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Summary:

After many long weeks on the road, the Alliance of Elves and Men has been made ready for war with the might of the Seven Houses. They now march for the Dagorlad. But, alas, evil tidings come from the South as the Lord of Mordor seeks to hinder his enemies and sunder the Alliance before they may act against him.

Notes:

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Chapter Text

 3 days prior, armies of the Seven Houses…

Durin marched alongside his many kin though he had not been summoned to the council, it would not be said that the Sons of Durin would be found lacking! Long had it been since the race of dwarves gone to war, yet their host was greater than any since the days of Belegost and Nogrond.

"Ha, let us see the Lord of Mordor stand before the might of the Dwarves!" thought Durin, knowing that the Lord of Mordor would bring ruin upon his people should they refuse him as their fathers did in the days of old.

As Durin pondered this, his gaze turned to the Dwarf beside him, Magni, son of Thurimar; though young by the count of dwarves, he had done quite well as the Lord of the White Mountains becoming immensely rich and famous, and treated with great reverence by the mortal men, who lived to the east.

Indeed, many might assume they would not march at all; he had not forgotten how Jon had overlooked his help when the council of war was called and further still when he came before them to ask for aid, yet his people are not so cruel as the Elves might like to believe they too can forgive…and enjoy those marvellous pastries his thoughts then turned to his friends' elven wife and her aunt, alas it seemed that Magni was grousing again.

"How long until we reach their camp?" grumbled Magni.

"I don't know, boy, a week at the most if we continue at this rate... We skirted the borders of Lórien, and our scouts say that Elendil and his host have struck camp near the meeting of the Entwash and Anduin, but we do not know how long they shall remain; we must hasten lest they begin the war without us" thundered Durin, 

"Hmm, perhaps we shall have good fortune and fall upon the Orcs before Jon and his companions. I can think of no greater punishment for the Elves than being outshone by the Seven Houses," said Magni stroking his beard and staring about him.

"Aye, you speak truly, but there is little sense in grumbling about slights long past," growled Durin. "We go now to show the true courage of the Dwarves son of Thurimar just as kin did in the Elder days."

"Aye marching so far north then back down again was tiring work," said Magni. "Yet my axe is restless in my hand. Give me a row of orc-necks and room to swing and all weariness will fall from me!" 

"Ah, the fortunes of youth, by Mahal, the grief I must've caused my father and mother when I was his age," thought Durin as they continued their march southward.

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Three days later…

Rhaenys POV….

After the departure of Jon, Isildur, Loras and Robar, the entire camp was swiftly dismantled as they continued their march towards Dagorlad, where if fortune held, they would meet Anárion and his troops.

Rhaenys, for her part, was at that moment looking at the sky waiting for the return of what was her younger brother and Lord husband in all but name, it was fortunate that elf witch had remained behind, yet it filled Rhaenys with bitter envy to know she had claimed Jon first worse still Arianne would bear her beloved brothers firstborn.

"Life is unfair…" thought Rhaenys bitterly, believing her cousin and Írimë had robbed her of her heart's desire.

Though her musings were interrupted by the rustling of the trees, and a great shadow descended like a falling cloud, her brother had returned Vhagar circled for a moment before swooping low and coming to rest on the muddy ground with a great thud and catching sight of Jon she smiled gladdened he had returned unharmed.

Yet, her joy turned to envy when she saw the cloak her brother wore. "A cloak fit for a King..." thought Rhaenys sadly. "If only I possessed the skill to weave my brother something so beautiful."

Alas, as she and Arya drew nearer to Vhagar, Rhaenys perceived the gloominess of her brother and his companions. 

She was however quickly outpaced by Arya, who rushed to greet Jon, eyes alight in mirth.

"Jon! shouted Arya running towards her cousin and welcoming him with a fierce kiss caring little of their audience.

"It seems the she-wolf has grown bold indeed!" thought Rhaenys angrily, gripping Dramborleg with such strength her knuckles were white.

Although the mood darkened as Jon parted from Arya, his countenance cold, grim as ice, and stony.

"Jon?" asked Arya worriedly.

"Jon, what has happened?" asked Daenerys fearfully.

"Grim fortune Dany, we are betrayed! The men of the Mountains have broken their oaths and shall not march with us against Mordor," said Jon grimly, his eyes glittering in malice.

"Damned traitors", Rhaenys muttered. "I shall go South with Meleys and burn their holds to ash, then let us see if they are so eager to defy us!"

"Well spoken, Princess Rhaenys," growled Loras. "They are the cruellest of cowards to break their oaths on the eve of battle."

"Where is my father?" asked Isildur gloomily.

"He is meeting with the Lords of the Elven hosts. It seems they are still debating how best to get through the Black Gate," said Daenerys before embracing Jon.

"And my brother?" asked Isildur.

"King Anárion hasn't arrived yet," answered Rhaenys, her eyes not leaving Jon's, who smiled wearily at her.

"Typical of Anárion..." said Jon cheerfully, and to their surprise, Isildur chortled happily.

"Aye, my brother is ever eager to make an entrance," said Isildur wearily.

"We must seek out your father and tell him what has happened," said Jon returning Daenerys embrace.

"Yes... come, my ladies, you may join us," said Isildur, and the others nodded in agreement.

"Come on, Jon..." said Daenerys offering her arm to him, which he took gladly and soon they were off towards the King's pavilion.

"You'll pay for that, Aunt Daenerys…." thought Rhaenys enviously, and a glance at Arya told her the she-wolf was of the same mind as herself.

As they made their way through the camp, many stared at them in curiosity; some of the Noldor and Dúnedain offered greetings or saluted them, yet the Silvan elves eyed them warily, especially her brother it was no secret to Rhaenys that the Silvan held contempt for the Noldor, but it seems now the brunt of their ire was Jon.

As they passed, Rhaenys heard the Silvan muttering among themselves, occasionally pointing at Jon, and while she was not as well versed in the woodland tongue, she knew well enough when someone was insulting her brother, and she glared at the Silvan evilly.

"Let them wallow in spite and jealousy then. If they wish to behave as children, I will not stop them, Jon is a good man, and they are too spiteful to see it," thought Rhaenys.

They entered the pavilion, in the midst of which sat a great oaken table strewn with many maps and other objects of importance; seated at the table was the council of the West, no doubt revising their plans.

Perceiving their coming, the conversation ceased, and the great Lords present turned to welcome them, and to Rhaenys amusement Oropher and Amdír seemed dumbstruck by the beauty of her brothers' panoply of war.

"Perhaps I'll have Jon fashion me some armour akin to his own." thought Rhaenys, amused by the jealousy of the Silvan, yet more troubling were those who eyed her brothers' cloak those of keen mind could see it was of Elvish make and it bore the heraldry of Finarfin making it apparent who had woven it, Galadriel had seemingly grown far bolder regarding Jon and the nature of their closeness.

"Father, we have returned…" said Isildur bowing low; Elendil was joyful for his sons' return, yet his countenance soon soured when he saw the grim looks of his knights.

"You are all welcome, my son... though by your grim countenance, I wager that something has gone afoul with the Men of Dunharrow," Elendil grumbled, his countenance stern, and Rhaenys could sense the aged King's rage.

"Alas, father, we are betrayed the Men of Dunharrow have forsaken their oaths. They shall not march with us, nor shall they march for Sauron," Isildur said with contempt, something which all the elves and men present shared.

"I see..." said Elendil, and though his voice was serene, his eyes burned with bitter hatred.

"This is as pitiful as the treachery of the Sallow Men in the First Age," said Gil-galad wearily, his eyes filled with shame and sadness.

"It seems that once more, men show the truth of their honour," Amdír sneered, earning him hateful glares from those gathered.

