Chapter Nine

{Imladris, Lairë 3430 SA (approx. mid June)}

The click of boot heels on the marble floor that ran through the halls of Imladris echoed along the stone walls as Glorfindel, Seneschal of Imladris, strode down to the meeting hall where Elrond, Ereinion Gil-galad, and Erestor were in conference with Celeborn, Galadriel, Amdír and his son Amroth, and Oropher and his son Thranduil. He walked in briskly, stopping to bow to the assembled Lords and Lady before announcing, “King Elendil and his sons Isildur and Anárion have arrived. They will join us shortly.”

“Thank you, Lord Glorfindel,” Elrond replied with a smile and a bow of his head, speaking as the host of the group gathered while he was mirrored around the table by his fellows as Glorfindel went to his place between Oropher and Erestor. Looking around the table at his comrades, Elrond sighed heavily. “We should await their arrival before continuing our discussions. Erestor, please also summon Durin and his Captains so that they might join in our decision,” he ordered quietly, nodding as Erestor rose immediately to fulfill his order, returning quietly after sending Lindir and Melpomaen to fetch the Dwarves and direct the Men to where they were meeting.

“Why must we wait for those lesser beings? We can make our decision and command them to aid us. It is in their best interests either way. Sauron *must* be defeated! He grows with power each day, especially after taken Minas Ithil!” Oropher declared heatedly as his fist crashed onto the table, startling some of the gathered. He glared at the passive Elves around him as they in turn watched him. “Do we now rely on such people as the Edain and the Naugrim?” (Dwarves) he asked in disgust.

“They have been our allies in our battles against Morgoth and his ilk for centuries. We do them wrong to think of them as lesser folks,” Ereinion replied in disapproval as he stared down the haughty Greenwood King.

Sneering, Oropher glared at the High King. “Only a Noldor would claim those things and forget that we are the First Born,” he stated lowly.

“Ada, you shame our land with your closed mind and pride,” Thranduil rebuked his father quietly, his voice hard with displeasure as he gazed at his father. Oropher shot him a glare but stayed quiet, much to the approval of the rest of the Elves.

The tense air within the hall was broken as the door opened and Lindir entered, followed by six Men. The Man in the front came forward, his graying head crowned with a gold and silver circlet as it bowed in greeting to the gathered Elven Lords as they stood and bowed in return. “My Lords and Lady, it is an honor to be here to speak with you on an alliance. These are my sons Isildur and Anárion,” he started while gesturing to both of the Men as they came forward. He then smiled as the other three Men bowed deeply. “And these are my grandsons: Elendur, Aratan, and Ciryon, who are the captains of our troops.”

“It is our honor to have our brethren here in these dark times,” Ereinion replied as he stepped down to clasp hands with Elendil in greeting. “Our hearts are joyous that you and yours made it safely from the fall of Númenor,” he added warmly.

“It grieves us that we could not have been more successful or that we have lost one of yours whom we managed to free from Sauron’s hold while there,” Anárion said softly as they all took their seats at the long table.

Stunned silence fell over the gathered as they stared at the suddenly confused youngest son of Elendil. “What did you say?” Glorfindel whispered finally as he sat forward in his seat to stare down at the Men.

“An Elf had been captive to Sauron while on Númenor and we managed to free him with the aid of Ar-Zimraphel. But about half a year after our landing on the Anduin’s shores and our founding of the cities that are now known as Minas Tirith and Minas Morgul, he disappeared and we have not known his fate since,” Isildur explained quietly as he gazed at the Elven Lords there.

“Do you know his name?” Elrond asked quietly as they digested the sorrowful news of their kin.

“We knew only that he was called among those who are now perished as well as by himself as Agarwaen ‘uruthos, though he was of far nobler blood, of that we are certain of,” (Bloodstained Death horror) Isildur replied softly as he sighed quietly. “It was hard to understand how someone such as he, who was so gentle and caring, could ever claim such a name,” he added sadly as he gazed down at his folded hands.

“It is a sad thing indeed to hear of one of our own. Our hope shall be that we shall free him soon,” Celeborn said gently as he looked around at the table. All of the gathered nodded in agreement as they sat back somberly in their chairs.

Erestor however noticed that there was a shade of knowledge within Elendil’s eyes and wondered on it. Since the King kept silent as the arrival of the Dwarves broke into the solemn air, Erestor decided that he would speak privately with the noble King. He had a bad feeling that there was more to the story than had been shared.

