~When the foretold disaster strikes Eglarest, Thranduil gets to try Galadriel's mirror.~

oOo

By Elena Kukanova

The Fall of the Falas

Galadriel poured water into her bowl, and the king leaned in to see better. Since the Battle of Unnumbered Tears he had made good use of Galadriel's friendship with Aerneth to get news from the outside world.

Eglarest had a high tower called Barad Nimras, the Tower of the White Horn, from which Círdan's lookouts had a great view over the open heathlands between Doriath and the Falas. Tidings of the movement of Morgoth's minions were invaluable in these troubled times, for Thingol feared that the Dark Lord might find out about the two hidden elvish cities, Menegroth and Nargothrond, and try to take them over.

When Galadriel made these calls, the king's captains and other march-wardens were usually present as well, and one of them was always Thranduil. He would stay in the periphery, able to see but not be seen.

He knew it probably did him more bad than good, but he just could not keep away. Even if it only was a glimpse, he needed to see his wife's face and hear her voice, to know she was still alive and well.

Today Aerneth had troubling news to share; a great host of Easterlings, orcs and wargs had laid siege to Eglarest and Brithombar and she feared the Falas might fall.

Thranduil held onto a nearby pillar to remain standing, his legs suddenly weak as jelly. So it was beginning then; the foresights the ellith had seen in Galadriel's mirror. Eglarest would be ruined, and Nargothrond, and Doriath.

Aerneth's face was unusually pale in the clear water. "Since the war ended we have been working hard to strengthen our city walls, but the enemy has built towers on wheels and other strange contraptions – we do not like the look of them." She paused. "My adar wishes to speak with the king of Doriath, if he is there?"

"I am." Thingol took Galadriel's place before the mirror, and in the other end Lord Círdan did the same.

"My Lord King, longstanding is the friendship and allegiance between the Falathrim and the Grey Elves of Doriath. Now we need your assistance. With your march-wardens we may still be able to beat the enemy, for you would come at him from behind. These war machines he is constructing – you could destroy them."

"I hear you, my friend. And I wish I could help, I most certainly do – but our strength lies in stealth. Should we leave Doriath at this point, Morgoth will know where to find us and strike back with full force. He might even send out his fiery dragons to burn down the forest that protects us. And then he would soon come for you anyway. Sending out the march-wardens could only give you a slight respite, but the outcome would be the same, only that Doriath would fall as well."

Círdan's face became stern. "You cannot possibly know this. The dwarves injured the leader of the dragons, he might be dead. And besides, even a slight respite would be better than nothing, it would buy us time to regroup and strengthen our forces, and to send for the aid of Turgon in Gondolin and Orodreth in Nargothrond. Still many great elven hosts remain – we do not need to give in to the Dark Lord prematurely!"

"I am sorry, but I cannot do what you ask."

"I see." His jaw set and his eyes grew hard as flint. "Farewell then, king." Círdan disappeared and Aerneth returned. Pink spots had appeared on her cheekbones.

"You disgust me. All of you. Cowards." She closed the connection.

Thranduil could not breathe. The walls were closing in on him and flashes of white appeared in the edges of his vision. He half-staggered, half-ran out of the room, desperately needing to get away from there, out from the heavy stone of the city which for once felt confining, like a tomb.

When he finally was outside he slumped down with his back against a beech tree, hiding his face in his arms. Merry birds were chirping all around him and the smell of spring flowers was sweet, but in his mind was only darkness.

Would Aerneth survive? Just like when she went to war without him, pictures of her lifeless body paraded before his vision and he could not dispel them. He loved her – he had realised it then, and despite everything that had happened since, he knew he still did.

Perhaps she would live and the orcs would take her captive, turn her into one of the thralls young Túrin had spoken of. Or worse, an Easterling man might make her his wife, another fate not uncommon for females according to the same source.

Thranduil swallowed the bile rising in his throat as he saw new images – of Aerneth naked, taken by force by an unkempt human.

He should never have let her go with Círdan. He ought to have restrained his anger and brought her back here despite her infidelity. He could have learned not to harm her – and besides, anything was better than the fate she would meet now. He would gladly let her kiss all the ellyn of Doriath as long as she was safe.

Could he rebel against the king? Gather his friends and attack the host's rear like Círdan had wanted? But he knew they would never agree to that. Despite Thingol's often irrational behaviour his subjects were loyal.

No, Thranduil was completely powerless. There was nothing he could do to save his wife. He could only wait and pray, beseeching the Valar to assist the Falathrim; for Tulkas to bring their warriors strength and for Ulmo to aid them through the water.

He felt a hand touch his shoulder and nearly jumped. Looking up, he met the grey eyes of Túrin, and further away stood Beleg and Mablung with their arms full of practice swords and arrows.

"Are you well, uncle Tharan?"

"Nay," he admitted. Before the boy he could rarely uphold his emotionless air.

