7: Elf Scout
Two months before the Battle of Dagorlad, Elrond is finally being responsible about things. Holy crap, unexpected guests in my life, suddenly no time to do anything but host them except at night when I should be sleeping! Best laid plans of mice and Men often go awry, especially around the holidays.
Genre: General. Rating: K.
S.A 3434
March
"I know we all agreed that it would be best to take the high road through the range of Emyn Muil," grumbled Hadlindan, "but how was it that we failed to take into account how cold it would be?"
"Surely the cold does not bother you, General," Gil-galad said.
"What bothers me is my thirst, and the fact that our water is frozen."
"An unfortunate predicament indeed, though better preparedness may have directed you to have a pot of water over a fire by this time," said the king, raising an eyebrow. Young Hadlindan was a remarkable leader of people and a natural choice as General, but rather inexperienced in the ways of travel; this concept was only too familiar to Elrond, who well recollected when he had been the same way. Gil-galad had taken great delight in teasing him about this, and Elrond often wondered if Gil-galad had ever gone through a similar phase, or had always been the resourceful character that he was today.
"Have some of mine," Elrond said to Hadlindan, and gestured to a pot that sat upon a small fire that was chewing despondently through punky wood and pinecones; all that could be found for fuel at this altitude, and in March. It was throwing off alarming amounts of smoke, but they were not concerned. No doubt the enemy had been tracking their movements for days, weeks even. One would have to be blind to miss the marching of hundreds and thousands of men and elves. No, the enemy would wait at the gates of Cirith Gorgor for them to cross the marshes.
From which point they came, however, and with what forces, was now under discussion. Gil-galad, Elrond, Illón and Hadlindan had gathered to sit upon the boulders of the mountain slope that their company had stopped on for the night. They had spent years in Imladris strategizing over the meeting of their armies and those of Sauron's, but the movements of other parties were proving to be difficult to predict.
"Do you suppose," General Illón said, "we might gain the loyalty of Oropher and Amdír if we sent them biscuits and a written apology?"
"Apology for what?" sighed Gil-galad. "They are acting callow. They are too bullheaded to obey the direction of the Noldor."
"Perhaps we needn't go into specifics," Illón said. "You know, Dear Oropher. Our most sincere apologies. After we have thrown Sauron to ruins and cast the One Ring into the fires, let us have a dinner party. Our place. Drinks provided. Everlastingly yours, The High King of the Noldor and your humble leader of the Last Alliance. Might that sway their poor attitude?"
"Theirs' is not the only poor attitude, I see," said Elrond. Gil-galad had apparently not been paying much heed to Illón's comment, and now stood between the other three elves, then knelt, and smoothed out the silt beneath their feet. He placed two sticks together perpendicular, and then a mass of gravel above their point. It was clear to the others that the two sticks were the two ranges that met around the borders of Mordor, and the rocks were the mountains through which they now traveled.
"This," Gil-galad said, pointing, "is the marshland. I know we had thought to travel east and avoid this mess altogether, then come south to meet Sauron on Dagorlad. This is where the company of men travel to as we speak." The men, led by Elendil, had taken a lower route east, having opted for the easier, and warmer, path. The elves had taken the higher route to keep a more careful eye on any of the enemy's movements. For the most part the two hosts had traveled in close approximation, but now they were distanced by altitude. "As you all know, we have been joined, in a way, by the Silvan hosts, who approach from the west. They do not wish to follow us so far east; they wish to take a more direct route, even though it means crossing the marshes."
"They do not have the weight of armor to contend with," said Hadlindan. "They will not sink as Elendil's men would, and the crossing would not be easy for our elves."
"I fear they will regret their lighter burdens when we finally meet with the enemy," replied Gil-galad. "Perhaps a split attack would not be a bad thing, but such a maneuver requires complete synchronicity. Such organization will never be present between their commanders and ours. Their attempt will endanger them. Besides, there is little hope of any convenient communication, what with the lay of the land between them and us."
