3441, Second Age. Plains of Dagorlad
Thranduil snuck from his tent and crept through the darkness. If his father caught him, he’d be sent back to Mirkwood in disgrace. He did not intend to be caught. Seeking the deeper shadows between neatly lined rows of tents, Thranduil slipped past the sentry and entered the compound of the humans. Reaching one specific tent, he eased beyond the flap and waited for his eyes to adjust to the deeper darkness.
“Thranduil?”
“Aye, mellon-nin, I am here.” He moved towards the camp cot.
“I was afraid you would not make it tonight.” The cot's rope weaving creaked softly as the speaker sat up. “What took you so long?”
Thranduil perched on the edge of the cot and ran his hands through long hair. “Father had much to go over tonight. He and Lord Elrond had words, again, and father was in quite a rage.”
“Father said King Oropher disagreed with the high king’s plans and has threatened to move your troops further from the main thrust. We will need your elves there.”
“I know, but I cannot change his mind. Gil-Galad’s plan is solid and I know it will work, but father has been made to feel inferior and out of place among the men.”
“We know the value of the elven arches.”
“I know that, too. This is not about us, what we feel or believe. I disagree with my father’s decision, but I cannot gainsay him. He is my father.”
Arms came up around Thranduil’s shoulders. “I did not mean to criticize. Come to bed and let us forget our fathers for a while.”
“I thought you would never ask.” Thranduil rose and began removing his clothes.
Gildor tossed on his narrow cot and listened to his tent mate Lindir’s deep breathing. He and Lindir had become fast friends during the long months on the Plains of Dagorlad. He valued the younger elf’s friendship and wisdom. He somehow managed to keep everything in perspective without losing his sense of humor or irony. Gildor, who had always been prone to laughing and jesting, had found that trait lacking in his life of late and had struggled to regain his sense of balance.
If anyone had asked Gildor his thoughts on war before he joined Gil-Galad’s forces, he would have probably recited some poem or song glorifying heroes and deeds. After nearly a year of slogging through mud and noxious fumes, his opinion of warfare had most decidedly changed. He couldn’t remember the last time he was clean. Dust was caked in to every crevice of his body and even a few he’d never known existed. Dirt contaminated everything, including the food and water. The fumes coming from Mordor had long ago destroyed his sense of smell and Gildor hoped that, if he ever left the plains, his ability to smell would return. There were moments when he had his doubts.
Skirmishes between Sauron’s Orcs and the Alliance’s combined forces were a daily event. Gildor found it difficult to believe that there were so many Orcs in the world. Yet, there they were, their foul and misshapen bodies creeping around the edges of the camp.
Lindir and Gildor, being among some of the youngest of the elves, were assigned to act as messengers between Gil-Galad and the other Kings. The duties were hard, though in some respects easier than standing guard duty or any of the other duties one could be assigned. His position gave him access to Cirdan and Thranduil and Amroth of the elven peoples, along with Elendil and his sons, Anarion and Isildur.
As close as he and Lindir were, there was one secret Gildor had tried to keep from his friend. Gildor had come to idolize Gil-Galad in a way that bordered on obsession. He watched Gil-Galad constantly, absorbing every detail and nuance as though he'd never seen the High King before. In his eyes, Gil-Galad was as near to perfection as one could get. Second place went to Elrond Half-Elven, the High King's lover.
Not that Elrond and Gil-Galad were obvious. Gildor had accidentally discovered the truth one day night when he was walking back to the tent he shared with Lindir. The elf stopped outside Gil-Galad's tent, intending to make sure he needed nothing else for the night when he heard noises from within. He was used to Gil-Galad having visitors late in the night. He was no stranger to male on male relationships, but he was shocked right down to his boots when he walked in to the tent and saw Elrond bent over the desk with Gil-Galad pressed against him. Gildor, his heart in pieces, had crept back to his tent and said nothing.
Lindir caught him moping a few days later and came to his own conclusions. "You are infatuated with our king."
"Nay, Lindir!" Gildor had avowed a little too vehemently. "What is the matter with you? Did an orc bash you over the head?"
