Chapter 3 - Hunted
Near Angband, FA 1000
Running For His Life
Mairon flattened his face against the ground and held his breath. In the distance, he heard the horns of Oromë, the baying of the dogs. They were hunting down the stragglers. They were hunting him.
If they found him, he was finished.
Slaughtered Like A Dog
A group of hunters thundered past, pursuing a terrified Balrog. The Balrog tripped, and before he could get up, they closed the distance between them. The first to reach him raised his spear, drew back his arm, and took aim.
"No, please! I yield!" he begged.
Mairon realized the Balrog was someone he knew. He remembered him from the Battle of Gondolin. He'd belonged to the squad of Balrogs Mairon had led.
Balrogs were simple creatures. None of them were clever, but this one was hardworking and reliable, and Mairon liked him.
The horseman rammed the spear through his body. There was a sickening crunch. Mairon heard a scream, and then a few whimpers, but they didn't last long. He heard Oromë's hunters laughing.
Melkor's End
Mairon tried to flatten himself against the ground even more, if that were possible. The hunters were so close, he could hear them talking among themselves.
"We chased him into the deepest dungeons of Angband. I wasn't close enough to see what happened, but I heard a little of it. He begged for his life. He was sobbing, 'I surrender, I surrender!' but they didn't stop. It was like watching a pack of dogs tear a rabbit to pieces.
"The pleas gave way to screams. I heard him cry out in fear and anger. Then they changed in tone to screams of unbearable pain. And then there was silence. That was the worst. I listened for a long time, but there was nothing more. The pack surrounding him broke up, relaxed now. It was over."
Melkor. They got him. Mairon didn't make a sound. If he had, they would have found him. He waited until they were well away, then let grief roll over him in waves.
He realized he had been lying to himself. Until now, he thought Melkor would face trial and a return to his old cell, from which he might never emerge. But there would be no trial. Melkor was gone.
No Fight Left In Him
Angband was in ruins, Melkor's Rebellion was utterly defeated.
Mairon hated being hunted, hated the suspense of waiting to be caught. He knew he was a target. He knew they won't let him escape.
He was tired. He wanted to go home.
He longed for his life before the Rebellion, for familiar faces, his own bed. He would beg Aulë to take him back. So much had happened since he'd left Valinor. Would Aulë even recognize him?
