The next day word spread through the garrison so quickly that almost everyone was informed about the hostage situation even before the formal announcement was made. There was an air of mourning among the elves; every one of them took to wearing two embroidered stars on their chest in solidarity for their (soon to be) fallen comrades. The Gondorian men, on the other hand, were not so solemnly engaged. There was an uneasy tension between the elves and men soldiers. It was obvious that the Gondorians were frustrated and desperate to make the attack on Barad Mendolin, and they were deeply discontent to have the siege thwarted. They were fearful that Captain Thrandar would capitulate to the orcs. They feared that the siege would be aborted in the desperate hope that the orcs would release elvish prisoners. The Gondorian soldiers' unspoken (but obvious) wish was, of course, considered offensive and selfish by their elvish comrades. The heartlessness of their fellow comrades-in-arms outraged the elves.

Two spies were sent out to Barad Mendolin, sneaking through the storm drain where Illian said it was sawed open, in an attempted rescue mission. They came back dismayed; it was impossible. Not even an elf could sneak through the main courtyard without being caught, and then there was a further issue of how to get to the prison cells and rescue Aeründal and Faenar. It was hopeless.

Thrandar and Barothir agreed that there was nothing to do but go forward with the attack. Their hope was to descend on the fortress so quickly that the orcs would be completely disorganized and Aeründal and Faenar could be rescued before the orcs had a chance to kill them. Elaenar had never felt so disgusted in his entire life. The way he saw it, greed and military ambitions were taking precedence over his friend's lives.

Illian had lain in bed ever since he returned from being captured, refusing to get up or even to eat. It broke Elaenar's heart to know that his friend was consumed with guilt since he alone, out of the three of the elves who had been captured, had been the only one who was released and allowed to live. Someone needed to tell Illian the news, and Elaenar took it upon himself to do it. He delayed all day, dreading his duty.

Illian had been moved, at his own request, to a private room to himself. Elaenar entered quietly, finding his comrade laying in bed, as he had done for two days now. Elaenar took a seat next to his friend. Illian was staring up at the ceiling blankly, his face flanked on either side with bandages where he had been cut. The army physician had said that the cuts to his face were so deep they had slashed his cheek bones, his gums and even his teeth. It made Elaenar enraged that those evil orcs had disfigured his face. Elaenar could tell from his swollen and blood-shot eyes that Illian had been crying. Elaenar gently reached out for his friend's hand, Illian moved his head slightly in Elaenar's direction.

"You mustn't blame yourself." Elaenar said, barely above a whisper. He received no response.

"Illian," He pleaded. "It isn't your fault."

"You should have seen their eyes." Illian whispered. "They looked so afraid, Elaenar. I didn't want to leave them. I shouldn't have abandoned them. What right did I have to flee when Aeründal and Faenar were doomed to die?" Tears rolled down his cheeks as he spoke. Elaenar didn't respond; he didn't know what to say.

"Faenar. You know what his last words to me were? He said: tell my wife and children that I love them. He begged me, Elaenar, to tell his family. He'll never meet his second child."

Tears started to stream down Elaenar's face as well. He gulped them back; he sniffed and wiped his eyes with the back of his hands. This was going to be a difficult message to deliver.

"Captain Thrandar has decided to proceed with the attack. He said that if we descend on the fortress quickly enough we can throw the garrison into chaos and disarray. He thinks that we stand a chance of rescuing Aeründal and Faenar."

"Don't be naïve, Elaenar." Illian replied. "Orcs are hateful, spiteful creatures. If they go down dying they won't neglect to take Aeründal and Faenar with them. You'll find them slaughtered in their prison cells when you take back Barad Mendolin. I know it, you know it."

Elaenar hung his head. It was true. He started to shake, he let go of Illian's hand and dismissed himself.

As he walked down the hall, Elaenar felt that he was going to lose control of himself. He wanted to scream, throw something, break something. He made his way toward the war room, bursting in and flinging the doors wide open. Thrandar, who was seated at a table (Captain Barothir sat next to him) looked up, startled by this thunderous entrance.

"We can't do this." He said, putting both hands on the table and leaning forward, staring into his Captain's eyes as if to challenge his Captain's authority.

"Elaenar," His commander said gently but firmly.

"You know they'll be killed, we have to think of something else."