"He is truly a spiteful and loathsome Elf, though I hope his son may prove a better king them him, or our alliance shall end before ever meeting the enemy." thought Rhaenys, no longer concealing her scorn for the King of Lorien.

"It is woeful in all the long wars with the Dark Tower treason has ever been our greatest foe," said Oropher bitterly, no doubt recalling the sack of Doriath.

"Mayhaps, my Lords though my heart tells me there is more to this tale," said Galadriel gazing at Jon, and Rhaenys could tell they were conversing in thought with one another.

"That haughty elf enjoys speaking to my brother as such, as if she wishes to remind us that her bond with him runs deep," Rhaenys thought enviously and heard Galadriel's melodious laugh in her mind as she imagined nailing him. Drambolerg on her pretty blonde head.

"I sense the fate of those men is no longer in our hands," said Galadriel, her eyes never straying from Jon's.

"My lady?" asked Glorfindel, confounded.

"The Lady Galadriel is right, Master; those men are cursed in the eyes of the Valar, I'm certain," said Jon speaking for the first time, and all eyes fell upon him.

"Then perhaps you might tell us what happened, Jon?" asked Elendil.

Then all listened while Jon in his clear voice spoke of the Men of Dunharrow and the meeting they shared, the treachery of those craven men, and lastly, the great eagle that appeared upon the utterance of Isildur's oath.

When her brother finished speaking, Rhaenys surprisingly took his arm as an escort and enjoyed seeing the anger and jealousy on Galadriel's beautiful face.

Upon hearing that two Valar had approved Isildur's words, all the elves looked at them with full attention, and after a few minutes of silence, they looked at each other.

"Tis good fortune, though they have long since left Middle earth, the Valar have not forsaken us nor forgotten their oaths to our people," said Círdan, shedding a tear of happiness.

"Well, it seems there nought to be said of the Oathbreakers, so let us return to the subject at hand, though I apologise for not welcoming you properly these days have been wearying," said Elendil mournfully.

"Tis well, father.... we know the burden you now face," said Isildur, and then, as if in answer many horns were heard further off, accompanied by the sound of many marching feet.

"What has happened? Have the armies of Mordor come?" asked Loras drawing his sword.

"No, nor do I imagine the Orcs would possess horns of such fair tune it is our allies," said Robar wisely.

"It's Anárion…" said Jon, smiling merrily, and Rhaenys smiled as well it warmed her heart to see her brother happy even during these dark days.

"Prince Jon speaks rightly; the Lord of Minas Anor has come at last", said Galadriel, her gaze was cold as if her ire could smite the young princess, yet Rhaenys would not be cowed and smiled sweetly at the Lady of Light.

Rhaenys may not abhor Galadriel half as much as she hates Írimë, but she would not be cowed by the Elf Queen; she loved Jon long before these two ever knew him.

"We'll see, insolent girl..." said Galadriel boldly.

Rhaenys paid her no heed and clung tighter to Jon, hoping to infuriate Galadriel further, yet their musings were cut short when Elrond spoke.

"What do you think, Jon?" asked Elrond, his eyes gleaming with mirth and amusement.

"Nothing of great importance, Lord Elrond though it shall be good to see Anárion again, perhaps I shall show him my armour as well," said Jon as Rhaenys snorted in amusement.

"Jon..." growled Elendil; Jon merely bowed, his smile never leaving his face, and Círdan laughed at his apprentices' boldness.

"I shall not ask your pardon, my King... I imagine Anárion will be quite pleased to see my craftsmanship again," said Jon proudly, his eyes alight with mirth.

"You're a vain fool, brother," said Rhaenys though in truth, she was vexed that her beloved brother had not forged any items of such marvellousness for her or even Daenerys.

"It's true, silly, you forgot about us", growled Arya while Daenerys laughed in amusement.

"Indeed, even in our Woodland realm, tales of Baelon Targaryen's mastery of the forge have reached us. I must confess I have desired to see such crafts for myself... and I shall proudly admit I've never seen such fine craftsmanship among men of elves," said Amroth kindly, his eyes alight with wonder and amazement.

"You speak truly Amroth; I've often thought he might be a lost son of the house of Fëanor," said Thranduil gazing at Jon's armour with fierce want, filling Rhaenys with unease.

"Thranduil… " said Oropher reproachfully, though he too was struck by the beauty of Jon's armour.

"I thank you for your kind words, my Lords. But alas, I do not possess the material to fashion such armour again", Jon said with a smile that annoyed everyone in the shop.

"What a pity, brother..." replied Loras bitterly.

"We'd better go welcome Anárion, Father... We haven't seen him in many long years, and I wish to see how he has faired," said Isildur, no doubt eager to see his brother after so long.

"Aye, son, let us go and greet your brother. We have been parted for too long," said Elendil, and a great longing came upon his face.

"See, my friend, we have some good fortune amidst misery, and I am eager to see how Anárion has faired after so many years," said Gil-galad hoping to brighten his friends' mood.

"Come on..." said King Elendil followed by his companions, though as they departed, she could hear here Loras and Robar muttering of the greediness of Dragons and some rather colourful insults. It seems Daenerys heard them as well, for she giggled much to her brothers' confusion, yet before Rhaenys could tell him what was so amusing, Galadriel appeared at their side and looped her arm around Jon's.

"I told you, Rhaenys Targaryen...never shall the daughter of Finarfin be found wanting," said Galadriel laughing, her mood was soured further as the Elf queen kissed her brother fiercely as she might and swiftly strolled out of the tent though Jon halted a moment, looking back muttering. "I swear I shall make this up to you", before disappearing through the tent flap.

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Daenerys POV…

Daenerys watched in anger as Jon was led off by Galadriel as she was the only woman in his heart; she had long held her tongue when Jon had courted Arianne and still when her nephew had begun a harem. Indeed, she had a mind to refuse, but her love for Jon was great, yet she feared the harem had become too large upon Írimë joining and with Galadriel, it was far worse as the Lady of Light behaved as a bespotted tavern wench always seeking to usurp them.

It did not help at all that Jon and Írimë were wed in the eyes of men and elves; she had always hoped it to just be the three of them to be her brothers Rhaenys, but it seems those plans would be dashed by the jealousy of elves still this fight for her nephew's love was foolish and Valar willing she would end it soon.

As they departed the tent, she glimpsed the white cloak her nephew wore. If one looked at the sigil, it was apparent who had given him the cloak, a truth not lost upon the soldiery; worse still was her nephew walking arm in arm with Galadriel. 

As they passed, she heard the murmuring of the soldiers who had gathered to welcome Anárion; she could not discern all of what they said, but Daenerys did catch a few bits of conversation. Fortunately, their gossip was quieted by the blowing of horns and stamping of hooves; they had been saved by the arrival of Anárion, but she knew the soldiers would return to their talk of the Lady of Light and her closeness to the Prince of Osgiliath.

There came proud knights bearing the banner of the King aloft and the dour-handed Gondorians, leading a great valour of the folk of Lebennin and Lamedon and the fiefs of the South. But before all went Anárion, though he was not the dashing man she remembered, his face was stony, and his beard shot through with strands of grey. He seemed laden with years, but holding strength beyond the strength of kings, and by his side was Meneldil tall and fair as any prince of Westernesse clad in silver and steel.

Anárion and his son dismounted from their horses and knelt before his father as he was welcomed with high honours, and all were gladdened by his coming, especially her nephew, who was smiling heartily.

"Welcome, my son. I hope you have fared well," said Elendil, eagerly embracing his son.

"It gladdens my heart to see you again, father... now comes the hour we draw swords together," said Anárion returning his father's embrace.

"Yes, but for the moment, let us enjoy our reunion, what courage you and your men have shown, how brave they have been... I am proud to call you my son, and prouder still you have defended our people so fiercely, " said Elendil proudly, his eyes twinkling as the stars.

