Theofoz and for others who may be waiting, here it is. Thanks for your interest and review. :)
Lindon. April 9, Second Age 144
THRANDUIL rode out of the mansion in the forest with Aron early yesterday morning. From the mansion, at a leisurely pace, it was two day's ride to the White City. Although they could have arrived in the city by mid-afternoon, they lingered in the forest where they had camped for the night. Glineth had packed them a sumptuous feast with cold meats and stewed fruits, but Thranduil could not eat them. For once, Aron did not push.
"Where will we be staying tonight?" Thranduil asked as the White City loomed before them. The sun was sinking, but he wasn't sure if he wanted to sleep among the Noldor any earlier than he had to.
"Lord Cirdan keeps a small manor within the White City where he houses his people when visiting the king," Aron said with a knowing smile. "It is staffed with our people. My uncle thought you would rather prefer to sleep there before heading to the training field tomorrow morning."
Although he was Lord Istuion's sister son, Aron looked very much like his uncle, with the Sindarin lord's white hair and silver eyes. They even shared the same temperament, gentle and warm as a summer wind.
For the past seventy-two years, Aron had left Thranduil and his father and was at Grey Havens where he completed his training as a captain of the guards. And as one of the captains for Lord Cirdan's guards, Aron has chosen to remain in Grey Haven when Oropher left which surprised Thranduil as Aron, like Lord Istuion, was more a family than just a friend.
"Are you prepared, Thranduil?" Aron asked. "You know that Noldor are the best warriors in Middle Earth?"
"I will be with the cadets, Aron, not full-fledged warriors," Thranduil said nonchalantly.
"But unlike the Sindar, they train earlier, soon after reaching their one hundred years of age."
"And? I have been training since I reached my majority."
"That may be true, but you have not had a training in a structured environment and the training will be unfamiliar to you. These youngsters received training in this environment for decades. But more importantly, these cadets are sons of Noldorin nobility from Valinor and are the best among the youth of Lindon."
"That may be so, but all the cadets are born in Middle Earth. You think they are superior to me?"
"You are far more experienced but don't underestimate them, Thranduil. Not all, but some of them will be as good as one of the seasoned warriors from Doriath, maybe not as experienced, but as well trained. I have trained with some of them. These Noldor are very skilled."
"They may beat me with swords, but with a bow…"
"Yes, I have seen your skill at Grey Haven. I don't think there will be many here that can match your skill with a bow, not even among the full-fledged warriors. But, this is about training as an officer, not about being a bowman. They will expect you to be proficient in all the weapons, not just with a bow."
"So, you feel I do not qualify?"
"I'm not saying that. Your instincts are honed in the wild, actually fighting orcs and trolls. As good as they are, these cadets were trained in a training ground. I have no doubt as to your fighting instincts. But, your skills on individual weapons…" Aron sighed with a shake of his head. "Noldor are superior when it comes to swords and spears although not so much with bows. But, you are Uncle Oropher's son. If you are anything like Thranarin—" Aron stopped and took in a sharp breath.
Thranduil bit down a gasp as a sharp pain swept through him.
Even after all these years, hearing his brother's name said aloud brought on the pain anew. When the sting of the ache passed, Thranduil turned to see Aron looking away, his eyes haunted and dark with the remembered pain.
Thranduil reached out and squeezed Aron's hand. Thranarin may have been his brother, but he was also Aron's sworn brother. Aron's bond with Thranarin had been as strong as his. And when Thranarin fell at Menegroth, Aron was there, had seen what Thranduil had seen. If anyone felt Thranduil's loss, it was Aron.
Aron squeezed back and nodded, his emotion in control now.
Older than Thranduil by two and half centuries, Aron was born around the same time as Thranarin. He had trained with Thranduil's brother and joined the Royal Guards at the same time. Along with one other, Durion, who followed Thranduil's father to the east, the three of them had been inseparable until the day Noldor attacked Menegroth.
"I just don't want you to be crushed." Aron managed a smile. "Just be ready for some bruises on your ego, Thranduil. I had some sound beatings when I first started and…" Aron hesitated. "Noldor have a tendency to think they are better- in all things. And mostly, they are."
