When the storm calmed, the aftermath was quite terrible.
On the field of battle, the wounded had little chance.
Elves and humans were more lucky, as both had customs of carrying their wounded to safety. Orcs had left their fallen comrades, who were now found... flung apart, hanging somehow in treetops, or utterly deformed so that only their kind could be established. However, any elf or human who fell without their folk nearby... their fate was likewise. Wind knew nothing of who or why.
Most of Brandir's settlement was razed to ground. The outer wall of treetrunks hammered into ground still stood... partly. Houses close to it were spared. Others became piles of rubble. Log houses fortunately didn't collapse, but logs themselves became dangerous weapons in wind. They flew and pierced through walls.
Arriving back at Amon Obel, everyone searched the rubble. Many were found dead. Elderly people who'd resolved to stay and face their fate... had faced a slaughter only slightly more forgiving than an orc-raid. Half could still be helped. Among adults and children, the toll was low however, and temporarily, war was over. Orcs made no attempt to approach the settlement.
Since nearly every elf knew healing skills of some sort, and Luthien's guards had not borne the onslaught of the tornado, they came back soonest from the east and northern forest. Braspen came from south, having saved one wagon. In the confusion of the storm, it had been difficult to tell which wagon held healing supplies, but he'd half-accidentally picked the right one.
Brandir was not among survivors. He'd been involved behind the barricades, and was found under a treetrunk felled by wind. Considering the message he had sent by runner, he knew what could happen.
"I send my thanks, though this will cost us dearly."
Nothing more he'd sent.
Luthien didn't know if the chief had known how dearly it would cost, but was a little calmer because of this. Having word from the dead about the circumstances of their death, was unusual and reassuring. Galadriel had severe trouble with her conscience, however.
"I should have started it further away," she said in many conversations.
"You didn't know how powerful it would become, or where it would go," Luthien countered.
"This is where you err. I knew the wind was easterly. I knew it grows on heat and tends to follow that. I've studied weather. My words were my own making, but the principles I learnt from Melian and knew them well - she knew I could start this... which could be the reason she sent the ingredients... and I knew I should start it when I recognized the moment... but I acted on impulse. I gave no thought to _where_ I started total destruction."
"You did it where the fighting happened, which cannot be totally wrong. We cannot really determine if your move was right, after the fact. We cannot even know if it would have lasted, if the balrog hadn't been so stupid, as to rush right in."
Either way, it was too late. They helped who could be helped.
The Haladin didn't bury their dead, but burned them instead, along with memorable personal items.
They believed the dead might need something to discover their identity and continue their path where they went.
This time, that was doubtful - so many had died that all were burnt together, no individual fire was lit for any person. If afterlife would go as the Haladin believed, orcs, humans and nineteen elvish guards too... would have to tell themselves apart on the other side with very little clues.
Elves made no fuss about how bodies would be dispatched, as long was it was done with respect. They expected to meet their comrades in the halls of Mandos far in future, and to continue there. Being immortal, even if their bodies were not, death was not a thing that weighed upon their mind during life, and when it came... it came. No specific customs existed do deal with it, which probably made it harder. Death was rare.
Each would find their own way and everyone was gloomy. Some cried, some worked themselves to exhaustion with the wounded.
In south and likewise north, war had only started.
Thingol's troops advanced through forest carelessly and quick, using roads.
Deliberations over strategy suggested that was needed. If they combed the forest in totality, orcs would escape in large numbers towards north, where Luthien was known to be. If they went fast along roads, orcs would stay off those, and likewise stay from Amon Obel.
Soon the situation formed where retreating humans took the curbside southward, while rows of elvish horsemen went fast north. After counting a five hundred horses and seeing the elf-king among his soldiers, followed by a row of footmen that had no visible end, humans reconsidered.
Perhaps they had no need to leave their home indefinitely. Holding their own councils, they mostly decided to turn around, unless one had relatives living nearby.
Boldog continued his task and sent wolves and wolf-riders to make sense of the situation.
Learning that Amon Obel was mostly destroyed and dedicated to keeping the wounded alive, and that Luthien was still there, he cast his dice and asked his lieutenants if they wanted long life or glory. The vote came down in favour of glory. Orc-life was not much fun without it.
Thus, just as fast as Thingol came from south, Boldog's forces stopped their pillage, formed a proper army and arrived from north.
The second battle of Amon Obel started in bright sunshine about fifty hours after the first. Aeglirel, being a member of the signal corps, got word first. She already knew of Thingol's forces coming, and made a calculation quickly while walking to Luthien's tent.
"Thingol is fifty thousand steps away in south. Boldog is forty thousand in north. Both advance guards move at similar speed. We need to act."
Luthien was away with healers. Rhunenor instantly gave the command to start building new barricades.
"One messenger to Thingol with a situation update. Clear the southbound way and prepare to light the north on fire. Do we still have sand?"
Nobody knew where the sand was. Arrows were collected from the battlefield. Against orcs, war-machines weren't worth their making, but shields were improvised. If one agreed to take up orcish weapons, no shortage of arms existed, and humans took these crude blades willingly.