Once the Dwarves were settled in, the meeting began in earnest. However, it was not a smooth convention as tempers flared and insults flew, usually from the Dwarves and Oropher. Elrond, Celeborn, and Thranduil as well as Erestor and Glorfindel were at their strongest as they worked to control the tempers and keep the topic inline to their goals. Elendil, Durin, and Gil-galad listened to all offered ideas, giving their own suggestions as they strove to direct the allies towards a mutual understanding of the problem that was Sauron and his dark horde.

By the evening bell, they had grown closer to an alliance that made everyone happy, yet there were still many problems and disagreements. They parted for the festivities that would be occurring that night within their hosts’ Halls, both pleased and discouraged at the progress. Erestor, moving quietly through the departing group, caught up with Elendil and touched his shoulder. “My Lord, may I speak with you alone?” he asked softly after bowing his head in greeting when the King turned in curiosity at the touch.

“Of course, Master Erestor. Please, lead the way,” Elendil replied warmly and then nodded to his kin in dismissal before following the Peredhel into the nearby library. Once the door was closed behind them, he faced the Advisor in silent expectation as the dark haired Elf turned to him. “What is it you wish to speak with me on, Master Erestor?” he queried as he tilted his head.

Taking a deep breath, Erestor came closer to the King and said, “My Lord, it seemed that when we spoke about the Elf that was with you from Númenor, you knew something that was not shared with the rest. Will you tell me what it is?”

Frowning sadly, Elendil turned away as a quiet sigh left him to fill the silence that fell between them. He stepped a couple of feet away and crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes sad. “I have never told anyone his identity at his request. His shame is great, Master Erestor. And he aided us in the small amount of time that he was with us, though I do not think it eased his heart,” he replied after a moment of silence. He turned back to Erestor slowly, his eyes shadowed with his knowledge. “I will reveal his name, Master Erestor, but I must ask that you take it into confidence as he had asked it of me. Never have I told anyone, though it creates a heaviness in my heart that he has so renounced himself. His name is Ecthelion,” he finally said softly, bowing his head in respect to the Elf he named.

Clenching a hand in his tunic, Erestor gritted his teeth on the sudden tears that came to his eyes. He turned away, swaying slightly before steadying himself against the wall. “Then it is as I feared...my kinsman...my kinsman is the panther beast...” he whispered hoarsely as a tear rolled down his face.

“Aye, Master Elf...he was and perhaps still is the panther that has been forced to destroy so many people,” Elendil agreed sorrowfully as he watched the Advisor sadly. “My condolences on your sorrow. I did not know he was kin to you beyond being an Elf.”

“Not many know, for my father died when I was just before my majority and my mother died the natural death of the Second Born,” Erestor responded thickly as he straightened and wiped his face of the few tears he had shed in grief at the news. His suspicions had indeed been confirmed and strongly so. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply before looking over at Elendil. “Is there anything that might indicate what might have happened?” he asked as he regained control of his emotions and faced the King.

“The last that we saw of him was eleven decades ago when he went into Mordor in search of what he said was the source of Sauron’s power. It was almost as if he knew that there was still some essence of Sauron. Not long after he left, there was an upheaval of power that came from that forsaken place. And then, about three decades ago we became aware of Sauron’s presence once more and knew what had happened. Then last year we lost Minas Ithil and darkness has begun to set over our lands again,” he answered solemnly as he looked into the distance, lost in his memories. “We have heard within the last decade of men dying from their throats being ripped from their bodies by a deadly shadow and I feared that it might be Lord Ecthelion, but there was no concrete evidence to state either way,” he added as he came back to the present and faced Erestor.

Nodding in understanding, Erestor took another deep breath as he straightened himself, smiling reassuringly at the concerned monarch. “I thank you, my Lord. I will not betray your confidence. I hope that, with the defeat of Sauron, I might be able to find my kinsman and aid him,” he said warmly as he bowed his head.

“I pray that you will, my friend. I shall aid you as best I can if I survive this battle to free Middle earth,” Elendil replied just as warmly before they clasped hands in agreement. Turning, they left the room to prepare for the feast that night.

Erestor did indeed shove the thoughts of his kinsman out of his mind as they prepared for the final battles that were to come. Within in a week, an Alliance of Men, Elves, and Dwarves came into being and all monarchs returned to their lands to prepare their armies to meet on the Pelennor Fields as soon as they were able. Many Elves, Dwarves, and Men gathered from all of the realms under the banners of Ereinion Gil-galad, Elendil, and Durin and by the year 3434 of the Second Age, they moved towards the Dagorlad before the gate of Mordor.

Unfortunately there was dissension among the ranks, mainly from Oropher, who bucked the rule of Gil-galad fiercely in his pride. It led to his downfall and the deaths of two thirds of his army as well as the deaths of Amdír and many of the Silvan Elves from Lórien when he went before the main troops in a charge across the Dead Marshes. Many were lost within the fetid bogs along with the Orcs they fought, but it had also been enough to force the Last Alliance towards Dagorlad.

