"Thonnas. Sub-Captain. Naith Company. Pengedhel. Warden. Naith Company."
"I didn't realize how many were hers," murmured Haldir, referring to the fact that many of those who came to the battle were from Valarda's troops in the south.
"Shall we pause again?" asked Erestor, looking up from the scroll.
Haldir closed his eyes. "How many do we have left?"
"Seven."
"Please proceed," said Haldir.
Erestor cleared his throat. "Ordulus. Warden. Ephel Company."
Slamming a fist weakly into the ground, Haldir shook his head. "I shouldn't have let him come. He was just a youth, he had such promise…"
"Thandronen. Com-"
"Wait! That's a mistake." Haldir looked at Erestor in hopes he would correct himself.
Erestor licked his lips and began again. "Thandronen. Commander, retired. Tarag Company." Looking up, Erestor gasped and rushed to his feet, dropping the scroll. "Haldir, you cannot get up, you may injure yourself again," said Erestor, placing Haldir's arm around his shoulder before the young elf could stumble back to the ground. "You are weak, you need to rest."
"Take me over there," said Haldir, motioning across the garden.
"Haldir, you-"
"Help me, Erestor, or stay out of my way!" he growled, pulling away from the advisor and to his destination.
"Wait, Haldir, stop!" Erestor drew a breath, and replied, "I'll help you over. Don't strain yourself." The pair slowly walked to the mirror, Haldir relying heavily on Erestor to get him there.
"Pitcher," Haldir pointed, and Erestor left him to lean himself on the empty basin while he took up the silver vessel and dipped it into the fresh water, pulling it up and letting it glisten in the sunlight. Erestor handed it to Haldir with a slight nod, stepping back again as Haldir lifted the pitcher shakily above the mirror, and then slowly tipped it to let the water pour down.
As the last of the drops fell into the small pool, Erestor said softly, "I was not aware that Artanis had taught anyone else her art."
"She hoped Celebrian would be the one." Haldir handed the pitcher back to Erestor and closed his eyes, drawing his strength. "Rumil wanted to and tried with great enthusiasm to learn, but never succeeded. Orophin wanted no part of it. I have varied degrees of success, and I fear, I am not of a mind to bring the images forth, but I shall try."
Noticing that Haldir was still clinging to the basin, Erestor stepped forward and asked, "Would you like for me to help you stand?"
Haldir shook his head. "No. I want to hear what they are saying," he said, his eyes closed in concentration. When Erestor said nothing, Haldir reached one hand out in the direction he guessed Erestor to be in. As he reached back, Erestor found his wrist gripped and pulled gently to the basin, where his palm was rested on the side of the mirror. Immediately, he began to hear sounds - whispers of words.
"Echoes," Haldir told him, eyes still closed. "They'll go when the images come and then the echoes will come together with the pictures." Erestor watched, placing his other hand on the mirror as well. The echoes became louder, and then ceased.
"Is it-"
"Shhh!" Haldir squeezed his eyes shut tighter, and let out a long breath that made slight ripples across the top of the mirror. Inhaling again, he opened his eyes slowly and gazed into the mirror.
---
"Adar, we need to speak to you-"
"-about something important."
Thandronen put down the quiver that he was filling with arrows and approached his sons. They were alike, perfectly identical. Even the twins of Imladris differed, greatly in some ways, whereas the sons of Thandronen were near perfect copies. Only he and his wife could truly tell them apart by appearance, and Ferevala had sailed for the West long years ago.
The twins stopped, one with his arms crossed, and the other with his hand in his pockets. Thandronen placed one hand on the first elf's shoulder and said, "What is it, Ferevellon?"
"The troops are leaving now, not in the morning."
"Well, it is good that I readied myself this afternoon past," replied Thandronen, moving back to his weapons.
Ferevellon looked to his brother, and Fereveldir bit his lip, then said, "We are here to say goodbye, Adar."
Turning, Thandronen laughed. "I may have been away from the patrol for some time, but I do think I am capable of helping to cut down a few thousand orcs."
"The Captain is taking no one who is bound, especially not those with children. We wanted to say goodbye to you before we left, even though we disobey orders by doing so," answered Ferevellon.
