CHAPTER XXXVI

Gondolin, 510

The gentle wind brushed lightly against my face as I stood on the eastern wall of Gondolin with the lines of other Eldalië. All around, the city was filled with silver lamps and the jeweled leaves of trees as we awaited the coming of the summer's first dawn. It was the custom of the festival Tarnin Austa, held on the summer solstice.

Slowly, gradually, an ember could be seen behind the mountaintops, the rays of it shone out above the summit until the light burst through the rifts. I had been granted the honor to be the lead minstrel and so I began to sing—a soft, tranquil hymn that echoed through the mountains of Amon Gwareth. The song was a lyrical one, depicting the beautiful scenes that had once been, the ones of trees, fields, and jeweled mountains. Soon the others on the eastern wall joined in until all the Gondolindrim were singing to the rising of the sun. The hymn crescendoed as the sun climbed higher, two works in unison. It felt so powerful, the vibrating of our voices in harmony with each other, almost as if all the evil things that had been wrought in the world could be erased with the strength of our voices. Singing all together made me feel as if I was a part of something again, as if I was not exiled for who I was.

The song ended strong, and afterwards there was a joyous feast in which many people congratulated me; usually none of these people would dare say a word to me, but now we could chatter lightheartedly. It made my heart glad for this, but I was still burdened by many other things. Yet I could forget about them for now, and let down my guard—just today, because it was Tarnin Austa.

Maeglin sauntered up to me, and bowing dramatically he took my hand and kissed it. "Your voice is the most beautiful I have ever heard, my Lady."

"I thank you indeed," I said, attempting to abolish the stiffness from my voice.

He chuckled and stood up from the ground. "How have you been, Lady Híthriel?"

"All right," I replied, playing his game. "And you?"

"Delightful," he said.

"Why you sound just slightly mischievous to me," I remarked. "What have you been up to?"

"Nothing much," he sighed. "Counselling the King Turgon to not do idiotic things, of course. What more do I have to do?"

"Hm," I said. "I wouldn't know."

"Of course you wouldn't!" Maeglin exclaimed. "Would you like me to get you a drink of some sort?"

"No, I'm good, thank you."

"Are you sure? I hear you enjoy fresh squeezed carrot juice."

I wondered how he knew that. "No, really, I'm fine."

"I'm going to get a drink for myself; I might just get one for you, Lady Híthriel. It's really no inconvenience for me."

"No—"

"Oh, but I insist."

"I insist the opposite."

He chuckled again. "Very clever, aren't you."

"No, actually," I said. "I just would prefer not having a drink."

"Not even wine?"

Glorfindel was shouldering his way through the crowd. "I've got a drink for you, Hith!" he said loudly.

Maeglin whirled around, but Glorfindel was already in his face.

"Oh, look who it is," Glorfindel drawled. "The Lord of the House of the Mole."

"Behold the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower," Maeglin mocked. "What business do you have here, Lord Glorfindel?"

"I came to give Híthriel some carrot juice," he said, offering the glass to me.

I retrieved it courteously. "Thank you," I said pointedly. "I very much enjoy the carrot juice that you give me."

"Hm," Glorfindel said. "I am simply glad that you enjoy it so much."

"I am glad that you are glad," I replied.

"Well I best be going," Maeglin intervened. "That freshly brewed wine is waiting so patiently for me." And he stomped off. Glorfindel winked at me.

"I'm quite sure you don't freshly brew wine," I remarked to Glorfindel, sipping on the carrot juice. "Also this is the most splendid, prestigious drink you could get me. It is beautiful."

"Is that an attempt to show gratitude for getting rid of our Lord Mole?" he inquired.

"Perhaps."

He laughed and sipped his own carrot juice. "Usually I would get something stronger, but this carrot juice, it's not bad."

I rolled my eyes. "Try eating like me for one day. I wonder how long you'll last."

"You herbivore."

"If you say so."

Suddenly I tensed, and he looked about, alarmed. "What's going on?"

"I don't—I don't know," I muttered. "I just felt the energy tense. . .I don't know." I exhaled, setting the glass upon the table. "I'm going to go outside for some fresh air."

