The Last Elf Queen of Arda

Chapter 1 - Oropher's War Council

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Lifting the flap of the tent, Thranduil looked out across the encampment and smiled to himself. Thirty thousand was the final count of their armed host, Sindarin and Silvan elves alike. They had all but emptied their capital at Amon Lanc in the southern Greenwood of able warriors. His father Oropher had been king of the combined peoples of that realm for but two and a half thousand years. Already he commanded such loyalty from his subjects though that they could easily have brought even greater numbers. This was, after all, to be one of the greatest battles of the Second Age.

The combined armies of Oropher, King of the Greenwood and Amdír, King of Loríen covered the plains in a swath of silver and green. Both forces had much in common, despite being from different kingdoms. Although predominantly composed of Silvan elves, they were content to follow the leadership of Sindarin kings. The two armies were also bound for the same doom upon the morn; to join forces with the hosts of High King Gil-Galad and of Elendil, High King of the Dúnedain. Such a united host had not been seen in Middle-Earth for thousands of years, nor would likely ever be seen again. These armies had come together under a single banner though; The Last Alliance of Elves and Men. Tomorrow, they would meet the creatures of Sauron on the open plain before the Morannon, or the 'Black Gate' in the Common Tongue.

Surveying the Greenwood army proudly, Thranduil thought that any orc would be addled out of its wits to stand against such a force. Oropher's warriors were all the very finest of the realm, each one trained to utter perfection at the crafts of blade and bow. The prince had seen the elf-knights who counted themselves among High King Gil-Galad's army the day before. It was all very well and good, he had thought, that they were so finely equipped with shining helms and long silver spears. To Thranduil's mind though the warriors of the Greenwood were the ones he would far rather fight beside. They may fight clad in leather armor instead of polished breastplates, armed with short bows and swords of ore rather than pure steel. However, Thranduil had trained beside these elves both Silvan and Sindarin alike, and could not imagine warriors with more heart in all of Arda.

Letting the tent flap fall back into place Thranduil turned once again to watch the debate unfolding inside. Standing across from one another at a long table laden with maps and small figurines, the two Sindarin kings spoke in increasingly tense words.

"I did not march the length of the Misty Mountains to hand over command of my forces to Gil-Galad." Oropher was saying, both palms laid flat on the table before him. "He has our allegiance and pledge of fealty in battle, is that not enough for him?" The King of the Greenwood cut an imposing figure, tall and crowned with a circlet of silver upon his golden hair. Thranduil had always known his father to be a proud but kind person though. The prince paid no mind at the dangerous glint in the king's eye as he stood slightly to one side with his arms folded over his wine red tunic.

Amdír, king of the elves of Loríen gestured impatiently to the tent wall, more so to what lay beyond on the other side of the hill outside. The army of High King Gil-Galad was encamped not far away, and one had only to walk a few paces beyond the boundaries of the watch to sight a multitude of blue and gold banners.

"The High King is not asking for us to surrender our command entirely, Oropher. Did you not expect as much when we took up the call to war?"

His long fingers pressing into the tabletop fit to turn his knuckles white, the king of the Greenwood glowered. "What I expect is for the king of the Noldor to command Noldorin elves, and leave the command of Sindarin and Silvan to us. Come now, mellon-nin. Are you truly saying that you are willing to leave the fate of your people in the hands of the son of Orodreth?"