This chapter is dedicated to Hiro-tyre for her birthday. Happy belated
birthday mellon-nin, and may the stars shine brightly upon you! :) I am
sorry this took so long, and for the fact that it is a rather sad chapter.
Sorry, folks. No more breathers. :(
Chapter 3 - Songs Beneath the Stars Part I
Author's Note - Lady Fingwaloth belongs to Dragon_of_the_north. And Thank You to Dragon_of_the_north for giving me such a wonderful name for a wicked orc mercenary!
Flashback in ~~
I tried to kill the pain
But only brought more
I lay dying
And I'm pouring crimson regret and betrayal
I'm dying, praying, bleeding, and screaming
Am I too lost to be saved?
Am I too lost?
~ from My Tourniquet by Evanescence c. 2003 Wind-up Entertainment
Melodic cries of lament rose on the twilit air, a sorrowful theme in the great song of Iluvatar; it was a heartrending melody sung in diverse voices, in many languages, creating an unusual harmony of pain where earlier the clash of crimson-stained weapons and the cries of the dying had been the only sounds. The losses this day had been overwhelming, but none felt them so strongly as the elves of Greenwood the Great. Voices raised in such confidence and defiance at the dim birth of the day were lowered now in indescribable sorrow and disbelief at its dying. Blood-stained hands had laid aside the implements of war and death to gather this accursed land's blackened rocks to form the hasty cairn that would cover their dead; hands made for the crafting and shaping of beautiful things set about this sad task of war. Their grieving hearts struggled to overcome what had swept down upon them in such a violent and unforeseen way, for Death had courted them, taking the hardiest and brightest of Greenwood's fair warriors.
The healers, wearied by the day's endless work, moved quickly about the camp, saving those they could, feeling torn and mourning the seeming futility of their job. They knew that those they helped to recover today might be the ones to fall on the morrow, and their hearts ached with this irony while hovering friends and family members sang those beyond the healers' skill to mend as they went to their deaths with soft voices choked by grief and anger.
Heledir was carefully wiping Filigod's fair face with a damp cloth, the long spill of the youngling's pale hair matted with dried blood. Heledir's voice rose in a keen wail of misery as he sang, his grey eyes filled with burning rage and piercing anguish. He hoped the host of Sauron could hear him where they had retreated into their dark tower, for he wanted them to hear what he felt and tremble beneath his wrath. A judgment was laid upon them this day, one that would be exacted by all who sang here this night, mourning for the lost. His thoughts went to his mother, who would be shaken by the loss of her youngest child, and Heledir felt a stab of guilt. He had been unable to do the one thing that he had vowed to her before they departed: he had been unable to protect his little brother from the ultimate price of war. His voice wavered and nearly died away as he thought of this, his failure, but then he clenched his hands, calling up the anger once more, and his voice sounded clearly through clenched teeth as he spat his defiance and hatred toward Barad-dur.
Kneeling beside him was Bronadui, his pale grey eyes wide with shock as he laced shut the cloak that was wrapped about Filigod's cold body, unheeding of the tears that flowed so freely down his pale cheeks. The horror of the day before was nothing compared with what had happened this day; today he had seen those that he knew and loved cut down like stalks of dry grass. He knew now what despair could mean. Filigod had been his friend since earliest childhood, and the two had advanced from mere novices to young warriors side-by- side, proud of their accomplishments, bolstering one another when one of the masters was displeased with the way they had performed, and speaking of the elf maidens they fancied beneath the stars. The two had been standing beside one another this morning, their arms just touching, each drawing comfort from the other's presence, as two young warriors faced war for the very first time. They didn't need to speak of how they felt, of the fear that gripped them, squeezing the breath from them, making their hearts labor in their chests. They knew that they felt the same overwhelming emotions, and it brought them a measure of consolation, a small peace in this land that scorned such feelings. Then Filigod had fallen, spitted on an orc's long spear, a look of stunned disbelief on the young face as he dropped to his knees before the one who had slain him. Innocence had died with him. It was with trembling fingers that Bronadui tied off the knot of the cloak just below Filigod's throat, and gently brushed the chill marble of his friend's face in farewell.
Heledir and Bronadui were not the only warriors that were mourning this night. So many had fallen, and even now their comrades were singing their names to the stars which none of them could see. Arasceleg stood outside Oropher's tent, one arm wrapped about his own injured body, his deep voice calling out the names of the slain, hoping that the Valar were listening in their carven halls.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
A flash of silver light knifed through the blackness that surrounded him, and he drew a ragged breath, the pain that blossomed across his body radiating from low on his chest. This brought him violently into consciousness and the awareness that something heavy was pressing him to the stony ground, for he could feel the small rocks digging sharply into his back. He held his breath now, as the stench of death was nigh overpowering. He cracked his eyes open, and for one panicked moment he feared he was blind. A harsh cough shuddered through him, causing more pain, his head throbbing unmercifully as though one of Oropher's prancing stallions had kicked him in the head repeatedly. He fought to control his laboring lungs as more pain sliced through him. He took scant relief in the fact that if he felt such pain then he was alive. He heard the low hum of nearby voices, and he did feel a swell of relief then, for they were elvish voices. He had not wish to confront any enemies so incapacitated. He opened his eyes once more, the dimness brightening somewhat. He blinked, squinting upward. The voices moved closer, and suddenly the weight that had pinioned him was gone.
"One of Oropher's," a voice said, with a mixture of sadness and disdain.
Oropher! The name cut through him, and he felt the ache of loss tremble across his heart. He heard someone kneeling beside him, and a fair Noldorin face darted into view.
"He's alive," the elf said with a hint of astonishment, his slim begrimed fingers pressing at Tanglinna's neck.
The other Noldorin elf bent down to study the wounded Silvan, surveying the bloodstained tunic and the patterns of red and black that splattered the lean face, making the grey eyes seem feral and otherworldly.
"Can you hear me?" the first Noldor asked, his hands gently probing Tanglinna's ribs and easing the ragged edges of torn clothing away from the wound on his chest. He noted the jagged gash running from across his ribs and stomach from one side to the other, knowing that this particular wound was made by a curved orc sword. He had seen too many similar wounds this day. There was massive bruising that disappeared beneath the clothing, darkening the pale skin, indicating a struggle on the ground perhaps. "You need to see a healer," he said kindly, turning to gaze at his companion who had straightened.
"Help me up," Tanglinna rasped, his throat feeling very dry and raw. He swallowed, causing another cough to rip through him, sending pain shooting throughout his entire battered body.
"I will bring a healer to you," the Noldor said, wondering if he could indeed find one not occupied with the wounded they had already taken back to the camps. He placed a restraining hand on one of the archer's shoulders as he drew out his water bag and helped the Silvan elf to drink.
"'Tis a mere scratch," Tanglinna growled, pushing the hand aside and forcing his body into a sitting position. The pain of his wounds intensified, and he felt a sharp pain flare across his chest. He closed his eyes, grimacing, and prepared himself to stand.
