Chapter 21

War is Coming

"Where is Eryn?"

Thranduil had asked for the umpteenth time. A part of him wanted to annoy the healer Santien all morning, wanting to see her composure break before him, and another part simply wanted to know where his friend was. He was disappointed to wake up without her being beside him; he anticipated that she stayed all night looking after him. Instead, Santien and the two Silvan healers were back to attend to him. The bandages on his hands were redressed, and a healer helped him getting into fresh clothes. Breakfast was served, and Santien thrust her infamous medicinal tea.

He sniffed on the weird, gooey green concoction, and didn't wonder why Erynlith had refused it before. "Are you sure this is edible? It doesn't look like it," he told Santien, giving her an innocent look, and he almost smiled when she glared.

"If you want to get better, drink it," Santien ordered sternly. She was folding away from of the unused bandages after she ushered the two other healers away. She liked her quiet time in the infirmary, the very reason why she was there, and it sounded troublesome to her to have "guests". She was Greenwood's finest healer, the auburn-haired Silvan maiden, and it was obvious even for strangers to see. Her candidness never pushed Thranduil away. Instead, it pulled him back to her.

"Have you seen, Eryn?" He pressed again, as he reluctantly looked down on his supposed drink. Following the nickname conversation last night, he was finally able to insist on calling her that, just like Erestor and Amroth, and Erynlith had only sighed in defeat. There was always no way on winning an argument against him, especially when he was up for it.

Santien arched her elegant brow on that name, but shrugged it off afterwards. "She left early this morning, said Raithon. She could be wandering somewhere in the forest by now. You know her…"

"Ah," was all Thranduil muttered and gave one big gulp on the drink. He quickly retreated the cup from his lips, and he shuddered. "It tastes horrible! Don't you have anything better than this?"

"Apparently not," Santien answered.

"But it tastes nasty," Thranduil whined and chugged the drink again. It left a horrible taste in his mouth, and he had never been so thirsty for a wine before. "When can I leave? My hands feel better now. It's not like the wounds will open up and will bleed again…"

"Exactly," the healer said matter-of-factly. She placed her hands upon her hips and began lecturing him. "Until the wound is completely healed, you will not leave my sight. Knowing you, you might try overworking yourself. The King would punish me if that happened."

Thranduil leaned against the bed's head board. "You sound so talkative today, Santien. Did something happen? Did Raithon do any romantic gestures yet?"

The healer flinched at that, and she quickly glared at Thranduil. It was amusing for both of them. For a Silvan native as Santien, she had never trusted Oropher and his company of Sindarin elves. But as the years passed and the valor of the Sindar was shown, she acknowledged them and went into their service. None would have anticipated that she made friends with two Sindar, and consequently, fell for one of them. Raithon had always been there for her, and although their relationship was not as public as the next couple, there was respect and affection between them. And Thranduil often teased them about it.

"Those things are unnecessary," Santien said. "We are both busy with work, and we understand that."

"But he visits you often, does he not?"

"Yes, he does. After every morning and evening patrol, he visits here. Sometimes we share lunch together." There was an unusual smile on her face, and Thranduil noticed it.

"You're really chatty today, aren't you?" he repeated.

"Oh, give me a break, Thranduil. You are supposed to be worrying about your friend, right? It is really hard to keep track on her, especially when she suddenly disappears and appears out of nowhere. She has been into too much trouble lately. If she brings more in Greenwood, I will have to blame her." And Santien was not lying. She was starting to doubt Erynlith's presence in Greenwood. She knew the King and Thranduil liked Erynlith being there, even Raithon and the Elven-guard do, but with all the lingering orcs by the river, Santien became more doubtful. The wargs were not there before Erynlith and Erestor arrived, and it all happened a month ago.

"You are not allowed to blame her," Thranduil ordered. "She did not mean any of this. For one thing, I should have finished those wargs myself. There should still be a pack somewhere lingering in the forest. And…" Realization dawned. His eyes widened. "Call Raithon. Tell him to find and bring Erynlith back as soon as possible."