"Thank you, though this victory was not mine alone, many fell in defence of our realm, and their valour must be counted as well," said Anárion, his eyes sufficed with weariness, fear, and sadness.

"There will be a time to mourn for all those slain... but our minds must turn to darker thoughts," said Glorfindel wearily, his eyes losing their lustre.

"Lord Glorfindel is right, come son, there is much you must tell us and much that you and your son must know," said Elendil placing a hand upon Anárion's shoulder.

"Yes, father, come Meneldil…" said Anárion, bidding his son to follow.

It was then the Lord of Minas Anor caught sight of his brother and Jon standing side by side, and he was filled with great joy and strode forth to greet them.

"It's been too long, brother and you, Jon…" said Anárion smiling though his joy was sufficed with bewilderment seeing Galadriel standing arm in arm with his old friend.

"Brother…Praise the Valar for keeping you and your son safe," said Isildur embracing his brother and nephew fiercely, his eyes wet with tears.

The love shared between the brothers was a beautiful sight to behold, yet Daenerys also felt sadness as she remembered Viserys. It has been many centuries since his death, yet seeing the love shared between her Lords tore at her heart.

"My foolish brother, if you had not been engulfed by such grief and madness, would we have been the same?" thought Daenerys.

After a moment, Isildur and Anárion parted, and the King went forth to greet his oldest friend.

"Hello again, Jon, my Lady Galadriel", said Anárion, bowing low. "It gladdens my heart to see you both in high spirits."

"Well met Anárion, Lord of the Tower of the Sun, I name you bold and valourous as your forbears, for few could have held back the malice of Sauron so steadfastly," said Galadriel kindly, tightening her hold on Jon's arm much to Daenerys vexation.

"Aye, it is good to see you again, my friend... tell me how fairs Osgiliath? Have my walls held strong?" said Jon joyfully.

"She holds strong, my friend. Indeed many of the soldiery give thanks to you and look for your return; some have even painted wolves and dragons on their shields in honour of you old friend; likewise, the beauty and wisdom of the maidens of Edhellond is sorely missed," said Anárion, and the fool Jon was flustered by his friends' praise, although Galadriel smiled like a cat in the cream.

"Thank you for your words Son of Elendil; Osgiliath has become a home for my aunt and me, and knowing that we are missed there fills my heart with joy," said Galadriel, bowing low.

"Thank you for your kind words, and I'm certain my wife will be pleased as well; perhaps when the war has ended, I shall pay a visit to Minas Anor and strengthen her defences," said Jon proudly and all laughed gaily even Galadriel could scarcely hide her joy, though Daenerys frowned knowing many regarded Írimë as her nephew's lawful wife.

"I would welcome your talent in my city, Jon. Indeed, once the war is over, I'd hoped to appoint you as master of mansions so you may beautify our realm." Anárion said with a mocking smile, looking at Jon with satisfaction while Daenerys looked away when she saw the jokes between both fools.

"Nothing would make me happier old friend. We shall rebuild the realm together," replied Jon, and they embraced as brothers.

"Ah, it seems you've forged something new, have you, Jon? It seems of better make than any armour I've yet seen," said Anárion, his eyes alight with wonder. 

"Aye, old friend, after many long years of toil, I've blended the strength of Valyrian steel with the arts of the Noldor and Dwarves. It is of similar make to your blades, and such is its strength to withstand the might of Narsil and Aeglos," answered Jon proudly.

"Do you speak truly, Jon?" exclaimed Anárion in astonishment.

"Of course, my friend!" said Jon. "I would not make such boasts ideally."

At the proclamation, Daenerys could hear many murmurs of doubt among the men, especially the Silvan, who seemed altogether incensed that one of the Second born should be so bold in truth she was growing weary of Amdír's kin who were wholly unpleasant folk.

"Jon…" growled Elendil, his eyes glittering in vexation.

Jon frowned. "Yes, my king?" 

"If you wish to speak of such things, I may strip you of that armour; it would make a fine gift for me," grumbled Elendil.

"As you say, my King," said Jon vexedly, and the others laughed merrily.

"One should never be too prideful, brother," said Rhaenys cheerfully, and Jon glowered at her, and she laughed again.

"Indeed, Jon has grown bold, yet he did not have the courtesy to forge such finery for us," said Glorfindel, his eyes glittering in mirth.

Círdan laughed suddenly. "Indeed, old friend, perhaps Jon can set hammer to anvil and forge more of this marvellous metal for us." 

"That would be greatly appreciated," said Galadriel softly, holding Jon closer, too close for Daenerys liking.

"Ever fair are the works of Jon Snow, yet fairer still is the cloak he now wears," said Isildur joining in the jest, although on this occasion, Daenerys glimpsed Galadriel's countenance hardening.

And once more, all eyes fell upon the white cloak, and they whispered among themselves regarding the loveliness of the mantle and the skill of its embroidering, but those who knew the sign of Finarfin, which no lord had borne for years beyond count turned to the Lady Galadriel who smiled boldly.

"It was a gift to the prince Baelon from me for the kindness and courtesy he has shown me in my time in Osgiliath, further still through many lives of men he is kin to me and my house," said Galadriel softly, and though her voice was cheery Daenerys sensed a bitterness to her words as the cloak was no more gift of friendship.

"You are lucky then, Jon snow, to be held in such esteem by the Lady of Light that she would grant such a boon as few Lords could ever hope to attain," said Amdír suddenly, eyeing the cloak with great interest.

"If only they had an inkling of the truth of their hearts," thought Daenerys, cursing the foolishness of the elves and men, yet her eyes were drawn to Elrond and Círdan, who were eyeing her nephew with great interest.

Daenerys frowned. "Do Círdan and Elrond know of the true nature of their closeness?"

"Indeed, it is a splendid cloak, though not nearly as splendid as the necklace you made for my wife," said Thranduil proudly. "She and Legolas send their love, and she thanks you for the toy soldiers you made my son."

Jon laughed. "I am pleased he enjoys them," he said. "Perhaps when he comes of age, I shall make him a set of knives, young Legolas shall be the envy of every Elven princeling from the Greenwood to Valinor."

Thranduil smiled. "I'm certain he shall be pleased with your efforts, Jon," he said. "Though I ask you not to say a word to his mother, the thought of Legolas becoming a warrior fills her heart with grief."

"She shall not have a word out of me Thranduil; this I vow,' said Jon, and they embraced as old friends might after many long years apart.

Daenerys frowned; she was not angry at Jon's affection for the young elf, but all this talk of children drew her mind back to Imladris, where Arianne waited to give birth to her nephew's firstborn; she placed a hand upon her stomach at for a moment imagined herself carrying Jon's child.

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Jon 

After greetings were exchanged, the march towards Mordor was renewed; all had come save the dwarves who had tarried long hoping to gather many warriors from the Seven houses, but Durin had sent couriers ahead to inform them of their coming, so it was decided to slow their pace to allow the dwarves to catch up.

On the third morning of their march, they had just sat down to have breakfast when from among the trees, a horn rang out. It rent the morning like fire on a hilltop. Galadriel rose from her seat and peered out into the morning gloom.

"My star?" said Jon warily.

"Fear not, my wolf, your friends have come, weary yet stern as stone," said Galadriel, smiling gaily.

She spoke truly for a moment later; another horn sounded, and out of the mist came a long line of plate-clad dwarves fell and grim to look upon. As they drew nearer, the air was filled with the chanting of many voices the dwarves were singing, but this was no song of feast or merrymaking; this was a dirge of war.

Jon glimpsed many standards, each more magnificent than the last, the silver crown and stars of Durin, then came a red-bearded dwarf holding aloft a blue banner that bore a great anvil crowned by twin hammers and a mountain black; this was the kingdom of the Firebeards and Broadbeams then the Ironfists and Stiffbeards, the doughty Blacklocks and lastly the Stonefoots who had journeyed far from their eastern mansions to aid King Durin.