Something massive and dark moving in the corner of my vision, in the darkness, beyond the hills of Amon Gwareth. Immediately I spun around on my feet, tense and anxious for danger. But there was nothing. Nonetheless I did not allow myself to let my guard down, and turned back to the mountains, yet my apprehension did not prove wrong.

Too soon after I had turned back there were cries in the darkness. The massive shape had not been a hallucination. It was real. Suddenly on all sides the forces of Morgoth were advancing on all sides of the city; there were too many Orcs, Balrogs, wolves, dragons, all ready to wipe out the last of the Elven population once and for all. Howls and shrieks pierced the air like a needle through papery skin, leaving me in utter shock for a few terrifying seconds.

How was this possible? Who had given away our location, who could have done this to us—

But there was no time to think of that now. My heart was thumping so hard in my chest it seemed as if I had swallowed it whole and it was attempting to leap into my throat. I sprinted as fast as I could, to find Turukáno, to call a war council, to prepare to defend ourselves or to distract so others could escape—

The words pounded like a curse in my head. Was it me? Did I do it? Did Mairon somehow break into my mind by ósanwë without me knowing? Had it been me who brought the utter doom upon these people once more?

I burst into the main hall to find Turukáno walking leisurely toward the doors, chatting with Egalmoth. "We're under attack," I shouted. "Gondolin is under attack by the armies of Morgoth."

Turukáno was able to act in a surprisingly quick manner. "Egalmoth, call all the Lords of the Houses for a war council. Get all the people inside the main tower. Quickly!"

Egalmoth disappeared through the doors as swiftly as I had come. Turukáno turned to me. "How many?"

"Too many," I said. "Orcs, Balrogs, dragons, wolves—the only possible way for us to survive is to escape."

Yet before Turukáno could reply, Glorfindel burst into the hall. "Aranya, we must evacuate the people. There is no other way. There are too many."

"How?" Turukáno said. "There is no way. They have besieged us on all sides, according to Lady Híthriel. We cannot. We can only push them out."

"But many will be slain," Maeglin said, pushing his way through the doors, Salgant following close behind. "We would remain stronger inside the fortress."

I hadn't realized that I was shaking from the memory of the Fall of Doriath until Glorfindel massaged my hand as an attempt to comfort. Was it really me?

"No," Tuor said. "It would be better to have our forces sally out to attack Morgoth's hosts. They could potentially be pushed back."

"Indeed?" Maeglin said. "And lose half of our people in the process? I think not."

"I agree with Lord Maeglin," Salgant said. "How can we abandon our people to only death and torment? The forces of Morgoth are too many and the only way would be to stay in. We have designed this beautiful city ourselves. They cannot get past our walls, for our architects have so keenly designed it so they cannot get through—"

"Enough of that nonsense," Glorfindel growled, slipping out a map of Gondolin from a hidden pocket. "Look at this. . ."

Their words faded as fugitive visions from the Fall of Doriath, the Second Kinslaying, began to so treacherously swim into my head. Dior and Tyelko stabbing each other in the head, Curvo kicking me aside as if I had never known him, and Mae—how much terrible destruction and death had been brought upon us. . .

Glorfindel squeezed my hand. I jolted. The others were already filing quickly out the room.

"What's going on?" I said.

"King Turgon has decided on Maeglin's plan," he said exasperatedly. "We're attacking from inside the fortress. It's impossible! It's only because he favors Maeglin!"

"On that I do agree," I said. We had reached our chambers, and without another word we hurried inside to change. I slipped my light leather armor on for I trusted Glorfindel's predictions more than Turukáno's—we would most likely be forced to flee. I armed myself with as many weapons as I could without dragging me down.

I ran out of my chambers, but suddenly there was a deafening boom that shook the walls and the ground. I stumbled and bent my knees for control of balance, then fell into the opposite wall as the boom came again. I managed to get outside where I found my horse rearing and whinnying. Upon my arrival she calmed sightly, enough to bear me, at least. Still the ground was trembling violently as we rode out to the Gate. . .but it had already broken.

I seized an arrow from the quiver strapped to my horse and fired it at one of the advancing wolf-hounds.

