The battlefield was dark, much darker than he remembered, and a good deal colder too. Elrond fought off the twin clutches of fatigue and nausea as he laboured his way towards the dim light that flickered some way ahead of him. He needed to reach his King, that requirement overruled all else, but instead of finding the easy movements and fleetness of foot for which his kind were renowned, he felt as though he was wading through a river of glue.
Gil-galad was in danger and Elrond knew that he had to warn him. There was a tragedy in the making and the desperate nature of the situation stabbed painfully at him, leaving him weak and gasping in its wake. His legs dragged sullenly, refusing to accept their owner's need for greater speed and efficiency. Unease was threatening to suffocate him yet he knew he could not succumb to its creeping tentacles lest the chance to be with his King was lost to him forever.
"No!"
Elrond tried to call out but the sound that escaped from his lips was nothing more than a feeble whisper. He could see Gil-galad now and the light around him had grown brighter. The sight of his King wrenched at his already taut nerve-endings; the need for urgency was greater than ever yet Elrond's pace had maddeningly grown slower. He stretched out his arms and tried yet again to call out to Gil-galad but the ability to speak had been torn from his throat. Elrond discovered that he was bleeding profusely; blood gushed from his mouth and stained his armour with its redness but still no words would come. He would have given his life in exchange for the ability to speak.
Elrond fell to his knees as Sauron came into view. Monstrous in both size and appearance, the Dark Lord advanced towards the fearless, unflinching figure of High King Ereinion Gil-galad. Elrond watched helplessly as the King raised his spear. In desperation he tried to crawl along the ground; his hidden voice of despair told him that such a gesture was hopeless but he was not about to give in when so precious a thing as the life of his King was at stake.
The light he had seen earlier had emanated from Sauron and it was growing brighter with each passing moment. The Lord of the One Ring seemed to be encased in a wall of fire, an unnatural green flame of sorcery that harmed him not yet would be the death of anyone with whom he came into contact. Elrond's throat burned agonisingly as still he continued to try to find his voice but by now it was too late for Sauron's flame was about to claim the life of the person he loved more than his own life. He watched, stupefied with horror, as Gil-galad was incinerated. In the space of little more than a beat of his heart, all that he loved had been reduced to dust.
"No!"
He had found his voice at last, but it was too late.
"No! No! No!"
He was aware of someone's hands upon him as the cold dark of madness overtook him.
"Elrond! Wake up! A night terror is upon you. It cannot harm you. Open your eyes, beloved, come back to the light".
Elrond blinked open his eyes but not without difficulty, for it felt as though the weight of the dead rested upon them. A miraculous vision swam before him and familiar sounds slowly began to edge their way into the cloudy realm of his befuddled consciousness.
Gil-galad breathed a sigh of relief as the man who was Healer, Herald and lover to him slowly returned to the land of the living. It hurt him to see such an immense depth of pain in Elrond's wide grey eyes, and he knew in an instant the nature of the horror that had haunted his sleep.
"'Tis only a dream, beloved one", he said softly. He leaned forward and rested his forehead against Elrond's. "I am here, safe, alive and very much cherishing every moment that I spend with you. Do not allow the terrors of the night to deprive you of the happiness which has been given to us".
Elrond reached up and embraced his King fiercely. He was being carried upon a tide of relief so great that it threatened to force tears from his eyes. Clutching Ereinion in the warm intimacy of the healing shelter, with the horrors of Sauron's cruelty gradually receding, Elrond still looked pale and shaken. When the two of them eventually drew apart their eyes remained locked together, affirming a deepening of the love they had so recently declared.
"I had not thought", said Elrond, still breathing in shallow gasps, "That so horrific a dream would befall me here, as I lay close by your side. I fell asleep holding you, feeling your warmth against me, and knowing that you would be there when I woke up yet still this dream visited itself upon me".
"It is sometimes the way of dreams to discover our worst fears", murmured Gil-galad. He stroked Elrond's hair gently. "Doubts that lurk in the innermost recesses of our minds have nowhere to hide once they are captured and laid before us in the form of a nightmare. Your dream told you of what may have come to pass had events taken a different course but there is no reason to dwell upon such things, for there are far more pleasant matters with which we may now seek to occupy ourselves. It is high time that we turned our attention towards taking our leave of these foul lands, do you not agree?"
