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Twilight Tales - The Captain's Guerdon	By : MPB Category: -Multi-Age > General Views: 8528 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Chapter XVII

Mirkwood, Gwaeron 15 TA 3019

Glorfindel withdrew his sword from the still quivering form at his feet. A moment later, the orc stilled and he lifted his eyes to look at the other strewn carcasses about him for any movement. Seeing none he bent and wiped his bloody blade on the crushed grass before slamming it into its sheath. The sounds of faltering snarls and pain-filled moans had ceased to resonate through the forest.

The army from Rivendell had arrived in Mirkwood the evening before the assault from Dol Guldur began. It had been a vicious battle. The orcs had hacked and burned their way nigh to the very heart of the Silvan Elves’ realm, intent on bringing about the ruin of the stubborn, valorous folk of the ancient green wood. And they might have succeeded had it not been for the timely assistance of Imladris.

The orcs had swarmed along the elven track, expecting resistance but confident of the Wood-elves’ lesser numbers. Great was their surprise and consternation when grey and silver joined green and brown to repel them. But the orcs’ bloodlust was strong and their hate even stronger. And they were many – far more numerous than their Elven foes even with the reinforcements from Rivendell. They thought they would overwhelm the Elves ere long. But they recked little of the endurance and mastery of the Elves or their bitter loathing of the foul creatures spawned in the depths of time. What should have been a rout turned into a daylong battle in the darkness beneath the densely packed trees. In the end, numbers had counted for naught before the superior skills of the Firstborn.

The Noldorin captain scanned the bloodstained, entrail-ridden ground with a grimace then frowned sadly at the sight of scored and scorched tree trunks and burned and trampled brush and vines. They had the victory but the forest had paid dearly. It would take time for Northern Mirkwood to heal. But time would matter little to the Wood-elves who would nurse their home back to haleness however long it took.

More fires were being built. But this time, the flames would be fed by Goblin corpses. Glorfindel spared just enough of his attention to ensure not a single orc still lived before going in search of Thranduil. The Elvenking had been in the very thick of the fighting. Glorfindel prayed he would find Legolas’ father alive and whole.

As he made his way to where the main body of the Wood-elves’ forces had gathered, he felt the now familiar nagging at the edge of his consciousness. Like a whisper that resounded in a silent room. He slowed his stride a moment and closed his eyes, seeking that tenuous connection that surged and ebbed without cease. He knew that Elladan had seen battle this day as he had. He had felt the twin’s emotions as he fought whatever evil he faced through the channel that linked them. And he knew Elladan had known his feelings as well. Now the channel was quiescent but not closed; it never was.

He sought evidence of his mate’s safety and wholeness. The reassurance came ere long on a note that none heard but he. Elladan was well for the present. His beloved still lived and breathed as he did. He felt Elladan’s ephemeral touch and answered it swiftly, giving ease of mind to the other as well. The touch faded but left its imprint on his awareness.

It was more than a month since the message from the south had arrived, borne by a fierce goshawk that flew away as soon as Elrond had taken the tiny cylinder tied to its leg. Within had been a rolled piece of parchment and a short cryptic message entreating the Rangers of the North to ride to Aragorn in far-off Rohan.

They could only guess who had sent it. Elrond did not accept the general supposition that Aragorn had but shared his own surmise only with his family. Grave the events in the south must be if the Lady of the Wood did not dare affix any evidence of her hand in the matter for fear of interception. Neither she nor Celeborn could wish to draw attention to Lothlórien. A Ring of Power guarded the Golden Wood but that did not mean that the realm would escape utterly unscathed if the Dark Lord chose to vent his anger on it.

Glorfindel had known the brethren would wish to go to the war. Not out of war-lust or a hunger for adventure but rather the call of kinship. Aragorn was their foster brother, the Dúnedain the other half of their heritage. They would go out of duty and honor and love for the race from which their foresires Beren and Tuor were sprung.