Another memory flashed through his mind: Thranduil's face as he saw Oropher rushing forward before Gil-galad had given the signal to advance on the gathered enemy forces. The look on the prince's face was a mixture of surprise and fear, and would be forever etched in the archer's memory. Thranduil had pulled his sword from its scabbard and raced after his father, as had all of the Greenwood warriors, fierce snarls pulling their lips back, a battle cry rising from many throats into a great and glorious noise of defiance and confidence. It had been splendid indeed, but the price paid for such unheeding folly had been considerable.
Tanglinna shook his head violently to free it from this unwanted scene that played forth. He didn't want these memories now . . . not now. He instantly regretted the movement as the pain shuddered through him, and he closed his eyes against its rush. He was amazed that such a simple, normal gesture could bring such physical agony. The archer felt the sorrow in his heart increase as he recalled once more, against his will, the mad dash toward Sauron's forces; his heart felt shredded again where once it had begun to heal. He feared that if he thought on this any more he would not be able to withstand or resist the despair that came winging over him too closely on the heels of his other losses.
~Oropher! ~ he cried out silently; even his mind's voice sounded ragged and defeated, beyond any hope. ~Oropher . . . . ~
"Help me up!" he hissed angrily, feeling the hot bite of tears in his eyes, despising the fact that his emotions were showing too strongly before these elves of Gil-galad.
The Noldorin warriors exchanged glances, one sneering openly and muttering about the stubbornness of Silvans bringing about their downfall. Tanglinna's eyes narrowed dangerously as he grasped the other's forearm and stood shakily. He drew in a sharp breath at the pain that surged with a renewed vigor through him, making him clamp his teeth over his lower lip hard enough to draw blood, his body bending slightly as dizziness made the world about him swim in and out of focus. He lifted slender, dirty fingers to the deep gash on his left temple. His chest throbbed with every heartbeat and he could feel the slow warm trickle of blood as the wound opened anew.
The desire to merely lie back on the pitted, bloodstained ground and stop breathing, stop this pain now, put an end to this terrible day, was nearly overwhelming. He opened his eyes, watching as tears and blood dripped to the dirt at his feet. A flash of bright metal lying beneath the dead body of an orc he had slain before falling himself caught his eye. He pulled away from the Noldor's helpful grip on his arm and bent, tilting forward, one hand planted on the rocky soil to keep him from falling onto his face. He used the other hand to slide the blade from beneath the body of the foe. It was Celair-Dagnir, his bright sword. The blade's point had broken off and he stared at it in dismay. It seemed that even the strongest weapons could shatter in the heat of battle.
~Oropher, nin aran, ~ he thought desperately, his distress rising once more. ~Nin mellon! ~
He stood before these sorrowful thoughts could overtake him, wincing once more at the pain, but the pain in his body helped to erase the darker ache in his heart for a time. His gaze turned to where the Greenwood encampment was, though he couldn't see it through the thick haze of smoke and ash; such a bleak landscape, bereft of all hope and life. He wondered vaguely, with a glance at the sky, if the stars ever shone here. His own stars were dimming one by one.
"I need to see . . . ," his voice faltered and more treacherous tears spilled over his cheeks, "the king." A new king . . . not Oropher . . . .
"Your king is dead," the sneering Noldor said, his gaze mildly contemptuous, leaving Tanglinna no doubt about this one's feelings about what had happened this day.
The archer ground his teeth together in sudden hot rage, his lips twisting in anger, one bloodstained hand curling into a fist as he shoved his sword into its scabbard, knowing that if he held the weapon much longer he might use it to slay the other elf. He had killed elven-kind before when the sons of Feanor had attacked Doriath, destroying the place that had become his home. Yes, he had killed then, and he could again. He glared at the Noldor who had spoken so callously, watching with mute satisfaction as the other backed away, his eyes widening in uncertainty beneath Tanglinna's wrathful Silvan gaze.
The silver-haired archer pivoted then, moving away from the Noldors, forcing his body erect. He would not let them see the pain of his wounds, not those that his body bore, not those that tore at his already ragged soul.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
As Tanglinna walked through the piles of dead orcs and men that had allied themselves to Sauron, he felt the song of despair renewed within his spirit. The loss was too great, the old feeling of failure, of his lack of that ephemeral something that should have been able to prevent this somehow, assailed him, making his breath come in great gulping sobs of dismay and anguish. He choked on the vile air, the stench of the bodies being burned making it hard to breathe. He could make out the huddled forms of healers bent over patients too injured to be moved back to the camps, their faces lined with weariness and sorrow as well as determination and anger that such evil had been done this day.
Tanglinna stumbled over a spear handle still embedded deeply in the body of a fallen orc. He fell to his hands and knees, the agony of his wounds throbbing with the jolt of the impact. He curled into a tight ball, his arms wrapped about himself, forehead pressed to the unforgiving ground. It would be so easy to just stay here, to give up to the pain and pass beyond it into what awaited at the Halls of Mandos.
But he couldn't. Too many had fallen this day and he would be needed when the fighting renewed. He forced himself up and continued to walk slowly toward his goal.
~*~*~*~*~*~*
~~The child sat curled in the corner of a secluded garden in Doriath, hidden beneath a twining vine strung with small lights of blue and silver. The vine climbed up skillfully carved pillars to form a rich green retreat, comforting to an elfling raised in the forests, an elfling who lived every day with the grief and fear of what had happened to bring him to this strange place. He knew that he could be alone here, for solitude was what he craved, even as it filled with loneliness and dread. It was night, a time when elflings of his tender years should have been slumbering in elvish dreams. The child had not slept much since their arrival here unless he drank the tea that his mother had made for him. He had taken it only a few times before realizing what it did: sending him into sleep and unwanted dreams. It was the dreams that he tried to escape, dreams of pain, death, and a guilt that was slowly crushing his spirit.
They had been here for barely a week, and yet it felt to the child as if a lifetime had passed by. To him, his life had fled. The life of comfort and safety that he had known was gone; all happiness and love had departed, leaving him only despair, loss, and the guilt. The ache in his young heart was a ragged, open wound that tore at him day and night, and as he sat beneath the protective plant he began to weep as though his heart were broken, for indeed it was. Malhesie was gone, and it was his fault.
The words the orc had spoken to him burned in the child's heart and mind: "If your arrow hadn't missed me before, your sister would be alive."
Oropher had been the one to find him, hearing a child's muffled forlorn sobs as he plucked fresh herbs for Auriell. The Sindarin elf had been perplexed as to where the sounds originated, as he didn't see anyone else in the garden. He was drawn to the child's hiding place of twining vines, creeping silently from the path to kneel by the pillar. He thought that perhaps an elfling had become lost, and once the child had been found and taken home to loving arms and soothing familiar voices all would be well.
He peered beneath the tangle of vines, one hand resting gently on the pillar. Seeing nothing he bent to his knees and crawled inside the verdant tunnel. At its end he saw the huddled shape, the slim body wracked with trembling emotion. It was the long silver braid that told him the child's identity.
"Tanglinna?"
Oropher was surprised by the response his voice had on the child, for a slim blade had suddenly appeared in Tanglinna's slender, trembling hand and the young face filled with sudden ferocity and fear.
"Tanglinna? All is well, youngling. I am not going to harm you. Why aren't you abed?"
Tanglinna stared at the golden-haired Sindarin elf for a moment, then slowly shook his head, wiping roughly at his wet cheeks and lowering the blade.