"Too late," Santien said nonchalantly, her eyes darted on the doorway. "She's coming."

And so, their little subject arrived in the infirmary, beaming at them like some child. The edge of her blue dress was blemished with soil and mud. She passed through Santien and quickly slumped on the chair beside Thranduil's bed.

"Morning, Eryn. Where have you been?" Thranduil asked.

"In the forest, tra-la-la," she sang happily.

"And what were you doing in the forest, tra-lo?" It felt childish for him to say that in a sing-song.

"I was supposed to get you some bluebells, like what I did when Erestor was in the infirmary. But then I realized it is already early winter, and no bluebells bloomed at this time of the year. So I found this instead. I thought you might like it though, tra-lo. Oh, I rhymed!" She beamed and pulled out a branch filled with green leaves. "It is winter and I found them in the forest. Peculiar, right, tra-la-lay?"

Thranduil laughed and took the branch. Indeed, the leaves were richly green. Erynlith took the red vase from the bedside and dropped the branch there, as though it was some kind of a flowering plant. Thranduil chuckled at her simple-mindedness and admired the beauty of the foliage.

"So," Erynlith's voice rang again, shifting his attention from the leaves to her. "What did I miss?"

"Santien's really talkative today," Thranduil answered quickly, and both elves turned to the healer, giggling like children.

"Stop it. Both of you."

Erestor was running back and forth in the valley. Sometimes he wandered why he allowed himself to be Elrond's seneschal in the first place. Not only did he act as Captain, but also the elf lord's primary advisor. The previous one had gone back to Lindon, and Gildor was not around to help. Erestor blamed Gildor for all his traveling quirks, leaving Imladris at the most crucial point. The golden-haired Ñoldo was supposed to be one of Elrond's many counselors, but no, he had to leave while Erestor and Erynlith were in Greenwood. Erestor was glad that Lindir was there to help, finishing all the chores that needed to be done, and even the Lady Celebrían was doing her part in the household. Imaldris was more bustling as ever, especially when the High King had sent them a message of warfare. The Dark Lord was moving in the far south, ransacking the kingdoms of Men as he pleased, and the High King wanted to get this over with. He had gathered many armies from all over Middle-earth, and Erestor feared that he had to fight in this war.

On his hand was another unfinished letter, something that he was not able to finish had Elrond not asked him of another task, and Erestor was panting. That morning he was at the barracks, preparing the warriors, in the afternoon he tried finishing a letter, and a few hours later, he was pouncing around Imladris in search for Elrond. At times he wished Erynlith was there to help him; even that eccentric excuse of an elf could be of help sometimes.

"Lord Erestor!" Celebrían called out from behind him.

Erestor turned and bowed swiftly, sweat dropping impolitely from his forehead. "My lady, can I do something for you?"

Celebrían shook her silver head and took the letter from his hand. "You are looking for Elrond, yes? I will take this letter and— oh, this is still unfinished. Don't worry, I'll finish this."

"But my lady," Erestor begged to differ, "the task was given to me. I cannot spend your time like that."

"You have more things to worry about," Celebrían insisted, smiling sweetly. "Elrond is in the observatory should you need him. His counselors are gathered there. Perhaps you should see them for yourself. Another message arrived that the armies from Lindon will come here."

Erestor could not believe it all. War would be right in front of his eyes soon. The armies of the High King were moving east, towards Imladris, and there would be hundreds of thousands of elves in the valley. As Elrond's seneschal, he would have to attend into all of these, and it made his knees weak. He looked at Celebrían, his mouth slightly gaping, but she smiled warmly. She was the hope of all that there was, and Erestor was happy that she was around.

"I should be going then," he said, bowing again to her. "Have a wonderful day, my lady."

"I will see you around, Erestor," Celebrían smiled and went off, her silver locks swaying as she moved.