Elendil and Gil-galad marched forth to welcome the dwarves accompanied by the knights of their household and the Lords Oropher and Amdír. Though Jon thought this a foolish idea, it was apparent to many that the Lords of the Woodland held the dwarves in poor regard; he even spied a hint of greed in the eyes of Oropher, who seemed wholly entranced by the many gems and finery of the dwarven host.

"By the Valar, save me from the stubbornness of the Elves…." said Jon wearily, downing his mead and devouring the last piece of apple tart.

"Yes, my wolf, we'd best go and greet the dwarves. I fear if Amdír has his way, Lorien may be absent a king ere the day is done," said Galadriel before offering her arm to Jon, which he took gladly, and they set off after the Elendil and Gil-galad with his family following close behind them.

Gil-galad stepped forward and bowed politely. "Well, met friends from Khazad-dum and the many realms of the Dwarves. We are gladdened by your coming," he said. "How did you fair on your long march?"

Then from among the host stepped a dwarf with a red plaited beard, and brilliant blue eyes. He smiled gladly and bowed. "Greetings and good health to you, King Gil-galad and to you as well, Elendil the fair," he said. "And we thank you for your kind words; our journey was pleasant though we doubled the pace of our march, fearing we would be late."

A quick glance at the Amdír told Jon they were not content to be ignored by the Dwarves, and before Gil-galad could utter a word, Amdír spoke loudly, doubtless so all could hear him, "Do you see fit to ignore us, Dwarf Master?" he said, "Or perhaps do you think the Kings of Lorien and Greenwood the Great are beneath your notice?" 

The dwarf scowled and reached into his breast pocket. At once, Amdír notched an arrow believing the dwarf intended to draw a dagger, but it was revealed to be a long-stemmed pipe.

"I apologise, master elf, tis the first time I and my kin have seen an Elf in a long count of years", he grumbled as he lit it with his flint and tinder "we scarcely know your manners or customs, so I mean no offence." 

King Oropher looked as if he wished to speak but thought better of it and contended himself with glowering at the dwarves.

"Forgive him, master Dwarf, though I must ask…Where are Durin and Magni, Son of Thurimar? Did they not travel with you?" said Elendil, gazing at the throng of Dwarves hoping to see Durin.

"Aye, I shall forgive such a slight only once, and they shall be with us shortly. We had run out of water and camped by the river to refill our flasks." said the dwarf, blowing little white smoke rings into the air.

"Well, I shall hope they come soon, master dwarf. We cannot delay any further," said Gil-galad sternly.

"We understand, my Lord, we tarried longer than we ought to have, but King Durin was adamant that the Seven houses should be united in this effort," said the dwarf.

"Aye, now I see why the Dwarves have tarried so long," said Elendil 

"Your name, Master Dwarf?" asked Jon. "By your beard, I'd wager you're from Ered Luin."

"Aye, you got the right of it. I am Frór…son of Náin, your name is spoken of with great reverence among my peoples; indeed, there are whispers that you are an elf masquerading as a man," said Frór, eyeing Jon closely as trying to find some elvishness about him, and Galadriel held him closer as if worried someone would part them.

"The kings of these brave Dwarves have trodden our steps and shall be with us soon," said Galadriel merrily, this was met with cheers and cries of happiness from the men who were keen to bring the Orcs to battle.

"In that case, we offer them a well-deserved rest as well as food and drink," said Gil-galad; this was met by loud cheers from the dwarves, who were never one to turn down food and drink.

"We thank you very much, King Gil-galad, we came with great haste to deliver this message, and food would be greatly appreciated," said Frór, bowing so low his beard nearly touched the ground.

The Dwarves were quickly led to a tent that had been set aside for them and brought a fine assortment of meats, cheeses and wines, yet the greatest comfort came shortly after supper, it seemed that several of the Stonefoots had brought large barrels of pipeweed and soon the whole camp was filled with fabulous plumes of sweet-smelling smoke.

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That night...

It was a pleasant night as the warm sea winds came up from the south, and the scent of wildflowers hung heavy in the air. The camp was filled with the sounds of drinking and bawdy jest as the dwarves made merry Jon sat down on a barrel and puffed at his pipe, blowing several large smoke rings into the evening air. 

Just as he was about to relight his pipe, someone tapped his shoulder; he turned and saw Loras with a mug of mead in each hand, pipe clenched firmly between his lips.

Jon smiled. "Well, met brother, it seems the dwarves have lost none of their spirit," he said. "Though I do wonder how they came by such excellent pipeweed."

Loras handed him one of the mugs and sat beside him. "Hard to say though it seems they have brought it in great quantity," he said. "Still, it's best not to look a gift horse in the mouth," and then he pulled a pouch of tobacco from his satchel and stuffed it into the bowl of his long-stemmed pipe before striking a match and soon little smoke rings had joined his own in the night air.

They smoked in silence for a while, and the stars shone on them; slanting into the Vale from among white clouds high in the West. Jon sat there, taking a swing of his mead, humming a tune to himself. At last, he turned to his brother. "So Loras, are you ready for the days ahead?" he said. "Let us hope fortune favours us."

"I know," said Loras. "Though my mind is drawn to what comes after."

Jon stared at him and smiled. "Then I imagine we shall spend the rest of our days here in peace in comfort; perhaps I shall return to Osgiliath until my son comes of age," he said. "What do you hope for, Loras? Will you return to Annuminas?"

Loras laughed and took a draught of his mead. "Aye, the north has become home to me," he said. "Besides, I fear Robar shall need my help. I love him dearly, but he can be thick as an ox. He told me they are trying for a baby, so at least your son shall have some company."

At the mention of his child Jon frowned, and looked at his friend; taking a puff of his pipe:

"Do you believe I am ready for fatherhood, Loras? I seem brave, but in truth I am frightened! Frightened that I shall fail his as my own father did me, I love them dearly, yet I am a warrior, a poet, a dragon rider. Am I worthy of being a father?" 

Loras was silent for a moment. "Jon, do you recall your fourteenth nameday?" he said at last. "When you and my sister swore before the Three Singers that you would marry when you came of age?"

"Aye, I do?" said Jon scowling. "I haven't thought of her in many years; why do you bring up such an unhappy memory? I ask for your counsel not to revisit old wounds,"

Loras smiled, though his heart was filled with pity to know his brother still loved his sister, however little. "And you shall have it, Jon though forgive me if I speak in riddles," he said. "I remember the love you held for Margaery those many years ago, and the love you feel for Arianne is tenfold,"

Jon stared at him for a moment, then downed another mug of ale.

"Aye, Loras, though I never thought I might love again after Margaery," he said. "Some nights, I wonder if she would've come with us if I should have stayed and fought for her if she truly loved me? Yet I feel a fool thinking of a woman who betrayed us in the back when I have been so blessed as have the love of so many."

Loras frowned, and looked at his brother; and at last, he spoke again:

"Jon, my brother, I have known you for a terribly long count of years. We grew up together, fought together, you have proven yourself worthy a hundred times over we all have in some form or fashion, and I know this Arianne loves you, Jon, as sweetly as Lúthien did Beren, though the days ahead may be fraught with peril I know that you shall become a man your son will be proud of."

Jon took another puff of his pipe. After a moment he spoke again thickly, as if struggling with tears. "Though I knew many joys in my long years, I count myself truly blessed to have met you and Robar," he said. "You have been true friends through our many perils, and that is much more than any Targaryen deserves."

Loras smiled. "Come then!" he said, rising to his feet. "Tis our last night before battle; let us make it a night to remember my brother, the wolf and the rose making merry as we did when we were young."

