The Soldier and the Princess
Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings does not belong to me. JRR Tolkien has that happy pleasure. Had that happy pleasure. Anyway, the characters in this story do not belong to me. This is purely to please myself and those besides me who enjoy this sort of thing. I also do not own the song "Enchantment Passing Through." That honor goes to Elton John and Tim Rice.
Author's Notes: This is an Elrond/Celebrian get-together, mainly from Elrond's point of view. If there are any complaints as to how this is done, ::coughcough, Elrond's relationship to Gil-Galad coughcough:: register them politely. Please. I got some slightly less-than-polite comments on my Galadriel/Celeborn fic, which is discontinued. As far as I know, this is an A/U. Enjoy!
Chapter 4: Choices and Changes
The next day, in some ways, was even more horrific than the first day of the battle. I was now officially in command, something I had never experienced before.
And this was the day Elendil died-the day the strength of Men failed in my eyes.
The elven and human soldiers were lined up in their rows against the vast army of Mordor. I stood there, front and center, waiting. Waiting for the horror to begin again. It wasn't until afterwards that I realized I had forgotten my helmet. By now, my soldier's instincts were kicking in, full force. The signal Elendil and I had agreed on came, and I shouted to my soldiers. Arrows flew.
There is little more to tell of the actual fighting. I remember little, save in my nightmares. I have no wish to remember any more. Two scenes, however, stand out like beacons of flame in my mind.
Elendil was surrounded. I glanced up, looking for him and saw him. I made to move towards him, but I, too, was surrounded before I could get there. However, I saw what followed, though I had to fight my way over there.
The Dark Lord himself walked the field that day. No one, man or elf, whom his power touched survived. He had Elendil backed into a corner. A ring of orcs was not far off. I began hacking my way through that ring. Normally, I pride myself on being an elegant fighter. I didn't care that day.
I saw Elendil die.
His son, Prince Isildur, was very nearby. He saw his father's body and tried to grab the sword, fight his way out of there. Even now, I remember and respect his courage in that moment, though I respect little-if anything-else about the man. I had nearly broken through when Sauron the Deceiver broke Narsil, the ancient sword of Gondor. Later, I kept that selfsame sword in Imladris, to give to the Heir of Isildur. But that is another story. Isildur, still clinging to the shattered hilt, slashed at the hand of the Dark Lord. He managed to slice off the finger that bore the Ring of Power. I felt Gil-Galad's ring burn on my finger when the One Ring was cut from Sauron's hand. Sauron exploded. The orcs I had been fighting were destroyed in the blast. I don't know how I survived. I think my cousin's ring contributed to that.
When the smoke cleared, I ran to Isildur. He was holding the Ring, staring at it. "Isildur!" I called. He looked up. "Come. Hurry!"
I led him into the very pit of Mount Doom. "Throw it in!" I urged him. "Cast it into the fire!" I saw the decision in his eyes before he spoke that word which nearly destroyed the world three thousand years later. "Isildur!"
He looked at me. "No," he said simply, then turned on his heal and walked away.
"ISILDUR!" I shouted after him. I now feel I sounded like a love-sick girl, shouting after a man she may never see again. But I had other things to worry about, if I could focus on any save the ring.
I was the one who had the unpleasant duty of informing my uncle of my cousin's death.
* * *
Still clad in my battle armor, barely taking time to set aside my bow and sword, I presented myself to my uncle. "My lord," I murmured, kneeling as was proper for a general to his king.
"Elrond. What was the outcome of the battle?" my uncle asked, motioning for me to rise.
"The combined might of Elves and Men defeated the Dark Hordes of Mordor."
"Good, good." My uncle glanced around, impatiently, looking for something. "Where is your cousin, Elrond? Where is my son?"
I swallowed uneasily. This was the moment I had been dreading all the long weeks on the journey to Imladris. "He.fell. On the first day." My uncle looked crestfallen, broken-hearted. Desperate to take that agonized look off his face, I hastened to add, "He fought bravely! Truly he did. And he was not the only one who fell. Isildur now wears the crown of Gondor, my Lord, Elendil, too, was killed." My uncle held up a hand for silence. I trailed off. He looked at the courtiers. They looked at him. He nodded, ever so slightly. As one, the lords and ladies and soldiers and children in the room fell to their knees. "My-my lord? Why."
My uncle cut me off again. "Do you not fully understand what your cousin's death means?" he asked me softly.
I was confused. I hope that little of that showed on my face. The courtiers in the room watched me, waiting. Waiting for me to do something. "No, my Lord. I do not understand any of this."
My uncle sighed, exasperated. "Did they not teach you the order of succession?"
I nodded. "Yes, my Lord, but."
My uncle held up his hand again. "Repeat it to me. From myself on down."
I was still more confused. I recited from memory. "You sit on the throne of Imladris. Should something happen to you, your son, my cousin, Gil-Galad would take the throne. Should something happen Gil-Galad, your brother would take the throne. As your brother has already left these shores, the throne would go to his heir. Therefore, after Gil-Galad, next in line for the throne would be." Suddenly comprehending, I trailed off.
"Now do you see, Elrond? I will not be remaining here for much longer. Two, three centuries at most. When I leave." His voice trailed off into silence.
"I will be King in Imladris," I whispered.
Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings does not belong to me. JRR Tolkien has that happy pleasure. Had that happy pleasure. Anyway, the characters in this story do not belong to me. This is purely to please myself and those besides me who enjoy this sort of thing. I also do not own the song "Enchantment Passing Through." That honor goes to Elton John and Tim Rice.
Author's Notes: This is an Elrond/Celebrian get-together, mainly from Elrond's point of view. If there are any complaints as to how this is done, ::coughcough, Elrond's relationship to Gil-Galad coughcough:: register them politely. Please. I got some slightly less-than-polite comments on my Galadriel/Celeborn fic, which is discontinued. As far as I know, this is an A/U. Enjoy!
Chapter 4: Choices and Changes
The next day, in some ways, was even more horrific than the first day of the battle. I was now officially in command, something I had never experienced before.
And this was the day Elendil died-the day the strength of Men failed in my eyes.
The elven and human soldiers were lined up in their rows against the vast army of Mordor. I stood there, front and center, waiting. Waiting for the horror to begin again. It wasn't until afterwards that I realized I had forgotten my helmet. By now, my soldier's instincts were kicking in, full force. The signal Elendil and I had agreed on came, and I shouted to my soldiers. Arrows flew.
There is little more to tell of the actual fighting. I remember little, save in my nightmares. I have no wish to remember any more. Two scenes, however, stand out like beacons of flame in my mind.
Elendil was surrounded. I glanced up, looking for him and saw him. I made to move towards him, but I, too, was surrounded before I could get there. However, I saw what followed, though I had to fight my way over there.
The Dark Lord himself walked the field that day. No one, man or elf, whom his power touched survived. He had Elendil backed into a corner. A ring of orcs was not far off. I began hacking my way through that ring. Normally, I pride myself on being an elegant fighter. I didn't care that day.
I saw Elendil die.
His son, Prince Isildur, was very nearby. He saw his father's body and tried to grab the sword, fight his way out of there. Even now, I remember and respect his courage in that moment, though I respect little-if anything-else about the man. I had nearly broken through when Sauron the Deceiver broke Narsil, the ancient sword of Gondor. Later, I kept that selfsame sword in Imladris, to give to the Heir of Isildur. But that is another story. Isildur, still clinging to the shattered hilt, slashed at the hand of the Dark Lord. He managed to slice off the finger that bore the Ring of Power. I felt Gil-Galad's ring burn on my finger when the One Ring was cut from Sauron's hand. Sauron exploded. The orcs I had been fighting were destroyed in the blast. I don't know how I survived. I think my cousin's ring contributed to that.
When the smoke cleared, I ran to Isildur. He was holding the Ring, staring at it. "Isildur!" I called. He looked up. "Come. Hurry!"
I led him into the very pit of Mount Doom. "Throw it in!" I urged him. "Cast it into the fire!" I saw the decision in his eyes before he spoke that word which nearly destroyed the world three thousand years later. "Isildur!"
He looked at me. "No," he said simply, then turned on his heal and walked away.
"ISILDUR!" I shouted after him. I now feel I sounded like a love-sick girl, shouting after a man she may never see again. But I had other things to worry about, if I could focus on any save the ring.
I was the one who had the unpleasant duty of informing my uncle of my cousin's death.
* * *
Still clad in my battle armor, barely taking time to set aside my bow and sword, I presented myself to my uncle. "My lord," I murmured, kneeling as was proper for a general to his king.
"Elrond. What was the outcome of the battle?" my uncle asked, motioning for me to rise.
"The combined might of Elves and Men defeated the Dark Hordes of Mordor."
"Good, good." My uncle glanced around, impatiently, looking for something. "Where is your cousin, Elrond? Where is my son?"
I swallowed uneasily. This was the moment I had been dreading all the long weeks on the journey to Imladris. "He.fell. On the first day." My uncle looked crestfallen, broken-hearted. Desperate to take that agonized look off his face, I hastened to add, "He fought bravely! Truly he did. And he was not the only one who fell. Isildur now wears the crown of Gondor, my Lord, Elendil, too, was killed." My uncle held up a hand for silence. I trailed off. He looked at the courtiers. They looked at him. He nodded, ever so slightly. As one, the lords and ladies and soldiers and children in the room fell to their knees. "My-my lord? Why."
My uncle cut me off again. "Do you not fully understand what your cousin's death means?" he asked me softly.
I was confused. I hope that little of that showed on my face. The courtiers in the room watched me, waiting. Waiting for me to do something. "No, my Lord. I do not understand any of this."
My uncle sighed, exasperated. "Did they not teach you the order of succession?"
I nodded. "Yes, my Lord, but."
My uncle held up his hand again. "Repeat it to me. From myself on down."
I was still more confused. I recited from memory. "You sit on the throne of Imladris. Should something happen to you, your son, my cousin, Gil-Galad would take the throne. Should something happen Gil-Galad, your brother would take the throne. As your brother has already left these shores, the throne would go to his heir. Therefore, after Gil-Galad, next in line for the throne would be." Suddenly comprehending, I trailed off.
"Now do you see, Elrond? I will not be remaining here for much longer. Two, three centuries at most. When I leave." His voice trailed off into silence.
"I will be King in Imladris," I whispered.