In a rousing victory that cost them heavily, they managed to defeat Sauron, sending him in retreat into Mordor. With this victory, they laid siege to the dark lands for the following seven years. But, as the time grew near, restlessness also grew within the ranks as well as fear. They knew they had to defeat the Dark Lord, but would it be enough? All prayed it would be as the last battle came to them.

*~*~*

Ecthelion watched the battle that was being waged outside of Barad-dúr, his heart soaring with hope as he saw his kin and the Last Alliance beat back the hordes of Mordor unto the heated plains before Barad-dúr. He turned and sneered at the armored visage that stormed into the room he had been kept in since his return by Sauron, his triumph bright in his eyes as he gazed at the enraged Maiar. “Your end is coming, Sauron,” he taunted nastily, laughing as Sauron snarled and grabbed him around the throat, seeking to cut off his glee.

“You are not free yet, Elf. You will serve me and fight now!” Sauron growled as he threw Ecthelion to the ground, all but seething with his rage and power.

Laughing hoarsely as he held his throat, Ecthelion struggled to sit up as he turned his defiant gaze up to the one had been his tormentor for centuries. “I will not! I will defy you until the last breath leaves my body! I will never betray them again!” he cried heatedly as he finally managed to stand. He choked as he was slapped with a jagged iron fist and sent flying into another wall, where he slid down in a daze, blood and bruising spreading along one side of his face. He smirked though as he stood again, keeping a hand to his broken face as he faced the furious Dark Lord. “Your end is near,” he whispered harshly before gasping as pain flared through him like an inferno.

As he collapsed to his knees, Sauron loomed over him. “I will leave what little strength is in you so you may watch as I destroy your pitiful kin and saviors,” he hissed out before releasing Ecthelion and striding out of the room.

With a groan, Ecthelion managed to drag himself to the window to watch the battle as Sauron took the field. His defiance turned to despair as he saw that, with each stroke that Sauron dealt, dozens of soldiers died. He cried out in despair as he saw the flashing death of Ereinion Gil-galad as he attacked the Dark Lord, then wept as Elendil fell next with a sweep of Sauron’s blade. But his tears stilled themselves as, with an anguished scream, Isildur took up the broken blade of his father and cut off the fingers of Sauron...including the one that held the One Ring and Sauron’s power.

His joy flew to unknowing heights as Sauron’s shrieks of agony rolled throughout the molten fields of Mordor before his power blasted out in a dark wave, knocking over many and destroying the foundations of the tower that had been Ecthelion's prison for centuries. As he felt the tower crumble around him, Ecthelion smiled in relief. His plight was finally at an end.

But somehow, he escaped death yet again as he fell with the tower and through the window that he had been watching the battle from. He rolled and missed being crushed several times by debris from the shattered tower, though he was pinned finally by a large chunk. He lay underneath the stone and gazed up at the clearing sky, feeling tears of relief roll down his face as he felt his spirit rise in its bid for freedom, finally able to breath after being in the stench of Sauron’s hold for so many centuries. He fell into unconsciousness as he heard the battle continue around him, though he knew it was waning. The defeat of Sauron was decisive. And now he hoped that he could finally live in peace once he was free to roam.

He was woken an uncertain amount of time later by a gentle touch to his face. His eyes fluttered open weakly and he looked up into the soot and tear stained face of Isildur. He opened his mouth to speak, but was stopped by a gentle smile from the Man. “Do not speak, old friend. We had thought you dead. Wait here...I shall find help to free you,” Isildur whispered soothingly and Ecthelion blinked in understanding as he rested. Isildur stood swiftly and called for aid before returning to his side. He took Ecthelion’s hand and held it steadily as he waited for help. “You are free now. Can we know your name now?” he asked softly as he looked into the Elf Lord’s eyes.

But Ecthelion did not get a chance to answer as several figures rushed over: Elendur, Ciryon, Haldir of Lórien, and Erestor. Erestor gasped loudly as he immediately knelt next to Isildur and Ecthelion to take Ecthelion’s hand. “Ecthelion! You are him I know it! You are alive!” he whispered in joy as tears rolled down his face, shocking those who were gathered. He looked up at them and ordered, “We must free him quickly! This debris must be moved!”

With nods of agreement while another soldier was sent to find Elrond, the three Men and Haldir worked to lift the block of stone off of Ecthelion while Erestor kept his gaze locked with Ecthelion’s in an effort to comfort and give him support. Ecthelion cried out once at the beginning as pain ratcheted through him from their efforts, but he found that he preferred that pain to all the pain he had endured at Sauron’s hand. Once free, they carefully carried him to where the makeshift medical tents were set up on the Dagorlad. They were met by Elrond, who immediately took Ecthelion into a nearby tent. He ordered Haldir to find Glorfindel as he set to work healing Ecthelion’s wounds.