And so, they finished their ale and stowed away their pipes before wandering back to camp; the rest of the evening was filled with music and singing. Jon danced with his lady loves under the stars. Gone were thoughts of war and death; rather, he thought of the days to come, ruling Osgiliath with his loves by his side and surrounded by the family he had yearned for after so many years. 

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The following morning

They had not been able to see the rising morning from the cloak of great trees nor the lifting of the mist. The sun was not yet high enough to shine into the Vale though its light was on the treetops. At once, the soldiers made ready to depart, striking down tents, putting out fires and stowing away whatever else they could carry.

Durin and Magni had arrived shortly after breakfast, and the dwarves were gladdened for their King's coming. "Hurray! Hurray! Hail to the King of the Longbeards!' they shouted and hammered joyously on their shields.

Many offered greetings to the venerable King, yet Jon did not. Seeing his old friend brought him joy and grief, knowing the aged dwarf would pass ere this Age ended.

Seemingly Arya could sense his gloominess and laid her head on his chest while his sister and aunt caressed his hand. Even Galadriel, in all her majesty, filled his mind with beautiful thoughts, some of Valinor and other places he had not seen; it was a touching gesture and one that nearly made him weep in joy.

"Thank you all…," said Jon; after welcoming the two dwarven kings, Elendil and Gil-galad led them to the royal pavilion, though as they passed, Durin and Magni caught sight of him, for they frowned and brandished their axes in warning.

The only ones who kept their distance from the dwarves were the Silvan, who though wise enough not to quarrel with the dwarves, glared at them whenever they thought no one was looking.

They were swiftly followed by the advisors of each King as well as their heirs, yet the meeting was soon forgotten as Galadriel stepped forth and offered him her arm.

Galadriel laughed merrily. "Come, Prince Jon, they are all waiting for us," 

Jon thought to refuse but knew he couldn't. He had hoped to escort Rhaenys or even Arya so they would not feel so slighted, but to refuse the Galadriel before half the free peoples would be a grave insult, so he smiled and took her arm in his own, and they set off for the pavilion.

"You are growing far bolder, my Star…." said Jon, glancing at Rhaenys, who was frowning.

"Oh, my Wolf, tis a harmless game, now let us go before we are late," Galadriel said in a warm tone.

"Yes, should ye be half as bold as your life is long. I fear my sister may slay us both," said Jon wisely.

"Silence Jon, now let's go inside, my foolish Wolf…" said Galadriel, her eyes alight with mischief.

Arya and the rest went ahead of them, clearly displeased, but there was nought he could do, and in this fashion, they went to the tent. 

They were the last to enter; Jon saw Elendil and Gil-galad, and in a corner sat Amdír and Oropher, who seemed wholly unimpressed by the dwarves Arya, Rhaenys and Daenerys were seated in comfortable looking chairs though their eyes darkened when they caught sight of Galadriel who merely smiled in return, for a moment it seemed Elendil was about to welcome them, yet it was Durin who spoke first.

"Ahh...You finally arrived, boy... and you as well, Lady Galadriel," said Durin, eyeing them suspiciously as if he was working out a rather elaborate puzzle.

"Well met, King Durin," said Galadriel, bowing low. "And Welcome to you as well, Magni."

"It is a pleasure to see you again, my Lady, and you as well, Jon snow", grumbled Magni, eyeing him grumpily.

"Well Met, Magni..." said Jon, knowing he must face the brunt of Magni's ire and he had nought to give him to assuage such grudges.

"It has been many years, Jon... yet it seems you have ample time to treat with Elves and Men, yet when the council of war was called, I found myself absent an invitation." continued Magni. "Do you often forsake your friend's advice? Or mayhaps we of the White Mountains are not valiant enough to go to war?" 

"I ask forgiveness, my old friend! Never would I doubt your council nor the stout heart of your warriors; grim have been our days, and we wished to move in haste; it was wholly my fault that you did not attend, so I ask you not think lesser of my liege or our allies," Jon said, bowing to the dwarf who eyed him for a few moments and nodded.

"I shall forgive this slight, though only for my desire not to anger Lady Galadriel," grumbled Magni patting the haft of his axe.

"Thank you, King Magni," said Galadriel, evidently pleased by his misfortune.

"First, the girls, now I must contend with the pride of dwarves; what did I do to earn such a reward?" Jon wondered, though his grumbling were soon forgotten as Durin spoke.

"Come Jon... Elendil has been telling us of how you fashioned a new metal using the techniques of dwarves and elves," said Durin, eyeing him with great interest.

"Oh, Jon forged a splendid set of armour for himself... alas, my herald, in his haste did not think to create more", said Elendil, his voice cheery.

Durin laughed heartily. "Now that is how a true dwarf acts... well done, Jon, you may dress in elven finery, but you are far more dwarvish than any man I have known in my long life,"

Jon smiled. "Thank you, King Durin. I have many more works to show you," 

"It seems his time in Khazad-Dûm has done him some good," said Oropher, though his tone was one of vexation.

"Indeed, Jon has learned much from the dwarves, and I hope he shall put it to good use," said Gil-galad boldly, no doubt hoping to outfit his armies in such fine armours.

"That young man has an unusual talent for forging, I see," said Amdír. "Tis a wonder that one of the Edain should possess such skills."

"Aye, Amdír, you shall see the splendour of our friends' craft when we bring the orcs to battle," said Isildur proudly.

"Jon…you wouldn't happen to have some of those lovely cakes your wife bakes you?" asked Durin eagerly.

"Alas, I do not, my friend, she prepared a basket full before we departed Imladris, but I ate the last one the day before yesterday," said Jon, half in happiness, half in fear, as one should never deny a dwarf food.

"Aye, our dear brother hordes those cakes as a dragon would horde his gold", said Loras angrily, and there were many murmurs of agreement.

"I did not know that Lady Írimë was a talented cook; she never baked any cakes in all the time she spent in Gondor," said Anárion.

"Jon's wife only prepares them for him, so it is not surprising you didn't know, my king!" exclaimed Robar angrily.

Durin sighed. "Well, it's a shame she decided to remain in Imladris those cakes are a delight... alas, I fear the time for such pleasantries is at an end. We are all here now, so let us get to business." 

"Yes...our host is united, and now we march to the Dagorlad," said Elendil pointing at the vast plains just northwest of Mordor.

"We must be cautious; Sauron no doubt knows we are coming and has laid traps to impede our march," said Elrond wisely.

"Elrond is right; we must be prudent, if we do not cast him down, other armies shall come, and we shall be overwhelmed by the shadow of the East," said Gil-galad.

"It would be prudent to have a garrison in the remains of Minas Ithil," Jon added, glancing at Isildur and Anárion.

"I agree... we must hold Minas Ithil should Sauron try to flee Mordor," said Isildur, and Elendil nodded.

"Very well, Aratan and Ciryon, my grandsons... You shall take a thousand men and garrison Minas Ithil," ordered Elendil, and the princes nodded grimly, knowing the importance of their duty.

"Then we will advance and leave a garrison behind us… Is there anything else?" asked Glorfindel.

"We must speak of how to breach the Black Gate; it has been a matter of contention, and we've nothing to show for it," answered Oropher grimly.

"We shall need a great host; alas, the dragons dare not enter the land of shadow were it so we could blast the gates asunder," said Elendur speaking for the first time.

"Then it will be a frontal assault... We have to dig trenches and great engines for the casting of missiles," said Robar, looking distrustfully at the Silvan, no doubt foreseeing Amdír to rage against the felling of trees.

Amdír frowned, his face laden with sadness. "Though it grieves me that we must defile such beauty, we shall lose all fair woods if Sauron claims victory," he said. "I will aid you in this, but when the war has ended you must restore the lands we have brought ruin."

"In that case, leave the building of the catapults and siege towers to my people...we Ironfists were the first of the Seven houses to build great siege engines; we shall not disappoint you," said Magni proudly.

