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Shelter From the Storm	By : redkiwi Category: +Second Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 1722 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own anything from Tolkien's world (Silmarillion/Lord of the Rings/Hobbit), nor the characters from it. No money is made from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Gil-galad's worried gaze rested on Elrond, but he didn't immediately speak about what bothered him after Glorfindel had departed from his tent. Instead, he simply seated himself back at the table, and he pushed away from him his half eaten dinner plate. His hunger had left him, and his mind now flooded with his anger, and with a worry that he do not fully understand. Even though his mind told him that Oropher would not defy reason, still the disquiet of a growing foreboding apprehension could not be abated.
Gil-galad closed his eyes while he became lost in his thoughts. His thoughts festered and swelled within his mind, as he wondered about just what tomorrow would bring them. It was true that an army bred of pure hate, with only the desire to annihilate them all, was just within their grasps, and as such, they couldn't linger on the edges of inaction for much longer. But to attack before their preparations were complete would be asinine. Oropher understood this, he knew.
His face had hardened further; his annoyance with the insubordinate Oropher was almost more than his patience could handle. Once his anger could no longer be contained, Gil-galad broke the silence, and his intense eyes bore into Elrond.
“The last thing that we need is decent within our own ranks. A divided alliance only aids our advisory. Oropher is causing worry and confusion within our ranks. Can nothing stop his madness?”
Elrond knew that Gil-galad's question had only been rhetorical, and he didn't bother answering it.
He heard Gil-galad's fist pound hard against the table, emphasizing the emotions that drove him to question. He understood that it was simply a manifestation of Gil-galad's exasperation with this whole situation. Gil-galad had done everything that he could have done to reach out to Oropher. He had offered him his support and council, and had extended to him the invitation of joining with their planning. All that Oropher had returned was coldness, and his ever aloof and obstinate hatred. Their request for caution really was not so unreasonable. Although the captains of the alliance all agreed with an imminent attack, tomorrow just was not that time. Gil-galad's request for just a little caution was not unreasonable. It was beyond Elrond why Oropher acted the way in which he did.
Within his own mind, his trepidation pulsated, and he couldn't help but frown as he moved closer to his King. He seated himself across from him at the table, and he studied him intently, wondering silently what he would say or do about this situation.
Worry was etched upon the High-King's face, and his brow was furrowed, as if what weighed upon his mind had been manifested there. Even his proud stance and bearing were heavy-laden. His body language reflected all that came at them in these vile lands: the death they had already encountered, and the loss and strife, combined with the vile enmity that lay in waiting for them, just beyond the horizon in Mordor's keep.
Elrond wanted to reach out for him, and his heart ached for him. Despite all that Gil-galad had put him through, Elrond would always harbor the deepest of love for him. Those feelings washed through him, like the comforting waves of the gentle sea. Despite the wickedness around them, Elrond felt the tinge of his desires flicker within. Even though he had now pledged his heart to another, his love for Gil-galad could swell and twist, burning strongly within him some days, while other days, that love was almost forgotten. Elrond could tell that love was the last thing that was going through the King's mind. Instead his thoughts grew only darker, clouded with his annoyance towards Oropher.
Both he and Gil-galad were pulled from their thoughts when they saw that a sentry had pulled back the flap to the tent, and Círdan stepped within. His deep and ancient eyes fixated on them kindly, but he did not smile or utter a word of greeting. Instead he seated himself next to Gil-galad, and he poured himself a glass of wine.
“What news do you bring from the evening scouts?” Gil-galad asked, glad to have his mind move from the matters of Oropher, even if that other matter was still about this war.
“Yet another company of a great orc host marches to the hand of Sauron. They passed beyond our reach, and thus, made it to their master. Sauron's numbers grow, while we linger without increasing. They may have greater numbers, but victory will be had with our strategy.”
“And Oropher would want to undo what we have crafted so carefully.” Gil-galad could not forget his anger, and he moved the topic back on the one who made his blood boil this night.
Círdan didn't respond, and he only closed his eyes, as he was swept within the folds of his mind. Through this long pause of time, he meditated, and neither Gil-galad or Elrond stirred, both afraid to tear him from his thoughts.
“It has been through all the long years of my life that the shadows of future days has come to me. But here in this vile land, what the Valar have gifted me, can not break through this dread. I do not know what breaks at the dawn, let alone in those distant tomorrows.”
