Chapter 5: Out of the Shadow

Returning his attention back to his book, Elrond had barely had a chance to find his place on the page when he heard a light tapping on the study door. Such a delicate touch, he knew could only belong to one person, his beloved daughter.

“Come in Arwen,” he called, wondering why she was being so formal, usually only when he had guests did any of his children bother to knock before entering his study.  

“I am afraid you will have to have to open the door for me, Adar, my hands are full. I have brought you some morning tea,” she explained. Elrond put his book aside and walked over to open the door for her, smiling as he took the tray she offered.

“I see you have been baking,” he said as he placed the tray on his desk and selected one of the delicious looking pastries Arwen occasionally made for him and her brothers. “Elladan and Elrohir will be sorry they left so early, it has been quite a while since you last spent time baking for us.”

“I know, but my latest embroidery project has kept me fully occupied theses last few months,” she said as she poured them both some of the herbal tea that was Elrond’s favourite.

“And what have you been sewing?” he asked conversationally.  

“Oh… I am afraid it is a secret, for now.” Elrond knew his daughter well, but before he could satisfy his curiosity as to why she was being so secretive, Arwen picked up the bookmark that lay across the open pages of Elrond’s book. “I remember this!” she exclaimed, hoping to divert her Adar’s attention. She did not wish to lie to him, but neither did she wish to tell him of the banner she was making for her love. “This is the first sample I ever sewed. I see now that Mother was generous in her praise, for the stitching is really atrocious,” she said, laughing at her childhood handiwork as she inspected it with adult eyes.

“Perhaps it seems so now, but I have always thought it to be beautiful, just as you are,” he said, placing an affectionate kiss on his daughter’s cheek. Arwen threw her arms around his neck and hugged his as she had often done as a child, and buried her face into his shoulder. The thought of Aragorn’s banner, and all that implied for her future made Arwen suddenly realise how heartbreaking her eventual separation from Elrond would be for both of them. “I love you, Adar,” whispered her heart. “I love you, Aragorn,” whispered her soul. Elrond had not heard the words, but he had easily felt her emotions and he gently removed her arms and took her hands in his.

“Promise me that you will remember that you will always have my love, Arwen, even should we one day find ourselves in conflict,” he said, for even now he felt the stirrings of ill feeling at the thought of her remaining behind with Aragorn rather than sail to the West with her kin.

“I will remember,” she promised, lifting one of his strong hands to her lips and gently kissing it to seal her vow. The tender moment was broken by the sound of heavy mortal footsteps treading down the hallway, followed by an extraordinarily loud knock on the door.  

“Enter,” called Elrond, surprised to see Halbarad, one of Aragorn’s Dúnedain kinsmen stride into the room.  

“Greetings, Lord Elrond, Lady Arwen,” he said bowing respectfully to them both. “Forgive my intrusion, but I come on an urgent errand,” he said. “I received your message that Aragorn is somewhere in Rohan and is in dire need of reinforcements. I and thirty nine Dúnedain will travel to his aid.”  

Elrond knew he had sent no such message, but a voice at the back of his mind whispered to him that Halbarad was speaking the truth, as he knew it. Elrond easily recognised the voice as Galadriel’s, and he suddenly knew that Elladan and Elrohir would accompany the Grey Company south to aid their foster brother.  

“My sons are not here at present, they are on patrol with Glorfindel,” said Elrond. “I am not expecting them back for at least two weeks, but I think they would wish to join you.”  

“Their presence will be most welcome. It will likely take until they return for all my men to arrive here. I hope you have no objection to my use of Rivendell as our meeting place?” asked Halbarad.  

“No, of course not, Dúnedain are always welcome here.”  

“Let me show you to a guest room,” offered Arwen, taking the Ranger’s arm. “I will see you at the evening meal, Adar,” she said over her shoulder as she led her guest out into the hallway.

                                               *******

Two weeks seemed but a mere blink of an eye as far as Elvish time is measured, and as the days quickly passed by, an increasing sense of dread, of something dark and evil approaching weighed heavily on Elrond’s mind. He knew it would not be much longer before Sauron revealed his presence, and all of Middle Earth would be under attack. He felt an enormous sense of relief when the day finally arrived that Elladan and Elrohir returned safely from their patrol with the incorrigible Glorfindel.  

