Thank you especially to Spiced Wine, Cheekybeak and WinterWitch for the helpful discussions about Morgul blades, their origins and purpose!

Coldagnir is a creation of Spiced Wine, a balrog. Appears in Magnificat of the Damned- fabulous writing.

Beta: Anarithilen. Thank you!

Chapter 9: Ruinátoró

Elrohir slammed against the huge doors and glanced alongside at Glorfindel, back against the doors too and breathing hard. Through the heavy bronze he could feel the searing heat, almost too much to bear. A terrible boom echoed within and a shudder ran through the doors. He could not see what Erestor or Elladan were doing but he heard them pulling something from the rubble.

'What in all the Hells is that?' Elrohir muttered.

'That is a Balrog,' Glorfindel answered grimly. 'It has come for me.'

Stunned, Elrohir turned his head towards Glorfindel. 'No. It cannot be! It is …it is fire yes, but that cannot be a Balrog.' He tried to think on the strange circle, like a bowl that bulged out into the hall and the flames that filled it but he could not comprehend what he had seen.

'You do not understand.' Glorfindel breathed deeply. His face was ashen, Elrohir realised, and he saw that the sword in Glorfindel's hand trembled. Elrohir had never seen Glorfindel afraid. Ever. Suddenly, Elrohir too felt afraid and at the same time, there was a shiver across the blue calm of Elladan's fëa. He glanced sideways and saw the outline of his brother limned in a fiery glow, moving, pulling something from the rubble with Erestor.

There was another loud boom from within, like thunder rolling over mountains, and he felt the doors shudder again. He braced himself against the bronze, feeling the heat intense and hot against his leather jerkin.

Glorfindel slammed himself against the doors, teeth clenched. He cast a look sideways at Elrohir. 'I wrestled with it on the Cristhorn. We both fell, into the snow. Its whip lashed me with fire and its blade pierced me many times, killing me as I killed it….It has come for me.'

Elrohir felt horror creep over him. 'Where has it come from?' he whispered, as if the demon might be eluded if they could be concealed. 'Can it get out?'

Erestor joined them now. A beam of wood rested lightly in his arms although it was thick and substantial. He wedged it against the doors firmly but none of them thought it could last. 'There is …an artifact,' Erestor said but his voice was excited, less afraid than elated but Erestor was strange and often inexplicable. 'A glass,' he continued and his amber eyes were bright. 'Left over from Celebrimbor's time. A Mirror like the one Galadriel has but much bigger.' He glanced at Glorfindel and the door juddered under a thundering boom, the bronze was almost searing in its heat. 'It is somehow a… I don't know… a door? A window onto the Everlasting Dark?'

'The Nazgûl have gone,' Elladan joined them now. He had Maedhros' knife in his hand that glowed intensely silver-blue in the dark, and his eyes were bright with excitement.

Too bright, thought Elrohir and scrutinized him briefly; there was something odd about his brother's demeanor. Too bright, too alert. Almost feverish….

'Even they fear whatever it is in there.' Elladan nodded towards the doors that, for now, kept the Balrog within. He helped Erestor wedge the beam more firmly against the doors. 'That will not keep it for long,' he observed unnecessarily for even as he spoke the doors buckled slightly and Elrohir wrapped his hand in the edge of his jerkin for the surface was too hot to touch now. 'We had best flee while we still can.'

A roar that blasted the air around them and the great heavy doors rattled ominously.

'Yes. We should go. Now.' Elrohir looked at Glorfindel and turned to Elladan, reached out one hand to catch at his arm. In the strange red-tinted gloom, he peered at Elladan closely. 'You look terrible. Were you injured at all?'

'No. A mere scratch.'

Suddenly Erestor swiveled his head towards Elladan. 'A scratch? Where? How did you get it?' he asked sharply. He grabbed Elladan's arm and pulled his sleeve up to reveal a tiny wound. Erestor's face was white and he stared at Elladan in horror. 'You threw yourself between Khamûl and me!' he said angrily. 'His blade touched you.'

'A mere scratch.' Elladan pulled away from him irritated. 'Here is a Balrog come and you talk of scratches! Better that we flee now and tell Elrond so he can send a troop. Or even better, Gandalf.'

Again, there was a tremendous thunder and the doors were pushed hard, a crack of fiery red appeared between the doors.

'Brace the doors!' shouted Erestor. Elrohir turned and leaned his arms against the burning metal doors. Beside him Elladan and Glorfindel braced themselves and pushed back hard but though they strained and pushed with all their might, they could not close the crack. Something, some great pressure was forcing them open. Elrohir groaned with the effort. He felt his skin seared with heat but he did not dare pull away. The huge bronze doors creaked open a fraction more.

'You don't understand!' Erestor shouted over the sudden roar of flames from within the Óromardë. 'That was a Morgul blade.'

Elrohir stared at Erestor in horror. He was about to speak but any words were drowned by a bellow of fury. A hand gripped his arm and he looked up into Glorfindel's noble face that was pale but resolved.

'I cannot leave,' Glorfindel was lit with the fiery glow that even now seeped beneath the doors, between the cracks in the roof and walls. 'Go, all of you! You must leave now. This is my battle, not yours. Go. Alert Elrond and Mithrandir. Tell them what has happened and that they must summon Galadriel and come here, all three. That is the only way I think, to finish this.'

'We will not leave you to this!' Elladan gestured angrily. 'You think us craven!'