Círdan's eyes were dark, and the gentle star-light that shone from within their depths was void. He mirrored Gil-galad's worry, and despite his usual council, he had no answers to give to Gil-galad this night. Instead he poured more of the wine into his goblet, and he leaned back into his chair.
“Thranduil approaches.” He said between sips of his wine, and he said no more.
And then Thranduil entered into the tent, and his eyes reflected his own worry, and those gathered in the tent could see that a certain determination radiated from his fae. It was evident that he had come to beseech Gil-galad regarding his father's plans.
Gil-galad's eyes relented in their hardness when his gaze fell on Thranduil, but his face still reflected his worry. He motioned for Thranduil to come closer, and he smiled to him with kindness and with friendship.
“Thranduil? Why do you seek my council at this late hour?” Gil-galad asked, wondering why Thranduil now came to him. A spark of hope filtered through his mind, and he hoped to hear good news. “Is there additional information that I need to know from Oropher?”
Thranduil's eyes only reveled his worry, but he did not respond to the question that had been asked. Instead, he too sat at the table, and he accepted a goblet of wine that Círdan offered to him.
Gil-galad sighed at Thranduil's silence, and his eyes continued to convey the questions that were spinning within his mind. “What is this madness that has consumed your father, Thranduil? We spoke today, and I know he grows restless in this wait. We agreed to move our attack forward to appease him. However, it seems that this is not enough for him. Glorfindel is convinced that he will march to war tomorrow. Speak, and tell me truly what the Greenwood plans.”
“We march at the break of dawn.”
Gil-galad could hear all the emotion within Thranduil's voice. Anger and anxiousness flooded through his mind, but he kept his anger in check, for Thranduil was not the one responsible for this directive.
“I thought our discussion this day had stopped his absurdity.” Elrond said, voice shocked at Thranduil's revelation.
“Seemingly, for Oropher appeared receptive to what we said, and I thought that he was appeased enough to delay his ill-conceived plans of attack.” Círdan said. “But where were you, Thranduil? You did not care enough to guide his thoughts at our council this day.”
Thranduil's eyes, of frosty greens, regarded Círdan, before he responded to his question. “Do not confuse my absence with that of disregard. I know that the hour is late now, but it is not yet the dawn. There is still time enough for you to amend your plans, and join with us.”
“No.” Gil-galad said. “This goes against my command. Thranduil, I can not support this move. I will not have my army march with him in this reckless action!” Gil-galad's anger was paramount, and he pounded his fist on the table, emphasizing his ire, just like he had done earlier this night.
“My point was made to that fool, and yet he continues this bluff with me. His stubbornness will be his doom yet.” Gil-galad's eyes rested back on Thranduil, but he softened the tone of his voice, although the meaning of his words were still harsh.
“I too, cannot condone this course of action, Thranduil. Although the hour for battle draws near, it is not yet upon us. Having patience to wait for the right hour to strike will play to our advantage.” Círdan added, and his gaze conveyed that there would be no room for compromise.
“We will not join Oropher, and when he sees that it is just him alone, he will not march his people to the fields of battle. However, if I prepare my armies for tomorrow, he will go, and that is something that none of us are ready for. I will not entertain this folly, Thranduil.”
Thranduil regarded Gil-galad with narrowed eyes, his disbelief and anger manifested at the High-King's words. Gil-galad was just as stubborn as his father was. With Círdan as well disagreeing with his father's strategy, there was little that he could accomplish here. They simply would not listen to his plea of cooperation.
“There is little more to say then, it would seem.” Thranduil said, and he stood. “Soon a day of dread and terror will dawn, and even that of which you wish to delay will be upon us all. A dread malice comes for us, be it tomorrow or the next day. You now know without doubt what it is that my father will do. Use this information as you will. If your offer of friendship and alliance is true, you will not forsake those who fight with you, even if their path leads them to folly and their doom.”
With dejected eyes, Thranduil said his valediction to them, and he departed into the darkening night that had descended on the lands around Mordor.
