Chapter 25

Prelude to War

The Second Age was stretching to its end. The Alliance of Elves and Men marched into the vast plain between the Dead Marshes and Cirith Gorgor. There, the armies of Sauron awaited them. The army of King Elendil's son Anarion joined them for battle. But there was more tension between the High King and the two Woodland Kings than there was between the armies. The High King thought both Amdír and Oropher had gone too bold to disobey him in some occasions, and the king's sons made no attempt to halt them. And it was always Elrond who brought the two kingdoms back together, reminding them of their common purpose. The High King said nothing about the matter; he could not afford to lose the forty thousand elves that the two Sindarin Kings commanded. He knew Oropher disliked the ways of the Ñoldor: their language, their warfare, and basically, their whole being. He knew Oropher disliked modern developments; the very reason why Oropher moved to Greenwood and ruled the Silvan was to return to simple ways, to their native culture. And warfare was not in their list.

The day they arrived in the vast plain, the elves had set up their campsites. Scouts were sent abroad to deliver tidings from lands back and forth. The flanks were fortified, the soldiers made ready. The silver and blue banner of the High King was raised. The host of the Woodland Realm distanced themselves from the larger host. The tension worsened when Thranduil had unexpectedly lashed out against the Dwarven-host from Khazad-dûm. There was the utter disgust and bewilderment when he found that Durin IV, King of Khazad-dûm, was to join the battle with his dwarven soldiers. The Prince of Greenwood would have raised a heavy hand and strike the Dwarf-king then and there, if not Elrond and Erestor had gotten in their way. King Oropher remained aloof, silently glaring at Durin, and retreated into the campsite they shared with King Amdír and Amroth.

When the night came and the campsite was silent, the High King entered the Woodland lord's campsite, but was immediately confronted by Thranduil. The Prince was not daunted by the King's presence. Moreover, he stood straight and looked directly at the dark eyes of the King. There was the question of authority between them, as though trying to asses which one was more powerful. Yet the King smiled to him.

"Good evening," the King said cordially, quickly dismissing the other's display of aloofness.

Thranduil remained dauntless, but his voice was as cordial as the King's. "May I help you? I am afraid my lord is already resting for tomorrow's first assault." He was supposed to be resting as well, being one of his father's first-liners with Raithon, but he could put himself to rest.

The King looked disappointed. "Ah, that is quite a shame then. I was looking forward to have a few words with him, before the battle breaks tomorrow. Can you pass along my message for him?"

Thranduil nodded.

"Normally, these words I would trust to no other, but you are Oropher's son, and will inherit your father's lands. I am in need of your cooperation for tomorrow. I am in need of our allies. Let us not widen the rift between us Elves, and between Elves and Dwarves. I know the very root of this hostility, but there is something greater that awaits us. Tomorrow is a great day, and we shall break our enemies' forces together." The authority of the High King was laced there, but his voice was thoughtful and his words careful. He wanted the prince to understand, but he treated Thranduil as his equal. Thranduil was no younger than the King already was.

"Will you tell him that?" the King continued.

"I will," Thranduil answered; his mind was still in deep thought of the King's words.

The King smiled and tapped Thranduil's shoulder, a gesture unexpected to the latter. "Thank you. I will see you in the front line tomorrow morning." He turned to leave, but halted in mid-step. "Oh, and that pennant tied around your bow. It is beautiful, and somewhat familiar. May I ask where you acquired it?"

Thranduil blinked at looked down at the bow in his hand. Indeed, the small green pennant was still tied around the limb of his bow, swaying in the slight evening breeze. "A gift from someone," he answered quietly.

"And you will return to her," the King said thoughtfully, surprising Thranduil. The High King was full of surprises. "Good night, Prince Thranduil." Finally, he left and went back to his camp. He still had a few words to spare for Elrond and Círdan.

When the King had disappeared into the night, Thranduil went back to see his father. He lied to the King; Oropher was not yet resting. He was sharing a plan with King Amdír, on how to overtake the Ñoldorin forces on the morrow, and the two kings were agreeable about it. Initially, Thranduil took part in it, so did Raithon and Amroth. They came into an agreement that no Sinda or Silvan should follow the banner of the High King. But after sharing a brief conversation with him, Thranduil became doubtful. He gently fiddled the pennant between his fingers, remembering to whom it belonged to. It had been months ever since their departure and he often wondered how she was doing as temporary Captain of the Elven-guard.