"Certainly", replied Elrond. "But I would wish to see you fully healed before we embark upon our homeward journey".
Elrond fought to shake off the persistent remnants of his traumatic dream and looked anxiously at Gil-galad's heavily bandaged left arm. It troubled him to think of the King struggling to wake him as he lay sleeping; he would have preferred his adored patient not to have been so disturbed.
"Do not admonish yourself for having taken some rest", urged Gil-galad, leaning against the wall of the shelter. He knew his friend too well not to be aware of the concerns that were nagging at him. "No harm has come to me, see? I look none the worse for having abandoned my lying position, is that not true?"
Elrond's experienced eyes took in the appearance of the King and noted, with gladness, that his skin had lost some of its earlier pallor. He then forced himself to retain a degree of detachment as he removed the dressings from Gil-galad's left arm. It pleased him greatly to note that the burns were healing well. The heat of Sauron was fierce but the damage inflicted upon the Elven King was not as great as it might have been, for those of the elven race were possessed of a far greater resilience to injury than men and were blessed also with the power to recover from hurts far more speedily than their mortal counterparts.
"You are recovering well", declared Elrond, once he had finished applying fresh dressings to the King's burns. Although it still pained him to see Gil-galad in such a state, he was overall very satisfied with his fine progress.
"Does this mean that we will be able to leave Mordor soon?" asked Gil-galad eagerly. "I am filled with a longing to lead our people away from this accursed land. They have fought bravely and deserve to be reunited with their families at the earliest possible opportunity".
Elrond hesitated. He too wanted to be rid of this place as quickly as possible but the health and well-being of his King were his top priority and he was not utterly convinced that a long ride undertaken at this stage of his recovery would be in Ereinion's best interests.
"I am feeling quite well", prompted Gil-galad. "Thanks to your extraordinary ability to bring healing to those who suffer". He paused for a moment. "Not to mention the extra ingredient which I alone of all your patients am fortunate enough to receive".
Elrond could not help but smile. The few remaining dark shadows cast by his dream receded and were rapidly replaced by stirrings of joy, contentment and excitement. The life that lay ahead for the two of them beckoned invitingly. It was a life which contained not only a High Elven King who had lived to see the dawn of the Third Age but also a Gil-galad who had expressed a desire to pledge his life to none other than him, Elrond Peredhil, the man who had served at his side and adored him for so long. Massive wrongs had been righted with the overthrow of Sauron, and it was a matter of no little delight to Elrond that from now on he and Gil-galad would be able to focus their attention on matters that held far greater enjoyment than the strategies of battle.
The topic of when they would leave Mordor dominated their conversation for a little while and eventually Elrond agreed that, provided Gil-galad did not exert himself for the remainder of that day, they would make preparations to leave Mordor at break of dawn tomorrow. This agreement was something of a compromise between the two elves; Elrond would have preferred a more extended resting period for the King but Gil-galad had no wish to linger in the Dark Land for any longer than was absolutely necessary and what was more he demonstrated the state of his rapidly-improving health by rising to his feet and pacing the length of the healing shelter.
He gave a slight grimace as his movements brought about a not unexpected rush of blood to the site of his burns but Elrond was immediately at his side and the throbbing sensation soon began to diminish.
"I see I will not be able to keep you here for much longer", commented Elrond as he watched the King once again walk the length of the little shelter. "Your strength returns, My Liege. I salute you for your bravery and your remarkable ability to survive the Dark Lord's onslaught".
"And I salute you, my Healer, for I would not be standing here now, with my strength and vigour returning, were it not for your actions upon the battlefield and here in this shelter. Your skills as a warrior and a healer are quite exceptional. It pleases me beyond measure that I had the good fortune to be treated by you".
Elrond smiled.
"Círdan made a similar remark whilst you were sleeping".
"And what prompted such a remark from our friend?" enquired the King, raising his dark eyebrows enquiringly.
"I was upset to see you laying there hurt, vulnerable and brought down by an enemy. Until then I had thought of you as invincible".
Gil-galad moved closer to Elrond and stood facing him.