Elrond watched Thranduil go, and he wanted to call him back, but he didn't, as he understood that there was nothing more that could be said about the dire situation that held them all within its grip. They stood on the cusp of yet another battle within this war, and come sooner or later, Elrond knew that death would find them. He was astute enough to understand that if they marched tomorrow, heavier would be the hand of death upon them. His only wish was for Oropher to stop this madness.
Again only silence filled the tent, and Elrond watched as both Gil-galad and Círdan sat in contemplation as they regarded Thranduil's words.
“Do I have the command to ready our troops for battle tomorrow?” Elrond broke the silence that hung like the heavy darkness that had settled on this land.
Silence returned to Gil-galad's tent, and it lingered for what seemed like an age. Elrond did not move, Círdan was lost in his own thoughts, and Gil-galad was even stiller than a statue. He had closed his eyes, and his face seemed as if it were carved from marble.
“No.” Gil-galad finally responded. “I will not give into the will of that madman.”
--
Thranduil walked away from the camp of the Noldor with his anger and his despair crashing within his mind. He had never felt so helpless before, and had never had his warnings completely ignored before. He felt like everything had come crashing down around him. Reason could not penetrate to either his father, nor to Gil-galad, and he despaired at his inability to stop what had been set into motion.
He wasn't entirely sure what would happen if tomorrow they did march to battle. Perhaps his father was right, and the element of surprise would aid their victory. But perhaps Gil-galad was right, and their assault would only lead to ruinous failure. Perhaps it would be a sad mixture of both mindsets, and death beyond count would be the price of their victory. And maybe yet, no victory would come to them at all and there would be no more tomorrows for any of them. At any rate, they would have to make their choice, for no matter what they did, war would come to them once again. There was nothing to stop this war, for they would never bow to the whims of Sauron.
Fear gripped him, but it was not for fear of his own life. His heart ached for the souls of the Greenwood, and he feared for their safety and for their lives. His healer's heart wanted to shelter them from this coming storm, but his mind told him that their sacrifices were necessary for the good of the Greenwood.
He passed by his people now, who were busying themselves with the prep before the coming storm. They busied themselves with preparing their weapons and armor. The look of war was within their eyes, and their mannerisms displayed their excitement and the collective energy of their nervousness. They had no fear however, but only the determination to see their King's will be done and defeat the darkest of oppressors. They nodded at Thranduil in camaraderie, and he returned the gesture back, although he noted to hide the fear from them that crashed within his mind.
He knew his father's will would only lead to madness and to destruction, but he doubted that there was anything that he could do about it now. But the more he saw the Greenwood's people, who were numerous, but looked as the delicate leaves of an early spring, the more his heart cried with his rising distress. They may be his father's people, but as a prince of the forest, were they not also his to protect as well? With all his mounting frustration that crashed within his mind and heart, he burst within his father's tent, descending on Oropher with all the furry of his exasperation.
“Father, you must delay tomorrow! Do not push your army to greet this coming dawn of battle. It is folly, and to do so will mean that we march alone. Gil-galad will not give his command to fight at the break of dawn. We will fall in the darkness, alone.”
Oropher's cold eyes regarded Thranduil's words, and he glowered, his anger already manifesting. He stood from his chair, and he placed his hands on a wooden table. His fingernails dug into the wood.
“And what makes you think that I care what Gil-galad does? I have given my command,Thranduil, and late is this hour now in which you dare oppose me.”
Thranduil moved closer to Oropher, but the cold of his father's eyes made him stop. He stood at the other end of the table, and although he did not move closer, he matched and held his father's glare.
“We are the guardians of the Greenwood. We can not be reckless with the souls that we are bound to protect. Why not fight as one?”
“To deny the will of your Lord, will see you walking that fine line of treason. Do I have your loyalty, or do you break all oaths and bonds, and lose your honor?”
Oropher's cold eyes regarded Thranduil. Angry and irked, they reflected that his vindictiveness towards the Noldor would only lead him to ignore all calls of reason. This was solely about their place in the world, and to his father, that place was not under the command of Gil-galad. Thranduil understood that this plan was not so much about using the best strategy to defeat Sauron, but was only a statement regarding their sovereignty. It would be a costly one, and Thranduil knew that he needed to impede his father's plans.
He returned his father's cold and hard glare, matching it with equal fervor. He looked long into his father's eyes, and saw where once the spark of reason had been, was now void of anything but his grudges.