Thandronen nodded. "I see." He picked up his sword and held it in his hands, turning it and looking at the inscription and smiling fondly. The names of his sons, newborn at the time that the sword was forged, could still be read for they had been etched sharply into the metal. "But I will choose my own path. I am not bound to service as you or the rest of the soldiers are." He sheathed the blade and gathered his armor and provisions. "I am leaving now, and I will meet up with you at some point down the road. Do not look for me, and say nothing when I fall into line. I will bring my own food so that the Captain will not notice me. But I will fight in this battle," he declared.
His sons smiled at this news. Fereveldir threw his arms around his father and hugged him tightly, while Ferevellon clasped hands with Thandronen after Fereveldir stepped back. "What of Naneth?" the younger asked suddenly. "What if something should happen?"
"Nothing is going to happen," said Thandronen confidently. "If anything does go wrong, she is in Valinor, there are those there who will keep her strength and spirit up until the time that I would return to her. Wouldn't mind it, honestly," he joked to them. "I've been grown so long; it might do me a bit of good to be an elfling once again."
---
The image in the mirror swirled and became nothing more than a haze of blue and violet. "So that is the answer. I should have known such a thing would happen." Haldir looked across the mirror to Erestor, who was holding the handkerchief out to him again. When Haldir looked at him quizzically, Erestor replied by looking down into the mirror. Drops were hitting the surface, and Haldir reached one hand to his face and found he was crying.
Taking the cloth, he nodded and wiped his eyes. "He was a good elf. All three of them were good elves, friendly and very peaceful. Thandronen, after he retired from his position, he often sat below his talan and made kites from fallen branches and mallorn leaves for the elflings. His sons never married, I spoke with them often, and they were always so courteous and happy." Sighing, he bowed his head. "I destroyed that."
"No, penneth, you did not. 'Twas the Dark Lord who has brought this upon us."
"I was the wrong choice," Haldir mumbled, watching the cloudy water of the mirror. "If someone else would have led, perhaps so many would not have fallen. I had not been part of a battle this great before, and so I put my trust in Estel to give us direction. He gave the orders, but I cannot fault him. I was chosen to lead, that is what I should have been doing."
"You did something many of us would not do. There are more experienced elves, those who have seen battle before who could have led the army. You did better than they did in marching the troops to Rohan, and fighting with them at the front of the line. It reminded me of Elrond."
"I'm not sure if that's a compliment," Haldir said, smiling ruefully as he handed the cloth back, "but thank you." Dipping his hand into the calming water and drawing his fingers through it, Haldir added, "I wonder how he fell. Thandronen, that is. He taught me much of archery and swordplay. I should like to have gotten my hands on the neck of the Uruk who took him down, though, he was a mighty warrior, and I do not think he would have been taken down by just one."
---
Turning his sword in a wide arc to whip the blood from it, Thandronen scanned the area for more of the Uruks. When the battle began, he had enjoyed himself, but now after fighting in such close range for so long, he was beginning to tire both physically and mentally. Looking to his right, he saw that Haldir was still killing the creatures with a mad lust for their blood, but then, if the rumors of what happened to his sister were indeed true, Thandronen felt no pity for the beasts.
To his left, Thandronen was surprised to find no Elves in view. Searching once more as more of his foe came forward, he began to slay them, still watching for signs of his kinsfolk. There were a few Men, but still, none in the brilliant armor that had been sent from Imladris. As soon as he had cleared a path, he made his way across the piles of bodies, fighting as he went.
Something made him look down, where the wall had broken away, and as his sword plunged into the gut of the nearest Uruk, he spied an Elf below who was being rather effectively backed against a part of the wall that still stood. Grabbing over his shoulder, Thandronen cursed that he did not have any arrows left, though he knew it had been the case for some time.
Swinging his sword in a circle waist-high as he turned, he cut open four of the creatures, and gave himself the time he needed to judge the jump down. Bracing himself as he hit the ground, he rolled out of the path of an enemy axe before taking down the wielder. Enraged that their task was no longer as easy, the Uruks doubled their efforts on the elf they had circled. Thandronen let out a hoarse battle cry and lunged at the attackers, mercilessly cutting them down, slicing throats and in the confusion, even causing them to maim or kill one another.
As the last of them fell, Thandronen could have jumped for joy when he saw that the elf that stood, covered in mud and blood, was none other than one of his dear sons. "Father, Fereveldir-" began Ferevellon, but he stopped suddenly, his eyes wide, and he choked and grabbed at his neck.