"None of us are invincible, beloved", he murmured softly. He took Elrond's hand in his own and kissed it. "Some of us are blessed with good fortune and this enables us to cheat death, even when it is staring us in the face. I have had my share of such good fortune and it was this that chanced to send the two hobbits to us with a warning as to the future. Perhaps the version of history through which they lived was never actually supposed to have happened. Sauron's accursed Ring was meant to have been destroyed at the end of the Second Age for all manner of reasons and the Valar moved in such a way to allow this to happen. The world is a better place for having been rid of such evil and, on a purely personal level, it has resulted in the gift to us of a chance to be together, something that would have been denied us had Frodo and Sam's history followed its course".
"The Valar move in strange ways", commented Elrond, pausing to consider Gil-galad's thoughtful words. "And destiny is a strange thing. I had always imagined it to be etched in stone, but perhaps I was wrong to believe so. The Gods saw fit to endow me with the gift of foresight but at no time did I foresee the appearance of two hobbits in our midst. The existence of their race had not been revealed to me. Yet the wisdom they brought with them was a gift, not only to me and to you but, as you say, to the whole world. There is a sweetness and light even here in Mordor now, I can feel it in the air. The ruin of this land means peace and prosperity for all others, and that is something in which we must rejoice".
And there was spectacular evidence of Mordor's ruin to be seen as soon as Elrond and Gil-galad, greeted by a delighted Círdan, stepped outside the healing shelter. Elrond had declared the King well enough to take a short walk and the sight that greeted them upon their emergence into daylight was something that filled their hearts with astonishment.
"See, Orodruin is no more", declared Círdan, as he stood with Gil-galad and Elrond at the foot of Mount Doom. He pointed towards what was left of its summit. "The volcano is dead, nothing more than a burnt-out shell. The unmaking of the One Ring has put an end to the fire that welled from the heart of the earth, the flames used by Sauron in his evil sorcery".
The landscape of Mordor had been changed forever, for the eruption of Orodruin had brought about a partial collapse of the distinctive funnel-shaped summit. Never again would the sinister, steep-sided mountain be glimpsed by travellers who ventured into these unwelcoming lands for the rocks that had once formed the perilous sides of the peak had caved inwards resulting in a mountain that was significantly altered in both shape and height.
"It is a miracle", uttered Gil-galad, feasting his eyes upon the extraordinary scene. He exchanged satisfied smiles with Elrond. "The caves where Sauron once dwelt ..... the place where he fashioned his Ring of Evil ..... crushed under the weight of the rocks that once guarded it. I cannot believe how much smaller the mountain now looks; it is altogether unimpressive. This is an occasion I will not forget for many a day".
Gil-galad then learned from Círdan that all orc armour and weaponry found on the battlefield had been hurled into the crater along with the items belonging to the Dark Lord. All orc carcases had been burned and Círdan was satisfied that none had been left alive.
There was much delight amongst the elves on that night, for, upon Gil-galad's command, official word was given that it was to be their last in Mordor. Shelters were dismantled, arms, clothing and other belongings were gathered up and troops were swiftly assembled in readiness for departure. This was to be a night for celebrating rather than sleeping.
Shortly before the break of dawn Gil-galad, accompanied by Elrond, wandered over to the area of the camp which was occupied by Isildur and the men under his command. The newly established King of Arnor and Gondor was quick to notice the approach of the elves and he immediately rose to greet them. Gil-galad's expression saddened as he took in the sight of Elendil's lifeless body, lying in state whilst his son prepared for return to Minas Anor. Both Elrond and Gil-galad observed that Isildur had arranged the shards of Narsil upon his father's breast.
"A noteworthy gesture, my friend", said Gil-galad as he and Isildur clutched hands, greeting one another in the traditional manner of warriors. "It is fitting that your father's sword should remain with him as he embarks upon his final journey. I believe he would approve of this".
"I believe so too", responded Isildur, looking across at the mound of stones upon which his father's body rested. "The sword has served its purpose and will never again be called into battle. It will be buried along with my esteemed sire, the man who wielded it with such devastating effect over our enemies".
"Perhaps this weapon's finest moment came when it deprived the hand of Sauron of that which he treasured the most", commented Elrond, looking at the shards. "The whole of mankind stands in your debt, Isildur Son of Elendil, for it was you who wielded your father's sword as it performed this most exceptional of tasks".
