Chapter Seven

Gil-Galad stared at the family.

There were four of them- Easterlings, he realised-a father, a mother and their two offspring, barely into adulthood who stood there, all grimy and nervous, never before imagining that they would be standing in front of the elven king.

Elrond spoke first, "My King, these people are from the Land of Rhûn. And they have been rescued, fleeing here after their mistreatment at the hands of the King's Men of Númenor. They invaded their lands, subjugated their peoples and set puppets up as rulers and governors of State there. And not only in the Land of Rhûn. In Harad, in Khand and many more." He began to tell them all that Estela had told him.

The horror felt by everyone surpassed anything they had ever felt before, unless it was in the days when Morgoth still reigned.

"Impossible," whispered Artaner. "It cannot be."

"This family can attest to that," Elrond declared, "And we have proof."

He produced a dagger. "The metal that forged this blade was made in Númenor. There can be no doubt of that. The quality of this metal by far exceeds that of ordinary men, but it is not the work of dwarves. Nor was this made by the hands of the Eldar. Yet this was found in the Land of the Easterlings, and the artistry of the hilt and the cross-guard shows thus."

He held the ornate dagger upwards into the light.

Estela had procured the dagger, among other items. Not all of them went to Lindon. Some went to the Greenwood. Others went to Lothlórien to the court of Amdir. No doubt he and King Oropher of the Greenwood would have to be confronted by the truth. Celeborn and Galadriel dealt with that. The Elendili were also informed- they were there in Lindon.

Artaner started whispering something under his breath. The others went white and Elrond produced more items that Estela had given him- maps owned by the King's Men and their puppets with markers everywhere, building plans for fortifications, and so forth. The King's Men and their toadies in that particular city in Rhûn had been killed, not one survived. Let Ar-Gimilzôr think that they were killed in a mere uprising. She made certain that most of the people had either left or pretended to deal with those who 'caused' the revolt. He would not suspect elven involvement in this.

Elrond had the family tell the story. When the son had almost finished- Elrond translating for those that did not know their tongue- everyone was silent.

"Elves you say?" asked Lord Círdan.

Elrond translated and the young man hurriedly nodded. Círdan asked, "Who was their leader?"

The young man said something. Elrond straightened and looked at everyone. But before he could say something Gil-Galad said, "A very beautiful shieldmaiden with copper hair?"

Everyone started talking excitedly.

Elrond translated. And the man nodded, looking astonished. The look on Elrond's face was enough to convince Gil-Galad of the answer. The king nodded and after dismissing the family, instructed servants to see to their every need and comfort.

"So," he said slowly. "We have an ally- who will not meet us."

He left without saying a word. Elrond knew Estela's plan had succeeded.

Ereinion walked to his chambers. He needed time, time to plan, time to think.

He leaned back on his bed and sighed. Had any king ever been so weary?

He fell into a waking dream without meaning to.

A copper-haired female raced through the halls of a palace. Ereinion followed her, struggling to catch her. Even though she wore heavy skirts and her hair was unbound rippling and fanning out in a copper wave behind her, Ereinion could not catch her.

Running faster, she made a sudden turn and ended up in a hall of golden light, and then outside. Ereinion saw her stop. The outside world changed and he saw her high on a hill-top. Riding a horse, she wore armour, and her face and hair was concealed beneath a golden helm. Two swords hung at her hips, but Ereinion did not notice them and saw instead the maiden as she turned and looked directly at him, making his heart skip a beat. Emerald eyes shone through the helm.

Piercing eyes. And it pierced deep.

Thranduil son of Oropher stood as his father and their counsellors looked on in horror as Celeborn and Galadriel finished their tale and produced their evidence. There was war in the air.

He could only watch as his father learned, yet again, that copper-haired shieldmaiden, was responsible for warning them. Someone so beautiful that everyone just had to keep gawking at the mention of her. Thranduil smirked.

There had been sufficient proof for his father and King Amdir to believe the story. This elleth, whoever she was had saved countless members of the Woodland realms more than anyone would care to count. Unfortunately no one had ever even met her, except for those she saved.

Unfortunately the situation was far more serious than anyone had dared to admit. In Amon Lanc, Thranduil had always felt safe. Oropher, his father had settled in the Greenwood and it was and had always been his home, not Doriath. He was deeply protective of the people within and the forest itself. But now the Wood-Elves had never felt so threatened since the War of Wrath. Yet now, they were threatened.

Thranduil had always believed that the Race of Men could never over-power the elven realms, even if they tried. But elves had always been so generous to the Númenóreans. It was surely enough teaching Men literacy, agriculture and so forth, but to go to the lengths they did with Númenor? It was nothing short of insanity. Soon, he had predicted, they would wish to become elves as well, immortal, powerful, knowing. Thranduil would have preferred to leave the Men of Middle-Earth to their own devices. Now the Númenóreans really were betraying them- just as he predicted. He shook his head. Anger did not evade him as he remembered all the plants the elves brought upon Númenor- priceless things. Blossoms that could be picked and crushed and rubbed to give the most fragrant of scents, healing herbs and plants with amazing properties, even the White Tree- now they said it was withering.

Númenor was declining in their search for strength. They were growing wicked- evil in many ways, if not all. Now they were going for the ultimate betrayal.

Thranduil would burn the whole of Númenor wholescale before he would ever allow such a thing to happen- he would erase any memory of them from any archive.

He saw his father grit his teeth. Oropher, a strong-boned, broad-shouldered warrior whose face bore little resemblance to Thranduil's more refined looks, looked more enraged than his son had ever seen him. Turning towards the young prince, he saw that his father was silently asking him if he was ready.

Thranduil gave a gleam in his eyes that was nothing less than predatory. Yes, Númenor would pay.