head and bowed at the same time the elf did.

“Well met, friends,” the elf spoke in a musical voice, and it took Elrond a moment, as it did all listening, to realize the elf spoke in the high elven tongue of Quenya.

“Well met, my King,” answered Gil-Galad as he left his tent and walked forward. He dropped to his knee before the regal elf and bowed his head.

The elf touched Gil-Galad upon the head, and then raised his hand, indicating Gil-Galad should rise. He had not yet spoken, but instead seemed to study the elf before him, as if memorizing his every feature. Then he gently took Gil-Galad’s face in his hands and kissed him on one cheek, then the other.

“I am pleased to meet you, son of Fingon, son of my brother Fingolfin,” King Finarfin finally answered.

Gil-Galad met the gaze of his great-uncle and High King unflinchingly, and spoke softly, his words not meant for all to hear. “I last saw my grandfather when I was a child of ten summers, yet it is as if he is standing before me again.”

A smile crossed Finarfin’s face, and he drew Gil-Galad into an embrace. After a moment, Gil-Galad pulled away, his eyes moist, and turned to face those behind him.

“There are others of your family for you to meet,” said Gil-Galad as he motioned to those before him. “This is Elrond, son of Eärendil, son of Idril, daughter of Turgon. His twin brother, Elros, is on patrol but will meet you later. Elrond, this is Finarfin, High King of the Noldor in Aman, son of Finwë and brother to Fëanor and Fingolfin.”

Elrond also dropped to his knee and bowed his head, murmuring, “My King.”

The King drew him to his feet, and Elrond felt like a child again, standing before Círdan or Gil-Galad, being inspected and evaluated before some event. Finarfin smoothed his hair back and gently ran his fingers down Elrond’s cheek. He cupped his chin, turning his head slightly.

“I met Eärendil when he set foot upon the shores of the Undying Lands and stood before the Valar to plead for them to come to the aid of the elves and men of Middle-earth. Never before had we seen one with mortal blood. I see traces of Turgon in you, as I did in him.” Finarfin spoke in a low voice; all the while his warm hands were gently tracing Elrond’s face.

“You have met my father?” Elrond asked, his voice rough.

“Yes,” replied Finarfin, “and your mother, Elwing. We built her a white tower on the northern edge of the mountains, directly west of Beleriand. There she awaits your father each morning when he returns from his nightly voyage.”

To Elrond’s chagrin, tears filled his eyes. When he attempted to lower his head to hide them, he felt the fingers of the king below his chin, lifting his face. As he met Finarfin’s gaze, he saw tears in the King’s eyes as well.

“In this there is no shame,” said Finarfin firmly. “I am pleased to meet you, Elrond, son of Eärendil, heir of Turgon.”

Finarfin then straightened and turned a fierce gaze out over the small audience. His voice, which had been strong but soft, now rose in power and authority. “My nephews I have greeted and with them I am well pleased. Where now is the husband of my only daughter?”

Celeborn stepped forward proudly, his eyes appraising the father of his wife. For several moments the two seemed intent on out-staring the other, and Elrond held his breath, wondering if Celeborn would kneel before this Noldor King. Celeborn was proud of his Sindar heritage and his fealty was ever to Elu-Thingol, his King. But this elf was the father of his wife.

“Finarfin, King of the Noldor, father of Galadriel, I am pleased to meet you,” spoke Celeborn in flawless yet slightly accented Quenya, and he knelt and bowed his head.

“Rise, Celeborn, son of Galadhon, son of Elmo, brother of Elwë – your King,” commanded Finarfin. His eyes burned with fire and he surveyed his son-in-law, seeking to see what in this elf had captured the heart of his fierce daughter. “Why has Artanis^[2] chosen you?”

“Galadriel, my lady of light, should answer such a query herself,” replied Celeborn as he rose to his full height and regarded his father-in-law gravely.

Finarfin’s laughter filled the air around them. “Celeborn the Wise I name you, for you know not to speak on behalf of Artanis, who has a capable tongue!”

Finarfin then turned again to Gil-Galad, motioning to the tent. “I come with plans and orders from Eönwë, herald of Manwë and commander of the Hosts of the Valar. When your forces are arranged accordingly, he will summon you. Come!” Finarfin led the way into the tent, and Gil-Galad motioned for Celeborn, Elrond and his other advisors to join them.

* *

Several hours later, only Elrond, Elros and Celeborn remained with Gil-Galad in his tent. Finarfin’s presence had filled the space, making it seem smaller than it really was, and he had assumed leadership in the group, assigning battle positions to Gil-Galad but respectfully allowing Gil-Galad to arrange his troops. After finishing the discussions of the war, he had been introduced to Elros and spent time alone with Celeborn and then Gil-Galad. When he left, he had expressed his contentment with his nephew, the King of the Noldor in Middle-earth, in front of his Noldor guard.

“You lead mortals and the remnant of the elven Kindreds, and they follow you. Your father and grandfather would be proud of you, as am I. Together we shall defeat Morgoth and you shall know what it is to live in peace.”

Now Elros stood and stretched, then moved to sit at the table on which were laid the plans for Gil-Galad’s troops. He studied them for a moment before breaking the silence. “Do the Valar use the High Kings of the Elves as messengers?” he finally asked.

Celeborn laughed. “I rather think he volunteered for this position. An opportunity to meet the King of the Noldor of Middle-earth, and his son-in-law.”

“Tauron will lead his men east towards Maglor’s Gap, and Celeborn will lead his forces along the Celon River,” Gil-Galad interrupted their musings. He looked up at Celeborn. “This is an area you must know well. Will you add to the detail of this map as you make your plans to patrol this area?”

Celeborn’s eyes had darkened and a fierce scowl crossed his face. “Aye, I know the dwarf road well and the passage down from Himring.” He said no more, but his fury at the memories of the death of his king and a few years later his king’s heir, were easily read upon his countenance.

“Elros, you will go with Tauron. He will be in command, but you have been serving as his lieutenant and will do so again, as well as serving as liaison to me,” Gil-Galad instructed. In Elros he had a buffer with Tauron’s fierce Men, for Tauron was willing to serve as the leader of Men in the Host of Beleriand under Gil-Galad’s command, yet preferred to avoid the diplomatic and political duties of his office. In these duties Elros excelled, and yet was also accepted among the Men as one of them. The older among them remembered Eärendil and did not forget his sacrifice, and they treated his son with the respect due his sire.

“Elrond, you will serve Celeborn. He will discuss your duties with you. Come, Elros, let us meet with Tauron before nightfall,” finished Gil-Galad.

Elrond watched in some surprise as his twin and his king left the tent. He turned back to face the uncle of his grandmother, feeling unsure of his role yet not wishing to admit it.

“You need to learn command, Elrond, and you will not gain this experience as the King’s aide. Your skill as a healer is primary, however, and you will serve that role as well,” explained Celeborn. He motioned the young peredhel to sit next to him and began to explain the geography of the land and the tactics that the enemy might employ in either escaping or sending reinforcements.

Elrond listened carefully, his enthusiasm for gaining battle experience in a smaller unit growing. Thus far their army had met battle on several occasions, but he had had little opportunity to fight. Celeborn’s smaller unit would patrol the edge of the forest, along the river and the dwarf road. They might serve here for some time, as King Finarfin’s plans indicated their role in this war would be to watch the eastern flank. The Hosts of the Valar would fight the main battle near Angband.

A week later the troops of Gil-Galad split into battle groups, and Elrond and Elros each moved into new roles.

* * *

Nearly six years later……

Elros sank down onto his bedroll, his clothing, face and hands bloodied and dirty. Around him men were collapsing in exhaustion on to their blankets, these many nights of fighting wearying them so much that hygiene and even the tending of minor wounds were neglected in favor of sleep.

“Elros.” Tauron’s exhausted voice roused him.

Elros stood and made his way slowly to Tauron’s camp table. The commander was as tired and dirty as his men, a scrap of linen bound around his upper arm where an orc arrow had grazed him. His face was pale and gaunt, and Elros felt a sudden concern for the captain.

“Your wound has not been tended,” he said, pointing to the bloodied bandage. He noted the slightly dilated pupils and grey skin, and knew that some poison had entered through the wound.

Tauron merely grunted in answer but did not argue as Elros pulled a chair up at his side and carefully sliced through the linen. The wound was reddened and angry, and Elros frowned.

“I could use Elrond here right now,” he murmured quietly. “I will return in a moment. I need a healer’s kit.”

Elros obtained what he needed, the healers not even stirring from their rest on pallets next to their patients. He returned silently to Tauron, and only the man’s hiss as Elros cleaned the injury and treated it with healing herbs was heard. He bound it with clean cloths, and then moved to sit across from Tauron at the table.

“We need to send word to Gil-Galad,” said Tauron finally.