Isildur listened to Elrond's fulsome tribute and then acknowledged the elf's praise graciously. False modesty and pretence were not characteristics that sat naturally upon him although on this occasion he made it known to the elves that he considered chance had played a important role in the drama which led to the cutting off of Sauron's finger. The three of them exchanged further words on this subject and then settled themselves comfortably around the welcoming warmth of the campfire.
"The injuries you sustained at the hands of the Dark Lord looked to be severe", said Isildur, glancing at the dressings that covered much of Gil-galad's left arm. "But it pleases me greatly to see that you are now well-nigh recovered. I called upon you two days previously but was advised by Círdan that you were deep in a healing spell and would not be able to receive visitors. In the meantime I hear that you will shortly be leading your people home".
"Our army has completed its task and achieved its goals", responded Gil-galad. "Our work here is done and there is therefore no reason for us to remain. Many of our warriors have families to whom they would wish to return and I see no reason to deny them this privilege for any longer than is necessary. But what of the armies of Gondor, surely you will wish to leave as soon as you are able?"
"I have already sent some of our men home but those of us who remain are now impatient to return also. It is likely that we will begin our march by no later than the next setting of the sun. I wish, above all things, to be reunited with my brother, for it saddened me to observe the manner of his withdrawal from the battlefield. He will be grieved to hear of the death of our father but the fact that I have survived and returned home to tell tales of our victory will bring him cheer. Tales of this war will be told in our lands for many generations to come".
Isildur's younger brother Anárion had received a cryptic warning from Frodo, with whom he had become close friends, as he prepared to march into battle and both Elrond and Gil-galad knew that it was this warning that was the most likely cause of Anárion's survival. Had it not been given he would surely have met his death in the manner recounted by history, namely as a result of being struck by a boulder cast from the heights of Barad-dûr. Anárion had succeeded in cheating death but had not managed to escape the confrontation completely unscathed. The boulder that had been cast from the Dark Tower had struck him on the foot and left him with several broken bones. Finding himself thus unable to walk, let alone take up arms against the enemy, he had been left with no alternative but to return home and take no further part in the battle.
"And what of these lands?" asked Elrond, gesturing to the ugly black mountains and wastelands that surrounded them. "They lie close to Gondor's borders and the elves desire them not. I feel certain that no objection would be raised should you wish to claim them as your own".
Gil-galad signified his agreement to this.
"I believe that within the next few centuries the last of our people will have departed from these shores" said the Elf King. "Although many elves yet dwell here, some will wish to leave as soon as they are able to make their way to Mithlond and board a ship, especially those who have taken part in this wearisome war. And once the remaining few of us have taken our leave, it will be to the race of Men that Middle-earth must look for its future".
"I will consult with my brother over the lordship of Mordor", said Isildur, paying careful attention to the words spoken by the Elven King. "Although I confess I see no good reason why we would wish to claim these lands for our own". He glanced around him contemptuously. "Nothing would grow here and I would be a hard-hearted ruler indeed if I had it in mind to bid some of my people to dwell in such a cheerless place. It looks as though nothing of any use has grown here for centuries. The land is barren".
"But perhaps it could be made fertile again", added Elrond. "In time".
"Perhaps. We will give thought to it but our prime objective when we marched into war with Sauron was to overthrow him rather than to take possession of his foul lands. And for the time being my brother and I will have other matters with which to occupy ourselves. Building a tomb for our father in Minas Anor will be our first priority. He will be the first of our Kings to be buried there and my brother and I will join him as and when our lives have run their course".
"And his spirit will find its way to the houses of his forefathers", declared Gil-galad. "Just as will be the case with you and your brother when the time comes".
"I wish to bring peace and stability to Middle-earth before I die", said Isildur. "At least in the lands where I have influence. That will be my life's goal. I have witnessed far too much greed and bloodshed already and have no desire to see more. Númenor was destroyed because of the greed of men and I will not allow the Kingdoms founded by my father, my brother and I to suffer the same fate. We were not permitted to escape the carnage of our drowning island simply to watch the lands we have founded here in Middle-earth be torn apart by strife, of that I am certain. I will encourage peace and tolerance above all else lest the lessons we have learned over the past years be forgotten".
"Those are the worthiest of intentions, friend", said Elrond, smiling in approval of Isildur's plans. "And it pleases me to hear you speak so, for building a stable base is no doubt the best way of ensuring that peace lasts well into the future, whatever that future may hold and whatever surprises it may bring".