“Is it your will to fight alone, and needlessly risk the lives of your people, and the very victory that will save the Greenwood?”
“It is not the nature of Kings to answer to the questioning of their will. I asked you if you still pledge your loyalty to the Greenwood, Thranduil. I very much doubt it now, with what I hear from you. Nothing will dissuade me from what it is that I have to do. You disappoint me with your lack of understanding.”
“I speak of what will not leave my mind. I fear it is only death, and not victory that will great us on that horizon.”
Oropher pounded his fist onto the table, his full wrath stoked and roused now. “You approach treason Thranduil, and I will not tolerate that even from the likes of you! If you will not do my will, then I have no further use for you.”
Even with the outburst of his father's ire, Thranduil refused to back down. He simply couldn't, for the sake of their people. He needed to stop what had been set in motion.
“It is not treason for a captain to debate the matters of strategy in times of war.” Thranduil's eyes went wide at his father's words, but his face remained defiant, still showing that he would continue to challenge him.
Oropher moved closer to Thranduil until his face was just inches from his son now. His cold green eyes bore into Thranduil's eyes, as if he hoped that this alone would cause Thranduil to back down from the challenging of his will. But Thranduil remained silent, and he held his ground against his father, even as he used his full wrath to challenge and intimidate him.
Seeing that Thranduil would not recoil at this intimidation, Oropher sighed, his voice like a lament. But he did not break his stare. “I feel the west in you Thranduil. You are weak, and you have let yourself become clouded by the will of others. Go back to the Noldor, for you are lost to me. I would not recognize a captain, nor a son, who has fallen to his fear.”
Thranduil could hear just how serious his father was with his words. He knew that he meant what he said, because Thranduil had heard those words before. Oropher had said those words to another within his family. He could hear the subtle tinge of his father's heart breaking, even as his eyes glowered in their anger. Reveled deep within his father's cold eyes was the fear that he too would abandon him, just as his sister had done when she chosen to stay with the Noldor. Even though his mind cried out to defy Oropher, his heart just could not bear the thought of being torn asunder from him. Thranduil's heart broke for more than just one reason as he finally surrendered to this madness of his father.
“My King, forgive your humble servant.” He bowed his head, showing his true repentance for challenging his orders. “I follow your will alone, and will do as you command.”
Oropher's eyes diminished with his anger, and his face became more serene. He instantly accepted Thranduil's apology, and his heart settled, for his mind was once more at ease. Tenderly, he cupped Thranduil's face in a rare showing of his fatherly affection.
“We will not be alone in this fight, Thranduil.” He said before he moved his hand away from his son's face. He once again seated himself back on his chair, and he leaned back, showing just how relaxed and pleased he was with Thranduil now. “Once we lead the charge of attack, the armies of the alliance will join us, for their valor is strong. I have no doubt that they will follow us. They do not have to bow to Gil-galad's whims, just like we will never.”
“Other armies will join us in this attack?” Thranduil asked surprised.
“Yes, we do not fight alone, for there are many others who grow tired of these foolish masquerades of docilness. I have the pledges of other armies to join us. They will march with us, and together we will make a unified attack against the armies of evil.”
Thranduil took in his father's words, and he wondered. So it was more than just the Greenwood who would force Sauron's hand tomorrow. While his mind settled at hearing this news, still his heart beat with the cold dread of fear for tomorrow. He still wasn't so sure, but his choice had been made. He would not abandon his people in this dark hour. He was not of the west, but was now a son of the east. He was the Greenwood, and the fate of his father's people, would be his own fate.
“Now, my captain. Go ready yourself and your unit for the coming dawn. We march soon.”

----

Ithil beat down on him, full and bright, it shone with a clarity that he had never witnessed before. There was no one around him, but he could hear the cries of voices that seemed to steam from desperation and from anguish. The cries turned to wailing, stronger they grew, but he still could not see from where they were coming. He wondered who it was who weeped their lamentations long into the night. Desperate and filled with anguish, the voices cried louder and louder.
 He ran towards the sounds as quickly as he could, and his eyes scanned his surroundings, franticly looking for whomever made those horrid sounds. But he was all alone, within this strange night. The landscape remained eerily still, and now had become clouded over, under a never ending oppressive darkness.  Still he pressed forward, and the voices grew louder and louder. The landscape around him was changing as well. Where once the hard ground of beaten down grasses had torn into his feet, now wet marshes tried to suck him down, and he trudged slowly through the swamps that spawned around him.
