3441, Second Age. Plains of Dagorlad
Thranduil caught up with his father just outside their encampment. "I wish to speak with you."
"I do not appreciate your tone. Prince or no, you will address me with respect," Oropher growled.
Thranduil took a deep breath and started over. "Father, please, a word?"
"If you wish to discuss Gil-Galad and his whore, then the answer is no. If you wish to discuss your whore, the answer is still no." He felt a glimmer of satisfaction as his use of the foul human word made his son wince.
"That is uncalled for, Father, and King or no, I will not abide your wicked tongue. Take your troops and be done with them. The High King is right, if you fail to use our elves wisely, you will face untold horrors defending Mirkwood alone. As for me, I shall return to my 'whore' and sleep peacefully, knowing that I have done all that I can to convince a stubborn fool to quit behaving like a spoiled elfling."
"Our elves?" Hissed Oropher. "Since when are they 'our' elves? Never forget, my son, I am the king. You have a ways to go before you supplant me."
"Is that what this is about, Father? Do you believe that I have supplanted you in some way? Do you fear that those under your command believe more in me than you, their King?"
Oropher turned abruptly and stepped so close to Thranduil that they were literally nose-to-nose. Anyone standing near would have been unable to distinguish Thranduil from Oropher, so closely did they resemble one another. "What I 'fear' is that my son is under the influence of mere men and a so-called High King who has little respect for his own kind. Have you not noticed how he favors Elendil? And you, an elven prince, fawn at the feet and cavort in the bed of a man's son."
"Descendants of a royal house, Father, and due respect in their own right. Or have you forgotten Lord Elrond's lineage? Have you also already forgotten his brother, Elros? Father, they have done nothing to you."
"Done nothing, say you. I say differently. I am shunted off to the side like a piece of offal while Gil-Galad treats the great-great-nephew of his whore as though he alone could win this war. Amroth is an upstart. Only Cirdan has any real authority here and only Cirdan understands what it is we face. He should have been the leader of this alliance, not Gil-Galad. Gil-Galad has no loyalty."
Thranduil laughed softly. "Jealousy is not becoming of an elf, Father; particularly one who is a king. You speak of respect and loyalty as if you have some special privilege. Yet, you have given none to those who deserve yours. They have all learned to distrust you because they do not yet feel that they can rely on you. All you have shown is contempt. Father, they would be more than allies to Mirkwood if you would be allow it."
"Since when do we need to fawn over men? Mirkwood is a kingdom apart, Thranduil. Learn the lesson before it is too late. Come the morning, the archers will be where I will them, not where Gil-Galad dictates. Take that piece of news back to your beloved." Oropher stalked off, giving Thranduil no time to reply.
Thranduil sighed loudly in the darkness. His father would not be swayed from his course and the imagined slight. Thranduil could see both sides of the issue. In one sense, his father had a right to feel as though he were a replaceable spoke in the grand war machine. He had been brought in to the alliance at the last moment and had not really been asked for his advice or expertise. Still, Thranduil could well understand how Gil-Galad might not completely trust Oropher. The King of Mirkwood had paid in silver and gold to have the dwarves build his hall deep in the forests where they dwelt in relative seclusion, a fact that did not set well with the other elves. They had their own problems with the remnants of the Witch King's ill-begotten get roaming the ancient forests and squeezing out the elves living there. Each passing year brought more and more of the wood elves to the King's great fortress seeking shelter and safety. Oropher provided that and more, much the same as Lord Elrond had with Rivendell of late or Gil-Galad had with Lindon. Where Lindon was a court of unsurpassed beauty and elegance, Mirkwood was in the tedious position of both haven and battleground.
Somewhere in Oropher's mind he had learned to hate and distrust men and elves not of Mirkwood. Try as he might, Thranduil did not understand, and at that moment, cared too little to try. Anarion was with his own men, fortifying them for the battle. Oropher would not allow him near their forces, and that left Thranduil at loose ends. Dejectedly, he turned his feet to Anarion's tent to await his arrival.
