Chapter Seventeen

Ereinion stood overlooking the fields outside Perlargir- the city of the Faithful in Middle Earth.

He knew they were in trouble.

The majority if the Easterling Armies were decimated and forced into retreat yet somehow the Haradrim had managed to increase their speed- well their gigantic beasts of burden would have helped to cross great distances in such a short time, yet he knew their weaknesses- on all accounts their mûmakil needed a great deal of food and water before and during their journeys. Yet without the help of the Éothéod and the other Northmen, they would have had fewer numbers at their disposal than Ereinion would have expected.

Ereinion began to count the men and elves assembled, even though he had already done it a few times, to stop his mind from wandering there- the reason the Northmen including the Horse-lords came to their aid.

He couldn't stop. He had to go on. Never get distracted- any soldier, even the most foolish, knew what distractions could cost. And it was especially dangerous now.

Never had Ereinion Gil-Galad been distracted before a battle. He had always thought things over with a level-headed thoughtfulness that had served him ad his elves, exceedingly well, and saved many a life.

He could not afford to fall back now.

He clenched his teeth and felt his fists tighten next to his sides. Taking several breaths and trying to steady his heart rate yet again, Ereinion barely registered the arrival of another elf.

Thranduil Prince of Greenwood stood there watching him. Ereinion turned and offered him a weary smile. "Greetings, Prince Thranduil." He said as calmly as he could. "To what do I owe the honour?"

"The honour is all mine," Prince Thranduil countered. "My father was in Lindon lately, I've been told."

"That is correct," Ereinion said warily not knowing where the conversation would lead them.

"And he has discussed with you the possibility of an alliance with our people?"

"Yes, that is also true," Ereinion confirmed, brow furrowing slightly.

Thranduil gave a rueful smile, looking possibly sheepish at the same time. "If things were not so dire, I would have very much preferred to stay within our borders," he said. "I do not approve of meddling in the affairs of others- but if it threatens us as well, it appears we have no choice," he gave a slight smile.

"I met her," he said suddenly.

Ereinion bolted inside and could not supress the rush, like cold fire, that flowed through his veins. "Who?" he asked breathlessly.

"The shieldmaiden," Thranduil said, shrugging, as if it were a matter of fact. "My father ordered me to seek her out to make an alliance- she refused, although she promised to come to our aid should we need it." He tilted his head. "What kind of a person would promise something without expecting payment- something in return? After all, an alliance would mean we would be there to aid her as well, should she need it." His ice-blue eyes glittered. "Yet she refused. It made me wonder who she was."

Ereinion stood stock-still. If she was who he thought she was, he wasn't going to give it away to this Woodland Elf. Thranduil had been born in Doriath, before his father founded the realm of Greenwood.

Few Wood-Elves would take kindly to the daughter and niece of Fëanorions. Not to mention the granddaughter of the most controversial elf of all (not counting Eöl and Maeglin). And although they were not inclined to prejudice as a rule… He still could not help but wonder if these Wood-Elves would rather their forest burn than accept help from a Fëanorian.

Forcing a smile, Ereinion said, "Perhaps she will be true to her word- in fact, she does not strike me as the type to break her word." Neither was her grandfather, if she really was who he thought. "So will you fight with us?" he asked. "Will you help us repel the Haradrim?"

"It seems we have little choice," Thranduil said dryly shaking his head. "Yes, if we must. And the Númenóreans too when the time comes."

Ereinion turned his head over the horizon.

"They will be here soon enough," was all he said.

Estela blinked. She and Telperinquar stood overlooking the sea in their mountain fortress.

Human eyes couldn't see. Human ears couldn't hear. But elves could.

Estela heard the waves moving unsteadily as if being pounded. She heard the disturbances in the sea. For once she forgot the natural longing she had to take a ship and to sail west, towards home, instead focusing on the disturbances she sensed in the waves- ships.

Strong ships- large and sturdy, built for war, not trade and travel. Ships groaning and creaking against the might of the waves and the weight of the men, horses and weapons they would have hoarded. They would have not brought supplies to beyond the length of the sea voyage, she reflected. In their arrogance the King's Men expected their newly conquered territories and vassals to supply food for them, if they did not raid for them.

Her lips twitched and Estela daughter of Maedhros the Tall, one of the few undefeated warriors ever known, thought of how presumptuous and arrogant the Númenóreans had become. Far from the great men of the west the way Elros, her father and brother's fosterling and Elrond's twin had desired, and her heart ached for him. He felt their were greatness in the race of Men, he saw so much potential. Look at them now, she thought bitterly. Look at us all.

"We still have time," Telperinquar said. "We can deal with the Haradrim first."