"Aye, that is all well in good, but should we not send scouts to survey the land, I would rather not be caught unawares by Orcs," added Durin, stroking his beard.

"King Durin speaks wisely," said Galadriel, smiling. "We should send a company of riders forth to clear the land of hidden enemies."

"Aye, it is a good plan," said Jon.

Gil-galad drew himself up proudly. "So, we come to it in the end," he said: "the great battle of our time, in which many things shall pass away, take heart my friends soon Middle earth shall know days of peace." 

"With your permission, my King, I shall lead the scouting party, we will take a hundred elves and as many horses to scour the plains for whatever traps the enemy has set," said Glorfindel. Gil-galad nodded.

"Children, you too will leave for Minas Ithil tomorrow at the first sunrise...so rest well tonight," said Isildur.

"As you wish, father," said Aratan, though his eyes betrayed his grief at not going to war alongside his father.

"Then…Let our…short rest begin," said Gil-galad, laying Aeglos upon the table and pouring himself a draught of wine.

"And I hope you have brought your harp, dear boy," said Círdan, his eyes twinkling in mirth.

"Aye, old friend, I brought it," said Jon.

"In that case, my Wolf, I ask you to start the night with a song you wrote for me," said Galadriel, her voice bright and joyful.

"As you wish, my Star..." said Jon, knowing he would find no peace that night

The night was one of peace; there was a small feast, though the wine was stowed away as they would march in the morning, and an army too deep into their cups would be easy prey for the Orcs, though much to their delight, he played his harp well into the night singing many songs of ancient battles, elven kings, fair maidens and of the stars that glittered above when at last the fires simmered as coals they turned it prepared for the battle ahead.

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The following morning... 

Jon was woken the following day by a man shaking him. "Wake up, wake up, Prince Jon!" he cried; and at length he roused himself from a deep sleep and sat up with a start, noticing that none of his loves lay beside him; no doubt they had risen before him. It seems the sun has not risen, he thought.

"What is the matter?" he asked. 

"The king calls for you." 

"But the Sun has not risen yet," said Jon.

"Aye, and will not rise today, Prince Jon. Nor ever again if the Dark Lord has his way, yet we must be off make haste!"

After a short breakfast and dawning his armour, Jon looked outside. The world was darkling. The very air seemed tainted, and all things about were black and shadowless; there was a great dread upon the land. Nought of the sun could be seen unless it were far away westward, where the groping fingers of the dark lord's sorcery crawled onwards, and a little light leaked through them.

Jon saw many folk moving about pulling down the camp, occasionally looking up and muttering angry curses; all their faces were grim and wrathful, and few among them seemed afraid, and this filled Jon with pride to see the true valour of his friends of many long years.

He made his way to the king. Gil-galad was there before him, and beside him were Loras and Robar, Isildur and Anárion. As Jon entered, they were speaking to the king.

"It seems the Lord of the Black Lands wishes to hinder our march," said Loras. "It began sometime during the night, my King. I saw it rise a creep from out of the shadowlands eating up the stars. Now the shadow hangs over all the land from here to Calenardhon; and it is deepening."

When Elendil noticed his coming, the king welcomed him. "Well, met Jon, and I am glad for your coming," he said. "Though I thought you would be amongst the soldiers?"

Jon stared at him for a moment in confusion: "Did my King not summon me? I was awoken by a soldier that said you desired my council."

Elendil frowned, "It was not I who summoned you, Jon," he said. "Though I was not told of your coming."

Anárion stepped forward. "Forgive me, father it was I who summoned Jon." he said, "I wished to speak with him before we set off."

Jon knelt on one knee. "What do you need of me, old friend?" he said. "I am ever at your command."

Anárion smiled on him and said: "I've no need of you, my friend, yet I wish you to do me a service in the coming battle, one that I shall trust to none but you."

Then a soldier stepped forth and instead of a spear, he bore a tall staff of silver Anárion bade the man unfurl the standard; there flowered a White Tree; seven stars were about it, and Jon knew this was the standard of the King.

'Here now is my last gift to you ere we go to battle, the banner of my house,' he said to Jon. "From this day until the end of our days, you shall be my own herald in peace and war."

"Very well," said Jon. "If my King wills it, I shall bear the sigil of his house with honour!" He took up the banner and embraced Anárion as one might a brother.

Both Loras and Robar looked at him and embraced him in turn, for there was love between as brothers bound by oaths and blood even after these many long years.

Loras looked at him with love. "Were it so long ago that I remember your coming to Highgarden a meek boy who seemed too kingly to be a bastard, yet too stubborn to know it." he said, "Now here we stand on the eve of battle, and I am proud to call you my brother, my captain and my Prince."

Jon bowed his head to hide his tears. "Truer words have never been spoken by friends, nay you are my brothers, you, Robar, and you Anárion, for you are dearer to me than any save those who hold my heart! I swear we shall endure these dark days and live in peace hereafter."

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Upon the eves of the Dagorlad....

So it was amid the gathering gloom that the Last Alliance began their march, on they rode five leagues down the Anduin. As they drew nearer to the Dagorlad, a reek arose of torches cast away, and dark smoke rose in curling threads.

"By the Valar, the whole of land has been set ablaze," cried a wood elf in horror.

"What's happening, Jon?" asked Arya, riding up beside him.

"I don't know, Arya... it seems there is a fire burning in the Dagorlad," answered Jon.

"Oh, by the Valar, he speaks truly the meadows and fields have been burnt and uprooted," said Círdan, his eyes wet with tears.

Hearing Círdan's words filled the elves with dismay, they cried aloud or wept, and the Elves of Lorien and the Greenwood felt hot wrath blaze in their hearts, for they, among all the firstborn, held the greatest love for growing things.

In that moment, the shadow of fury grew in might among the Elves; and fear took Jon, a fear that was planted many years ago when they had journeyed to Dorwinion.

"Their grief is great, and their loss shall not be mended, for doom awaits them, I fear." thought Jon in sadness.

"Jon?" asked Galadriel worriedly, though he gave no answer, his eyes fixed on Oropher.

Then from afar came the thundering of many hooves, and from amid the smoke rode Glorfindel and his riders; though something had gone awry, the Elf lord's armour was spattered with blood and earth, and the company of riders was a quarter of its strength.

Glorfindel rode up and drew rein before them. "My King, we have returned," he said. "Though our errand went ill, and we were delayed."

"Lord Glorfindel, what has happened to you?" asked Gil-galad worriedly.

"Enemies, many of them... near a thousand, it was an ambush; they have set the whole of the land aflame," said Glorfindel, his eyes glinting in rage.

"Thank the Valar that you returned unharmed, my Lord," said Elrond.

"Yes, it was good fortune that a pack of mighty wolves had shadowed our company when the Orcs fell upon us. I feared we would be routed, yet the Wolves were upon them quicker than they would've liked and slew a great host of them though I fear many more shall come," answered Glorfindel proudly. "It seems the Wolves of the North are as valourous as their sire."

"Ghost and Lady shall be pleased you said that; now we must decide what to do about the rabble of Orcs," said Jon, his countenance stony.

"There is nought to say, these Orcs shall feel the sting of Silvan bows!" said Amdír, pride and hate conquering him.

"My Lords, would it not be best to attack together," asked Jon, hoping to assuage their foolhardiness.

"No, King Amdír speaks rightly, we cannot tarry... never have those lands so fair been tainted by so foul an evil.... we must act before all is ruined," growled Oropher, eyes shimmering in malice.

"Amdír, Oropher, do not act as witless fools... we know nought what other traps may yet be sprung nor the strength of the enemy's host. We cannot act foolishly, or Sauron shall defeat before we ever set sight upon his gate!" said Gil-galad, and his voice rose in might and command. 

But to Jon's horror, the Elf King would not be dissuaded and spat at Gil-galad's feet.

