Alfýkin: The Last of the Elves

Muindor Estel

"Zaharias is no longer among the living."

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Edarion sucked in a breath of air and pressed himself against the back of his chair. He closed his eyes and a single tear escaped, tracking a wet trail down his aging cheek. Illeandir fiddled with his knife as he waited for his friend to come to terms with the shock. The three had been inseparable for many years until Estel King had laid himself down and Eldarion took up his father's mantle. Several minutes passed while emotion twisted and turned the king's features. The weight Illeandir carried at the death of his lifelong friend settled more heavily and he found he no longer possessed the energy nor will to move and his knife clattered against the table top.

Eldarion woke from his revere at the noise and looked the elf in the eyes. Tears flowed freely from his eyes now. He had been close to the quiet elf with slanted silver eyes and hair blacker than the dead of night and skin that glowed white in the moonlight.

"How?" he asked, unable to form more than a single word. The planes of Illeandir's face went rigid and his deep green eyes hardened. The memory was painful, far to painful to revisit yet his mind, unbidden, brought him back to that fateful night on the plains of Hollin. He slipped his fingers under his fallen knife and let his hand lay there as if trapped by the finely wrought steel. He closed his eyes and spoke in a low voice, thick with grief and sorrow.

"We were escorting Legolas Thranduilion to the Grey Havens along with the Dwarf Gimli." He paused. "Zaharias and I were with a dozen other warriors for Thranduil would not have his son alone upon the land with an elderly Dwarf who's days were numbered. We were but three days from Imladris when a band of goblins, nearly two hundred strong, surrounded us in the dead of night. Zaharias was on watch and had been separated from us." Illeandir paused again as he relived the battle for their lives. Eldarion patiently waited. Illeandir took a long slow breath.

"We were far outnumbered, outmatched, we fought a losing battle. Three had perished, we knew not what had befallen Zaharias, before a great fear descended upon us." Illeandir clenched a shaking hand around the hilt of his knife. "It was no mindless attack. A shadow, wreathed in flame, wielding a sword of fire bore down on those of us that remained." Illeandir fell silent, his hands clenched until his knuckles turned white. Eldarion watched his friend draw a shaky breath. What could have happened to make him fear a memory? Several moments passed before he spoke again, this time with a hollow voice.

"We fled to Imladris. There was nothing we could do. At the time we did not know what persued us, only that it filled us with a fear greater than any had felt before save Legolas, who had encountered such before. Under the safety of Imladris and what remained of Elrond's dominion over the land. No foul beings would dare enter. It was there that we learned a Valaraukar had crawled from deep within the earth and amassed an army."

Eldarion held up hand and Illeandir stopped. "I thought the Balrogs had been slain," he said. Illeandir shook his head.

"Only three are known to be dead, Gothmog, Durin's Bane, and the one slain by Glorfindel. We do not know how many Morgoth had under his power, only that they have been summoned."

"Or awoken," Eldarion said. Illeandir nodded solemnly.

"We waited three days for Zaharias to return but he never did. I could not leave his fate unknown, when they left I remained and searched for days. Where we had been ambushed was littered with bodies and the ground scorched. I buried the three that had given their lives and piled the weapons of the slain goblins at their feet. I never saw a trace of Zaharias save for his shattered bow.