But Elrohir was silent and exchanged a look with Glorfindel. Then he said quietly. 'Elladan. You are wounded. We must raise the alarm, fetch help.'

Elladan opened his mouth to protest but Erestor flung out a hand to him. 'You have a scratch, yes. But it is from a Morgul blade. You have to leave! We will hold this demon but it cannot be for long. Go!' He shoved Elladan away from the door, his face urgent, serious. 'Now!'

But Elladan pulled away from him defiantly. 'No! I will not leave you! It is why we are here. I felt your danger in Lothlorien. It cannot be that we serve no purpose!' he cried but there was something odd and hysterical in his manner. 'Maedhros' knife brought me here. Look!' And he held it out and the glow had intensified so it was a tongue of silver-blue flame and seemed to leap and flicker towards the doors.

Elrohir grabbed the knife from Elladan and shoved it towards Erestor. 'Here. Take it then since it seems to want to be here.' He faced his brother now. 'So now there is no reason for you to stay. Come. We have to let father know, and Gandalf. It is as Glorfindel says.' Small rocks and pebbles pattered around them and they felt the Tower shake.

Suddenly, as if the knife somehow sustained Elladan, now that he no longer had it, he slumped slightly and Erestor caught him with a cry of consternation. 'Please Elladan,' he pleaded. 'Go. For me. I cannot help Glorfindel while you linger.'

Elrohir felt his brother's resolve slip and he took the chance to grab Elladan's sleeve and shoved Elladan ahead of him, almost grateful that his brother was weakened for he would not have succeeded otherwise.

They ran blindly into the dark that closed over them like a glove, and after the roar of flame bursting through the doors the darkness was complete. Elrohir pulled Elladan after him, aware of the rasp of his brother's breath, aware that Elladan stumbled often. A red glow suddenly flared over the walls, the roof, lit the cavernous empty halls ahead and he knew that was the moment that Glorfindel and Erestor had cast the great doors open and plunged into the burning heat of the Hall. Just then a tremendous bellow reverberated through the ruined tower, brought showers of small stones pattering around them.

Had it not been for Elladan he would have gone back. In his heart he felt the pull of his own courage and loyalty to both of his beloved mentors and teachers, friends whom he loved and he felt his heart squeeze in his chest. But he loved his brother more and so he shoved Elladan ahead of him and would not stop. Their feet clattered down the wide stone steps and into the empty darkness below. Here there was a little light but it was dim, sepia daylight easing through the cracks in the roof. Elladan's breath was coming hard and he seemed to almost wheeze. When Elrohir looked at him, he saw blue light was seeping from Elladan's skin, like his fëa bled into the shadows. He did not stop.

Until he heard the scrape of iron and knew that the Nazgûl had not fled as they had thought. They merely waited.

Elrohir turned his head and pierced the dark with his sharp grey eyes. He felt Elladan slump against him then and tightened his arm around him.

Rávëyon.

Aícanaro hissed in the dark and Elrohir felt the blade's lust for old power, sorcery. Killing the fell beast that he realised now had indeed belonged to the Nazgûl, had not even whetted the ancient blade's appetite but the prospect of the Witchking and Khamûl the Red awoke Aícanaro's lust. Elrohir himself would have turned and fought had Elladan's rasping breaths not filled his ears, and fear seized his heart, not of the Nazgûl, but that he might lose his beloved brother to Shadow.

You might spare him much if you heed me now.

Elrohir blinked slowly once. Elladan was heavy against him now and he could see shadows move ahead of them, passing before the half open door. They would never reach it. In his heart he felt a terrible sadness and loss that they would die here at the mercy of the Nazgûl and above Glorfindel and Erestor would fall to the terrible demon of fire. It seemed such a waste.

It does not have to be.

He clenched his teeth and gripped Elladan more tightly. 'We run for the door,' he murmured into Elladan's hair and felt his brother nod slightly. 'Can you hold your sword?' he asked and peered into Elladan's fever-bright eyes. How quickly the Morgul sorcery had taken hold! 'You must hold on for me, brother. You cannot leave me.'

There was a flicker of movement in the sepia light and from the shadows emerged the tall darkness that was Angmar. His iron crown spiked the heavy air and it seemed that the thin black shroud spread like ink in water, drifted in ragged tendrils spreading outwards. Horror gripped Elrohir as the tendrils writhed about them, twisted about Elladan and Elrohir slashed down with Aícanaro; the black tendril lashed about as if in agony and fled back.

You can save him with but a word.

Now Khamûl was there too and Elrohir stopped. He glanced from one wraith to the other for he could not see a way past them. Suddenly there was a terrible roaring from above and a belch of crimson light flared through the dark. Elrohir was not the only one to startle for the Nazgûl too lifted their swords and edged away. Remembering that they could be defeated, although not killed, by fire, Elrohir wondered if he should chance the Balrog and so escape the Nazgûl. But one look at Elladan's pale face decided him and he hefted his brother up so Elladan's arm was more securely slung over Elrohir's shoulder and tightened his grip about his waist.

'The only word I have for you is this: begone!' he shouted against the roar that bellowed again from above and shook the walls of the ruined tower. 'You may wait for the demon to destroy the tower if that is what you wish, but I will be long gone!'

Tell us where is the One and we will stand aside. You have seen it. We can tell. You reek of it and it calls to your precious blood, it speaks to that in you which desires power, lusts.