"You may reign in the West as you like, son Orodreth! But do not presume to command the Silvan of the Greenwood nor me. We are proud and shall fight for the defence of those fair green lands," sneered Amdír

Gil-galad glowered at the Silvan king and spoke slowly in a clear cold voice. "I do not presume any such authority Amdír! The grief of such a loss is felt by all of Elvendom, but your death shall not bring back the meadows nor the fields, so I ask you not throw your life away so heedlessly."

"This is madness! They march to their deaths for root and stem. I must stop them for Thranduil and Amroth's sake," thought Jon, dismounting his horse and striding forth until he was between Amdír and Gil-galad.

"Jon, what are you doing? Elendil will whip you for this…" asked Galadriel, fearing the pride and anger of Amdír should Jon challenge him.

"You cannot do this; please stop, my Lords see reason! We do not doubt the valour of you doughty Silvan, but you are ill-equipped to face the great evil we now face. Let us march together, and we may take revenge upon the Orcs for their crimes, but I beg you, do not seek out your deaths so witlessly," cried Jon, his face sorrowful and weary.

Amdír's eyes blazed, and Silvan murmured angrily, and some even notched arrows. 

"I would see your head cut off, bastard, for you know not of what you speak, a mere man masquerading as an Elf. You care not for the woods or the meadows, only for yourself! Now stand aside boy, or I shall cut you down!" said Amdír.

"He stands not alone," said Rhaenys, wielding Dramborleg and her amethyst eyes glittering in wrath. "You would die before your stroke fell."

Things might have gone ill, but Gil-galad sprang between them, and raised his hand. "Enough, to fight among ourselves is madness," he said. "Amdír, he bears you no malice nor wishes woe upon your people; though Jon spoke out of turn, he does not do so needlessly, for he loves the land as you, yet what good is such beauty if we shall never see it?"

"My King speaks rightly, Amdír, though my apprentice's wisdom should not be so thanklessly discarded, or do you doubt the rightness of the Lords of the West who have favoured him for years beyond reckoning? Do you doubt the wisdom of Manwe, of Aule, or mighty Ulmo, who guided Jon here? If you wish to slay him, I shall defend Jon till I've no strength to lift my blade!" said Círdan, and the old elf seemed to have grown in majesty, and some of the Silvan shrunk back in fear of the shipwright for none had borne his wrath in many long years.

Amdír sneered at Círdan. "Perhaps you speak rightly, Círdan," he said. "Yet I am the protector of all growing things and shall give no quarter to those who would see such beauty burn."

"Your words were spoken with care, my beloved wolf. Alas, the Silvan are foolhardy as they are valiant," said Galadriel, hoping to comfort him, yet there was nought that could soothe the ache in his heart.

And so the Silvan host rode forth to meet the Orcish horde Amdír and Oropher leading the charge crying oaths of vengeance and fury while their warriors cheered, singing elvish war hymns as they marched.

"They are going to their death..." thought Jon, his eyes blurred with tears.

"Yes, my wolf, alas, their fate is a cruel one, a valourous end for so many brave Elves, yet it seems the hatred of our kin still burns hotly in their hearts... but do not weep, my wolf, for now, we must fight," said Galadriel sternly.

"Yes, you are right, my star; forgive me for despairing, let us hope we might save those fools from their folly!" answered Jon, then he drew forth Ringil and held it up glittering in the sun. "You shall not be sheathed again until the last battle is fought," he said

"Damn stubborn elves..." grumbled Durin. "Tis a wonder he had remained King for as long as he has; he is a fool greater than any I've seen."

"To arms!... All to arms!" shouted Elendil, drawing Narsil from its scabbard.

"Father?" asked Anárion, bewildered.

"I shall not repeat it, my son! Though the Silvan are foolish, we cannot abandon them to torment and death; now we shall repay Sauron tenfold for the terror he has wrought," said Elendil, his voice like breaking stone.

"Indeed, we must now make haste, Glorfindel; assemble your best riders and make ready to ride forth in strength," said Gil-galad, and the elven captains departed to their companies to muster them into fighting formations.

"In the name of my father and his father before, we offer our aid, King Gil-galad," said Durin, proudly bowing so long his beard nearly touched the ground.

"As do the dwarves of the White Mountains." declared Magni, brandishing his glittering axe.

"Although it is not expected that the Lord of Mordor attacks that land," said Durin.

"What do you mean, King Durin?" asked Elendil.

"That land is where the Gardens of the Entwives stood..." said Durin, and many of the men and dwarves turned at stared at him in confusion, as few among them had ever heard of Ent's, let alone Entwives.

"Entwives?" said Magni in confusion.

"The wives of the shepherds of the trees, guardians of the flowers and the pastures, and those responsible for teaching the first men of Middle-earth to cultivate... if Lord Glorfindel spoke truly, then the lands now burning are where they had built their great gardens, the last place of beauty before reaching the Black Land," growled Durin, drawing his thumb along his axe.

"Why does the Enemy wish to burn down such a place?" asked Daenerys naively.

"He no doubt wished to scour the lands and burn whatever supplies could be gotten from them," answered Magni, and Durin nodded.

"Yes, we shall no breach the Black Gate in a day, and once we enter Mordor, we shall need to grow our own food," said Gil-galad, realising the cunning of Sauron's plan.

"Any supplies would have to be taken from Gondor, and there is nought to guard our flanks…The Enemy had shown his hand, and now we must counter him accordingly," grumbled Elendil.

"What shall we do then? According to Lord Glorfindel, there must be many thousands of Orcs… Shall we fight and save what we can?" asked Magni, glancing at his king in confusion.

"No!" snarled Durin, patting the haft of his axe. "There is something else afoot, and though I'd wish for caution, Amdír, in his folly, has forced our hand," 

"Soon, my axe shall reap a terrible toll on the Orcs," hollered Magni, raising his axe in joy.

"This war began in fire and shall end in blood," thought Jon, eager to bring ruin to the Lord of Mordor.

"Your help is appreciated, my friends; now let us be off; we cannot delay any longer," said Gil-galad, going to marshal how bowmen.

"Loras, you shall command several of the infantry who will march with the dwarves, Jon and Robar, you shall ride with the Knight of Arnor in the first sortie, and my Lady, I ask that you take your company down the west flank," said Elendil glancing at the Lady of Light, who bowed and nodded.

"I shall, no Orcs shall escape the bite of our blades!" answered Galadriel, though Jon could see her unhappiness as she no doubt desired to ride alongside him, alas this greatly pleased Arya, Daenerys and Rhaenys, who could scarcely hide their happiness

"It seems when shall have the honour of leading the charge," said Jon, glancing at his brothers, who seemed wholly eager to go to battle.

"How shall we lead the assault then?" asked Loras.

"You may marshal as many companies of pikemen as able; with the reach of our spears, the Broadbeam's and Firebeard's will have a good dance to rain death upon the Orcs from afar; I shall lead a sortie with the knights of Arthedain; the plains of the Dagorlad are wide, so we shall have the advantage on horse and foot," said Jon proudly.

He turned then to his companions. "Though it feels me with joy to have you all stand beside me, I wish it were not," he said. "Yet, now I think I know the purpose of the Valar when they guided us here... but I beg you three to fight well and do not seek out glory; fight well and come back to me."

"Do not fear Jon, we are not shy maidens who shall cower behind high walls while you go to war; we love you and would have you face this evil alone," said Arya, and she kissed him sweetly, her eyes alight with love and joy.

"It is true, my beloved nephew, " said Daenerys, smiling brightly.

"Never doubt us, my brother... nor our love for you. We shall be together now and always," said Rhaenys, and just as Arya had, she kissed him, and he knew they would be safe.

