Beyond Canon
RSS


- Text Size +
“This is insane. We have spent four days doing nothing. We could have done this in Gondolin. All we do is sit here and eat fucking lembas.” The soldier crunched the piece that was in his hand and threw it to the ground.

“You fuck the lembas while you eat? No wonder you are in such a piss-ass mood.” There were a few who laughed at Galdereth’s comment, but the majority of the army was restless, though Turgon had managed to keep them from the battle even when Fingon’s control of his troops had failed.

The soldier, who was the same one that had angered Glorfindel during the march, waited until Galdereth had turned around before offering a rude gesture toward his back. Most of the officers did not notice this, but Maeglin had been in sight of the incident and he walked over now, taking long strides. Without hesitation, he drew his arm across his body and slapped the soldier with the back of his hand. “You are so very lucky my whip is at home,” said Maeglin coldly, and the soldier backed away and said no more.

Further away, the captains were meeting. Turgon could not keep his eyes from the battle, gravely watching always for his brother’s position.

“The tension is increasing among our troops,” said Egalmoth. “Every time Fingon’s army is pushed back, it is all we can do to hold our own soldiers from joining the battle.”

“Each night they fight later,” observed Galdor. “Morgoth will try to tire them and make them continue to fight without rest tonight, just as he did when he fought your father.”

Turgon grimly contemplated the possibilities. “We shall continue to guard the pass, but if Morgoth does indeed continue the assault through the night then we shall come to my brother’s aid in the morning. We can wait for Maedhros no longer.”

The night was fell and foul, and their foes closed in around Fingon and his army on all sides. Turgon rested his soldiers, but himself paced through the darkest hours of the battle in helpless worry. As the moon rose high, he roused the Gondolindrim and brought them forth into the battle.

His soldiers came in three waves: The first group moved forward slowly, four lines of soldiers made up of the houses of Penlodh, Rog, Duilin, and the king. Penlodh’s soldiers were a wall of mithril and steel, blocking any attacks with their tall shields. Behind them, Turgon’s troops were armed with long pikes which they had positioned between each of the shielded elves before them. Next were Duilin’s archers, who began to shoot as soon as they had a clear range. Last marched Rog’s army, who dodged through the line and back as needed, armed with swords and maces, axes and whips. The phalanx was five hundred long and four deep, and moved forward with as they chanted their mantra: Day is come, day is come! It took little time to clear a path for the king to reach his brother.

The second wave of soldiers came forth after Turgon managed to reach Fingon and Hurin. The guard of the king surrounded them in order to allow them time to speak, while the rest of the Gondolindrim infantry fought alongside their counterparts of Hithlum.

Finally, the cavalry came. As promised, Glorfindel had every able horse readied for riding. In the time spent waiting, he and some of the other soldiers created weapons yet untested from things he had seen when looking down upon the battlefield, and things that Laiqalasse had scouted as well.

“Ready?” called out Glorfindel as he and Mirdirin rode out side by side into the fray.

“By your order, m’lord!” shouted Mirdirin in return.

They rounded the phalanx and rode forward and waited until they passed the mix of orcs, elves, and men and reached the orcs and trolls. “Hold steady!” Glorfindel grasped one end of a long chain and tossed the other end to Mirdirin, who easily caught and held the metal links. “Now!”

Each of them rode apart by three metres, and now they sped their mounts. The links of chain were enhanced with poisoned barbs. The chain, pulled tight and held at throat-height, took down dozens of the enemy before one of the trolls fell forward upon it and yanked it from the hands of Glorfindel and Mirdirin.

They now turned together and rode back through the path they had cleared, readying for their next attack. As the forces of Morgoth closed in, they drew out ropes from which three spiked metal balls hung. Each had a pair, and they began to swing them around at their sides while riding back into the mass of orcs. These weapons proved better than the chain had, but as Mirdirin arched around again something whipped out at him.

It was the chain that had been dropped earlier, and it caught into one of the weapons and wrapped up around Mirdirin’s bracer. He was pulled down from his horse, and by the time Glorfindel circled back around to rescue Mirdirin’s mount, he saw no sign of his herald.