'You will stand aside because you fear me!' cried Elrohir with a defiance he did not feel. He slashed the air with Aícanaro. It was met by an old iron blade that did not give. Khamûl stood before him and the air was deathly cold.

There will be a day when you call us. Your savage revenge only hides the truth.

Horror struck him dumb for a moment and suddenly Elladan's breath stopped. He made a choking cry and Elrohir turned to him helpless. Then suddenly he breathed again. When Elrohir looked back towards Khamûl, Angmar was closer too. Too close. He felt the fear in his belly churn and his blood was cold. Elladan slumped against him.

How will you tell your father that you stood and watched? How will you tell your pure brother? They will not understand your unclean thoughts, your dark lust.

How did they know? How did Angmar know the unspeakable truth of his darkness? How could they know that he…? A cry tore its way from his wretched heart, from his chest and burst into the air. 'Never! I will never call you or heed your master!' He let the words grind out through his teeth. 'You are but slaves of Shadow and are nothing.' He pulled Elladan closer, hefted him so he could hold his brother more tightly, felt him breathe in and out –but how slow it was!

My master calls you. He understands as no one else. He would set you apart and give you great honour. When it is time, but speak the words of Ash Nazg and I will come. You will save one you love

Then, astonishingly, Angmar raised his ancient broadsword and stepped back to allow Elrohir to pass.

We will come for you at nightfall.

Elrohir did not wait to question the deed; it was done and he dragged an unresisting Elladan through the dark and burst through the broken door to the Tower and out into thin daylight. He gasped for breath and turned his head once to see black shapes moving in the shadows. It baffled him that Angmar had let him go but he had no time to think and hefted Elladan against him.

'Why did they step aside?' Elladan asked weakly and Elrohir shook his head, a bitter relief that Elladan had not heard what Angmar had said for Elladan would not understand; his gentle, sweet brother would hate him for what he did that day in the darkness of the Orc dens…how he had stood, Aícanaro lusting in his hand and …

'I know not….' he said quickly, shaking his head free of that torment. 'Come. Let us hasten whilst we may.'

'What of Glorfindel and Erestor? We cannot just leave them.' Elladan's voice was so distressed that Elrohir looked down at him. A light sheen of sweet was on Elladan's brow and his skin was ghastly pale. He looked downwards so Elrohir could not see his eyes but he could hear his rasping breath. 'It is why we came here, to save Erestor.'

'You have already done that.' Elrohir said. 'Fool that you are. You saved him from this.'

He wiped his hand tenderly over Elladan's brow- his skin was icy cold even though he sweated.

'Even though I have abandoned him to a Balrog,' Elladan said agitated. He struggled weakly against Elrohir for a moment as if he would go back but Elrohir pulled him onwards down the narrow twisting track that led from the Tower. An echo of the Balrog shook the Tower as they left it and the empty windows flickered redly for a moment like eyes had opened briefly and closed again.

They passed the place they had seen the fell beast and Elrohir felt a satisfaction that they had thwarted Angmar at least in that. And he wondered if they made enough time now, if they could escape the Nazgûl completely, could they reach Imladris in time that Elrond could help Elladan as he had Frodo. Renewed, he pulled Elladan forwards but his brother stumbled into him.

'Come. We must hurry,' he murmured into his brother's hair.

It almost seemed that the path itself was against him, twisting and tripping him with tree roots and sudden holes that were deep and treacherous. Elladan leaned against him more and more heavily and his breath became harsher, a wheezing panting that hurt Elrohir to hear it.

Night was falling and he heard some heavy beast crashing through the woods below. It must be the other fell beast…the Nazgûl's steed. So they had not gone then. The thought was heavy in his breast but he did not stop. Perhaps if he could reach Barakhir and Baraghur they could yet outrun it. But in all truth, when the winged creature had passed over them before, Barakhir had bolted and he did not think that his faithful horse could carry both of them and outrun it.

They had reached the water margins of Phellanthir and the mud flats shone silver in the dimming light. This was where Glorfindel had dragged Legolas from the falling tower, Elrohir realised, and the thought of the Woodelf ignited that same unreasonable fury as before. He could not quite understand what it was about Legolas Thranduillion but he used his anger to give him strength and energy and hoisted Elladan up once more, half carrying him now

'Forgive me, brother, I cannot go on.' Elladan leaned against the tree panting.

'You must,' Elrohir cried but Elladan slumped and slowly slid down the tree trunk to his knees.

'I cannot…Please, Elrohir. Let me rest.'

Elrohir knelt before him and put his hands on either side of his brother's face, lifted his chin and forced him to look up. Elrohir gasped; his brother's eyes had changed. The softness of his grey eyes that were such a contract to Elrohir's own sharp hardness had gone and his pupils too; he looked blind though he looked towards Elrohir as if he were not. Horrified Elrohir passed his hand before Elladan's face.

'So you know,' Elladan said softly. 'I do not see the world as I did…I see the shadow-world. And it is terrifying.'

'I will build a fire,' Elrohir said in quiet desperation. He smoothed his brother's hair back from his face, loving him so his heart felt like it would burst. 'It will keep the Nazgûl at bay. At least until Glorfindel and Erestor join us.' But he had little hope for their friends. Surely they would perish? And so would Elladan, and he. They would all die here in the shadow of Phellanthir.

