Chapter Thirteen
Estela looked up.
Her head had been lying on the bed, but she was kneeling on the floor. And she was certain that she had her whole body on the bed when she went to sleep.
More than that, her hands were outstretched. One hand grasped one of her beautifully-crafted and weighted swords- designed to be used for both hands or just one- and the other held its scabbard. She blinked.
When she looked down, she was dressed in light gauze, golden in colour, baring the creamy colour of her skin in a number of places. She blinked.
Cold shock slammed into her as she remembered last night, and she thought-
No. It had been a dream, hadn't it?
No, her dreams had never been hazy as they were that night. They were always so vivid. But reality certainly wasn't hazy either, so what in Arda happened that night?
The image of the tall magnificent elf slammed into her mind. How his sapphire eyes had widened in shock and seemed soldered onto her. He had seen her.
But it was a dream wasn't it?
Hastily she deposited her sword and sheath on a nearby table as if they were scalding and jumped back, as if they were tainted.
No, no, no. It couldn't have been real!
But then if it wasn't a dream, she wasn't in control of anything that happened at that time. Fear, shock- pure, complete terror surged through her as she realised that if it wasn't a dream, and she couldn't control herself, it had to be magic.
Magic. But whose?
Shock and fear threatened to sweep her and topple her. She grasped a chair, steadying herself, taking deep breaths, her hand shaking.
Someone knew where they were. Someone could control her every movement. Someone or something.
More fear and more terror as cold as ice swept through her, until she realised another possibility. Artanis.
Warm, almost joyous relief swept through her until she realised that there was no way, trained by a Maia or not, that Artanis could have done that. The Ainur themselves would never have done such a thing. Never.
The terror most certainly would have overwhelmed her were it not for the sharp knock on her door. She jumped. "Yes?" she called out.
Vorondo came in. He started when he saw her. "Estela?" he asked alarmed. In a few strides he was onto her, cupping her face in his hands. "What has happened," he whispered forgoing all formalities.
"I-" she couldn't tell him. How could she tell him? How could she sow panic and fear if anyone were to know that they had been discovered and worse yet, think that someone or something had access to them and could animate them using magic?
This was not the time. Surely Vorondo would have something to tell her?
"Just a bad dream," she said attempting to smile. But Vorondo did not smile and so she frowned. "Vorondo? What is it?" she asked worriedly.
Vorondo took a deep breath. "The Númenórean fleet has sailed."
Estela took a sharp breath and felt ice filling her as sharp as ever.
"They will be in Middle-Earth in less than two weeks, if not sooner," Vorondo said. "Their ships are superb and their men are strong and hardy for mortals. Apparently your 'source' has just spoken to the leader of the Elendili and to Tulcano, your cousin."
Tulcano had just been recently introduced to their 'source' the queen of Númenor. Estela finally took a risk.
She drew back. "Summon a meeting in the great courtyard," she said urgently. "Tell them to dress and ready themselves to ride out and to gather as much provisions as soon as possible." Vorondo nodded, realising the urgency and hurried out of the room.
They were in trouble.
And as she rushed dressing, putting on her armour and packing, she realised now would be a good time to make some bold decisions.
She just prayed they wouldn't regret it.
Ereinion dipped his head into the stream yet again and drew it out, breaking the surface and inhaling the air sharply as the cold liquid gushed down and splattered on the ground.
He gasped, his blue eyes wide.
He needed to dip his head again.
If he even bothered to think, he would have thought on how absurd this was, and if anyone should find out- the High King of the Elves and the Noldor of Middle-Earth...
His heart pounded and his body felt hot- hot from the blood boiling and the shaking.
He took deep, uncharacteristically shaking breaths.
He burned, his heart thundered.
He shook his head.
How could a High king of the elves act and think in such a way?
Underneath his skin, he burned, though the water that sloshed all around him had been cold.
His head itself now pounded even as his heart hammered.
His mind still burned with the image. The maiden- beautiful even by elven standards.
Impossible, unbelievable, shockingly devastatingly so, but it was true.
He had seen her.
And as his blood boiled hotter heating him beneath the skin and the loud noise of his own heart kept going on, he knew now he could never forget.
Not ever.
They had ridden out in separate directions, and Estela cursed herself silently, for not planning this. She knew the Númenórean fleet was going to sail, but she had no way of knowing that a fleet of such immense proportions could sail that soon! She did not blame the queen of Númenor- Inzilbêth had already risked more than enough and so did her eldest son and his wife- but apparently the queen had told her that the numbers the Númenóreans had, had been accumulated at such a short time- how was that even possible? Ar-Gimilzôr must have been keeping this a secret for decades- even from his own wife and son. And apparently they were even bigger
than the numbers the queen had initially warned them of.