Elros nodded quietly. He had recommended this action the day before, but Tauron had been unprepared to act. “Do you wish to withdraw or hold out for reinforcements?”

Tauron sighed. “I do not wish to give up our position. But I do not know if we can hold it until Gil-Galad sends aid.”

Elros stared at the map, his mind mentally assessing their numbers, how many injured were among them and the terrain.

“They will attack again at nightfall. These last nights we have been forced into a defensive role, holding them back and chasing them into the caves to hide from daylight. Could we take an offensive role, set a trap for them?”

A sly smile crossed Tauron’s face. New energy seemed to flow through him as he turned the map and studied the paths and cliffs they had charted. “If we were to set our forces along this cavern wall, and send a small group to close around behind the enemy here, we could force them into this pass and ambush them here.”

Elros studied the markings his captain had charcoaled in, excitement gradually overcoming the skepticism he had felt when Tauron first began to explain the attack. “We have to split our forces. It will be dangerous.”

“Either we challenge them, or we pull out and they chase us back to Celeborn’s or Gil-Galad’s forces.”

“Let us send the messenger and set the trap,” Elros agreed, a feral grin crossing his face. “These orcs will not make it beyond us.”

* *

Elros lay amidst the rocks and brush on the cliff, his bow lying beside him and his arrows in easy reach. He was in the attack group that would shoot down upon the orcs once they were trapped in the pass. Tauron led the forward group that would fight primarily with swords and hold off any who made it through the pass. A third group would close in behind the enemy.

For months we saw no action, thought Elros. The men grew weary of the boredom, and now we have been fighting each night for over a week in the fiercest battles any of us has ever seen. Tauron was a great tactician, Elros had learned. He used his men wisely and through his strategies they had slaughtered party after party of orcs. This last group was large and determined; the leaders seemingly better tacticians as well. If they did not succeed in this battle, they could well face many casualties and losses, and the first enemy reinforcements could reach Angband.

Dusk had fallen when Elros heard the call from the scout. The orcs had entered the pass, unwittingly shepherded that way by the natural flow of the land and some strategically placed obstructions. The enemy moved forward quickly, emboldened by what they had perceived as weakness in the men the night before.

Timing was crucial, and Elros heard the call from the forward scout that the first of the enemy had reached the end of the pass. Elros felt his heart thudding in his chest as he waited for the call of the lag scout. A moment later it came, indicating that the enemy was surrounded. Elros felt the exciting rush of blood pounding in his ears, and he gave a sharp, high call signaling for the attack to begin. Arrows whistled down upon the orcs, each one seemingly finding its target in the first volley. In the distance Elros could hear the sounds of a swordfight and he knew Tauron and his men had engaged the leading edge of the party. A call from rear indicated that the orcs who had attempted to retreat had been attacked as well.

Elros held his position, his small group of men loosing volley after volley of arrows at the orcs. His shots flew true, and he felt a growing sense of triumph as orc after orc fell to the ground below them. Their assault position high above the orcs meant few could climb up to challenge them, and the orcs fled forward or retreated in an attempt to escape their arrows.

“Forward!” Elros bellowed, and then led the charge down the cliffs and into the pass. He drew his sword, and then whooped as he heard the swish of other swords being unsheathed and saw the glint of metal in the moonlight as his men spread out beside him, some following the forward charging orcs and the others pursuing those retreating.

Elros roared again, his sword flashing, as he engaged the first orc that spun to fight him. A burst of energy surged through at the hand-to-hand combat, and he quickly lost track of the number of enemies that fell to his blade. An orc scimitar grazed his thigh at one point, but he barely felt the wound and only the sensation of the blood dripping down his leg alerted him to the injury. After dispatching the orc, he ripped the edge of his tunic and bound the freely bleeding wound. Gradually the sounds of the fight lessened and he felt his heartbeat slow and his breathing become more regular as he stood still, carefully eyeing the trees and cliffs around them for any further signs of the enemy. He watched as scouts took up position and began scouring the hillside before turning his attention back to the carnage around him. He glanced at the haggard yet triumphant faces of the men he had fought next to and knew they had won the night.

Concern for the injured quickly replaced the bloodlust that had consumed him, and he organized the uninjured to transport the injured back to camp. Despite his feeling of victory, his heart fell as he came across the first bodies of the men who had died. The orcs they tossed in a ravine beyond the pass, where they would later burn them.

“Take care of our injured first,” Elros directed the men. “We will return for our dead after the living are cared for.”

He began to make his way towards the rear of the pass, and met more of his men carrying injured forward.

“There are few injured?” he questioned, relief in his voice.

The first man shook his head miserably. “We have won the day, but the price was heavy. Many are dead.”

Elros jogged back to the scene of the rear battle, and stopped short at the carnage that met his eyes. Garman was there, uninjured, directing the disposal of orc bodies into a deep ravine at the side of the pass. The bodies of the dead men were laid out on the path, the number shocking Elros.

Elros turned saddened eyes to those of his men. “We cannot carry them back to camp. We shall need to bury them here,” he said with finality.

“But not with the orcs,” agreed Garman. “We will not sully them in death that way.”

Elros shook off the great sadness that threatened to consume him, and instead began searching for an appropriate burial site. The ground was too hard to dig and he resigned himself to having to commit the bodies to flame. He began collecting deadwood for the fire, and soon others joined him. They built a large pyre and began to pile the bodies atop it. When all was done, Elros intoned a blessing of the Valar and lit the pyre.

“Stay until it is well consumed,” he directed Garman. “I must return to the front.”

As Elros walked back the way he had come, he realized he had not seen Tauron. He made his way past the bodies being burned and returned to camp, immediately seeking out the tents of the healers. He scanned the injured quickly, but did not see Tauron. Moving back outside, he saw a lone body covered with a shroud lying near the edge of the camp. Dread filled him, and he moved to the body, reluctantly drawing back a corner of the shroud to reveal the face of the dead man.

It was Tauron.

Tears filled his eyes, and he bowed his head, weeping for this Man he had greatly respected.

“Go to your peace, Tauron, to the rest of mortals beyond this world,” he murmured as he drew the shroud back over his captain’s face.

He stood to see the eyes of many watching him, and in that moment he realized that he was in command. He straightened and raised his eyes to meet theirs, and then strode purposefully to the captain’s tent. He was ready for this. His months of training and service under Tauron served him well, and he found himself organizing watches and patrols, sending out scouts and receiving reports from the healers and those who ran the camp. The men under his command took comfort in the normalcy of his organization of tasks and planning. I will serve them as you did, Tauron, he promised himself and his former captain. These are now my men and my people.

* * *

Many years later……

“May the stars of Elbereth always guide and protect you, son of Eärendil,” said Celeborn in the traditional begetting day greeting.

Elrond stretched in the late morning light, dark circles under his eyes and evidence of exhaustion on his face. His expression registered surprise at Celeborn’s words before he recalled that this was indeed the day of his and Elros’ birth – the fiftieth anniversary, he thought tiredly. Elves celebrated begetting days, but their mortal blood threw the validity of that date off, and thus early on Círdan had recognized their birth day instead.

“Thank you,” answered Elrond with a smile as he sat down near the fire. He stared in disgust at the filth of his clothing but the frost of his breath on the air meant the most he would do was clean up with a cloth. His stomach rumbled at the smell of leftover breakfast near the fire, a breakfast he had slept through after tending the injured well past dawn, but as he reached for a plate of food an elf quickly moved it beyond his reach. He looked up, confused, as the elf placed the plate behind him and then moved closer to Elrond. Indeed, all of the elves seemed to be drawing near. Elrond surveyed them in surprise, their grins of delight causing him a slight hesitation as to what they might be planning.

His eyes widened further in surprise when Gil-Galad appeared, for he had not heard that the king had arrived. He started to rise, but was waved back to his seat.

“Elrond, you become an adult today in the eyes of the elves,” said Gil-Galad formally.

All watching laughed as Elrond’s brows arched in question, but humor was evident upon his face as well.

“We are a mixture of Noldor and Sindar, as your blood is also mixed. Therefore we will combine the rituals of both Kindreds in acknowledgement of your passing out of childhood this day and into the community of adults,” continued the King.

A smile tugged at Elrond’s lips as he waited for Gil-Galad to laugh, for surely the king was not serious about performing the coming-of-age rituals on a half-elf, on a battlefield in the midst of war, when the half-elf had clearly become an adult at least twenty-five years earlier?

But Gil-Galad did not laugh; instead he continued with an explanation of the day’s rites and plans.

“In the traditions of our people, Elrond, the males of your house would have begun fasting the night before and it would continue until the evening meal today. They might have kept watch during the night, and then all of the adult males would bathe in the steam filled waters of the bathhouse or a hot spring in the morning,” explained Gil-Galad.

Elrond found himself slowly surrounded, and as he considered fleeing several large, warm hands came to rest on his shoulders and upper arms.