He settled Elladan at the foot of the tree and threw his sable cloak over him. The air was cold now it grew dark and he shivered a little but quickly cast about for kindling and dry wood. But in this dank and marshy place, there was little wood that was not rotten and damp. He threw a piece of black, rotting wood from him with a cry of frustration.

From over the mad flats came an answering call that had him turning about in fear. A shriek that pierced the air and set his teeth on edge.

'They come.' Elladan's voice was so strained now that Elrohir could barely hear him, but he stretched out his hand weakly to Elrohir. 'Leave me, Elrohir,' he rasped. 'Fly this place.'

The hunting calls came closer now, piercing screams that came swiftly over the water like mist and with a cry, Elrohir pulled his brother to him. 'I would die for you, Elladan. Would I could take this from you!'

And from behind him, there was a thin sneer.

You still can. I can take this from him if you would. Or will you die with him, for we are hungry.

Elrohir swallowed and then he took Elladan's face in his. Elladan's eyes were almost white now and he could not see, his chest heaved and Elrohir knew that the breath was leaving his body.

Do it, he said.

And Angmar came out of the shadows, Khamûl in his wake.

Come then Rávëyon. Come to us.

Elrohir walked towards the Nazgûl, arms outstretched and at his hip, Aícanaro hissed in impotent rage.

0o0o

The thunderous roar within the Óromardë had grown louder each time as if the Balrog within grew stronger, came closer; even through the thick, tightly closed doors Glorfindel could hear its furious rage. He pressed his back against the doors, which groaned and bent slowly as if under a great weight. The heavy bronze had grown hot and he wondered how much longer he could stand to even touch the doors. Was this at last his destiny, his fate? Had he been sent back only to die again, not upon the Cristhorn but in this dark, abandoned place that was full of sorcery and evil.

There was a strange lull in the noise for a moment and Glorfindel leaned in, listening. He saw that Erestor was staring off into the dark where Elrohir and Elladan had disappeared. In his face there was turmoil and Glorfindel thought, longing. He wished Erestor had gone too, and protected Elladan from the Nazgûl, helped Elrohir guard him.

Erestor still stared after them though the sound of their running footsteps had faded. 'Do you think this is easy?' he demanded to Glorfindel's unspoken question but he did not turn his head. 'To let my…our boys go when Elladan is so dangerously hurt?' He kept his eyes fixed in the darkness that stretched away that had closed about the sons of Elrond and swallowed their footsteps. 'It is not.'

Glorfindel said nothing. He knew the love Erestor had for both; he had been their mentor, tutor, and friend when Elrond could not. But his deeper love for Elladan still was unacknowledged by Erestor, and unrecognized by Elladan.

Suddenly thunder pounded within the Óromardë. It reverberated, thumped in the air and Glorfindel smelled that shockingly familiar brimstone and fire. He was shot back to the memory of the Cristhorn.

That stink of brimstone and fire that was Balrogs and Dragons. Smoke poured down the mountainside from the burning city and the bells rang frantically. Ahead of him, the line of fleeing elves and one Man disappeared into the smoke and Glorfindel turned, Rilmápentë blazing in his hand, drawn against the pursuit. In a moment frozen forever in Glorfindel's perfect memory Idril turned her lovely head and met his eyes. She saw him as if for the first time, understood his love for her and there was love in her eyes too, but it was love born of gratitude for he sacrificed himself to spare her, her son, her beloved. Whereas Glorfindel's love for her was deep enough that he would do so. Behind him, the mountain shook with the arrival of the Balrog…Ruinátoró.

Now the doors groaned and ground open a little more, Glorfindel and Erestor braced themselves with all their might but slowly, inexorably they were pushed back by the pressure from within. Glancing quickly inside the hall, Glorfindel saw that it was lit with red fire, the heat unbearable. A furious bellow deafened him.

I have come for you.

He knew then.

This was what I am here for, he thought. To make sure Ruinátoró did not escape the Glass and come to Sauron's aid.

And suddenly it hit him.

'What is this place?' he whispered.

Erestor glanced at him. 'You have just realised, have you?' His voice was grim and determined. 'Did you not wonder how it is that Maedhros is here, and the Valarauki?'

Glorfindel did not know if Maedhros was there, although Erestor was insistent. But he did know with absolute certainty that here was Ruinátoró. 'Surely you cannot believe that this is the Everlasting Dark?' Glorfindel said and his voice was low with absolute horror.

'Yes,' Erestor said firmly. 'This is some sort of portal, or doorway. It is a door to the Void.'

Glorfindel felt his mouth open in shock and he felt all the hairs on his neck stiffen in horror. 'If that is true then the Balrog is not the only demon…it is not the only thing that could find its way here.' Glorfindel thought of twisted spirits that Morgoth seized and warped and corrupted were ahead of him… Dragons and Balrogs, werewolves, Orcs; the legions that defeated the Noldor, that trampled Fingon into the mud, that wreaked havoc and brought Gondolin down. If they escaped the Mirror, there was no end to the destruction.

Erestor nodded his head towards the opening door and said matter-of-factly, 'In there is Moringhotto.'