"Well, we'll see about that," Thranduil scoffed aloud.
"Do show them, Thranduil.." Aron smiled brightly now. "I can't wait to see what you will do to those unfortunate souls that get in your way."
Thranduil allowed his lips to curve up. Aron knew him well.
"You want me to come with you tomorrow morning?" Aron asked.
"I think I can find my way to a training ground, Aron." Thranduil rolled his eyes.
Aron smiled with a nod.
"By the way, I got you a sea barrel from Grey Haven. It will be delivered to the manor house in the city. When you have time off from training, you can try it out. I remember how much you enjoyed them. It is for your begotten day present."
Thranduil smiled, something he did rarely these days. "Indeed? What am I going to do with a sea barrel, Aron?"
Aron shrugged. "Well, there is a lake under the King's Tower and the water runs all the way down to Gulf of Lune. I am sure you'll find something. You always do." Then, his expression tightened.
"Talking of Grey Haven, what did you think of Elrond?"
Thranduil quickly turned away. He was not ready to talk about Elrond yet. The ache that started the day he met Elrond at Gray Haven flared up into a painful throb.
"What is there to think about? He's a Noldo," said Thranduil in a measured tone.
Feeling Aron's eyes scanning his face, Thranduil tightened the rein over his emotions.
"He looks old. At least, now, he will not age like a mortal. Did you know that although Elrond chose to be one of us, his brother chose to remain a mortal?" Aron asked.
Thranduil turned to Aron.
"Why would Elros do that? What will happen when he age and die? How could they choose to be apart? There are none but two of them left."
Aron shrugged.
"Only Valar knows. Elros left for the island with the Edain after the war."
"That means Elrond is alone. He has no one now, no parents, no brother," like me, Thranduil sighed. "Elwing wouldn't have liked that. After what happened at Sirion…" Thranduil said no more but shook his head.
"I doubt Elrond remembers much of the events at Sirion. Little Elwing did not remember any of it," Aron said.
Thranduil thought back to the day at Grey Haven when Lord Cirdan introduced the grown up Elrond. Lord Istuion had mentioned that Elrond will be there and Thranduil had steeled himself. He did not expect Elrond to remember him, having seen how little Elwing remembered of her childhood, but it still hurt when Elrond's gray eyes looked at him without any hint of recognition.
And Little Elrond was no longer little. He has grown into a noble young lord. His charcoal black hair and the high forehead reminded Thranduil of KingDior who was considered beautiful even among the Elves. And Elrond's gray eyes were very much like Elwing's, full of warmth. But there was something definitely mannish about him although Thranduil had not met many men. Perhaps, it was his complexion. All Elves have pale skin, but Elrond was darker than most Elves and more muscular. Like Earendil. Thranduil wondered if Elrond was as hairy as his father. Earendil had hairs in places Thranduil had never thought was possible to have. Thranduil grimaced.
"Thranduil?" Aron broke into Thranduil's thoughts.
"Yes, he looks older," Thranduil mumbled. "Elrond looks older than you, Aron. It seems everybody is passing me and leaving me behind."
"Well, you are our youngest." Aron laughed and padded Thranduil's back, then squeezed his shoulders, looking at him with eyes full of sympathy. "He may not remember you, but you remember him. That should be enough."
"It is not as if I expected anything else." Thranduil scoffed.
Aron looked unconvinced, but nodded and asked again, "Are you sure you don't want me to come with you tomorrow?"
"No."
"Then, I may leave early. Do not be alarmed if you do not see me in the morning."
The mouth of River Sirion. May 25, First Age 538 (5:24 AM)
Thranduil urged his horse.
The beach was empty as always. This area was not far from the Elven settlements, but no one ventured out here. The beach was hidden as it lay under a sheer cliff which jutted out above him. Standing above the cliff, one could not see the sandy area underneath. It wouldn't be until Thranduil was past the shadow of the rock above him that anyone on the top of the cliff could see him.
This was his secret place, the one which he shared with no one, not even with Aron and Durion, not that they had much time for him. Although Thranduil reached his majority twenty years ago, warriors took every opportunity to leave him behind. And when he is included, Thranduil was always kept at the back, away from the dangers where he was allowed to pick off Orcs from distance. He knew that he was too young to be initiated into the Warrior Order, but times were different now. They needed every abled body who could wield a sword or a bow. Dangers around them had grown while the number of warriors diminished. So many of the warriors had been lost at Menegroth.