“However, in our extenuating circumstances here on the battlefield of Beleriand, we have missed enough meals and kept enough watches that we will instead take every opportunity to sleep and eat, in honor of this day, of course.”

All around him laughed and Elrond let out a sigh of relief, yet the elves holding him did not release him but watched Gil-Galad expectantly.

“A bath you do need, though, my son,” laughed Gil-Galad. “Alas, there are no hot springs here, nor a bathing facility. The waters of the Celon are cold and refreshing though!”

With that statement, Elrond found himself lifted from the ground and though he struggled, the elves laughed at his ineffectual movements as they carried him to the riverbank. He found himself stripped of his clothing and dumped unceremoniously in the freezing waters of the Celon.

He sputtered to the surface, inhaling a deep breath at the shock of the icy waters. To his surprise, Celeborn and Gil-Galad were willingly joining him. Much laughter was heard as they swam out to him, slivers of soap in hand. They seemed unaffected by the cold and washed themselves and him quickly, then pulled his shivering body from the freezing water. His teeth chattering, he was wrapped in a warm blanket and amidst cheers and good-natured teasing was led back to camp.

Back at the campsite, the elves had set up a makeshift steam tent, where they were pouring pots of boiling water over red hot stones. Steam filled the air inside the small tent, and Elrond found himself quickly warming in the small space. Gil-Galad had an arm about his shoulders and Celeborn sat on the other side of him, and Elrond wondered if they expected him to attempt to escape from their plans. As if I could, he thought wryly.

As his shivering gradually ceased and his teeth stopped chattering, Elrond began to relax in the steamy warmth. He closed his eyes, allowing the heat to penetrate his tired body and the words of Gil-Galad and Celeborn to float about him. The river had been refreshing, and the heat was delicious, but he decided bathhouses and hot springs were definitely the preferred alternative.

“Do you think he is ready for the next part of the initiation?” Celeborn’s words caused him to nearly leap up from his seat, his eyes opening wide. The two laughed at him.

“We forget your mortal blood allows you to feel more of the cold,” apologized Gil-Galad.

Elrond glanced from Gil-Galad to Celeborn, noting that neither looked repentant. Celeborn grinned at him.

“He is tough enough,” laughed Celeborn. “He will handle this initiation as any strong blooded Sindar elf would.”

“His strong blood comes from his Noldor kin,” argued Gil-Galad in an amiable tone.

Elrond had the feeling they had held this argument before. He rolled his eyes.

“My mortal blood ensured I grew to adulthood long ago,” he finally interjected, the first sentence he had managed to complete since wakening. “Is this not a little late?”

“For a mortal perhaps,” answered Gil-Galad. “But your elven kin should be allowed their customs and rites. It is only fair.”

The steam had died away then and the air began to grow cool. Celeborn stood first, using the blanket to wick away the remainder of the moisture from his skin. He opened a package wrapped in oilskin, and removed from it an exquisitely detailed tunic and trousers that reflected the colors of the Kingdom of Doriath. The tunic fell gracefully to his knees, and he tucked the trousers into tall black boots. His hair he braided in an intricate style denoting his lineage to King Elu-Thingol.

“None would doubt you a Lord and Prince of the Sindar,” said Elrond graciously as he stood, the blanket clenched tightly about him, and bowed.

Celeborn nodded, and then stood to the side as Gil-Galad also rose and pulled from another package clothing equally beautiful, in the color of the Noldor Kings. Elrond felt no less appreciation at seeing his King in attire he had seen him wear to court. Both elves had dispensed with the formal robes they would normally wear over such clothing, but it had been impractical to bring such fine garments over such a great distance. Gil-Galad then meticulously braided his hair in the style of his House, a pattern devised by King Fingolfin in ages past.

Gil-Galad stood before him then, and Elrond rose once more, this time dropping to one knee as he bent his head to his King.

“Rise, Elrond,” Gil-Galad laughed as Elrond attempted to keep the blanket covering all of his exposed skin, then paused briefly before continuing. “I told you once that many Kindreds could claim you, and on this day of celebration, the Sindar and the Noldor both claim you as an adult. I shall dress you in the manner of the House of Fingolfin, and Celeborn shall adorn you in the style of a Sindar Prince of Doriath.”

Gil-Galad opened another package that lay nearby, and pulled out clothing similar to his own but with a slightly different pattern as chosen by King Turgon of Gondolin. Elrond donned the clothing, and as he fingered the material of a tunic that draped to his knees he realized he had never before worn formal clothing of the house of his great grandfather. Still speechless, he allowed Celeborn to easily push him into a chair and begin the work of braiding his hair in a manner similar to his own. Celeborn wove ribbons of color into the braids, and then set a narrow Mithril circlet upon his brow.

Elrond remained speechless as the two inspected him, then allowed him to see himself in a small looking glass. With a grin of triumph, Celeborn said, “He is ready to be introduced to our people.”

Gil-Galad led him out of the tent to where the soldiers were waiting. The elves were of the Falas and Gondolin, Doriath and Nargothrond. At a nod from Celeborn, Gil-Galad spoke, “My people, it is normally the privilege of a father to present his son to the community upon the child’s coming of age. Eärendil is not present, nor is Dior or Tuor, Beren or Turgon or Elu-Thingol. While this is evidence of the cursed world in which we live, Elrond does not stand bereft of family. Distant uncles though we be, Celeborn, a Lord and Prince of the Sindar of Doriath^[3] and I, Gil-Galad, King of the Noldor, claim him as son this day, and present him to you as a people of Kindreds united.”

“My son,” spoke Celeborn as he stepped to Elrond’s side, “accept and wear this ring as a symbol that you belong to my House.” Celeborn slipped on to Elrond’s finger a ring of Elu-Thingol’s, worn by Dior and saved in the destruction of Doriath. He took Elrond’s face in his hands, and kissed him on each cheek.

“My son,” spoke Gil-Galad from Elrond’s other side, “accept and wear this ring as symbol that you belong to my House.” Gil-Galad slipped a ring that had belonged to Eärendil, a gift from his grandfather King Turgon, on to the same finger. He pulled Elrond into an embrace, whispering in his ear, “A son you have been to me.”

Elrond found himself choked by emotion as he realized how long they must have planned for this day. He had never been to a coming of age ceremony, as few elven children had come of age during the time when he might have attended such a ceremony. But he had studied the customs, and his education did not fail him now. He turned to face both of the elves standing in place of his father, and knelt on a square of cloth before them.

“I accept both the privileges and responsibilities of adulthood in your House, and promise to faithfully serve this House all the days of my life,” Elrond replied, then kissed the hand of each before rising again.

A cheer rose then from the audience, and the three found themselves quickly surrounded by the warriors whom they had served with these many years past. If any thought it odd that a warrior and healer of Elrond’s experience was only now experiencing the rites of passage into adulthood, they did not express it. Times of celebration in war were rare enough, Elrond thought. If this lifts the spirits and encourages but one of these, then it was a ceremony well served. But even as he thought such a benevolent thought, deep inside he felt a strange and wonderful satisfaction that he belonged.

“Normally the fast is broken with a fine meal and good wine,” announced Celeborn. “We have all fasted enough in recent years to consider that rite fulfilled, and while the feast is prepared let us open the wine!”

To Elrond’s delight, some of the finest wines of Círdan’s stores had made their way north, and it was a merry band of elves who delighted in the heady flavor, soon followed by a sumptuous meal grander than anything they had partaken of in recent years.

Elrond excused himself from the feasting several hours later, changing his clothing and then moving to the camp infirmary to check on his patients. He changed dressings and bandages, soothing pain and offering a comforting word. One old elf smiled weakly at him, reaching unsteady fingers up to lightly caress the circlet still upon Elrond’s brow.

“I thought the King himself had come to tend me.”

When Elrond reached to remove the mithril, the elf caught his hand. “Leave it, my child. It is your heritage, and it is time you embraced it.”

Elrond instead turned the elf’s hand to clasp it firmly, then placing his other hand on the elf’s forehead, he pushed him gently into sleep and watched as the lines of pain melted from his face.

He stood then and was tidying the area, when he realized Gil-Galad sat near the tent entrance. He moved to sit down next to his king, and a sigh of contentment escaped him as Gil-Galad slipped an arm about him and began to massage his stiff shoulders.

“Thank you for today,” said Elrond softly. “I would not have guessed how much it would mean to me.”

Gil-Galad continued to massage his shoulders, silent for a moment. “But one thing was missing.”

“Elros,” agreed Elrond.

Gil-Galad nodded but remained silent, and though Elrond wished to ask if Elros would be welcomed into elven society this same way, he found himself reticent to do so.

“The scouts have reported that all appears silent this night. Come, have another cup of wine, and then sleep,” instructed Gil-Galad, and he led Elrond back to the fire where he was greeted enthusiastically with another cup of wine and song.

