Year 510 – The Hideous Day

Idril was readying a few belongings, mostly food and water. Earendil frowned from an armchair, dressed in the mithril mail tunic that I had made for him for our games. It seemed absurdly gaudy in the hazy light. Seeing them was all that I needed to strengthen me.

"Idril," I said; then faltered. How could I leave them?

She stopped what she was doing and handed some of the baggage to our housecarl.

"My husband," she looked at me with drowning eyes. "You must go. You cannot leave the city's defence un-represented by the House of the Wing. We will meet again before we take the tunnel."

Idril, the most ideal of wives! Nothing ever needed to be explained to her!

There was nothing more to be said, so I cupped Earendil's quivering chin and left to join my men and to discover exactly what strength Morgoth had unleashed against us.

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It looked as if we might even win the day. Even Morgoth's mightiest war machines and balrogs could not get over the city wall.

But then Gothmog led the assault against the North Gate where Rog and Galdor were stationed. Never had I seen such iron beasts such as were pitted against those brave Eldar. I yearned to go to their aid, but a warning of my heart drove me back to Idril again. They would need to leave much earlier than I had thought.

As I approached our house my heart almost became as stone . Around the door pressed a grim mob of not orcs, but Eldar. Men of the House of the Mole. Maeglin had already made his move. Hot fury rose within me as I imagined Maeglin with Idril. I began to charge them, shrieking I know not what, thinking that Idril and Earendil were still inside. Then my sergeant called and pointed. I looked and saw Maeglin with Earendil under one arm. My beloved son's face was streaked with furious tears as they disappeared towards the Caragdur. Meaglin's other hand was tangled in a fistful of Idril's golden hair.

"Maeglin!" my voice suddenly seemed to drown out all the other sounds of battle and for a moment all seemed to still. Including Maeglin. Just enough time for my men to catch up with his.

The greatest absurdity of that day was this sudden battle between the House of the Wing and the House of the Mole, while the hosts of Morgoth battered the walls of the City of Gondolin.

But the rage was upon me, lending me strength that I had never before known. Idril and Earendil, seeing me approach renewed their struggles against their kinsman. To my pride, Earendil sank his teeth into his cousin's forearm, eliciting a shocked cry and turning Maeglin's knife so that it merely grazed his mail-coat. This gave me barely enough time to engage him and defend my family, who were more to me than the whole city and all its treasures. As we fought, I realised that Maeglin was not going to permit himself to be captured. A final over-confident lunge on his part was all I needed. I caught his arm in a hold I had learned from the outlaws that I correctly guessed Maeglin was unfamiliar with. One quick jerk and I felt the bone give a satisfying snap. Maeglin cried out, clutching his wounded limb to his chest with his other arm and I had the advantage.

I dealt to him the fate he had planned for Earendil. I watched his fall to make sure. Three times his body hit the cliff before it was engulfed by flames below.

Maeglin's men did not seem to care. They came at us ferociously, so that the warriors of the Wing were at first overpowered. But in my mind, I could still see Maeglin slicing the knife towards Earendil's throat and clawing at Idril. Rage that was so hot that I thought it would burn through me, yet was at the same time white and cold, gave me the strength of ten Eldar and the House of the Mole was overpowered. The last of Meaglin's men either followed him over the cliff or fled. Victory over the traitors was ours and Idril and Earendil were safe.

The sound of fierce battle at the North Gate was our tribute. I charged Voronwe with getting Idril and Earendil to safety. Idril protested, but I could not forget the great metal beasts and their deadly cargo of orcs spilling towards the defenders. I had to return for Galdor and Rog. Part of me still clung to the feeble hope that somehow the city could be saved.

My men and I arrived to a scene far grimmer than I had hoped. Corpses of both the Gondolindrim and the enemy lay everywhere, but while there only seemed to be more and more orcs and fell beasts of Morgoth, the ranks of the Eldar diminished. I beheld the last valiant charge of Rog's warriors, battling even the drakes and the Balrogs, each man taking seven of the enemy to meet whatever fate awaits them after death. But Rog's death brought such grief to those warriors left that they retreated further into the city.

