I don't know what's happened to my life. There's plenty of blame to go around, and most of it is zombierooster's. But whoever's to blame, I am apparently the captain of this ship, and I plan to sail it.
This is a direct sequel to "Of the Mighty Stars" and the one shot "What Never Was, Was Lost". While "The Hearts of Kings" is in the same universe, they aren't as connected. If you don't want to read that one, you could probably get away with it. The only major characters from that story who will be in this one are Aragorn, Elladan, and Elrohir.
This is mostly an exercise in exploring culture, world building, politics, interracial relations, and elf/orc romance (smut). Ahem. Warnings will be added as they become necessary.
"It is told in the Lay of Lethian that Beren came stumbling into Doriath grey and bowed as with many years of woe, so great had been the torment of the road. But wandering in the summer in the woods of Neldoreth he came upon Luthien, daughter of Thingol and Melian, at a time of evening under moonrise, as she danced upon the unfading grass in the glades beside Esgalduin. Then all memory of his pain departed from him, and he fell into an enchantment; for Luthien was the most beautiful of all the Children of Iluvatar. Blue was her raiment as the unclouded heaven, but her eyes were grey as the star-lit evening; her mantle was sewn with golden flowers, but her hair was dark as the shadows of twilight."
- Of Beren and Luthien, The Silmarillion, page 165
"He makes me happy, Thranduil. It is not the love I ever imagined for myself, but I am more than content."
"If that is true, then there is but one thing I can say. Why are you not now at his side?"
"You know why. His people need him, and I am needed here."
"Ah, yes, it is so very important that you remain. Who else would coordinate Rivendell's choir practice, or hold Lindir's hand through the rainstorms?"
"I may not be a King, but I have duties."
"Duties that can easily be allotted to another for a time. You have served Rivendell tirelessly for 3,000 years. By your will alone, her borders and all within are protected by that ring. None would fault you for joining him, for a time."
"But now? With Sauron returned, and the world grows ever darker?"
"If not now, when? War will be upon us again, given time. You – or he – may not live to see its end. Let Glorfindel rule here for a while – or one of your sons, Iluvatar knows they could be put to better use than spending all their years hunting orcs."
In the late evening, long past bed, two elves moved through Rivendell. One, hooded and cloaked, carried a satchel, and had a well-packed horse by their side. They walked in quiet secrecy, stealing through the shadows towards the bridge leading out of the valley, east.
"You are sure you are fine with this?"
"Yes, My Lord," Glorfindel sighed affectionately. "No matter how many times you ask, I shall not change my mind."
The first elf, pulling back their hood, revealed dark glittering eyes and a sly smile – Lord Elrond, of the valley, dressed in common traveling clothes with a pack upon his back. "It is a heavy burden."
"I imagine it is." The other elf replied. "One I shall gladly take from you, for a time." His dry, tired tone belied the fondness in his eyes. "What you have built here is strong, and will endure your absence."
Elrond gave a slight nod. "Very well, then." He lifted his arm, pulling back his sleeve to reveal the gold band on his finger, set with a gold gem. For a moment he only looked down upon it. Then, with reverent hesitation, he slowly removed the ring, and placed in it Glorfindel's outstretched hand.
Once it left him, a shudder went through him, followed by a quiet sigh. "I am still uncertain whether this is wise," Elrond admitted. "But it seems all my friends are allied against me."
"We would see you well." Glorfindel told him, as he slipped the ring onto his own finger. "And I do not think such wellness will come with you locked away here, pining for what is lost."
Elrond inclined his head, acknowledging the truth in that statement. The two shared a quick embrace. "Perhaps this is the beginning of a new tale, to be told in song," Glorfindel muttered as they broke apart. "Sometime soon the Hall of Fire might hear of the Lay of Elrond and Azog."
The other gave a sputtering laugh as he took to his horse. "Somehow, I doubt the bards shall write songs of us." He said, voice falling low. "Our people are not pleased with me."
