A/N: Warning for graphic violence and death in this chapter.

Also, welcome new followers, and thanks to my reviewers! It had been quiet lately - I wasn't sure if anyone was still reading or enjoying the story. It was good to hear from you. There will only be a brief satisfaction, I'm afraid, regarding the meeting of our two protagonists. After all, Middle Earth is bigger than the two of them.

75 - Before the Chieftain's Hall

As he rode, Thranduil caught sight of a flaming arrow shot into the darkness of the clouded night sky from the tallest building in the center of the settlement.

"The queen must be there," Cembeleg reasoned from beside him. "But it seems the Rhun men are staying close to the gates, for now."

"I will lead my company around them to the right, and try to find Elluin," Thranduil concluded. "You make sure we are not pursued. Come around the other side and try to push them out. Perhaps they will be persuaded to abandon the settlement altogether."

"Yes, sire. Shall I sound the horns?"

"No. In fact, let us ride in a column four abreast to conceal our numbers. I do not want them to retreat further into the city." As his general turned and gave the order for the new formation, Thranduil leaned forward to whisper to his stallion. "Last push, my friend."

Thranduil began to worry about their success once they gained the walls. The townspeople would certainly not have taken the time to light torches against the night, which could have helped them find their way more quickly in the unfamiliar town. Even their Elven eyes could not pierce through a completely starless night, and warriors did not have free hands to hold lanterns.

But even as the thoughts passed through his head, a high wind began to blow and the clouds began to recede, allowing the starlight to illuminate the landscape. He let out a breath of relief. The Queen of the Valar favored them tonight.

The light made their approach known to the Rhun men. Thranduil watched as their leaders shouted and brought the horsemen into defensive lines just beyond the splintered remains of the gates. These were seasoned warriors—no hint of fear was on their faces despite the unexpected arrival of new foes. They extended their spears, and a handful of their own archers now lined the walls above.

Behind him, the Elves shouted a battle cry as they drew their swords.

Arrows started to fly both ways, and Thranduil leaned forward in his saddle. Another few heartbeats, and they were forcing their way through the doors, swiping enemy spears aside into the town. Thranduil single-mindedly turned toward the right, leading his company around the assembled Men, distributing wounds and fending off attempts against him and his horse, regretting every time he had to slow his steed to engage an enemy before he could incapacitate or kill him and continue onward.

Soon, the bulk of the Rhun men were behind him. He spared a look back, seeing that most of his company would soon be able to break free and join him. Cembeleg and the other half of the warriors were slowly overcoming the main host, but to his dismay, Thranduil noticed that many of the foreigners had broken off to move further into the town. Knowing that they posed a threat to his queen, Thranduil decided he could wait no longer.

"To me!" he called, trusting his soldiers to follow him as soon as they could. He rode on toward where he saw the arrow earlier, straining his ears for a hail, scanning the alleyways, windows, and rooftops as his horse navigated the obstacles in their path. The clatter of hooves behind him drew his attention only briefly. Two dozen ellyn were behind him, their swords, like his, spattering drops of crimson that glinted in the starlight with each movement of their horses.

"King Thranduil, here!" he heard a fair Elven voice call from a distance. His soldier Amben waved an arm from a rooftop that now came into view ahead.

The Elvenking's rush of relief was soon replaced with alarm as Amben began shooting arrows toward the ground right before him. The building was under attack from the Rhun men, who had apparently decided to brave the plague and attempt to take hostages. Thranduil did not know for certain, but he assumed that Elluin would be with the ill, or the women and children of the town—easy targets for warriors to capture.

"This way!" he called to his ellyn, and they sped as best they could through the maze of buildings to what was clearly the town's central hall. They were forced to stop short once they arrived. A good fifty of the Rhun men had launched an attack against the defenders: nearly four dozen Men who were still fighting before the doors, alongside a group of Elluin's Elven guards. He could not see her—she had to be safe within, for now.

Thranduil lost no time in evaluating the condition of his soldiers, charging instead immediately into the fray. "Save the Elvenqueen!"

Half the invaders wheeled their horses around to engage Thranduil's forces, many of them too slow as Thranduil spurred his mount toward the doors, his warriors at his side. The damned Rhun men simply would not retreat. One of them sounded a horn to call for reinforcements from the gate. Thranduil was distantly satisfied after many further moments of fighting that no response came, proof that Cembeleg was keeping them properly occupied. But the fight was still fierce as the horsemen redoubled their efforts against the doors.

As he slashed and shoved closer, Thranduil spotted Aurados two horse lengths ahead. His captain was still stabbing fiercely at his foes with one hand, but the other was pressed tightly to his side beneath his breastplate, where a wound was heavily bleeding. He was pale, and his moves were now entirely defensive as his comrades on either side struggled to keep the enemies at bay, some of whom had dismounted to attack more directly.