"And those small creatures known as hobbits were one surprise I did not expect", remarked Isildur. "What became of Master Baggins and his friend? I no longer see them in our midst".
"Frodo and Sam have returned home", replied Gil-galad.
"They were overcome with the desire to find themselves once again amidst green fields and pleasant pastures and saw no reason to delay their departure", added Elrond, smiling as he recalled the moment when Frodo and Sam had found the will to drop the Ring into the chasm. Only he, Gil-galad and Círdan knew the truth about the hobbits' origin and the outlandish manner in which they had returned to their home.
"My brother was very fond of them and got to know them well", said Isildur. "He found them wise, intelligent and very quick to learn the skills he taught them".
"They have all those attributes and a good deal more besides", said Gil-galad. "They are altogether unique and rather special beings".
"Where, precisely, lies their homeland?" enquired Isildur. "I never did manage to learn how far they had travelled to reach Imladris and I am intrigued to learn more of them".
"They came from a very long way off", answered Elrond, choosing his words carefully. "The land which they call home is rich and green and has excellent soil. The hobbit-folk are good farmers and take delight in things that grow. They seek not to dominate others, nor do they crave power or great riches. Hobbits are fond of the simple life. They enjoy good food and ale and find pleasure in the smoking of a fragrant leaf that is known to them as pipeweed. But it is in harmony that they find their greatest blessing, only when they are living in peace can they experience true contentment".
"It sounds as though the race of men could learn a thing or two from these hobbits".
The King of Gondor drew on his own long-handled pipe thoughtfully.
"Perhaps, but now that they have gone you may find it a little difficult to locate them", said Gil-galad, his expression giving nothing away. "I understand that they are somewhat shy of us big folk and quite adept at hiding from us when they do not wish to be found. When the time is right for the outside world to come into contact with them again I am sure it will be an altogether pleasing occasion".
"The goodwill of men will always be extended to them", declared Isildur. "I, for my part, will allow no harm to come to them and will do everything in my power to ensure that their peaceful existence continues. But insofar as your people are concerned, it grieves me to think that Middle-earth is looking to a future that contains no elves. We have fought side by side against the common enemy for many years. You gave us shelter when we were cast down upon these shores and have ever been good friends to us".
"And you to us", said Gil-galad. "But fear not, my friend, it is not our intention to rush our departure".
"Then I ask of you, Sire, do not depart until I am through with my mortal existence", said Isildur. "It would be most gratifying to me to know that you are nearby when the time comes for me to lay myself down to die. My respect for the two of you is unrivalled and I hold you both in the greatest possible esteem. You are the closest friends I have outside my own race so I implore you to grant me this request".
"We will grant it gladly, Sire", responded Gil-galad promptly. He knew without hesitation that Elrond would not wish to deny Isildur's appeal. "It is unlikely that either we or our immediate companions will be setting out upon our journey to the white harbour just yet. For the time being, at least, our home will be in Middle-earth. The call of the Sea has not yet reached our ears and until such time as it does we will not be possessed of the desire to sail. In the meantime, it would please us if you would continue to count us amongst your friends, and to remember that we can be called upon in times of need".
The Elf King and the King of Men, so different yet in many ways so alike, clutched hands in the re-affirmation of the steadfast friendship that had seen them emerge as victors in the war they had declared against evil.
The elves lingered at the body of Elendil before they left Isildur's camp.
"Nai senda, Númenorion", whispered Gil-galad.
He leaned forward and kissed the dead King's forehead. The three of them then bid their farewells and Gil-galad and Elrond returned to their own camp.
Dawn broke over Mordor and brought with it a sweet, fragrant wind. No longer was the air contaminated with the acrid stench of death and dying, for the killing had now stopped and in its place lingered an altogether more intoxicating fragrance.
"Victory is sweet, is it not?" asked Círdan of Gil-galad and Elrond as they returned from their visit to Isildur. Preparations for the departure of the elven army were now well advanced and the area surrounding the foot of Mount Doom was bustling with happy activity.
"Indeed it is", said Gil-galad glancing up at the emerging blue sky. "And it is to be hoped that when the world falls into the hands of men they will remind themselves from time to time of how different life can be when the world is at peace instead of at war. If they are able to do this, and to act upon those reminiscences, then there is a chance that future inhabitants of Middle-earth will enjoy a good life".
