"Are they alive?" Athfaë asked worriedly.
Gandalf turned to her, "I know not. I hope and pray so, but..." he trailed off.
Dacil swallowed hard and set his hand on Athfaë's shoulder. "What will happen if they do not survive?"
Glorfindel held Niphredil closer and looked northward toward the far off Misty Mountains. "All will be lost."
Eldarion sat at his desk in his chamber, head propped on one arm, staring down at the blank desktop. He did not look up as a knock echoed through his chamber. "Come," he said blearily.
Aragost and Eorlmer entered, looking quite bedraggled.
"Sir," they muttered, saluting weakly.
"Sit," Eldarion commanded without meeting their eyes. He blinked a few times, "Where is Valandil?"
"Dead, sir," Aragost sighed. "The first to fall, in fact."
"What in Udun happened out there?" the King mumbled.
"I wish I could tell you, sir," Aragost groaned. "We had no warning. It was all so chaotic. We lost upwards of five-thousand men."
Eldarion let his hand that held his head fall with a thud to the table. "To what?" he growled.
"Drow elites, sir, if I am not mistaken," Eorlmer offered meekly.
"Drow?"
"Yes, sir," the Captain replied. "There were no Venyarohirrim to be found at New Edoras. It looked as though there had been a rather large battle earlier, and all that remained was a horde of Remnant soldiers. They decimated our troops."
"But how?" Eldarion asked again.
The three sat in silence, shell-shocked by the day's events. For several minutes, no sounds were uttered.
"Dacil," Aragost finally growled.
"Sir?" Eorlmer questioned.
"Dacil knew about this. Or he should have. Either way, he was not there to help us, to provide us with information," the General replied.
Again, nobody spoke.
"You are correct, Aragost," Eldarion hissed after a long pause. He turned to Eorlmer. "Did he tell you anything about this?"
The Venyarohirrim held up his hands, "No, sir! The Nazgul themselves could not force me to lead thousands of men to their deaths. Who advised you to attack New Edoras, if I may be so bold?"
The King slowly raised his head, his glare piercing. He spoke in a cold, venomous, voice. "No, Captain, you may not. That is far above your power to question."
Eorlmer bowed his head, "I apologize, sir."
Eldarion did not break his stare, "I shall be gracious to you, Eorlmer. You have fought well in my services." He clenched his fist, "However, your General has displeased me greatly. And that is something that one does only once."
Drawing a long knife from his boot, Eldarion held it hilt first to Eorlmer, "The next time you see Dacil, I want you to use this. It is in your best interest that I never must deal with his treachery again."
The Venyarohirrim captain swallowed hard. "Yes, sir."
At midnight, Eldarion sat before the palantír in his secret chamber once again. He placed his hand on the orb as he had done so many times and called out to 'Isildur'.
After a few moments, the swirling, ghost-like figure materialized.
"You," Eldarion growled, "You led me to a trap!"
"I did not, thou fool!" the 'ghost' thundered, sending a jolt of dark power into Eldarion's chest. "Thy fool of a General led the Drow to New Edoras to assist them!"
The King coughed, spattering small drops of blood over the surface of the palantír. "I apologize, my lord. I should not have doubted you."
The image of Isildur smiled ominously. "Thou should do well to remember that. Now, I have a new plan for thee. Thou shall take thy men, in full force, through the Dead Marshes and west into Lothlorien itself. The Udunaedos are journeying northward, and will not be able to come to their friends' aid in time. They will never see it coming. Thy troops will utterly crush the Dunedain, and the Venyarohirrim. Thy General shall not betray thee again, this I promise."
Eldarion smiled as the ingenuity of the plan began to dawn on him, "Yes, my lord. I shall lead the army myself!"
"Excellent."
Pain. Flames. Blood. So much destruction.
These words echoed in the young elf's mind as he fled the burning city of Gondolin. Its once white walls were now black as night, charred by the fire of the demons and swarming with the infernal hordes of orcs. The screams of the dying rang fresh in his ears.
