Forochel. April 8, SA 542

MAIRON opened the door to the chamber wide to accommodate the entire ranks of the Orcs he had called. Every Orc outside this chamber should be here.

Gilmagor looked spent, but the Maia did not want those glowing swords anywhere near him. That fall from the Blue Mountains should have sufficiently damaged Gilmagor to make him useless; apparently, it had not. The swordmaster was not the empty shell Mairon had expected him to be. Surprising when Gilmagor had not fought back after the Orcs took him. But then, Mairon had threatened him with the lives of the captured Silmacils.

The Maia grabbed his left shoulder to stop the shaking in his arm. Gilmagor's swords had come through his protective fire layer and struck him. That vertical cut was deadly. Mairon tried to still his thundering heart which still roared in his ears. It was close. Very close.

Mairon padded the chest armor he wore under his tunic. If it had not held… Mairon shivered.

Along with the black sword, he had also found a curious black armor on a broken skeleton among the crags of the valley beneath Gondolin. The body was shattered, but the armor on the poor fool did not even have a scratch. Mairon had salvaged the armor for his personal use.

It was at the king's library at Lindon that he found the name of the metal: galvorn. Eöl who devised the metal and made the armor from it was a talented blacksmith, but his skill did not do justice to the material. The jet black metal was strong and hard like steel but was much more supple and light. No darts and blades cut through it. Even Anguirel which can cut through the iron and mithril took several tries before penetrating it. Mairon was in the process of making a complete suit of armor worthy of him using the metal. The material reminded Mairon of another metal from Valinor, from the forge of his old master Aule. It had similar qualities, except that metal had glowed silver like starlight.

Standing up from his throne, Mairon pointed to the four Elves in the chamber.

Shoot them! The two holding the swords, shoot their arms and legs. Mairon was not done with those two yet. The other two, heads and necks. Bury them with your arrows!

The moment his command left his mind, tens, no hundreds, of arrows filled the chamber. Thranduil and Elrond struggled to strike down as many arrows as they could, but there were too many. Mairon grinned. The white-haired Elf grabbed the old Elf's body, pulling Gilmagor behind some rubble that had fallen. He was trying his best to shield themselves from the arrows, but there were too many. And there was no place for them to retreat as only a pool of lava and his forge stood behind them.

Arrows pierced the white-haired Elf first, then the old Elf. Mounds and mounds of arrows. The chamber filled with hundreds of arrows, and those two moved no longer. As skilled as Thranduil and Elrond were, even they could not face that many arrows. At first, their arms, then their legs became like the backs of porcupines. They dropped their swords, both unable to move and gasping for breath. The fools!

Mairon would have laughed. That was how he envisioned it, except it did not happen that way. The reality never came out exactly the way he expected or wanted.

Instead, as the first volley of arrows left the bows of the Orcs, a shout rose behind the ranks of the Orcs.

It was then Mairon heard it, the frantic call from Rusco.

Master, save yourself. The Silmacils!

The duel had distracted him; Mairon realized now. He should have kept his sight on Rusco and other Orcs to make sure the plan had been carried through. Biting down the heat and fear rising inside him, Mairon looked down at the floor of the chamber. Thranduil and Elrond who had been busy trying to deflect the multitude of arrows looked up, their eyes filled with a strange light that Mairon did not recognize. He did not like that look.

Mairon gathered his power in his right hand. He had enough power to torch the entire chamber, but…. The Maia glanced at the small iron boxes, three in all, each sitting atop three stone columns far from the lava pool. In the event Elrond won, he had planned to let Elrond watch as each of the prisoners were torn to pieces atop the stone columns. But now those iron boxes prevented him from using his full power.

If he wasn't careful, he could bring the entire mountain to tumble on top of them. His spirit would survive, but no one in the chamber would survive, including his own body. It was the only reason he had refrained from using the full extent of his power while he was kept prisoner here. While contained in this fragile shell, his body was susceptible to all the weaknesses suffered by those on Middle-earth. And losing his physical body was not an option.

Also, there were his Orcs down below. They were almost here. It would be a waste if they all perished underground before they had a chance to climb up to the surface to be of use to him. Mairon looked around, trying his best to calm the frantic beat of his heart.

Over the body of the fallen Orcs, two Silmacils appeared. Unfamiliar faces. They were not one of the prisoners. And behind them an archer, a hunter, and another unfamiliar warrior. One of the Silmacils pushed someone bound in chains into the middle of the chamber, near the lava stream around the circular stage.

Rusco.