"King Thingol was not pleased with Luthien, or Beren, when they first made suit for their love." Glorfindel replied. "Their song is now one of the greatest of Middle-Earth. Have faith; all will come together, through the One." Elrond did not seem so sure; but he whispered a quick Elven goodbye, as he prepared to leave.
"You shall be missed, my Lord," Glorfindel said as he backed away. "But I shall not say, return soon."
"I am glad of it," Elrond replied, turning his gaze to the east. "For I do not think I will."
And so Elrond Peredhil, Lord of Rivendell, left the valley under the cover of darkness. None knew where he went, save a few; and plenty would have tried to stop him, had they known his plans.
He was going after Azog, Lord of Orcs, and none would stand in his way.
One Month Later
The trip itself was no hassle. In fact, things went remarkably smoothly, all considered, given that Lord Elrond was traveling alone and not at his full strength. Perhaps that was why, given the cruelty of chance that his rather peaceful trip came to an abrupt and undesired end.
That is, he made it to the North Downs. He just happened to find the wrong orcs.
A fortnight it took him to travel to Bree, somewhat longer than he'd hoped. He needed rest more and more as time went on, sleeping longer into the day. His strength was waning. The brief period of strength given to him by Azog's entering his mind and sharing his light was coming to an end. He could feel the lethargy sinking into him, the exhaustion, the utter hopelessness. As if a dreary cloud had sunk into his mind, stealing thought and light and feeling away. He wanted very much to rest.
By the time he made it to Bree, Elrond could barely ride his horse. He'd thought to send word to Azog, to let him know he was coming; but he couldn't risk the dream-walking, given his state. It would just have to be a surprise. Hopefully, a good one.
Such doubts were unlike him, but given the grieving state he was in, hardly a surprise. He could not but feel that perhaps he was unwanted; that maybe he would come to Azog and find him upset to be burdened with him. Elrond was hardly in a fit state to care for himself after all. Perhaps Azog would refuse him, or hate him for presuming he could just enter back into his life, uncalled for…
That was the Fading talking. Elrond refused to consider such things, reminding himself that Azog did love him, and would be pleased to see him. So he kept on his way, taking the road north, to Trestlebridge.
There came the first problem of many. For while Elrond knew that Azog had gone into the North Downs, looking for his kin, he was not exactly sure where. That much Azog had not told him. As for where to start looking, well, there was plenty to search. Mountains stretched far and wide across the North Downs, divided by sharp valleys and cliffs; thick forests blanketed its landscapes, marshlands dotted the southwest, and long expanses of grassy fields covered what was left. To the northeast, the ruin of Fornost and the decimation of those age-old wars scarred the landscape, and wraiths haunted the earth.
Elrond could search for years and still never find him.
He had thought this would be no problem, for Elrond had planned to use his light to seek out Azog's and find him that way. But his light was too dim, too weak now for such things. He could barely keep on as it was, without exercising such means. It was too much of a risk.
Perhaps this whole venture had been too much of a risk, Elrond had thought then. To have come this far, only to fail, to fade finally and pass away into darkness? Perhaps this is how it was meant to be… perhaps he was never meant to find Azog, to find his happiness… after all, what did he know of joy? When all he loved him, left him, never to return… Still, he went north on the Greenway, unable to let go of hope entirely.
That is where the orcs found him – orcs who were servants of Sauron.
On the Greenway, they came upon him, daring to venture close to mortal lands to take so valued a prisoner. Even hooded and cloaked Elrond could not hide his bearing. They knew him for an elf, and one traveling alone, close to orc lands, at that. He had been a fool to think he could travel unmarked.
They came out of the shadows in the midst of night, and suddenly he was surrounded. Twenty, perhaps thirty there were – they were everywhere, every place Elrond looked, as he spun round, drawing his sword.
