Warning: Mix of modern and medieval speech, partly because I couldn't decide and partly because I was in the mood to do something stupid…

A/N: YAY! I *finally* have submitted a new fanfic… Anyway, I read somewhere that the Easterlings weren't called that until the Third Age…or something. But they used the term here anyway.

And the title and first part of the summary might have been rather confusing... but hey. Here's the explanation: ""turn around"+[phrase]" has three different meanings here. First one: "turn around and see the truth"-Maglor wished he could've "turned around and seen the truth" of Uldor before the damage was done. Second: "turn around and fight for us"-Hey, Uldor! What *do* you think you're doing? "Turn around and fight for us." Third: "turn around the battle to our favor"-okay, so it sounds wrong. But a little more tweaking and it fits, right? -grin-

And I suggest pressing that little link on the upper-right corner just below the ad that says 3/4. Trust me. It'll work better that way, because I really can't write long enough paragraphs for my life. Oh, yeah, I know—hard-to-understand first paragraph.

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So there we were, in the southeastern area of Anfauglith, facing Angband with the Dwarves of Nogrod and Belegost on our left-hand side, and the Easterlings of Ulfang and Bór on the right, and our own armies standing behind us. I looked out for Fingon's army, and I couldn't see it—but I was glad about that. They were not to advance until we told them to; if they were visible from here… it would mean utter failure for us all.

Here, even from the higher lands, I couldn't see Angband either; I only saw some of the lifeless fields around it, but I knew exactly where it was—because a wild, western wind had started blowing, and the acridity of it was stinging my eyes.

"What's wrong, Maglor?" Maedhros asked, riding to my side.

I didn't turn. "The wind is blowing from Angband," I said in disgust, blinking repeatedly and wiping a tear from my eye.

"Turn around," he suggested, grinning.

"I can figure that out for myself, thanks," I replied, returning the smile and doing justice to his suggestion by turning to face him. "It just began now, in case you didn't notice."

He rolled his eyes. "Maybe it did…" he trailed off, shrugging. "What do you think of it?" he asked suddenly, the playfulness dying in his tone. I didn't need to ask what he meant by "it." I looked at him just as the wind blew again, and through the copper locks covering his face I saw anxiety in his eyes. "It will work," I began, unintentionally slowly. I spoke more sharply. "It should work. How long have we planned for this? It can't, it can't, go to waste after that."

He sighed. "There's still a chance that—"

"My lord—"

I jumped at the interruption, then arranged myself as the newcomer glanced at me and quickly corrected himself. "Um, lords."

I jerked my head at him. "It's the Easterling," I muttered to my brother.

Maedhros dismounted, easily a head taller than the Man. "Uldor. What news?"

The Easterling leader blinked, then said, "Sire, my scouts have informed me of a company of Morgoth's troops advancing—they press on to our eastern flank. If unhindered they will reach us by noon." He shuffled his feet, waiting for a reply.

I exchanged a glance with Maedhros, who bit his lip and asked, "How large?"

"Easily half ours, sire." I raised my eyebrows at the reply and tensed my fingers, causing my horse to whinny in protest. "I would hardly call that a company," I managed to say.

Maedhros gritted his teeth, and remounted, frowning. "Then round up your men, Uldor. We must ride, or this attack on Angband will be pointless. Tell Bór's sons as well, and we'll meet you there. Eastern flank, large army—shouldn't be hard to miss." He nodded at me, and I rode off to our brothers, catching Uldor's reply:

"No, not at all, sir."

"Filthy hound, that one is," Curufin snarled.

I blinked, crossing my arms. Maedhros and I had told them of this new threat, and our brothers were exchanging angry words and glances. Amrod shook his head helplessly. "I can't believe this happened. I mean, what was the chance…?" He trailed off, staring at the ground and hunching his shoulders.

Maedhros looked at him, then said, "Come, we must ride quickly. We don't know what Morgoth could be planning…" I mounted my own horse and took to his side, watching the others do the same.

"How many of them again?" asked Caranthir, adjusting his quiver straps and already on his horse.

"Roughly half of ours, Caranthir, so we have to move," I said, and Maedhros urged his horse forward. Most of our army followed behind us, and we set off at a gallop.

I stopped as Maedhros halted his steed, some moments later, raising his hand to tell the riders to do so—then lowering it to shield his eyes from the sun. "I don't see anything. Do any of you?"