Thranduil shouted at him to hold on as he was blocked by two angry Men. They were entirely heedless of the fire in the Elvenking's eyes, and it proved their downfall. The first Man attempted a strike, which Thranduil easily deflected, and was immediately decapitated. Thranduil leaned sideways to avoid the other Man's sword point, and it skimmed ineffectively over his pauldron. The Man soon had Thranduil's sword piercing fatally into his unprotected side. He spurred his horse forward again without waiting to watch his opponent fall.

Just as his line of sight cleared, Thranduil saw Aurados open his guard to block an enemy spear thrust that would have skewered Idhanar as he grappled with a Rhun man beside him. The movement allowed another Man to land the point of his spear into the captain's upper sword arm. Aurados stumbled back with a cry, unable to remove his other hand from his side to stem the flow of blood. Thranduil cried out a protest and forced his way further, ensuring that the enemies still brave enough to come within reach of his sword were quickly eliminated.

He heard the booming voice of Cembeleg somewhere behind him. The gates must have been thoroughly conquered, enough for the general to send more of his soldiers to aid them. The remaining enemies either turned to engage them or decided, wisely, to flee down another street. Thranduil knew the fight would not last much longer. He jumped down from his horse.

"Elluin, open the doors!" he bellowed, running to kneel at his captain's side as the sounds of battle died down. Idhanar already had Aurados lying down on the muddied and bloodied wood of the hall's entry way. He was using his shoulder to wipe the blood out of his own eyes from a gash on his forehead, even as he tried to keep pressure on his companion's wounds with his hands.

Thranduil removed his sword belt as quickly as he could, trying to make a tourniquet for Aurados' arm. From within the hall, he heard Nidhair's voice spouting commands and the scraping of wood against wood. His heartbeat, quickened from the battle, beat more rapidly still both in fear for Aurados and in anticipation of seeing his wife.

"Hold on, Aurados," Thranduil murmured, pulling tight on the leather and ignoring the captain's wince of pain. "The healers are just within."

The captain grunted with a small nod of acknowledgement. "You came just in time, sire," he said lightly, though his voice was strained and his breathing was fast. "We were about to…claim all the credit… for the queen's defense ourselves."

"It would have been well earned," the Elvenking replied honestly.

The doors of the hall creaked open and Thranduil nearly lost his breath when Elluin rushed out, joy and sadness mingling in her features as she locked eyes with him, breathing his name in relief. It took a considerable force of will for him not to run over and pull her into his arms, his own love for her and gratitude for her safety far overpowering any anger at the earlier actions she had taken to land them all in this mess.

"Elluin, tend to the captain," he told her instead. Belatedly, he realized that she was prepared to do just that, and she came to kneel beside Idhanar with her tools, instructing him not to let up pressure while she quickly unbuckled the captain's obstructive breastplate. Her apron was quickly stained red where she knelt, and was soon spattered with more as she removed the dripping metal.

"What did you do, Aurados?" Elluin asked as she worked, attempting a jesting tone with little success. "Did you trip over a stone and fall onto a ram's horns?"

His bloodless lips twitched in the ghost of a smile, then his eyes closed against a shudder of pain.

"Aurados, look at me," Elluin urged, finally pushing Idhanar's hands away to examine the wound in his side. Her eyes went wide, and she looked at Thranduil in despair. He could do nothing but glance back at her grimly, knowing what was to come, his heart breaking for his beloved for whom the experience was all too new.

"Fear not, lady," Aurados gasped weakly into the sudden quiet, having seen her expression. "You are safe. I am at peace, Elluin."

Thranduil noted the use of his wife's name instead of her title. They were friends, then, indeed. She was trying and failing to save a friend.

"That does not suit me, Aurados," she said vehemently, her eyes watering and her hands shaking as she pressed them in useless desperation to the ruined flesh. "I had wished for many more journeys with you."

"Perhaps…in Valinor," he whispered. Then the faint, rapid movements of his chest ceased.

There was a moment of breathless silence as reality shifted. But soon enough, Thranduil sighed, released the tourniquet, and reverently shut his captain's eyes. The Elvenking had far too much experience with battlefield deaths to let himself be affected at this moment. But Elluin sat across from him, staring at Aurados' still, pale face, weeping.

"Elluin," he said gently, reaching over to take her blood-stained hand in his own. She looked up at him desolately. His heart ached to see her grief, but they had time for neither grief nor comfort now. "We mourn later, my heart," he told her. "There are more wounds to tend."

It took a moment for her to recollect herself. But then the Elvenqueen wiped her face on her sleeve, took Thranduil's offered hand to help her rise, and set to work.

"King Thranduil," a voice hailed in the Common Tongue. He turned to see the chieftain's son walking toward him, relatively unscathed except for the haunted look in his eyes.

"Lord Garren," he replied, mustering as much civility as he could. "I must thank you for your aid in protecting my queen."

"But for her and her maidens and guards, many more of my people's lives would have been lost, either from the plague or the battle." the Man said somberly. "Nevertheless, I regret that she was placed in danger through her willingness to aid us." He shifted on his feet as he glanced around. "And I am sorry for your losses."

Thranduil could not afford to allow his roiling emotions to manifest. A distant part of him knew that the Man could not be blamed for the foreign attack, nor the plague. He clung to that knowledge enough to give him a respectful nod of acknowledgment.