With the Haradrim and the Easterlings under their influence, the queen had said that Ar-Gimilzôr planned for them to attack from the east, and while the Free Peoples were occupied with keeping them at bay, 'Wild Men' as some people arrogantly called them or Dunlendings- who had been promised control over the Northmen lands specifically those of the Éothéod- the Horse Lords- would subdue, kill and invade such territories. The Númenóreans had promised them a great portion of lands for breeding- and they had always hated the Northmen and now the disputed lands which now hold the city of Perlargir- under the control of the Elendili.
Meanwhile the Númenóreans would attack, they would arrive in the Bay of Belfalast, and she had to warn everyone- or rather she had to tell her 'sources' to warn the kings, while she dealt the enemy as much damage as she could- weakening them and discovering any weaknesses. Their enemies had planned to cut them off, isolating each kingdom while they picked them apart and smashed them to pieces separately. She had to do that to them in return before they all fell.
She tried to slow the panicked racing of her heart- and so while she breathed deeply, she urged her horse to go on.
Elrond tried to calm down, but it was really trying him. He was truly panicked but for the sake of everyone, he could not afford to let himself go loose. He needed to find Gil-Galad.
He rode out of Lindon, when trying to find the king. Thanks to Estela's warning, Elrond knew, and thanks to his Gift of Foresight, he knew how to locate the High King.
He found Ereinion kneeling on the banks of a stream, soaking wet, taking deep breaths and clutching at his own upper-arms and shivering, somewhat flushed and pale at the same time, his sapphire eyes wide and wild. It terrified Elrond.
"Ereinion," he called out in a panic. He jumped off his horse and hurried over to him. "What is it, what happened?"
"I-" then he scowled. "Nothing, nothing Elrond." he took a deep breath yet again. "What is it?"
Elrond's brow furrowed in suspicion. "My king, we have received word that the Númenórean fleet has set sail. They will be here in less than two weeks."
"What?!" Ereinion almost tripped as he scrambled to get up, looking rather wild. "They are coming now?"
"Ye, my King," Elrond said grimly. "And that is not the first of threats that we face. The Haradrim armies are moving north, at the Númenóreans' guidance. The Easterlings are also making their way west as we speak. And apparently the numbers that we thought they had, has been doubled." He shook his head. "We must send out warnings- and we must prepare ourselves for war."
"Of course we must," Ereinion snapped. He found his horse and mounted it, readying to leave. "When we go back to Lindon we must send out word to every elven, dwarven and human kingdom-"
Elrond hesitated. "My King there is more."
Ereinion froze in the act of leaving.
Elrond himself looked pale as he said, "The Dunlendings are in an alliance with the King's Men. There are other men too. They will do their utmost to keep us occupied and to weaken us. They are the shock troops that the King's Men Númenóreans have in store for us."
Ereinion groaned and closed his eyes. This was going to be much worse than he had ever dreamed.
Word had been sent out to Greenwood, Lothlórien, Imladris and the Elendili present in Middle-Earth as well as various Northmen groups.
The sound of hammering, rushing fire and sizzling metal was constant in the blazing forges. Elves and men ran around grabbing weapons and pulling on armour. Drills kept going on, and they ate quickly and enough to keep their strengths for a long time- mostly on lembas that the elves baked in acres.
Elrond looked out ahead and thought that even this was not enough. They also had to deal not only with the Dunlendings in Middle-Earth, but also the large armies of Harad and Rhûn. The odds were stacked vastly on them, even without counting the King's Men and their colossal armada. They had to be everywhere at once, but they were not strong enough to take them on without a united front. He groaned.
Estela- oh, even she couldn't save them this time.
He had to rely on something else, she said. She told him to use his magic.
Galadriel must have told her that, Elrond thought sourly. Typical. The Lady of Light had always assumed that his magic was as powerful as hers. Melian might have been his ancestress but even that was not enough. He shook his head angrily. What in Arda was he supposed to do?
Not every problem could be solved by using magic!
But Estela had said there was no need to use such powerful magic, just his brains and imagination.
To beat an enemy, she told him, the key was not how much power one held, or how much force one used, just being sneaky, finding out weaknesses, picking them apart and exploiting them in ingenious and imaginative ways was enough.
He just had to keep his wits sharpened. Miraculously Erenion had not even asked him how he knew this- he assumed Ereinion thought it was his gift of Sight, but that gift was young and thus unpredictable at this stage. He needed a few more centuries to hone it perfectly, and to mould it to good use.