At King Oropher's permission, Thranduil entered the small tent where the lords and their captains were gathered. He sat beside Raithon and listened to the eager proposals of strategic plans the two Sindarin kings had to offer. As the time passed, Thranduil felt more doubtful, and the words of the High King plagued his mind. We shall break our enemies' forces together. He waited patiently until the late night council was over. He would speak to his king, to his father, about the matter of tomorrow's cooperation. If Oropher would not listen to the High King, perhaps he would listen to his son and heir.

The dreadful horn sounded to announce the beginning of the greatest war of the Second Age. Banners were held aloft; spears, bows, and swords were readied by their wielders. The High King marched at the head of his army; beside him were Elrond, Círdan, King Elendil, and his sons Isildur and Anarion. On the other side were the Silvan elves and the Dwarven-host of King Durin. The vast plain was soon occupied by the Dark Lord's colossal army of bellowing orcs and sneering evil men.

But the tension between Elves and Dwarves continued. Oropher was restless, and his grip on his slender sword was tighter. The very sound of Durin's voice echoing made the Elvenking blind with his thousand-year wrath, memories of the lost underground kingdom flashing before his eyes. He felt a tap on his shoulder, and turning, it was Thranduil who calmed his father down. But the effort was worthless. Oropher had given command to Raithon, to answer all but his commands, and that he should follow his king wherever he might be. To this Raithon swore, putting little regard of his own life.

The Orcs raised their poisoned-tipped arrows, and the Elves prepared their shields. The High King was ready to give out his first command, but Oropher had been restless enough.

Followed by his entire army, Oropher charged with a loud battle cry. His brave soldiers followed without hesitation, and thus, the flank of the Alliance was broken. The High King watched in horror as the Silvan elves expelled from his command. The orcs raised their weapons, and the poisoned-tipped arrows were released. The front-liners were felled, but the Elvenking charged with his captain at his side. Beside the High King, Erestor made an attempt to recall the Silvan elves, but was quickly halted by Elrond. And as the High King's eyes widened at the ensuing chaos before them, he realized that Thranduil was still standing among their company.

"You are a fool."

The Prince of Greenwood stood there, frozen in his terror and panic. He regarded his father as a fool for charging. He thought the King's words enlightened his father last night, that his father would swallow his pride and listen for a change. He watched as the Woodland host slowly depleted. But he could still see King Oropher and Raithon fighting in the front. Gripping his sword and bow, Thranduil charged and followed after them. King Amdír manned his army to follow Thranduil; should anything happen, they would be able to assist him. Amroth led their troops, but the orc-host advanced into the field and cut Thranduil off from the host of Lórinand. Amdír and Amroth were driven back into the marshes, whilst the fight in the plain against orcs and Silvan elves continued.

The High King had seen enough. Raising his spear, his archers aimed and released their arrows. The Alliance advanced as well, backing up the fallen Silvan elves from the fight. Elrond had given his command, and so did Erestor.

Thranduil let out a fearful cry when his father fell onto his knees, three arrows piercing his chest. Raithon was the first to rush to the Elvenking's aid, fending off the incoming orcs as he pulled the king away from the battlefield. The Silvan soldiers gave them way, and then shielded them against the chaos. Thranduil knelt beside his gasping father; the King's grip on his shoulder was firm. His breath was ragged and his eyes were dimmed, and Thranduil was scared.

"Don't leave, Adar. No, no, no, don't close your eyes. Don't you dare…" A child's plea, Thranduil knew, but it was all he could tell his father.

King Oropher shook his head and smiled weakly. "I only regret… that I have but… one life to lose for my kingdom."

Then, he spoke no more. The Elvenking's blue eyes went dark and unseeing. His ragged breaths halted and the hand that clasped his son's arm fell to the ground.

In a surge of terror, Thranduil searched for his one friend and called out: "Raithon!"

At once, the Captain of the Guards was at his side, kneeling before the felled Elvenking. He watched as Thranduil bow his head in defeat, though not a single tear fell. It was too early for mourning, but the loss was already great. Gathering his wits about him, Thranduil leaned and lovingly kissed the forehead of his lost father.

When the Silvan flank was breached by the advancing orcs, Raithon pulled his friend and forced him onto his feet. He shouted at Thranduil's face, calling him back to reality, and thrust his bow into his hands. Together they ran back to the line of the High King's army.

