~The situation in the caves becomes grave when food is lacking. The war nears its end and the greatest dragon is released, but there is hope and light even in the darkest times.~

oOo

Ancalagon the Black, by AnatoFinnstark

Ancalagon the Black

"Gil-galad is having a council about the food situation." Oropher beckoned to Thranduil. "Follow me."

"A council with us?" Thranduil asked disbelievingly.

"I said, follow me."

"Then I assume we were not invited."

Oropher gave Thranduil a shove. "Do I have to drag you along?"

Thranduil repressed an uncanny urge to push him back or perhaps shake him. Going uninvited to the high king's council was risky; he could still turn them out for the dragons to play with.

"As you wish, Adar," he said stiffly.

As they walked through the dusky cave, Thranduil assumed a neutral face with some difficulty. He was tired and hungry, and though his eye was mending it still itched. But mostly his annoyance was directed at Oropher. He had never been an easy ellon to live with, and since they came here being at his side was more taxing than ever.

It was not only Thranduil who struggled with his temper; everyone got on each other's nerves lately and there were minor fights and scuffles breaking out daily. The camps were crowded and resources scarce, and it did not help that the few hunters who regularly ventured outside to restock their meat supplies more often than not brought back more refugees; badly burned and desperate. Humans mostly, and the occasional Laegrim elf.

Of the newcomers, only the Fëanorians had brought supplies of their own, and Gil-galad's chief advisor Celebrimbor who was in charge of the storages very restrictively distributed food and other necessities to the three other camps: Gil-galad's own, the humans', and Oropher's. That too was a constant source of dissatisfaction; nobody considered their share fair.

When Oropher entered the simple council hall, Gil-galad gave him a weary look, as if he contemplated sending him away, but – accurately – predicted that the reaction to such measures would give him more bother than it was worth.

Instead he began, summarizing the situation briefly. Their numbers were growing and food lacking, but on the other hand they were safe from dragon attacks in the cave. Should they stay and hope the dragons would return to their lair deep below Morogth's fortress when they had run out of things to burn, or should they leave and seek shelter in the east?

While Gil-galad talked, Thranduil's eyes were drawn to Aerneth, who as usual stood at Galadriel's side. Her face had that closed expression again, all emotions tucked away, and she still looked tired. Who covered for her in the healing hut during the meeting?

She answered the question herself: "Food is not all we lack; healing equipment and herbs are running low as well, and Athelas doesn't grow here in the mountains. Young Elrond was able to bring some from the Fëanorian camp when he started working with me, or we would be out already."

"He is a healer?" Thranduil was surprised; the twins had been small children when taken from Haven. "Did they teach him?"

"Maglor did, aye. He is less violent than his brother and even offered to help me himself. I turned him down of course," she added with a light frown in her otherwise emotionless face. "I will have nothing to do with him or his brother, ever."

"How long will the equipment last, do you think?" asked Gil-galad.

"Hard to say... Humans do not heal easily, especially from burns, and it takes a lot of time, effort and Athelas for each one. If we keep getting more patients, like we do now, it will not be long. A month, maybe? Or two, at the most."

Thranduil had noticed the same thing. Burned humans were never completely restored; their faces became covered in uneven, pink skin, with holes instead of ears and noses. They almost looked like orcs. What future would such a grievously disfigured human have? Seeing them made him grateful for being an elf; his own face had looked disgusting too but now it was hard to tell where the injury had been. Elves could also get scars of course – Thranduil carried several old ones since his days as a march-warden – but mostly only if they were not treated by a healer.

"I wonder why you bother with them in the first place," Oropher chimed in. "They have no more than a handful of decades to live anyway."

She ignored him. "With that in mind, my lord king, I think we have to prepare to leave."

"I agree," said Galadriel. "A colony in the mountains was a good idea – until Morgoth released the dragons. With them, our safe cave has become a trap."

Gil-galad opened his mouth to reply but Oropher was faster: "A terrible idea. This place is well protected and safe. You took in too many humans, that is what this problem is all about; without them the resources would last for years. But there is an easy solution. I say, stop this madness now before it is too late! Let those who already came stay, if you will, but bring no more in. The cave is well hidden and only one who knows where to look will find the entrance, hence if the hunters are more secretive when leaving and returning, the refugees will remain unaware of our presence. What they do not know will not harm them."