“I tell you, Adar, we could smell the aroma of the freshly baked bread a league away,” declared Elladan, who had been eagerly anticipating a nice hot breakfast almost since the day that they left to escort Thranduil back to the Misty Mountains.  

“A slight exaggeration, Elladan,” scoffed his brother. “I estimate the distance to be only several hundred yards, but I cannot deny that the aroma is also making my mouth water!”  

“Well, it is now only a short distance to the dining hall, and I am not waiting a moment longer,” said Elladan as he headed quickly towards the door behind which the fresh bread awaited. Elrohir was not far behind.  

“What news from the borders?” Elrond asked Glorfindel as they followed the hungry younger Elves into the dining hall. 

“There are reports of an increase in the frequency of attacks by not only Orcs, but stray bands of wolves and other dark creatures,” replied Glorfindel. “I think it will not be long before the forces of Sauron attack. I can now feel the chill of the shadow approaching, just as Thranduil has been able to do all these years. It is very disturbing, and it is very close.”  

“I feel it too,” said Elrond, declining the fresh bread roll Elrohir offered him with a shake of his head.  

A loud burst of laughter from a table at the other end of the hall caught the attention of the Elves at Elrond’s table.  

“Well met, Halbarad!” shouted Elrohir across the room.  

“Well met indeed, Elrohir, Elladan,” replied the Ranger walking over to their table to join them.  

“What brings you to Imladris?” asked Elladan.  

“A summons and a message requiring my company to ride south, to Aragorn’s aid. I was merely waiting for all my men to arrive, which they now have. We depart in the morning for Rohan.”

“We will be ready, we knew Aragorn could not win a war without our help,” said Elrohir light-heartedly.

“Exactly!” agreed Elladan, joining in the laughter.  

“What is this about a message?” asked Glorfindel, his voice lowered so that only Elrond could hear.  

“I know of no such message, but it appears to have come from Lothlórien. In his letter, Celeborn hinted at something Galadriel had seen in her mirror, but he did not fully explain. I heard Galadriel speak to me when Halbarad arrived, confirming she had sent the message, and that my sons are to accompany the Dúnedain, but I know nothing more of her plans” replied Elrond with a wry grin.  

“You are fortunate she told you as much as she did,” said Glorfindel with a snort of disgust. “I can understand why Thranduil is often at odds with those two, for I also find their mysterious behaviour irritating at times. Are you going to permit your sons to ride to war?”  

“I have already sent one, and I appear to have no choice in regards to the other two, they certainly wish to go,” replied Elrond with a shrug of resignation.  

“As I told your equally morose friend, Thranduil, Legolas and your sons are well past their majority, they have the right to chose their own paths, and they are well able to deal with the cosequences of their actions.” 

“I realise that, but I do not have to like it!” declared Elrond. “Nonetheless, I would have sent them south anyway. I have an important message that must reach Aragorn, and whilst I trust his kinfolk, I prefer that my sons deliver it in person. I can not leave Imladris yet, or I would go myself.”  

“No, you most certainly cannot leave while you have Imladris to defend. No doubt Sauron will be seeking to destroy all his enemies, and I am sure you know that we Elves are one of his most hated foes,” advised Glorfindel.

“Yes, I am well aware of that fact. Imladris will be safe, protected by both those who remain here, and Vilya, but I am somewhat concerned about Mirkwood. Do you think Thranduil has the strength to survive an attack?” asked Elrond, seeking reassurance from the Elf Lord.  

“Yes, of course he does. The Wood Elves have been preparing for this war for a long time, and this time the attack will come on their own ground. Thranduil is a very powerful Elf in his own right, as are most Sindar, and he has developed such a harmony and rapport with his forest that there is no doubt Mirkwood will hold, even without a ring of power,” answered Glorfindel, showing nothing but total confidence in his friend.  

Early the next morning, Elrond and Arwen were at the gates of Imladris to farewell Elladan, Elrohir and the rest of the Grey Company. Elrohir carried messages for Aragorn from both his Adar and his sister, and Elladan lead Aragorn’s horse. Halbarad carried a tightly furled banner rather than a spear, and with a barely perceptible nod of his head, he acknowledged his promise to Arwen to deliver the banner, which she had crafted in secret, to Aragorn.