Ithil had now taken on a dark red hue, and figures as shadows moved around him in a death dance. Everyone was dead around him, and he was the lone survivor he knew, of a long and terrible battle. The faceless figures of monsters, gnarled and grotesque were hindering his moments, and he fought them, bringing them down, just so he could move forward.
 He kept walking, not really sure where it was that he was going. He just followed the light of the moon that led him down a path. A cold chill blew over the lands, and it penetrated to his heart. Panic welled within him, and then he looked down to see a lifeless face of one he knew so well. Empty eyes stared up at him from beneath the water, and pale lips began to move.
 “Glorfindel….” the dead called out his name.
Glorfindel awoke, with his heart beating rapidly. He hadn't remember falling into sleep this night, but he had, and he gasped for air as he tried to dispel the images that had flooded his dreams. That cold chill from his dream still settled on his body, for he clearly remembered Thranduil's words from years ago. He had dreamed the same dream that had came to Thranduil, and Glorfindel's heart froze.
 It wasn't a dream, but it was a warning. Glorfindel understood this and he bolted from his tent for he needed to find Thranduil. He needed to stop him from marching with Oropher.

 ------
Strangely peaceful, this late night that had settled on the land was starless, and was hidden under dark and stormy clouds. It was as if the wickedness of the land had tainted everything, even what should have been a serene night with a starlight sky. The dark mantles of the oppressive sky hung heavy, and even though it was dreary, it still held a certain beautify in its own strange way. No light from the stars could break through the clouds, and not even the crying winds could loosen the grip of the expansive clouds that rolled across the entire night sky.
Even though the night was dark and the wind blew with a strong vehemence, the encampments of the alliance lit no fires this night. A sort of silence had settled on most of the camp, eerily so, as if they were already lamenting for ones who would fall in this war. Yet in other parts of the camp, far from the ones that lay in slumber, a collective readiness was at hand, for soon they would march, and they were ready, even though they were paused in waiting for that command.
Thranduil took in the night and the landscape around him, and strangely within it, he could find reprieve from his worrisome thoughts. His heart had beat cold at the thought of his father's plans, but now he forced himself to think of other things, and the night sky allowed him to escape, if only but for awhile.
A still darkness had taken hold of the lands even as the night now began to turn to dawn, and the oppressiveness of its reach, only matched the dread of Thranduil's worry. Even though there was nothing he could do to change his father's mind, still a part of him wanted to continue pleading with Oropher. But there was nothing he could do. He had expressed his misgivings to Gil-galad and wondered what the alliance would do, if anything. Would they aid Oropher's assault or would they stick to their own plans, allowing the Silvan armies to march alone? He wondered if treachery could take the forms of both mindsets, and if spite could take on the face of both family and of friend. For such was it with the ones around him – the ones that formed this very alliance.
Stubbornness was a dangerous game, and Thranduil wondered if perhaps Gil-galad had decided to incorporate Oropher's insolence into their plans. Was it now perhaps a game of sacrifice, for that of the greater good? Was this all simply the acceptance to use those willing to sacrifice themselves to weaken the enemy, before they took their own charge? It certainly would spare the Noldor such heavy casualties, and the price would only be the blood of the Greenwood.
No matter what he said, Thranduil knew that the Greenwood would be the pawns in this war yet, and they had been given this role so willingly by Oropher. Thranduil felt his stomach turn, while he thought more about the fate of his people.
There was nothing that Gil-galad could do to stop Oropher. This Thranduil knew. His father's armies were sovereign, and did not answer to Gil-galad. Blame was not to be made on the Noldor or even on Gil-galad. The blame alone fell on himself. He had failed to bring reason to the madness of Oropher. He was the one who had failed his people, when he had accepted his father's commands.
At any rate, their fates were theirs alone. A path had been taken, and Oropher would either lead them to victory, or to their death. And as Thranduil thought more about it, he concluded that it was death that would be the greeting that he would soon embrace.
He knew that his father's armies had been summoned, and were ready to march to battle. He had been tasked with leading a group of archers who would come from the south, while Amdir and his men would come from the north. His father would lead the rest of the armies straight to the Black Gates. He had pledged his loyalty to Oropher, and he would never break that oath, even if he did not agree with what it was that he had to do.