He had been loath to part from Elladan but part they had after a long night’s loving. He had seen Elladan off the following dawn, holding his fears inside lest he unwittingly daunt his lover’s fierce resolve. Seeing to the preparations for his own journey to Mirkwood had helped blunt some of the ache of longing and anxiety.

And not an hour too soon had he and his warriors arrived in the woodland kingdom as the carnage about him attested. Thank Eru they had made it before Dol Guldur’s army had descended on the Wood-elves’ realm.

He espied Thranduil at last. The Elvenking was attending to the unpleasant business of administering the coup de grâce to a passel of still twitching orcs. Glorfindel waited while the king and his soldiers slit the throats of their foes, silencing them once and for all.

Thranduil looked up and saw the Imladrin captain. He motioned to Glorfindel to approach.

“Think you there will be more?” the captain asked.

Thranduil shook his head. “Not if the news my scouts have brought me just now are accurate. Dol Guldur marches on Dale and Erebor.”

Glorfindel scowled. “Can we help them?”

“We would not reach them in time to make much of a difference even did I have the numbers,” Thranduil said. “They will stand or fall by their own wits and valor. But I do not think they will be overcome. The Lonely Mountain is nigh impregnable if it comes to a siege. They will hold out far longer within than I could in this forest without aid. As for Lórien…”

“You have news of Lórien?”

Thranduil raised his hand. Glorfindel watched in curiosity as a silvery grey bird-of-prey swooped down and grasped the Elvenking’s forearm in its mighty talons. Thranduil fondled the creature’s head before looking back at the Noldo.

“This falcon carried the news to us. I warrant Elrond has already received the same. Lórien was invaded by a force from that black hold but four days ago. And Celeborn believes there will be more. They are bracing for another assault on their northeastern borders even as we speak.” He shook his head. “‘Tis a shame that the first direct word I have had from my kinsman in centuries should come in a time of trial.”

They fell silent for a space as the last of the orcs in the immediate vicinity were hauled away to the bonfires. Then Thranduil looked sharply at Glorfindel, a hard glint in his eyes.

“I did not foresee that in permitting my last-born to bear the news of Gollum’s escape to Imladris that I would be sending him into the bed of Elrond’s son!” he said with some umbrage.

“Legolas is no mere bed-treat to Elrohir, my king,” Glorfindel countered. “That your son bears a betrothal ring is evidence of Elrohir’s intentions. The Peredhil do not pledge their hearts lightly.”

Thranduil eyed him intently. “You are bound to one Peredhel twin. Tell me, Balrog slayer, what can my son expect of the other? I am told they are very much alike.”

“In face and form, yea, they are alike,” Glorfindel replied. “But Elladan is the more forbearing and less sharp-tongued. He is also the more cautious of the two. Elrohir is impulsive and has no qualms about voicing his opinions however they might rankle. And he does not hesitate to take what he desires though never in force or coercion – there is no evil whatsoever in Elrond’s sons.”

He paused, seeing the flicker of displeasure in Thranduil’s eyes. He knew what the Elvenking was thinking. Could guess that the other Elf was pondering the swiftness with which Elrohir had bedded his youngest son and won his assent to be wedded as well. He imagined that Thranduil was ruing that far more than Legolas’ inclusion in the Company of the Ring. The woodland monarch, while civil and cooperative with his Eldarin allies, was as insular as the Silvan Elves he ruled. It could not truly please him to see one of his children join his future to an Elf not of his own tribe.

Well, too late, Glorfindel thought, smiling to himself. Once a Peredhel set his or her sights on someone, that someone was as good as taken.

“You need not fear for Legolas’ well-being,” he continued. “He will not want for love or anything he might desire if it is within Elrohir’s power to grant it. ‘Tis the way of the Peredhil. They are fiercely loyal and nobler of spirit than any I have met amongst Elves or Men. ‘Tis a blessing beyond compare that Elladan chose to bestow his heart on me. You should count it an honor that your Legolas won Elrohir’s love, Thranduil. He will find no better match in all Arda, of this I can assure you.”