He managed to return the horse back to the line and find another rider, but soon again the horse returned unmounted. It was then that Glorfindel spied Elluil, fighting heartily. He dismounted and aided the young soldier, and upon clearing enough area, handed Elluil the reins to Mirdirin’s horse. There was a moment of anguish on Elluil’s face, but no words needed to be spoken. He gave a single nod to his captain, swung up onto the horse, and disappeared into the masses.

Something bitter slid into his lips, and he placed his hand to his cheek and drew it back to see blood. Had he been home, safe in Gondolin, it was the sort of thing that would cause him to make haste to the apothecary. Here, in battle, he only laughed that he was not injured worse.

Once more he mounted, and fought through the field to the places where the enemy was the thickest. He used arrows against the orcs, and saved his spears for the trolls as he saw them. The numbers were lingering among the enemy, and he noticed more banners of blue and silver advance forward in the night.

Then came a sound most welcomed, for trumpets rang through at the third hour and announced the arrival of Maedhros. His banner and those of his brothers rose up from the far end of the battlefield. A triumphant cheer sounded from all sides, and all those engaged fought harder than before.

And then, as hope was renewed and the orcs began to flee in fright, Angband was emptied.

Wolves and their riders poured out from the depths in numbers so vast they were uncountable by Laiqalasse, who had found knife-work difficult in the fray and instead took a defensive position behind a pile of bodies, shooting unseen. He called out warnings to those who were concentrating on their current foes or had their backs to the gates of Morgoth.

There were other demons of evil as well, bickering among themselves as to which would lead out first. Beyond all this, there were orcs, ever the orcs, always the orcs, crawling out from the fortress in droves like unpleasant little insects at a picnic. Fire and darkness mingled at the gates, and worst of all, the great dragon Glaurung burst forth and loosed a low laugh as his piercing eyes fell upon the royal brothers who fought side by side.

With the additional forces of Angband crowding the field, it became difficult to regroup in any fashion. As he looked in vain for any survivors among a group of Ecthelion’s soldiers who had helped him to clear the area they were in, a spear whistled toward him. It missed, but struck Lemon Drop in the neck.

Glorfindel leaped from his horse just in time to avoid the second javelin from making contact. It flew by as he retrieved one of his own spears and looked around to find the source. A third one was thrown, and he painfully made the decision to step aside. The weapon embedded into Lemon Drop’s hindquarters, and the horse screamed and reared up in confusion. Instead of waiting to see the enemy, Glorfindel ran toward the spot where he had seen the movement. The rider charged as soon as Glorfindel was in the open, and hissed and squealed and raised up his spear.

Instead of turning away or taking a defensive position, Glorfindel yelled in as menacing a way he could as he ran straight at the wolf rider and his mount. The spear came at him, and he dodged, and before the orc had a chance to take up another, Glorfindel dived forward and drove his own spear into the eye of the wolf. The orc tumbled off as Glorfindel fumbled to draw out his sword as he grappled with the injured beast. He pierced the howling wolf’s belly, and then squared off with the orc, which proved to be no match without his pet.

A quick assessment of his wounds was taken as Glorfindel returned to his horse. With the orcs closing in and the line growing thin as they fought off Glaurung’s advance, Glorfindel was well aware of the fact that he might make it out, but not with his injured mount. Another wave of orcs ran forward, licking their lips and taunting Glorfindel as they approached him. As he fought through the beasts, he tried to keep track of where Lemon Drop was. He could not see him, but from the pained cries behind him Glorfindel knew his horse was still alive.

A sudden feeling of comfort overwhelmed him, and then he heard the familiar and welcome sound of Erestor joining him in this part of the battlefield. Every low, perturbed grunt that Erestor made each time he swung his heavy blade allowed Glorfindel the ability to breathe a little easier. As the orcs thinned and more Elves and Men reached their position, Erestor fell back around and grabbed hold of Lemon Drop’s reins in an attempt to calm the equine. As he began to grimly check the horse’s injuries, he heard Glorfindel shout.

“Down! Now!” Glorfindel hoped the others had heard him as he raised his arm up to shield his face. Some ways back his shield had been lost, and his bracers were the only thing he had left to help protect against arrows, which flew past now. He cringed when he heard the final death screams from his horse and the heavy thud against the ground.