However, with that order Ecthelion finally was able to dredge up enough strength to protest, demanding hoarsely that Glorfindel not be shown in. They acquiesced reluctantly to his request and started on tending to his injuries by Elrond. He started weeping weakly as he was held steady by Erestor and Isildur while his wounds were set, since he was suffering from a broken leg, three broken ribs, and a broken arm. He managed to stay conscious through it all and was washed down gently by Erestor as soon as Elrond left to check on the many others who were injured. Isildur sat next to them and, once Erestor had finished, told the Advisor to go and aid Elrond. Nodding in agreement before giving a last clasp to Ecthelion’s hand, Erestor left to help with the many wounded, leaving the two alone.

Looking into the Man’s eyes, Ecthelion felt worry through him as he sensed a dark power within the Man. Isildur gazed at him steadily and smiled sadly as he took Ecthelion’s hand into his. “So, the mask is finally lifted and revealed is a famous Elf Lord. Never had I dreamed that such a tale would be brought back to life to fight by our side and to be so close to our family,” he whispered softly, soothingly as he smiled.

Clearing his throat and sighing as he shifted, Ecthelion’s smile was bitter and sad as it answered Isildur’s. “My curse is not something to be proud of, Isildur. I am sorry for your loss this day,” he answered quietly after a bit, but then stopped as the darkness welled up once more around the Man. “Isildur...what have you done?” he asked suddenly as he stared at the King.

Swallowing hard, Isildur moved one of his hands to his chain mail and pulled out a chain with a glittering ring on it. “I have the weapon of the Enemy. With this, I can bring peace to my people at last,” he stated quietly as his eyes focused on the shining Ring.

Eyes widening in fear, Ecthelion trembled as he shook his head. “Destroy it...destroy it now before it consumes you I beg you!” he pleaded suddenly as he trembled violently. He could feel it now. Sauron was not dead but alive within the Ring! “Isildur! Do not let this battle be in vain! Destroy it!” he begged as he tried to sit up, but fell back down with a cry that was near to a sob.

Concerned, Isildur hid the Ring once more under his tunic and leaned forward, helping Ecthelion into a more comfortable position. “Destroy it? But Ecthelion...with this power I can help my people and protect them,” he reasoned gently as if with a child.

“It will destroy you before you can do any good for your people!” Ecthelion spat out hoarsely as he wept openly, his shaking now so fierce that he was gripping Isildur’s hand spastically. “I beg of you, Isildur...destroy it or you will fall into darkness,” he whispered as he held Isildur’s hand within both of his.

Stunned at the sincerity, Isildur nodded mutely, and then watched in concern as Ecthelion all but collapsed in relief. He adjusted the blankets on the pale frame and said, “Rest, mellonen...you will need the sleep that is coming for your future and to heal.” (my friend)

Smiling warmly as reverie overtook him, Ecthelion nodded and fell into an exhausted sleep. Isildur watched him for a few minutes before standing and leaving the tent. He needed to discuss these turn of events with his son Elendur.

A few hours later though, Ecthelion awoke, feeling very restless and afraid. He needed to escape! He left the bed easily, his wounds healed already from the sleep and his changed body that healed quicker than normal Elves. Transforming, he snuck from the tent and crept towards the Morannon through the camp, dodging various soldiers in his effort to escape from them. He came to the mountains and passed in their shadow until he arrived at the forests of Ithilien. There, he went south until he came to Cair Andros and crossed over, heading west. He needed to go to Fangorn...to where he felt at peace.

He traveled a night and a day until he came to the ancient forest. Once there, he went inside, transforming into his Elven form as he felt the peace wash over him in welcome. He looked around, and then stopped as he heard some rustling and growling near him. He arrived at a glade and found within it a small group of panthers lying around a sparkling pond. He stopped and stared as they stood and faced him warily, but what caught his eye was the obvious leader. It was a fairly large panther as it stalked forward and Ecthelion felt his heart well up in hope, for he knew at that moment that it was his friend. He fell to his knees before the panther and laughed in joy as he bounded forward to nuzzle and lick the Elf’s face in happiness. Ecthelion threw his arms around his friend and they stood close, happy to be reunited at last with his cat friend. For Ecthelion understood now that he had not been the only one changed so long ago. On that night when he had been given his potion, his soul and body had been linked to the panther from which the fur had come from, giving the panther in turn long life and health. And now he knew that he could finally live in peace.

TBC