Lindir smiled in reply and strode from the tent, leaving Gildor alone. He was forced to examine his feelings and face the truth of Lindir's words. He was infatuated with Gil-Galad, an elf centuries older than himself and as unattainable as the stars. As he sat in the tent, thinking over his feelings he had a moment of spontaneous clarity that left him puzzled and curiously shaken.
He admired the High King. Perhaps, even Gildor found the Elda attractive. But his heart cried out for Elrond. His shock—his broken heart—was not that Gil-Galad was taken, but rather because the High King belonged to the Lord of Imladris. Gildor had spent the rest of the night unable to sleep and, from then on out, every time he saw Gil-Galad and Elrond together, his heart had broken a little more.
Daily more and more men gathered on the plains, joining the ranks of elves. Tension between the groups began to run high. Though members of the same alliance and fighting for the common good of Middle Earth, the daily stress of noxious fumes and endless, meaningless skirmishes began to take their toll. Oropher gathered his Mirkwood elves and retreated, claiming that the 'high' elves of Lindon were playing fast and loose with their allies, effectively making good on his threat. The men grumbled and complained about how uppity elves were, especially those from Mirkwood, and the alliance threatened to crumble.
"The men lose patience," Elrond observed from across the table the evening after Oropher moved his elven troops. Between them were maps outlining the position of known enemy patrols and their own forces. A dark green marker was pushed back, showing the new location of Oropher's troops.
Gil-Galad stared intently at the map, mentally noting strengths and weakness of each group represented by the marker. "Alas, he has harmed us more than he knows, maybe even more than he intended. We must push up plans for our assault. Tomorrow, we will gather the captains and kings and finalize our plans."
Elrond frowned. "Are we ready?"
"We are out of time, love, ready or no. If we do not assault now, we will lose the opportunity to do so." Gil-Galad reached across the distance between he and his lover and brushed a loose strand of dark hair. "We have sat for seven years on the cursed plain and lost too many lives in the bargain. We must strike and strike now if we are to defeat Sauron."
Elrond nodded. A deep feeling of foreboding over came him and he had to blink several times to clear his vision. Whatever came of the morning, he realized that nothing would ever be the same. "I'll have Gildor bring everyone to the tent."
Gildor waded through the night fog in search of the principal players in the dangerous game known at the Last Alliance. He'd been roused from his troubled sleep by Elrond and given his orders. Gil-Galad called one last meeting between all the captains. In his heart, Gildor knew that one last push was forthcoming.
One by one, he went to every tent and located the appropriate persons. Oropher greeted him with all the hospitality of a wounded boar and, for a moment, Gildor thought the elf would refuse. As he backed out of the tent, he saw the king of Mirkwood getting his armor and knew relief. The men were not such a problem save for Anarion, who seemed to have left his tent for unknown parts. He was frustrated by his inability to locate Anarion and had given up to return to Thranduil's tent. He left it to the man's troops to locate their missing captain. He stepped past the guards unchallenged and called from outside Thranduil's tent.
"Lord Thranduil?" He heard faint rustling inside the tent. "My lord?"
"What?" a breathless voice called out.
"My apologies for disturbing you, my lord. King Gil-Galad has called a meeting about tomorrow." Gildor took a step back as another voice could be heard whispering inside the tent. He cocked his head to the side. The voice wasn't elven. He blinked. Surely he had not found the missing Anarion?
"Tell the High King I shall arrive shortly."
Gildor hesitated and then stepped close to the tent flap and pressed himself against it. "Sir? If you know the whereabouts of Lord Anarion, could you please let him know?"
There was a long pause. "Of course, Gildor."
"Madness," Oropher stormed as he surveyed the map on the camp table. "You cannot mean to assault the tower now. We have not the strength."
Anarion, looking breathless and disheveled, disagreed. "King Gil-Galad is right, your majesty, if we do not strike now, we will loose the advantage."
"What advantage?" Queried Oropher, turning balefully on the human prince. "We are outnumbered and the fortress can be held for a long while yet. We must make him come to us."
"We have been waiting for him to come to us for nearly seven years, my friend. As you say, his fortress can hold out indefinitely. We must force him out in the open. For good or ill, tomorrow we assault." Elrond reminded Oropher.