As he stood once again, Glorfindel made the mistake to look over his shoulder. He knew his horse was lost, but it was Erestor he was more worried about. It looked as if the arrows had missed his companion, but when Glorfindel turned his head back to the battle, a glint of metal caught his eye. Immediately after that, a sudden pain and burn hit him across his shoulder, as if he had been slapped. Then, warm and wet. More on reflex than anything, he thrust his sword in the direction of the metal and heard the orc be impaled on it before he saw it.

With one foot, Glorfindel pushed the orc from his weapon, then lifted the back of his hand up to his cheek and wiped away the black blood that had splattered onto him. Erestor was at his side in an instant, sword lifted up over his shoulder. “Do not look now,” he said, panting a little, “but there is something flying towards us.”

“What... what is it?” Glorfindel squinted, wondering if it had been such a good idea to try to fight with his eyesight as poor as it currently was. As the demon came into focus, he gasped. “I never thought I would see one of those.”

“I had hoped we would not, but that was much too much to hope for.” Erestor took hold of the edge of his cape and wiped the blood from his sword in the moments they had before the orcs reached them again. The beast landed, tucking back her wings with a fierce roar. “Well, let us go kill it, then.”

Glorfindel sized up at the fearsome creature. It was twice the height of a tall elf, and so towered well over him. The fiery whip snapped across the ground and lit fire to the sand and bodies in its path. “So, how does one kill a balrog, exactly?”

“Good question! When I find out, you will be the first to know!” Erestor sheathed his sword and picked up a bow from one of the fallen soldiers. “Hand me that quiver,” he said, pointing to the crushed container of arrows that Glorfindel was stepping on.

“Sorry, here.” Glorfindel yanked the quiver up and barely had a chance to hold it out before Erestor snatched it away. “What should I do?”

“See what else you can find! We have to try to do something from a distance so that the flames do not harm us!” Erestor ran forward, red cape flowing behind him.

Glorfindel leaped over a fallen orc and yanked a spear from its back. He was tugged backwards and panicked, thrusting the spear behind him. Turning, he saw nothing, but nearly choked himself on his cape, which had been caught on a broken shield. Glorfindel grabbed hold of the front of the green cloak and pulled down on the edge that was frayed. The material parted and fell away, and Glorfindel ran with the spear to catch up to Erestor.

“Arrows are useless!” shouted Erestor. “So are spears,” he said after Glorfindel threw the one he had retrieved. It caught fire before it pierced the beast.

“Thank you for the tip,” he said dryly, drawing his sword again. “So, now what do we do?”

Erestor adjusted his hold on his sword. “Distract him, and cover me!”

“How should I—Erestor!” Glorfindel watched helplessly as Erestor ran toward the balrog, dodging flames and rocks. Drawing his own sword from the scabbard, Glorfindel swung it above his head and shouted at the beast. “You! Ugly one!”

The balrog roared and swung her whip above her head. As it raced toward Glorfindel, his eyes widened, for it extended much further than it appeared to be able to. Despite leaping backwards, the end reached him and snaked around his arm. The flames raced forth and clung to him, burning his arm and igniting his clothing. As Glorfindel attempted to remain calm and sever the whip with his sword, he heard the laughter of the balrog turn into a roar of pain.

Erestor was crouched in front of the beast, his sword having found an unprotected spot. He stabbed again, and then ran around behind the balrog where he dropped down again and slashed at her ankle. The balrog kicked backwards, knocking Erestor back against a boulder.

“Bad move, asshole.” Glorfindel sliced down hard and broke free. He dropped down and rolled until the flames were extinguished. Then he kept up the momentum and rolled right up before the beast. She drew back the whip again, but as she did so, Glorfindel sprang up and hacked at her feet. He severed the toes of her right foot in two blows before turning to do the same on the other side.

As he turned, he saw Erestor kneeling on the ground with his sword raised up but pointed down. He plunged it into the other foot of the creature with all his might, pinning it to the ground. “Glorfindel! This way!” Erestor grabbed Glorfindel’s arm and pulled him away from the raging balrog. As they ran, Erestor spoke into Glorfindel’s mind, hoping the connection was strong enough for him to hear.