Glorfindel's hand dropped to his side. 'Morgoth…' He found he could not speak for dread seized him like a cold hand on his neck and his belly churned. 'There would be no end to it…' he said hoarsely. 'Is this the Dagor Dagoreth?'*

'Now you begin to see,' Erestor said softly. His eyes glimmered amber in the hellish light 'Maedhros stands alone between us and the Dark. But he is not alone if we also are here.' He showed his teeth but it was a grimace rather than a smile. 'I would not leave my lord. He is there. I saw him.' He held the dagger that Elrohir had snatched from Elladan and given him to cut short Elladan's objections to leaving. It gleamed and glittered in the fiery light. But Glorfindel did not forget that Erestor carried another blade, the Morgul blade that had kept at bay the Nazgûl. 'If we are to die, Glorfindel, I could not wish for better company!' Erestor suddenly declared and he grinned again. For a moment Glorfindel saw the warrior of the First Age that was Erestor, at the height of the power and glory of the Noldor.

'If Morgoth is in there, he and I have unfinished business,' said Glorfindel grimly and let the memory of fair Gondolin ignite, flare up in all of its pristine glorious beauty, remembered its silver bells and waterfalls, the tall white towers and wide tree-lined streets, its squares of fountains and shady trees…Ecthelion. Turgon, Salgant, Voronwë…his friends. And there was the revenge still owed for Finrod, Fingolfin and Fingon. Even Fëanor. He saw Erestor's eyes widen and knew that he too was revealed, as the Reborn and the Returned.

'Let it not come to that, my friend. Let us finish it before it comes to that.'

Glorfindel pushed himself away from the doors and turned and faced the hellish light and fire that seeped through the crack between the doors. He drew the white sword, Eruvátorë, forged by Aulë himself and blessed by Manwë…and wished instead for Rilmápentë, how it fit in his hand, how it seemed to sing when he lifted it, forged by Fëanor… bloody Fëanor! Always Fëanor.

Erestor had drawn his blade and they looked at each other briefly and then shoved the doors wide open and burst through into the blazing heat. A hot wind blasted Glorfindel's long hair back from his faces and he narrowed his eyes. Then he strode forwards, Erestor at his side.

The Óromardë had become a furnace, the heat unbearable. The walls were red with fire. As they burst in, there was a thunderous roar that deafened Glorfindel. It was worse than on the Cristhorn for then he had been under the open sky but here in this enclosed and evil place, the bellowing rage reverberated and thundered around the trembling walls. The marble floor seemed molten under the blaze of fire from the end of the Hall.

But the Glass still held.

Just.

Its thin surface bulged and undulated like the skin of water. Within, a great shape struggled and fought. Flames roared and blazed along its skin, and its great horns were blackened, wings of fire spread and filled the Glass. Its colossal fists were clenched and battered the Glass that bent and flexed like a skin and did not break.

Glorfindel knew the moment it perceived him for the Balrog paused. It moved its tiny red eyes across the hall and fastened on him.

At the sight of him, the Balrog drew itself to its full height and roared in fury. Then it drew back its massive frame and suddenly hurled itself against the Glass. The surface bulged horribly towards them and Glorfindel saw out of the corner of his eye, that Erestor stepped back; he could not blame him but he himself stood fast. As he had so long, long ago in Gondolin. When he had lost everything to the Balrogs and Dragons. To Morgoth.

Tongues of flame licked across the Glass and leapt out towards Glorfindel. Fire cracked over his body and he sprang back, grabbing Erestor as he did.

'Beware his whip!' he shouted. 'It will bind you fast.' He whirled his own sword and slashed against it, but the blade merely slid over the thongs…and he realised then that the Mirror still held.

At that moment a crack of silver-blue shot across the Glass.

'The Mirror is breaking!' he shouted and shoved Erestor back. 'Quick! Stand back!'

But it was not a crack on the mirror; instead the silver swirled and turned swiftly, flashed, graceful as a shoal of silver fish. Glorfindel could not help the gasp that escaped his lips for the silver-blue light shifted and fleetingly, he thought it resolved into the figure of a warrior. The Balrog seemed to shuffle back, gather itself and then hurled itself against the Glass once more. The silver light leapt in front of the demon, like a blade. Where it cut, black stripes tore across the Balrog's fiery flesh and Glorfindel saw that beneath its huge wings the Balrog's body was blackened and bled black ichor.

'What is that?' he shouted to Erestor in wonder for whatever it was seemed to be fighting the Balrog and the demon was beaten back.

'That is my lord. Maedhros,' said Erestor with pride.

Suddenly there was a cracking sound and again, fire leapt out of the Glass and lashed across the floor of the Óromardë. The marble became hot beneath their feet and Glorfindel's long hair streamed back in the scorching wind that blasted from the Balrog. A tremendous bellow thundered through the hall, shook the walls and the floor shuddered. A long whip of flame had lashed out, stretching the thin surface of the mirror that was like the skin of water yet it still did not break. Glorfindel threw out an arm to hold Erestor back, realising that as yet, he could do nothing for the Glass held and whilst the demon could not reach him, he could not reach it either without risking cracking the Glass.

They both stood back for a moment and breathlessly watched the swirling, fiery bowl that the Glass had become as the surface bent and buckled and stretched under the Balrog's battering assault.

The silver-blue light dashed across in front the demon and a flashing blade blocked the Balrog's own fiery sword, the whip lashed about the silver-blue figure and it whirled about.

Glorfindel gasped, for this time the light resolved into a warrior; long, long copper-bronze hair, so distinctive, and that lovely, unsurpassed face that he remembered in Tirion, that had belonged to Nelyafinwé Maitimo Fëanorian. Who had become Maedhros. Man of Steel.

