By Dawn's Early Light by Grundy

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Aftermath

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My heart is broken by the terrible loss I have sustained in my old friends and companions and my poor soldiers. Believe me, nothing except a battle lost can be half so melancholy as a battle won. -Wellington

Safely shielded from strangers’ eyes by the rocks at her back, Buffy wept.

The battlefield beneath the Mountain was still littered with the dead, men and elves and dwarves alike lying amid the filth of yrch and warg carcasses. It was much, much worse than anything she’d seen before. People dying in ones or twos back in Sunnydale, or even injured in dozens, paled in comparison. Thousands had died this day.

She supposed she could have crept into her brothers’ tent to indulge in tears- the twins would certainly not think less of her for it, they seemed fairly shocked themselves by the carnage. But she felt like her sadness would only add to theirs right now, and being the elder siblings, they would feel obliged to try to comfort her. That wasn’t what she wanted, so she had left them to seek their own balance, together or separately as they chose.

Elrohir and Elladan’s training on the journey to the Woodland Realm had paid off- it was only their word that their younger sister could conduct herself appropriately in an elven host that had swayed Thranduil, who had meant to leave her in Legolas’ keeping when the wood elves marched to Erebor.

“You were sent here to keep you safe,” Thranduil had said, pinning all three Elrondionath with a stern glare. “You are young, and I have no word from your parents permitting me to take you into what may yet prove to be war. There is no shame in remaining here- my own son remains, for I would not leave my people unprotected.”

Buffy had known that any outburst from her would only work against her, so she had for once stayed silent and let her brothers plead her case.

“It is not right that Anariel should be left here when we march,” Elrohir had declared. “Grandmother and Grandfather thought it best that we three remain together.”

“Grandmother said a day would come when she would strike against the Enemy,” Elladan added. “If that is her fate, would it not be better for her to march with an elven host now, when the risk is slight, than wait until an hour of great need?”

Thranduil had favored the twins with a sour look.

“You may be right, but your sister’s safety is your charge, sons of Elrond. I will not be left to explain to your parents and grandparents how it is that she has been injured or sent to Mandos’ keeping when she was brought to my lands to be removed from danger!”

Buffy was sure if he had realized that battle would be joined, Thranduil would not have permitted her to join his army. He had expected a quarrel between men and dwarves picking over the horde of Smaug, not a fast moving yrch swarm mounted on wargs.

She had at least gotten to see her little friend Bilbo again, when in a last ditch attempt to keep the peace, he hand delivered the arkenstone of Thrain to Bard and Thranduil. The brave hobbit had refused to stay with them, saying he had promised to wake his friend Bombur for the late watch, and off he had gone. He’d been poorly repaid for his troubles- Thorin Oakenshield did not recognize what a jewel he had in Bilbo Baggins and drove him down to the massed host of men and elves. She had not gotten to speak with him before the battle was joined.

Her mind still shied away from the horror of the battle as her hand would from hot metal. She had been given command of a troop of wood elves, and ordered to protect the retreat of those who had acted the part of the ‘bait’ across the mouth of the valley. Her brothers commanded units on either side of her.

It had sounded so simple, so orderly when the plans were made and the orders given. It had gotten chaotic and bloody unbelievably quickly. The yrch had come in far greater numbers than the commanders of the free folk had realized, and quickly they found their positions being overrun as goblins swarmed the Mountain.

Only half of Buffy’s troop had survived. As often as she had been told that elves were immortal, it had had come as a nasty shock to see them lying on the ground in the unmistakable posture of death. At first that had only fueled her to fight harder-to avenge her dead as much as not to fail in her mission. It was then that she had first worried for her brothers. It hit her as she clashed with the bodyguard of Bolg, just a huge bear appeared out of nowhere, that her parents would be absolutely shattered to lose a child now.

When the bear had carried what was left of Thorin Oakenshield off to safety, Buffy rallied the elves and any men who still stood near and they had fought their way back to the flank of the Mountain, to higher ground commanding a better view of the battle. Then, just as she realized with horror that she couldn’t see either of the Els, the Eagles had arrived, turning the tide of the battle in favor of the free folk.

She’d yelled at her troops, men and elves alike at that point, to keep fighting, that they could die just as dead winning as losing, and fought grimly on until there were no yrch left. Then came the sickening task of carrying the wounded who could still be helped off the field and looking around to determine who had survived the day.

Unlike humans, elves knew if their family members had been harmed, so she was aware even before she went looking for them that her brothers had survived, though it turned out none of them were entirely unscathed. She had several cuts from blade and arrow, Elladan had broken an arm, and Elrohir had taken a nasty wound from a battleaxe. The three of them had reunited briefly, just to see with their eyes what they already knew in their hearts- they had survived.

But now, knowing as she did that this was only a smaller preview of what was yet to come, Buffy could not help the tears. That was why she had crept off to a place on the arms of the Mountain where she would not be seen.

To her surprise, through the haze of tears, she found a handkerchief entering her field of view. Glancing sideways, she found it was Thranduil himself who had followed her. Even more surprising, he did not seem to find her present state a sign of weakness or cause for reproach.

He said nothing, for the time being, allowing her to cry herself out. It was only when her tears began to wane, that he spoke.

“It has been many years since elves fought such battles,” he said, his voice gentler than Buffy had expected. “And for the Firstborn, such death is perhaps more shocking than it is for the Edain, who live their brief lives knowing that soon they must die.”

“I thought I knew what a fight looked like,” Buffy whispered. “But what I have seen before, what I’d done- it was nothing like this.”

Thranduil nodded, gazing down on the battlefield, where even now, parties of survivors were solemnly collecting the dead, preparing them for burial according to the ways of their own people.

“Battle is always a harsh surprise to those who experience it for the first time. And this was no small skirmish. Had I known, I would have sent you to the rear to protect what remained of Laketown in case we had failed.”

“The last line of defence?” Buffy asked wryly, blotting at her eyes with the hanky.

“Indeed,” Thranduil said. “If not for the intervention of the Eagles, it would have gone badly for the women and children who survived the fall of Laketown. Very few men remained to guard them- most marched with King Bard.”

Buffy tried not to sniffle as she contemplated that.

“Still,” Thranduil continued, “I cannot say you were not needed where you were. Were it not for you, our flank might have collapsed entirely.”

“So you don’t think I’m a wuss?” Buffy asked.

“I do not recognize the word,” Thranduil replied gravely, “but if it is akin to coward, no, I do not. There is no shame in tears, not on a day when so many have died. I wept after my first battle, too. And I have wept at other battles since.”

At Buffy’s startled look, he explained.

“I was at the Dagorlad. My father, Oropher, passed into Mandos’ halls that day, as did many a brave elf and man. My tears flowed as freely as any other at battle’s end. As, I assure you, do the tears of many an elven warrior this night.”

The hand that helped her to her feet was sympathetic.

“If, young warrior, you would see the Enemy defeated, I fear you will see worse than this day before you pass into the West or beyond the circles of the world.”

“Into the West,” Buffy said softly. “Though I will not go before the darkness has been defeated.”

Thranduil nodded, accepting with a nod that this child of Elrond had made her choice.

“You should go to your brothers now, Anariel,” he said quietly. “You are not the only one who has not seen such slaughter before, and they will be the better for your company.”