"Want to talk about it?"

He shook his head.

"Want to come with us and practice archery, then? Uncle Beleg promised to let me use sharp arrows today. I am going to hit bull's eye."

"That sounds fun." Thranduil managed a thin smile. No matter how bad he felt, the king's adopted son could always lift his mood.

oOo

A few nervous days followed with the situation gradually growing worse at the coast. Aerneth refused to open any official connections with the king, but she still communicated privately with Galadriel, and it was through her Thranduil got his information.

The contraptions the enemy had built proved to be some sort of giant slingshots, capable of throwing rocks with great strength. Piece by piece the mighty stone walls of Eglarest and Brithombar crumbled away under the assault.

The Falathrim still defended their cities valiantly, but the enemy were just too many, and on the fifth day of the siege Aerneth no longer answered Galadriel's calls.

"Call her again." Thranduil wanted to shake the elleth to make her obey, but after he lost his temper with Aerneth that summer he had become better at restraining himself.

"If she is fighting, it would merely distract her needlessly. We can only wait and see." Galadriel's beautiful face was calm, but the look in her blue eyes was both understanding and deeply worried.

Thranduil had to admit the wisdom of that and resorted to a long, fast run in the woods. Anything to keep his mind off what was happening in the west.

When he had run his normal ten mile route thrice he could not stand the suspense anymore. Walking down to the river, he tentatively reached out to Aerneth in his mind.

No answer. Nothing at all.

He slumped down on the ground, not caring about the mud soaking his pants. Was she lost? He touched his heart, wondering if he would be able to feel it if she was dead. He did not know.

Tears trickled down his cheeks. If only there was a way to find out.

Then it struck him. Galadriel's mirror. Could she not try to see Aerneth even if she did not reply? Or maybe he could?

He was already on his feet and running back to the city. It was worth a try. He had to try.

Galadriel was in her home. Celeborn looked surprised when he opened the door and found the younger ellon outside, panting heavily, soaked with sweat and wearing mud stained clothes.

Inside, Thranduil hardly paid attention to their tasteful furniture and many carpets; he had only eyes for the silver bowl on a side table.

"Can you help me see her? Please?"

"I can try. But the mirror cannot be controlled. It shows what it shows. You might not like what you see."

"Please?" he repeated.

Sighing, Galadriel filled the bowl and sang the spell, and Thranduil eagerly leaned over it.

There was only white mist at first, but when it cleared he saw a battle; elves against orcs, and in the middle a blonde ellon was struggling hard. His enemies outnumbered him manifold and he was bleeding from many wounds. Just as the ellon sank to the ground, clutching his heart, Thranduil saw it was Oropher. Would his father die in battle? When?

Before he could dwell on it, the vision changed. A person was standing with his back towards Thranduil, tall and strong looking, and he wore a steel helmet with gold details. Long, black hair flowed down his back, and in front of him was a huge monster. A dragon.

And then they too were gone and he finally saw Aerneth. She was sitting in a stone building beside another blonde person: an ellon Thranduil did not recognise. The ellon bowed down and kissed her. After much too long, he pulled back and said something. When she replied he looked shocked and then angry, and suddenly ran away.

So this was how it had happened. If Thranduil ever met that ellon, he would...

But now the image changed a third time to show a swan ship, one of those he had seen tied to the pier in Eglarest, but now it was leaving. Behind its white sails Thranduil saw a burning city.

Aerneth was standing alone in the stern, her beautiful face blotched and smudged black with soot, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Aerneth..." He reached out to touch her but his finger met only water. The image dissolved in ripples and was gone.

"What did you see?"

"She was on a ship." He met Galadriel's gaze, making his face smooth to hide what else he had seen. "That means she has escaped? It must mean that."

"It could. I do not yet know how the visions work, whether they always come to pass or not."

When Thranduil left Galadriel he was temporarily calmed. Aerneth likely had survived, and in addition he no longer had to be jealous of poor Faraion or Beleg or anyone else he knew. The one she had kissed was a stranger.

The other visions he had seen, Thranduil still could not understand, but there was no use dwelling on them. He did not know who the person with the dragon was, and as for his father, all he could do was stay with him, protecting him as best he could. If Doriath was attacked Thranduil would not leave his father's side.

A couple of days later, when Thranduil was at the training grounds with Túrin, Galadriel came to tell him she had been in contact with Aerneth. His wife lived, she was still at sea with her parents and the other survivors, planning to take refuge at the Isle of Balar in the south.

Finally Thranduil could relax completely. Aerneth's city was no more, and many of her people had been either slain or taken captive, but she was alive and her parents were too – and that was all that mattered to him.

❈ ❦ ❈

A/N:

He still cares about her, after everything... But it will take a while until they meet again.

Image Credits:

Art by Elena Kukanova, https://www.deviantart.com/ekukanova