Everlong

71

To say that the air was heavy and palpable was an understatement, not one person was impervious to the weight which was bearing down on them. Invisible, yes, not a physical weight but one which could be felt through actions, and orders. Everyone was here before the Mountain for a reason, a very specific reason at that and even as everyone stood waiting, faces could be seen peeking over the top.

The dwarves were suited ready for war, their armour could be seen glinting in the weak sunlight of the day so far. The sky was a weak wash of colours, white clouds lazily moved across the expanse above, not a care to the awkward tension of everyone below. The mortals were perhaps more on edge than the elves, after all, they knew for quite some time that eventually the dwarves would be seen as enemies; it was inevitable in a way.

Like any good soldier, Liruliniel had followed orders and stood beside Imrathon in her armour, she naturally stood out amongst those beside her due to not wearing her helmet. With her hair braided and off her face, she wore the circlet that Thranduil had gifted her, her tunic was a brilliant flash of blue amongst a see of muted gold beside and behind her. Her armour too was much the same, it was the same one which had been given to her by Oropher, and it had saved her life and proven worthy of being worn for the next fight. She just hoped it wasn't this. Not this. Anything but facing off against those she called friends.

Imrathon was the image of stern seriousness as he was in charge, no one moved out of formation without the go ahead from Thranduil, until his arrival keeping everyone in check was up to him. But the pair exchanged a look when they heard hoofbeats, slow and steady and the parting of the army. Armour clinked and moved as one after another, a row moved and made room for those moving forwards to come forth. Both Bard and Thranduil were the images of calm on their respected steeds as they moved forwards and from the first rows of elves.

Liruliniel shifted a little, Imrathon looked at her worriedly, the morning had been tense and Liruliniel inhaled sharply when an arrow flew forwards and crashed on the ground stopping both Bard and Thranduil in their places. Everything about this whole thing unsettled her, but suiting up for war in silence still hung over her just like the clouds above them. Not many words were spoken between herself or Thranduil, and the few moments they had before she slipped off to march with the army, they spent it just standing side by side staring out at Erebor. She had held onto his hand tightly, and Thranduil had linked his fingers readily with hers. The trait to seek comfort and hold his hand had never ceased or gone away, and he wasn't about to deny her this now.

Before Thranduil had relented to let her march, they had shared a brief, but loving kiss before he pressed one more against her forehead and let her slip away. He wasn't happy about her being with the army, he wished to have her near, but he saw the look on Imrathon's face; he would protect her at all costs too. If not, imagine the reaction Caladhiel would send his way. It was not worth it, he could not fall out with the woman he deemed to marry one day - one day, one day, one day, it was always one day, neither rushed towards it - if he reported Liruliniel harmed and he did nothing. Caladhiel would have his guts for garters, literally perhaps.

The nod was almost imperceivable from Thranduil, especially with his back being to them, but the slight inclination was enough; in one motion all moved, not a movement was out of place as all switched from one weapon to the other. Bows were pulled up, arrows were pulled taught and notched, and the aims were set forwards and upwards at the dwarves and Erebor. Thorin could very well think that shooting one mere arrow was enough to deter, but facing down the whole elven army with their arrow sights on them was something else completely. It didn't bring Liruliniel any good, of course it didn't, but with Azkâr in hand she stared onwards. She prayed to the Valar that Thranduil would not give the order to shoot. The dwarves would not stand a chance. The thought of them all being wiped out so easily caused her stomach to twist, her aim slipped minutely, not that it'd do any good because there were thousand of others that would hit their marks.