Sun Sets Down Upon the Infantry 3



They swarmed over the hills, scrabbling on the heavy stones before the Black Gate, screaming in glee. Going to their deaths. Dead amongst the Alliance littered every inch of the battlefield it seemed, but still the Men fought. Still the Elves kept their formations, cutting the onslaught in perfect harmony, and still the Enemy's power poured over the last hope of the civilized world.

On the very topmost hill, a platinum figure rolled his lance over in his hands, removing the head of his attacker with the first movement and slapping two different orcs with either end to finish the move. A beacon of hope, the fighter cast his silver shield from him, the edge catching the snarling creature at his rear in the throat. It shrieked horribly and fell, clutching at the heavy object. The warrior tore it free, shaking his hair from his face.

The heat of Mordor at that moment could not possibly hope to match the fierce hatred of the doomed army, and both races surged forward, slaughtering anything in its way. There was a chance of victory!

The standard bearer smiled grimly and ordered another volley, watching the silver figure fight alone. Acid rain began to stab at their bodies but the flashing blue beacon did not fade, for the High King was in his element and fought with all the fury of his anger. Heads turned to him, looking upon the proof of their imminent success. There could be no failure!

A sweeping cold punctured the souls of all there, causing the battle to pause. The Dark Lord showed his face.

Nothing stood between the armies and Sauron but for the one person upon that tallest hill. The High King laughed, the sound carrying over the field covered in blood and carnage.

The standard bearer could not move his eyes from the terrible scene, chilled by the sound of his King's voice. Evil raised his deadly weapon, stepping forward.

Gil-Galad rushed headlong to his death with a laughing cry upon his lips.

Screaming, the bearer watched the blood spray over the ground, over his soul.


Frantically, Elrohir shook his father who twisted on the ground, crying out. The sound chilled him, the cold and clear night accentuating his horror. He looked down on Elrond's writhing form helplessly.

The screaming then started, shrill and piercing, cutting the night. Elrohir's heart shrivelled away from it and he recoiled and would have fled a ways but for Gil-Galad's steady hand on his shoulder. He could hear words of denial and staggering sorrow in the long, pained cry.

The tall Elf knelt down, cradling the dark head in his arms, whispering gentle words. The stars stared coldly down, glittering jewels in a sea of black. Black of Evil, Elrohir thought bitterly. He hated the creations of Yavanna at that moment. Hated them for being so unfeeling, hated them for being there, hated them for not stopping his father's pain. And somewhere there, was his grandfather, doing nothing but watch his son's soul tear.

He clenched his fist.


Blood everywhere. It was all he could see through the haze of his unseeing eyes. A deep, rolling power levelled the armies and he vaguely registered falling painfully into his soldiers. Dead! His mind screamed in denial because his voice could no longer hold up to it.

Dead!

The leader of Men crumpled against the stone where he had been thrown, blood pouring from his skull. His son rolled frantically to grab at the fallen sword, but was snapped under the armoured foot of the triumphant Dark Lord.

Dead!

Elrond snarled viciously and rolled to his knees. A blinding white light flattened the warriors again and a deep silence fell. It lasted but a moment before the legions of Evil screamed in terror and turned tail to flee. The half-human clawed his way to his feet, finding strength in blind rage.

Dead!

Taking his sword in hand, he sprinted toward the human, Isildur.

Dead, as will be any fool to stand in my way. And after that, my soul and body will be laid open for the judgement of all. I will not lose him! I cannot live!


"He won't wake up. Do something!"

Gil-Galad looked up wearily. "What do you suggest I do?"

Elrohir stared down helplessly, unsettled by his father's bitter tears.


"I will not destroy it."

Fire raged below, and outside lay the remains of thousands, both good and evil. Of those not born to die. And many more would die in the future, for the weakness of Men kept the darkness in the world, could not bring itself to destroy such a simple thing as a Ring.

It was the weakness of Men that had killed the High King.


With a last angry cry, Elrond jerked awake. Hands were upon him. He rolled away violently and came to his feet, tense and embittered. His assailant was far too slow and could get no defence up before the bearer was upon him, seeking vulnerable tendons and arteries. Strong arms tore him loose and held him tightly, despite his vicious thrashing.

Slowly, he regained some sense of reality and found himself staring into the hurt gaze of his son. Realizing who he had been trying to kill and feeling suddenly foolish for reacting so to a dream, Elrond fell back into the embrace holding him steady, shuddering.

Gil-Galad lowered him to the ground slowly, still whispering gentle things. Elrohir knelt beside him, watching his sire drop off to a restless sleep that seemed mercifully gentler than the first.

"That was the Alliance, wasn't it?" he asked softly.

Gil-Galad was silent, stroking the black hair nestled at his shoulder absently.

"He's talked of you, but never without pain."

Elrohir stared intently at him. The smile was sad, and it seemed he remained still in ages past. "He was a very troublesome child but I think no trace of that gentle creature lives still in him."

"He is kind!"

Gil-Galad chuckled. "Of course. But there lies no innocence in his manner. I sense it died long ago."

Elrohir sighed and lay back. "Died with you."

He didn't see the single tear that fell from the King's eternally laughing eyes.