Chapter Eleven
In Middle-Earth
The man shuddered in the night. Fearing the power and might of the King's Men was one thing, fearing that they would destroy everything and everyone that you've had and hoped for, was far more terrible.
He and his men had been travelling far. Waking up in the dead of night, told forcibly by his niece to flee or be killed by her husband, the leader of the Elendili- the faithful followers of the All-Father and the Ainur- hastened to tell his followers, friends and so forth. No doubt most of his family were safe, he thought bitterly. Save for his son and his late wife, sister, brother-in-law, niece and a grand-nephew and his wife, they were all King's Men.
Even his niece had been told to give away his whereabouts on the first night in order to keep suspicion out of hers and her eldest son's paths. He did not resent her for that- in fact he had told her to do so- but the rest of the family had betrayed them willingly. Now he feared they would never see Númenor again.
Besides him Lindórië his sister, wiped the sweat off her brow. "Do you think she was correct?" she asked.
Eärendur, her brother, shrugged. "She's your daughter. You tell me if she's mistaken."
Lindórië pursed her lips and looked worried. "Inzilbêth has never been wrong," she said determinedly. "And we are in danger. I just hope…" she bit her lip.
Eärendur could find no words to comfort her. Inzilbêth, their only hope in the lion's den, was in more terrible danger than they were. If Ar-Gimilzôr so much as suspected… Eärendur scowled at the mere thought of his nephew by marriage.
Inzilbêth, her eldest son and daughter-in-law were their eyes and ears in Armenelos. She had warned him to seek out an elven shieldmaiden, much to her uncle's surprise. Who was this person, and how did she come to know about her? But Inzilbêth would say no more, only that she could swear by the Valar and the All-Father, no less, that this person could be trusted.
Lindórië, exiled mother to the queen of Númenor, was about to say something when her brother held up a hand. "Hush," was all he said.
She froze, not knowing what to do. Then next thing he knew Eärendur found himself knocked off his feet and onto the ground. He was not the only one. His sister and other members of their company found themselves on the ground. A sword of slim make and a graceful one too was pressing its point against his throat. It was bright, reflecting off moonlight as if it too was made of the same light. This was not a sword made by Men, not even the Men of Númenor could make such a thing, and certainly no orc could do so.
Eärendur looked upwards and found himself gazing at the ice-blue eyes of a very tall elf. The elf's long silvery hair fell past his shoulders. His face was pale, almost the same shade as his hair. A smile played upon his lips.
"Well, well," the elf mused. "What do we have here? A man- Númenórean, no less. How… interesting."
Eärendur swallowed. "We mean no harm," he said, his voice trying not to quiver. "I am Eärendur and I am one of the Faithful," he said, his Sindarin miraculously reviving.
The elf arched an elegant brow. "Ah, so you do speak our tongue," he mused in Westron. "But forgive me if I wonder that it might be a lie or a trick- you see, even though the speaking of the elven tongues are forbidden within your kingdom, some of the older Númenóreans would have learned to speak it." The elf gave a dangerous, yet radiant smile.
"I am not a King's Man," Eärendur said as firm as he could with a sword to his neck. "I am one of the Elendili and prepared to die as such. The king has placed a price upon my head and that of my sister's-" he gestured to his sister Lindórië. "We have fled the country." He said finally.
The elf's lip twitched. But before he could say anything a rustle- unheard of by the humans- alerted to him that they were not alone.
Thranduil- yes that was the elf- knew they were in dangerous territory. This had been the third night since he left the Greenwood on his father's mission and already he could sense the danger, growing stronger. He froze.
A shriek pierced the night sky and a filthy orc ran forwards, its weapon above its head. Thranduil cut him down quickly enough but soon more took its place. Both elves and humans focused more on the orcs and decided to help each other… for the time being.
They busied themselves cutting down orcs. For Thranduil, it wasn't hard. He was considered to be one of the greatest living warriors in Middle-Earth, so with incredible, enviable ease, he disposed of any who came near.
It was much more difficult for Eärendur and Lindórië. They were getting old, even for Númenórean standards and Lindórië had limited instructions on how to defend herself, leaving Eärendur to do the best he could. For the second time that night, however, he found himself knocked onto the ground. The orc above him leered, revealing its ugly teeth and raised its weapon. But before either of them could blink, a flash of light occurred and the orc was missing its head. Thranduil looked grimly at the man before helping him up.
More ocs kept coming, but an arrow pierced through the air and imbedded themselves within one orc's body. The orc looked down in surprise, and to everyone's astonishment, more elves burst into the clearing and started killing orcs as easily as breathing.
Soon there were no more left. An elf came forwards. It was an elleth- a maiden, wearing armour that simply accentuated her feminine curves- more curvaceous, though still svelte, than most female elves. Her skirt came to her knees and looked as if it were made of tough material and her helm covered her head and hid a great deal of her face in shadow.