"Yes," she agreed softly. "Their ships are heavy. Filled not just with the weight of men, horses and arms, but also pride. They may have brought little supplies with them, save for the voyage, but they have great ships, strong, sturdy but heavy- much too large to launch the surprise attack they have intended.

Earlier on she had made certain that the Easterlings had not been able to send a message to the King's Men, warning them of the attacks that had destroyed most of them and forced them to retreat- Estela and her kin of course.

So Ar-Gimilzôr was unable to catch them unawares as he had planned. Yet in his arrogance, she believed he would keep on going anyway.

Estela closed her eyes and breathed deeply.

"I must go to Perlargir." she told her cousin. "Send out word to me when the fleet gets too close, I'll take a sizeable number of our forces, but not the whole of them. We will need our strength when we face the ships of Númenor."

Telperinquar nodded. Estela left the battlements where they had stood watching the sea and readied herself, steeling inwardly for a battle by the likes of which she had so dreaded- an open battle with an open enemy, and a large one at that.

The storm was about to hit and she knew it.

The Haradrim came and in great numbers- or rather they were made even more formidable by the size of their Mûmakil, whose grey skin, thicker than steel, though not as a dragon's hide, had been war-painted with red. Their six tusks gleamed brightly the ivory was adorned with spikes and Ereinion knew most people ad a sinking feeling about this, even though for now, they were camped and still far enough for the humans not to panic.

Ereinion recalled, with a sinking feeling, how he just knew before they even left Lindon, that due to the Haradrim and the few Easterling allies deciding to attack Perlargir, they had chosen the grounds on which they fought to their advantage. The plains outside Perlargir were flat. Flat and large enough to hold a few Mûmakil, not to mention the Easterling's cavalry.

And they were there for a particular purpose. They were large enough to view the elves and men like ants were viewed by them, but they weren't there to crush the alliance between the Faithful and the elves. No, even if the Haradrim did not know, the King's Men would have. Elves could easily take down a Mûmak well enough, but these had another purpose in the battle to come. With their colossal tusks and the spikes attached, the Mûmakil were meant to crash into the lines as fast as they could come, leaving little time for the elves, despite their speed, to take them down. Then crashing into the thangail, the Númenórean shield-wall, or phalanx formation, as well as the elves ones and the infantry. This would create gaps of course, that would be used to the advantages of the Easterling cavalry and their own infantry. They would destroy them in little time.

Ereinion had read the reports given by Elrond. How the peredhel had managed to obtain the information was a baffling mystery to the High King. But he trusted Elrond, despite not knowing the source. Elrond was one of the few he would never question or doubt. And the reports stated that apart from the Mûmakil and cavalry, they had ten-thousand infantry and the same number of spear-men, followed by thirty-thousand soldiers on foot. That was the numbers of their opposing force. In contrast Ereinion's Noldorin and their allies- Elendili, Northmen and Wood-Elves- numbered to forty-thousand on foot and seven-thousand riders.

This was a bad place for a fight but they had been too late. Ereinion realised that they had been distracted by the attacks made by Easterling survivors that did not return with the majority of their armies and the Dunlendings. They had had a major attack that slowed their way from Lindon. Imladris had been besieged, not that it was in danger of invasion, but their troops had been isolated and Ereinion and his forces had had to fix the problem before the Imladris elves could join them. Time enough for the Haradrim and their few Easterling allies to advance to Perlargir.

Now the cavalry of the Easterlings was on their left wing ready to charge first so that the defenders would have to fight through masses of men on horseback. On their right were troops on foot and one-hundred men on Mûmakil. The loud trumpeting deafened them.

Their side had thangails and shield-walls and phalanx as the bulk of their armies soldiers that grouped together for stronger, sturdier advantage. If their shields did not keep the worst out, their spears and long-swords would as the first few lines held those in front whereas behind spears were held to deflect whatever was thrown at them. They had cavalry to their advantage. So Ereinion was soothed at least.

And so he fitfully went to sleep after spending many an hour at the meeting tent. Unhappily he closed his eyes. Normally he was not such a bag of nerves. He had never before been nervous, not even before battle.

His dreams were turbulent.

Two elves embraced. On a dry hill a lone rider on a stallion held a banner aloft. The elves separated- one was slim and black-haired, but was lean, strong and healthy with a magnetic presence. The other had an equally magnificent and charismatic presence, and was even taller than the first. His hair, unlike the black or the gold of most of their house, was red, like burnished copper. He was magnificent in more ways than just one and all eyes were naturally drawn to him. But one thing marred him, and that was the absence of his right hand; cut off during his rescue after his time of torment.

A long distance away, a little girl crouched in the bushes. Elf-children were rare and thus most- elves and men alike, go their entire lives without ever seeing one, even if they knew grown elves. Her hair was a vibrant copper like her father and Ereinion saw that they were shot through with gold and silver. Her eyes were emerald.