Speaking of Ereinion...
Elrond looked over in the courtyard as he was instructing the captains of provisions and where to send scout and troops ahead. Ereinion was busy drilling his soldiers.
One question hit his mind:
What happened to him in the woods?
The Easterlings were moving quicker than anticipated- no surprises- they were swift horsemen and the Haradrim relied on their Mûmakil which can move great distances but they needed a great deal of food, water and rest before great journeys and battles- even though they were hardy and strong.
No, Estela decided they would deal with the Easterlings first, in the meantime, Tulcano would go and help the High King Gil-Galad with the Dunlending's threat- and hopefully the Northmen would come to their aid as well.
As for the Wood-Elves- she dared to hope other divisions under her friends would be able to help them- keeping watch at all times and intervening when they must.
That wasn't even counting the Númenórean fleet.
The Easterlings had to be dealt first. The King's Men were powerful at sea.
That was dangerous for everyone else, due to their strength.
The Éothéod were horse-lords, much like some of the Easterling tribes, and they would become the ancestors of the Rohirrim. But at that point they were small in number compared to the threat against them.
They looked worried and as they donned armour and fed, watered and saddled their horses, anxiety ran rampant though they tried to keep it under control.
It was doing them little good.
Ælfnoð was their Lord and he kept his emotions carefully hidden. Other Northmen had been besieged by Dunlendings and the King's Men of Númenor but thye had stood strong, and they still had to.
They received warning from mysterious elven scouts- and even though they did not want to believe it- and who trusted strangers after all- Easterling banners, artifacts shown by the elf, and after being shown various camping sites and slain Easterling scouts, they could not deny it. Gil-Galad the High King had sent out word as well.
The Dunlending attacks had become more frequent and Ælfnoð still saw the thatched roofs of houses and cottages burning, the sound of women and children screaming as they were cut down, and farmers yelling as they tried to defend themselves and their families. Many people had died, a number of them still in the flush of youth.
And now the Easterlings were coming.
The elf that arrived to warn them mysteriously disappeared when Gil-Galad's messenger came, and so he deduced that the elf- although he was telling the truth- was not among Gil-Galad's Noldorin host. He had little time to think about it however. He asked for aid and the messenger pursed his lips, looked worried, but promised to do whatever he could before leaving.
Soon one of his captains left with his Éored to scout ahead and anticipate where the Easterlings were headed and where they would attack. The plan was to go for a surprise attack.
It would fail.
The captain and his Éored returned with two ragged-looking Easterlings who claimed to have been deserters about to be executed. He said that the two had claimed that the Easterling hordes were heading to them near the Anduin River in the Rhovanion. Although there had been proof, and it was said that the Easterlings would not arrive for a while, so the Éothéod would be able to trap them.
The Dunlendings were still down south, ravaging everything in their wake.
An extremely uneasy Ælfnoð forced himself to quell his unease and his nerves, even though he felt that something worse was going to come, listening to the Council of Lords was necessary for the Lord of the Éothéod to do so and to act upon their advice, especially if it was unanimous. And to take them by surprise was a good plan- not bad at all.
So why did he feel so uneasy- even more than other battles the seasoned leader had fought in?
Because there was a trap- and it was for them instead.
Yikes! I actually found the name of Ælfnoð on a website- it's Anglo-Saxon/Old English in origin, like other Rohirric names, interestingly enough it means 'Bold/Daring Elf.' The Anglo-Saxons did hold the myths and legends of elves in high esteem it seems judging by the number of names with 'elf' in their meanings.
A confession here- I am not experienced with writing romance! So I don't know how it goes, what Ereinion/Gil-Galad is supposed to act and say- Estela I admit, does not yet know if it truly was reality or a dream I don't think she can face the truth if it was reality. As for her feeling something just yet, remember this is someone who had lost everyone or nearly everyone, in such horrible painful ways, and although she can command a great deal of respect and loyalty, even affection and fondness from others, she is far from the little cheerful and loving elfling that she was before she left Valinor. The sorrow, pain and suffering of so many centuries has been hammered deep within her and she appears to have forgotten how to love- as for loving in a romantic way- that is something she has to learn- I don't imagine her parents would have sat down with her and had a good enlightening chat about boys when she was growing up during the War of Wrath- they would have concentrated on keeping her alive, teaching her to fight and forgetting what they would have told her had they remained in Valinor. She's also stayed away from many people for such a long time it's hard for her to open up and trust save to a select few- her followers, family and friends. So please be patient with us all!