"Stay in the rear," I whispered to my horse. As quickly and accurately as I could, I launched arrow after arrow, striking those I deemed most threatening. Nevertheless I wouldn't stay undercover for long. I pulled back to the southern wall when I heard cries, one pleading and another, a child's voice. I urged my horse to go faster, faster, faster—

Itarillë was on the ground, the cut on her face smeared with tears and blood. Little Eärendil shrunk back, rooted to the ground in horror, staring up at a figure towering over him. Maeglin.

I sprang off my horse and went toward them. "Just what the fuck do you—"

The sentence was cut off as Maeglin spun suddenly around and grabbed my left arm, twisting the elbow and wrist at a agonizingly wrong angle. He threw me to the ground and a sputtering cry of pain issued from my mouth as his foot came crashing down on the arm. Something crunched, cracking audibly.

From the corner of my eye I could see Eärendil shrinking back in fear, a look of horror etched on his face. Maeglin kicked me aside, turning back to Eärendil, but—

"Coward," I hissed, clutching my arm on the bloodied floor. "You're a coward and a traitor."

"I've been called worse things," he said, his back still to me. "But not by you." He turned at last. "I pity the fact that I had to do this to you to get to my prey."

"You son of a bitch," Itarillë seethed. "How dare you call my son that." She was shielding Eärendil from the grotesque sight, yet only accomplished by my distraction.

He ignored her. "I like you more than the others. For one, you know what I've been through."

"I don't know what you're talking about," I said.

"Couldn't you tell? You could tell." He jerked his chin to Itarillë. "When last year I came back after being captured and taken to Angband."

"What?" I jolted up.

"I'm surprised you didn't notice."

The truth had begun to dawn on me. "It was you. You betrayed our location." I turned my eyes, glazed with pain, on him. "Why would you ever do this? Hurt the people you grew up with so much?"

"You've forgotten that I did not grow up here. Out of all people I thought you would understand. Do you think I not know? It is etched on your face, clearer than ink."

"I know," I said quietly. "But after my imprisonment I valued life so much more. Yet you decide to destroy life."

He sighed, as if disappointed in me. "I was going to offer you a position—"

"I would never do what you wanted of me," I snarled.

At last he turned to Itarillë. "Do you know who she is?"

"Maeglin—" I said sharply, knowing that he knew.

"Do you know who she is?" he roared, making Eärendil jump back in fear.

Itarillë bored her eyes dauntingly into his. "She is Lady Híthriel, one who I count as a sister of my own."

Maeglin barked a bitter laugh, glancing at me. "So she doesn't know. Who does? The Fëanorians? Does the King Turgon even know?"

"What is this he speaks of, Hith?" Itarillë said, sounding uncertain. "What is it?"

Still I said nothing, but held his gaze.

He smiled, yet it was more of an exposure of teeth, and sauntered over to Itarillë, who went rigid at his approach, shielding Eärendil. "You can't save your son from her, dear Itarillë. Do you know who she is?" he said again. "The blood that flows in her veins is not of your kind, nor mine. Her blood is that of the Dark Lord. She is, by blood, the child of Sauron. A part-Maia. Quite powerful, I would say, without the poison of the ungolócë. She could destroy this city all on her own if she wanted. I daresay she would help her father do it."

"You lie," Itarillë said, but the voice was doubtful.

"I do not," Maeglin countered. "Tell her yourself, Lady Híthriel. Tell her what you are."

"You lie of the fact that she would destroy Gondolin," Itarillë said, regaining control. "She would never betray us, like you have done."

"Well, in that case. . ." He glanced backwards. "I have tarried for too long."

"Don't you even think about it," Itarillë growled. He whipped his gaze to her, granting me the chance to struggle to my feet.

He turned back to me, the corners of his mouth tilting up slowly. "This game will be short and sweet indeed." He seized a hidden dagger and hurled it at me. I rolled to dodge, narrowly avoiding the point of the blade. I struggled to stand but before I could do anything else, his boot rammed into my ribs and I crashed into the opposite wall. Yet before he could do anything else Tuor leaped down from the summit of the structure and locked blades with him.

"How could you try to kill your own nephew?" Tuor snarled, forcing Maeglin to back to the edge of the wall, leading him away from Itarillë and Eärendil.

"How could I try to kill my own nephew?" Maeglin mocked. "How could you try and take what I long for so much from me?" By now they were standing at the top of the ridge, dangerously close to the crumbling edge.