Lindir stripped off his armor and outer tunic and tossed it carelessly aside, as he always did. He unlaced his boots and breeches and tossed them after the armor and tunic. "You look like you are in pain, my friend. Perhaps I shall compose a song? The Battle of Gildor, I shall call it. Oh, come, now, Gildor, do not frown so at me. I am only teasing you."
Gildor frowned all the more, wondering how it was that Lindir could be so cavalier. "Lindir, do not jest about such things. You know as well as I that tomorrow will either see a total victory or a total defeat and you've laid this terrible burden on my heart and now you wish to make light of it all. What am I to make of you?"
"My love is a terrible burden?" Lindir's face became still as hurt filled his soul. "I apologize, then, Gildor."
"Oh, shut up, Lindir." Gildor snapped. He grew instantly contrite. "I should be the one apologizing, my friend. For all these many months you have stood at my side and been my friend and confidant and never once did you betray my trust. The secret you carry in your heart must have been painful to keep, even as you have spoken it aloud, you are still in pain and I see it in your eyes, despite your light manner. Come, let us talk as friends again while I sort out what is in my heart and mind."
"Will you not share that with me? As you say, I have been a friend and confidant these many months, and never have I betrayed you by word or deed. I would not do so now."
"I do not think I can this time, Lindir. There is still too much turmoil in my soul. You have offered me a tasty treat yet I crave more than a morsel. You deserve more, as well, for though you have not asked for it, I can sense that you would have my heart as surely as you have given yours to me. Would you, then, settle for a half of a heart? Part of a soul? You know I cannot give you all that you ask, even as I try to deceive myself in to believing that I can."
Lindir sat on the cot and dangled his arms between his knees. "You know that I have asked you for nothing in return, so why do you insist on making this more than it is? If you will share your bed and your life with me, than I will be glad to take what you offer. But you say I cannot have all of your heart or soul? I would call you a fool, but you are my dearest friend and I cannot bring myself to scold you in that fashion. For who am I to tell you that you love unwisely when I, myself, do the same? We are perfectly matched, you and I, in all ways, even though we are cross-purposed. Even there we are perfectly matched, yes?" His face lit up with mirth as he thought about their situation.
Gildor could not stop the laughter bubbling inside of him. Lindir was correct, they were cross-purposed and that only made them more perfectly matched. He had, he supposed, a choice to make. He could chose to be alone or he could chose to be with someone he liked and admired and who, at least, loved him. He sat down next to Lindir and draped his arm over his friend's shoulder. "You are right, of course. I can make no promises tonight, but come tomorrow I feel that all will be decided. Will that satisfy you?"
Lindir's blond hair slid forward, hiding his face. "Is this the best offer I can expect?"
"What more is there? Oh. Now I see this more clearly. Your confession on the eve of battle confused me greatly, but understanding dawns slowly. Is this what you really want of me? You said that if I was content to share with you my bed and my life you would be happy. I did not know that you meant tonight."
"I meant nothing of the sort, Gildor. I am offering myself to you. Take what I offer or no. But do not torment me with your glib tongue."
"I will hold you in my arms tonight for tomorrow eternity may separate us. That is all I will offer you now; my friendship. Will you have it?"
Lindir turned his face away as he composed himself. He had hoped that Gildor would comfort him and, even if he did not truly love him, at least pretend. Foolish hopes, he knew, but those were his most secret desires and he'd laid them out before Gildor. The rejection was nonetheless painful in that it was not a complete dismissal of his feelings and wants. "We shall always be friends, Gildor."
Erestor and Glorfindel heard the news from Elrond himself and they flew into a flurry of activity as they prepared their units for the coming dawn. All that could be done had been done, but Glorfindel and Erestor were not elves to leave anything to chance. The war had taken much from both elves and men and the two warriors were not about to allow all those sacrifices be in vain.
As they settled in their tent, Erestor carefully examined his sword. "At last the final assault begins," he mused.
Glorfindel lifted his blond head from the pillow. "For good or ill and a long time in coming. Elrond is concerned about Oropher."
"Well he should, for I saw his troops relocating. I have informed Gil-Galad, though what good that may do is beyond my power to guess. Oropher has taken them further west, aligning them along Elendil's left flank."
Deep blue eyes narrowed. "He will be in danger there, and put all of us in danger, in the bargain. What has the King said of this?"
