The Final Battle. 10/? : Troubled Waters
Title: The Final Battle, part 10 : Troubled Waters
Fandom: Silmarillion
Characters: Turgon, Elrond, Ronnie the Mysterious Elf
Prompt: 026. Teammates
Word Count: 1336
Rating: General
Summary: The Hord of Humans leads the elves to Port. Turgon reflects on the fall of Gondolin and has an intriguing conversation with the mysterious Elf.
Author's Notes: Part of a Work in Progress based on the Dagor Dagorath prophecy. I own nothing.
What manner of an army Turgon and his grandson were leading was the saddest one the Lord of Gondolin could have ever dreamed. The Metal Cave Men were disciplined, that was true, and the Edain boys from the city of glass were obedient. His concern was with the others. The women, the men and the weathered folk who followed them. They scavenged where they could, as their growing numbers walked, ever so slowly along the river. They were going to a bay, and there, the Edain leader had said they would find a means to cross the waters to meet with the Eldarin Host.
Ronnie, though devious he may seem, had proven helpful and knowledgeable. There were maps, and when he had been told where the hosts were all to assemble, he had frowned, showing Turgon and Elrond the distance to be crossed by water. It was an ocean away. There would be no time, he feared, but flying was not possible, he'd said. When Turgon had asked him why he'd even considered it a remote possibility, the elf had sighed, said things about birds of metal that were larger than Gwaihir, and Elrond's eyebrows had raised high in befuddlement.
Perhaps, he said, they would find one to use, but it would be far enough to warrant finding water transportation to get there, first. Despite the secrets they despised to see in Ronnie, Elrond and Turgon had agreed to the plan, frowning all the while. It was becoming clear that whatever this world was, it was nothing that the Eldar could fathom. Times had changed the face of the world irreparably.
Times and the foolishness of man both, Turgon thought to himself, darkly. From what he understood, the weapons had been too much for the Edain to handle. The wars their forefathers had fought were without honor and had led to the destruction of all that man had created, or almost. For himself, the son of Fingolfin saw no honor in killing a foe from a distance. How could one tell if they deserved to die if they could not look into their enemy's eyes before the final blow?
And still, the host of broken men walked on. By now, the elves barely noticed the decay that surrounded everything. They had been told that this place was once a great port, from which this country sent its bounty to the less fortunate lands across the ocean. They were told that other groups of hidden men were marching to meet them, from across the globe.
One Edain soldier had smiled, white teeth flashing beneath red lips, in the midst of a face that was dark as the blackest wood. He'd said something about how in the land of his fathers, the land was green and the soil was safe. He'd said then that there were still great cities of men, in Africa, where they used to wait for the bounty of the First World. He'd said that it was the only place where the nuclear holocaust had not spread its dark wings, and that had allowed Turgon to believe once more that perhaps the Dark Lord could be defeated.
The Edain tongue was not so difficult to learn, and the elves were learning it from the boys who rode with them, but also from the soldiers who shared their meals with them when they broke the march. It did not make understanding this world they were in any easier, Turgon mused.
That night, he and Elrond sat apart from the crowd. Spectaz and another boy had refused to leave them, but they spoke to each other in Quenya, keeping their conference to themselves.
“Ata, you look heavy with concern,” Elrond ventured, carefully.
Turgon nodded, weighed his words. “I wonder,” he said, slowly, “what is worth saving, in this world.”
Elrond sighed, closed his eyes. For a moment, he did not speak.
“The children,” he said, after a long pause.
Turgon made a noise, inviting him to speak.
“Look at them,” he said, as he indicated the boys who were their squires and pages, now, despite all of the protests the Eldar had put forth. “Think of the life they had.”
Turgon did. It could not have been a joyous prospect, to be sure. He sighed, though, heavily.
“Adopting an orphan is a heavy responsibility,” he said at long last. The words were as grave as he intended them to be - he thought of Maeglin, and wondered if he could have done anything to prevent his betrayal. He thought of his sister, and wondered if anyone had told her what her beloved son had done. “Look at what their forefathers did with this world,” he said, again. “What tells us that they will not do it again?”
Elrond winced, and looked into the dark waters of the river. The host was camping there, as it had, every eighteen hours or so. “What tells me that my blood does not run in them?” he said, finally. “I am one of them, as I am Eldarin as well. Your blood also runs in them, through my sons, through Elros and the line of Numenor. We cannot dissociate, Ata.”