But while he convinced his father to train him as soon as he turned his majority, even now, warriors kept him away from the heat of the battle whenever they could. But, how was he to learn to be a warrior when he was always pushed behind the backs of others whenever there was any skirmish worth mentioning.
This time, too, while Lord Amdir took Aron and Durion to meet with the warriors from Noldorin settlement to stop Orcs that were encroaching too near their haven, Thranduil was excluded.
His mother, at least, had given up trying to make Thranduil into a healer. Not only was the healing art something Thranduil had no talent in, he wasn't even remotely interested in it. He had no idea why his mother had it in her mind to make him a healer.
Tamping down the mounting frustration, Thranduil urged his horse into a run. He was not allowed outside the living quarters during the evenings, certainly not around marshes and definitely not in the open areas like this beach, but Thranduil figured what his parents did not know wouldn't hurt them or him. At least, if they found him missing in the morning, they wouldn't be as alarmed as they would be to find him missing after the dark.
So far, the Dark Lord's creatures had not found their settlements, but there were dangers all around them, especially at night. But at times like this when the sun was rising and everything glittered golden, Thranduil felt it was still like those old times, back in Doriath, under the beech trees of the Forest of Neldoreth.
As Thranduil felt Brennil stretch her neck and thundered down the firmly packed sand, trembling with excitement at being allowed to run freely, he closed his eyes and spread his arms wide and felt the winds rush past him, whipping his hair and face. He was sure that if he could fly, it would feel like this.
He whooped at the top of his lung, as loud as he could and laughed out aloud. This was the only place he could do this as the noise of the waves and wind masked all the sounds he made no matter how loud.
All the anguish he felt seemed to disappear at this moment, all his frustrations and anger that he wanted to hide from his father, and especially from his gentle mother.
Feeling better, Thranduil rode back up the narrow track between the two large boulders. The entry to the beach area was hidden by tall grasses that grew abundant here. Thranduil had found this pass only two moons ago, tracking a game.
Just as he got up onto the grassland by the bank of the river that flowed down into the sea, Thranduil looked up towards the white tower of Arvernien as he always did when he was here. The Noldorin settlement where Elwing lived with her husband Earendil and the refugees from Gondolin was built on a top of a cliff, westward from the Sindarin settlement headed by his father.
There was something heavy laden over its sky, something dark.
Curious, Thranduil rode towards it. Elwing's mansion was only an hour of hard ride away.
Then, he saw them, tall spears and red armors glistening in the sky that was just now beginning to lighten. The sun was not yet over the Ered Luin (Blue Mountains) but he could see the glittering red armors and helms trimmed in gold. When he was close, but far enough to not gather their notice, Thranduil got off his horse and crept towards the soldiers. If there was one thing he had learned from his father's warriors, it was stealth. And these red-armored soldiers were obviously Noldor and Thranduil had learned to be wary of them.
When Thranduil saw the device on the armors glinting on the faint dawn, he froze. He could never forget it: Eight flames with eight rays shooting out of a jewel in the middle. A device of Feanor.
Thranduil's heart pounded like a war drum.
White City. April 10, Second Age 144
"Thranduil! Thranduil!"
Someone called, but Thranduil could not turn away from the scene before him.
Thousands of glittering spears and those warriors in red and gold armor turned suddenly and they faced Thranduil. Their eyes radiated with piercing light and their spears ran red with blood as the soldiers thumped end of their spears on the ground. The sound was deafening as the ground trembled beneath the young Sinda.
And there was blood.
There was so much blood they flowed like a river all around him, around Thranduil's feet. Dark claw of fear gripped Thranduil's heart, its ragged iron nails tore through his tender flesh. Thranduil gulped down air. He wanted to scream. He wanted to run, but hands, hundreds of hands, stained red with blood sprouted out of the ground, through the river of blood and closed around his mouth, his neck and his feet. They held onto his arms and his legs and dragged him down into the river of blood.
Thranduil choked and gasped for air, unable to scream or struggle.
