The Last Elf Queen of Arda

Chapter 2 - The Bluest of Blood

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Whether the sun truly rose that morning or not, it seemed the gray wastes of the plains of Daglorlad looked just as gloomy as they had the night before. The armies of elves and men were on the move well before daybreak though, even without a sunrise to greet them. Elendil could be seen even at a distance as he rode up the hill at Gil-Galad's side. The mortal king and the High King of the Noldor led their forces out onto the cusp of the plains, arraying themselves in a broad swath of shining armor and fluttering banners of blue and gold. Oropher came after at the head of the Greenwood elves, with Amdír and the forces ofLoríen not far behind. Placing themselves to the left of Gil-Galad's columns, the Silvan kings eyed the forces of Men where they stood to the right of the Noldor. They perhaps liked it less than some that the High King of the elves should be so clearly favorable toward mortals.

Trying to look relaxed, Thranduil stood straight as an arrow at his father's elbow. The king was arrayed in his finest armor, and for the first time so was the prince. Never before had Thranduil ever worn the moulded breastplate, greaves and fauld made to fit him. A child of the forest, he was far more used to dancing along the arms of trees clad in light leather armor of perhaps even just a tunic. He was proud to be armored after the fashion of his father though, and that went far in settling the writhing of his stomach. The heads of elves and men seemed to go on forever in both directions. What army in all of Arda could possibly challenge such a force? He wondered to himself.

The answer came spilling like a dark stain over the horizon soon enough. The black gates of the Morannon were flung wide, and through them issued forth legion after legion after legion. Orcs, trolls, goblins, all manner of foul creatures had come to heed the summons of their dark master Sauron. When all thought that the lands of Mordor could not possibly contain another orc, yet another mass of them would come roiling out onto the plains.

Watching the approach of the armies of evil through slitted eyes, Oropher glanced sideways to where Gil-Galad stood at the head of his forces. The Noldorin king was composed, his great spear Aeglos standing nearly nine feet tall above the heads of all around. Oropher could not read what was in Gil-Galad's mind; the sides of his helm blocked his face from view. As it sensing eyes upon him, Gil-Galad turned and called across to Elendil at the head of the armies of Men.

"Bring the spear-bearers into the front line. Let the spawn of darkness run themselves through with the weight of their charge."

Oropher saw Elendil nod, then signal to his swordsmen to fall back and give way to the spearmen. The armies of Noldor and Men alike exchanged their ranks with swift efficiency, bringing the long spears and shields of their bearers come forward to create a bristling wall. The king of the Greenwood could have spit, if elves ever lowered themselves to such human displays of disgust. Did Gil-Galad intend for them to slink in behind the forces of the Noldo and, Eru forbid, of mortals to take shelter? Surely he must realize that they counted no spear-bearers within their ranks. The elves of and of the Greenwood did their battle either by bow or by blade; there was no in-between for them.

Sauron's army was drawing closer at an alarming pace, covering the distance from the Morannon across the plains with blood-thirsty speed. It would not be long before they crashed upon them like a thunderclap. One quick look at Amdír confirmed that the other Silvan king was just as disgruntled at the thought of having to fall back behind Gil-Galad and Elendil's ranks.

Very well then. Oropher thought. If Gil-Galad will fight this battle in his own style, then we shall do the same. Jerking his head in the direction of the approaching orcs, he indicated his intentions to Amdír.