Erestor shrugged. "He expected as much for Oropher was not content with the strategy laid out by Elrond and Gil-Galad. He feels slighted."
Glorfindel smirked. "He's slighted because he is a blathering fool who talks when he should listen. I suppose he thinks all his battles in the forest make him more qualified than most to mount this assault."
"You have the right of it, I think. You cannot convince him that Elendil or Elrond are more suited to planning a siege than he is."
"And his son, Thranduil?"
"As far as I know, still sleeping in Anarion's tent."
"Deep in his father's bad graces, no doubt." Glorfindel laid his head back down on the pillow and contemplated the ceiling.
The elf in question ghosted through the mist, guided only by his instincts and the faint starlight penetrating the heavy mist hanging over the Dagorlad Plain. His feet made no sound that the men could hear. Despite the elven blood flowing through the veins of the kings of Westernesse, they were frequently as noisy as their pure human subjects. Near Anarion's tent, Thranduil heard voices and he paused.
"You have made a fool of us," said a voice that the elven prince assumed was Isildur. "You consort with the elf as though you were married to him. Have you forgotten your wife and children? The men talk, Anarion."
"You place too much stock in rumor. He and I are lovers; that is true enough. But soon the war will end and I shall return to my kingdom and he shall return to his. There is no harm being done."
"No harm? Anarion, are you blind? Your relationship has done as much damage to morale as this accursed fog. The men say you are spellbound."
Anarion laughed. "I will not deny topping the elf is a distinct pleasure, but I would not say that I am spellbound by his tight—"
"Say no more! I beg you."
"Come, Isildur, you cannot say that you have not had lovers these long years. I know you better than that. Prudishness does not suit you at all."
Thranduil was taken aback as Anarion's assessment of their relationship was a bitter poison. Could their relationship be nothing more than Anarion's way of easing his own boredom? Until a moment ago, Thranduil would have sworn the answer to his question was no. Now, however, he was not so certain.
"I have not kept them in my tent night after night."
"More's the pity, brother, for undoubtedly your humor would be greatly improved if you awoke in the mornings to find a warm and eager mouth wrapped around your shaft."
"You are unreasonable," Isildur said.
"Not at all, I simply know what I like. Leave off, Isildur."
Thranduil ground his teeth as Anarion callously related the secrets of their bed to his brother. He wanted to burst in to the tent and slay the crown prince with his dagger. Humiliation colored his face.
The tent flap opened and Isildur stormed from the tent. Caught unawares, a testimony to how rattled the conversation had left him; Thranduil tried to fade back in to the shadows, but was spotted by the man anyway. Thranduil lifted his chin in silent defiance.
Isildur smirked and tossed his shaggy blond hair. "Elves," he spat before stalking away.
"Thranduil?" Anarion came to the tent opening and peered out. He took one look at his lover's face and knew that he'd overheard far more than he should have. "Come inside, where we may talk privately."
The elf said nothing as he stared at the one whom he had professed his love only hours previous. Part of him wished nothing more than to wrap his hands around Anarion's throat and squeeze until his eyes bulged from his head. He knew he could not, though, not matter how painful the betrayal. "If you will excuse me, Prince Anarion, I must return to our camp."
"Wait, Thranduil, please." Anarion hissed. "You must come inside and speak with me."
"There is nothing that I must do," Thranduil continued backing away, unable to simply turn and leave and loathing himself all the more for this further weakness. "You should have told me how you really felt, Anarion, instead of allowing me to overhear you share our secrets with your brother."
"Isildur is not important. Come inside, please." Anarion's hand reached out and he clutched Thranduil's green tunic. "This is not how it seems."
"Isn't it? Isn't this exactly how it seems? You told your brother than you enjoyed the use of my body, as if I were nothing more than a –" In a flash, his father's words came ringing into his mind. He could not bring himself to finish.
"I had to tell him something, Thranduil. I have a wife and children, you know this. They are the heirs after me. Would you see them discredited? Would you see them lose their inheritance for you? Think, Thranduil."
Thranduil shook his head, at last finding the strength to turn and leave.
"Thranduil." Anarion called one last time. His voice echoed in the fog.
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