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

Elrond found himself drawn back to the present by small hands tugging at his sleeves. As he had spoken, the twins had moved several times between his lap and that of their grandfather as Celeborn had added his own voice to the story

“Ada, did they really throw you in the freezing water?” asked Elrohir

“Do you still have the rings, Ada?” interrupted Elladan.

“Do you miss your ada, Daernaneth?” Elrohir turned to his grandmother. “Did you see him in the war, too, like Daerada did?”

“Patience, Elladan and Elrohir!” Celebrían’s voice rose over that of her sons, and they silenced immediately. “Ask your questions one at a time,” she said gently.

The twins both blushed, but Elrond laughed inside when neither gave up their hold on his clothing. “Yes, they really threw me in the freezing water, and yes, I still have the rings,” he answered.

“Was the water colder than the water in the cave?” Elladan asked, his eyes darkening at the memory.

“No, I think the water in the cave was colder,” Elrond decided.

“May we see the rings later, Ada?” asked Elrohir.

“Yes, at bedtime I will show you the rings.”

“Will you continue the story then, Ada? Did the dragons come next?” Elladan asked, excitement in his voice.

“The dragons did come next, and if it is possible I will tell you more this evening.”

“You too, Daerada? You were there!” Elladan turned to his grandfather, and then raced into the arms Celeborn held out to him. “Did you like Daernaneth’s adar?”

“Yes, I did,” answered Celeborn with a sly smile at his wife. “He was brave and regal and elegant, traits he passed on to his daughter, but I believe your daernaneth’s beauty came from her mother. I think your grandmother did not marry in Aman because her father chased off all her suitors.”

Galadriel’s eyes sparkled in delight when Elrohir stated, “But Daerada, Daernaneth could not have married in Aman because you were not there.”

The logic of children caused all the adults to laugh. Then Elrond rose, setting Elrohir on his feet as he did so. “Go, run and play and use that leg.”

The twins ran from the garden with shouts of joy, freed from casts and splints and the last physical reminders of their brush with death.

Elrond excused himself from the garden, returning to the healing rooms. He found one of the healers with an apprentice, both sitting next to Albast, who was sleeping. Their hands were laid upon him and they sang in low voices, their eyes closed, and Elrond was drawn back to the story he had just been telling.

Scenes of battlefields, with the smells of battle – of blood and burning flesh – returned to his memory as if it were only yesterday he had been there. Elves and Men – allied Men - had died in those long years, some without aid or comfort. Memories of scenes he would never relate to his young sons passed through his mind, of stitching a gash in their grandfather that had nearly claimed his leg or treating his King, poisoned by an orc arrow. Of being found himself after a battle, lying in a pool of his own blood, where the enemy had left him for dead after an ambush. On that day he had thought that he too would die alone, and in the fleeting moments of consciousness after being struck, he had wondered what his fate would be from Mandos’ Halls. Would he go to wait with the elves, or be sent beyond with the mortals? The other healers had tended him and within days Gil-Galad had arrived, ostensibly to visit the command and troops but he had stayed by Elrond’s side for many days.

He remembered the day Elros was brought to him, and how his hands had shook as he fought to save his twin’s life. Elros’ army and Celeborn’s had met, squeezing the enemy until they had nowhere to turn, nowhere to run. It had been a brutal battle, with none of the enemy left alive. Elros had been like a feral cat with his eyes ablaze, reflecting off the hilt of his sword, its blade covered in blood. He had been cut down in the last moments of battle, and his Men had carried him to his brother, thinking they had lost their captain.

The wound to his chest was deep, but his heart had been missed and Elrond had been able to stop the flow of blood. As he worked, his tears had fallen, leaving small splotches in the dirt and blood that covered his brother’s body. He recalled now how some of Elros’ Men had stayed at his side until his survival seemed sure. He had not left the healing tents either until the day Elros opened his eyes, lucid at last. Elros had taken in his surroundings, expressed joy at seeing his brother, and then calmly instructed Elrond to go sleep or he would command his men to physically put him to bed. Elrond had believed him.

The dragons and balrogs had come next, and he would tell his sons an abridged version of the fight, of the glory and valor of those who had fought, not of the horrible deaths of those who had died or been burned beneath their fire. Of the severely burned who had died slowly and painfully, glad when the mercy of death claimed them. Of those elves who had given up their lives in the face of such misery; of men who had begged to die. The memory of those sights and smells he pushed into the recesses of his memory, and he hoped never again to see anyone suffer as those elves and men had suffered.

“My Lord.” The apprentice interrupted his melancholic thoughts. “May I ask a question, about the man’s leg?”

Elrond snapped back to the present, and motioned the apprentice to come away from Albast. Once out of the reach of mortal hearing, Elrond spoke.

“One cannot know what the mind remembers during such restless sleep,” explained Elrond. “Keep all discussions private until you are ready to speak to the patient about his condition.”

The apprentice nodded eagerly, then moved on to his question. “At what point will you take his leg, my Lord?”

Elrond paused, for such treatment he had considered. “If the infection claims his leg and moves to threaten his life, I will offer Albast such an option. For now I will not discuss it with him, for the burden of such knowledge will weigh heavily upon his spirit.”

“What if he declines? Will you perform the surgery anyway?” asked the apprentice.

Elrond slowly shook his head. “No, Tinár, I would not. It is not for you or I to judge what our patient believes is the best course for his life.”

“But then he would die,” Tinár stated, his eyes widening in disbelief at what he was hearing.

“Yes, he would,” agreed Elrond.

He left the young apprentice to consider his words, and returned to sit next to Albast. He quickly assessed the man’s condition and smiled, pleased. “It is not your time yet, my friend. Fight just a little longer and you will recover.”

* * *

Celebrían remained with Glorfindel and her parents in the garden, the sounds of her sons’ laughter as they played on their tree swing occasionally drifting back to them.

“Adar, did you and Gil-Galad perform an elven coming of age ceremony for Elros as well?” she asked curiously.

Celeborn shook his head. “Neither Elros nor the men he captained would have understood or appreciated such a ceremony. Elros had not attended such a ritual, nor had he studied the customs of his people in days past. A ring was given to him though, a token given to his mortal great grandfather, Barahir, by Finrod after the man saved Finrod’s life at the Dagor Bragollach. It resided in Beren’s possession, then Dior’s, and was kept safe for Elwing’s children. An elven ring forged in Aman, treasured as an heirloom in the House of Bëor, it is in the possession of King Valandil today.”

All were quiet for a few moments, then Celeborn rose. “Let us go see if a couple of elflings are ready for their second archery lesson,” he said to Glorfindel.

Glorfindel’s brow arched and his eyes danced to life. “I will watch as you set up the targets, my friend.”

“For my lessons, I must have you place them precisely where I need them,” argued Celeborn.

Bickering, the gold and silver elves departed. Celebrían turned to her mother.

“Naneth, you have never told me what your father said to Adar when they talked alone for the first time,” she said suddenly.

Galadriel laughed softly. “Your father has never told me,” she admitted.

* * * * *

Author’s Notes:

When I first read the Silmarillion and had the idea for this story, I never doubted that Gil-Galad and the elves of Beleriand fought in the War of Wrath. Then one day I was reading some notes in the Atlas of Middle-earth and noted that the author said none of the elves of Beleriand fought.

So I returned to the Silmarillion, wondering how I could have missed such an important detail. After much thought, I will say that I do not think I did. My take on the war may be much different than that of others, but to any who are interested I will explain how I came to my conclusions.

First, in the The Council of Elrond, The Fellowship of the Ring, Elrond says he was present:

‘Thereupon Elrond paused a while and sighed. “I remember well the splendour of their banners,’ he said. ‘It recalled to me the glory of the Elder Days and the hosts of Beleriand, so many great princes and captains were assembled. And yet not so many, nor so fair, when Thangorodrim was broken, and the Elves deemed that evil was ended for ever, and it was not so.’

Now, for many other reasons, I have Elrond in the keeping of Gil-Galad from a fairly young age, but even if he stayed with Maglor and Maedhros until the War, why would he be there alone?

The oft-quoted passage used to say that the elves were not present is this:

Of the Voyage of Eärendil, The Silmarillion

‘Of the march of the host of the Valar to the north of Middle-earth little is said in any tale; for among them went none of the those elves who had dwelt and suffered in the Hither Lands, and who made the histories of those days that still are known; and tidings of these things they only learned long afterwards from their kinfolk in Aman. But at the last the might of the Valinor came up out of the West, and the challenge of the trumpets of Eonwe filled the sky; and Beleriand was ablaze with the glory of their arms, for the hosts of the Valar were arrayed in forms young and fair and terrible, and the mountains rang beneath their feet.’

The paragraph only says that of the march of the Valar north little is known because none of the elves of Beleriand witnessed it– it does not say that the War was unknown to the elves.