Elves however cut and fletched new arrows at a frantic pace. Orcish arrows, short and crude, were useless for their bows. Finding enough arrowheads was impossible, so improvising started, especially when one guard found a box of nails. The consensus among elves was however - if Thingol wouldn't arrive in time, this would be no happy party for archers, but a deadly melee. Already mace were made of rope, wooden sticks and blocks and nails - and two-part sticks bound up to strike around a shield.
Thingol quickened pace when horsemen came with news of Boldog.
Boldog added speed when wolf-riders came with news of Thingol.
On that day, Rog was personally on watch near the two machines.
One machine they always wound up in the morning, the other in the evening. At no time should both be stopped together.
Tremors were frequent these days, and the records noisy. If anything truly significant should happen however, a resonating bell would recognize three pulses at this interval and make a tiny chime. That chime came now, and Rog went to the needle. As paper ticked by underneath it, the needle had drawn three pulses. And, the pulses were sharp, with no aftershocks and no long grinding.
It was Aranwe's turn to spend the night up the tower when he spotted the fire. Faint at first, it teased his eyes with the possibility of a false alarm. Then however, Rog's men threw oil onto the brushwood and flames leapt high as a tree.
Aranwe rang the bell and hurried down the tower.
A sleepy Turgon awaited in the council-hall when Glorfindel rushed in. Pengolodh came next, for the machines were handiwork of his. Fresh horses were sent for Rog, who'd by now have sent the paper roll downhill. Then came Duilin, Aredhel, Ecthelion and Galdor.
"Thirty minutes are up, we cannot hold for longer."
Rog wouldn't make it in time. Nobody had been able to reach Egalmoth or Salgant.
"Aranwe, please tell everyone first-hand."
"I saw the fire-signal exactly as agreed. There is no doubt that Rog received something."
Turgon spoke.
"I won't start full mobilization until Rog arrives with paper, but my messengers are already rousing higher officers and leaders of the healers. When Rog gives confirmation, we will ride out soon. Stores are ready. Horses and wagons will be abandoned near the mountain-tunnel, wherefrom we'll proceed on foot. Estimated time to Nargothrond is four days running, more if we slow down. As soon as horses can be found on plains, we start ferrying our advance guard forward with their help."
Rog burst in, breathing heavily.
"Here's the rolls. This is no mistake."
Everyone could plainly see the difference from dragon-tremors. Pengolodh showed a recording of a real earthquake too, one which had troubled sleepers months ago. This was nothing like them. The spikes grew fast and fell to nothing. Timing was precise. This was Finrod.
"Signal him back!"
Aranwe ran to the tower-top and using the morning sun, flashed his mirror ten times at the mountain. Ten flashes came back soon. Then Finrod's seismograph-needle painted a pulse... and a pulse... and a third one. Having sent the signal, Finrod personally watched his system work.
"Gondolin will come. Take my watch, please."
"Set fire to the barricade!"
At Rhunenor's order, the piles of trees were lit. Slowly the fire spread, from brush to branch, from branch to trunk. Boldog's men came faster. Of double riders, one jumped off the stocky warg, climbing on the obstacles with knife and hook and rope.
They shot, and orcs shot back from warg-top, circling before their obstacle while orcish sappers tried get a grip. They hooked a rope, ran back and struck a pole in ground, then threw its top-rope to some warg-crew, who bound it to the harness of their beast and pulled. The barricade was anchored well, but some of it came loose. Elvish guards took the opening under their care.
Seeing Thingol's men deterred the orcs at first. Then they realized there were only fifty! They pushed their wolves to jump and jump they did, onto elvish spears and into the opening. The first fell down, their rider helpless and doomed, the tenth fell just as surely, but the twentieth got through. Fighting broke onto the littered clearing left by the tornado.
"We are useless here, let's go," said Aeglirel and joined the battle with her signal crew.
Humans fought without central command, but fight they did. New berries had been picked and mixed to pepper sand, new shields were made and orcish weapons found... many a warg-rider stopped with a confused expression, seeing their own kin's spear in their stomach.
They were outnumbered, however. Boldog's advance guard of five hundred riders were too much. Half of Luthien's guards were dismounted already, and soon it was evident - delay would be their death. Rhunenor blew his horn and everyone fell back towards the southbound road, riders protecting infantry while they still could. At the same time, the first of Thingol's horsemen reached the clearing. They were lightly armoured and arrived at great speed, riding-wolves were heavy and had jaws.
No more than fast-moving confusion occured at first - force was equal, losses heavy.
Boldog's infantry passed through the northern barricade and blew their horn-commands. These orcs didn't rush to battle, but raised their shields and waited. More and more came running, massing up behind them, spreading out.
Luthien was walking south along the forest road with one guard at her side, when Thingol stopped and dismounted. The king's bodyguards stopped, but other riders flew past them.
"Are you unharmed?"
"I am, but please hurry, or others won't be. When I came away, we were losing the clearing."
"I shall. Show me the situation, please."
She visualized the battlefield and whispered her memory of it to Thingol. Taking in the image seen from the hilltop and piecing it together with things on ground, Thingol stood for a while.
"Thank you, I think I know where I'm going!"
