Elaenar needed a drink. Doing the dirty work was draining. He made his way as in-conspicuously as possible to the cellar where they kept the ale...and harder liquor. Elves aren't supposed to indulge in heavy drinking, but bored and anxious soldiers do lots of things that they aren't supposed to do under the stress of military life.
He reflected on the day's events. Guerilla warfare wasn't usually elvish custom, it wasn't considered honorable fighting, but damn it could be so much easier than engaging the enemy on an open battlefield. Elaenar mused that today's assault may have been the most one-sided attack he had ever fought in. Not a single man (or elf) had been lost on their side.
He liberally poured himself something strong to drink and sat down; he needed something to help him stop dwelling on what he and his comrades had just done for the last hour. It didn't sit well with him, which isn't to say that he felt guilty about it. But it was ugly business.
Elaenar tried to put aside the image he had in his mind of the ugly little creature that they had taken prisoner. The orc had dark skin; skin with blue and green undertones. He was short, thin, and haggardly. His receding hair left him mostly bald in the front and only grew thick at the very back of his head. During the interrogation Elaenar was overcome with a sense of disgust as snot had dribbled down the orc's small nose and blood trickled down his chin. The foul creature stank. When the orc was being tortured, and he winced and grit his teeth, he displayed a mouth full of filthy teeth covered in dark plaque. But the worst thing about the orc was his eyes. His eyes, too big for his skull (and framed by dark circles and heavy bags) were a sickly yellow, bloodshot, and he had large black pupils. Those badly jaundiced eyes were revolting to look at.
Elaenar felt a sense of cold-hearted contempt at the fact that the orc was a eunuch. But the paradox of his sentiment was that Elaenar probably would have felt even more disgusted if the orc hadn't been a eunuch. The only thing more foul than an orc is an orc's genitals.
The liquor started to marinate Elaenar's senses and his musings turned to more optimistic thoughts. It was a very fortunate discovery they'd made during their interrogation. A plague; it was almost too good to be true. But Elaenar didn't find it hard to believe; with filthy, unclean orcs he was surprised they didn't succumb to diseases more often. This army of men and elves had had their sights on Barad Mendolin for a long time now; it was a strategic point in their campaign to take back the Gondorian north. Before today occupying Barad Mendolin was something they could only dream about. Now it seemed it was more than a possibility.
Elaenar had been fighting in the volunteer forces for many years now, most of his adult life, come to think of it. His life had been a pattern of a year's service followed by several months leave to go home. Sometimes he went home, sometimes he chose to stay beyond how long he was actually obligated to serve.
It wasn't his land or his people Elaenar was defending, but elves and men have a common enemy and Gondor has always been at the vanguard of Mordor's forces. Because Gondor is the barricade between the free peoples of the world and their enemy, the rest of the world has a duty towards Gondor to help. At least that was certainly how they saw it.
It was a point that elves could begrudgingly concede. Elaenar, no less, understood this: that from time immemorial the alliances between elves and men was the key to the relative liberty and security that the free nations enjoyed. The mere appearance of cooperation between the free peoples kept Mordor's forces at bay, always hesitant to strike against an enemy that could fall upon the aid of friendly nations. A generation that failed to understand the importance of alliances was doomed to usher in a dark era.
And that's exactly what had happened during the second age. Elaenar judged that it had been a mistake to neglect their ally, the Gondorian people. Elvish nations had stood back and left the northern men to hold their own against assaults from the east. Massive territories in Gondor had fallen and been lost to the orc hordes. Wiser people understood that this wasn't just a defeat for the men of Gondor, this was a defeat for the world. It was the beginning of Sauron's larger strategy of gradual encroachment.
That's why people like Elaenar chose to fight in a war that wasn't technically their own. Elaenar supposed that, to the men of Gondor it may seem that an unmarried, childless elf like himself (with an immortal life) had nothing better to do than fight in foreign conflicts where mutual interests lie.
Although the elves and men soldiers tried to be civil with each other, there was obvious resentment...on both sides. The elvish soldier's resented their Gondorian comrades because it wasn't their homeland they were fighting for and they didn't feel that their aid was sufficiently appreciated. The men, in turn, resented the elves because they felt that it was only fair that other nations send troops to help Gondor, since Gondor was the barrier between Mordor and everyone else. But even worse, the men resented the low esteem in which the volunteer aids held them in. Elves saw themselves as superior to mortal people; they considered themselves to be a higher and nobler race than their Gondorian allies. More than a few times, Elaenar had seen insulted egos erupt into conflict; sometimes what began as an exchange of snide words could bubble over into an exchange of fists. The men and elves were far from perfect allies.
Elaenar was interrupted from his thoughts when he heard footsteps coming into the cellar.
""I thought I would find you here. Aren't you supposed to celebrate after the victory?" Lúthian asked. It was obvious that he was being critical of Elaenar's drinking.
"And what did you come down here for, Lúthian? Water?"
"No," Lúthian said, ignoring his friend's snarky attitude. "I came looking for you. But I suppose I'll join you for a drink as long as I'm here." He poured himself a half mug of ale and sat across from his comrade. Elaenar inwardly rolled his eyes at his friend's obvious display of moderation. A real friend would just get drunk with him.
"Do you think it's all true? Lúthian asked.
"Yes." Elaenar said confidently. "Yes I do. Wouldn't it be nice if things went well for us? For once?"
"It would be nice." Lúthian agreed. "But since when are we ever that fortunate? I'll keep my hopes down and expectations low for now."
"Oh please," Elaenar said. "Don't you think that we did well enough for ourselves as torturers today?"
"Don't talk like that." Lúthian scolded him. Elaenar held back a snide retort. Nothing about what he said was untrue.
Lúthian paused before saying "We haven't had a strategic victory against the enemy in a long time."
"Years." Elaenar corrected him.
"Years." Lúthian nodded, agreeing. "Sometimes it feels as though we never make any progress. Year after year we fight and yet our progress remains stagnant. Nothing ever changes."
"And the Gondorians wonder why we resent this." Elaenar chimed. Lúthian nodded.
"This could be the break that we've been waiting for." Elaenar said, hope and excitement in his voice. He leaned in closer to Lúthian who sat across from him. "If we can take Barad Mendolin we'll have a much stronger presence in the north. I'm willing to bet that other victories will follow."
"If we can take Barad Mendolin." Lúthian reminded him. There was no guarantee of anything yet. Elaenar was disappointed that his comrade wasn't sharing in his excitement, instead choosing to play the role of the hesitant skeptic.
"If tomorrow we find the orc army on the road then I suppose we'll know that it's all true...and I suppose an orc's word really can be trusted."
Elaenar snorted. "Anyone's word can be trusted under pain of torture."
Lúthian flinched at the word "torture". "We'll only know tomorrow." He said while getting up.
"You should go to bed my friend. We leave early in the pre-dawn hours." It was already near midnight.
"Soon," Elaenar replied. He would follow Lúthian after he finished his drink. Despite feeling tired (and somewhat irritable) Elaenar was feeling more hopeful than he had in a long time.