I also had to consider the perspective of the ‘writer’ of the Silmarillion. In the Introduction (and repeated, I believe, in Tolkien’s letters) Tolkien explains from whose perspective each book is written. Frodo Baggins, a hobbit, wrote the Lord of the Rings – The Red Book – and it was amended and corrected by men and potentially elves. Everything there was told to Frodo or witnessed by him (for the most part) and thus we see through the filter of his eyes. One thing I have always found lacking in the LOTR is how in the RotK Frodo’s detail lessens and we see less and less through his eyes. Indeed, Tolkien said that Frodo remembered little and did not wish to write his own experience and hence we saw a perspective switch to Sam. That is brilliant of Tolkien – talk about him being in Frodo’s head! Tolkien says The Hobbit was written from a more ‘human’ perspective, and The Silmarillion is the account laid down by the exiled elves of Beleriand. This is why there is little accounting of the Sindar in all the ages living beneath the stars or the happenings in Aman after the Flight of the Noldor. In my opinion, Tolkien’s ability to write entire books through the eyes of a particular race or group of people is amazing. He shows what they saw, knowing that it was only one view of that which they are writing about. The LOTR may have looked immensely different if written from the perspective of the Elves or of Men.

Based on that, when I read the paragraph again about how no one witnessed the march north of the Valar, but how men of the three houses of the Edain alone fought on the side of the Valar and the elves do not forget it, I have to ask: What elves do not forget it? Why would the elves of Aman care which men fought where? They did not know anything about Men. The elves who would remember this are the ones who wrote the histories told in the Silmarillion. This implies rather strongly the elves of Beleriand were present at the War of Wrath. Also, why would the elves say they were present? That would seem obvious if they are writing the account. I do not know how great a role the elves of Beleriand may have played in the War of Wrath. Frankly their might seems rather small compared to the might of the Valar. But they wrote an account as if they were there, and in the Silmarillion when something is being repeated (e.g. It is said…) second hand it is noted as such. This is not. They didn’t see the march north, but they saw Angband obliterated, the slaves freed and Morgoth chained.

In the Tale of Years, the years of the War of Wrath are numbered at about twenty-five. That is an awfully long time for anyone not to join in a battle, especially one shaking the very foundations of the Earth.

So, some may interpret these passages differently. This is my interpretation, and I believe it does not violate canon.

Regarding a few other things in this chapter:

1. I do not know if Elros captained a ship. Here I have given him a taste of doing so – because he goes on to found the greatest sea-going nation in Middle-earth history. He would need some knowledge and experience, and it was fun to give it to him.
2. Elrond’s role as a trusted advisor to Gil-Galad. In that same passage in FotR Elrond says: ‘I was the herald of Gil-Galad and marched with his host. I was at the Battle of Dagorlad before the Black gate of Mordor, where we had the mastery….’ I could not find anything specific beyond this as to when Elrond took on this role. He says he was Herald. A new sentence says he was at Dagorlad. I don’t know if that was his first time as Herald or if he held that office throughout the second age. So, Elrond is a smart and teachable young thing and I hope we see him growing into this role at the end of the first age.
3. Building Ships: The Silmarillion merely says that in those last days a lot of ships were built. Now, if at the end of the war Beleriand is cracking and falling into the sea, it hardly seemed a good time to start building ships. And Círdan, in HoME Vol XII is said to have received great foresight about every major event in Middle-earth after the time of Eärendil’s voyage on the Vingilot. So, he has a bit of a ‘Noah and the ark experience’. There were no notations I could find as to what the elves were doing on Balar from the fall of Sirion to the War of Wrath, so I had them build ships.
4. Men: On that same token, we do not know how many men were living in Beleriand, or where, or what they were doing. The Houses of the Edain had settled near the great elven strongholds, and I could only assume when those strongholds fell and the elves were pushed to the sea, so were the Men. They fought under Elven Kings in the past, so it seemed reasonable that some would do so again.

^[1] Menegroth means ‘The Thousand Caves’, and was the cavern and stronghold of King Thingol and Queen Melian. The kingdom they lived in was called Doriath, which mean ‘Hidden Kingdom.’

^[2] Artanis is the father-name of Galadriel. Nerwen is her mother-name. She chose for herself the Sindar name of Galadriel.

^[3] I find it difficult to figure out who carried titles in Middle-earth, and what they meant. Celeborn’s grandfather (in the version I chose to use) is Elmo, brother of Elwë (King Elu Thingol of the Sindar). How the titles Lord and Prince might be used among the elves and by whom, I do not know. This topic has been hotly debated on yahoo list groups without resolution. I am using the terms here, because this is a formal occasion and if a father carried a title, he would use it here. Since Elrond’s father cannot be present, I want to show Celeborn’s and Gil-Galad’s blood relationship to Elrond and their positions or authority among their people.

Just to keep these Noldor straight….Finwë was high king (he died right before the Two Trees were destroyed). His sons were Fëanor (father of Maedhros, Maglor and co.), Fingolfin (father of Turgon of Gondolin, Fingon - Gil-Galad’s father - and Aredhel) and Finarfin (father of Galadriel, Finrod and their other three brothers). After Morgoth stole the Silmaril, most of the Noldor went to Middle-earth – including Fëanor and all his sons; Fingolfin and all his sons, and all of the children of Finarfin. Finarfin stayed and became High King of the Noldor in Aman. So, Finarfin’s family in Middle-earth at the time of the War of Wrath consisted of his daughter Galadriel, and his brother’s grandson (Gil-Galad) and great-great-grandsons (Elrond and Elros).

**********

Chapter 22: Dragons, Silmarilli and Decisions

**********

Elrond was settled upon the couch, studying a text on the healing of infections in men, when he heard the commotion of small feet racing down the hall. He laid the book aside as the door flew open and his sons raced into the room, both leaping into his lap at the same time.

“Who won, Ada?” exclaimed Elladan as he pulled himself up while hanging on to Elrond’s collar. Elrohir scrambled to stand on Elrond’s other side, his eyes wide with excitement.

“Who won, Ada?” echoed Elrohir with enthusiasm.

“It was most definitely a tie,” said Elrond sincerely. “I will have bruises of the same shade on each leg.”

The twins dissolved in giggles at this pronouncement, knowing full well they had not hurt their father. They were still laughing when their mother and grandfather entered the room at a more sedate pace.

“We tied, Nana!” called Elrohir. “Just like this afternoon.”

Elladan frowned. “You beat me this afternoon,” he said, disappointed.

Elrohir frowned in return. “I did not. We raced to Daerada and Glorfindel and we hit them at the same time.”

“Oh,” said Elladan, blushing. “But you hit the target more times than me.”

“But that was because Glorfindel helped me more,” explained Elrohir sincerely. “That was not a competition; it was just practice.”

“Oh,” said Elladan, now smiling. He turned back to Elrond. “And Ada, Daerada did not even try to pin Glorfindel again.”

“Glorfindel would not set up the targets!” laughed Elrohir in delight. “And they argued and if Nana had been there she would have made them both sit down on the bench until they could talk nicely to each other.”

“But they quit arguing while they helped us,” interjected Elladan helpfully. “Daerada says we will be good archers when we grow up.”

“We have good lines,” added Elrohir proudly. He paused for a moment, then whispered to Elrond, “What does that mean, Ada?”

Elrond began to laugh, a rumbling laugh from deep within, as he listened to this sons’ excitement and watched his wife glare at her father for setting a bad example before her children. Glorfindel had entered rather surreptitiously while the twins were speaking, and despite Celebrían’s overt glare, the mighty warriors were staring at each other like two great cats, ready to pounce and wrestle for dominance. Elrond stifled his laugh as Celebrían turned to him, but knew it was only a matter of time before some challenge was issued between the two and they had the household in an uproar again.

“Would you like to see the rings now?” Elrond deftly changed the subject as he retrieved his coming-of-age rings from a pocket in his robe and held them out to his sons.

Elladan and Elrohir took turns trying on the rings and pretending it was their coming-of-age ceremony, effectively drawing their mother’s attention away from her father and Glorfindel and back to themselves. Celebrían fussed over the rings and who they had belonged to, and soon the twins were clamoring for more of the story.

“Ada, tell us how the Men and Elves and Valar won the war,” Elladan begged. “Tell us how you fought the dragons!”

“The stronghold of Angband was rocked to its very foundation, and Morgoth knew that the Valar were near,” Elrond picked up the story near the end of the War. “And so he loosed the dragons and against us, driving even the Valar back. . .”

~ ~ ~* * *~ ~ ~

“Eönwë has called us to move to the north east of Dorthonion,” Gil-Galad announced. “The Men and Orcs who served Morgoth are destroyed, and as the Valar cast down the towers of Angband we are to block any attempts of his servants to escape eastward. Beware the fault lines and floods that run across the plain, and stay to high ground.”

