Gondolin was such a pretty city, wasn't it? Perhaps that's why I base so
many short stories around it. Well, this is Ecthelion telling of his
encounter with a Balrog. I hope you enjoy it.
Fire, Water, Shattered Earth
Pain.
I remember the pain most clearly. Pain from whip, fire, sword . . . and from betrayal. I knew not how - only after, here, did I learn of Maeglin's treason, and of his reasons - but the fair city of Gondolin was revealed, and Morgoth had come in force.
We fought, we of the Gondolindrim, fought and died. But it was too late. I should have done my job before. As the warden of the Great Gate, I was responsible for keeping those unwanted away from the city until our army was prepared, and I failed.
I failed again, that fateful day. I failed to protect my King, though I gave my life in the attempt. There, in the square below his tower, I, Ecthelion of the Fountain, faced one of the greatest enemies of our people: Gothmog, Lord of the Balrogs, captain of the Dark Lord's army.
Long we fought, there amid the fountains whose name I bore. Water boiled into steam as the demon crashed through, his whip scorched the air, and his fiery sword inflicted terrible wounds on both the stones and on me.
But his attacks went not unreciprocated. The swords of the Noldor are well crafted not to melt in demon-fire, and sharp enough to damage even their ethereal form. So we battled, back and forth across the tortured plaza, becoming ever weaker, until finally his strength failed him, and I slew him before the very doors of High King Turgon.
Then I turned, thinking to continue the battle elsewhere, but it was not to be. My enemy was not yet fully slain, and one final stroke of his sword struck my legs from under me. Backwards I fell, into the heat of his flame. And there we died together, he of his wounds, I of terrible heat.
And thus I came here, first to the Halls of Mandos and then, on my release, back to the city in the image of which Gondolin itself was made: Tirion, the city of my forefathers, to which I now return in my time.
Many thanks for your hospitality. Farewell.
* * * *
There's not going to be any more of this. What else could I say? It's just a product of extreme boredom. And I haven't read much of the HoME, so if anything is contradicted there, sorry.
hS
Fire, Water, Shattered Earth
Pain.
I remember the pain most clearly. Pain from whip, fire, sword . . . and from betrayal. I knew not how - only after, here, did I learn of Maeglin's treason, and of his reasons - but the fair city of Gondolin was revealed, and Morgoth had come in force.
We fought, we of the Gondolindrim, fought and died. But it was too late. I should have done my job before. As the warden of the Great Gate, I was responsible for keeping those unwanted away from the city until our army was prepared, and I failed.
I failed again, that fateful day. I failed to protect my King, though I gave my life in the attempt. There, in the square below his tower, I, Ecthelion of the Fountain, faced one of the greatest enemies of our people: Gothmog, Lord of the Balrogs, captain of the Dark Lord's army.
Long we fought, there amid the fountains whose name I bore. Water boiled into steam as the demon crashed through, his whip scorched the air, and his fiery sword inflicted terrible wounds on both the stones and on me.
But his attacks went not unreciprocated. The swords of the Noldor are well crafted not to melt in demon-fire, and sharp enough to damage even their ethereal form. So we battled, back and forth across the tortured plaza, becoming ever weaker, until finally his strength failed him, and I slew him before the very doors of High King Turgon.
Then I turned, thinking to continue the battle elsewhere, but it was not to be. My enemy was not yet fully slain, and one final stroke of his sword struck my legs from under me. Backwards I fell, into the heat of his flame. And there we died together, he of his wounds, I of terrible heat.
And thus I came here, first to the Halls of Mandos and then, on my release, back to the city in the image of which Gondolin itself was made: Tirion, the city of my forefathers, to which I now return in my time.
Many thanks for your hospitality. Farewell.
* * * *
There's not going to be any more of this. What else could I say? It's just a product of extreme boredom. And I haven't read much of the HoME, so if anything is contradicted there, sorry.
hS