"Medui canauth…"
These words fell from the elf's lips as he struggled to raise himself to his feet. He succeeded, but only by using his spear for support. He shook his head. Of all the things that could have happened, he had been knocked out of the fight by a simple falling beam.
What an embarrassment that was going to be…
"Amardhwen…" He wiped blood from his lip and surveyed the wreckage. The building that they had been using as shelter had not stood well against the ravages of fire, "Manke naa lle?"
"Sinome," Her voice was strong, yet it wavered slightly, "Amin sinome, Gil-Galad."
He looked through a break between a beam and a pile of crushed stone and saw her gazing back. She appeared to be uninjured, but he had to be sure, "Lle tyava quel?"
"Amin naa quel," She nodded and smiled, gesturing for him to follow her. Gil-Galad sighed and smirked slightly, leaning against his spear. She laughed, pointing to the rickety looking corridor that would lead them out, "Asca, lle auta yeste' mellon."
"Thank you so very much," He shook his head, "But that is all right. You can go first."
She waited for him to squeeze through the small opening, then moved towards the still smoking hall. The wooden walls still smoldered, and the stone floors warmed her feet through her boots.
"It's all right," She motioned for him to follow, securing her own spear onto her back, "It should hold us if we tread lightly."
Gil-Galad entered the hall and looked up, seeing the remnants that were once proud tapestries and the smoke that gathered still under the ceiling. He shook his head and followed Amardhwen as they found their way out of the ruins.
She paused near the exit to the courtyard, "Amin n'rangwa edanca. I don't understand these humans. Some are good, some serve evil. Why can they not just all behave well, as the Dúnedain?"
"Allow me to see," He gazed past her, surveying the few human men that lingered around the wreckage, sifting through the rubble to find anything valuable or worth selling. Their black armor and crude mannerisms marked them as Sauron's forces.
"Fighting our way through them is no difficulty. However, burying their foul hides would take more than their share of our time," Amardhwen sighed, crossing her arms, "We may be forced to delay our rendezvous with the others…"
"We cannot!" Gil-Galad shook his head, "We plan to march on Mount Doom in three days. If I—we are not there, Elrond, my herald, will be forced to lead them alone. Elendil would not approve either."
"Quel marth," She snorted, "Would you waste time and the lives of these mortals?"
"If it means the death of Sauron, then yes."
His stubborn silence amused her, yet was troubling at the same time, "Gil-Galad, I see nothing but death for you on the coming battlefield. How can it be that you are so willing to go into what might be your destruction?"
He did not answer her.
"All right," She said, exasperated, "But you should not expect me to beware your hide in battle tomorrow. If we live that long, that is."
"Why are you so preoccupied by death, Amardhwen?" He unsheathed his spear, and she followed his example, "Such a thing is not normal for the Noldor, nor the elves in general."
"I saw a great pain when I was but a small child, and it burdens my mind even today, for what I saw has not come true yet," Amardhwen fingered the shaft of her spear.
Finally, she continued, "I saw a great warrior, and he burned to death by the power of a black demon. I fear for who that warrior may be, for it was not a meaningful death, as the evil he fought lived on through the weakness of men."
"And that is why you do not trust the race of Men," He touched her shoulder, "Because of this vision, you cannot trust even the Dúnedain?"
"Let us hurry if we are to regroup with the others. They will be anxious to hear what has happened to their leader," She broke the conversation by griping her spear tightly and emerging into the sunlight.
The four—no, five, men that had been digging through the wreckage looked up when they saw the light glinting of Gil-Galad's spear as he joined his friend and comrade-in-arms.
The humans' faces paled. They dropped their hands' contents and ran out of the courtyard, yelling in fear.
"That is not natural, even for Men," Gil-Galad whispered to Amardhwen.
"I know, but do not linger on that thought," She grabbed his wrist, "Let us run, else they find others like them and return."
Gil-Galad was not used to having anyone grab his wrist. He was the High King of the Noldor, a race of elves that Amardhwen herself belonged to. He had to fight the urge to shake her grip off.
But he had to remember something.
Amardhwen was no normal elven maiden. She had been gifted with foresight upon birth, and had been hunted by the evil Maia spirit Sauron for this gift. With the help of Gil-Galad, then called Ereinion, she had been able to escape his dungeons and rejoin the fight as his unofficial advisor.
They ran.