"What is wrong, hen-nin (my child)? I am not going to harm you," the tall golden-haired elf repeated quietly. "I am Oropher. You remember, don't you? We met the day you arrived?" Oropher noted the tension slowly receding, and he smiled kindly. He watched the way Tanglinna's silvery eyes slid away guiltily as the knife disappeared back into the boot top. "Do your parents know you are here?"
Tanglinna shook his head, pulling the long braid he wore over one shoulder as he eased from his protective crouch to sit on the flower strewn grass, his slender fingers twining and knotting and pulling on the blue wrapped ends of the multitude of tiny braids that made up the one thick plait, the slender shoulders slumping.
Oropher knew that he would need to tread carefully or Tanglinna would flee; he noted the hollowed, haunted look on the youngling's down-turned face and felt his heart go out to this sad, lost child. He had heard of the tragedy that had befallen this family, and felt such a pang of regret and sympathy. Auriell even now carried their first child, and he knew how he would feel if anything should befall him, though he was yet unborn.
"That is an interesting braid, Tanglinna. I don't think I have seen anything like it. May I?" he asked, indicating the heavy spill of braided hair.
At the elfling's hesitant nod, Oropher gently took up the long, dangling braid, studying the intricacy of it. He noted how it had been constructed from many small braids tied with blue threads and then plaited into three braids bound with blue beads. These had then formed the last braid, which was tied with a silver cord, leaving six inches or more of the child's hair hanging beneath it. The child had turned his head slightly, and Oropher could see that the silver cord hung from a round clasp of silver and blue that bound back the child's hair from his face.
"This is a very intriguing braid, Tanglinna," Oropher commented with a smile as he released the braid, noting that the child's long fingers clasped firmly about it once more. "How did you learn to make it?"
"Lady Fingwaloth," was the short answer.
"Who is Lady Fingwaloth?"
"My grandmother."
"Ah. So your grandmother taught you."
"No. She taught my mother, who taught . . . Malhesie."
Oropher saw the shimmer of renewed tears in the silver eyes and he frowned. Malhesie, he knew, was the youngling's dead sister.
"Malhesie taught you," Oropher concluded, gently reaching over to place a warm hand a slender shoulder. "She must have been a very good sister."
Tanglinna's bottom lip trembled and the tears spilled over his cheeks as he nodded. Beneath his hand, Oropher could feel the child trembling as he struggled to control himself. The Sindarin elf felt a moment of panic. What was he to do now if the child started sobbing once more? He wasn't quite certain how to handle crying children, though it had been compassion that had brought him here in the first place.
"I am very sorry about your sister, Tanglinna," he said, the child's obvious hurt tearing at his heart.
"It was my fault," he heard the youngling whisper in a quavering voice, slim hands moving to clutch at his chest. "If I hadn't missed . . . she would be alive!"
Tanglinna had never before confessed this horrible thing to anyone, not even to his parents, whom he felt would surely be very angry with him if they knew. As soon as the words were spoken he burst into tears, curling into a tight ball on the ground, his tears flowing freely once more.
Oropher had hesitated only momentarily before taking the child into his strong arms, holding him and stroking him until at last the sobs died away and the tears ceased to flow. Slowly he got the elfling to tell him the story of what had befallen that evening when he and his sister had been attack by a small group of orcs.
From the game of hide-and-seek Tanglinna and Malhesie had been playing in the forest not far from their home, to the moment that his sister had signaled to him to remain still and hidden just before the orcs attacked her, the child held nothing back. Malhesie had killed most of their attackers, her skill with weapons nearly saving her life. But then a large orc wearing a jeweled eye-patch had stepped through the trees, throwing a glittering knife into her arm and causing her to drop her own bloodied blade; he then moved to engage her, wounding her further. Tanglinna had worked up the courage to shoot an arrow at the orc from his perch in the oak tree over them. The orc had fallen and Tanglinna had been certain that it had died, and he immediately joined his sister on the ground. She had told him to run for help, but even as he was about to do so another orc stepped forth and grabbed the child. To the youngling's horror, the orc he had shot then rose slowly from the ground, pulling the arrow from its shoulder and snarling fiercely. It grabbed the child by the hair and thrust him cruelly to the ground, ordering the other orc to pin the child's hands to the ground above his head.
Oropher could feel the child begin to tremble at this point, knowing that this time it was not with grief, but fear of what had happened to him. The golden-haired Sindarin elf knew from the child's description of this particular orc that it had been the infamous Sgurush, a mercenary that hunted down any quarry for pay. He wondered briefly why this monster would have been sent after this child and his sister, but he didn't ask, knowing that the child probably didn't know himself. Instead, he began to rock Tanglinna slowly back and forth on his lap, feeling the child nestle against him, the shoulders hunched protectively.
"He marked you?" Oropher queried, knowing that if it were indeed Sgurush, the Dark Mark, then the child might very well be scarred for life. It seemed that this infamous beast carved the first two letters of his name into his victims so that others would know whom to credit with the kill. He had done it with a special concoction that left a blackened mark on the skin of the victim, the 'dark mark' that didn't fade. When Oropher had first heard this he had been amazed that orcs could be smart enough to use letters or concoct such vile poisons. It seemed he was wrong, for Sgurush became one of the most feared names ever uttered. It was said he was clever and cruel, and anyone that he hunted down died horribly, marked with his sign.
Tanglinna had looked up at him then, not understanding what he meant. Oropher then asked if the orc had wounded him in any way. The child's silver head had dipped then, no longer would he meet the other's eyes. Slowly he nodded, and Oropher noted that the slender hands moved to clutch the front of the child's tunic once more, and a shudder ran through the slim body.
As the story began to unfold once more, Oropher learned that while Sgurush marked the child, Malhesie had staggered to her feet and stabbed the orc holding her little brother's wrists so cruelly to the ground as the child screamed in pain at what Sgurush was doing to him. Anger had crept over Sgurush's features as his last comrade fell dead. He released the child and lunged for Malhesie, grabbing her from behind and holding his dagger to her throat, muttering threats into her ear even as she urged Tanglinna to run. Tanglinna had moved to her forgotten bow and grabbed up the arrow that Sgurush had pulled from his shoulder and nocked it, shaking like a leaf in a violent wind. The orc had laughed at him then, ignoring Malhesie's weak struggle against him.
"If your arrow hadn't missed me before, your sister would be alive." And then Sgurush had killed Tanglinna's sister, her life's blood spurting over his hands as he slit her throat.
"What did you do?" Oropher had asked quietly, stroking the silver head that lay buried against his shoulder. "Did you shoot him again?"
Tanglinna nodded. This time the arrow had not missed. He shot it into Sgurush's one good eye and killed him; the orc's body had toppled to the ground with Malhesie still held in his grasp.
The child's tears came once more and Oropher, marveling and torn by what this child of no more than six summers had told him, held him close.
"You were very brave, Tanglinna," he murmured into the child's hair. "Very brave indeed. I hope that one day my son will be as courageous as you are." Though he sincerely hoped that his son would never have to face such peril or heartache. ~~
~*~*~*~*~*~*
And upon the battlefield of Dagorlad, Oropher's son had proven himself courageous in the face of peril; even as on that battlefield he became the king of Greenwood the Great as his father fell beneath the foes' weapons, his body torn apart by their cruel weapons. One warrior, battered and bruised, slowly made his way toward the tent where Thranduil sat, grieving and frightened about what had happened and what now lay ahead. Tanglinna knew how he felt. Thranduil needed him, just as he had needed Oropher so very long ago.