Thranduil paused his thoughts as he sensed the presence of another. The familiar fae was strong, and he could feel it pulsating with anger and with worry. That familiar fae could still cause his heart to pause in the beats of his long-forgotten love. But that time seemed like only a dream that he had walked in, so very long ago.
“What brings you to me on the edge of this dawn?” Thranduil did not turn to Glorfindel, as he spoke his words. His eyes stayed on the horizon, even though he wanted nothing more than to behold that beautiful face. But he did not want Glorfindel to see the dread that he knew reflected within his eyes.
“You could not persuade Oropher to delay his assault, could you?”
“My words were heard no more than were Gil-galad's warning. There is nothing that I can do, and I will not lead a rebellion against my father. I follow his command alone.”
“I see.” Glorfindel sighed, and his mind snapped with his anger over the whole situation. Oropher's madness could be stopped, but Thranduil seemed not to care to challenge it any more. Thranduil had descended into madness, just like Oropher had.
“Such folly.” Cried Glorfindel. “Does Oropher really wish to throw away the lives of his people? And for what?”
At these words, Thranduil finally turned his face to Glorfindel. Glorfindel could see just how much Thranduil had been fighting with himself, and with this whole situation. His eyes were glassed over, as if he were already dead. Upon his brow was the worry of his people, and his face was haunted, as if the dead already whispered to him from beyond.
“In the end we may all fall to the ruin of our enemy's hand, and this waiting on the precipice of war and death does us little good. I understand what drives him, and nothing can stop him. Not Gil-galad, or even I can. Oropher does not recognize anyone's command, and I have given him my oath. As his captain, so now I too will not heed any call for patience, or for caution.”
Thranduil closed his eyes, and he breathed deep as he tried to stifle all of the emotions that pulsated within his heart. Tears of anger and of frustration and dread threatened to fall, but he little wanted to show his weakness to Glorfindel.
“There are two courses to take now, action or in-action. Oropher has made his choice, and who can say if it really is the wrong choice?”
Thranduil opened his eyes to see that Glorfindel's eyes still glowered, and his mouth had turned to frown. Clearly Glorfindel did not like what it was that he was saying in response.
“This pause only strengthens our enemy, and causes the poison of fear to fester within our people's minds. This fear would weaken the resolve of our might. While I have the patience of the ages, my father does not. I must turn my trust to him, and not to myself, for I know nothing of war. I was only a healer before this call to war, Glorfindel. Who am I to challenge him?”
Glorfindel listed to Thranduil's words, but he did not respond. He could see the turmoil within Thranduil's eyes, and his words were laden with his anguish. Indeed, his whole body seemed to reflect the shadow of death, and Glorfindel's heart continued to break.
“My father has great faith in our might, and he has lived through many battles and knows the ways of war. As such, he does not need to follow Gil-galad's command. He has deemed this time right for attack, and I will see that his will be done.”
Thranduil knew that he did not believe his words, but he said them all the same. He wondered if Glorfindel could see through his farce, for his heart beat rapidly, and he knew that his eyes were as stormy as his mind was.
“Oropher is beyond reproach, but you Thranduil. You can turn away from this. Do not march your unit with him! Save yourself, and save them. I have dreamed that nightmare that came to you so many years ago. The Valar give their warning. You can not go!”
“No, Glorfindel. I must. Warning or not, the fate of the brave who march for him will also be my own fate. Go back Glorfindel, return to Gil-galad and let him know that death comes swiftly. Beseech him to amend his own plans, and ready his people for the battle that has now come.”
Glorfindel watched as Thranduil took his weapons and headed to the waiting armies of the Greenwood. Glorfindel followed him, and he passed by them. Many they were, and they were still and silent, lined in row after row and ready to follow the will of a madman.
“My King Oropher.” Thranduil approached his father, and the captains of the Greenwood forces. They were all assembled before the army of the Greenwood, and awaited Oropher's command to march.
“Is your unit ready, Thranduil?” Oropher asked. His intense eyes burned with the anticipation of the battle, but his face was placid as if the terrors that would soon meet them on the battlefield little impressed any worry upon his mind.