When she disappeared from his sight, Erestor quickly rushed towards the observatory, his silver armor weighing him down. His dark hair was disheveled. The counselors looked up at his arrival, brows arching at the appearance of the captain; yet Erestor moved quietly towards Elrond and was welcomed by the elf-lord. They began discussing their strategy, just how the High King mentioned in his newly-arrived message. As time passed, Erestor felt the pressure crushing him. And then, he made a mental note. Once this war was over, he would not continue to be captain.

Someone would have to replace him.

"Are you sure about this, Adar?"

King Oropher and his trusty counselors were gathered in the King's throne room. All were silent, listening to what their King had to say, and Thranduil was finally allowed to leave the infirmary. Learning of the King's plan of joining the war, the Prince of Greenwood quickly got out of bed, despite the ranting of an auburn-haired healer, but he could care less. As he left, he took the branch of leaves from the red vase and took it with him in the throne room. The King's counselors looked at him incredulously; they wondered where the Prince had acquired the foliage. His hands were still bandaged, but his body was able for any battle that was needed.

Thranduil doubted the King's decision. Would they really march to battle, considering their scant armory and weaponry? The Silvan folk were not warlike as the Sindar and Ñoldor were, and what Thranduil wanted for them was safety. It was not their fault why war was marching on their doorstep. But what could he do?

"I received the message of Alliance, Thranduil," King Oropher answered carefully. The lighthearted king who played games was not there anymore. "King Amdír will do the same with us. He is already gathering his marchwardens for battle. We should do the same. Raithon already received the order. The Elven-guard is moving as we speak. As for our people, the construction of the northern fortress should begin. It should serve as sanctuary during the battle, if we finish it soon."

The counselors murmured and nodded among themselves. Thranduil watched them, his eyes narrowed. He could see them all agreeing to what the King said, and no one seemed brave enough to speak up. Even Erynlith's counselor friend was nodding. Thranduil rolled his eyes.

"But my lord," someone spoke up, and Thranduil sighed in relief when he heard the voice. He looked around and his eyes fell on the female dark-haired counselor. "The construction of the fortress will take years, and the War is already upon us. We will not make it in time. I advise that we leave someone in Greenwood, perhaps a quarter of the Elven-guard, to stay here and protect our people while the rest marched in the South."

Thranduil finally remembered her name. Ah, Celairis: the King's seemingly favorite counselor.

All of a sudden, the King looked thoughtful, contemplating about the idea. The counselors murmured again and nodded and whispered. Thranduil growled; he never thought of his father's counselors as this useless, with the exception of Celairis. He was relieved to know that someone functioned well. The council continued until late in the afternoon. Word was sent to Raithon about Celairis' idea, and that the King wanted a quarter of the Elven-guard to be left behind in Greenwood. But the problem was: no one wanted to be left behind. All guards wanted to see battle, and even Raithon was unwilling to be left. It would be a hard decision for them, but the safety of Greenwood was their priority.

After the council, Thranduil left in search for Erynlith. She was back at the waterfalls, sitting cross-legged in front of the little den.

"What are you doing?" He asked, sitting beside her.

She frowned. "The foxes are not coming out."

"What do you mean?" He cocked his head to the side, a look of confusion written on his face. He picked up a pebble and rolled it down the small den. They waited for a response, but eventually, none came. Erynlith frowned even more, and it made Thranduil feel bad. He tried knocking on the den's arched roof, listening for any noise from within, but there was still nothing. He slumped back beside her. "Maybe they moved away…"

"Oh, that's too bad, tra-lay," Erynlith sang quietly.

He laughed it off. "Come on, now. Maybe they would return after winter."

"Or maybe the wargs scared them off?" She looked at him innocently. "Raithon said the wargs are still in the forest, and that one of his guards encountered them. Luckily the guard got away, but the warg pack remains somewhere in the forest."