"You are done, servant of Morgoth!" one of the Silmacils, his sword covered in black blood, said, as he glared up at Mairon.

"Thoron! Baldor! Thank the Valar!" the mixed blood cried out.

Behind the two Silmacils, one, three, then several Silmacils, his prisoners, appeared. Five of them broke off and ran toward his stone tower, their swords glowing, their body taut and sizzling with raw power.

"Surrender. We have already sent signals to our army on the border. They are on their way."

"Oh, is that so? Let them come. The Orcs you see are not all there are."

To arms! Mairon commanded all his minions.

The Maia glanced at Rusco. That Silmacil had seen too much. Mairon had trusted, not the warrior, but the blood. The gold collar was still on Rusco, but if that was removed…. Mairon raised his eyes to the ceiling. He had created an opening once he was freed of his bondage. He did not want to be trapped again. It was the best route of escape, but Rusco, Mairon could not leave him. He knew too much.

He glanced at the floor again. The two unfamiliar Silmacils were moving toward Thranduil and Elrond. The Sinda and the Half-Elf had their backs to him, bending down to help Gilmagor and the white-haired Elf to stand.

The Silmacils sped up, then jumped, their swords white and glowing, forming a streak of light.

Gathering the lightning in his good hand, Mairon hurled it toward Elrond and Thranduil.

As soon as the lightning left his hand, Mairon flew down to the floor, hurled Rusco into the lava stream, then leaped into the crack on the floor of the chamber.

Rise! Rise! Time for battle! Rise!

To all the Orcs and the Trolls, Mairon sent out his order. If he could not command the Silmacils, then no one shall have them. They shall not leave this mountain alive.

ELROND felt, rather than saw, then heard Thranduil shout. His friend was a blur.

Flash of light, then a thunderous crack of lightning.

The sound of the blast was not so loud, but his ears rang as the world flashed. Everything turned white and the sounds were sucked out. It was as if all the sound in the world disappeared and Elrond shot through the air of this empty, soundless world.

Elrond crashed as someone fell on top of him who grabbed his head and wrapped himself around Elrond. When that person pulled away, Elrond looked up. It was Thranduil. Before Elrond could say anything, the Sinda was off, running toward Aron and Durion who were hunched over Gilmagor.

Someone was screaming, a bloodcurdling, tortured scream, a scream that tore through one's soul.

Thoron was running with his cape in his hand as another Silmacil pulled out a burning figure from the lava stream. They rolled him on the ground smothering the flames. Instinctively feeling that he would be needed, Elrond ran after Thoron.

Thoron was already singing the song of healing as Elrond joined. Rusco's half-burnt body was smoldering. His hair had all but burnt away. His skin was mottled, charred, and melting. Thoron met Elrond's eyes. Without speaking, he knew what Thoron wanted as the Silmacil's songs concentrated on mending what he could while Elrond concentrated on controlling the pain. The two songs, different in melody and tone, but sharing the same rhythm and tempo, mingled arranging themselves into one music. Rusco's scream dwindled into a groan.

All the Silmacils gathered around. Gilmagor walked up to them, supported by Aron and Baldor. The brothers of the Silmacils made a way for their commander.

Gilmagor's eyes filled with tears.

What was left of Rusco's hair was smoldering still. The gray leather armor had burnt into a lump of charred mess that was hard to tell apart from the rest of Rusco.

Thoron glance up at Gilmagor and shook his head.

Elrond continued to sing even as Thoron stopped. He wanted to lessen as much pain as possible, but the strain was enormous. Rusco was in a lot of pain.

Rusco moved his mouth, now just a lump of charred flesh. A strange, strangled sound came from him, accompanied by halting breath. Gilmagor sank next to Rusco and took the burnt Elf's hand in his.

"Thank you for your service, Rusco. For all the sacrifices you had to make. No matter what happened here, we know your heart was with us. Whatever that evil creature may have done to you, we will always remember you as one of us. We will never forget you. Be at peace and rest. May you remember us when we meet again." Gilmagor placed his hand over his heart and closed his eyes. The other Silmacils did the same.

Elrond's eyes filled with tears. Fighting the painful pressure in his throat, Elrond continued the song of comfort to lessen Rusco's pain. Gilmagor was right. Whatever Rusco had done, he had given his service to his king for centuries.

Rusco's halting breath slowed. Then, something strange happened.