Thandronen nearly dodged the second arrow that was fired, a heavy crossbow quarrel that grazed his leg before skidding across the ground into the wall. Without chance to miss the opportunity, Thandronen fell to the ground and retrieved the arrow. His sword was out of his hand, and his bow in it, and the quarrel fired through the skull of the Uruk before he could think that he had done it.
His next concern was his son, who had fallen to his knees. Thandronen took hold of the shaft that had come through to the other side and broke it off, then yanked the other end out of Ferevellon before ripping a section from the dark cape he wore. One arm was around his son while the other made an attempt to bandage the injury, but the rag was soaked within moments, and Thandronen desperately tried to rip another section from the cape.
"Ada," Ferevellon managed, spitting out a mouthful of blood away from his father best he could. "Ada. Fereveldir, he is fading, I was trying to get to him. Go to him for me, I am going fast and cannot make it. He fell West of here," said Ferevellon, his head lolling in that direction.
"We're going to him together," Thandronen said as he tied off the third piece of cloth, then hoisted Ferevellon up and over his shoulder while picking up his sword in the other. Engaging only the Uruks necessary to make it to his destination, Thandronen found his strength renewed - until he found his other son.
Settling Ferevellon on the ground next to Fereveldir, he assessed the extent of his younger son's injuries and was amazed that Fereveldir still clung to life as badly broken as his body was. Inch by inch, Fereveldir's hand found its way to Ferevellon's. "I waited for you to come," he whispered in a faraway strained voice. "I prayed Namo would let me see you both once more. I'm sorry, Vel. I distracted you."
Ferevellon's fingers curled around the hand that found his while Thandronen placed his sword on the ground and took a hand of each of his sons into his. "No regrets, Dir. No regrets," he said, rubbing the fingers of his little brother. "I am ready," he said after a cough, turning his head to look at Fereveldir.
"I'm scared, Vel," admitted the younger as he looked back, and received a squeeze to his hand.
"We'll go together. I'll be with you, I promise, I won't leave you."
Fereveldir nodded slightly, closing his eyes. "Don't leave me."
"No, Dir, no, I won't," Ferevellon made a gagging noise and spat again. Regarding their father, he said, "We love you, Ada," and Fereveldir nodded, his eyes squeezed shut and tears streaming down the sides of his face as he forces himself to keep breathing just a little longer.
"I love you both. My little warriors," whispered Thandronen, kissing each of his sons. When he drew back, they were gone. He took the precious time to close Ferevellon's eyes, ignoring the call to fall back. Careful not to disrupt the hands that were held, he took up his own sword and Fereveldir's, and turned with a vengeful look to the Uruks that approached.
The orders to fall back were still in his mind, and he now worried. He had heard them shouted out in Westron, and then repeated in his own tongue, but cut off abruptly. Heading to the stairs that were still standing, Thandronen headed in the direction that he had last seen Haldir. "You bastards," he said in regards to the Uruks. "You'll take all our sons to make up for your lot as fatherless beasts," he said to himself, stooping to close the eyes of the fallen Captain. Dead. 'No, not dead,' he told himself, 'just sleeping in the Halls of Mandos until the time they reawaken in Valinor.' If there was any consolation to this, it was that all who fought this night secured their rebirth into a better place. "Sleep, Haldir. Your father could not be here with you, but I shall make him aware of your valiant deeds here."
Thandronen made his way to the keep, but his ears picked up the terror-filled cries across the way. He found himself running toward the shouting while others ran past in the opposite direction. On the wall, he found a Man, and not one who was a soldier, looking fearfully down the wall below. "Please, my son!" He pointed down, and Thandronen looked below, seeing a boy of no more than ten or twelve trying his best to fend off three approaching Uruks with nothing but a hunting knife, the blade of his sword shattered at his feet.
"He could not climb the wall, so I reached the top and found a rope, but I threw it down and then had to drop it when the enemies approached me. I killed them now, but the rope is too heavy, and-"
Thandronen held his hand up for silence. "Are there any stairs leading down?" he asked urgently in broken Westron.
The Man shook his head. "Please, help me," he begged. "I've seen the rest of my children killed tonight, and he is the last child of a widowed old man."