It is true, he thought amazed. Erestor is right.

How it was that Maedhros was here and battling with the Balrog, Glorfindel did not know but instinctively he drew his bow and fired an arrow towards the demon.

It glanced off the Glass as if it were a mere paper dart. Glorfindel swore and though both his and Erestor's swords were drawn and their courage high, they were useless.

He could see that Maedhros had a sword that blazed white light and on his right arm there was a shield though he had had no hand to hold it in his life but he had borne a shield nevertheless.

Ruinátoró drew back, huge, towered over Maedhros so the great black horns disappeared into the Dark, its small red eyes calculating, cunning and suddenly it thrust its head forwards in a resounding roar and flames burst from it. But Maedhros threw up his shield and the flames bounced off it, blazed with light. Taking his chance, he hefted his bright white sword and hurled it at the beast. It flew through the reddened darkness like a lightning bolt and struck the demon in the shoulder. The Balrog threw its head back in pain and staggered backwards. Its great hands clawed at the blade and tore it from flesh, hurled it far away into the Dark.

For a moment, Maedhros stood silhouetted against the churning flames. His sword was gone and he had only his shield.

Erestor leapt forwards then, and almost skidded to a halt at the Glass for he could go no further, his face was lit by the demonic light within.

The Balrog suddenly leaned down and roared, blasting Maedhros with fire. Maedhros threw up his shield again and the flames washed over the shield harmlessly. Infuriated, the Balrog cracked its whip so the thongs hissed and burned. It cracked it again and this time, its fiery tongue curled about Maedhros' translucent form and he hacked down swiftly with the edge of his shield, sprang free and now set the shield on its side and sent it arcing, cutting through the flames that burst from the Balrog and slicing into its exposed belly.

Black ichor burst from the demon's wound and it bellowed again and charged towards Maedhros, slammed him against the Glass so it flexed and bowled and the Glass turned silver and red. Glorfindel thought it must surely break this time. The walls of the Óromardë trembled and shook and small stones, rubble showered down around him.

'My lord!' Erestor cried. 'I will come!' Glorfindel saw that Erestor pressed against the Glass now, sinking into its cold, in his hand was the dagger Elrohir had thrust at him; Maedhros' own knife. Glorfindel pulled him back and looked at his old friend with compassion for they could do nothing.

'You cannot. You may break the Glass and then the Balrog can get out.'

'We cannot just stand by.' Erestor struggled against Glorfindel but even he knew and his struggle was weak.

Beyond the Glass the Balrog had staggered back for a moment, black ichor dripped from its shoulder and belly now but neither would seemed to have weakened it and Maedhros was defenseless. But as the demon stood back, he slipped under the demon's guard running swiftly he stooped to retrieve his shield for his sword was far from here. But he was weary, the Balrog had thrown him hard…Glorfindel could see the strain, see the heave and wince as he breathed.

Suddenly Glorfindel was submerged in a flood of memories that were not his; Angband. Fire.

He had stood proud before Morgoth- still denying him. He had still been Nelyo then, Maitimo. Maedhros was as much a creation of Morgoth as the Valaraukar.

'I will never join you,' he had shouted defiantly, though the chains were so heavy that his legs trembled with the strain of standing tall, and his wounds grievous. But he would not bow. And then preposterously, he inclined his head as graciously as the burning thong about his neck allowed, and declared to Moringhotto and his demonic court, 'If you but return what is ours, what belongs to my family, I will leave you in peace. Give me the Silmarils and I will retreat beyond the East of the Mountains.'

Those bright, bright jewels had leapt in response to his voice, his blood, his precious blood and they had burned Moringhotto for he had writhed and a low cry escaped him. 'Let the Valaraukar have him.'

He had learned pain then. Pain beyond imagining and he had almost broken. Gothmog. Ruinátoró. Lungorthrim. Coldagnir* Bealuwearg. When they had finished with him, there was almost nothing left…but revenge, fury. Love.

He looked out into the shadows beyond the Glass and saw, unbelievably, that the two blurred figures shining beyond the darkened Glass were standing in the light. He frowned for their faces swam out of the blurred light and suddenly for a moment one of them looked at him; their eyes met.

Laurëfindessë! It cannot be. You died! Maedhros staggered astonished towards the Glass and oblivious to the Balrog now so great his wonder. His hope.

That moment was his downfall for in his bafflement he let his guard drop and the Balrog seized its chance. It leapt forwards, the fiery sword stabbing down. Pain exploded like white stars, fire burned through him from his chest to his belly so great that he cried out, and crashed to his knees near the Glass. He threw up the shield again, knowing the Balrog would blast him, pound him, trample him into the ground if it could, as it had Fingon. Its great fist clanged down upon the shield and his arm buckled, cracked under the sheer strength. Pain lanced through bones and sinew, crunched together and he felt the snap of tendons and bone. His arm fell uselessly by his side and he slumped against the Glass, Silver-blue light leaked from the wounds in his chest and arm, drifted in the scorching heat and incinerated, burned up and evaporated. He felt himself shiver and tremble, knew he was slowly disintegrating and his light bled into the Dark.

Glorfindel was suddenly shot back into his himself. He shook himself for the influence of the Óromardë was disorientating. The Balrog was roaring and stamping its huge feet in triumph and Erestor was shouting and reaching into the Glass again so that his hand appeared on the other side, wrapped about in the skin of the Glass. Glorfindel too found himself pressing against it and sorrow overwhelmed him, enough to break his heart. Such loss…He could not bear it, he could not bear to stand here and simply watch as yet another of the great Elf-lords was beaten to a pulp by the Balrogs.

