High King of the East Chapter 5
Elrond watched his father march towards the Dark Lord, looking every part of the First Age mythical hero of old. No, Elrond reminded himself, he is one of the heroes of Old.
Makalaurë Kanafinwë, grandson of Finwë, the last remaining son of Fëanor. By all rights, he is the High King of the Ñoldor. One of the oldest of the Calaquendi in Middle Earth, if not the oldest.
Maglor, the Saviour of the Falathrim.
Maglor, the Regent of the Loyalists.
Maglor, the Defender of the Gap.
Maglor, the Survivor of Unnumbered Tears.
He was also Maglor, the Destroyer of Doriath, the Pillager of Sirion and Fugitive of the Valar.
All animosity, even from the most stubborn of the Sindar were wiped away as they watched the engagement, of what they were certain was to be the deciding and defining moment of the Second Age. Whether they live in harmony or despair in the years to come will be decided in this duel.
Their weapons clashed faster than even the Elven eyes can see. If Gil-Galad's duel was thought to be impossible, this was a duel of the supernatural, between two beings more powerful than any other present, not seen for millennia.
Elrond was once again reminded of Maglor's martial prowess. There was a time, when his hands exclusively struck soul-wrenching beauty with the harp, now, the hands wielded arms with deadly grace.
Maglor was still in his element. Instead of playing a song of beauty, art and love, he now embodied a song of power and justice. It was as though he had become one with the Great Music, when goodness prevails and evil fails. He wields the song of righteousness as his sword and raises the song of justice as his shield.
He fought like he was again on the lands of Beleriand, fighting for his family, his people and all of Eru's creations. He shrugged off his own wounds and landed blows after blows, each piercing and penetrating the armour of the Dark Lord and inflicting vicious cuts unto him.
Even so, Sauron laughed cruelly in the face of righteousness. He feinted a jab which struck Maglor's shield with his backhand, the momentum threw Maglor onto the ground. Sauron advanced for the finishing blow.
"I'm going to do to you what I have done to your dear little nephew, little song bird."
Suddenly, a bright light appeared, piercing the dark cloud that ever covered the dreary land of Mordor. Sauron was blinded and shrieked with pain, a sound most horrifying for all to hear.
In that moment of respite Maglor got his feet and readied himself once more. At that moment, Maglor shone, brighter than Vása and Rána. It was as though all present were witness the rising of the Sun for the first time after the Darkening.
Nay, it was much brighter and more spectacular. In his grey eyes was a sacred light, the Gold of Laurelin and Silver of Telperion. The light of Valinor was on his face and all who were present bowed their heads in submission. Had Eonwë himself been there that day, it would have perfectly mirrored Fëanor on the night of his exile. Even with all his wounds, never had Maglor looked more majestic in that very hour.
Even after nearly four millenia since the Fall of the Ñoldoran, the Spirit of Fire lives on and will not be quenched.
With a new wave of courage, Maglor swung his glistening sword the earth shook. A black mist arose with a disembodied cry and disappeared.
Two thuds were heard as Maglor collapsed and the still hot decapitated corpse of Sauron fell.
Middle Earth was free. All were cheering in celebration, regardless of past grudges.
Yet Elrond fell silent, he did not know if this means another farewell from his Atar.