He saw his mother slammed into the ground by a massive orc's mace; dying to save her children. He watched as his father and the outfit of soldiers he led were swept away by the torrent of flame sweeping from the mouth of a dragon like a river of death. He was standing again in the center of his house, holding his mother's bloodstained sword, watching as he failed to save his younger siblings, their tiny bodies shattered by the brutal creatures of Udun.
On, on he sprinted, through the corpse-strewn streets, out the out the broken wall, and into the forest on the mountain atop which the city sat. He adjusted his angle as he ran downhill and intercepted an orc that was in his path.
With a cry of rage and frustration, he swung his mother's blade with all of his strength, sending his victim's severed head tumbling down the mountainside before him.
He reached the bottom of the mountain and slid to a stop on his knees. His long brown hair fell over his shoulders, obscuring his face, as racking sobs shook his body.
"Why?" the elf cried, "Oh, Illúvatar, why?"
His appeal to the All-God seemed lost in the forest around him.
There were those that heard, however. A unit of fifteen orcs patrolling the forest altered course and headed toward the sound of the anguished elf.
The young Noldor heard the creatures' approach, but did not seem to care. Instead, he grasped the hilt of his mother's sword even tighter and spoke the language of the High Elves, Quenya, through gritted teeth.
"Illúvatar, I call upon you one final time. Give me the power to make my death worthy enough to avenge my family. Let me slay my share of the fell creatures that now overrun your world. Let me do my part to cleanse your broken earth."
A ball of light began to grow above the elf, and a voice, ranging form the lowest groan of the earth to the highest whistle of the wind, sounded in the elf's head.
"Do not cry, my child. You shall not fall. Nay, you shall rise. I bestow upon you the gift of light, and the power to slay hordes. Now stand, and fight with the glory your God deserves!"
With guttural, animal-like cries, the orcs burst from the trees and brush all around the elf. Rather than leaping to his feet, the Noldor rose slowly, ominously raising his head as he did so. His normally black eyes began to swirl with the yellow of the sun and the dark purple of the night sky in the west. Lightning flashed behind the staring pupils, stopping the servants of Morgoth in their tracks.
The elf rose to his feet ominously drawing himself up fully to his over two-meter height. He raised the sword in his hand and focused all his hatred, all his vengeance, on the orc captain.
Before the Noldor could attack with his blade, a bolt of light shot from his body into the orc. There was a flash, and with a crack, the captains smoking body was blasted back into the brush.
The other orcs shrieked and exchanged terrified glances at the sight of their leader. The elf, however, barely seemed to register what had occurred. He marched onward, toward the frightened creatures, sword ready.
Suddenly, he was standing beside another elf, a female, with whom he shared a connection like no other. Behind them lay the broken body of their master, before them, the dark fire of a score of balrogs. They were in a castle of sorts. A dark, cold place, void of any thoughts of happiness. Udun.
The woman stepped in at the demons, which lashed out with his flaming whip, searing her face terribly down her right eye.
The young man leaped to assist her as he fell, taking the heat from the tip of the tri-twined whip across his cheek, burning their imprint into his flesh.
The girl was screaming. Screaming in pain, in anger. Just screaming...
Suddenly, Mordae woke with a start. His heart pounded from the terrifying memories of his dark past. Celebdraug's screams still echoed in his ears.
But were they? Mordae shook his head, but the screams remained, gradually subsiding into sobs. He tried to stand, but fell back against the hard ground, pain shooting through his body.
Where was he? All he could see were rocks, everywhere, rocks. All charred, broken. Suddenly, everything came back to him in a horrifying rush. The cave. The orcs. The balrog. A blinding flash.
He tried to speak. "Celebdraug?"
The sobs ceased for a moment. "Mordae? You're alive?" Celebdraug's voice answered.
"Who's Mordae? This is Sauron." Joyous laughter broke through the crying. "I thought you were dead! I tried reaching you with my mind, but...but..." "I was taking a little trip down memory lane," Mordae responded. "How was it?" "Like Udun, Baradu, and Galadriel's house, all mixed into one. Only worse."