"We have brought more healers," Thranduil told him. "They had stayed safely beyond the gates during the battle, but should be joining us shortly."

Elluin's voice, more full of command than he expected at this point, interrupted. "Lord Garren, we cannot allow the wounded Men into the hall. They could sicken with plague, even if there were room for them. Where else can we take them?"

"The stables," chimed a gravelly voice from within the hall. It was an old Man with one leg, hobbling on a crutch to move his thin frame toward the door and point to a building of respectable size a short distance from the side of the hall. "They've a hearth, there, even. It's been a makeshift healing house before."

Garren nodded his agreement. He commanded a few of the able-bodied Men to lead the few horses within to a paddock near the walls and to make the stables fit to receive the wounded.

"My lord…" Elluin hesitated. "The chieftain…"

Garren stared at her blankly for a moment before sprinting into the hall. At Thranduil's questioning glance, Elluin shook her head to confirm that Borgel had died. Her attention was soon drawn by a woman inside the hall seeking direction in someone else's care.

Thranduil sent a handful of Elves to collect the abandoned horses of Rhun to prevent them from ruining gardens or causing further harm in the town. The horses of Greenwood were also gathered and taken outside the walls to drink from the river and graze on the plains under watch. Torches and lanterns were lit around the courtyard and the streets as the people who had been hiding in their homes cautiously ventured out to take stock of the damages and seek word of their loved ones. They eyed the Elves with somber respect, but avoided them when they could.

"Sire, the settlement is safe," Cembeleg said, marching up to stop beside the king. "Four dozen of the Rhun men fled eastwards when they realized their trouble, many of them injured. The rest are either somewhere in the streets, too weak to follow, or dead. I have ellyn collecting the wounded on all sides now to bring them here. What is your command for the surviving invaders?"

"Have their wounds tended, but contain them. Garren can decide what follows, and thereby establish his new leadership. Quarrels between Men are not my concern," he said coldly. "What of our ellyn?"

"Those Men were formidable foes," Cembeleg admitted. "At my last count, we've lost five of our warriors. There were many more injured, some of them severe. Our additional healers will have plenty to occupy them. They are making their way here."

Thranduil nodded. Satisfied that Elluin was able to direct the healers' efforts and manage the chieftain's hall, he soon joined the labor of finding the wounded and carrying them to the healers. After that, there was the more grizzly task of disposing of the dead. The bodies of the invaders were stripped of all but their clothes and burnt in a terrible pile on the plains. The bodies of the townspeople killed in battle, numbering in the seventies and growing slowly as some perished of their wounds, were laid out near the gates for a funeral that would occur the following day.

And his own fallen ellyn—six, now, at the last report—would be borne back to Greenwood in a cart to be buried in their own fashion.

~.~.~

Garren studied the peaceful face of his father. The Elf-maids had clearly tried to keep him alive as long as they could; the scent of herbs in the abnormally humid air of the room was nearly overwhelming. Upon his death, they had washed him and had some of the townswomen array him respectfully on the bed. For a long time, Garren sat there in disbelief. How could it be that he would never again meet his father's gaze in this life? They would share no more secret amusements, would never become vexed at each other, never simultaneously reach the same conclusions. He would no longer hear his father's wise counsel, or his terrible jokes, or his snores from the seat on the porch during the lull before dinner was announced.

He dimly registered when one of his men—and they were truly his men, now, under his sole command—came to give report on the aftermath of the battle. There was nothing pressing in the soldier's tone; all was in hand with the King and Queen of the Elves acting as authorities in the town. He was grateful to them for that. He could not bring himself to leave his father's side quite yet and pretend he was prepared to take charge of the settlement on his own with dry eyes and a clear mind.

His cousin came in later. She had been caring for her younger children throughout the turbulent night, but now she embraced him with one arm and wept quietly beside him for a while. Garren knew her husband had survived the fighting of the night, and her oldest child had recovered from the plague under the care of the Elves. In all, the town's losses had not been so heavy as they could have been. There were certainly many things for which he should be thankful. But he was focused much more on the death that mattered most to him. The plague, the attempted invasion, the deaths of so many of his friends had taken their toll on him already. His spirit would take long to rise from this additional blow.

The Elvenqueen came in some time before dawn and offered him a cup containing a small mouthful of a clear liquid she called miruvor. He took it thoughtlessly, confident enough in the reverence with which she held it that it could not have any ill effects. When he held it to his lips, he was surprised at the scent of sweet flowers. It was warm on his tongue, and he felt the warmth of it seep deeply into him after he swallowed.

Garren looked questioningly at the Elf lady for only a brief moment before he was struck with the resolve to rise. He bowed to her in thanks, then moved to the cot in the corner. It seemed that whatever the cordial was, it had imbued him with strength enough to trust, ease enough for his sore muscles for comfort, and peace enough to rest.

His plan was just to close his eyes until dawn, but the unexpected had become commonplace of late in Stony Bend. He fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.