I took some time to scan our surroundings. From what I could see of our eastern flank, there was no sign of trouble. "They might not be here yet," I pointed out. "And there's still some distance between us and the extreme eastern point of our army," I said matter-of-factly, but frowning. "There could be the army right there, behind the lines that we see."

"Wouldn't they all be alerted, if that's the case?" Caranthir asked slowly.

"Nice point," Celegorm said, one finger tapping his horse's neck restlessly, "but let's just continue, shall we? Like Maglor said: we never know."

"Wait—I don't see the Easterlings," Curufin interrupted suspiciously, just as we were riding off. "But I suspect they would be a little late, given that they're Easterlings." We shook our heads and shrugged, and made our way to our easternmost battalion, where the Dwarves of Belegost were assembled, gripping their weapons and looking eager for a fight.

"Azaghâl!" Maedhros called, and the Dwarven lord gave a long, low bow. "Is anything amiss? I was told of the enemy marching to your rear." We slowed to a stop in front of him, just as he tilted his head a little and replied.

"None—my scouts have told me nothing of the sort. My rearguard is completely secure."

We exchanged glances varying from angry to downright confused. "I believe you," I said, looking at Azaghâl, "but I must be right to say that everyone makes mistakes, no matter how obvious something might be." I turned to my brothers. "Celegorm, Curufin—take some of our men and go check. Return at once and give us news." They nodded and left.

"Who told you of this oncoming attack to my army?" Azaghâl asked us in his low voice, leaning on his axe.

"Uldor, the Easterling," Caranthir said through gritted teeth, crossing his arms. "He had better have a good excuse for this, or he's out of my service for good."

I shrugged. "We will need him for the battle, whatever you might do." I turned to Maedhros, who was looking out for signs of Celegorm and Curufin. He shook his head as their two figures appeared, riding back to us from behind the Dwarves.

"And?" he called.

Celegorm raised a hand and shook it in the air, gesturing that there was nothing. When they arrived beside us, there was someone else with them. Uldor.

"So maybe I completely overlooked his army," Curufin said hastily in his own defense. "But he has something to say." He frowned at the Easterling.

"M-my lords," he began, stammering, and I raised my eyebrows in interest. Uldor shook his head. "The army, they retreated—we don't know why—"

"What?" Caranthir interrupted angrily. "Morgoth's army drew back?"

"Unlikely, lord, I know, but it's true." Maedhros fixed Uldor a steely glare, but said nothing.

"So what?" Amrod said. "Now we go back? The army might return while we advance."

"No," said Maedhros. "We'll check the perimeter of this area. They might still be here. Uldor, which direction did they go—?"

"And why did you not follow them?" Caranthir demanded. Uldor replied to Maedhros, tensely ignoring Caranthir but for a minimal flinch.

"That way," he said, jerking his head to the forestry close by. Caranthir glared at him, then went to join others as Maedhros arranged the search. When he was done, I rode with him and some others to the nearby forests. The sun was hidden by the branches of the tall foliage, by their leaves, and by the great mountains. But we checked the entire area.

"Behind the trees, in the shadows," Maedhros called, "and do it thoroughly."

I brushed away some undergrowth, checking behind the bushes and more trees than I cared to count. "This is mad," I said, moments later, in resignation. "They could've escaped by now." Maedhros nodded reluctantly, and as we prepared to ride back to Azaghâl and his army, I caught sight of someone riding his steed madly towards us. It was one of the Elves assigned to watch any action from Angband. He was shouting something. It was a while before Maedhros or I actually understood.

"Morgoth has drawn out the lord Fingon!" he was yelling, his voice turning hoarse. "He's drawn out the lord Fingon—Fingon rides to war."

And that was probably the worst thing I'd heard since Eru only knows when.

Beside me, Maedhros cursed and pushed his charger onward, flying past the reporter. As I rode past him, I yelled at him to follow us. When we reached our friends, they nodded—and Maedhros shouted for the Dwarves to follow. We thundered across the plains back to our main army. Maedhros rode out in front, and I followed, as did our brothers, and we made sure that the army was ready. Finally, we gathered at the front.

"This is it," said Celegorm grimly, turning in the direction of Angband (the wind had long since stopped.) "Wait—is that…those are Gondolindrim." He sat straighter on his steed, trying to catch a better view of the battlefield that stretched out before us, down, down to the filthy plains of Morgoth.

"And we shall join them," Maedhros snarled, drawing his sword. We exchanged glances, and he nodded.