The shieldmaiden removed them helm and Prince Thranduil of the Greenwood froze.
Her hair was the colour of deep burnished copper, gathered in a tight chignon, with richly glittering points of light which came from gold and silver strands of hair. Her eyes were so deep a green, emeralds would seem pale beside them.
He found what he was searching for.
The shieldmaiden's brow furrowed as she looked at him and members of his guard and then looked at the humans in the group.
"Eärendur of Andúnië?" she said in a voice as beautiful as she.
"Yes?" Eärendur said hopefully.
The maiden looked at him straight in the eye, then said in Quenya,
"I speak to the pale branches, white as moonlight which have withered."
I speak for the roots that are still strong," Eärendur replied the same way. "I speak with the hope that the Tree might blossom again."
Estela smiled. "Welcome, Lord of the Andúnië and leader of the Elendili." she gave a brilliant smile. "We have been expecting you." Eärendur allowed his shoulders to sag in relief. Estela frowned. "But you did not mention that already, you had elves to help you." she stiffened.
Thranduil bowed as did the rest of his group. "I am Thranduil Oropherion, Prince of Greenwood the Great." he said. "I have been instructed by my father to find you."
Estela froze in shock.
"Your father?" she asked blankly. "He wished to find me?" Thranduil nodded looking befuddled at the rate her face was growing paler.
"May I ask why?" she asked through frozen lips
Thranduil breathed deeply before pressing forwards. "My Father wishes to offer an alliance against the Númenóreans called the King's Men." he said. He paused, resisting the temptation to bite his lip before continuing; "My father believes that no matter how different we all are- be we elves, men or dwarves- we must all stand together or fall."
Thranduil was not as desperate as people might believe- until he saw the numbers the King's Men had in store for them.
"Wise words from a wise king," Estela said slowly. Thranduil blinked. Usually when people said that, it was a mockery of some kind, a veiled insult. But she said them with complete sincerity. "He is right, King Oropher is a strong leader and he knows what must be done. But even the best and wisest of elves may not wish to commit to an alliance with me."
Thranduil looked taken aback. Of all the answers he had expected- from outright insults to glad acceptances, this was not one of them.
He looked incredulous- to put it mildly.
"And why not?" he asked.
Estela shook her head. "Prince Thranduil," she said. "I do not say that we shall never come to the aid of your people when the time comes- when the time comes, should you need us, we will be there without fail. But we cannot go and declare a public alliance with your father. And I doubt very much that your father actually would."
Thranduil was even more confused than before.
"My lady," he said slowly. "Why should he not want an alliance with you?" Estela shook her head sadly.
"It is not as easy as you say," she said quietly. "We have suffered- the ones that stay with me- and the deeds of our fathers have cost us greatly, even as they cost others so."
"I do not understand," Thranduil said. "Which people do you come from? Are you under Gil-Galad's banner?"
She shook her head. "We do not serve under Gil-Galad's banner, and he knows of us as much as your father and king does- very little. We have existed for an age now, and we have many in our midst- though not as much as you hope. But we have all suffered- and those that are oldest among us suffered the most. As I said, our own kin cost us greater than you can imagine."
Thranduil looked startled. "You have had to deal with kinslayers?" he whispered.
Estela let out a harsh laugh. "If only we were the ones slain," she said bitterly. "But we not only survived we stayed. I was dragged from the safety of my bed as a child and plunged into war and death- orcs, balrogs, vampires, werewolves, wicked men- and the pride of those that once claimed to love us. I have lost all- save for the ones that stayed to this day. And we can never go back, or so I believe. I was a child with no decisions, not like the King's Men who are fools enough not to realise what fortune favours them that they may make whatever destinies they want. They may leave the world instead of lingering in agony waiting for a curse to strike- believing that the Valar has abandoned and punished you simply for crimes you did not commit- being nothing but a child- but those who once claimed to have been close to you did." She tried to calm herself. "We swore we would never commit to such close ties ever again- not even with our kin, least a similar betrayal occurs."
Estela shook her head. "As I said, we will always help," she said. "But we make no direct relationship, no public alliance- I am sorry but we can no longer trust even our own kin- death is much better than the life they have forced us upon and left us to live. I would welcome Mandos if I must." She looked straight into his eyes and Thranduil saw the haunted look there- a look so haunted and filled with such suffering he would never come to forget even as the millenia passed. "But I would rather face Melkor rather than let those that go with me- or any innocent life- die."
So Sorry! I am facing difficulties- technical, going back to New Zealand, starting university again and being ill! But this is going to be a year I will never forget!
Eärendur Lord of the Andúnië was the leader of the Faithful and the forefather to Elendil, Isildur, and Aragorn. Lindórië his sister was- as said- the mother of Inzilbêth.