As they watched, Rusco's melted cheeks took shape again in front of their very eyes. Everyone gasped and moved back. The healing was too quick, even for powerful Elven spells. Elrond halted his singing and pulled back. Rusco's armor and hair remained burnt and charred, but his skin and flesh turned smooth as if nothing happened. If it wasn't for the half charred hair and the armor, they would have believed that the burn did not happen.

Rusco sat up, then frowned as he touched his face and arms.

Before anyone could say or move, Rusco jumped, then leaped onto one of the three stone columns at the far side of the chamber. The Silmacils around Gilmagor took out their weapons, ready to leap after Rusco. Gilmagor raised his hand to stop them.

"Rusco, what has Sauron done to you?" Gilmagor asked once Rusco reached the top of one of the columns.

"Forgive me, master. I didn't want to do it. It wasn't me. He spoke through me. It was my mouth, but not my words. I swear it. I could not...stop it. Please, believe me."

"I believe you." Gilmagor's voice was quiet. "Tell me what happened."

Widening his eyes, Elrond looked around at other Silmacils, but he could not read any of the faces. They were stoic and unreadable.

Rusco picked up a large iron box by his feet.

"I fell into a trap and was captured alive."

"Why did you betray us?"

"I…I didn't want to, but Orcs put this." Rusco pawed the front of his throat with one hand. There was nothing there except burnt pieces of gray leather. "It was as if someone covered my head, commanding me to do things. I resisted as long as I could. Then, the Orcs fed me…"

The ground trembled. Everybody looked around them, their swords at the ready.

"There is no time. Sauron is rousing the Orcs." Rusco's face whose skin had returned to its normal hue crumpled with grief.

"What does he know?" Gilmagor's voice was calm.

Rusco turned away. "Everything. Everything I know, he knows."

Everybody in the chamber fell silent until the ground shook again.

"Please leave. We don't have much time. The Orcs…he is gathering the Orcs."

"We killed all the ones in the cave," Thoron said.

Rusco shook his head. "More are coming. Underground." Rusco pointed to the crack on the floor. "Thousands and thousands of them." Rusco's eyes filled with tears. "More arrive every day. Leave. Now. Please." Rusco held up the iron box in his hand. "I will give you as much time as I could."

"What are you doing?" Thoron asked. He took a step towards the stone column, but Rusco picked up a handful of the stuff from the box and threw it down.

POP! Pop! POP! Some of them fell onto the lava stream and burst into little balls of flame. Thoron would have moved forward if it wasn't for Gilmagor's firm grip on the Silmacil's arm.

"Don't come near. This … this is bat droppings. Sauron has been gathering them. Except for this chamber, everywhere else, the rocks and walls. They are covered in the bat droppings. This is the only way I could redeem myself." Rusco's arms trembled.

Gilmagor's hand came around to his back. He made a fist and moved his fingers.

A Silmacil who stood next to Elrond pulled him toward the door. Elrond noticed the Silmacils standing next to Thranduil and Aron also pulled them away as some of the Silmacils retreated. Durion and the hunter were also ushered out. Elrond wanted to protest, but the look on Silmacil's face brooked no argument.

"Rusco, you need not do this. Come with us. We'll do this together. You need not sacrifice yourself. Please, lad." Gilmagor's voice was calm, soft. Begging.

"There are magma chambers below. This is the only way. Please, go, master. Brothers. Forgive me."

Elrond turned around to look one last time before being pushed out of the chamber. Rusco jumped. Thoron jumped up at the same time, reaching out for Rusco.

The hand of the Silmacil holding Elrond's arm tightened. Thranduil and Aron followed behind.

"Run as if your life depends on it!" someone shouted behind them.

Elrond and Thranduil turned back to the door when Silmacils rushed out.

"Move it!" Gilmagor shouted behind them. Everyone was running now.

BOOM!

The floor shook and the walls trembled. Someone on each side of him picked up Elrond's arms and he was lifted into the air. Everybody was running, faster than they had ever done in their lives. The walls and the floor cracked, split, and shook. The entire cave trembled as roar followed behind. And the floor caved.

The world was turning upside down. There was no floor. No walls. Everything fell crashing down.

Galvorn (Sindarin, shining black)—jet black metal Eöl devised. It was supple and light but strong as steel. Eöl forged a set of armor which he wore when traveling outside his home. It is supposed to be resistant to all blades and darts. Although it is never mentioned after the story of Eöl, he must have worn this armor when he followed his wife and son to Gondolin.

A/N: Bat droppings (guano) are known to be highly flammable due to their nitrogen-rich content. In fact, during the Civil War when the Union's blockade prevented the shipments of gunpowder, the Confederate army used bat guano for ammunition.