TBC
A HUGE heartfelt thank you to al my beta! I am glad that I finally got it right! :)
A heartfelt thank you to Dragon_of_the_north for reading this over. . . and over. . .and over. I don't know why you do it. :) I also want to thank you for taking this rather persistent Master Archer into your heart! :)
I split this chapter into two separate pieces as it was growing much too large and there was still too much to say. I also felt that Thranduil deserved his own chapter in which we see a new king coming to terms with the life that has been thrust upon him in so unexpected a manner.
The use of "it" and "he" to describe Sgurush was done purposefully. I used "it" when it was Tanglinna's perspective as I thought that he would think of the orc as "it," whereas the rest of the time "he" is used.
Response to Reviewers
Nilmandra - This has been an emotional story for me. I don't usually put myself or the characters through the wringer like this. Choosing to live when we know that we may be hurt again can be very hard, but it is the right choice. I am pleased that you like my characterizations. I spend a lot of time in their "heads".
Dragon_of_the_north - :/ Surely those 5 emails about that last chapter weren't all from me!! ;) I had to laugh at your not wanting Oropher to die if it wasn't canon. I would like for him to live too. I have become very fond of this prideful Sindarin king. You know I couldn't leave any tension between the three main characters, not with Oropher's death looming on the horizon, and for many other reasons you may be able to surmise. Tanglinna is a very responsible and reliable person, and yes, his sense of failure is very deeply rooted. You can see where it begins in this chapter.
daw the minstrel -It is very hard, for me at least, to make things seem so very elvish. I am quite human I fear and having you say that I made something elvish made me very happy! :) I take comfort in the fact that Tanglinna will be reunited with his family one day as well.
MadMaddie - I feel sorry for the warriors and their families as well. These separations would be very hard on all of them. :(
ember - You are almost right! Heledir, Filigod's brother is Tavor's father. And unfortunately your brain did not make up the fact that Oropher suffered needless casualties. :(
Jay of Lasgalen - This isn't my usual fare, so I have been pleasantly surprised by the response it has gotten. I find that I like Oropher quite a bit, even though he can be rather pig-headed at times.
None - Wow! I made someone cry! That is amazing, and made me quite pleased! Usually I am busy trying to make people laugh! You can't believe how thrilled I was to have you call this beautiful and sad!
Angaloth - I am pleased beyond belief that people are "enjoying" this story. It has been quite an emotional experience for me to write it. It is interesting to explore the characters, both canon and OC's, in a different way. I had to laugh at your comments about understanding who Tanglinna is and why he acts as he does. Yes, I have spent a lot of time "inside his head" lately to learn the who and why of him. And yes! I am very lucky that Dragon_of_the_north has done what she has done for Tanglinna and Brethil! :)
erunyauve - Brethil is a lot like his father. The apple didn't fall far from the tree. I am glad that you like my portrayal of Oropher. I find that I like him too. He must have had a very charismatic personality to achieve what he did, not to mention a great determination.
Hildestohl - I am pleased to hear that you are an artist! I was thrilled when Katharine the Great gave Tanglinna that talent. I am glad that you like my more "intense" work. It has been quite an experience for me. Intense is the perfect word!
JastaElf - I am sure Saeros, Tuilinal, and Aikalerion are ready to kick butt and take names! ;) It is comforting to know that! I wouldn't want to be a clanking Noldor either. I think I snorted a bit when I read "Tanglinna. . . who has been there dealt with it more than any Elf should have to do . . . " I don't believe I have put him through nearly what you have put certain elves through! ;)
Kal - Yup. Oropher died. :( It is very sad and very tragic! But Tolkien killed him not me. I am such a sucker for happy endings I probably wouldn't have had him act so foolishly, bringing about his own demise and that of so many of his warriors.
Gwilwileth - Yes. I played poker in class! Don't fret over the spelling of Tanglinna's name. It is an odd one. Tanglinna has had an entire life that few know about. Bits and pieces of it appear here and there in my fics and probably will continue to do so. I am sorry that all the other kids on your VICA trip were LOTR haters! :(
WeasleyTwinLover1112 - I don't know that Kleenex is going to be necessary. If I can make you feel sad, I will be happy. :/ Odd statement that. :) It would be very hard to not come to like Oropher. I am very attached to him myself!
Venyatuime - This one is sad, and I am not used to writing sad, angsty things any more. It has been too long and I am sorely out of practice! I am glad that you find it touching. :)
Karina - I admit that I am a sucker for what bits of happiness I can get in this tale. They are few and far between. Two-thirds of Oropher's people did not return with Thranduil to Greenwood. Very tragic odds indeed! :( I am trying to make Oropher believable, and yet retain what little we know about him. There is such very scant information on him in the HoME books.
Elena - This is indeed where Oropher dies. Thank you for your compliments on my characterizations. I admit that I enjoy imagining these people and they seem very real to me. I use the bits of humor to help me get through this horrible battle. It was very hard to write what happened to Tanglinna's family, so I am glad that I was able to convey what was needed in a few sentences.
PuterPatty - Than you for the wonderful compliments! They meant a lot to me. :) Oropher knows Tanglinna very well, and has for a very long time, and I think that is why he felt he could lay this charge on him. He knows his friend's strengths and weaknesses, and just what to do and say to get the desired response. In this case it was necessary to push the limits of their friendship.
the evil witch queen - This one is a most depressing read! Oropher is very stubborn, Thranduil must have gotten it from somewhere. As to wounds, well. . . this is war, but neither Thranduil nor Tanglinna will be wounded fatally.
Lindon - Standardized Testing is NO FUN! I am glad they are now behind you! I like your phrase "Tanglinna time" very much! This has been an interesting story for me to write. I enjoy exploring the characters and learning more about them. Tanglinna as an elfling in this chapter was not so fun or funny, but necessary to understand just how well Oropher and Tanglinna know one another. They have had a long relationship, and seen each other at their best and their worst. Tanglinna views Oropher as his best friend. I laughed at your saying that you viewed Tanglinna as a superhero. He is very flattered by this! ;) But he has his flaws. . . he just won't admit to them! ;)
Lutris - I am glad that there are some Oropher fans out there. He is sorely overlooked. I have a couple of stories planned for him in the future. Thank you for liking my "rustic" Wood Elves. :)
sinbin05 - Thank you so much! I really appreciate your comments on this stories beginning. I was rather pleased with how it sounded myself, and it is so nice to know that you thought so too.
Hiro-tyre - Sorry this took longer to get out than I thought, mellon nin! I hope your birthday was wonderful! Your review stunned me! I am glad that you liked "Thranduil hour" as it will kick into high gear next chapter. The Unfinished Tales contain the most comprehensive vision we get of Oropher, whom I admit I have grown very fond of. There isn't much on Dagorlad out there either; more's the pity! Happy Belated Birthday! :)
Lirenel - Thank you so much! I am glad that I can evoke such an emotion in my readers! I always like to be "taken into the story" when I read, so I really appreciated your comment about feeling like you were there!
