Title:   Enough for Tonight  (13-14/22)
Author: Aglarien
Type: FPS
Pairing:  Erestor/Glorfindel
Rating:  NC-17
Disclaimer: Alas, not mine.  Except for the cat. 
Warning:  AU.  Battle gore.  
Summary:  Orcs attack Imladris.


*~*~*~*~*
Part 13


The Orcs reached the eastern border by the afternoon.  Suithoron had sent out sentries so 
that they would have the earliest possible warning.  Sighting the Orcs in the distance, the 
sentries immediately tied pieces of red cloth to their arrows, and sent them up into the 
sky.  The cloth impeded the arrow’s flight, but it was enough.  They were seen.  

Suithoron instantly sent out both runners and arrows to the north and south borders.  

When the message arrived on the south border, Elrohir and Conuion immediately ordered 
one half of their warriors to the east border.  Elrohir left Conuion in charge, and rode with 
the warriors.  Almost identical actions occurred to the north, where Elladan left Lathron 
in charge and left with his warriors.  Four hundred reinforcements were racing to the 
eastern border.

Suithoron watched and waited anxiously.  Three of the four sentries had safely returned.  
His warriors were ready, but they were greatly outnumbered.  He watched as his last 
sentry was overtaken by the Orcs.  The anger of the watching elves against the foul 
creatures was so strong the very trees seemed to shake from it.

When the Orcs were within range, Suithoron ordered, “Loose arrows!”, and two hundred 
arrows flew into the Orc hoard, bringing down many.  The speed with which the elves 
loosed their arrows was blinding; and still the Orcs came.  When the Orcs were nearly 
upon them, Suithoron ordered, “Swords!” and the elves instantly tossed aside their bows 
and drew swords or knives.  
In moments the Orcs were upon them, screaming their fierce battle cries.

Elladan could hear the battle.  They were close.  “Faster!” he yelled.  “They are 
attacking!”  He prayed they would arrive in time.  

The elves were being pushed back when Elladan and his elves finally reached the site of 
the battle and threw themselves into the combat.  Knives and swords flashed and little by 
little the elves began to regain ground.  

Unnoticed in the battle’s fury, several small groups of Orcs had moved around the 
battleground, and were on their way to Imladris.

When Elrohir and his warriors finally reached the battle, the elves were standing firm.  
The ground was soaked in blood.  Black Orc blood along with red Elven.  It pooled on 
rocks; it covered grass and flowers.  Trees were splattered with it.  Elf and Orc lay dead 
and dying.  It was a gruesome sight.

A group of Orcs was moving around to the south.  “Quick,” Elrohir yelled to his warriors, 
“they are trying to flank them!  Charge!”  And little by little, dead Orc by dead Orc, they 
drove them back.  

The battle was over before night fell.  The weary elves first gathered their wounded and 
did what they could to clean, bandage and strengthen, and then sent them to Imladris to 
be cared for.  Over one hundred wounded elves and horses, and nearly as many again to 
escort them, slowly returned to the city.

The bodies of over fifty dead elves were reverently placed on clean, unsullied ground, 
away from the battleground and guarded until they could be carried home.

Hundreds of Orc bodies were stacked and burned where they fell, tainting the land and air 
with their acrid stench.

Pure elven voiced rose in a song of thanksgiving to Elbereth for their deliverance and 
laments for their lost, and then the exhausted warriors rested.  It was enough for tonight.  

In the morning they would regroup and assess, send out scouts and determine their next 
actions.

And the small groups of Orcs reached Imladris.  

But the defenders were vigilant.  An ancient, wounded warrior, sitting on the highest 
balcony of the Last Homely House, noticed a small movement.  “Turidon, did you see 
that?  Look over there.  Go to the rail and check.  I don’t want to fire at a defender,” he 
whispered to his companion.   Turidon notched an arrow, looked carefully, and let loose 
his arrow while shouting loudly, “ORCS!”  

The Orcs had no chance.  They were outnumbered by elves determined to protect their 
home, and the threat was quickly done away with.  Amarion was personally responsible 
for killing several of them.  

One particularly determined Orc managed to make his way into the Last Homely House 
where Lindir was carefully guarding the elflings and the valley’s elf maidens.  The tall, 
broad Orc was no match for one small wrathful minstrel.  Lindir’s knives flew.  He was 
just sorry there had to be such a mess of black Orc blood all over Elrond’s lovely floor.  
Oh well, he would just get some of the stronger elves to carry away the body later.  As 
long as the elflings and younger elf maidens didn’t see it, it was all right there for a while, 
so Lindir calmly returned to his charges.

A second determined Orc made his way into the healing house, but the elves there had 
heard the shouts.  When the Orc charged in, he was hit by over 50 arrows loosed by elves 
calmly lying in beds.  Diwen was sitting, holding Tinnu closely to her chest.  Tinnu was 
fascinated by all the flying arrows, and wished they would do it again.

The wounded from the battle on the eastern border reached the healing house and were 
cared for.  The defenders insisted that their escort had done enough for tonight, and send 
them to eat and rest.

The defenders maintained a silent vigilance all night long.  

And in the east, Elrond, Erestor and Glorfindel finalized their attack plan with their 
warriors.

It was enough for tonight.


*~*~*~*~*
Part 14

The elves silently set out for the Orc camp while there was still full darkness.  Glorfindel 
and Elrond were the best leaders in battle, so they would each lead one flank, assisted by 
Erestor and Caladir.  It tore Glorfindel’s soul that he could not be with Elrond; he was 
sworn to protect his Lord and it was his first duty above all else, but the right choice was 
that Elrond and he should lead.  It was hoped they would meet with the two flanks joined 
on the other side of the camp.  Erestor would go with Glorfindel, and Caladir with 
Elrond. 