"What do you mean?" asked Elrond. "Messengers could make it fairly safely and quickly from our host to theirs."
"How? The way would either be over the marsh, which would afford no cover from the fell beasts, or over the mountains, which would be safe, but speed would be an issue."
"Hold on, let me just…" Elrond's voice muffled as he bent to dig in his pack, and drew out a roll of papers. He lay them out on the ground and shuffled through them, putting aside an array of maps and documents. Gil-galad picked one of them up; it was freshly inked, and only part filled in.
"A map," he murmured, and turned it on its side. "A map of our route?"
"Yes, I am recording our route and the general lay of the land as we move," Elrond replied absently, still shuffling through his papers. "Nobody has yet put down in detail what the lands near Mordor are like, at least not along this range. It would seem that the responsibility has fallen to us… Ah, here." He drew out a large parchment and spread it out, pushing the others aside. "I found this during my studies in Imladris last year. A man from Gondor brought it from an old collection. Its origin is unknown, possibly the route taken by Easterlings in the First Age as they came west. See how it skirts around the marshes and the mountains? According to this, there is a route somewhere that we might utilize for communication with the Silvan."
"According to just one map," Illón said. "How can we trust it?"
"I have heard from west-going travelers that they have passed this way safely as well. It would seem to be a local tread, kept quiet from foreigners."
"How could one of our messengers expect to find the exact route in time to get to the Silvan host?" Hadlindan asked.
"Do you see how detailed this map is? I have been comparing its elevations to some of the minor peaks around us; its accuracy is inarguable. We have only to find the beginning to know if it indeed exists."
"I have a question," said Gil-galad, who had been listening with interest. "Where in the name of Ulmo did you find the time to study these past three years? I am sure I never saw you away from the training arena or the dining hall."
"You studied as much as I. Now, as this map appears to have been… been created…" Something niggled at Elrond's attention. His focus was breaking down, being pulled away. "Excuse me. This map appears to have been created before the spread of the…" He sat up straight now, forgetting whatever it was he'd been trying to say. Something was wrong. He looked south, across the side of the mountain they were camped on. Gil-galad seemed similarly riveted: both the king and his herald stared across at the uneven treeline. They glanced at each other, and Elrond came to his feet.
"What do you see?" asked Hadlindan. Illón followed their gaze, curious.
"Nothing, yet…" murmured Gil-galad. They had posted sentries around the perimeter of their encampment, and Elrond could see two of them, and both had drawn their blade, looking south.
"Hoofbeats," Gil-galad said, at the same moment that the sound came to Elrond's ears. "Coming swiftly. Six, seven, maybe eight. A distance off."
"We sent five scouts out not two hours ago," Elrond said. "These beats sound more fleet than an enemy's steed. Maybe our scouts return with news."
"Being followed by two other riders?" asked Gil-galad, who now took off in the direction of the woods, and the sentries.
"Or being accompanied by," said Elrond. "Generals, ready the site. Let us be cautious." As the two younger elves moved to alert the surrounding troops, Elrond went to keep pace with the king. The sentries had drawn their bows and nocked them with arrows, and before Gil-galad and Elrond could make it halfway to the woods, the first rider came through the brush.
As expected, it was one of their scouts they'd sent out earlier, grey cape flying behind and grey horse sprinting towards them. Four other elf scouts burst from the brush, and then two more horses came, clearly not elf horses. The sentries kept their arrows trained but it soon became apparent that they were mounts of Elendil. One rider slouched in his saddle and the other had fallen forward and begun to slide off the side of the horse. No doubt the mounts had simply followed the elven riders in their wild ride, and now the entire small company rode to meet Gil-galad. One of the scouts dismounted, half-bowed, and saluted.
"My king, we are being followed by a small host of men, Easterlings, not ten behind. Ten minutes behind," he said, stumbling a little over his words. The horses of the wounded men pawed at the ground, and Elrond approached them, laying hands on their necks to calm the beasts.