Cheers greeted the announcement, and it was with joy that the Elves and Men of the Hosts of Beleriand prepared to move to their new positions. For years they had fought Morgoth’s forces, at times fighting for days on end without rest, and at other times nearly consumed by the weariness of boredom. The end appeared near, and even as Beleriand was shaken to her very foundations, they were glad.

Several mornings later, dawn found them perched on the northern side of the Dorthonion Mountains. As Anor rose, they could see the Hosts of the Valar riding forth to the gates of Angband. Trumpets were heard, and the voice of Eönwë rose loud and clear in the still morning, commanding Morgoth to surrender.

Suddenly there rose from the gates great winged creatures, fire bellowing from their mouths and with a roar like thunder, they flew out and descended upon the Hosts of the Valar. Several more, smaller creatures followed them, flying out to the east and west of the gates.

Elrond never learned what the Valar did as the Dragons descended upon them, but a great light shone around them, blocking the fire from burning those who stood below the mighty beasts. Yet the call for retreat was made, and the Hosts of the Valar drew back. So intent were Elrond, and indeed all of Gil-Galad’s troops, on watching the fight to their west that the sudden darkening of the sky as a dragon flew over them caught them off their guard.

“Take cover!” shouted Gil-Galad as the great beast descended on his troops.

Elrond dove into the rocks, the heat of the dragon’s breath nearly singeing his hair as it flew overhead. He heard screams around him as others were not so fortunate, and he quickly peered out to see several Elves and Men rolling on the ground, attempting to put out the flames that engulfed them. Others reached them before Elrond, throwing blankets over those burning to suffocate the flames.

“Get them to the stream!” Elrond called. “Douse them completely!”

A creek flowed nearby, and the burned warriors were taken there and soaked in the cool waters. The roar and flames of the dragons returned though, and those treating the burned took to the waters, submerging themselves and their patients each time the fire descended on them.

One of the healers located a protected shallow of water under the weeping branches of a willow tree, and they took the worst of the wounded there. Hidden from sight, they were able to strip the burned warriors before their clothing dried imbedded in their wounds, and those who could drink were fed hastily concocted tinctures to numb their pain and push them into oblivion.

In the smoke and flame, all sight of the Valar was lost, and Gil-Galad arranged his forces in an attempt to take down the mighty dragons when they next returned. Archers stood hidden in the clefts of rock, care taken that they had places to hide should the dragons spot them. Other soldiers had climbed into the tallest trees and were stringing strong elven rope in the hopes of felling one of the beasts that caught on the line.

“Tie off the ends and come down,” Elros called. “The dragon may well break the rope and uproot the trees, but if it allows us the time to aim a few arrows well, then it is worth it.”

“Our arrows are useless against the scales of the dragon!” one man cried out in frustration.

“Aim for the eyes or into the mouth, or the pit of its arm or its groin,” instructed Celeborn. “Every creature has a spot that may fell him – we have only to find it!”

“We have killed balrogs; we will kill these dragons,” encouraged one of the Gondolin survivors.

Elrond was thankful the Valar seemed to have dispatched all the remaining Balrogs, as he had no wish to see the damage they could inflict. He felt tears trickle down his cheeks as he tended the man before him. Not a hair was left on his body, and what skin remained was tight and shiny. Already his lungs were failing, the breath sounds wet and crackly, but mercifully he was unconscious.

“If he wakes at any point, give him this,” Elrond instructed the human healer who had come to sit nearby.

The man took the small vial and opened it, then sniffed the contents gingerly. His eyes rose to meet Elrond’s and he nodded. “Comfort and ease of passing, it is the most we can offer,” he agreed sadly.

A cry went up as another dragon flew out of the smoke and circled over them, its keen eyes seeking for living targets to consume. It swooped low and hissed its fire as it neared the ground, setting ablaze the grasses and trees as it passed. Elrond watched in horror as an archer jumped from a burning tree, landing and rolling in the flames of the grass below. The archer moved swiftly, finding a patch of dirt and flinging himself upon it, and then jumped up again and ran into the middle of the stream. Elrond had begun to run as soon as soon as the archer leapt from the tree, and jumped into the water after him. The archer surfaced, drawing in a great breath of air and hissing out his pain as he exhaled.

“Stay in the water,” advised Elrond. A dark shape suddenly blocked the sun again, and Elrond waited, knowing there was no time to move. The dragon had seen them. “Get ready – when I tell you to breathe, draw in as much air as you can.”

A fireball issued from the Dragon’s mouth and instantly Elrond hissed ‘Breathe!’ into the man’s ear and then pulled him under. He counted slowly to ten, and as the man in his grasp began to struggle he kicked upward and surfaced. He immediately looked around, but did not see the Dragon. He heard it scream at him, cursing him, and he looked straight up to see the creature descending on him again. He covered the heaving man’s nose and mouth, and dragged him under water once again.

This time he began to kick and dragged the man along with him, his arm wrapped around the man’s chest, beneath his arm, while he kept the man’s mouth and nose covered with his other hand. The man had gone limp when Elrond surfaced again, this time near some rocks he had seen earlier. The injured were still in the protection of the willows, but having seen the dragon ignite the trees so easily, he feared for those hidden there. He had again begun looking for the dragon, when a great bellow of pain and rage rang from above.

High on the cliffs where the warriors had tied the rope, a second dragon had become entangled. It screamed its rage as the trees bent and the elven rope bit into its belly, but the elven rope held true and it was the dragon who dropped to the ground far below. This dragon was younger, its scales thick but not as impenetrable as those of a mature dragon, and it screamed in pain, cursing as an arrow penetrated its eye and then it groaned in agony as another entered its mouth. A small breath of fire issued from it, but it was not enough to harm those nearby. Swords began to hack at its tail and limbs, and finally a great spear was thrust against its chest, breaching its scales and entering its heart. Its tail flopped once more, and a last moan was heard before the beast lay still.

Elrond watched in amazement as the dragon was felled, and then the beast that had been attacking him withdrew, keening cries hanging in the air as it mourned the loss of the young dragon. For a crazy moment Elrond wondered if the dead dragon was child to the one who had attempted to roast him.

He felt a weak breath on his hand, and suddenly remembered the injured soldier he held in his arms. He began to swim to the shore, and was grateful when others waded in to take the injured man from his arms and carry him to dry ground.

“We have found a cave,” said the one healer, relief in his voice. “Let us move all the injured there before the dragons return.”

Elrond nodded in agreement, but allowed the other healers to carry and tend the man. He did not see his brother or Celeborn or Gil-Galad, and suspected they had been the ones to fell the dragon on the cliffs. He began to climb the hills, and when he was high enough to look west he found a great air battle taking place over the expanse of ground in front of the gates of Angband. Speechless, he stared at a mighty ship that flew against the winged beasts, driving the leader of the dragons back to the gates, only to have the formidable dragon force the ship back moments later. Mighty eagles, with wingspans as great as the largest of the dragons, flew with the ship, their powerful beaks biting and pecking at their foes. Even the air seemed to tremble with the fury of the battle, and bolts of lightning issued all around the combatants. The ground shook and mighty rumbles of thunder filled the air.

“What is that?” Elrond said in disbelief as others moved to stand near him.

“It is the Vingilot!” called Gil-Galad, laughing and shaking his spear at the sky. “Eärendil has joined the battle!”

A cheer rose from the exhausted warriors, and they watched as the fury of the battle increased. The magnificent eagles quickly intercepted the few dragons that tried to fly beyond the gates to harass the Hosts of Beleriand, and as the threat to Gil-Galad’s forces decreased, Elrond began to see the injuries on those around him. He found a flat rock to work on, and began beckoning over the injured one at a time. He smiled as he realized he had chosen the spot well, for it offered a good view of the ongoing battle. His patients were so engrossed in watching the action that he was able to efficiently stitch wounds and place salve on burns and bind the injuries.

“Elros, keep your arm still,” demanded Elrond, shaking his brother slightly as Elros seemed to want to thrust his body forward with every good hit that the Eagles or Eärendil made. Elros did not even acknowledge him, but the arm stayed still enough for Elrond to sew up the long gash in his forearm.

“Gil-Galad, let me see your hand,” Elrond finally gained the King’s attention by pulling on his spear.

Gil-Galad turned to him, a sparkle in his eye. “This is all dragon blood,” he proclaimed proudly.

Celeborn was mute as Elrond cleaned the burn on his leg, a final hurt from the dying dragon, then salved and bandaged it. Seeing no other injuries, Elrond sank to the ground as a sudden weariness overcame him, but jumped forward as soon as his back touched the rock he meant to lean against. He turned, grimacing at the pain in his back, and rubbed his hand across the surface of the rock, but could find no sharp edge. Reaching over his shoulder, he lightly touched his back and felt fire spread across his skin.

