Chapter 12
A/N: Thanks for the encouraging notes over the last few days, especially Karina and Rachel Evans. Enjoy!
Some of the content in this chapter is quoted from Return of the King, pp. 182-185. I won't footnote the individual instances (otherwise the footnotes would take over the chapter).
The next day, the sixth after they'd left Minas Tirith, the army of the West came to the end of Ithilien. Ahead of them was a land that made the desert look like a lush forest. It unnerved some of the soldiers so badly that Aragorn had to send them to Cair Andros, a mission of secondary importance, but one that did not require going into the desolation that was between them and the Black Gate. With the force now less than six thousand, they advanced, staying close together, not bothering with scouts.
They camped that night in the dead lands surrounded by smoky fires made from whatever scraps of fuel they could find. Wolves howled around them, and no one could sleep. There was no wind, and the air was close and oppressive. Even the very ground seemed to give off noxious fumes. It was as if the very land of Mordor was trying to drive them away.
Seeing the dropping morale of the men who remained, Elewen moved to the center of the camp and began to sing. She sang anything that came to mind, from children's rhymes to songs of Valinor at its noon* to songs of lost Númenor. Some things she sang in Sindarin and Quenya, some in Rohirric, and a few in the Common Tongue. Pippin even joined her and sang a few of the light-hearted songs of the Shire, even though his heart was not really in it.
Gandalf sat nearby, listening with the others. His mind wandered as Elewen sang. Her songs reminded him of Valinor before Morgoth destroyed the Trees and before the Noldor rebelled. He remembered when the Elves first came to Valinor. Like all the Maia, he'd been amazed by them, the Firstborn of the Children**. Elewen hadn't been a child when she arrived, but she had been young and carefree. In those days, there was little evil in Middle Earth, at least as far as the Elves knew, and even there they lived in bliss in the light of the stars.
When he'd gone among the Elves appearing as one of them, they hadn't usually realized what he was and they'd been carefree around him. When they realized what he was, most of them had become deferential and cautious, much as Men were around the Elves. Elewen, though, had treated him no different, teasing him at any opportunity. Now, both of them were weary, but she still teased him. It was a refreshing reminder of what had been so long ago.
At times, Gandalf had even thought he fancied Elewen, but he'd always dismissed it as ridiculous. Yes, Melian had married an Elf, but such a thing would not happen again. He'd always told himself he was simply attracted to her carefree nature, but after she'd left with Fëanor, he'd regretted not saying anything to her. Perhaps she might have stayed. Somehow, though, he didn't think it would have mattered. More likely, he would have destroyed the friendship they'd had. Over the Ages, he'd convinced himself that what he'd felt for her was nothing more than an infatuation, but watching Elewen sing, he questioned it anew.
Knowing she wouldn't rest any more than anyone else, Elewen continued for most of the night, until finally stopping to rest herself perhaps two hours before dawn. As she walked away from the center of camp, Gandalf walked over to her. "Thank you, Elewen."
"No one was going to rest. It was better than dwelling on the horrors of the night."
The two of them had reached the edge of camp, just inside the ring of fires. "Even so, thank you." Gandalf stood close to her, closer than he might have in another time and place, but despite the campfires, no one wanted to be too far from their companions that night. Even the soldiers' bedrolls were clustered closer than usual. Any other living presence was a comfort in the bleakness of Mordor.
"Your songs reminded me of why we're fighting."
"This whole march has reminded me of why I've stayed in Middle Earth. Someone has to stay and fight, and I have as much reason to fight Sauron as any."
"I know. You could have abandoned Middle Earth long ago, but you've stayed. I cannot help but fear for what tomorrow will bring." Gandalf closed his eyes, sighing heavily.
Elewen reached out to touch his arm. He seemed to carry the weight of the world in that moment. She squeezed his arm gently, and he opened his eyes to look at her.
"If we are to die tomorrow, I do not want it to be with regrets," Gandalf said. Elewen looked up at him, confused. She could see the indecision in his eyes, but she didn't understand it. After a moment, he seemed to come to a decision. Stepping even closer to her, he touched her cheek lightly.
Elewen held his eyes, too surprised to react. Gandalf leaned down and kissed her lightly, and it was as if Elewen's world had turned upside down. Startled and overwhelmed, she turned away from him, staring out toward the fires.
"I'm sorry, Elewen. I shouldn't have done that," Gandalf said, disappointed with himself for causing her distress. "I won't touch you again without your permission."