His hand trembled to hold it, his strength wavered so, but he gritted his teeth and raised it high, ready to fight to the death. He had not come this far to be taken away without contest. Two came at him, his horse reared, and stepped back. Mind racing, he realized this was perhaps the end, that none knew where he was, or where he would fall –
An arrow out of the distance struck the orc nearest him, and with a high-pitched squeal they fell down dead. Glancing up in shock, Elrond watched as the clearing filled with more orcs – orcs who turned upon the others, and struck them down. The elf stared in amazement as the battle grew to its peak, afraid to intervene, as he was not sure who to target. In the dark, surrounded by orcs on all sides, he could not be sure who was friend and foe. So he stayed his hand, drawing his horse from the battle, turning to move out of the line of fire. For the moment, attention was drawn from him, and he had a chance to escape.
His luck did not hold; as he made to run further down the road, he was grabbed and dragged from his steed that then bolted into the blue. Elrond thrust out with his arm, elbowing his attacker in the face, and in their agony they let him go. He took to the ground, crawling away, not trusting to his own strength to stand.
He needn't have worried; the battle came to a quick, ignominious end for the orcs who'd assaulted him. They took to the shadows again, fading out of sight, while the others lingered, pacing up and down the road, checking the bodies. Looking upon them, Elrond now saw what he had missed in the chaos of before. These orcs carried themselves differently from their kin, less like animals hunkering in the woodlands, and more like men. They dressed as men did, as well, but their clothes were shabby, grey, and ill-used, as if they'd been worn too long. They were all hooded, and he would not have known them for orcs if not for his keen eyes, and the language he yet heard them speak.
Still, Elrond found himself unable to stand. His legs shook even to try; huffing, Elrond reeled, dizziness assaulting him. As his vision blurred and his body was wracked with weakness and pain, he saw a figure approach, but could not make it out. In his fear, he almost lashed out at it – but his eyes cleared enough to see it was a hooded orc. He stayed his hand, gasping for breath, watching as the orc watched him.
Amber eyes squinted at him from the darkness of the hood. The orc knelt beside him, a hand hovering in the air, still watching Elrond. "I mean you no harm." The elf muttered, attempting again to right himself. Instead he fell upon his side with an oomph, and then hissed as pain ran up his legs.
"Are you injured?" The orc asked.
"Not by this conflict, no," He replied, his voice strained. "This is an injury which runs deep, one I – I am afraid may have gone past any healing…" Weaker and weaker his tone became, as the world began to blur again. He barely saw the orc turn his head, and when he heard him speak, it was as if the orc's voice were muffled and far away… but he did, through the strange, alien orcish, hear and recognize one word at least.
Azog.
"Azog?" Gasping, Elrond strained to move again, grabbing at the orc's arm. "Azog? He is here?" The orc looked at him with great surprise. "Would you…?" He gestured his hand; after a moment, the orc took it. Gloved fingers grasped his own, an arm came under his shoulders, and he was lifted. Behind him, he heard his horse approaching. Elrond turned to her when she came near, reaching out with trembling hands to take hold of her saddle. Using her as support, Elrond stood, leaning heavily on his steed.
All around, orcs stood in a circle, clearly giving him distance, but for the one who'd helped him stand. They were all cloaked, hooded, covered in shadow; if any were Azog, he could not tell.
That was, until he heard his voice.
"Well met, stranger," That familiar rumbling baritone brought a smile to Elrond's ears. Even in all his exhaustion and pain, joy flooded him, head to foot. "Fear not; we mean you no harm. We are not enemies of the free peoples." So overjoyed was he Elrond could hardly stand it. He fought to speak but his voice failed him. Turning his head, he looked upon his beloved, standing in the center of the circle some few feet away. Arms crossed, a great brown cloak and hood thrown over him, two bright yellow eyes glinting at him in the darkness.
Azog inclined his head, looking down. "I see by the standard your steed bears you hail from Rivendell." He said. "What brings you so far north?"
Chuckling, Elrond forced his dry mouth to move. "Love," He rasped, throwing back his hood. "And, if I am completely honest, dire need."
He saw his beloved's eyes go wide, before the last of his strength waned, and darkness took him.
TBC