“Don’t touch it,” Celeborn said quietly. His large hands gathered Elrond’s loose hair and pulled it forward over his shoulder. Elrond felt the cool metal of a blade as the flat edge lightly touched his skin, and then his tunic fell from shoulders. “When did this happen? Why did you not get it treated?” he lightly chastised.

“I do not know when it happened, or I would have,” Elrond answered. A bright light flashed in the sky then, and he watched as the King of the Eagles knocked one of the dragons from the sky, its mighty talons sinking deep into the flesh and its beak ripping at the face of the beast. Elrond watched the dragon fall, the sky now dark enough that the beast was only a crumpling shadow. It landed hard and bounced, and the dust slowly settled around it.

“Another one down!” someone cried. “The tide has turned!”

“Elrond, lift your arm.”

He suddenly heard Celeborn’s frustrated voice and he jumped slightly, then lifted the arm that Celeborn was pushing upward. Celeborn finished wrapping the bandages, securing them beneath his arm and around his chest and Elrond looked at him in surprise. “You are done?”

Celeborn laughed. “Yes, the battle is a mighty distraction, is it not?

They watched throughout that long night as Eärendil and the Eagles fought the dragons, and it was near dawn when Eärendil struck the death blow. The King of the dragons fell from the sky with a screaming roar that silenced as his body crushed into the towers of Thangorodrim. He bounced against one peak, and then another, and a great cloud of hazy dust rose about him in the early morning light.

But the sound did not cease.

The rumble continued to grow until finally the mighty mountains of Angband split and fell apart. The trumpets of Eönwë sounded as Anor rose, and the Valar descended upon the hold of Morgoth as his caverns were laid open to them.

“Move the wounded from the caves and to high ground.” Elrond heard Gil-Galad command a group of his soldiers, and the reason became obvious as great shockwaves spread out from Angband. A fierce battle seemed to ensue within her crumbling caverns.

“Who are those running from the hills?” Elros asked, pointing to the openings in the mountains.

“The slaves of Angband are free,” said Celeborn softly. “It is a wonder any have survived, and yet look how many there are.”

The slaves were gathered into the arms of the Hosts of the Valar, who surrounded them and laid hands upon them and sang of their victory and escape. And even from a great distance one could see bent backs straightening and heads being lifted to the sky as many saw the sun for the first time in many, many long years.

The ship of Eärendil dipped low once last time over the plains, and with a twinkle rose into the sky and disappeared, followed by the mighty Eagles. Elrond had felt a sense of awe to know that his father was fighting in this battle, pride when Eärendil had routed the dragons, and now a sense of loss tugged at his heart as the ship of his father departed. He could not help but wonder if that was the closest glimpse he would ever have of the one who sired him.

Angband grew quiet then, and all waited expectantly. Finally, those of the Valar who had entered the dark caverns of Morgoth’s stronghold came forth. Between them, bound with a mighty chain and collar around his neck, was Morgoth. Broken he seemed, yet no pity was spared him. In a great flash of light he disappeared, along with those who held his chains.

“It is over then?” Elrond finally asked, disbelief in his voice.

He felt his brother at his side. They joined arms, and then Gil-Galad turned to face them.

“Manwë will take Morgoth beyond the walls of this world, to the Timeless Void, and he shall not be allowed to return,” he said, the memory of Eönwë’s words, of their plans for Morgoth, fresh in his mind. “The war is over.”

Even as Gil-Galad spoke a mighty trumpet sounded, its sound coming as if from the heavens rather than the camp of the Valar and spreading out all across the lands of Middle-earth. Its wordless tones spoke deep into the hearts of all the firstborn, offering forgiveness to those of the banned who would repent, and an invitation to return to their homes in the West. To the others of the firstborn it called them to come and see the land the Valar had prepared for them, to come and be healed of their sorrow and weariness. Where the hearkening call met hesitation, in the hearts of those who were still tied to the lands they loved, a patient promise was made: that the way would remain open to them until they were ready to come.

To the Secondborn the trumpet spoke a mighty promise: that they were not forgotten. The Valar themselves would prepare a home for them, away from the cares and sorrows of Middle-earth.

Elrond and Elros heard both calls.

* * *

As the lands of Beleriand continued to rumble and shake, the mountains were broken apart and the rivers were thrown from their banks. Great fissures formed in the earth, and then mighty floods filled the gaps. Eönwë sent word to Gil-Galad to move his troops to a location near the Camp of the Valar, an area they would protect from harm until all were ready to depart. The Men and Elves worried for their families, but had comfort that the years of preparation would help to spare them.

Elrond helped to oversee the transportation of the injured, and they made their way carefully to the high land where the Valar camped. They were some of the last to arrive, the uninjured warriors having gone ahead to prepare the way for them. It seemed to Elrond that an air of excitement hung over the camp

“What is the cause of the excitement?” Elrond asked as he settled his packs in his tent.

“The Silmarilli from the crown of Morgoth were recovered, and are in the tent of Eönwë,” answered Gil-Galad. His brow furrowed, and he turned to Elrond. “The elves of Aman believe the Two Trees might be able to be restored from the light kept within the jewels, that the light of the Trees will once again shine in Valinor.”

“Is such a thing possible?” asked Elrond.

“I do not know.” Gil-Galad paused, then changed the subject. “Our scouts have reported a party of elves coming from the east. They bear the colors of the Noldor.”

Elrond sat on the edge of his cot, old memories tugging at his mind. “Maedhros and Maglor, and their people?”

Gil-Galad nodded.

“They will be within reach of the Silmarilli,” said Elrond softly. A fuzzy picture formed in his mind, and the memory of fear accompanied the image of Maedhros, while ambivalence floated about the image of Maglor. They had destroyed Doriath, and killed his grandparents and uncles. They had destroyed Sirion and take him and Elros captive after driving their mother into the sea. All for an oath, all to recover the Silmarilli. A sense of foreboding rose in Elrond’s mind. They would not attempt to take them from the Valar, he thought. Would they?

* * *

The exiled Noldor elves passed just south of Gil-Galad’s encampment, cutting within sight of Gil-Galad’s tent as they followed the path that led to the camp of the Valar. Many of Gil-Galad’s warriors stopped to watch them pass, and all kept a hand on the hilt of their swords. Tension weighed heavy in the air, and murmurs of ‘kinslayer’ were heard occasionally as the survivors of Doriath and Sirion recognized elves who had cut down a friend or family member.

Elrond stood near Gil-Galad, but found himself enclosed by Gil-Galad’s guard rather than being counted among them. Celeborn stood atop a small mound close to the path and watched the column pass, his eyes ablaze and the line of his jaw set in fury. Elrond knew little of Celeborn’s family, but Gil-Galad had told him some had died at the hands of the dwarves and others at the hands of the kinslaying elves. He had no love for either group, and Elrond was impressed by the restraint Celeborn showed as the elves passed by him.

Near the front of the column rode Maedhros and Maglor, their names whispered with the same contempt as the word ‘kinslayer’. To Elrond’s surprise, and the surprise of all those present, Maglor halted his horse near Celeborn. The two stared at each other for several long moments, but the looks were not of hatred or revenge, but of some sort of understanding. Celeborn finally turned and looked at Elrond, and nodded slightly; and then turned to Elros, who was standing with his men a short distance away, and nodded again.

Maglor’s eyes followed Celeborn’s movements, and Elrond suddenly realized that Celeborn was pointing him and his brother out to Maglor. Elrond started, as if to move, but Gil-Galad laid a restraining hand on his arm. Maglor’s gaze settled on Elrond, then moved to Elros and finally returned to Celeborn. To everyone’s surprise, he bowed to Celeborn and then to Gil-Galad, and then motioned his horse forward again.

Maedhros’ gaze lingered only briefly on Celeborn and then with one sweeping look at all watching him, he followed his brother.

The rest of the column passed swiftly, most of the elves keeping their eyes lowered from those of Gil-Galad’s people, and Elrond sensed a deep regret in many of them. It was not until the last one had passed by that Celeborn left his position atop the mound and walked back to the King’s tent.

Elrond kept his eyes fixed on Celeborn’s face as Celeborn approached them. He stopped in front of Elrond, and Elrond wished for a moment that he had Celeborn’s great height, so he did not have to look up at his mentor. A look of tenderness crossed Celeborn’s face, and he raised one hand to stroke Elrond’s hair, and then leaned down to kiss him on the top of the head. Without speaking a word, he entered the tent, the tent flap falling closed soundlessly behind him.

The camp had been silent until this time, but now elves and men began to move about and a low murmur of voices arose in discussions about what the kinslayers might be seeking and what their presence might mean. Elrond stood motionless, however, and was still staring at the closed tent flap when he sensed his brother at his side. Elrond raised his eyebrows and then shrugged in answer to his brother’s unspoken questions.

“Individuals are seldom fully good or fully evil. The same hands that killed innocent elves and held you captive also cared for and protected you, and in the end he was willing to die that you might live,” said Gil-Galad thoughtfully.