The scene changed and he saw himself next to Tar-Minastir. The King of Númenor. It was a peaceful and glorious time, long before Númenor's decay into madness.

The king's hair blew in the wind and his grey eyes were sharp. "He comes," was all he said. "Whoever this menace is, this phantom, we shall defeat him. Our fathers had dealt with Morgoth. We shall never suffer his likes again."

The wind swirled and high above his banner flapped. A banner with stars.

Stars.

He saw a star up close, it had eight points.

Eight.

The image of the shieldmaiden came again, dressed in flimsy golden gauze that bared the creamy flawlessness of her skin. Her burnished copper hair, shot with silver and gold was thick and curling slightly, billowing about as she gracefully defeated her opponents. The movements, like not even water and wind, seemed to catch the beating of his heart and made it move in time with her dance of death. Her tiny bare feet danced. And Ereinion saw the darkness gathering around her, reaching to grab her. He wanted to cry out; to warn her, to rush forwards and grab her out of harm's way. For he knew it was the mysterious phantom he and Tar-Minastir had fought. But his vision changed.

He saw his father sparring in the courtyard with a tall copper-haired elf. The elf moved without flamboyance, did not show off as dancers did, but there was more grace, more beauty, elegance and precision in his movements than Ereinion had ever seen in any elf's, despite missing a hand.

And they became transparent and he saw the maiden on a dry hill, holding a banner. He saw not the banner but he saw her. A radiant light filled itself around her, forcing the darkness swirling around her at bay. The maiden turned towards her and he saw her face and eyes.

A more beautiful face never existed. Not even Lúthien had burned with such radiance, such fire in her fëa. Nor did she exude such strength despite such the most delicate finely-shaped form. Not to him. Her hair, brighter than Arda's fires billowed in strands from her helm and framed her face. Her eyes were richer than emeralds.

Estela.

Ereinion woke gasping. Outside he heard one of his soldiers preparing to wake him. Ereinion slid his feet off the bed and buried his face with his hands. His heart echoed in his head and his blood burned despite the possible consequences.

It was her. Estela. There was no doubt now. This dream had been sent by the Valar- by the All-Father. It had to be. The memories- his suspicions- there can be no more doubt.

It was her. His Estela.

His? When had he ever referred to anyone as his? When had she ever been his?

His blood burned but Ereinion could not possibly...He could never...

Can he? Was it possible?

Was-

But before he could continue his line of thought. Elrond's voice appeared outside his tent flap. "My king?" he called out. Ereinion was startled out of this line of thought.

"Yes," He called out.

Elrond stepped in. "The Haradrim are starting to advance. The humans have seen them."

Shaken by the after-effects of his dreams and starting to process the news Elrond had just brought to him, Ereinion decided to act upon what his natural instincts would normally be.

"Prepare for battle," was all he said. He went to put on his armour. "Send out word. If the other leaders do not yet know, they must be told. Rouse the troops." Elrond nodded and left the tent.

After he had left. Ereinion sagged and gasping, grabbed the tent canvas to keep himself from falling. This was not normal. He could not even focus. He could not face the facts- the logic of his dreams and on the battle ahead. This was not normal.

And yet he had never felt more alive.

Estela rode faster than she had ever ridden. Then she halted. She took a deep breath. She might as well tell them of her support- all of them.

"Fëapoldon," she called to one of her friends. He brought his grey mare beside hers. "Yes, my lady?" he asked. Her horse skittered nervously, as if sensing her hesitation.

"Ride forwards to Elrond Half-Elven Lord of Imladris," she said. Her friends did not know who her friends and sources were inside the courts of Lindon, Lothlórien and Númenor. It was better for as little ears to find out least word spread. "Tell him the Shieldmaiden offers her help here."

Alarm spread through Fëapoldon's face, but Maltariel's surprisingly bore an expression of pride. She knew the messenger was an Ainu. She knew Estela, no matter what had happened to her, will never disobey one of the Guardians of Arda nor the Ilúvatar.

"In the Battle of Perlargir and in the invasions to come." Estela said firmly. She would reveal her real identity, but not just before they accepted, she had helped them, and not before they trusted her. It would jeopardize everything.

"I would consult with all of you in this, but the decision of the All-Father is final," she said. "A messenger spoke to me. Now I have hope." She turned to him again. "Please go out ahead. I will not reveal myself and yourselves just yet. Not before we've helped them and not before they trust me."

In this Fëapoldon nodded. He swallowed, he looked incredulous, but he had never doubted her- her sanity, her courage, her truthfulness or her ingenuity. And he would not do so now, especially not with Maltariel's look directed towards him that confirmed everything. He rode forwards.