Elewen would have liked to tell him it was all right, that she wasn't offended, and to reassure him before they went into battle in the morning, but she was too overwhelmed to say anything, and she fled into the night, laying down near Legolas and Gimli, but not even trying to sleep. She had never felt anything like that before. She'd kissed Legolas a few times, but his kisses had never affected her the way this one with Mithrandir—Olórin—had. She reminded herself of his other name. She couldn't allow herself to think of him like a mortal being of Middle Earth. He was a Maia. That was why his kiss had affected her so—because she knew what he was. She couldn't allow herself to fall in love with him. It was preposterous. A few times in the history of Middle Earth, an Elf had married a Man, but only once had a Maia ever married one of the Children**, and it had ended badly, with Thingol's death. She would not let this happen.
Elewen tried to ponder Gandalf's motivations. Yes, they'd been friends in Valinor, but never more. He knew it was crazy, but perhaps, like her short-lived relationship with Legolas, it was a response to the stress of the war. That had to be it. He would probably regret it by morning. Elewen tried to shut down her thoughts and rest, but it as impossible. There wasn't much point in pondering what had happened until she knew what the morning would hold.
The next morning, only a few hours later, Legolas and Gimli both noticed that Elewen was acting strangely, but there was no time to ask questions. The army approached the Black Gate, which was closed tight against them. There were no enemy soldiers to be seen, but all knew that they were there. The only visible signs of the enemy were the Nazgûl hovering over the Towers of the Teeth.
Expecting the worse, there was no choice for the Army of the West except to continue. There was no retreat now. Aragorn arranged the army on the two hills before the gate. Once the army was in place, he took Gandalf, Elladan and Elrohir, Éomer, Imrahil, Legolas, Gimli, and Pippin with him forward. Elewen hung back, knowing her presence was unnecessary. Legolas and the sons of Elrond represented the Elves, and all the enemies of Mordor were represented, but Aragorn waved her forward.
"The Noldor have fought and labored in Middle Earth longer than any. You have a place with us today." Elewen nudged her horse forward to join them. She was grateful to be a part of this group, but she hadn't wanted to force her way in. Elewen kept her eyes forward, but Legolas noticed the glance Gandalf threw over his shoulder at her. Idle thoughts quickly faded as the small group rode to the gate. The heralds unfurled Aragorn's banner and blew trumpets to announce themselves, though it was hardly necessary. They called on the enemy to come forth and answer for his wrongs.
Eventually, an ambassador came from within the gates. He was dressed in black like one of the Nazgûl, but this was a living man. "I am the mouth of Sauron. Is there any one in this rout with the authority to treat with me? Not thou at least!" The ambassador looked at Aragorn, who met his gaze and held it. What passed between the two men no others knew, but the ambassador flinched as if threatened. "I am a herald and ambassador, and may not be assailed!"
"Where such laws hold, it is also the custom for ambassadors to use less insolence," Gandalf said. "No one has threatened you."
"So thou art the spokesman, old greybeard? I have tokens that I was bidden to show to thee." The messenger gestured to his guards, who brought forward a small bundle, which he opened to reveal a short, Hobbit-sized sword, one of the grey cloaks of Lothlórien, and a small coat of mithril mail similar to the one Elewen wore, only sized to fit a Dwarf—or a Hobbit.
Pippin cried out when he saw the things, obviously recognizing them. Imrahil held him back. His response fueled the Mouth's mocking even further. "So you have yet another of these imps with you! It is plain that this brat at least has seen these tokens before, and it would be vain for you to deny them now."
"I do not wish to deny them," Gandalf replied.
"Maybe he that bore these things was a creature that you would not grieve to lose, and maybe otherwise: one dear to you, perhaps? His fate shall depend now on your choice."
Gandalf stood silent for a moment, then answered in a clear voice, "Name your terms." All close to the wizard could see the defeat in his features as the Mouth began reading his terms. Elewen could see the anguish in his face, but she could feel it, too, as if it were her own. If Sauron's messenger held these tokens, Frodo must have been captured. If he had been captured, and the Ring with him, there was no hope for them.
The messenger finished reading his terms—control over the entire West—then waited for Gandalf to reply. The wizard's reply surprised everyone. "This is too much to demand for the delivery of one servant: that your Master should receive in exchange what he must else fight many a war to gain! Where is this prisoner? Let him be brought forth and yielded to us, and then we will consider these demands." With sudden clarity, a thought came to Elewen: if Sauron had the Ring, none of them would be standing there to confront him. The rout of Middle Earth would have already begun, starting first with the small party with the audacity to knock on the gates of Mordor.
"Surety you crave! Sauron gives none. These are his terms. Take them or leave them!"
"These we will take!" Gandalf cried, throwing off his cloak, white light shining from him. "As for your terms, we reject them utterly. Begone!"
With that, the messenger finally departed, and the battle was joined in earnest.
* The time when the Elves were in Valinor but before the rebellion or the destruction of the Trees.
** A collective term that refers to the created beings of Middle Earth. "The Firstborn" refers specifically to the Elves.