Sorry, folks. No more breathers. :(
Chapter 3 - Songs Beneath the Stars Part I
Author's Note - Lady Fingwaloth belongs to Dragon_of_the_north. And Thank You to Dragon_of_the_north for giving me such a wonderful name for a wicked orc mercenary!
Flashback in ~~
I tried to kill the pain
But only brought more
I lay dying
And I'm pouring crimson regret and betrayal
I'm dying, praying, bleeding, and screaming
Am I too lost to be saved?
Am I too lost?
~ from My Tourniquet by Evanescence c. 2003 Wind-up Entertainment
Melodic cries of lament rose on the twilit air, a sorrowful theme in the great song of Iluvatar; it was a heartrending melody sung in diverse voices, in many languages, creating an unusual harmony of pain where earlier the clash of crimson-stained weapons and the cries of the dying had been the only sounds. The losses this day had been overwhelming, but none felt them so strongly as the elves of Greenwood the Great. Voices raised in such confidence and defiance at the dim birth of the day were lowered now in indescribable sorrow and disbelief at its dying. Blood-stained hands had laid aside the implements of war and death to gather this accursed land's blackened rocks to form the hasty cairn that would cover their dead; hands made for the crafting and shaping of beautiful things set about this sad task of war. Their grieving hearts struggled to overcome what had swept down upon them in such a violent and unforeseen way, for Death had courted them, taking the hardiest and brightest of Greenwood's fair warriors.
The healers, wearied by the day's endless work, moved quickly about the camp, saving those they could, feeling torn and mourning the seeming futility of their job. They knew that those they helped to recover today might be the ones to fall on the morrow, and their hearts ached with this irony while hovering friends and family members sang those beyond the healers' skill to mend as they went to their deaths with soft voices choked by grief and anger.
Heledir was carefully wiping Filigod's fair face with a damp cloth, the long spill of the youngling's pale hair matted with dried blood. Heledir's voice rose in a keen wail of misery as he sang, his grey eyes filled with burning rage and piercing anguish. He hoped the host of Sauron could hear him where they had retreated into their dark tower, for he wanted them to hear what he felt and tremble beneath his wrath. A judgment was laid upon them this day, one that would be exacted by all who sang here this night, mourning for the lost. His thoughts went to his mother, who would be shaken by the loss of her youngest child, and Heledir felt a stab of guilt. He had been unable to do the one thing that he had vowed to her before they departed: he had been unable to protect his little brother from the ultimate price of war. His voice wavered and nearly died away as he thought of this, his failure, but then he clenched his hands, calling up the anger once more, and his voice sounded clearly through clenched teeth as he spat his defiance and hatred toward Barad-dur.
Kneeling beside him was Bronadui, his pale grey eyes wide with shock as he laced shut the cloak that was wrapped about Filigod's cold body, unheeding of the tears that flowed so freely down his pale cheeks. The horror of the day before was nothing compared with what had happened this day; today he had seen those that he knew and loved cut down like stalks of dry grass. He knew now what despair could mean. Filigod had been his friend since earliest childhood, and the two had advanced from mere novices to young warriors side-by- side, proud of their accomplishments, bolstering one another when one of the masters was displeased with the way they had performed, and speaking of the elf maidens they fancied beneath the stars. The two had been standing beside one another this morning, their arms just touching, each drawing comfort from the other's presence, as two young warriors faced war for the very first time. They didn't need to speak of how they felt, of the fear that gripped them, squeezing the breath from them, making their hearts labor in their chests. They knew that they felt the same overwhelming emotions, and it brought them a measure of consolation, a small peace in this land that scorned such feelings. Then Filigod had fallen, spitted on an orc's long spear, a look of stunned disbelief on the young face as he dropped to his knees before the one who had slain him. Innocence had died with him. It was with trembling fingers that Bronadui tied off the knot of the cloak just below Filigod's throat, and gently brushed the chill marble of his friend's face in farewell.
Heledir and Bronadui were not the only warriors that were mourning this night. So many had fallen, and even now their comrades were singing their names to the stars which none of them could see. Arasceleg stood outside Oropher's tent, one arm wrapped about his own injured body, his deep voice calling out the names of the slain, hoping that the Valar were listening in their carven halls.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
A flash of silver light knifed through the blackness that surrounded him, and he drew a ragged breath, the pain that blossomed across his body radiating from low on his chest. This brought him violently into consciousness and the awareness that something heavy was pressing him to the stony ground, for he could feel the small rocks digging sharply into his back. He held his breath now, as the stench of death was nigh overpowering. He cracked his eyes open, and for one panicked moment he feared he was blind. A harsh cough shuddered through him, causing more pain, his head throbbing unmercifully as though one of Oropher's prancing stallions had kicked him in the head repeatedly. He fought to control his laboring lungs as more pain sliced through him. He took scant relief in the fact that if he felt such pain then he was alive. He heard the low hum of nearby voices, and he did feel a swell of relief then, for they were elvish voices. He had not wish to confront any enemies so incapacitated. He opened his eyes once more, the dimness brightening somewhat. He blinked, squinting upward. The voices moved closer, and suddenly the weight that had pinioned him was gone.
"One of Oropher's," a voice said, with a mixture of sadness and disdain.
Oropher! The name cut through him, and he felt the ache of loss tremble across his heart. He heard someone kneeling beside him, and a fair Noldorin face darted into view.
"He's alive," the elf said with a hint of astonishment, his slim begrimed fingers pressing at Tanglinna's neck.
The other Noldorin elf bent down to study the wounded Silvan, surveying the bloodstained tunic and the patterns of red and black that splattered the lean face, making the grey eyes seem feral and otherworldly.
"Can you hear me?" the first Noldor asked, his hands gently probing Tanglinna's ribs and easing the ragged edges of torn clothing away from the wound on his chest. He noted the jagged gash running from across his ribs and stomach from one side to the other, knowing that this particular wound was made by a curved orc sword. He had seen too many similar wounds this day. There was massive bruising that disappeared beneath the clothing, darkening the pale skin, indicating a struggle on the ground perhaps. "You need to see a healer," he said kindly, turning to gaze at his companion who had straightened.
"Help me up," Tanglinna rasped, his throat feeling very dry and raw. He swallowed, causing another cough to rip through him, sending pain shooting throughout his entire battered body.
"I will bring a healer to you," the Noldor said, wondering if he could indeed find one not occupied with the wounded they had already taken back to the camps. He placed a restraining hand on one of the archer's shoulders as he drew out his water bag and helped the Silvan elf to drink.
"'Tis a mere scratch," Tanglinna growled, pushing the hand aside and forcing his body into a sitting position. The pain of his wounds intensified, and he felt a sharp pain flare across his chest. He closed his eyes, grimacing, and prepared himself to stand.
Another memory flashed through his mind: Thranduil's face as he saw Oropher rushing forward before Gil-galad had given the signal to advance on the gathered enemy forces. The look on the prince's face was a mixture of surprise and fear, and would be forever etched in the archer's memory. Thranduil had pulled his sword from its scabbard and raced after his father, as had all of the Greenwood warriors, fierce snarls pulling their lips back, a battle cry rising from many throats into a great and glorious noise of defiance and confidence. It had been splendid indeed, but the price paid for such unheeding folly had been considerable.