“He created the conditions by which we needed his care and protection and sacrifice. That makes his actions less than noble,” replied Elros with a flash in his eyes.

“Yes, that is true,” answered Gil-Galad. “But I am still grateful for them.”

* * *

Anticipation hung in the air all that afternoon as the camp waited to see if the Noldor elves with Maedhros and Maglor would return. Eyes glanced west to the camp of the Valar at regular intervals, yet no one walked that return path and no word was heard. Darkness finally settled over the camp and still all was quiet, but the feeling in the air was not of calm.

Elrond finished tending his patients late that evening, and decided to bathe in the nearby stream before sleep claimed him. The tension still hung palpably in the air, and he was not surprised when the guards on duty insisted on accompanying him. He would have declined the bath to avoid taking them from their duties, but they seemed glad for something to do. He floated in the cool water, stretching the nearly healed skin on his back as he listened to the soft murmur of their voices. He slipped beneath the surface of the water to rinse the soaproot from his hair and as he surfaced sudden movement on the bank caught his attention.

The guards had risen and one was beckoning to Elrond while the other moved to higher ground to gain better sight of whatever it was that was happening. Elrond moved quickly to the shore, pulling clean clothing over his wet body and wrapping his sword belt around his hips. Shouts and calls of distress were heard from the direction of the Valar’s camp, and a bright light appeared in the sky over it.

The guards had signaled to the captain on duty, and Gil-Galad’s forces were roused as well. Weapons were drawn in face of the unknown threat, and the soldiers spread out.

Elrond remained with the guards in their position just to the north and west of the camp. In the distance he could see the light growing, and then suddenly it was moving toward them. The sound of hoofbeats grew and then the pounding sound of many horses rushing towards them filled the air. The soldiers blocked the path and filled the clearing near the stream, and moments later the riders rushed into their midst in a blaze of light.

“Daro!” Elrond roared as the riders descended on them.

The horse reared and neighed a warning, its front hooves kicking dangerously near to Elrond’s head. The multitude of drawn swords reflected the light of the Silmaril in the hands of the rider, and the horse drew back, blinded by the glare. The second horse tried to edge around the first, stopping only when the slash of a sword blade cut the air within a hairbreadth’s space from its flaring nostrils.

Elrond found himself face to face with Maedhros, whom he had not seen since he was a frightened young child. He growled his fury as he realized that they had stolen the Silmarilli from the Valar. Maedhros hissed at him, his own sword drawn in return. Elrond caught sight of Maglor then, and he was stunned by the torment in the elf’s face. At the sound of a loud cry Elrond turned to see the guard next to him swing his sword upward, the blade crashing into Maedhros’ blade.

In that same moment a force appeared to the rear, the guard of King Finarfin among them, but they parted as Eönwë came forth. Gil-Galad had also entered the clearing, and he motioned the guard and Elrond back, choosing to stand before the sons of Fëanor with only his long spear in hand.

The glittering light of the Silmarilli was mesmerizing, sparkling and shining with an ethereal beauty. Silence fell over the clearing, and Eönwë moved to stand before the brothers. With one hand he motioned to all present to lower their swords and spears. Elrond was so intent on the scene playing out before them that he was surprised when Gil-Galad pushed his sword down.

“Sons of Fëanor, hearken to me now as you did not in our earlier meeting,” Eönwë spoke in a strong and clear voice. “I repeat to you the words Manwë has spoken: Any right you possessed to the work of your father has perished due to your many and merciless deeds, and most of all for the slaying of Dior, heir of Elu-Thingol of Doriath, and the assault upon the Havens. This night you have slain two of the guard of your own Noldor kin in your greed for the Silmarilli. Relinquish the jewels, that they might be remanded to the West, and return to Valinor to face the judgment of the Valar.”

Elrond watched in disbelief as Maedhros and Maglor rejected their final opportunity for surrender by lifting their swords. He instinctively raised his own, and saw flashes of steel all around him. Finarfin’s guard moved in from the rear as Elrond stepped forward with Gil-Galad’s forces. The call of Eönwë’s voice startled him.

“Let them leave!”

Eönwë walked forward, Gil-Galad’s forcing parting before him, until a path was open for the sons of Fëanor to escape. Eönwë stepped to the side beyond the last guard, and with an inarticulate cry the brothers spurred their horses forward and raced from the clearing.

There was silence as the brothers disappeared from sight into the blackness of the night. A great crack of thunder sounded as another fissure opened in the surface of the earth and fire shot into the sky, momentarily illuminating the fleeing brothers one last time. Then Eönwë turned and strode back into the middle of the clearing.

“Hands that have shed blood in greed to possess the light of the Silmarilli will not be long able to bear the touch of the hallowed jewel upon their flesh. The Silmarilli will soon cease to exist where living flesh may bear them,” predicted Eönwë. He turned to Gil-Galad. “Sheath your weapons and return to your camp. Hearken to my call and prepare yourselves to depart.” Eönwë then turned to the captain of Finarfin’s guard. “A final kinslaying darkens the hearts of the Noldor. Come and prepare your dead for burial.”

Eönwë turned and walked back down the path to the camp of the Valar. The Noldor of Aman met the eyes of the forces of Gil-Galad with an understanding they only now could share. They had long shared a common goal in the fight against Morgoth and the Shadow he cast over their lands; but this greater pain of seeing kin die at the hands of kin in greed bore a deep sorrow into the core of their very being. Silent and grief stricken, they returned to their own camp.

Elrond watched as Elros led his men away, knowing that few among them understood the significance of the Silmarilli or the light contained within them. But Elrond had noted the respect and admiration in Elros’ expression over Eönwë’s words. Elrond found he agreed; killing Maglor and Maedhros would have lowered them to the same shameful actions they despised in the sons of Fëanor.

He watched in silence as all departed back to their tents, knowing few would sleep. He had listened to the excitement of the Men as they talked about what Eönwë’s call meant to them. He had also listened to the elves talk about returning to Valinor. It seemed that most would go, although some seemed to wish to stay longer. Those discussions would resume, but Elrond wished to be away from it all. The Men had not heard Eönwë’s call to the Elves and the Elves had not heard Eönwë’s call to the Men. Yet he and Elros had heard both, but seemed included in neither. Elrond felt distant from both races; as if he were adrift and separated from all he knew. Elrond could not remember a time when he had not felt welcome among the elves. Yet the silence that fell over such discussions when he came near had begun to wear on him.

He waited until he was alone, only the guard standing at his post aware that he had remained behind, before moving to sit on a rock at the edge of the clearing that overlooked the stream. In the distance he could hear and see the sounds of Beleriand disintegrating; he could even smell the tang of salt water and knew that the sea had pushed up through the earth’s crust. If the Men had a new land, and the Elves returned to Valinor where mortals could not go, did the Valar then have a special plan for the half-elven? He laughed at himself. Our father flies the skies, our mother lives in a tall tower in wait for him, and our grandfather Dior is dead. That leaves Elros and me. I hope we can stand the company of each other until the time of our kind ends.

The bitterness of his own thoughts choked him, and anger at his own morose and self-pitying thoughts rose within him. He stood and drew his sword, raising it high in the light of the moon, then swung it in a furious arc about him. The desire for physical release was great, and he growled his frustration at parrying with the air. He thrust again, then turned, feinting with his invisible enemy, when suddenly his sword cracked against metal. His eyes lit up in surprise and then met the eyes of his opponent over their raised swords. After a slight bow to the other, Elrond thrust and relished the throb in his shoulder as metal met metal with force. For nearly a solid hour they danced, long hair coming loose and a sheen of sweat covering their bodies. Finally his opponent lowered his sword, and Elrond mirrored the action. They stared at each other for a long moment, then moved in unison to sit on the cool grass, their backs to the rock.

Elros wrapped his arm about his brother’s shoulder and pulled him back against his chest, folding both arms across Elrond’s chest. Their cheeks nearly touching, the brothers sat in silent companionship until Anor rose.

* * *

Gil-Galad stood near the guard, silent, as the twins danced and fought themselves into exhaustion. He could only imagine what was going through their minds, but he had sensed the confusion in them both as the plans of Men and Elves were discussed. He turned his head to the camp of the Valar, wondering if they had forgotten about the peredhel in all the plans they had to make. They were two young half-elves, without direct family to advocate on their behalf. Come morning, he decided, he would speak to Finarfin and they would plead the case of the peredhel. A slight fear rose in him, however, as to what the case was they would plead.

None saw the single tear that slipped down his cheek.

* * * * *

Author’s notes: The descriptions of the battles are based on the Silmarillion, The Voyage of Eärendil – in what I think are some of the most moving passages of the entire book. Eönwë’s words to Maglor and Maedhros are paraphrased directly from what Tolkien wrote was said. If you read nothing else, read that chapter. :D

Chapters 17 - 19

 

Chapters 23 - 25