Someone shook him hard and the world before him began to fade. But the red blood did not. His lung screamed and his chest tightened painfully.
"Thranduil!"
A painful slap on the face ripped Thranduil from the blood stained hands. Thranduil opened his eyes wide, gasping for air. His body shook like a tree in the storm as his lungs burned. He couldn't breathe.
"Breathe, Thranduil. Breathe. It was just a dream, my friend. Just a dream," Aron's voice soothed as he grasped Thranduil's face, his hands cool and comforting against the fever that ran through the blond Sinda.
When air filled his lungs, Thranduil looked up and saw Aron's dark silver eyes looking down at him.
He sat up on the bed and willed his trembling to stop. Yet, his hands still shook. Aron got up and brought a glass and pressed it to Thranduil's lips. Even now, Thranduil's chest burned as if he had been drowning.
"Drink!" the older Elf commanded.
Thranduil turned away. He had not wanted Aron to know. Aron was so over-protective, as bad as Glineth, sometimes worse.
"Drink now, Thranduil," Aron's usually gentle voice was filled with steel. Thranduil rolled his eyes, but took the glass and drank.
"When did you start having nightmares again?" Aron asked, his face pale and drawn.
"I'm fine."
"Thranduil…"
Thranduil got out of bed. "Stop coddling me! I'm not a child. In two days, I will be 266 years old, not a child of 38. I can handle one nightmare."
Aron frowned at him, but Thranduil stared back; he will not back down. For too long, too many have sacrificed for him. No more.
Aron sighed. "If there is-"
"I know. I know. If there is anything that doesn't seem right, I am to let you, rather, to let your uncle know. Satisfied?"
Aron nodded.
"Then, go, before you are late on account of me. I can find my way around. If my brother has not told you, I can speak Quenya as well as I speak Sindarin."
Aron's eyes widened.
That was no surprise. Quenya was forbidden to be used or spoken in Doriath. But his mother had not agreed that knowledge should be forbidden, and his father had agreed. And within the security of their own chambers, his mother had taught Thranduil and his brother.
"I don't think anyone here speaks Quenya anymore." Aron smiled after a while. "Never mind that. Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?"
"I'm sure."
Aron held Thranduil's eyes for a moment, but in the end, he nodded.
"Then, I'm off to see Lord Erestor. I will be breaking my fast with him. Don't forget to eat before you leave. It will be a long day. Just look for the tallest white tower on the top of the hill. You can't miss it."
Edain- 3 Houses of men who helped Elves in their wars against Morgoth. In order to thank them for their loyalty and assistance, Valar granted them an island near Valinor.
the Island- Refers to Numenor which Valar gave Edain for their help in the fight against Morgoth. Elros was its first king. Aragorn's ancestors are from Numenor and are descended from Elos.
On Elrond's Age —Elrond was born in the First Age 532. After the War of Wrath ended in FA 587, Elrond was 55 years old and a mortal when he was given a choice to become an Elf. But as a Peredhel, Elrond would have aged much slower than other Men. Tolkien said Aragorn as a Numenorean had a longer life than most men. Tolkien considered Aragorn to be in the prime of his life, a man of about 45 years old at the time of LOTR which is about half his age of 87 years. So if Elrond was like Aragorn, he would have looked like 27 years old when he was 55. But, unlike Aragorn, Elrond has undiluted Elven blood in his veins which would have given him some advantage of couple years, I think. Still, Elrond would have looked older than Thranduil and Aron despite being younger.
Arvernien (Sindarin, Land of Birches)—Southernmost tip of Beleriand where Cirdan established a secret haven for the Elves running from Morgoth. In FA 506 Feanor's sons attacked Menegroth and Sindarin refugees fled here and established a settlement at the Mouth of Sirion. They were joined by the refugees from Gondolin in FA 511 (they took close to a year to travel to the haven).
Quenya-Ancient Elven language used by those who live in Valinor. Noldor spoke Quenya until Thingol forbid its use upon learning of the first kin-slaying of his brother Olwe's people by Noldor. Afterward, Noldor adopted Sindarin and Quenya is used only for ceremonies. (Think of Quenya as Latin for Elves)