The two newly mated elves were well aware that they could not protect each other and 
forget all else.  Their duty was first.  In the quiet hours of the night, while the other elves 
rested, Erestor and Glorfindel spoke softly, sharing words of love and devotion and long 
passionate kisses, and held each other close until it was time to leave.  And their bond 
grew even stronger.

The warriors lay silently unseen in their battle lines, hidden in the tall grasses, no more 
than fifty paces from the noisy, restless, sleeping Orcs.  The stench emanating from their 
camp was so foul that elves fought off nausea by imagining how wonderful it would feel 
to sever their heads from their disgusting bodies.  

At the very hint of dawn’s arriving, with just of whisper of light beginning to herald the 
coming day, Glorfindel and Elrond gave the commands to “Rise up!” and “Attack!”

Arrows killed many Orc before they had even awoken, but these Orcs were strong, and 
their numbers were now evenly matched to the elves, but not less.  As the flanking lines 
joined, the battle turned into a fierce hand-to-hand combat on all sides.  

Glorfindel and Elrond wielding their swords were a magnificent sight, inspiring the elven 
warriors.  Swords gleaming high over head, then crashing, slashing, their bodies twirling 
away from foul Orc blades.  Always moving in a brilliant choreography of killing, as 
powerful as any Orc. But if they were magnificent, Erestor was beautiful beyond all 
compare.  Knives twirling faster than the eye could see, moving with fluid grace in a 
dance of death.  Covered in Orc blood, eyes flashing, near smiles on their faces, the three 
elven leaders shone.  But none brighter than the mighty Glorfindel.shining with the light 
of Aman.

The battle flowed like waves on a shore, forward, then back, ebbing and surging.  Elrond 
and Erestor were gradually separated by the undulating battle from Glorfindel’s side, but 
the elves were slowly advancing, slowing pushing the Orcs until each step was hindered 
by their fallen bodies.  The sounds of the battle were deafening.  The clashing of metal 
competed with the screams of the dying, and the roars of the attacking.  And suddenly 
Elrond and Erestor were attacked by a massive Orc, who had correctly identified the Lord 
of Imladris as one of the two elves.  

Something was wrong; Glorfindel knew it.  He could feel it.  Eyes searching, he finally 
saw the threat.  Roaring the name of his beloved he raced to his side.  Thrusting his sword 
into the Orc’s back, he knew he was too late.  In his final move, the Orc had thrust his 
sword through Erestor’s side.  

Glorfindel’s scream gave new purpose to elf and Orc alike.  This was the reborn Lord no 
evil could stand before, the reborn Lord who shone with the light of Aman in battle.  Orcs 
fled in terror, straight into the line of the waiting elves.  Elves found new strength and 
slew all before them.  And the battle was over.

Glorfindel, screaming, tears streaming down his face, fell to his knees next to his love, 
his life, the only elf he had ever loved, his precious gift from the Valar.  The filthy Orc 
blade still stood in Erestor’s body.  His hand was on the blade to remove the evil thing 
from his sweet, pure beloved’s body, when strong arms stopped him.  

Caladir held him tight.  “Let Elrond check him first, Glorfindel.”

Glorfindel was in agony.  His heart and soul were torn out from him.  Erestor’s pain was 
his pain.  
He could face ten Balrogs, die again ten times, and never feel this pain.  It transcended 
the pain of his death.  He held onto Caladir, howling his grief to the world.

Elrond gripped Glorfindel’s arm.  “Glorfindel, hear me.  Erestor lives still!  The blade 
was deflected by his chest plate.  We may be able to save him!”

Glorfindel starred at Elrond, disbelief, shock and grief in his eyes, and then hope.  “What 
do you want me to do?”


Back to the borders………

During the night, messengers had arrived in Torladen’s camp on the western border and 
informed him of the day’s events.  Now knowing the chance of Orcs attacking on the 
west was even more remote, he chose one hundred and fifty of his warriors, split them 
into two groups, and sent them to the north and to the south to strengthen those lines.  
Moving his remaining fifty elves closer in to the city, he lengthened his lines and placed 
them as sentries.  Leaving his second in command, he mounted his horse and rode in 
haste to the eastern border.

Meeting with Elrohir, Elladan and Suithoron, the four planned their continued defense.  
Shortly before dawn they moved a little over one hundred elves to each of the north and 
south borders; with Torladen’s elves, that would bring their defenses to nearly four 
hundred each, and still leave a little over three hundred on the east.   Expecting the 
burning piles of Orc flesh to deter further attacks there, Elrohir and Elladan returned to 
their assigned borders.  Torladen remained with Suithoron in the east.

Tbc……



Authors Note:  

My compliments to Col. Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain, Twentieth Maine Regiment, and 
the Union troops at Gettysburg, Pennsylvania in 1863, under the command of Gen. 
Winfield Hancock.  Their actions inspired both the battle scene in this chapter and the 
one in chapter 13.  A small portion of Col. Chamberlain’s description of the Battle of 
Little Round Top, July 2, 1863, reads: “The two lines met and broke and mingled in the 
shock….the edge of the conflict swayed to and fro, with wild whirlpools and eddies…At 
times I saw around me more of the enemy than of my own men; gaps opening, 
swallowing, closing again with sharp convulsive energy….All around, strange, mingled 
roar – shouts of defiance, rally, and desperation; and underneath, murmured entreaty and 
stifled moans; gasping prayers, snatches of Sabbath song, whispers of loved names….and 
dead faces with strangely fixed eyes staring stark into the sky.  Things which cannot be 
told – nor dreamed.”
On July 3, 1863, on Cemetery Ridge at Gettysburg, union regiments, particularly those 
from the state of Vermont, rushed to the front line during Pickett’s Charge to cut off a 
Confederate flanking movement.