“Yes, my lord. They are ready, and we await your command to march.”
Oropher nodded, acknowledging Thranduil's words. He glared at Glorfindel, and with his eyes alone, ordered him to depart from their camp. But Glorfindel remained, eyes wide with his disapproval, and his mouth was pressed into a frown.
Oropher paid him no more mind, and he turned to address his people.
“Captains of the Greenwood, we stand before that turning point in the history of our people. This day we march to battle to ensure that we are free from the threats of those who would wish to oppress us. Be it the enemy of all Free People, or from enemies within, we of the Greenwood are our own sovereign people. Remember, we bow to no one! Not now, or ever will the will of others infringe upon our freedoms. Go forth to battle today, but do not fear what you may find there. Remember your noble honor of defending the Greenwood. Let the good of Arda give you the strength to overcome what you will meet on the fields of war this day. Today we preserve what is ours. Today we strike down that shadow. Onward to glorious victory!”
“Onward to glorious victory!” The army called after him.
Oropher stepped away from the other generals, and approached Thranduil. His hard eyes turned softer, his voice was low, and he spoke with words that only Thranduil was intended to hear.
“Be safe this day, my son, and let us meet soon on the fields of our victory.”
Thranduil looked onto his father's eyes, and he nodded. “May our victory reunite us soon.”
Even though he said those words, a coldness shot through his heart. The images from his dreams flooded within his mind, and he moved to lead his unit as if in the fog of dreams.
--
Time was a crucial master who was marching against him, with each step that the Greenwood army took. Glorfindel ran as if it were his life that was on the line, and he made his way back to Gil-galad's command tent. The distance was long, since Oropher camped as far away as he could from the Noldor. Through the empty campsites of the Silvan armies he ran, and then through the camps of men and dwarves he dashed. Each precious second he spent running to Gil-galad, caused him to panic more and more about Thranduil's safety.
He knew that Oropher would never succeed without the full might of the alliance to back him. They would die, and their early assault would only hurt the overall chance of defeating Sauron. Despite the foolishness of this whole plan, Glorfindel knew that they now had no choice but to attack as well. There was simply no way that they could stand back and watch the Greenwood die.
Finally, in what seemed like the passing of an age, Glorfindel could see Gil-galad's command tent just before him. He rushed into it, gasping for air, and his eyes went wide at what he saw. There within the tent, even at this early hour, as if they already knew that Oropher had indeed marched, were all of the commanders of the alliance.
“Oropher has led an attack with Admir. The Silvan armies march now to attack the Black Gate, and so too went the men of the Greenwood, for they look to Oropher for guidance.”
Gil-galad's face fell into anger, and alarm, and he narrowed his brows and eyes as he took the words in.
“The fool!” He growled. His voice reverberated with his shock, revealing that he truly had believed that Oropher had only been bluffing with them, just to prove a point. He had been so wrong about this, and his heart froze with its panic at this realization.
“Please, my King, do not let our Woodland brethren fall to their doom this day. Please, call the men to arms, and let us too fight this day!” Glorfindel cried, fully beseeching Gil-galad to take action.
Gil-galad took in Glorfindel's words, and he looked to Elendil and Durin, whose own faces showed their anger and worry. “Ready your men, for we too march to battle this day! Now forced with our hand, we have no choice but to reinforce them. Make haste, and we will meet on the fields of battle this day. We will assemble as quickly as we can, and we will follow as best we can the plans that we have laid out. The recklessness of this move will cause more blood to be spilled than what was necessary, but to allow the full annihilation of their armies, would only bring us to disaster.”
He then turned to Glorfindel. “Ready our forces Glorfindel, and do so with haste! And let us hope that what greets us on the fields is not a sorrow that we will never find reprieve from. To act now, lessens our chance of victory, but to not act at all would seal our certain doom.”
Gil-galad watched as his captain dashed from his tent to carry out his order. With just he and Elrond alone in the room, Gil-galad sighed aloud, and he was forced to sit down, for his heart had crashed into the pits of his stomach with all of his apprehension and fear. He cradled his head within his long hands, before he turned his gaze up to Elrond.
“So goeth a great host to their doom at the beckoning of a madman, and for what? What has Oropher really proven this day?”
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Not Beta Read. To be Continued
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Shelter From the Storm