A/N: A little fic for the Fëanoriel universe in honor of JRR Tolkien's birthday. No one needs any prior knowledge of my other fics for this. There will hopefully be more chapters to come.

March 15, 3019

Elves ran to and fro in the huge Undercroft of the Elven King's halls. The Undercroft held the armory, the forges, and the cellars. The alarm had been sounded far above; Dol Guldor's forces were marching north and east. The elves had to stand at last. The fierce Silvan warriors, experts with bows and skilled in arboreal combat, clasped on their light armor and grabbed their weapons.

But for one elf far above, all the clamor below was nothing but an annoyance. Especially because he knew she would seek him out before leaving. The elf, Carmegil, heralded an older age. He had been the Captain of King Oropher's guard since that deceased elven lord had begun rule over the Greenwood, and in fact before. They had been loyal to each other in Doriath. Carmegil, unlike most elves of Mirkwood, was in fact of the Sindar.

"Carmegil!"

The old, silver haired elf sighed and set down his blue-leather book. Rocking back and forth in his favorite rocking chair, the elf was tired of the drama of the Third Age. He was tired of her drama.

"Carmegil!" A youthful elf maiden in battle garments ran over to where he sat outside his little abode in the underground kingdom. "Carmegil, come on! You should fight!"

"Nimwing." He sighed and shook his head at the blonde Silvan warrior. "I don't fight anymore. Those days are behind me."

Nimwing, a young, fiercely loyal and mostly joyous elf maiden, did not feel amused. She knew him better than that. All the stories he told her of the First Age fascinated her endlessly.

"Oh come," she glared. "It'll be like... like the War of Wrath you told me about!"

Carmegil raised an eyebrow at her. "Nimwing, you know not of what you speak. The War of Wrath was not enjoyable, not in the least."

Suddenly another elf swept up. "Carmegil!"

Nimwing bowed deeply as the Elven King Thranduil made his way, in full battle regalia, to the retired elf's abode. Carmegil didn't even bother to stand.

"My old friend," Thranduil nodded. "Why are you not dressed for battle?"

"Because I didn't know I would be fighting," Carmegil sighed.

Thranduil, casting barely a glance upon Nimwing, folded his arms. "You are of able body, and have more experience than anyone in the kingdom. You will fight."

With a heavy and obvious sigh, Carmegil stood and nodded. He turned into his house to find his old armor without bidding goodbye to his king.

"Get going! The orcs will want to see you I'm sure," he called back to the Elven King.

Nimwing nearly gasped at that. It never ceased to amaze her, how rude Carmegil was allowed to be to King Thranduil. Anyone else would've been sent to the dungeons for insubordination.

"Do you not have somewhere to be, warrior?" Thranduil barked at her.

Nimwing nodded, bowed, and scuttled away to join her company. Her captain was a fiercely strict elf of angry countenance. She would do best not to be late, she knew.

Past the throne room and out the fortress doors she sped, stopping only once to fasten her quiver tighter. The carved trees turned into real ones soon enough as she sped outside and across the bridge. Her company was to the left.

"Nimwing!" barked an angry warrior. "Late! As usual!"

"My apologies," she muttered, jumping into place. "I-"

He glared, shutting her up. "I don't want to hear it."

Laswen, the only other female in her company, rolled her eyes at Nimwing's pouting expression. "You were late."

"I was talking to Carmegil!" came her protest back to her companion's remark.

"Not coming?" Laswen surmised.

Nimwing smirked and looked ahead. "Oh he's coming."

As if on cue, an elf taller than most, with hair silver like starlight, strode forward, his large sword at his side. His armor was silver too, made in a different time at a different forge. He went without helm. Behind him came the Elven King with his royal guards.

"Wow," breathed the two maidens.

Carmegil turned to his king. "My orders, lord?"

"Take command of the left flank. I will command the center units, and the Captain will command the right," King Thranduil instructed immediately.

With a nod, the old, tired elf marched off to the left, not even looking surprised as he realized Nimwing was among his troops.

And who says the Valar don't have a sense of humor, he thought to himself.

With sharpened sword he took command of his troops. They looked on him, some with wonder in their eyes, others with poorly hidden doubt. For none there had seem him in combat. None save Nimwing.

He had trained her once upon a time. Back when female warriors were few and far between. Not that they were any more common now, three hundred years later. For the young Nimwing, training had been hard. He'd taken pity on her.

Now she was the one thing that convinced him to fight, though he'd never tell her that. He marched forward at the Elven King's command, entering the thick of the trees. The scent of death began wafting through the air until it became overwhelming.

The first orc screeches were heard moments later. The elven archers scurried into the trees to attack from above and to take advantage of the height while the swordsmen focused their efforts closer to home.

Carmegil swung his sword and met with the first orc. It was a goblin of Dol Guldor. A detestable creature. It's black blood spurted over his armor.

I am too old for this, was all he could think. When this is over I am definitely sailing West.