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Notes:
This fan fiction is based on Chapter Twenty of The Silmarillion, "Of the Fifth Battle: Nirnaeth Ardoediad".
The black smoke rose from the peaks of Thangorodrim, spreading and tainting the night sky, covering the stars from the people's sight. Banners of the Union and Angband were waving in the middle of the raging battle, "Nirnaeth Arnoediad", the Battle of Unnumbered Tears. Cries of pain and anger of elves, men and the soldiers of Angband passed over Anfauglith. Dead bodies lied everywhere on the Gasping Dust, no matter they were elves, men or orcs, blood was spilling from their wound, tainting the land. Warriors were swinging their deadly swords, spears and axes towards their foes, trying to kill them.
At the passage of Sirion, the banners of Gondolin were waving among the warriors. Turgon was standing in front of his army, his steed was next to him, Glamdring, his sword, was on his side. He looked at the bloody battlefield, the fighting allies and servants of the Dark Lord, and the fallen's blood which tainted the Gasping Dust. He frowned, his grey eyes darkened. He secretly felt glad that he didn't join the onslaught, or his armies might be slaughtered.
It is now!
Turgon turned to look at his armies. They were all fully armed and equipped, with sharp swords and spears in hands. "Listen now," He announced, "We might not know what Morgoth's plans are, or what actions that the fell servants of Morgoth might do to us. However, one thing is clear to all of us, and that's our target." He drew out Glamdring and pointed it to the night sky, "For the elves!" He cried.
"For the elves!" The armies echoed the cry, their mighty voices passed over Ered Wethrin. Turgon leapt on his horse and lowered his sword, one of his hands carried a rope with was attached to the horse. He let out a war cry, and the steed started to gallop towards the Union's armies, and aid them as quick as possible. So long I hadn't fought in a raging battle, Turgon thought, I'll just try my best. At least, I need to stay alive.
Therefore, Turgon and his army marched from the passage of Sirion, towards Anfauglith. Although they had marched for a whole night, they had brought hope to armies of the Union. At dawn, they finally arrived at the Gasping Dust.
Anar rose from the sky, shining upon Anfauglith and the clashing of armies. The forces of Angband had the upper hand, chasing the elves and men. Fingon swung his sword towards an orc, slicing its throat. Then he turned to another and gave it a mighty blow. Hurin was next to him, he wielded his axe and tried to hew a way for Fingon, himself, and their armies to escape from the surrounding orcs. However, the more they slew, the more they faced, as the orcs were trying to defeat them. The black orc blood had stained their weapons, dripping down from the blades, and stained the barren. There was no time for them to hesitate.
As Turgon commanded, the soldiers formed a neat phalanx, each side with a hundred warriors, armed with shields and spears, also swords they placed inside their sheaths, hanging on their belts. "Forward!" Turgon shouted, pointing his sword towards the foe's armies. As the order was sent, the warriors of Gondolin dashed inside the orc armies, wielding their spears towards the orc soldiers, spilling black blood on the ground. Turgon rode on the front, with his sword drawn, carried by his right hand. His mind suddenly came up with a name, an elf that he missed for years.
Fingon.
Memories flooded Turgon's heart: We grew together in Valinor. When atar decided to cross the Helcaraxe, he encouraged me to follow them. He comforted me when Elenwe died. However, if he wanted to see him again, he needed to stay alive. As orcs spotted him and tried to fight him, Turgon kicked his horse secretly. The steed started to gallop swiftly, more quickly than the chasing orcs of Morgoth. Turgon grasped the rope, gritted his teeth, trying not to look at his back, his long black hair was waving in the wind. He raised his head and saw Fingon and Hurin, his brother and the man he had fostered of a year, hewing the orcs that dared to come closer.
The orcs at the outer circle seemed noticed Turgon and his army's presence, hence they turned towards him and tried to attack him with their spears on their hands. Turgon raised Glamdring and hewed the nearest orc's chest. The orc fell, the horse stepped over its corpse. Turgon turned over his left and stabbed the face of an orc soldier who tried to injure him, then he cut two orcs' throat swiftly before they thrust their spears. "Get out of my way," He growled, his grey eyes glowering.
Fingon suddenly noticed Turgon's presence, then he cut an orc that tried to block his way into two. Hurin saw Turgon dashed into the circle the orcs had formed, as the orcs tried to prevent from being stomped by a horse, then Turgon hewed them. Turgon glanced at Fingon and Hurin, then returned to battle. "Findo..." Turgon whispered, "I've missed you so much. Let's get out from this circle."
"I missed you too," Fingon replied, "We're getting out of this circle since they came, Turno. How many orcs we still need to kill? The circle is just getting larger and larger!" He roared.
"I don't know either," Turgon murmured, "Just kill the orcs in sight, I think."
Suddenly, a messenger dashed inside and shouted, "Ulfang had rebelled, Lord Maitimo was surrounded, now the Naugrim were helping them!"
Fingon sighed softly, then turned towards the messenger, "Thank you," He said softly, Turgon could hear his hidden anger in his voice. He looked far towards Thangorodrim, more orcs were sent from there.
We have to stay longer if we need to drive the armies away. I trust that we can defeat those orcs if we have time and don't grow weary. What about Balrogs? I'm not sure... Wait! I don't even know if they had brought any Balrogs, I don't see any in this moment...
Turgon's brows furrowed, he thrust his sword into an orc's throat, then he stabbed another in the chest. Although they had fought so hard, the orcs were still coming up. He started to feel annoyed, annoyed by these enemies that kept surrounding them. He wanted to drive these fell servants away - along with Fingon and Hurin.
However, like Turgon thought, Gothmog appeared with his army. It roared in some kind of language, then more orcs dashed in, with sharper weapons, that they had quickly separated Turgon, Hurin and Fingon's armies apart. Fingon and his guards were surrounded by Gothmog's armies. Gothmog stomped the barren grounds in front of it, then he thundered, "Let me fight that elf! You all keep that elf-king and that man away from me and this elf."
Turgon sensed something worse was coming, a thought rose from his heart. I need to be quick. He slashed the orcs in front of him, but when he slew one, another orc would show up; when he slew five, five more orcs would run towards him angrily. In one moment, Turgon thought that he would never kill all the orcs in sight. He was tired of killing orcs, but he was still standing to kill all these orcs. Time passed quickly as Fingon, Turgon and Hurin were trying to defeat the enemies in front of them. Suddenly, another Balrog stomped into the battle with Fingon. Since the orcs blocked Turgon's sight, he fought even harder, trying to get to Fingon as quick as possible. Findo ... wait for me! I am coming.
Gothmog raised his axe and he hewed down powerfully. Turgon felt his heart was cut into two by Gothmog when he heard Fingon's cry of pain, and he heard Gothmog's fey laugh. He had to narrow his eyes to prevent tears from dropping. Was he still alive?
"Look!" Gothmog roared, "I have killed two high kings! All of you shall fear me!" Turgon felt a flame of fury rose from his heart, but sadness soon covered the fire. After Hurin and Huor told him to leave the battlefield as quickly as possible, he blew his horn to call back his army and the remaining people of Fingon. Then he said somberly, "Retreat."