Thrandar sighed but showed little emotion. Thrandar was forever stoic and authoritative, even now, a sharp contrast from Elaenar's fiery personality. He sat up straight and, in a low and somber voice, he asked his subordinate:

"What would you have me do, Elaenar? Did I not send out our elves to try to rescue them? Do you doubt, Elaenar, that I've done everything that I can?"

Elaenar trembled with rage. "Since when did a bit of Gondorian brick and mortar become more important to you than the lives of two of your elves, Captain Thrandar?"

He switched over to speaking in elvish so that Captain Barothir couldn't understand him, which was in direct violation of etiquette and official policy in their army. The elvish soldiers weren't supposed to converse in their own language around their Gondorian comrades (it was considered rude and disrespectful).

"Elaenar," Thrandar's tone was more firm this time. "The longer that Aeründal and Faenar are held prisoner by the orcs, the worse off they will be. We need to act quickly. This is the only way."

Elaenar boiled with rage. "You've forsaken your own men*." He countered.

Elaenar stared down his captain for a moment before turning on his heels to leave. He stormed down the hall and made his way into the mess hall hoping to find one of his fellow kin to vent to. When he got there he saw several elves sitting at the various benches in silence, not talking to each other, most of them with their heads bent, while a table of Gondorian soldiers gathered cheerily together, drinking.

One of the Gondorian soldiers was standing at the head of the table and Elaenar heard him say something congratulatory to his comrades-in-arms about the coming siege as they raised their glasses to each other, saying something about:

"-this victory that will soon be ours. May this be the beginning of a new age when we take back our country for Gondor. "

Elaenar stood there, fuming disgusted. The other elves looked over their shoulders and stared at the men too, outraged at the despicable spectacle.

"How dare you?" Elaenar seethed. The men at the table looked up at the enraged elf.

"How dare you celebrate when our two comrades have been taken for slaughter by the orcs!" He was shouting at this point; his loud and burning voice filled the entire mess hall, echoing off the walls.

"Will you drink over their mutilated, bleeding bodies then? And toast over their severed heads when we take back your precious fortress? Is their death a small price to pay for proud Gondorian men like yourselves?"

There was an uncomfortable silence and the men looked down, not meeting Elaenar's enraged eyes, before the man standing at the head of the table spoke up, saying;

"Perhaps if you had suffered your people to be killed, and your homeland to have fallen to the orc hordes, you would not conduct yourself so uncharitably towards those who would rejoice to see their country reclaimed from the enemy."

"Damn you're homeland!" Elaenar screamed, picking up (at random) a mug and hurling it towards the man who had just spoken to him. He missed his shot (barely) as the offender ducked his head from the flying object.

"The north of Gondor can burn for all I care, you selfish, callous pig! If it weren't for us elves you would have nothing to celebrate!"

Elaenar ended his tirade there. He stormed out of the hall, he started running, he didn't know where to or why, he just knew he had to get away. He left the fortress. It was night; he went a short ways into the woods. Finally he was somewhere where he could scream.

He screamed into the cold, mid-night air and sank to his knees leaning against a tree, sobbing. All he could think about was Aeründal and Faenar being butchered alive. He cried harder than he had ever wept in his life.

"Please God, please." He prayed. "Don't let them die."

He wondered why God would let Aeründal, who was so good and kind, die like this? And Faenar, who had a wife, a daughter, and an unborn child. It only solidified for Elaenar in his hardened heart his cynical belief that there was a cold and indifferent creator watching over the world, a God who was unmoved by the pain and suffering of the world. Elaenar prayed to Illuvatar and to the Valar for his friends' lives, but what good would it do? Since when had praying saved a single soul on this earth? It seemed to Elaenar that the only spiritual forces that intervened in this world were the dark ones; Morgoth, Sauron, and others.

Why couldn't it have been me? He wondered to himself. He had no children, no wife, and as for his family, centuries of their estranged relationship had made them cold and distant to each other. If anyone was going to die, Elaenar felt that it should have been him.

After a long time of sitting on the ground, sobbing, nearly hysterical, he leaned his back against the tree and tried just to focus on breathing. His head was spinning and he could barely think. But in the middle of his shaking and panicky gasping and crying, he started to change. An idea started to form in his mind; his countenance began to slowly harden with resolve. He was not going to let them die. He had an idea, a plan. It was mad, absolutely mad, but it was the only way. He picked himself up off the ground, shaking off his hysteria, and ran back to the fortress to grab his bow. Tonight he would go orc hunting.