"Isildur's intention is to ensure that the world remains at peace for as long as he is able to exert influence", said Elrond, informing Círdan of the Gondorian King's plans for the future. "And I believe he will adhere to his resolutions for he has lived through far too much turmoil to do otherwise".
"Isildur is an honourable man", said Círdan thoughtfully. "And I share your belief in him and his ability to maintain peace and stability in the lands he and his brother rule. But it is a little more difficult to predict the intentions and behaviour of future generations of men. It is sometimes their habit to fail in the promises they make. Their intentions are firmly declared and are often admirable, but sadly they do not always finish that which they begin and they are all too easily enticed away from their goals by the allure of power".
"What you speak of is sadly true, my friend", said Gil-galad. "But enjoying a life that is free from conflict is something that is capable of becoming a habit, just as is the case with war. We must therefore not abandon hope of a peaceful world in years to come. The deeds of men are destined to outlast us and ultimately their doom is a matter which concerns us not. Our fates are sundered from them and ever shall be, for that is the will of Ilúvatar".
The elven army was almost ready to leave. There was an atmosphere of contained excitement in the foothills of Mordor as the vast gathering set about making the final preparations for their departure and there was scarcely an individual amongst them who was not overjoyed at the prospect of bidding farewell to the land that had staged what many described as the bloodiest and most hard fought battle Middle-earth had ever witnessed.
There were far too many casualties for the occasion to be entirely without sorrow, however, and a particularly sombre sight on this otherwise merriest of days was the entourage of carriages bearing the lifeless bodies of elves who had fallen in battle. Gil-galad watched silently as the riders who were to draw the carriages mounted their horses. There is no gain without some loss. This philosophical reminder drifted into the King's thoughts but it brought him little comfort at this hour; too large a number of the elves who had made the journey to Mordor would be returning home as corpses for his liking. He wished with all his heart that peace had not come at so high a cost.
"Grieve not for our fallen colleagues, for they are in the keeping of Mandos now", urged Círdan. He had been quick to sense his friend's solemn mood and to take note of his correspondingly grim expression. The Shipwright knew how deeply the deaths of the warriors who had fought under Gil-galad's command affected him. "They have passed beyond hurt and pain and their fate is no longer in our hands. Let us wish them safe passage to their next destination, and to whatever awaits them thereafter".
It was within the confines of the Halls of Mandos that the spirits of elves found themselves after they were slain, there to await their ultimate fate. It was considered to be something of an unnatural occurrence for an elf to die, for the intention of Ilúvatar when he gave life to his beloved firstborn was that they should exist as immortal beings right unto the ending of the world. After a period of time spent within the Halls, therefore, and if considered worthy, elves could then be re-incarnated and return to their kin in Aman. It was for Mandos alone to make that decision and he would not suffer to be influenced by relatives who were still living. Further, it was virtually unheard of for elves to return to Middle-earth after reincarnation. Gil-galad, Elrond and Círdan uttered a quiet prayer for their fallen comrades.
All eyes were then upon the King as his steed was brought to him. He mounted the large, powerful stallion effortlessly, swinging himself into the saddle with the same ease and grace as would have been the case had he been able to enjoy the use of both his arms. His left arm was resting in a sling but he gave no outward indication of any discomfort and he was, in any event, far too experienced a rider to allow such a thing to trouble him. Elrond looked on with feelings of love, admiration and pride, although none, save perhaps for Círdan, would have been able to guess at his thoughts. His impassive expression, as ever, gave nothing away. Not for the first time, Elrond thanked the Valar for sparing Ereinion's life.
And so on this bright, memorable day early in the Third Age of Middle-earth, Ereinion Gil-galad, High King of the Noldor, led his triumphant army out of Mordor. It was to be the last that any of them would see of the Land of Shadow. The elven warriors, whose shining armour reflected the strengthening rays of a rapidly-ascending sun, were a magnificent sight as they formed ranks and assembled behind their King. Despite the rigours they had faced over the last seven years, they were every bit as well-drilled and disciplined as they had been at the commencement of battle. At Gil-galad's side rode Elrond and Círdan, each of them a close friend to him as well as a trusted commander in his army. Immediately behind the King came the riders who pulled the carriages bearing the dead and they in turn were followed by numerous mounted warriors and a legion of foot soldiers.