His earnestness struck a chord in Thranduil. The king smiled faintly and said: “You champion them most eloquently, my lord Glorfindel. And convincingly as well. Methinks I should prepare my folk for the advent of another prince in this kingdom.”

The Elvenking strode away to gather his soldiers for the long march home. Glorfindel watched him go then regarded the grisly bonfires about. Soon the orcs would be no more than piles of ash and blackened bones.

Suddenly feeling quite smothered by the cloying closeness of the forest and the acrid smoke of the fires, he looked skyward, longing for a glimpse of the open expanse of the sky rather than the shadowy canopy of the forest. To his delight, he saw that a gap yawned amidst the tangled branches.

There in the distance, sparkling with bold brilliance, was a star of uncommon whiteness of light. Glorfindel smiled and a whisper of gratitude left his lips.

He wondered if blessed Eärendil shone with as much brightness in the south where the last remnants of a noble race of men from beyond the sea battled to preserve their land and their heritage. Where two valiant hobbits scrabbled amid the desolation of Mordor in a desperate bid to end the Shadow’s encroachment on the lives of all who refused him their servitude. And where the owner of his heart had gone to fight at the side of a mortal he called brother. He prayed that it was so.

*********

The Pelennor Fields, Gondor

The reek of blood and dead flesh permeated the air of the plains before Minas Tirith. There was simply not enough manpower to take care of the dead on the vast field. The Men of the West had seen to their fallen first and now faced the task of disposing of the bodies of Easterlings and Southrons, orcs and trolls. A far greater undertaking considering their vast numbers.

Elladan wrinkled his nose in distaste as he moved toward the center of the military camp that now lay before the city walls. Ah, for the fresh breezes of Imladris to lighten his mood, he thought. And the wondrous scent of his golden-haired mate to replenish his spirit. He slipped into a tent that stood between the quarters of Imrahil of Dol Amroth and Éomer of Rohan.

Elrohir glanced up from where he sat, clad in his breeches and little more. He had been cleaning and polishing his sword in readiness for the next battle. No longer did the taint of orc blood still cling to the shining metal or chipped bone and slivers of flesh hide amongst the minute crevices in the elegantly wrought hilt.

Before him on a pallet lay the long, lithe form of his woodland lover.

Elladan smiled at the sight of his future law-brother in sound repose, a bare shoulder peeking out from under Elrohir’s blanket. He did not need to see the trail of purplish-red marks that ran from the base of the prince’s throat to the curve of his shoulder to guess at the cause of his contentment.

Elrohir rose to his feet and greeted his twin. “I thank you for allowing us this time together, tôr iuar”—older brother—he softly added. “Legolas was in dire need of my comforting. His bond to the green wood is very strong. He sensed trouble in his father’s realm.”

“And he was right,” Elladan agreed. “I cannot blame him for his fear. I, too, sensed Glorfindel’s fraught feelings at the moment he engaged in battle.”

“And now?”

“He is well.”

“That bodes well for Mirkwood then.” Elrohir regarded his brother curiously. “You knew Glorfindel was in peril yet it did not overcome you.”

“Nay, it only spurred my outrage. I take it Legolas felt otherwise?”

Elrohir shook his head. “He was not overcome but it took him by surprise. He has never tested the primal bond that holds us to the lands of our births. This is the farthest he has ever journeyed from Mirkwood. I think it shocked him that he could tell when evil invaded his home. And troubled him that he could do naught to succor his father and people.”

They both looked at the archer, regretful that his innocence should have been shaken by the events of their times.

“Why do you not bind to him now?” Elladan suggested. “We know not what the morrow will bring us.”