"But dragon fire will. Leaving innocent people to burn to death is unethical and cruel, and I will not have that," said Gil-galad firmly.

"I would like to travel east to the lands where we awoke, and see it a final time before I leave this shore," said Círdan. "I have long lingered by the coast, ever since I had a vision of Vingilot, Eärendil's ship. But my task is done now; I built the ship and Eärendil summoned the Valar. We did what we could to stop Morgoth, and we failed. When I have seen Cuiviénen again, I will build one last ship for all who would go with me, and return to Aman where my wife awaits me."

Círdan's eyes had grown longing and there was something ancient about him that Thranduil had not noticed before. He had said "where we once awoke" as if he was there when it happened...

It struck him that he had never asked Aerneth who Círdan's parents were. Was he one of the firstborn? The mere thought sent a shiver down Thranduil's spine. But if he was, would he not be treated differently? He would be High King of the Teleri and Sindar, like Gil-galad was over the Noldor.

But perhaps nobody knew and Círdan, selfless as he was, did not see it fit to inform them.

Oropher broke the emotional ambience. "And you think the dragons will settle for Beleriand? They are going to burn the east as well, including your homeland, if it even still is possible to go there."

"That is a risk, actually," said Galadriel slowly, clearly unwilling to agree with Oropher. "I still think we should join the Host of the Valar and go directly for Morgoth. With him dead, the dragons have no one to control them and will be easier to kill. Or, at least, they might leave us alone. If everyone works together – including the Fëanorians, though I hate to cooperate with them – we will be strong enough. A single, united front against the Dark Lord."

Oropher laughed scornfully. "That would suit you, would it not? You were always hot headed, I recall; a trait you share with your Fëanorian cousins. Battle and fame, a chance to show valor."

"That would not be the reason at all!"

"I wonder why you and the likes of you always are so eager to leave their safe havens? It never ends well. Like when you let Maedhros lure you to take part in the Battle of Unnumbered Tears, bringing my son's wife with you and ruining his marriage, or when that thoughtless Lúthien and Beren stole a Silmaril! All you achieved was to provoke Morgoth and make him strike back. Had you done what my king and I wanted, and stayed hidden in Doriath, we would have been spared much grief and many lives. Even now, we suffer from rash attacks; the Host of the Valar did nothing but worsen the situation for us and add dragons to our troubles. If people would just stay put for once, we would still live in peace and quiet – and prosperity."

Galariel appeared to be fuming, but replied in a clipped, controlled voice. "That is so naïve I do not even know where to begin. Morgoth would never have been satisfied with only the north. He always pushed against our borders, even when unprovoked, and in time he would have captured all the surrounding lands. We would have been trapped – just like we are now. And, as for letting oneself be lured by Maedhros – well, you are not the right ellon to speak... you who sold the secret of Elwing's Silmaril to him and caused a third kinslaying in order to enrich yourself."

"I did not, you little–"

"My lord, that ellon should not be allowed to attend this council. He should not even be here, in our camp."

"I need you to cease quarreling," Gil-galad replied. "Everyone must bury their old grievances or we are lost. Oropher has a point; what is to say the dragons will not continue east as well? I think we have to stay and await their next cause of action. But of course, we can only wait for so long, for when the food is out we must take our chances and leave."

Thranduil agreed wholeheartedly with his sentiments.

"Fine. The next time you council with that ellon present, you need not bother to invite us," Galadriel growled. She took Aerneth's arm. "Come, my friend; I will spare you his unwelcome presence, and his son's also." With that she stormed out, and with an apologetic expression Celeborn followed suit.

Thranduil frowned at their retreating backs. Since when did Galadriel have authority to decide what his wife did or did not do?

oOo

A few days later Aerneth unexpectedly turned up outside Thranduil's simple hut. "Since you haven't come for your return visit, I suppose I must check on you here instead. Is he home? If so, I can come back later."

A part of him wanted to dismiss her and say he was healing just fine and did not need her to fuss over him, and that they ought to stay away from each other anyway, but the part of him that wanted to be near her and would take any opportunity to be so won.