Isildur, High King of Gondor and Arnor, stepped forward as the Elven King approached and he, along with his legion of men, raised his fist in the air. The battle that had taken place on these plains was not the first that had seen man and elf united against the common enemy but it would almost certainly be the last. The fast friendship that had been forged out of mutual respect and in the heat of a desperate desire to defeat evil was destined to remain unbroken until such time as elves no longer graced the shores of Middle-earth.
Isildur bowed his head in deference as Gil-galad and his colleagues rode past and the elves did likewise. The level of respect that flowed between the two races had never been greater.
The colossal black tower of Barad-dûr had started to crumble as soon as the unmaking of the One Ring was underway, and this had proved to be a most spectacular sight. The fall of the tower had been witnessed by many of the Alliance warriors, some of whom had been forced to retreat rapidly from the scene, and it was a sight that was guaranteed to remain a topic of conversation amongst them for many years to come.
A certain degree of sorcery had been summoned by Sauron in the building of his sinister black edifice but now that he had been vanquished the tower lay in ruins. A vast crack had appeared in the ground upon which the tower was built and much of the debris had been swallowed up in the process. That which remained would decay in the fullness of time and would, in the interim, be seen as a mark of dedication to the men and elves who had fought so bravely in their quest to bring about its demise.
For many long centuries the mere mention of Mordor had struck terror into the hearts of those who feared the ominous presence of evil, but those dark times had now mercifully passed. Not only had the ruin of Barad-dûr and the eruption and subsequent collapse of Orodruin brought about dramatic changes to the landscape of the area, but the territory itself had been cleansed of evil. Mordor's forbidding dark plains still presented an ugly picture to the beholder, a view that was unlikely to change in the foreseeable future, but the land no longer held the power to fill the hearts of those who ventured into it with fear and trepidation.
The lines of warriors narrowed as Gil-galad led them through the Valley of Udûn, the entrance to which formed the only opening in the otherwise formidable mountain ranges that surrounded the vanquished Dark Lord's territory. Sauron, upon taking up abode in Mordor, had immediately set about fortifying its defences by arranging for a massive gate to be built. The Black Gate, otherwise known as the Morannon, had sustained severe damage at the hands of the Alliance warriors as they forced their way into the dark lands seven years previously and what remained of it had since been swallowed by the same huge chasm that had spread across the land after consuming most of Barad-dûr. For the first time in many centuries, therefore, the entrance to the land of Mordor stood unguarded. It was a sight which brought a triumphant smile to the face of many an elven warrior.
It took some time for the army to pass through the Valley. The size of the host was still considerable, despite the heavy losses it had sustained. Once outside the Black Gate a legion of elves, led by Thranduil of Greenwood, bid farewell to Gil-galad and his followers and turned northwards. Thranduil's father, King Oropher, had fallen victim to Sauron's army along with some two-thirds of his battalion, and it was now Thranduil's intention to lead his much-depleted company through the Brown Lands and thereafter back to their woodland home east of the Misty Mountains.
Gil-galad had been given permission by Isildur to lead the remainder of his army through Gondor's unique and beautiful capital Osgiliath, one of the fine cities founded by Elendil and his sons shortly after they made their decision to adopt these regions as their home. The city, which was situated some fifteen miles to the north-east of Minas Anor, spread across both sides of the River Anduin and the two halves were linked by an impressively-constructed bridge. It was across this bridge that Gil-galad and his army slowly passed, attracting much attention from a steadily-growing crowd of fascinated onlookers, before proceeding to take the path that would lead them north of Mindolluin, the prominent peak that stood at the easternmost point of the far-reaching White Mountains.
It was Gil-galad's intention to lead his people home with as little delay as possible, and this wish was greeted with enthusiasm by every elf under his command. These warriors had been separated from their kin for far too long and the prospect of a reunion with those dear to them was more than sufficient to banish any lingering vestiges of battle-weariness.
The air was fresh, clean and invigorating as the army made their way through the steep, rocky paths that had been carved into the northern foothills of Mindolluin. The mountain's gleaming white summit towered far above them and the rugged, natural beauty of the area provided a much-appreciated contrast to the dismal cheerlessness of Mordor.