“It would not serve him, Elladan,” Elrohir said. “You have seen how his bond with his home has disturbed him. He is unused to such distractions. Were he to know the full effects of espousal to me, it would only divert him and place him in danger.” He smiled at his brother. “Do not fear for us, brother mine. We renewed our pledge to each other and all that is lacking is the blood rite. Nothing will sunder us now; not even the Halls of Awaiting.”

Elladan brightened. “When?”

“On the Corsair ship as we sailed down Anduin.”

The older twin smiled. “My felicitations then,” he said. “I hope we will yet witness the sealing of your pledge when all is done.” He turned to go. Elrohir clapped a hand on his shoulder, staying him a while longer.

“Gimli is amenable?” he inquired.

“He is.”

They grinned at each other before Elladan left.

“Elrohir?”

The Elf-knight glanced back. Legolas had raised himself on one arm and was looking at him with concern. Elrohir smiled, thinking what a comely picture his prince made with his shining hair tumbling about his shoulders and his white torso bare to his eyes when the blanket slipped down to his waist.

He walked back and knelt before Legolas.

“Is aught amiss with Elladan?” the archer asked.

“Nay, he only came to see how you fared. He saw your distress and desired to assuage your fears.” At Legolas’ questioning stare, he said, “As you sensed the turmoil in your land, so did Elladan feel the unease in Glorfindel’s heart when he charged into battle.”

“Then the war has touched Mirkwood!”

“It did. But Glorfindel is at peace once more and that can only mean that the same can be said for your father and folk.”

Legolas digested the information for a spell. Elrohir leaned close until their foreheads touched and the prince closed his eyes, calmed by his betrothed’s soothing words and touch. At length, he stirred and sighed.

“I should return to my tent now,” he murmured, reluctance tinging his voice.

Elrohir smiled and shook his head. “This is your tent, ernilen.”—my prince.

“But Elladan—”

“Does not mind sharing sleeping quarters with Gimli. He is quick-witted and jovial of spirit, your Dwarf-friend is. ‘Tis no wonder that you have befriended him so heartily.”

Legolas smiled back. Curling an arm around Elrohir’s shoulders, he pulled him closer.

“Love me, my Elf-knight,” he whispered before sealing his lips to Elrohir’s.

Elrohir tenderly complied. It was many heartbeats later when he heard Legolas’ soft sigh of contentment, muffled against his shoulder.

Outside, ere he made his way to Gimli’s tent, Elladan paused and let his eyes stray north. His spirit sought the connection that bound him to his beloved captain. Feeling it wax between them in heartfelt assurance, he relaxed and looked up at the lightless firmament. Peering into the sooty distance, he started when he descried a single star, its light piercing the darkness in seeming defiance.

The older twin beamed, knowing that star for his grandsire, the valorous mariner himself. As Glorfindel had done, he prayed that hallowed light would find some way to shine upon the two beleaguered Halflings who had ventured into the land of shadow, bearing with them all the hopes of the Free Folk of Middle-earth.

**********

By chance or by fate, their prayers were answered. Upon crawling out from beneath the curtain of brambles where he and Frodo had sought shelter, Samwise Gamgee looked up to the veiled skies above the Ephel Dúath. And as he did, the clouds parted for a moment and, lo, a star showed itself to the intrepid hobbit.

In that moment, Sam understood that the Shadow’s reach was only so long and that there were things it could neither sully nor destroy. That for all his malevolence and strength, the Dark Lord could not vanquish all light and beauty and hope.

He crept back to his place under the brambles and finally found peace in slumber at his master’s side, heartened by that bright beacon on a black night when it was least expected.

********************************

Glossary:

Gwaeron – Sindarin for March

Ephel Dúath - mountain range running along the western and southern borders of Mordor

A/N: In LoTR, Book 6, Chapter 2: “The Land of Shadow”, Sam spotted a single star just above the Ephel Dúath. I like to think it was Eärendil that he saw.

To be continued…
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Twilight Tales - The Captain's Guerdon