Spears in hand, they dashed from the ruins, into the grassy fields that lay between them and the forests. They were not far from the border of Mordor, and the color and brittleness of the grass beneath their feet confirmed this.
Suddenly, Amardhwen tripped, as if felled by a black arrow. Gil-Galad skidded to a stop, then returned to her where she knelt in the grass, shaking. Her eyes had turned pure white as she trembled in the throes of a vision.
He held her shoulders tightly until the vision had passed, her hands flew to her face and he had to struggle to get her to stand once again.
"What did you see?" He demanded.
She could not answer. Her only response was that of sobbing.
"What is it, woman! What did you see?" He shook her gently, attempting to break her from the stupor.
"I saw—my own death…" She replied shakily, her hands trembling as she drew them away from her face. She looked around at what surrounded her, then turned her gaze up to meet his.
She was strangely peaceful.
"You cannot prevent Fate from having its way…" Amardhwen said quietly, "What I see will come true, and you…"
Gil-Galad could hear nothing but her words, as if energy flowing between them had created a space devoid of sound around them. He could not move, could not speak…he was a prisoner.
"You will die in three days, my friend, and it will be a meaningless death," Her eyes haunted him, "I will die before you and await your spirit upon the shores beyond the Sundering Seas."
"What do you mean…you cannot die before me…" He struggled to even eke out those simple words.
"I die…now…"
The zip of arrows split the void. Gil-Galad felt her body buck and strain in his grip, and his eyes widened as he realized what was happening. All he could do was gasp in stunned horror and carry her body to the ground.
The immortal light was gone from her eyes before her fleshly shell touched the earth. There was a final sigh of release, a very mortal sound…one that he never wanted to hear again…
Before the deadly archers could attack again, he bore her body up and took flight, his spear, Aeglos, tucked safely in the sheath upon his back.
It took all of two days before Gil-Galad rejoined his army and that of the Men. Elendil and Elrond both stood near his personal tent, where they awaited his arrival.
Elrond had shed a tear of sorrow when he saw the form of Amardhwen, but he had not known her, not as Gil-Galad had. Elendil himself and his son Isildur entered his tent once Elrond had taken the elven maiden's form away.
"Your loss disturbs us all, Gil-Galad," Elendil said, sitting down in the chair across from the elven king, while his son stood behind his father, "And we shall mourn her, but let it wait until after the final battle. Then, we shall return to my city and grieve there."
Gil-Galad was silent, his face stonily passive and peaceful.
"I shall not mourn her, though she was dearest unto me," A single tear escaped his eye and traced a streak down his soot-marred cheek, "I shall not mourn the loss of my child which she yet bore upon her death, though I wished for such an heir."
Elendil exchanged surprised and unsure glances with his son.
He continued quietly, "And I will join them tomorrow, as her vision foretold."
"You cannot believe that you will die tomorrow," Elendil spoke softly, "Elves are Immortal, fairest of all Races. To dwell on such things as death is for the orcs and trolls to contemplate, not you."
Gil-Galad locked gazes with the human.
"I shall dwell on nothing more than the battle that lies before us," He set his jaw, "And the freedom that we shall ensure to all our kin and descendants."
They both stood and exchanged a firm handshake, and the Men left the tent. Gil-Galad removed his armor and lay down on the simple, yet comfortable bed that lay in the corner of the tent.
As soon as he lay down, a shock of power ran through his body. He saw things that he could not recognize, yet that were strangely familiar.
They were just flashes, but, somehow, he knew that his eyes had turned pure white.
Isildur…with Elrond, in the Crack of Doom…he did not destroy the Ring…
A small creature with hairy feet, finding the Ring in a dark cave…
Disappearing…
Another innocent creature received the Ring…
A great quest awaited them…
Elrond…he would survive…and guide the young beings on their way…
The Crack of Doom…again…and a passing of power…
It was over.
It all ended, leaving him gasping for breath. Yet, somehow, he was satiated, and almost happy with what he had seen.
His end would not be in vain, though it would take almost a full Age to realize the finality of his death. The Ring would be destroyed, thought, through the weakness of man, if might endure, if only for a little while.
He wept for those deaths that could be attributed to the lasting of the Ring. He wept for the fading of the Elves, which he saw in the visions. But he knew, somehow, that it would all end, for the betterment of all.
And, he knew…
That he would someday have the honor of meeting the young Ringbearer, with his dear Amardhwen and his child by his side…
The next day, by the hand of Sauron…
He died.