Tanglinna shook his head violently to free it from this unwanted scene that played forth. He didn't want these memories now . . . not now. He instantly regretted the movement as the pain shuddered through him, and he closed his eyes against its rush. He was amazed that such a simple, normal gesture could bring such physical agony. The archer felt the sorrow in his heart increase as he recalled once more, against his will, the mad dash toward Sauron's forces; his heart felt shredded again where once it had begun to heal. He feared that if he thought on this any more he would not be able to withstand or resist the despair that came winging over him too closely on the heels of his other losses.
~Oropher! ~ he cried out silently; even his mind's voice sounded ragged and defeated, beyond any hope. ~Oropher . . . . ~
"Help me up!" he hissed angrily, feeling the hot bite of tears in his eyes, despising the fact that his emotions were showing too strongly before these elves of Gil-galad.
The Noldorin warriors exchanged glances, one sneering openly and muttering about the stubbornness of Silvans bringing about their downfall. Tanglinna's eyes narrowed dangerously as he grasped the other's forearm and stood shakily. He drew in a sharp breath at the pain that surged with a renewed vigor through him, making him clamp his teeth over his lower lip hard enough to draw blood, his body bending slightly as dizziness made the world about him swim in and out of focus. He lifted slender, dirty fingers to the deep gash on his left temple. His chest throbbed with every heartbeat and he could feel the slow warm trickle of blood as the wound opened anew.
The desire to merely lie back on the pitted, bloodstained ground and stop breathing, stop this pain now, put an end to this terrible day, was nearly overwhelming. He opened his eyes, watching as tears and blood dripped to the dirt at his feet. A flash of bright metal lying beneath the dead body of an orc he had slain before falling himself caught his eye. He pulled away from the Noldor's helpful grip on his arm and bent, tilting forward, one hand planted on the rocky soil to keep him from falling onto his face. He used the other hand to slide the blade from beneath the body of the foe. It was Celair-Dagnir, his bright sword. The blade's point had broken off and he stared at it in dismay. It seemed that even the strongest weapons could shatter in the heat of battle.
~Oropher, nin aran, ~ he thought desperately, his distress rising once more. ~Nin mellon! ~
He stood before these sorrowful thoughts could overtake him, wincing once more at the pain, but the pain in his body helped to erase the darker ache in his heart for a time. His gaze turned to where the Greenwood encampment was, though he couldn't see it through the thick haze of smoke and ash; such a bleak landscape, bereft of all hope and life. He wondered vaguely, with a glance at the sky, if the stars ever shone here. His own stars were dimming one by one.
"I need to see . . . ," his voice faltered and more treacherous tears spilled over his cheeks, "the king." A new king . . . not Oropher . . . .
"Your king is dead," the sneering Noldor said, his gaze mildly contemptuous, leaving Tanglinna no doubt about this one's feelings about what had happened this day.
The archer ground his teeth together in sudden hot rage, his lips twisting in anger, one bloodstained hand curling into a fist as he shoved his sword into its scabbard, knowing that if he held the weapon much longer he might use it to slay the other elf. He had killed elven-kind before when the sons of Feanor had attacked Doriath, destroying the place that had become his home. Yes, he had killed then, and he could again. He glared at the Noldor who had spoken so callously, watching with mute satisfaction as the other backed away, his eyes widening in uncertainty beneath Tanglinna's wrathful Silvan gaze.
The silver-haired archer pivoted then, moving away from the Noldors, forcing his body erect. He would not let them see the pain of his wounds, not those that his body bore, not those that tore at his already ragged soul.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
As Tanglinna walked through the piles of dead orcs and men that had allied themselves to Sauron, he felt the song of despair renewed within his spirit. The loss was too great, the old feeling of failure, of his lack of that ephemeral something that should have been able to prevent this somehow, assailed him, making his breath come in great gulping sobs of dismay and anguish. He choked on the vile air, the stench of the bodies being burned making it hard to breathe. He could make out the huddled forms of healers bent over patients too injured to be moved back to the camps, their faces lined with weariness and sorrow as well as determination and anger that such evil had been done this day.
Tanglinna stumbled over a spear handle still embedded deeply in the body of a fallen orc. He fell to his hands and knees, the agony of his wounds throbbing with the jolt of the impact. He curled into a tight ball, his arms wrapped about himself, forehead pressed to the unforgiving ground. It would be so easy to just stay here, to give up to the pain and pass beyond it into what awaited at the Halls of Mandos.
But he couldn't. Too many had fallen this day and he would be needed when the fighting renewed. He forced himself up and continued to walk slowly toward his goal.
~*~*~*~*~*~*
~~The child sat curled in the corner of a secluded garden in Doriath, hidden beneath a twining vine strung with small lights of blue and silver. The vine climbed up skillfully carved pillars to form a rich green retreat, comforting to an elfling raised in the forests, an elfling who lived every day with the grief and fear of what had happened to bring him to this strange place. He knew that he could be alone here, for solitude was what he craved, even as it filled with loneliness and dread. It was night, a time when elflings of his tender years should have been slumbering in elvish dreams. The child had not slept much since their arrival here unless he drank the tea that his mother had made for him. He had taken it only a few times before realizing what it did: sending him into sleep and unwanted dreams. It was the dreams that he tried to escape, dreams of pain, death, and a guilt that was slowly crushing his spirit.
They had been here for barely a week, and yet it felt to the child as if a lifetime had passed by. To him, his life had fled. The life of comfort and safety that he had known was gone; all happiness and love had departed, leaving him only despair, loss, and the guilt. The ache in his young heart was a ragged, open wound that tore at him day and night, and as he sat beneath the protective plant he began to weep as though his heart were broken, for indeed it was. Malhesie was gone, and it was his fault.
The words the orc had spoken to him burned in the child's heart and mind: "If your arrow hadn't missed me before, your sister would be alive."
Oropher had been the one to find him, hearing a child's muffled forlorn sobs as he plucked fresh herbs for Auriell. The Sindarin elf had been perplexed as to where the sounds originated, as he didn't see anyone else in the garden. He was drawn to the child's hiding place of twining vines, creeping silently from the path to kneel by the pillar. He thought that perhaps an elfling had become lost, and once the child had been found and taken home to loving arms and soothing familiar voices all would be well.
He peered beneath the tangle of vines, one hand resting gently on the pillar. Seeing nothing he bent to his knees and crawled inside the verdant tunnel. At its end he saw the huddled shape, the slim body wracked with trembling emotion. It was the long silver braid that told him the child's identity.
"Tanglinna?"
Oropher was surprised by the response his voice had on the child, for a slim blade had suddenly appeared in Tanglinna's slender, trembling hand and the young face filled with sudden ferocity and fear.
"Tanglinna? All is well, youngling. I am not going to harm you. Why aren't you abed?"
Tanglinna stared at the golden-haired Sindarin elf for a moment, then slowly shook his head, wiping roughly at his wet cheeks and lowering the blade.