                                                   *******

Thranduil and his guards were surprised to have arrived at the outskirts of Mirkwood without encountering even a single band of Orcs. Nor did they glimpse any of the spiders that infested parts of the forest as they travelled the Elf Path back to the King’s Hall. Anyone but Thranduil might have believed that the forces of evil had withdrawn from the area, but the Elvenking knew better. He could feel the weight of shadow grow heavier every day, until finally the day came when Thranduil did not need to look to the morning sky to know that the cloudy darkness of Sauron's shadow had finally blanketed his realm; the chill of fear that penetrated to his very soul told him it was so. It had taken three thousand years, but the battle he had dreaded, ever since Isildur took the One Ring, had finally begun, only this day when he looked south, it was not fear of the Dark Lord that filled his heart, it was fear for the safety of his son. 'May the Valar keep you safe, Legolas, wherever you are,' he whispered.

The distant sound of horns, warning of intruders in the forest, reawakened the fiercely powerful warrior who had once fought bravely against Sauron, and Thranduil quickly donned his armour and sought out the captains of his army. Only a few of the most senior warriors had also fought alongside him at Dagorlad, and survived. At his insistence they had spent the last few centuries training the younger elves in the skills of war, and the defence of their realm. Thranduil watched proudly as, with the precision learned from many practice drills over the centuries, every Wood Elf quickly moved to their appointed place, either in the trees outside the entrance to the caves of the palace, or to within the safety of the stone walls.

The forces of Sauron were also well prepared, and from behind the advancing ranks, flaming arrows were being fired into the dwellings that were built in the forest as well as into the trees themselves, setting everything alight. The agonised whispers of the burning trees only further enraged the Elves, who cared not so much for the destruction of their homes, as for the senseless destruction of the living forest. Quickly realising the danger of the blazing trees to his archers, most of whom had chosen to hide in the branches, Thranduil ordered a retreat to the caves that, in his wisdom, he had foreseen would become a refuge.

The warrior King stood guard at the end of the bridge leading to the entrance of his palace until the last Elf had reached the safety of the caves, his very stance a challenge to the approaching evil horde, his bow at the ready daring them to attack. As the wave of swarthy men and Orcs bore down on the defiant Elf, the air was filled with the singing of arrows, and the ringing of metal on metal as swords locked in their deadly dance. Discarding his bow in favour of his sword, and barely able to see or breathe in the thick smoke that now shrouded his beloved trees, Thranduil skilfully defended his retreat from the bridge to the gates. He ignored the shrieks of the enemy that echoed through the burning forest as they fell, but each silent cry as the light of immortality of another slain Elf faded away, cut deep into his heart.

As the gates were slammed behind him, he leaned wearily against them, and wiped the grit and grime from his eyes, bidding a safe journey to the Halls of Mandos to those of his people he had seen fall in the battle.

The palace was now under siege, but Thranduil was well prepared for this outcome, and he allowed himself a small smile, knowing that it would take more than mere stone or wood or even brute strength to break through the seal that he had placed on the gates with his own power. With a sigh of relief he walked quickly to his throne room, which had now become the war council room, and it suddenly occurred to him that this attack was likely not an isolated incident, but part of Sauron's final war on Middle Earth. 'Be safe, Legolas,' was his next thought before his attention returned to the battle plans.

Spreading the plans to the palace onto the large table in the centre of the room, Thranduil and his captains quickly reviewed the next stage of their defence; the destruction of the attacking horde. Small groups of Elves were to leave by the 'escape route' through the floor in the cellars that the Hobbit, Bilbo Baggins had 'discovered' many years ago. This would allow them to make forays into the forest from the river, the surprise attacks hopefully gradually reducing the numbers of the enemy at the gates. These were similar tactics the Wood Elves had often employed in their defence of Mirkwood over the centuries and all the warriors had the skills and the expertise to make the plan succeed. And it did. After several days, and many surprise attacks, the forces of the Dark Lord were greatly diminished in number, and had abandoned a direct attack on the unyielding gates in favour of hunting the Elves in the remains of the forest. Taking advantage of the situation, Thranduil opened the gates and a final battle was waged and, as he had predicted, the Silvan Elves easily defeated the remnant of Sauron's forces.

The celebrations were somewhat subdued that evening, for there was a need to lament their slain warriors, and the destruction of the forest. Despite the sadness, there was now an undercurrent of hope, and as they feasted beneath the stars, somehow the Silvan Elves felt that Sauron had been totally defeated this time, that the shadow had been lifted from all of Middle Earth.