Turgon said nothing, but he saw that there was truth in these words, as true as his father's blood had also flowed in Maeglin's veins.
When they broke the fast, on the morning, Turgon felt less disengaged, but his doubts remained. Nonetheless, he forced himself to remain impassible as Ronnie came to walk by him. His words were strange, that day.
“My Lord, a word, if I may?” Turgon nodded.
“We will reach the port soon,” he said, calmly. “Will you take all these people with you?”
Turgon knew that he was referring to the feeble and the impotents. “Do they not know that we are going to battle?”
Ronnie nodded, only once. “They do. They want to fight as well, tooth and nail, if they can. There are whispers that this is their world, that you and your guards only came to lead them to it. They see you for an envoy from the heavens and their God, my Lord. Will you disappoint them, and send them away?”
Turgon shook his head. “I will not, if that is what they wish, but blame me not if I lead them to their deaths.”
The Sindarin elf shrugged. “Death is everywhere, now. If they do not die there, they will die here, of hunger and despair, of illness and radiation. Choosing one's manner of death is the last mercy a man can give another.”
To this, Turgon nodded, then. A moment later, the question came forth. “Ronnie of the Edain, who are you, to love them so much?”
He received a shrug in answer. “A wanderer, lost to his own world, My Lord. My home and all that I love is gone, as yours is. They took me for one of them when I had no-where to turn. Why should I not care?”
Turgon looked at him, again, raised an eyebrow, and said nothing. He was intrigued, but he dared not ask. He knew little of the Sindarin courts, and perhaps this one was from after his own time.
“What world was that, then, pray tell?” After a long silence, he could not help but ask.
“It doesn't matter, it's dead,” Ronnie replied, before he turned away without further adieu.
In the distance, a thing of metal and rust loomed, and there was growing agitation within the ranks of the Edain. Spectaz said, with awe, “It's a boat, Your Majesty. Biggest one I ever seen, I had no idea they still existed.... you know, at home, they only had the small skiffs, but this one... it's really big, and---”
The remainder of the boy's babble was lost to Turgon as he read the name on the hull.
U.S.S. Arcadia.
Fandom: Silmarillion
Characters: Turgon, Elrond, Ronnie the Mysterious Elf
Prompt: 026. Teammates
Word Count: 1336
Rating: General
Summary: The Hord of Humans leads the elves to Port. Turgon reflects on the fall of Gondolin and has an intriguing conversation with the mysterious Elf.
Author's Notes: Part of a Work in Progress based on the Dagor Dagorath prophecy. I own nothing.
What manner of an army Turgon and his grandson were leading was the saddest one the Lord of Gondolin could have ever dreamed. The Metal Cave Men were disciplined, that was true, and the Edain boys from the city of glass were obedient. His concern was with the others. The women, the men and the weathered folk who followed them. They scavenged where they could, as their growing numbers walked, ever so slowly along the river. They were going to a bay, and there, the Edain leader had said they would find a means to cross the waters to meet with the Eldarin Host.
Ronnie, though devious he may seem, had proven helpful and knowledgeable. There were maps, and when he had been told where the hosts were all to assemble, he had frowned, showing Turgon and Elrond the distance to be crossed by water. It was an ocean away. There would be no time, he feared, but flying was not possible, he'd said. When Turgon had asked him why he'd even considered it a remote possibility, the elf had sighed, said things about birds of metal that were larger than Gwaihir, and Elrond's eyebrows had raised high in befuddlement.
Perhaps, he said, they would find one to use, but it would be far enough to warrant finding water transportation to get there, first. Despite the secrets they despised to see in Ronnie, Elrond and Turgon had agreed to the plan, frowning all the while. It was becoming clear that whatever this world was, it was nothing that the Eldar could fathom. Times had changed the face of the world irreparably.
Times and the foolishness of man both, Turgon thought to himself, darkly. From what he understood, the weapons had been too much for the Edain to handle. The wars their forefathers had fought were without honor and had led to the destruction of all that man had created, or almost. For himself, the son of Fingolfin saw no honor in killing a foe from a distance. How could one tell if they deserved to die if they could not look into their enemy's eyes before the final blow?