"Who are these two men?" Gil-galad asked, and Elrond saw that the first one was still in relative good shape, aside from a bloody nose and minor lacerations. The second man, the one falling out of his saddle, was holding grimly and weakly on to consciousness.
"Scouts from Elendil's encampment. We heard their cries before we broke apart, and investigated." Elrond, half-listening, went to the more wounded man and tried to determine the severity of the injury. The man only let out a groan and clutched at his middle, which had been badly torn and had already bled an alarming amount. "We came to see that the Easterlings were coming in from the east," the scout continued, "and had ambushed Elendil's scouts. With arrows we were able to free the men enough to escape and follow us. We thought to lead them to the safety of this camp, but the Easterlings have kept hard at us. They will be here soon."
"How many?"
"Not a hundred, my lord."
"They are insane to break upon our host of elves."
"I do not think they have used scouts. They must not be aware of our numbers."
"Good. The Generals Illón and Hadlindan are behind in the camp, alerting the men. Find them and tell them to go to their own companies next and rally them for a defense. Let us be ready for them. We will leave none alive." The scout nodded and, followed by the other four scouts, and the other man who fared better, entered the encampment.
"I hear them," Gil-galad said, and Elrond nodded. The ground had been telling him for the past few moments that a large party was nearing. He and Gil-galad followed the scouts back into the camp and to the first flat piece of ground. "Elrond," Gil-galad said, "come, form the troops."
Elrond did not answer at first, and instead eased the wounded man the rest of the way out of the saddle and laid him as gently as he could on the ground. "We sent our healers to tend to Elendil's wounded, after their encounter with the orc party along the Anduín."
"Aye, and we sent Círdan with the healers, to help them set their engines of war on better wheels for travel. I know you would help this man but without Círdan I have no sub-herald. The enemy draws near, I need a commander."
Elrond, seeing the painful rictus of the man's pale face and watching the blood flow still freely from the wound, felt awful. Nobody else would be able to help him, but Elrond's responsibility bid him to stand by his king, not kneel by the wounded. With the footsteps of eighty or so men coming to him audibly now, he went to his pack and drew out grey fabric, then knelt again by the wounded man.
"Now, Elrond," said Gil-galad sharply. "We must act quickly. I need your voice to get our elves in line."
Elrond crammed the fabric between the man's own hands, and then pressed the whole wad to the wound.
"Keep pressure on it," he said, praying the man could hear him, and sending precisely one second of healing energy into him before standing, turning, and catching up to Gil-galad, who had taken off to the front of the lines that had begun to form, of their own accord.
"Orders, my lord," Elrond said.
"Archers behind me and three lines of infantry, and two units down the left and right wings. Cap with cavalry. Take charge of releases. I will lead advance."
Elrond nodded and swerved off to do the king's bidding, roaring out orders that echoed off every boulder on the mountainside. Very soon the host was organized and ready, motionless as the Easterlings came ever closer to breaching the treeline. Elrond took up his position next to Gil-galad, Hadhafang drawn and bright in the moonlight, Aeglos like a bolt from the sky.
"Was that an extra tunic I saw you draw out of your pack?" Gil-galad said, though his eyes were trained on the treeline.
"Yes."
"I am impressed, Elrond. Finally the proper warrior-traveler. Let us hope your present tunic does not meet upon unpleasant circumstances now, for I doubt you will want your extra back."
"You will be proud to know that I packed an extra extra tunic this time. I am upset to be loosing one so early after leaving Imladris."
"You cannot be surprised, though," said Gil-galad, who spared Elrond a very brief sidelong glance, and Elrond thought maybe the king looked a bit proud, or surprised, or maybe it was just the battle fury that sometimes filled the inside of the king's head that made his face so unreadable during times like this.
A/N: And that was the last we will hear from Gil-galad in this series.