"Once the war is over, I think I shall retire to Osgiliath and mayhaps raise some children," said Jon, smiling and the three swiftly reddened much to the delight of Loras and Robar, who laughed heartily, alas this earned from harsh glares from the girls, but there was little time for such debates they must be swift.

"How long do you think it will take to reach the Silvan host?" asked Loras.

"It's hard to say... perhaps four days at the most, but we cannot lose the baggage trains, so mayhaps even a week. Though I do not like such delays, we must make haste," said Jon. 

Loras nodded. "Aye, let us see to our duties then," he said. "And pray the Silvan may hold out till help arrives."

With that, the companions split off and made certain all would be ready for their march to the Dagorlad.

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Garden of the Entwives, near the Black Gates.

It was some four days march from where they stood to the garden of the Entwives. As they drew nearer, the fields of the Anduin gave way to desolation high mounds of crushed and powdered rock, great cones of earth fire-blasted and poison-stained, stood like an obscene graveyard in endless rows, slowly revealed in the reluctant light. They had come to the desolation that lay before Mordor: the lasting monument to the dark labour of its slaves that should endure when all their purposes were made void; a land defiled, diseased beyond all healing.

As they rode through the great plains, Jon saw many had fallen to the fury of the Silvan; no Orcs remained; their bodies were uncounted, alas among the slain lay the corpses of many Elves, yet there were also many giant corpses lying about at first Jon thought them the bodies of Trolls, yet some were nearly twenty feet tall, and their skin though charred, seemed to resemble bark; upon seeing the strange corpses some of the Elves threw down their weapons, they cried and wailed such was their grief and all bowed their heads.

"By the Valar, what is that?" asked Loras suddenly.

"She was an Entwife, a wife of the Shepherds of the Trees. But, alas, she will no longer beautify this world with her wisdom nor her flowers," answered Círdan, and he wept.

"That means we have come to the gardens of the Entwives... By the Valar, the Orcs are cruel beyond reckoning," said Jon grimly, yet happiness filled his heart as Galadriel appeared beside him, smiling though her eyes were cold as iron.

"True, it's unfortunate, Prince Baelon, yet our valour is true lest Sauron overthrows us as all fair things fade," said Galadriel proudly, although Jon could feel her sorrow and despair.

"My star…" thought Jon, his grief was great, yet his love seemed a storm of woe.

"We are already close to the Black Gate...perhaps a few more hours ride, and we shall see it..." said Elendil, his eyes burning with hatred.

"But where are the wood elves? They should be here..." asked Robar, confused

It was then they heard foul voices upon the wind, and the very air seemed cloaked in the shadow of death. Then a great horn was blown, and answering horns both fair and terrible, and harsh cries were heard further off.

Elendil turned to Gil-galad. "What do your elf eyes see?"

"I see a fierce battle on two fronts ahead, and our kinsmen are surrounded and being driven into the swamp.... we must aid them now, or they shall be overrun," bellowed Gil-galad, a fiery wrath kindled in his heart.

"What of Oropher and Amdír?... Do they yet live?..." asked Elendil, grimly.

"The enemies swarm them as mist; I cannot see friend from foe... but it matters not.... to arms Elves of Valinor!" said Gil-galad holding Aeglos aloft, its edge glittering as snow.

"Sons of Númenor!...For too long has the Lord of Mordor roamed these lands, unchallenged for he is the cruellest of masters and lords of slaves, it is he who turned our kindred from the path of the Valar and brought ruin to our blessed isle, and he seeks now to destroy that which we hold dear... but we shall defy him till the stars give way to night and the mountains crumble and fall now to arms! To arms! Son's of Númenor! Gurth an Glamhoth!" King Elendil cried, and his voice shook like thunder upon the mountains; such was the fury of the men of Westernesse their cry could be heard across the Great Ocean.

And so they rode forth out of love and loyalty, but in his heart hung heavy a shadow of grief and Jon knew the Silvan would by for their folly most dearly.

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Thranduil Pov

The battles had seemed in their favour, but in their wrath, the Silvan had swept through the Dagorlad cutting down Orcs and goblins as if it were sport, and soon they had ridden far from their allies near the marshes, and it was then the Orcs sprang their trap. They came upon them like black mist and attacked with brutal abandon. Their numbers were too many to count as the gnashing of swords, and the roar of Orcs seemed to ring out as a horrid melody.

All about him, the Elves of Greenwood fought bravely; alas, they were too to oppose such cruel beasts and would swiftly be vanquished should help not come soon.

Thranduil wielded his sword with mighty strokes, its bright blade stained black with the blood of Orcs. Three more leapt forward. He beheaded one, then hewed the legs out from another, before an arrow struck the last orc in the throat, yet more were soon upon him.

"Jon spoke truly... this is madness! Our want for vengeance shall be the end of our people," thought Thranduil in despair as he, around him as far as the eye could see, lay nought but the corpses of the once proud Woodland elves.

Worse still, there was no sign of Amdír nor Amroth, who had been driven further southwards along, but that mattered nought; they must hold back this evil or all that is fair shall perish.

"We did not listen for want of vengeance has led us to misery and death! By the Valar, why must our people suffer?" thought Thranduil. 

It was then Thranduil heard a cry of pain, and he turned and watched in horror as his father was skewered by many orcish blades, the Lord of the Greenwood howled in fury, slaughtering all about him, yet more arrows pierced his armour, but the great king refused to perish and soon near forty orcs lay dead at his feet, alas for his wounds would too great and soon after Oropher fell.

"Father!" cried Thranduil in horror, it was then he heard the call of many horns, and for a moment, that battle had stopped as the orcs turned to see who wished to challenge them.

He would not have this slight unanswered, and Thranduil charged at the orc captain and swiftly hewed his head from his shoulders.

"Father..." said Thranduil kneeling and kissing his brow.

"Son..." said Oropher, his face reddened with pain.

Once more, the horns rang out, and Thranduil felt joy, for he saw the bright banners of the Noldor and the Dunedain; the Silvan cried in fury, for their valour ran hot once more, and they fell upon their hated foes with terrible anger.

"Help has come, father," said Thranduil, wiping the blood from his face.

"That's good..." said Oropher, his face growing pale and cold.

At the head of the company rode Baelon, clad in armour that shone as silver flame; Ringil held aloft, glittering like ice, and on his head was the dread helm, he thundered into the orc's and scattered them, Ringil rising and falling in great arcs hewing limbs and heads, while the silvery stallion bite, stamped and crushed any who fell underfoot.

Following behind swiftly as they might were Loras and Robar, who fell upon the orcs with bitter hatred back-to-back they fought, their blades cleaving in great blistering arcs staining the ground with black blood and limbs

He saw as well the Lady Galadriel, accompanied by the Targaryen princesses and the she-wolf; their blood ran hot as they cleaved through the Orcs like a bolt of fire, wrathful and cruel, and many orcs fled before their fury.

And there too was Elendil and Gil-galad, who seemed as gods striding forth to war! for against the might of Narsil and Aeglos none could withstand.

"Praise be to the Valar," said Thranduil, knowing his people had been saved.

"Yes...Son," said Oropher, and the elf sputtered, and blood dribbled down his chin.

"Father!" cried Thranduil, and it was then he heard the galloping of hooves, and a loud voice rang out.

"Prince Thranduil!" 

He looked up and saw Jon riding swiftly towards him before dismounting his horse and rushing to his side.

"Thank the Valar, you yet live!" he said. "Are you injured? Where is Amdír?"

Thranduil could not speak, but wept anew. "My father…" he said. "We must leave this cursed place."

"Yes... now come we must take him far from here.... even to the eves of the Greenwood if all hope leaves us," said Jon,

"I must save my father; he needs a healer..." cried Thranduil, overcome with despair.

Alas, when Jon stooped to lift him onto his horse, King Oropher felt cold; and he knew the great king had died.

Notes:

thanks to great_red