"He is out. Haggling with Celebrimbor for more supplies, I presume; like most days."

"Poor Celebrimbor. He often complains about his task."

Thranduil sat at one of the cut logs they used for chairs while Aerneth examined his cheek and eye, asking him sight-related questions. He replied as best he could but found it hard to focus. Her closeness and scent affected him worse than ever and his eyes were repeatedly drawn to her neckline, where a pendant he did not recognize rested between her breasts. He wanted to ask what it was, and even more he wanted to touch her. It had been so long since the last time he bedded her he had almost forgotten what it felt like.

But only almost. After all, he often dreamt about being with her. Sometimes he used the dreams to bring himself pleasure, though the relief was slight and never lasted long.

"I had doubts because you came to me so late, but it seems you are resilient; your eye is as good as new." She slid a finger across his cheek. "How refreshing to feel smooth skin for a change after healing so many humans lately." Then she unknowingly echoed his thoughts from earlier. "It is hard for them. What future is there for a young man or woman who looks like an orc?"

Even when discussing something so tragic her voice betrayed no emotion and her features were as impossible to read as ever.

He felt like shaking her, anything to make her react, and deliberately replied in a way that would rile her. "How superficial. They should be grateful they are alive and that you wasted time and resources on them."

"You sound like your adar." Her voice was still calm but he perceived a sharper edge to it that encouraged him to continue.

"And you often sound like Galadriel. Does she know you are here?"

"Why would she?"

"You seem to do everything she says these days. Like an obedient filly."

"An obedient filly? Really! This from you, Oropherion."

"At least I am bound to Oropher by an oath; you let Galadriel push you around for no reason at all."

She bounced up, cheeks suddenly flaming, eyes sparking furiously. "Don't get me started on that fucking oath!"

"You swore one too, I recall."

"Because you did first! A rash, thoughtless oath, sworn for no reason but to please that tyrant!"

Thranduil stood as well, allowing everything he had pushed down for so long to surface. He realized he was angry too; with his father, with Galadriel – with Aerneth. She had abandoned him when he needed her the most. She had never even tried to figure out why he did what he did. Even now, she did not understand.

"I suppose you think I should have refused and caused us to starve to death," he said icily. "Swearing that oath was the only way to save our people and I did not do it lightly."

"You cannot know it was the only way because it didn't enter your thick head to discuss your options with the rest of us! But then, you never did seek advice from others. From the beginning you have been your own master – and my master, making decisions that affected us both without consulting me. Even hugely important secrets, such as the Silmaril being in Elwing's possession, you kept to yourself."

"As if you are so very open to advice," he shot back. "You went to war against my wish, and did you consult with me before you kissed that other ellon? Or that time when you rallied the people of Doriath to leave Thingol, forcing me to choose between my adar and my wife – did you ask me before you started rebellion?"

"That is because you never listened when I tried! You did not trust my competence. You didn't even trust my honesty! Or have you forgotten how you immediately believed I had poisoned you when Lúthien escaped from the tree prison her adar put her in?"

"You do not trust my competence either. I know my adar better than anyone and he would not lie to me; still, you chose to believe that he sold the secret of the Silmaril to Maedhros. Maedhros has other means to find out things and if you had been more patient you would have seen that. You could have stayed with us in Ossiriand and been spared all the troubles and stress in this camp."

"And instead been burned to ashes? If we had stayed, this cave would not be here, conveniently ready to shield you and your precious adar."

"We could have left together like we first planned. I could have been there for you – if you had let me."

"I don't need you! I am my own mistress and much better off." Her face was completely open now, a storm of conflicting emotions chasing over it.

He could relate; he was furious and jubilant and devastated at the same time. This was his Aerneth, alive and spirited, an elleth who could drive him mad with anger – and lust. The loss of her consumed him.

Despite her dismissive words she took a step closer.

That was the invitation he needed. He caught her in his arms, crashing into her lips so urgently she had to cling to him for support. He backed her up against the wall, kissing her and kissing her, and she responded with a hunger that made him breathless.

They did not bother to undress; he pulled out her breasts from her cleavage so he could kiss them too, sliding a hand down under her dress to caress her intimately. She nudged down his pants, gripping him firmly the way he liked, stroking his most sensitive area with expert fingers before directing him where she wanted him.