"What is wrong, hen-nin (my child)? I am not going to harm you," the tall golden-haired elf repeated quietly. "I am Oropher. You remember, don't you? We met the day you arrived?" Oropher noted the tension slowly receding, and he smiled kindly. He watched the way Tanglinna's silvery eyes slid away guiltily as the knife disappeared back into the boot top. "Do your parents know you are here?"
Tanglinna shook his head, pulling the long braid he wore over one shoulder as he eased from his protective crouch to sit on the flower strewn grass, his slender fingers twining and knotting and pulling on the blue wrapped ends of the multitude of tiny braids that made up the one thick plait, the slender shoulders slumping.
Oropher knew that he would need to tread carefully or Tanglinna would flee; he noted the hollowed, haunted look on the youngling's down-turned face and felt his heart go out to this sad, lost child. He had heard of the tragedy that had befallen this family, and felt such a pang of regret and sympathy. Auriell even now carried their first child, and he knew how he would feel if anything should befall him, though he was yet unborn.
"That is an interesting braid, Tanglinna. I don't think I have seen anything like it. May I?" he asked, indicating the heavy spill of braided hair.
At the elfling's hesitant nod, Oropher gently took up the long, dangling braid, studying the intricacy of it. He noted how it had been constructed from many small braids tied with blue threads and then plaited into three braids bound with blue beads. These had then formed the last braid, which was tied with a silver cord, leaving six inches or more of the child's hair hanging beneath it. The child had turned his head slightly, and Oropher could see that the silver cord hung from a round clasp of silver and blue that bound back the child's hair from his face.
"This is a very intriguing braid, Tanglinna," Oropher commented with a smile as he released the braid, noting that the child's long fingers clasped firmly about it once more. "How did you learn to make it?"
"Lady Fingwaloth," was the short answer.
"Who is Lady Fingwaloth?"
"My grandmother."
"Ah. So your grandmother taught you."
"No. She taught my mother, who taught . . . Malhesie."
Oropher saw the shimmer of renewed tears in the silver eyes and he frowned. Malhesie, he knew, was the youngling's dead sister.
"Malhesie taught you," Oropher concluded, gently reaching over to place a warm hand a slender shoulder. "She must have been a very good sister."
Tanglinna's bottom lip trembled and the tears spilled over his cheeks as he nodded. Beneath his hand, Oropher could feel the child trembling as he struggled to control himself. The Sindarin elf felt a moment of panic. What was he to do now if the child started sobbing once more? He wasn't quite certain how to handle crying children, though it had been compassion that had brought him here in the first place.
"I am very sorry about your sister, Tanglinna," he said, the child's obvious hurt tearing at his heart.
"It was my fault," he heard the youngling whisper in a quavering voice, slim hands moving to clutch at his chest. "If I hadn't missed . . . she would be alive!"
Tanglinna had never before confessed this horrible thing to anyone, not even to his parents, whom he felt would surely be very angry with him if they knew. As soon as the words were spoken he burst into tears, curling into a tight ball on the ground, his tears flowing freely once more.
Oropher had hesitated only momentarily before taking the child into his strong arms, holding him and stroking him until at last the sobs died away and the tears ceased to flow. Slowly he got the elfling to tell him the story of what had befallen that evening when he and his sister had been attack by a small group of orcs.
From the game of hide-and-seek Tanglinna and Malhesie had been playing in the forest not far from their home, to the moment that his sister had signaled to him to remain still and hidden just before the orcs attacked her, the child held nothing back. Malhesie had killed most of their attackers, her skill with weapons nearly saving her life. But then a large orc wearing a jeweled eye-patch had stepped through the trees, throwing a glittering knife into her arm and causing her to drop her own bloodied blade; he then moved to engage her, wounding her further. Tanglinna had worked up the courage to shoot an arrow at the orc from his perch in the oak tree over them. The orc had fallen and Tanglinna had been certain that it had died, and he immediately joined his sister on the ground. She had told him to run for help, but even as he was about to do so another orc stepped forth and grabbed the child. To the youngling's horror, the orc he had shot then rose slowly from the ground, pulling the arrow from its shoulder and snarling fiercely. It grabbed the child by the hair and thrust him cruelly to the ground, ordering the other orc to pin the child's hands to the ground above his head.
Oropher could feel the child begin to tremble at this point, knowing that this time it was not with grief, but fear of what had happened to him. The golden-haired Sindarin elf knew from the child's description of this particular orc that it had been the infamous Sgurush, a mercenary that hunted down any quarry for pay. He wondered briefly why this monster would have been sent after this child and his sister, but he didn't ask, knowing that the child probably didn't know himself. Instead, he began to rock Tanglinna slowly back and forth on his lap, feeling the child nestle against him, the shoulders hunched protectively.
"He marked you?" Oropher queried, knowing that if it were indeed Sgurush, the Dark Mark, then the child might very well be scarred for life. It seemed that this infamous beast carved the first two letters of his name into his victims so that others would know whom to credit with the kill. He had done it with a special concoction that left a blackened mark on the skin of the victim, the 'dark mark' that didn't fade. When Oropher had first heard this he had been amazed that orcs could be smart enough to use letters or concoct such vile poisons. It seemed he was wrong, for Sgurush became one of the most feared names ever uttered. It was said he was clever and cruel, and anyone that he hunted down died horribly, marked with his sign.
Tanglinna had looked up at him then, not understanding what he meant. Oropher then asked if the orc had wounded him in any way. The child's silver head had dipped then, no longer would he meet the other's eyes. Slowly he nodded, and Oropher noted that the slender hands moved to clutch the front of the child's tunic once more, and a shudder ran through the slim body.
As the story began to unfold once more, Oropher learned that while Sgurush marked the child, Malhesie had staggered to her feet and stabbed the orc holding her little brother's wrists so cruelly to the ground as the child screamed in pain at what Sgurush was doing to him. Anger had crept over Sgurush's features as his last comrade fell dead. He released the child and lunged for Malhesie, grabbing her from behind and holding his dagger to her throat, muttering threats into her ear even as she urged Tanglinna to run. Tanglinna had moved to her forgotten bow and grabbed up the arrow that Sgurush had pulled from his shoulder and nocked it, shaking like a leaf in a violent wind. The orc had laughed at him then, ignoring Malhesie's weak struggle against him.
"If your arrow hadn't missed me before, your sister would be alive." And then Sgurush had killed Tanglinna's sister, her life's blood spurting over his hands as he slit her throat.
"What did you do?" Oropher had asked quietly, stroking the silver head that lay buried against his shoulder. "Did you shoot him again?"
Tanglinna nodded. This time the arrow had not missed. He shot it into Sgurush's one good eye and killed him; the orc's body had toppled to the ground with Malhesie still held in his grasp.
The child's tears came once more and Oropher, marveling and torn by what this child of no more than six summers had told him, held him close.
"You were very brave, Tanglinna," he murmured into the child's hair. "Very brave indeed. I hope that one day my son will be as courageous as you are." Though he sincerely hoped that his son would never have to face such peril or heartache. ~~
~*~*~*~*~*~*
And upon the battlefield of Dagorlad, Oropher's son had proven himself courageous in the face of peril; even as on that battlefield he became the king of Greenwood the Great as his father fell beneath the foes' weapons, his body torn apart by their cruel weapons. One warrior, battered and bruised, slowly made his way toward the tent where Thranduil sat, grieving and frightened about what had happened and what now lay ahead. Tanglinna knew how he felt. Thranduil needed him, just as he had needed Oropher so very long ago.