No. He would not bear it. Even if the risks were great, the Balrog was here and if Maedhros was gone, it could break the Glass. He took a breath. And then another. Summoned his strength. He felt that strange charge building in him, surging through his hands like lightning, as he had only experienced since his Return.

He could see the Balrog clearly now, its dark figure wreathed in flame, its huge wings outstretched as it roared in triumph. It threw out its arms and bellowed a challenge. Stamped its huge hooves and advanced upon Maedhros.

I have come for you. I have come. It stalked towards the Glass and raised its mighty fists, its sword, its whip of flame, small red eyes fixed upon Glorfindel's shining figure. The Guardian is vanquished and now I will destroy him! Then I will break through and wreak my revenge upon the Slayer.

You will not come here! cried Glorfindel and drove his Power into the Glass, blasted it with all his might. A wall of white light exploded. Power surged, silent and sub-hearing so it was like being under water; a muffled boom shuddering through the Darkness and the light was like a beacon.

The Balrog staggered backwards and shook its head with its great black horns as if trying to free itself of something and staggered again.

Glorfindel knew one blast was not enough and gathered himself but beside him, Erestor was not idle. He was pushing something slowly through the Glass- something that gleamed dully, a dark blade. Glorfindel gasped and clasped Erestor's arm to stop him. It was the Morgul blade. Erestor looked at him with tears in his eyes and smiled. 'It is what he needs. I know this. Trust me.' It slid through the Glass like water until the hungry blade glinted redly in the fiery blaze of the Valarauki.

Glorfindel turned to watch Maedhros; he did not take it at first. His eyes were fixed upon Erestor with wonder and love, but when his fingers touched the Morgul blade he flinched. But then, understanding, his hand clasped the hilt and he smiled grimly.

You will do my bidding now. Glorfindel heard Maedhros' words to the blade as clearly as if there were no Glass between them and he saw how Maedhros lifted an eyebrow, a shockingly familiar gesture, as if the Morgul blade had spoken back, spat words of defiance and fury at being used by its creator's relentless enemy. Blue-silver sparks drifted upwards in the red-lit darkness and Maedhros' form trembled and faded a little more. There was a quiet cry and Glorfindel glanced at Erestor, who reached again for the man dying in the Glass, who had already died tenfold in battling the enemies of Eru.

The Balrog had recovered from Glorfindel's blast and cracked its whip, the thongs hissing and licking at the red-lit darkness. Stalking towards the fallen Maedhros, Ruinátoró roared and bellowed so the hall shook and stones scattered around them. Then it raised the fiery blade for the final killing blow.

'Now, Glorfindel. One more now,' Erestor said quietly.

Glorfindel gathered Power to him; it is like a magnet and iron filings, he half-thought not knowing where that idea came from. The white charge surged through him and he raised his hands, let the charge tingle through his fingers until he was ready. Blasted white Power through the Glass like a bolt of white lightning. Black ichor burst from the Balrog's wound and Ruinátoró staggered and bellowed. With a deafening roar, it hurled itself against the Glass. The surface bowled and stretched; a blast of heat, intense pressure, and a silver line appeared in the Glass like a hairline crack. The roar shook the walls and ceiling and more rocks and pebbles showered onto the splintered marble floor.

Ruinátoró drew its arm back to drive the fiery blade into Maedhros' fading form when something glinted, something darkly glittering twisted in Maedhros' translucent hand and he forced himself staggering to his feet to face the Balrog. It threw back its head and roared and at that moment, Maedhros leapt at the Balrog and drove the Morgul blade deep into its heart. Twisting and screaming, Ruinátoró clawed at Maedhros who hung on, driving the dagger more deeply; already black ichor and gobbets of fire sputtered into the darkness, black stripes burst across its chest where its fire was swiftly extinguished. Suddenly Maedhros was thrown off and flew, crashing into the Glass as the Balrog was unmade by the same dark magic that had twisted a spirit of Fire into the demon that Ruinátoró had become. A final bellow spilt the cold silence and rattled stones loose in the Óromardë, its walls shook and slowly, slowly, the Balrog toppled and as it crashed to the floor; it splintered and dissolved into a thousand tiny tongues of fire, which cooled and faded into the dark.

Glorfindel leaned over, breathing hard and chest heaving, exhausted from hurling the white bolts of Power as if he had fought all day long. He felt his legs tremble with weakness as if he might fall and leaned over, hands on his knees. He was aware that Erestor had thrown himself against the cold Glass and was pushing his hands deep and now he pressed his face, his chest as if he might penetrate and pass through to the Other Side. The cold sank but around him were silver fractures of light.

'Erestor!' Glorfindel cried hoarsely. 'Stop. It is breaking!' He reached out to catch his friend's arm, to pull him back but when Erestor turned his face to Glorfindel, his face was wet and his eyes were full of loss and yearning.

'Then let it break and I will bring him out! I will not let him go alone into the Dark,' cried Erestor. He turned back to Maedhros' bleeding shadow. 'Wait for me, my lord! I beg you! I will follow. You will not be alone!'