When he pushed into her she gasped with pleasure. He set a fast, hard pace, and she met each thrust, wrapping her legs around him.

Neither of them lasted more than minutes.

He lingered, catching his breath and trying to make out what he felt about the whole situation. Remorse? Guilt? No. Not even a trace. Only satisfaction. He had managed to break whatever shell she had constructed and get under her skin, and even if this was a one time occasion, he would live off the memory for a long time.

"We should fight more often," he said.

She began to laugh, a genuine laughter, and the beautiful sound made him want to cry.

"Perhaps we should. It felt good. But don't think I have forgiven you."

"I wouldn't dream of it," he deadpanned. Carefully setting her down, he pulled up his pants. Thank the Valar nobody had come in; in the heat of the moment that possibility had not even occurred to him.

Aerneth smoothed her dress. "I just thought of something."

"Hmm?"

"Technically we are still married. I swore not to live with you and that ellon, but I never swore to abstain from... anything... And now, when everything might soon be lost, I figure... we deserve a few well-earned comforts from time to time."

"You have a good point. For once."

oOo

One day a deep thunder rose outside, so loud it traveled through the thick cave walls and made the ground tremble. Pebbles and dust trickled from the ceiling and a few huts even collapsed.

Everyone gathered in the center of the largest hall, afraid and puzzled. What was this new devilry? An earthquake?

Gil-galad sent out a scout and when he returned his face was ashen.

"A new dragon; many times as large as the other ones. It covers the sky! Thunder and lightning follow it."

The quakes and roaring noise continued all day, intensifying as the dragon approached. The cave felt increasingly like a trap, for how long would the ceiling hold? Should they venture deeper into the still uncharted dwarf tunnels or would that be an even greater risk?

They did not have to decide for themselves; in the evening a huge crack appeared across the ceiling and all the way down one wall.

"Abandon the colony!" Gil-galad ordered. "Flee!"

There were only two ways out; the front passage and a similar tunnel in the back of an adjoining cave, and near panic broke out as everyone tried to leave at once, especially among the humans. It could have ended in tragedy if there had not been so many trained warriors among the elves, who could organize the retreat and make sure nobody was trampled to death in the chaos.

Thranduil tried to keep his head clear despite the overwhelming fear, and held his father back when he wanted to fight his way through the tight throng. "There is no hurry. The ceiling still holds – and you know what waits out there. Not safety."

That calmed Oropher, and they were among the last to leave the cave.

The new dragon dominated the scene outside. Its wings spanned the sky from one end to the other and it was completely black against the inky clouds and sparkling web of lighting bolts. Its smaller brethren and sisters flocked around it, like sparrows to an eagle.

It was impossible; defying all known laws. Something like that should not be able to fly. It should not be able to exist.

The noise of its passage was deafening and a strong wind had risen. The chemical smell of lightning lay heavy in the air.

"Ancalagon..." There was tremor in Gil-galad's voice.

Biting storm. A fitting name for such a monster.

The devastation Ancalagon was causing explained the predicted fate of Beleriand. The land was breaking apart and the sea rising to fill the cleft.

Thranduil caught sight of Aerneth among the onlookers and their eyes met. There was a sense of finality in her expression, and peace. This was the end.

Maybe somewhere in their future, reborn in Aman, they could begin anew. Make the right choices...

Impulsively, he took her hand and squeezed it. She squeezed back.

"Look," exclaimed Galadriel, pointing west.

Thranduil looked. There was a light near the horizon, sparkling and brilliant. A star, yet not a star – it was larger and felt closer.

"A new star shall arise," Aerneth mumbled.

A chill seeped through Thranduil, making him shiver. Could it be Eärendil and Elwing returning with the Silmaril? It carried the light of the Two Trees and had the power to harm evil creatures. When the werewolf once took it from Beren it had burned up from within.

Could a Silmaril be used as a weapon?

A wink of hope awakened in him. Perhaps everything was not lost, after all.

❈ ❦ ❈

A/N:

Translation: Ancalagon = biting storm

Oops, ehehe, apparently this war takes forever to finish... not done yet, but soon!

Image Credits:

Ancalagon the Black by AnatoFinnstark on DeviantArt