Thranduil sighed exasperatedly. "I would have finished them if not for these stupid hands. Someone had to finish them off before the war breaks out. But Raithon is too busy with the preparations. The Elven-guard is deciding whether who will be left behind. They are all acting like children for taking too long to decide. They should get their priorities straight, and someone has to finish those stupid wargs."

"Someone?" She repeated.

"How long do you intend to stay here?" Thranduil ignored her question.

"I have nothing to do in the palace, anyway. What did the King say?"

He shrugged. "Something about war, doesn't matter really. If the war breaks out, will you still stay here in Greenwood?" He hoped she would agree. He wanted someone to be waiting for him after coming from the war, someone to welcome him when he arrived in the forest. It was a simple hope.

"I don't know, tra-la," she answered truthfully. "I mean, I haven't heard from Erestor lately. Who knows what could be happening in Rivendell right now."

"Do you want to go home?"

"Not really, no. Do you want me to leave?"

Silence fell, laughter followed.

"Alright," Thranduil said, still chuckling. "Jokes aside. Come on, let's go back. I am starving." He pulled Erynlith back onto her feet and helped her dust off the leaves from her dress. He began to pull her away by her wrist, and she followed obediently.

"You are always starving." She laughed again.

"And you are no different, tra-la-la."

Her eyebrow arched. "Stop copying me, tra-la-lay."

"Oh, but it is fun, Eryn, tra-lilly-lo."

And they laughed again at the silliness.

Raithon was desperate to get some rest. The day was painfully exhausting for him and his Elven-guard. They had to meet the King's demands, and Raithon had to make sure all his guards were in good condition before their training would begin. He was thankful that Erynlith did not ask him about the archery training he had promised her. He also had to check Santien in the infirmary every once in a while.

Now, well now, he was piling up the remnants of the spent arrows that afternoon training. His guards were back in their chambers, but some were thoughtful enough to stay in the outpost.

"I'll have to consider getting another job after this," he grumbled, and suppressed a yawn coming up. The arrows he collected were dropped in a quiver, and he strapped it on his back. He picked up some bows scattered in the area, mumbling how his guards could be so careless. The armory was just behind the infirmary, and he thought of saying goodnight to Santien before going back to his chambers.

A soft neigh of a horse stopped him from his tracks. Raithon turned around with narrowed eyes. It was already too late in the night, and he could swear to the Valar he heard a horse. But the stables were much further away from where he stood, and surely no horse should be wandering at a time like this. Carefully, he dropped the excess bow and quivers from his person and approached the noise. The horse neighed again. He poked his head beside a tree, and his eyes widened when a certain black horse reared and sprinted off, its rider draped under a long grey cloak, but that umber hair was unmistakable.

Next Chapter: Late night hunting with Erynlith and our(?) favourite Captain of the Guards.

Author's Notes: Gee, I am so sorry for the late update! I was out of town for five days and I was indisposed for one day because of fever. We finally get to have an open discussion about the upcoming war with everyone's favourite Dark Lord, Sauron. (No offence for those fans who prefer Melkor/Morgoth; I like him more actually)(Wait! This is Silmarillion stuff! Let's go back to LOTR.)

Moving on, I will apologize in advance. I have lots of research papers, speeches, and exams to take care of next week, so I will not be able to update any sooner. Hopefully, I would get enough time to update this and my other story. For now, please do enjoy this one!

*Asmodeus Black - LOL. Thank you!

*Evangeline Pond - Oh, that's very nice of you! And it's a pleasure to meet you!~

*Rousdower - Good to see you here again, Rousy! I missed you lots! Thrandy is such a sassy nickname. Wait, did I mention how I just lurve your profile picture? Because I do! I really do! It's just like #FARamir and #NEARamir. LOL.

*DeLacus - Amardis sounds sweet. I want to be her friend. Haha! Thank you for stopping by!~

Once again, I thank you all for reading. Reviews are always welcomed.

Hannon le.