And still, the host of broken men walked on. By now, the elves barely noticed the decay that surrounded everything. They had been told that this place was once a great port, from which this country sent its bounty to the less fortunate lands across the ocean. They were told that other groups of hidden men were marching to meet them, from across the globe.
One Edain soldier had smiled, white teeth flashing beneath red lips, in the midst of a face that was dark as the blackest wood. He'd said something about how in the land of his fathers, the land was green and the soil was safe. He'd said then that there were still great cities of men, in Africa, where they used to wait for the bounty of the First World. He'd said that it was the only place where the nuclear holocaust had not spread its dark wings, and that had allowed Turgon to believe once more that perhaps the Dark Lord could be defeated.
The Edain tongue was not so difficult to learn, and the elves were learning it from the boys who rode with them, but also from the soldiers who shared their meals with them when they broke the march. It did not make understanding this world they were in any easier, Turgon mused.
That night, he and Elrond sat apart from the crowd. Spectaz and another boy had refused to leave them, but they spoke to each other in Quenya, keeping their conference to themselves.
“Ata, you look heavy with concern,” Elrond ventured, carefully.
Turgon nodded, weighed his words. “I wonder,” he said, slowly, “what is worth saving, in this world.”
Elrond sighed, closed his eyes. For a moment, he did not speak.
“The children,” he said, after a long pause.
Turgon made a noise, inviting him to speak.
“Look at them,” he said, as he indicated the boys who were their squires and pages, now, despite all of the protests the Eldar had put forth. “Think of the life they had.”
Turgon did. It could not have been a joyous prospect, to be sure. He sighed, though, heavily.
“Adopting an orphan is a heavy responsibility,” he said at long last. The words were as grave as he intended them to be - he thought of Maeglin, and wondered if he could have done anything to prevent his betrayal. He thought of his sister, and wondered if anyone had told her what her beloved son had done. “Look at what their forefathers did with this world,” he said, again. “What tells us that they will not do it again?”
Elrond winced, and looked into the dark waters of the river. The host was camping there, as it had, every eighteen hours or so. “What tells me that my blood does not run in them?” he said, finally. “I am one of them, as I am Eldarin as well. Your blood also runs in them, through my sons, through Elros and the line of Numenor. We cannot dissociate, Ata.”
Turgon said nothing, but he saw that there was truth in these words, as true as his father's blood had also flowed in Maeglin's veins.
When they broke the fast, on the morning, Turgon felt less disengaged, but his doubts remained. Nonetheless, he forced himself to remain impassible as Ronnie came to walk by him. His words were strange, that day.
“My Lord, a word, if I may?” Turgon nodded.
“We will reach the port soon,” he said, calmly. “Will you take all these people with you?”
Turgon knew that he was referring to the feeble and the impotents. “Do they not know that we are going to battle?”
Ronnie nodded, only once. “They do. They want to fight as well, tooth and nail, if they can. There are whispers that this is their world, that you and your guards only came to lead them to it. They see you for an envoy from the heavens and their God, my Lord. Will you disappoint them, and send them away?”
Turgon shook his head. “I will not, if that is what they wish, but blame me not if I lead them to their deaths.”
The Sindarin elf shrugged. “Death is everywhere, now. If they do not die there, they will die here, of hunger and despair, of illness and radiation. Choosing one's manner of death is the last mercy a man can give another.”
To this, Turgon nodded, then. A moment later, the question came forth. “Ronnie of the Edain, who are you, to love them so much?”
He received a shrug in answer. “A wanderer, lost to his own world, My Lord. My home and all that I love is gone, as yours is. They took me for one of them when I had no-where to turn. Why should I not care?”
Turgon looked at him, again, raised an eyebrow, and said nothing. He was intrigued, but he dared not ask. He knew little of the Sindarin courts, and perhaps this one was from after his own time.
“What world was that, then, pray tell?” After a long silence, he could not help but ask.
“It doesn't matter, it's dead,” Ronnie replied, before he turned away without further adieu.
In the distance, a thing of metal and rust loomed, and there was growing agitation within the ranks of the Edain. Spectaz said, with awe, “It's a boat, Your Majesty. Biggest one I ever seen, I had no idea they still existed.... you know, at home, they only had the small skiffs, but this one... it's really big, and---”
The remainder of the boy's babble was lost to Turgon as he read the name on the hull.
U.S.S. Arcadia.