"You're no better than your father," Tuor said. "Here you will fall, into the same abyss into which your father fell."

Maeglin growled and their blades clashed. I rushed over to Itarillë and Eärendil, summoning my horse. I gasped for more air to rush into my lungs but I could barely without hurting the bruise on my ribs.

"Swiftly now," I said, urging them onto the horse. "He's buying you time." Itarillë sprang on then reached down for Eärendil, lifting him up to her with my good arm. Her expression was impassive, as if trying to shield what she thought of me now. "Go! To the Tower of the King!" She only gave me a brief nod as reassurance before they rode away.

Tuor's and Maeglin's forces had already clashed together and I fought my way through them to get to the House I followed, letting some of the draft spill into my mouth. As I ran, there were voices crying, To the western walls! To the western walls! A dragon had broken through!

I followed the cries to find that the air was growing ever hotter with each step. At last I burst into the opening, finding not one, but two dragons roaring as they broke through the crumbling walls. I was knocked to the ground by the hammering force and had to elude the bits of stone falling from the air. Suddenly there was a war cry, loud and clear. Ecthelion charged, sword held high in the air, a dangerous challenge to his opponents. His host rammed into Morgoth's forces head-on and behind them came Glorfindel and his force. I leaped into the battle, making sure my injured arm was not flailing around.

There came a horn behind us and I turned to see Tuor riding through, fighting alongside Ecthelion, two great lords mighty in battle. They slew Orc chieftains mercilessly and struck down the growling Wargs. . .

But against the two dragons and several Balrogs coming behind them, we were nothing.

A great dragon suddenly hurled itself toward us, killing Elf and Orc alike. The dragon opened its jaws, roaring fire into the host, and I choked as I was flung to the dust, the massive claws barely grazing me. I took cover behind a ruined pillar, where I found myself next to Glorfindel and Ecthelion.

"What happened to your arm?" Ecthelion breathed in horror. The dragon spat fire again and we were forced deeper into cover.

"Maeglin," I said. "He has betrayed us. It was him that betrayed Gondolin's location."

"And we've fallen straight into his trap," Glorfindel hissed.

Ecthelion opened his mouth to speak but suddenly the ground jolted violently and the wall we had been taking cover behind dissolved into pieces. I was flung somewhere into the rubble, and choking on the dust, I attempted to claw my way out of the broken stones. I managed to uncover most of my body but my foot was stuck.

The dragon was gone; a vast rift had been carved into the walls, but there towering in front of me was a flaming Balrog, brandishing its fiery whip. I grunted, struggling to free myself from the rubble, as the Balrog turned its menacing gaze on me. The whip raised and fell, and had nearly struck me when suddenly Ecthelion launched himself out of nowhere and shielded me from the attack, but it caught his left arm. His shrieking yelp of pain made me feel so helpless, so useless, so terrible as his arm was shredded to bloody ribbons. Tuor came hastening out of the smoke to battle the Balrog alongside Ecthelion as Glorfindel rushed to me, freeing me from the rubble rock by rock. When I at last was able to stand, we could no longer hold the walls, and our Noldorin host was forced to fall back to the Square of the King.

"Where are the forces of the House of Duilin? And of Penlod?" I managed to gasp out as we were pushed back.

"All of them were slaughtered," Glorfindel said grimly. "And the House of Rôg also."

Rôg? He was. . .dead? "There are barely any of us left," I murmured. I did not expect him to hear me over the clamor but he sighed.

"At least some of us may be able to come out alive," he said.

Finally we had reached the Square where Turgon and his host reinforced us. We flew through their soldiers and immediately after they turned the points of their spears to the advancing Balrog. But this was not any Balrog; it was Gothmog. The one that had killed Findekáno.