TBC
A HUGE heartfelt thank you to al my beta! I am glad that I finally got it right! :)
A heartfelt thank you to Dragon_of_the_north for reading this over. . . and over. . .and over. I don't know why you do it. :) I also want to thank you for taking this rather persistent Master Archer into your heart! :)
I split this chapter into two separate pieces as it was growing much too large and there was still too much to say. I also felt that Thranduil deserved his own chapter in which we see a new king coming to terms with the life that has been thrust upon him in so unexpected a manner.
The use of "it" and "he" to describe Sgurush was done purposefully. I used "it" when it was Tanglinna's perspective as I thought that he would think of the orc as "it," whereas the rest of the time "he" is used.
Response to Reviewers
Nilmandra - This has been an emotional story for me. I don't usually put myself or the characters through the wringer like this. Choosing to live when we know that we may be hurt again can be very hard, but it is the right choice. I am pleased that you like my characterizations. I spend a lot of time in their "heads".
Dragon_of_the_north - :/ Surely those 5 emails about that last chapter weren't all from me!! ;) I had to laugh at your not wanting Oropher to die if it wasn't canon. I would like for him to live too. I have become very fond of this prideful Sindarin king. You know I couldn't leave any tension between the three main characters, not with Oropher's death looming on the horizon, and for many other reasons you may be able to surmise. Tanglinna is a very responsible and reliable person, and yes, his sense of failure is very deeply rooted. You can see where it begins in this chapter.
daw the minstrel -It is very hard, for me at least, to make things seem so very elvish. I am quite human I fear and having you say that I made something elvish made me very happy! :) I take comfort in the fact that Tanglinna will be reunited with his family one day as well.
MadMaddie - I feel sorry for the warriors and their families as well. These separations would be very hard on all of them. :(
ember - You are almost right! Heledir, Filigod's brother is Tavor's father. And unfortunately your brain did not make up the fact that Oropher suffered needless casualties. :(
Jay of Lasgalen - This isn't my usual fare, so I have been pleasantly surprised by the response it has gotten. I find that I like Oropher quite a bit, even though he can be rather pig-headed at times.
None - Wow! I made someone cry! That is amazing, and made me quite pleased! Usually I am busy trying to make people laugh! You can't believe how thrilled I was to have you call this beautiful and sad!
Angaloth - I am pleased beyond belief that people are "enjoying" this story. It has been quite an emotional experience for me to write it. It is interesting to explore the characters, both canon and OC's, in a different way. I had to laugh at your comments about understanding who Tanglinna is and why he acts as he does. Yes, I have spent a lot of time "inside his head" lately to learn the who and why of him. And yes! I am very lucky that Dragon_of_the_north has done what she has done for Tanglinna and Brethil! :)
erunyauve - Brethil is a lot like his father. The apple didn't fall far from the tree. I am glad that you like my portrayal of Oropher. I find that I like him too. He must have had a very charismatic personality to achieve what he did, not to mention a great determination.
Hildestohl - I am pleased to hear that you are an artist! I was thrilled when Katharine the Great gave Tanglinna that talent. I am glad that you like my more "intense" work. It has been quite an experience for me. Intense is the perfect word!
JastaElf - I am sure Saeros, Tuilinal, and Aikalerion are ready to kick butt and take names! ;) It is comforting to know that! I wouldn't want to be a clanking Noldor either. I think I snorted a bit when I read "Tanglinna. . . who has been there dealt with it more than any Elf should have to do . . . " I don't believe I have put him through nearly what you have put certain elves through! ;)
Kal - Yup. Oropher died. :( It is very sad and very tragic! But Tolkien killed him not me. I am such a sucker for happy endings I probably wouldn't have had him act so foolishly, bringing about his own demise and that of so many of his warriors.
Gwilwileth - Yes. I played poker in class! Don't fret over the spelling of Tanglinna's name. It is an odd one. Tanglinna has had an entire life that few know about. Bits and pieces of it appear here and there in my fics and probably will continue to do so. I am sorry that all the other kids on your VICA trip were LOTR haters! :(
WeasleyTwinLover1112 - I don't know that Kleenex is going to be necessary. If I can make you feel sad, I will be happy. :/ Odd statement that. :) It would be very hard to not come to like Oropher. I am very attached to him myself!
Venyatuime - This one is sad, and I am not used to writing sad, angsty things any more. It has been too long and I am sorely out of practice! I am glad that you find it touching. :)
Karina - I admit that I am a sucker for what bits of happiness I can get in this tale. They are few and far between. Two-thirds of Oropher's people did not return with Thranduil to Greenwood. Very tragic odds indeed! :( I am trying to make Oropher believable, and yet retain what little we know about him. There is such very scant information on him in the HoME books.
Elena - This is indeed where Oropher dies. Thank you for your compliments on my characterizations. I admit that I enjoy imagining these people and they seem very real to me. I use the bits of humor to help me get through this horrible battle. It was very hard to write what happened to Tanglinna's family, so I am glad that I was able to convey what was needed in a few sentences.
PuterPatty - Than you for the wonderful compliments! They meant a lot to me. :) Oropher knows Tanglinna very well, and has for a very long time, and I think that is why he felt he could lay this charge on him. He knows his friend's strengths and weaknesses, and just what to do and say to get the desired response. In this case it was necessary to push the limits of their friendship.
the evil witch queen - This one is a most depressing read! Oropher is very stubborn, Thranduil must have gotten it from somewhere. As to wounds, well. . . this is war, but neither Thranduil nor Tanglinna will be wounded fatally.
Lindon - Standardized Testing is NO FUN! I am glad they are now behind you! I like your phrase "Tanglinna time" very much! This has been an interesting story for me to write. I enjoy exploring the characters and learning more about them. Tanglinna as an elfling in this chapter was not so fun or funny, but necessary to understand just how well Oropher and Tanglinna know one another. They have had a long relationship, and seen each other at their best and their worst. Tanglinna views Oropher as his best friend. I laughed at your saying that you viewed Tanglinna as a superhero. He is very flattered by this! ;) But he has his flaws. . . he just won't admit to them! ;)
Lutris - I am glad that there are some Oropher fans out there. He is sorely overlooked. I have a couple of stories planned for him in the future. Thank you for liking my "rustic" Wood Elves. :)
sinbin05 - Thank you so much! I really appreciate your comments on this stories beginning. I was rather pleased with how it sounded myself, and it is so nice to know that you thought so too.
Hiro-tyre - Sorry this took longer to get out than I thought, mellon nin! I hope your birthday was wonderful! Your review stunned me! I am glad that you liked "Thranduil hour" as it will kick into high gear next chapter. The Unfinished Tales contain the most comprehensive vision we get of Oropher, whom I admit I have grown very fond of. There isn't much on Dagorlad out there either; more's the pity! Happy Belated Birthday! :)
Lirenel - Thank you so much! I am glad that I can evoke such an emotion in my readers! I always like to be "taken into the story" when I read, so I really appreciated your comment about feeling like you were there!