The paths were, in places, perilous and too dangerous to negotiate in darkness and as dusk began to settle Gil-galad, who was well satisfied with the progress that had been made that day, declared that the company would come to a halt for the night. There was a certain amount of restlessness amongst the elves as they made their camp, for they were for the most part keen to be on their way, but the following bright morning saw the army set out early and continue along their path north of the White Mountains.
By the time the sun had reached its highest point in the sky it was time for a further company of elves to take their leave of Gil-galad and the rest of the army. The Galadhrim of Lórien had fought bravely in battle and were particularly renowned for their prowess with the bow, a skill which had found its target through the heart of many a Mordor orc. They, in turn, had sustained heavy losses but the spirits of those who had survived were high as they prepared to separate from the warriors with whom they had served for the past seven years. Their path would take them east of Fangorn Forest, home of the Ents, before returning them to the beautiful land which many referred to as the Golden Wood.
"I do not believe I have ever seen you looking so happy", commented Círdan, drawing near to Gil-galad as the two of them stood and watched the Galadhrim disappear from sight. "And I do not need to look too far to understand the source of your happiness either".
Círdan's keen eyes drifted towards the approaching figure of Elrond, who had ridden for a short distance with the Archers of the Galadhrim and was now returning to his own company.
"You know me too well, my friend", commented Gil-galad, glancing at the Shipwright. A slow, sensuous smile spread across his face as he focussed his attention upon Elrond.
"The King has missed the company of his Herald", commented Gil-galad softly. He appeared transfixed by the sight of Elrond as he galloped towards him, brought his horse to a halt nearby and then gracefully dismounted. "In fact, the King desires that, from now on, his Herald remain close by him at all times and never leaves his side again".
"That is a command which the King's Herald will adhere to gladly", responded Elrond. He bowed low as he approached the King. "And, whilst the Herald has the attention of the King, he wishes to convey to him a very important message".
"Then pray, deliver this missive", requested Gil-galad, his deep blue eyes sparkling.
"I love you", said Elrond simply.
The pair of them were oblivious to Círdan, who smiled knowingly and then tactfully wandered off, as they melted into each other's arms. A fierce, untamed joy seared within their souls as they stood there, wrapped together as one under the bright morning sky. The world itself, newly freed from the threat of tyranny, seemed to rejoice in their happiness as they held each other. The colours around them became more dazzling, the sounds of the living creatures who made these lands their home grew more pronounced and the very air that enveloped them seemed to breathe and pulsate in time with the beating of their own hearts.
They were breathless when they eventually drew apart. Holding each other at arm's length, it was Gil-galad who was the first to speak.
"I hereby release you from all heralding duties", he said.
Elrond regarded him with wide eyes.
"But ..... My Liege ..... if I have done something to displease you, then pray tell me, for ..."
Gil-galad silenced him by raising his hand.
"If you had incurred my displeasure, you would have been aware of it long before now". He spoke sternly but his face softened immediately. "The war is over and things are changing, not only all around us but also within us, can you not feel it? The time has come for you to step down from your heralding duties. You have served me diligently for many years and I respect you as I respect few others. Considered yourself discharged from my service, Elrond of Imladris. From this point onwards, when you ride at my side, you do so out of love for me rather than out of duty".
"You honour me", whispered Elrond quietly. His dark eyes were soft with unuttered emotion; seldom had he been reduced to such a state in his long life.
"Nay, it is I who am honoured", came Gil-galad's swift but equally gentle response. "You have made an old elf very happy".
"Old? You have only eighty years more than me", remarked Elrond, frowning.
"Maybe, but I always think of myself as your elder", said Gil-galad. He took Elrond's hand in his and kissed it. "You came to me as a child. I was entrusted with your safe-keeping and your care and sometimes I still think of those times, despite the long years that have since elapsed and the feelings that have developed between us. Does that sound foolish to you, beloved one?"
Elrond held Gil-galad's hand against his face and then shook his head.
"We are all capable of uttering foolish words when speaking to those whom we love", he said. "Do you remember the words I spoke to you, back in the healing shelter, when I believed you to be sleeping? I gave little heed to how those words sounded or whether or not they were foolish because, at the time, my only desire was to express the depth of my feelings for you".
To be continued...
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