"Leithio i philin!" Turgon shouted, and arrows like a storm cloud flew into the Orcs in the front, however Gothmog seemed barely harmed by the onslaught. A dragon roared in the rear of the host of Orcs but was advancing quickly to us—

They plowed into us as if our spears were toothpicks. There was nothing to do except to flee and take cover; there was nothing left but death upon us. Gothmog had taken Tuor by surprise with his whip flailing all around and the latter was forced into a corner in which he could not escape. I seized a fallen spear from the ground and flung it at the Balrog's back, a desperate chance for Tuor to get out. Gothmog reared, temporarily distracted, and Tuor hurled himself away. Gothmog smashed his fist into the collapsing wall, and I was about to seize another spear when a Warg and its rider barreled into me. I cried out as my broken arm was smashed to the ground yet my other hand was still free. I twisted my wrist, an attempt to reach the dagger at my hip, and drove it into the Warg's body just as its jaws gaped wide. The Orc rider hissed and raised its dagger. I managed to stretch my arm farther, stabbing it in the back. Grunting, I shoved myself out from under the Warg carcass and plunged the dagger into its neck. Yet I did not stop to see the black blood gush out of the wound, for Ecthelion had thrust himself in front of Gothmog, brandishing his sword.

I did not know I had cried his name aloud until he turned his desperate, pleading eyes to me, yet I could not do what he asked. I could not let him sacrifice himself for the others to escape, I could not lose one more person so dear to me—

Please, no, I begged in my returning gaze, but he had already decided.

My gaze passed over the dead Gondolindrim on the ground, cold grey stones on a lonely hill, and in the mist the bitter blood like ash flecked their faces. How much more death until this war was over?

The other Ñoldoli were taking the chance to flee to the Tower of the King, streaming through the corpses, trampling them.

I flicked my eyes back to Ecthelion, who had already turned to face his towering opponent. Slashing at the attacking Orcs, I fought my way to Glorfindel, who was defending the rear. I opened my mouth to speak but no words came out. Something jerked in the corner of my vision and I twisted around. Ecthelion was diving around the broken structures, making sure that Gothmog paid no heed to the escaping Gondolindrim.

There was nothing to do except to defend the rear, and with each breath Ecthelion drew farther and farther away from us. Wasn't there a way, wasn't there a way for him to get out? I couldn't abandon him there, I could not, not for my life, not for the lives of the other Gondolindrim. . .

But I was.

Suddenly there was a cry in the havoc of the battle and I wheeled around to find Ecthelion thrown to the stone walls, his sword far out of reach; Gothmog had crushed and ruined his right arm. Glorfindel grabbed my arm to keep me from running to him, and I cursed, but stayed back. It would have been impossible anyway; the Orcs were too many, and they kept streaming through.

And beyond the river of Orcs, Gothmog raised his whip for the final blow. Glorfindel tightened his grip on my arm, trying to make sure I would not run there and be slaughtered myself. I could break free, but I had not the strength to, nor the will. Then as I awaited his death, right as the whip whistled as it fell, Ecthelion jumped, and slipping his helmet off he drove the spike into Gothmog's chest. Gothmog roared and Ecthelion pushed harder and forcing the former to lose his balance, toppling backwards into the Fountain of the King.

I thought I would have screamed when Ecthelion disappeared beneath the surface of the water but the shock had taken utter hold of me. I would have lingered for him to maybe miraculously leap out of the water if an Orc blade had not slashed at me, leaving blood in its wake.

The last of the Gondolindrim fell back to the only fortified place left—the Tower of the King.

Turukáno summoned the remaining lords to him, where he tossed his crown to the ground, lamenting the city's destruction and his dismissal of his council's advice. He declared Tuor to be the leader of Gondolin and asked him to lead the survivors out of the city.

Then after most had departed, I went to Turukáno. "What are you going to do?"

"Distraction," he said.

He would say no more, and with the remaining survivors I fled to the secret tunnel that Idril had constructed for our escape. I had just reached the base of the tower when I heard Turukáno's voice at the highest peak, shouting, "Great is the victory of the Ñoldoli!" The Orcs mocked the cry but Turukáno refused to leave the city with us, and I never saw what terrible fate awaited him. He was guilty of hiding all these years, and wanted to give his last for the race of the Eldalië to live.

And as we went through the tunnel, long and winding, the city burned on the surface.

When at last we burst into the open air and reached the mountain pass, Tuor led us forward; we needed to get away as far as possible. I barely registered what was happening as we passed through Echoriad, the Vale of Tumladen, Cirith Thoronath—all I knew was that I had lost another I had loved, and we would never meet again, not even in dreams.