Elendil nodded thoughtfully and scratched his gray beard. "Time is the enemy of men, even if it is not the enemy of the elves, Oropher. Seven years is a long time to be away from wives and children. The time has come to end this. My troops will be ready at dawn, Gil-Galad. Anarion? Isildur? Come, we must alert our troops."
Lindir stood with his back to a tent wall and tentatively reached out a trembling hand to his friend, Gildor. The younger elf eagerly grasped the sweaty palm in his own and squeezed gently in sympathy. Fear radiated from Lindir and, Gildor could only assume, himself as well. The days of sword practice were over. They would be put to the test tomorrow and if they had not learned well their lessons, their death would be the price. Their eyes met and Gildor offered a tentative smile. Lindir squeezed the hand holding his in response.
Oropher refused to be budged, even as Elendil and his two sons exited the tent. By his side, Thranduil watched helplessly as the men left. He had a grave misgiving about the future, but at the moment there was nothing he could say or do. There were too many eyes upon him and there was much he dared not say in public.
"Gil-Galad, this folly will destroy all that we have worked for. In your haste to appease your lover, you are letting poor judgment get the better of you." Oropher smacked his hand upon the table for emphasis.
There was a moment of silence as the elf's words reverberated around the tent. Thranduil looked as though he wanted the earth to swallow him whole. Lindir tried to become one with the tent. Gildor's grip on Lindir's fingers tightened painfully. Elrond's back stiffened and his lips formed in to a grim line and his gray eyes flashed with a fire to rival the molten rock of Mount Doom.
"You overstep your bounds, King Oropher." Gil-Galad warned. "I will not accept this insolence or insults to my Standard Bearer. If you wish, take your elves back to Mirkwood and pray the alliance is successful, for otherwise you will be fighting the Dark One on your own."
Thranduil closed his eyes and offered a prayer to any god that might be listening. "Father, I fear the High King is correct. We cannot wait any longer if we wish to keep the men for allies. Not even the elves have all of eternity to sit on this plain.'
Oropher's eyes narrowed on his son. "So, Anarion has turned you against your own father?"
Gildor bit his lip and waited for the explosion. Gil-Galad and Elrond exchanged startled glances for not even they had realized that something might be going on between Anarion and Thranduil.
"Nay, father, you know that is not true." Thranduil surprised everyone with his calmness. "I have allowed no one to influence me, not even you. I have eyes and ears with which to see and hear. I can read a map as well as any and I have been on the same patrols as the elves and men and can see the movements of the orcs. I need no one to influence me. We have not encountered half the unnamed one's power and force. He will let us exhaust ourselves on his cursed gates and then pick us off at his leisure. Heed the High King's advice, father, I beg you."
Oropher looked as though he might be inclined to argue further, but something made him hold his tongue. "I will keep my forces here," he stabbed a finger at the green marker on the map, the very marker Gil-Galad and Elrond had previously discussed.
"Thank you, Oropher," Gil-Galad acknowledged. He would have rather had Oropher's forces closer, but he knew he was lucky to keep Oropher and his troops at all. They would have to make the best of the situation. "I hope that your archers will be able to offer cover to the front lines."
"The archers of Mirkwood will give you all the cover you need," Oropher conceded. "I will leave you now, and begin our own preparations." He sketched a bow to Gil-Galad but ignored Elrond altogether.
Thranduil offered the high king and his Standard Bearer an apologetic smile. "Please forgive my father, Your Highness, my liaison with Anarion sets ill with him. He knows that this plan is the best, though he is loathe to admit it."
Gil-Galad set his hand on Thranduil's shoulder. "I understand, my friend, and I take no offense. This is one more reason that we must attack now. The alliance will not stand the strain much longer."
"Thank you, Sire," Thranduil replied. "I will return to our troops and help make the necessary preparations."
Amroth of Lorien said nothing until Thranduil was gone from the tent and only Elrond, Gil-Galad and Cirdan remained to hear his words. Of the younger elves, he thought nothing, for he knew they were both loyal to a fault to Elrond. "Oropher is going to make trouble, in the end, my friends. Despite his son's assurance, the King of Mirkwood will hold back his archers."
"Nay," Cirdan shook his head gravely. "He will move them to an unexpected location."