As they were retreating, one orc got hold of Thranduil's wrist and turned him around. The elf prince stumbled to the ground, completely caught off guard, and his friend was drawn into another combat with several orcs. Thrandui, managed to get hold of himself, kicking the orc off him, and bent his bow. As the orc fell, it clutched the waving pennant on the bow and ripped it off its rope. Thranduil attempted to reclaim it, being his most treasured possession in the battlefield, but more orcs advanced, and it was now or never. Raithon pulled him once again, desperate to return to the High King's phalanx. But Thranduil refused, scrambling on the rocky plain to get the green pennant. Raithon was pushed away by the other elves, those from Erestor's company. At last, Thranduil got hold of the pennant, now tainted with deep crimson. Another orc hovered above his kneeling position and moved to strike for the kill. The elf prince prepared himself for the pain, but it did not arrive. The High King was by his side, impaling the orc with his silver spear, and kicked the body away. He looked down to Thranduil; the friendly look from last night was replaced into a fierce one.

Where was the welcoming King that he had always known? And who was this intimidating High Commander?

The King offered a hand to Thranduil and ran back to him behind Elrond's unbroken phalanx. Raithon was there as well, guided by Erestor, as they regrouped on the other side of the vast plain. But Sauron's army advanced, stretching on the two ends of the plains. As the Elves and Men were regrouping, the army of King Amdír was cut off further into the marshes, cornered by thousands of orcs. With the remaining of his own company, Thranduil attempted to charge and save them, but it was the High King that had given command. In that instant, Thranduil finally realized: the authority was in the High King's hands. The disciplined army of the High King marched off to aid that of the cornered host of Lórinand. But Amdír, Amroth, and their forces were thoroughly pushed back further into the marshes; the elf soldiers sinking and drowning as they fought; dead bodies floated in the crimson waters. There, the Sindarin King was further pushed back until his son and guards were cut off from him. He tried to fight them off all at once, raising his standard as King of Lórinand.

Yet the forces of Sauron were dauntless. The King's throat was impaled by a poisoned spear in front of the eyes of his son and soldiers. Amroth was blinded with fury, just as Thranduil was, and he charged with the remaining soldiers, defending their lost King. That was when the High King and his followers broke through the marshes, saving what was left little of the Silvan host.

After that siege, Amroth was found alive, kneeling among the countless corpses. His face and body were covered with blood; his grey eyes still blinded with grief. There, Thranduil knelt beside his friend, disregarding the stench of blood and poison, and mourned for their loss.

It was but only a prelude to the battle. Two Elvenkings were lost on the first day; their sons carrying aloft their tattered and bloodied green banners. Two Sindarin princes finally submitted into the High King's command. There were more to come, and they would be ready, even if the battle would last for several years.

Atop his Dark Tower, Sauron laughed at the two kings' foolishness.

Next Chapter: Conclusion of the War.

Author's Notes: Alas! I kept this chapter rather short, as I left out the usual detailed battle scenes that I usually do. Here we have the beginning of the Battle of Dagorlad in SA 3434. Dagorlad was the same plain wherein Aragorn and the Armies of the West (in The Return of the King) fought. The marshes where Amdír died was the Dead Marshes in The Two Towers. Remember those floating bodies of dead elves that Frodo saw a̶n̶d̶ ̶a̶l̶w̶a̶y̶s̶ ̶s̶c̶a̶r̶e̶d̶ ̶m̶e̶ ̶a̶s̶ ̶a̶ ̶c̶h̶i̶l̶d̶? Yeah, if I remember correctly, those were the same elves from Lórinand. As much as I wanted to elaborate the deaths of Oropher and Amdír, I did not because of the surging feels.

Additionally, the Dwarves of Moria did participate in the battle, led by King Durin IV, Thorin's distant ancestor.

*llcyyxx - Thank you! Erestor would be glad to be with you. I am more fond of elves than dwarves, most probably because of The Silmarillion elves. I am sorry of Oropher did not die that epically, though he did show his pride and courage, so I guess that's bonus points.

*Limbairedhiel - Aw, don't worry! Eryn will be back in her usual eccentric self once the war is over. Right now, I feel as if she needs to mature; if everyone around her went to war and could not possibly return alive, that is a good time to act mature. If Thrandy had so much kissed her then and there, I could only imagine Erestor stomping towards them in wrath. LOL.

Thank you for purchasing, Thranduil! *puts $10 tip in pocket* Indeed, he comes with the shirtless feature. You're Legolas's mother now! Congratulations! *throws confetti*

*Rousdower - Yes, we've got fires and death! MUAHAHAHAHA! *chokes*

*DeLacus - I think it's too early for kissing. ((((；゜Д゜))) But a little lovey-dovey should not hurt. And no need to worry; Eryn has matured, but not that much, I would guess. Hooray for Raithon and Santien! *throws more confetti* Our favourite Captain of the Guards needed love, too~

I hope you enjoyed this one, despite the deaths of our sassy Sindarin Elvenkings. Reviews are always appreciated! #Feels (T_T)