"Come back unharmed!"
"I will."
He rode forward and shouted instructions for deployment to go both ways. One bodyguard turned back while another pushed his horse to speed ahead.
A tense division had arisen on the clearing. The northern side was firmly under Boldog's hand, his men were stepping forth slowly as their backside was replenished. The commander orc was nowhere to be seen.
Cavalry had disengaged and waited in lines, treating their wounded and staring down each other. The southern side had elves mirroring the build-up, but a significant number of them were running off left, where sounds of battle told of struggle for the hill-foot. Aeglirel's team coming downhill had found orcs coming uphill and summoned help.
Thingol stopped to take the wind direction and turned left. Joining the fight with his guards, they took the hill-foot without contest. For a moment there came peace. He dismounted and they ran upwards, raising signal flags, and the whole elvish force started stepping clockwise to the left. Sun would be against them, but the wind behind, and the hill was far too useful to let out of hands. He quickly took account of troop arrival rates. Elvish infantry was coming in slower.
"Blow for double speed!"
The horn-blow went and was repeated along the road. Sindarin troops started frantically running. Orcs saw it and blew their horns too, scampering past the burning barricade faster and faster. Another orcish horn-blow echoed back from north.
"Boldog is calling to speed up the rear guard, his trolls aren't fast enough," translated Beleg.
"They cannot. They won't make it here, no matter what he does," Thingol replied.
Then a crowd of orcish riders burst onto the clearing, carrying flags of command. Gazes turned and instructions moved in ranks. To counter the elves moving clockwise, Boldog's troops started a counter-clockwise movement, but it was measured. A crier rode forth and roared:
"Let the elvish king come forth, and blood might not be shed!"
"Damn the bastard, he desperately wants his trolls. I think I won't", said Thingol.
"What!? Who is that clown? Shall we stop him?", Beleg pointed downwards.
Thingol took stock of the situation.
Another man was walking forward from the ranks. Slowly. Tentatively.
Hushes of puzzlement moved among the troops.
"Let him."
Thingol raised the rarely-used flag-signal "taken into account", hoping orcs wouldn't decipher that.
It also helped that Doriathrin elves had a separate signal corps.
Their flags weren't always where their leader was.
Hushing calmed a bit.
An orc dismounted from his beast and walked forth too, bearing an iron spear.
Tall was he and yet thick in build, covered in heavy plate-mail.
His shield was thick wood covered in plate.
On his belt were chain-mace and a spare axe too.
"Master, are you sure? The elf-king might be dangerous!"
"Shut up, and if I die, use the time I bought you - I will not, however!"
The elf who walked forward was in mismatch.
Black armor, silver helmet and shield.
His helmet covered all but eyes.
A longsword hung by his side.
Soon everyone behind him understood, though.
Concealed behind the large shield he'd grabbed from a Sindarin pikeman, Eöl carried a loaded crossbow.
"Does he have some personal grudge with Boldog?", Thingol hushed to Beleg.
"I'm not sure of their quarrel, I think it related to the sacking of Nan Elmoth," Beleg whispered back.
"I feel embarrassed," the king admitted.
"Don't", the captain replied. "He knows what he is doing, and knows we know."
They reached a distance of fifty steps, at which point Eöl felt he might be recognized.
Saying nothing, he swiftly dropped his shield, aimed and shot.
The bolt hit Boldog's exposed thigh.
The orc-chief stumbled, roared orders and his wolf-riders raced forth, while Eöl now ran, without bow or shield, at Boldog, drawing Anglachel.
He ran faster than the orcs could make it there. Boldog raised his shield to parry, but Eöl crashed into him, throwing the orc-chief off his feet. Eöl tumbled and rose instantly, turned and struck the rising orc in his back. Plate mail yielded before the unconventional blade, which Eöl abandoned there - a human youth named Túrin would later find it among the rubble. Boldog drew his last breath while his assassin ran towards elvish ranks, warg-riders behind.
They tried to cut him down, but he feigned falling and ran sideways. Elvish archers opened fire, orc-ranks roared and came.
"This is not proper military engagement," Thingol said, "but let's make do, wind's behind us, blow for fire."
The blow echoed and archers jumped aside to form corridors for siphoners.
Pins were pulled, valves turned and nozzles pointed.
Dark liquid flew at pressure, fuming, smoking.
Then it went aflame.
Doriathrin fighters did their usual open-ground routine. They retreated as long as they could, firing from bows.
The orc-host ran squarely at a wall of fire, from which arrows came.
Angered over deceitful killing of their chief, they ran forward still.
Fuel ended, siphoners ran back and proper combat was engaged. In this, the burning orcs did not have much success. After five minutes of raw and deadly melee, orcs stopped going and started falling back, while elves came forward. By the time trolls arrived, the clearing was held by Thingol's army, tending their wounded on a field of death.
Commanders of Boldog's rear guard ordered trolls to pull down trees behind them, and quickly retreated north. Of Boldog's might and glory, memory remained. Of his ten thousand men, five thousand escaped the battle.
Turgon's army met them at the barge-bridge and threw them back again. About a thousand orc-men of Boldog's expedition lived to tell the tales.