Capture of the city square cost the enemy dearly, until their bodies were piled up. It was now that the very last reserve warriors of the city rode to battle, led by Ecthelion. Even amidst the burning and the smoke, they were beautiful in their silver and crystal. I saw no sign of the King himself and realised that he must still be in his tower. My men and I allied ourselves with Ecthelion's warriors and despite my effort, Ecthelion was lost, though not without great cost to the enemy. I would not have survived if not for Galdor's men, for the strength that had so filled me earlier had now gone and I was weary. We were pushed back to the King's square and when we were joined by the warriors of the other houses, I knew that this was to be our last stand.

At last I found myself standing in the very place that I had delivered my message to the King more than a decade ago. And to my shock, there stood the king himself upon the stairs, as he had that day.

This was when my heart almost failed me – despite what I had witnessed already.

The King watched the scene around him but made no move to join the fighting. The brightness of his garments and crown exaggerated the deep lines and downcast eyes. The King straightened stooped shoulders and held up a shaking hand.

"'Great is the Fall of Gondolin, '" he said, quoting a seer of long ago.

Nothing I said could persuade him to either lead his people or flee the city. He removed his crown and threw it down where it dented against the flagstones. Then he returned to his tower to witness the destruction from above. The city was lost.

Then I remembered the women and children hiding in the palace and I could keep the Secret Way secret, no longer. I quickly instructed the guards, then found the King.

But the King was as lost to us as the city and my pleas were futile.

"Let Tuor lead," he ordered the others. "I will not leave my city. I must burn with it."

Again and again messengers pleaded with him, but to no avail, until he reinforced his commands with threat. Yet still I lingered. Alone with the shell of a great Elda, broken and beloved, gazing out over his realm like one ensnared by Morgoth's spells.

"Tuor," he said and I started. I did not realise he knew I was still there. "You must go and I must stay. Do you think the enemy will let me escape?"

He turned and my heart began to hope despite his words. His eyes and countenance were clearer and more resolved than I had seen them for some time. I began to speak but he held up his hand and so stern was his face that I was silent.

"I will stand at the window, where all may see. It is my hope that this will draw the enemy here. You must take Idril and Earendil by your Secret Way."

Yet at this moment I was more loath to leave him than ever.

"Go!" he commanded. "While there still might be time."

Something in the force of his words propelled me into action. I left the room, my heat torn but full of resolve.

When I looked back, he was still watching me and despair and love mingled together on that sweet face, but then he turned to the appalling scene below.

I passed the last of the House Guard as I left the tower. Those too loyal to the King to leave him, even now. I could have done no less if not for Idril and Earendil.

I passed from the King's Square and back to where I had left Idril. The enemy did little to oppose me, for as the King had predicted, they were focussing their assault upon the tower. My face was so streaked with dirt, ash and tears that Idril did not recognise me.

"Idril," I said taking her shoulders. "It is I. I live." Her eyes were still fixed over my head upon the King's Tower – did the keen sight of the Eldar allow her eyes to spy the King? Could their eyes meet? Oh, the cruelty of the Eldar life! I said: "I will rescue your father, even if he be captive in the Hells of Morgoth!"

I turned to run back to the tower alone, but Idril threw her arms around my knees, saving me from certain death, for at that moment there was an explosion and the tower was engulfed in flames before it collapsed, showering us in cinders and debris. The orcs and other beasts shrieked with demented pleasure and enjoined in a sickening revelry, celebrating their victory. Our last chance was dearly bought.

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And so ended the King of Gondolin. It occurred to me that he died not only as a king, but as a loving father, sacrificing himself to give his chief treasures hope for survival. Sad is the stubbornness of those we love – yet it was a valiant fault. I can not ever forget seeing him for the last time, so bereft of hope for himself but still mindful of the safety of his children. It is this image that haunts my dreams and memories. I do not share this detail with Idril. She has enough grief. And I have the gift of a mortal memory that blurs with time so that the pain is faded. Not so for Idril.

In time we slowly accounted for all those who were lost in Gondolin. It was a very long list indeed. Only one we are unsure of – Salgant, the lackey of Maeglin. We have only heard rumour that he was taken captive and made the fool of Morgoth's court – a fate far worse than death that might endure for ages of an Elda's life. I have yet to find much pity in my heart.

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We Finally come to the end of this story. Apologies for the delay, but illness has kept me from even those things I enjoy most. Please R&R!