‘On three, we run at her, knock her down, and then we might have a chance.’

Glorfindel looked straight into Erestor’s eyes and nodded as they slowed and turned to face their foe.

The balrog roared and drew back her whip again.

“Three!” shouted Erestor, and though caught slightly off-guard, Glorfindel joined him and they rammed into the beast. The pain and heat were excruciating, but they brought down the enemy, forcing her onto her back. While Erestor grabbed a wing and twisted it full around until it snapped and cracked to uselessness, Glorfindel raised his sword and brought it down across the balrog’s neck. He repeatedly pulled up the blade and slammed it back down until he felt Erestor’s hand grip his shoulder. “Enough, Glorfindel, she is gone.”

They both stood panting and trying to catch their breath. Glorfindel stepped forward and fellto his knees. His sight blanked for a moment before it hazily cleared. When he tried to stand again, he stumbled and failed.

Erestor yanked his sword from the balrog and sheathed it before drawing up beside Glorfindel. “She hurt you bad,” he said as he lifted Glorfindel’s arm around his shoulder and helped Glorfindel up. “We need to get you behind the line.”

Glorfindel’s head rolled down against his chest and he wearily nodded. “Hard to see,” he said as he tripped over a fallen soldier.

“Just let me lead,” said Erestor as he dodged around the skirmishes on the field. Somehow, they arrived back where they had started.

Many of their companions were there as well. Some were only injured beyond the ability to fight, while others were slowly being moved to a spot away from the healers and their charges. As Glorfindel was lowered to the ground, he happened to look to his right and see a familiar elf resting against a box. “Looks as if we get to watch the rest from here,” he said.

The elf said nothing.

“Elluil?” Glorfindel leaned over and tried to touch the younger elf, but could not reach. He could feel his armor being removed, and he cried out as some of the top layers of his skin tore away, burned by the beast and seared to the metal. “Is he sleeping?” asked Glorfindel, looking at the limp figure beside him.

Erestor shook his head sadly. “He is dead,” he softly replied before leaning forward to shut the young one’s eyes. “You need to rest,” added Erestor as he looked back to Glorfindel.

Glorfindel could hardly argue, and he slumped forward with a groan. Carefully, Erestor stepped around him and picked Elluil up in his arms and carried him to the place where they other fallen Gondolindrim were.

A healer dropped down beside Glorfindel and made an assessment, shaking his head many times. “I am feeling better,” said Glorfindel as he saw the healer frown. “Maybe I can go back in.”

The healer took hold of Glorfindel’s arm and pulled his shoulder up close to his face. “You might be feeling better, but you look terrible.”

Glorfindel breathed in sharply as he saw the damage that had been done. The gash in his arm from earlier was singed at the edges, though a dark welling of blood had sealed it closed. His skin was peeled and blistered, and in a few spots dark brown and swelled.

“The burn is so bad you cannot feel it,” explained the healer.

“I am doing no good sitting here,” Glorfindel argued.

“Can you walk?” asked the healer.

“I do not need to walk; I just need a horse.”

As Glorfindel attempted to sway the healer’s opinion, Erestor took a moment to refresh his supply of arrows and take water. He brought a bucket of water to Glorfindel, and after cupping his hands and convincing Glorfindel to drink, Erestor used the rest to pour over the burned skin of Glorfindel’s arms and back.

A sudden burst of light came forth from the battlefield, shooting up towards the wavering stars. Erestor stood up and looked towards the light, and gasped as many others were also doing now.

The look on Erestor’s face told Glorfindel that something was very, very wrong. The color drained away from Erestor’s cheeks and he shook his head as if in a daze. “No... no, not him... this... this is just...” All around, anguished cries came from the soldiers of Hithlum and Gondolin. Even over the great distance of the fighting, all heard the voice of Maedhros curse Morgoth.

“What? What is it?” asked Glorfindel as those around them panicked.

Erestor dropped down upon the ground beside Glorfindel. He looked confused and lost as he stared forward blankly. “The king is dead.”
You must login (register) to review.