Elrond smiled for the first time since Oropher's harsh words. "Shall we lay bets, in the fashion of men?"
Amroth snorted. "I think that won't be necessary, Lord Elrond. We all know the way Oropher feels right now and we can guess that his ire will not have abated by the morrow. He is unpredictable. As for me, the archers of the Golden Wood will be ready and waiting where you have bidden."
"I would prefer, for my part," said Cirdan, leaning forward, "that we have the Lorien archers here." He stabbed a point just behind where his own troops were supposed to be. "I will feel much safer knowing that I have some support for my troops."
"What if we split Amroth's archers?" Elrond moved forward to stand beside Cirdan.
"I do not like that idea at all." Gil-Galad frowned over his carefully laid plans. "We will be exposed here." He indicated his left flank.
Amroth leaned forward. "We can split here and still be able to cover this area." He indicated a break where he wanted to have two groups and the exposed area in question. That only left a short area for Mirkwood to cover and he felt that Oropher would not object to that.
"Oropher will see that as an insult that his archers have so little to defend." Cirdan read Amroth's mind.
"Can we afford to risk thinking he will be in place only to discover, too late, that he has decided to place his archers so far out of harm's way that they are useless to us?" Amroth countered.
"I fear Amroth is correct," Elrond tipped the green marker over.
"As do I," Gil-Galad added. "We cannot take the risk. We will separate Amroth's archers for now. If, come the morning, we see Oropher has kept to his end, then we can always maneuver the Lorien archers into a new configuration."
"Providing we have time." Cirdan growled.
"We have no choice, my friend. Oropher is too unreliable." Gil-Galad shook his head. "This is our only option."
Even Lindir and Gildor could see the flaw in the plan laid out by Amroth and Cirdan. Yet, they too could also see that there was little choice in the matter. Oropher had become unreasonable and his help was not guaranteed, despite Thranduil's assurances. Though, if the truth were known, Gildor doubted that the elf would leave his lover completely unprotected, regardless of his father's opinions. He kept that thought to himself, however, as now was not the appropriate time to voice his feeling.
"We are near moonset," observed Amroth. "Dawn will find us bleary eyed, if we do not seek our rest and we've much to do before we can seek reverie."
"Now all we can do is pray to the Valar that the morrow will bring better news and cooler heads," agreed Elrond. Turning he finally acknowledged Lindir and Gildor. "Go and find your rest, you will need it. Come first light you will be with me, on the front lines."
Gil-Galad opened his mouth and then closed it. He could not deny his captain and Standard Bearer a place at his side on his front lines, although he would have liked to do just that. "Indeed, we have done all we can. I will see you all in the morning."
Knowing they were dismissed, the elves filed out, with Gildor and Lindir last. The two still held hands as they made their way to their tent. Once inside, Gildor made to remove his hand, but Lindir stopped him.
"I need to tell you something," Lindir looked unaccountably nervous in the light of the lanterns.
Gildor waited expectantly, wondering what could make his friend so nervous.
"Tomorrow," the elder of the two continued, "we will face untold horrors and maybe even our deaths. I know you love another and I envy him your loyalty. But I would have you know that you have my heart."
Gildor had been prepared for much, but not a declaration of love. "I am stunned, my friend. I did not know."
Lindir raised their clenched hands and raised them to his lips. "You did not know because I have kept it secret. Now, I wish you to know."
Gildor lowered his head. He had spent long evenings alone and dreaming of one he could not have. He allowed his obsession with the high king to mislead his friend. Should he mislead him further? Could he? Part of him desired to reveal the truth to Lindir, to wipe the slate clean and have done with it. Caution warned him to remain silent, for he feared his friend would not understand.
"Fret not, Gildor, I do not expect any declarations from you. I have not revealed my heart to you so that you can feel pain." He released the hand he held. "I wanted you to know, should tomorrow I—"
"Nay, Lindir, speak not of such things." Gildor's head came up rather abruptly. "As you said, you know my heart longs for another. You declare this love for me on the eave of battle and now I am faced with decisions that I have never thought to make."
"Even now, you need not make them." Lindir stepped away. "I will not force you or make you feel guilty on my account, my friend." He laughed lightly to break the dark mood.
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