Elrond was incredulous. Was she mad? Why was she risking everything- everything- her life, her reputation, by revealing herself? This was threatening. What if they did not trust her? What if they, as she had preciously pointed, preferred to die than have her save her? Why this sudden change of heart.

But Fëapoldon shrugged.

Elrond went to Gil-Galad, his own mind reeling.

"What?!" the High King said.

They all stared at him. Oropher, his son Thranduil, Amdir of Lothlórien, The Northmen including the Éothéod, the Elendili. Elrond took a deep breath, for once doubting Estela's sanity after so many centuries of pain, sorrow and heartbreak the likes of which he had never imagined.

"Where is she?" Amdir demanded. Celeborn looked demandingly at Elrond, clearly desiring an explanation later. Galadriel closed her eyes. "The time is almost near," she whispered.

Everyone turned towards her, knowing her to be one of the most gifted of beings and possessing the Gift of Sight.

"A Darkness is upon us," she said. "The darkness within Númenor is but a minor threat compared to what comes after," she whispered. "And this Shieldmaiden will help save us from the fires of Utumno, unleashed again through Middle-Earth. If she falls, if her direct line falls, so will Arda descend into darkness once more."

The silent drums of horror echoed at her words. A greater threat than the King's Men? Utumno- Morgoth's work again? What did this mean? What hope did they have?

They did not doubt her power.

"From the ashes of pain, and from the sins of the fathers will she emerge," Galadriel continued. "Into purity the Valar have sent us this one gift- Ilúvatar's gift. Hope."

She opened her eyes and turned towards them. "Do not turn away this gift," she said harshly. And a change went upon her and they all sensed it, even if they did not see it, she was no longer the regal, calm and composed elf-lady they had known. "She has been given by the All-Father amidst suffering and pain." Then they saw it. Great power emanated from the lady as she spread her arms. White and green light until she seemed almost as terrible and great as Ulmo when he rose from the depths. "Accept her or accept the Doom, this is the warning you have been given."

And they drew breath and the Lady of the Light lowered her arms and the light faded, she stood there gasping.

Ereinion's sapphire eyes turned to Elrond. "Where?" he choked upon the words. He was almost trembling himself. Elrond looked aghast. What in Arda was going on? "Where is she?!"

Elrond swallowed. "Outside in the woods," he managed to say. "She's there."

Oh Valar, what have we done?

Ereinion tried to breathe deeply. He was in a sweat and his pulse was uneven. His hands trembled and gripped the leather harness of his horse tightly. His guards looked more than nervous- fearful even.

Not in the thousands or hundred's of years they had known him had they seen their king like this,

Ereinion's blue eyes shot towards the trees. He swallowed. A golden-haired maiden stood at the base of an oak. She was dressed in armour, but this was not that maiden?

"The Shieldmaiden?" Someone asked. She stepped back and held out her arm in announcement. From behind a tree, on a grey-white horse, a maiden emerged, straight and proud, her noble bearing accentuating her graceful, lithe figure, svelte yet voluptuous. In beautifully forged and moulded armour, decorated but not overly-ornate, her head was covered by a helm which she wore like a crown. Her head turned and they could see her face within.

It was pale as alabaster and absolutely flawless in complexion, so much so it glowed radiantly, even though elves naturally reflected starlight on their persons, this elleth appeared not to have needed it. Her cheekbones were fine and high, her nose dainty, tapered and jawline exquisite and delicate. Her eyes were almond, with long black lashes, thick and silky-soft, liquid and emerald.

This was her. Ereinion's heart stopped before proceeding to thud harder and faster.

He rode forwards, not really realising he was doing so.

On his black stallion, he was a still as a statue. His heart thudded and he rode closer. His sapphire eyes made contact with Estela's emerald ones. They widened.

A rush like electricity on water tingled on Estela's skin and in her blood. She started, though not visibly, a rush which drummed her own heart like mad. Her arms trembled but she kept it hidden.

Ereinion Gil-Galad made contact with her eyes at last.

And his spirit latched on to hers and he wasn't going to let go.

Never.

Really sorry for the HORRIBLY LONG WAIT! It's been really busy for me and I've been going crazy. Tar-Minastir was the King of Númenor whom Gil-Galad fought alongside with to defeat you-know-who (or perhaps you don't know!) before he re-emerged. Of course I've decided that he didn't know who he was then. As I've said, I'm not experienced with writing romance, I hope it's not too vague or flowery. The Battle of Perlargir will come soon enough but Estela has decided not to reveal her true identity until she has proven herself- on a rather large scale and visibly- to them all. Of course, Gil-Galad has worked out who she is now, and Oropher still suspects- we don't know about Thranduil, but if he and Legolas had a dislike for dwarves in general in the Hobbit, then he might not take kindly to the daughter and granddaughter of Kinslayers. So we'll have to wait but it will come soon enough!