The standard bearer (Elrond x oc)

25. Fall of Kings

The alarum sounded in the Alliance camp before dawn the next day. Forays
had sallied forth from both gates of Barad-dûr, and the air was once more
alive with the wrath of the Dark Lord. The noise of running feet, the shout
of voices and the clashing of armour sounded throughout Gil-galad's
headquarters, as his warriors prepared for battle. Only Halmir sat still
amid the bustle and scurry. He had prepared everything. His master's armour
lay cleaned and ready, his weapons sharp and bright, but of the Lord of
Imladris there was no sign.

After their return the night before, from the aborted parlay at Sauron's
Fortress, and following his talk with the King, Elrond had shut himself
away in the Lady Gildinwen's chamber, and even the call to arms had not
drawn him out.

A firm step and a clatter of arms announced Lord Gil-galad as he strode
from his council chamber, gathering his entourage and guard as he went.
Halmir stood mutely in the doorway as the King approached.

Gil-galad stopped beside the squire for a moment, and placed a hand on the
lad's shoulder. "Patience, Halmir." He spoke quietly, "He will join us when
he is ready."

The boy nodded glumly, his face worried, and he took his lonely watch again
as the war party moved off, taking most of the inhabitants with it.

Elrond had heard the trumpet call and the answering shouts of the warriors,
but the sounds had no meaning for him. He sat defeated, motionless, head
bowed over the table as he had been all night. In his hands he cradled his
harp but the strings were as silent as his heart. The room was heavy with
her, items of her clothing on pegs, papers written in her hand, the flower
he had given her, the bed where they had shared so many nights. The scent
and memory of her was an agony, a torment. Guilt and grief filled him, and
in the long dark night he had wept many tears.

'Oh Gil.' He whispered. 'Great is my sorrow that I have brought this upon
you. If not for me, you would have already have returned to your home, to
live the rest of your days in happy ignorance.' Despair engulfed him, black
and suffocating as he thought of her in that hellish place. Did she lie
bound in some dark, foetid prison? Broken and hurt. Was she even now under
the torturer's knife? Had she gone from the world already? He railed
uselessly against the dark walls of fate, as sheer and impenetrable as the
Black Tower. He knew not if she were alive or dead. He knew not which he
wished for. But his arms ached with emptiness and his heart had been torn
open.

A sliver of dawn's first light entered the room, falling across the table
in front of him. He watched it in a deadened silence, unable even to think
anymore, weariness pressing on him, a dark gulf pulling him down. Slowly
the streak moved over, tracking the rising of the sun, and the passing of
the morning. Still Elrond made no move, still nothing stirred in his
scorched soul.

Now the light touched upon the tiny plant, the leaves turning slowly to
greet it, and as Elrond watched, the bud burst, and the petals unfolded.
White and delicate, the Elrhîw raised its newborn head to the morning
light, a beacon of beauty in the midst of darkness.

He took a deep breath. Then another. A feeling stirred within him, breaking
through the cloud of his despair. He recalled the words of comfort that had
been spoken by his King, and by another, 'She has the strength for it.' A
terrible anger formed within him, an iron rage, a white hot fury. He
plunged it into the lake of his pain, tempering it, and from them forged a
will of steel, edged with a deadly purpose.

He set aside his harp and rose to his feet, he had sat here too long
already.

"Halmir!" Elrond's voice roused the boy from his miserable wait, and he
leapt up, his heart filling with joy.