Maedhros' translucent form was ghostly now. He rolled over and pushed himself back so he was leaning back against the Glass, one hand pressed against the wound in his chest. Silver-blue sparks drifted off, bled into the Dark. There was nothing left of the Balrog. Maedhros breathed hard against the agony and then turned his lovely face towards the Glass, looked directly at Glorfindel over Erestor's head and Glorfindel's breath caught for a moment as it had once, long, long ago, two lifetimes ago when he was a boy and Maitimo Nelyafinwë Féanáro had turned and looked at him in the same kindly way and smiled.

'Laurëfindessë,' he gasped. 'It is you…I thought I was dreaming…And Nármo, little Nármo.' He smiled down at Erestor and Glorfindel found himself moved beyond tears.

How could the Valar condemn an elf to such an existence? he thought angrily. He understood suddenly how Maedhros bled light, for it was not 'blood' but his fëa. It hurt to be torn apart like this… each particle felt the loss of its whole. Each particle was a single note in the Song of the whole and it ached to be apart, yearned to be one soul again.

Maedhros' form wobbled a little in the Glass where he still slumped. His face was full of wonder. 'Nármo" he said again, smiling gently, but his voice was weaker, quieter and it sounded now like he was a long way away. He reached out to press against the glass but he no longer had enough substance and the Glass did not give. Erestor lifted his own hand and met the palm through the cold Glass, and somehow Glorfindel knew that Maedhros wanted to stay there touching another elf, another fëa, another spirit. Glorfindel found his face was wet.

'My lord.'

Glorfindel almost turned away for the emotion, the loss and yearning in Erestor's face, his voice. And the tragedy of Maedhros' fate.

'When I was last here…Tyelpo it was who called me…' The fading silver ghost looked puzzled, stared off into the Dark. 'Sauron was here.'

'Tyelpo is dead. Sauron killed him,' Erestor said bitterly and Maedhros did not turn his head but stayed looking out onto the Dark. He nodded once, as if acknowledging what he already knew and Glorfindel wondered that he had not gone mad, had stayed so strong for all the years and years and years of persecution by Morgoth and the cruelty of the Valar in denying them at the last, of losing everything he loved, that still Maedhros battled.

'I am glad you yet live.' Maedhros turned his head towards Erestor and smiled, a lovely smile, Maitimo's smile. Then his face changed. 'Or are you both reborn?' He glanced at Glorfindel as he spoke and there was sudden hope that blazed over his face and for a moment, his form solidified and light surged through him.

'No,' Erestor said so gently, so delicately for he knew what Maedhros was really asking, his forlorn hope. 'I am not reborn, my lord. I yet live, though how I know not.'

The hope that had not yet died in Maedhros' beautiful face almost hurt Glorfindel to see, and he looked away, unable to bear the next, inevitable question. 'I am glad you have not endured that…and yet Glorfindel? You are reborn.'

The silver-grey mercurial eyes fixed upon Glorfindel with desperate, desperate hope and he steeled himself for he had been asked the question that hovered upon Maedhros' lips many many times… but perhaps never with such tragic desperation.

'And…are there others reborn?' His voice was faint, trembled in the pool of fading silver light.

Oh, the pity of it, thought Glorfindel. He saw how the futile possibility that Fingon yet lived, existed somewhere had strengthened Maedhros and the silver light that bled from him had staunched briefly whilst he had hope…and he, Glorfindel, was about to dash that utterly and condemn him to oblivion in the Everlasting Dark where it was cold and his fëa was dispersed. But even as he hesitated, Maedhros' form trembled so Glorfindel knew that his hesitation had already told Maedhros the truth; his silver-blue form grew transparent as the sparks flew off, bled into the absolute darkness and only the thinnest ghostly light was yet Maedhros.

'Only I,' he said slowly, 'And Finrod.'

Fingon, beloved, beloved Fingon.

Glorfindel's heart squeezed in a pounding ache, greater than anything he had ever known, greater than his bruised and hurt love for Idril and for the first time, he doubted if his love for her were real. He knew this was the effect of the Óromardë, but the intensity of the feelings almost crushed him and sent him to his knees on the hard marble floor. He found his own fingers scrabbling inside his tunic, reaching for that piece of faded, worn cloth that Maedhros still believed he carried against his heart, so faded now that the colour could not be told but for Maedhros it was as bright as it was the first day Fingon had raised a banner high and thrown back his head and laughed. Fingon had been all energy and movement.

'Only you and Finrod? None other?' The voice seemed further and further away as if coming from a greater and greater distance.

No Fingon then…Ah, Fingon.

Glorfindel found himself with his hand pressed against the Glass and in his thoughts was a silver-blue fragment of cloth; never forgotten though so much else was hard to hang on to. His fingers grasped at it and he brought it to his nose, closed his eyes, and buried himself in the smell of Fingon…at the last.

Fingon. Fingon. Fingon, he whispered so he would not forget as he felt himself slowly dissolve into a shower of silver-blue sparks. Erestor cried out and snatched at the sparks as they died but there was nothing but cold and Darkness.

'No! Don't go, my lord!' Erestor pushed hard and almost reached the fading, dissipating silver-blue light. He only brushed his fingers against the sudden shower of sparks that floated like windflowers on the breeze.

Far off, on the edges of the Everlasting Dark, Glorfindel saw bright sparks and they were hurtling towards him. He narrowed his eyes against the pain, and the darkness to see better…but they were still too far.

Maitimo.

Too late.

0o0o

TBC