Growling at the impossibility of the situation, Thandronen sheathed one of the swords he carried. "I will do what I can, but I ask of you a favor, from one father to another. My sons," he said, pointing in the distance, "are dead, you will find them yonder. If I do not survive, if the battle is won and you find them, please find a way for them to make it home."
"How will I know them?" asked the Man as Thandronen prepared to jump down the wall.
"They are twins," he shouted as he fell. His landing was rougher than his first, but he had more time to steady himself. Though the Uruks approached, he had another few seconds, for they had been walking slow and steady, laughing at the youth that they had cornered. Now, they became enraged, and stopped to scream their cries of battle and attract more of their kind.
"Boy!" yelled Thandronen. The youth looked at him suddenly, still frozen in his place while Thandronen took one end of the rope and threw it up to the Man above. "Climb!" he commanded. No further direction was needed, and as the child climbed the rope, his father above pulled the line up. Thandronen swung his sword to and fro at either side, awaiting the approach of the Uruks.
"What have we here?" one of them grunted.
"No Elves left is what I was told," another said.
"He's mine," growled a third, and Thandronen tilted his head with a wicked smile. There were fifty at least crowding around him, with more coming. Drawing out his son's sword, he crossed it before him with his own, keeping the wall to his back. This, he decided, was going to be fun.
---
"Penneth?" Erestor touched Haldir's shoulder, but the younger elf did not move. "Penneth, what is the matter?"
Blinking, Haldir looked down, finding the water still clear. "I…nothing, I just thought I saw something else, but…" He looked up at Erestor. "Did you see anything?"
Erestor shook his head. "Nay, there have been no more images, but I worried, for you were not answering me." Drawing out another handkerchief, he handed it to Haldir. "You kept weeping, but it seemed your mind was elsewhere."
"Erestor, if you do not mind indulging me," sniffled Haldir, "how do you come to have so many of these on you?"
Shrugging, Erestor said, "If you like elflings, you keep a lot of handkerchiefs in your pocket."
Bowing his head over the mirror once more, Haldir said, "There are but five names left on your list, and among them are Ferevellon and Fereveldir, and that would leave but three."
Saying nothing of this, Erestor led Haldir away from the mirror, back to his spot on the ground. "It grieves me to give you such news, but the pain of withholding it has been just as great." Erestor hastily picked up the scroll and came to sit next to Haldir, who was shivering.
"Let's put this around you," he suggested, pulling the top blanket around Haldir's shoulders. "Do you want to rest? I can sing to you, or I can have the medicine brought for the pain, enough for you to sleep awhile."
"Erestor, I have a terrible fear of what you will read to me, for if Valarda is the one who wrote it, she has stayed true to her nature. In battle, in everything, her reports give me the news of least pain first, gradually building, stacking atop something bad something worse, and atop that something awful." Haldir pulled the blanket around him and closed his eyes. "You have read the list."
"Aye, I have, penneth."
"Tell me the last name," he said calmly.
"Do you not wish to know-"
"Erethón. Lieutenant. Naith Company. He was Valarda's secretary, and an excellent chess player. Years ago, he began organizing a parade and feast once every twelve years, not in honor of the guard or anything of the sort, but to honor the mothers of those who fought and protected and especially those who lost children in battle or on patrol. Calaglin. Sergeant. Ephel Company. The only elf trusted to run messages of a private matter to and from the city. I trusted him with my life nearly everyday, for he knew the positions of my wardens better than I did, and without keeping anything written. It was all right up here," Haldir said, tapping his head. "Brilliant, both of them. I will greatly miss them."
Erestor bowed his head respectfully, and Haldir reached for the scroll.
"I can tell you-" began Erestor, looking up, but Haldir shook his head.
"It isn't fair to give such a burden to you." He took the scroll. "It is strange," he said, holding the scroll tightly. "I know whose name should be listed, hope that is the name listed, and yet, in my heart, I know it will not be. How sad, that I should hope one elf dead over another."
"How can you know?" asked Erestor.
Smiling at first, Haldir's lower lip trembled, and he said, "He has not tried to visit me since I returned." Swallowing hard, he hesitated to open the scroll, and said, "I don't suppose you have another handkerchief on hand, Erestor. I think I shall be needing one."
