I said "damn the formatting" so much last time because The Powers That Be (aka fan fiction dot net) had just switched to its new formatting thingamajig and I couldn't get it to work right. Maybe someday I'll go back and fix it, but for now, you'll just have to settle with… Chapter Nine! And I know you're all just DYING to know what happened to Celeborn (cue groan), but you get some fight scenes first, which, ironically enough, are always either extremely easy or extremely difficult for me to write. (Judging by the time it took me to get this up, we can all assume it was the latter. It didn't help that my boyfriend broke my computer and I had to start the half-written chapter over again, either.) The stuff that goes on is a little bit much for the PG rating I've given the story, but don't worry, it's not insanely graphic.

I cannot believe that the spell check on MS Word actually has "thingamajig" in its word list. That is just too funny.

Chapter Nine: The Glorious Battle, Part II

"Turgon! Behind you!"

At the sound of his father's voice, Turgon wheeled around and lifted his sword just in time to stop an orc-blade from slicing him in half. Then with a great heave, Turgon cast the orc aside, placed a kick in his chest, and drove his sword through his enemy's back. Just a few feet away, Fingolfin, wielding twin blades, had just finished separating the head of another orc from his body. The two of them had no time to congratulate themselves or each other; more orcs were coming with every passing moment. Their enemies realized that Fingolfin and Turgon were among the leaders of the Elves, and singled them out. More effort would be put into killing them, and father and son knew that if they expected to survive, they would have to fight back even harder.

Back to back they stood, as a dozen orcs formed a circle around them. Turgon raised his sword, and Fingolfin twirled, then crossed his blades. "Will we be able to defeat them all?" Turgon asked in a whisper. The twelve around them were armed only with swords and shields, but archers in the distance were sure to notice before long.

Fingolfin narrowed his eyes. "Oh, yes."

The High King made the first move, using his small swords to cut off the sword-hand of an orc in a crossing motion. His disarmed enemy stumbled backwards and allowed enough exposure for Fingolfin to slip one blade below his armor, and with the other, slash him across the face. Two more orcs came at him at the same time, one from either side. Fingolfin leapt forward and did a somersault out of harm's way, and the orcs could not stop in time and became entangled. A blade was driven into each at the exposed area between the chest armor and the helmet. Fingolfin pulled his weapons out, and the two orcs fell to the ground next to the body of the first.

Turgon's weapon of choice was not as nimble as his father's, but Fingolfin's younger son made up for agility in strength. He struck only seconds after the High King, dropping to one knee and bringing the blade of his sword through the knees of an oncoming orc, then finishing the job by bringing the hilt of the sword down on his foe's head like a hammer.

Another orc came at Turgon and raised his sword as if to strike, but Turgon caught him by the wrist before the servant of darkness was able to bring it down. The two wrestled for a few moments, and then Turgon pulled his knee to his chest, fell to his back, placed his foot on the orc's chest, and kicked, sending his enemy flying backwards. In the blink of an eye, Turgon was on his feet again, and the blade of his sword found its way into the throat of misery's embodiment.

With half their enemies vanquished with only a few strikes, Fingolfin and Turgon found each other again; the three blades between the two of them stained with black blood. A Sindarin arrow found the eye of one, leaving five still standing. Two rushed Turgon and three Fingolfin; seconds later, after a flurry of steel and speed, the Elves were the only ones left standing.

"Good work," Fingolfin told his son. He shook his blades and spattered the ground with blood.

"Thank you."

Fingolfin and Turgon separated after that; Fingolfin choosing to fight his own battle, and Turgon seeking out another he could aid. It did not take long for him to find a situation. Half a dozen orcs had formed an arc around Maedhros and trapped him with his back to a large boulder. Maedhros, though he had a valiant heart and would fight as bravely as a king, was hindered by the fact that he had only one hand. Turgon feared that his cousin, standing there facing six orcs with a sword in his naturally weaker left hand, would soon meet his end. But before the son of Fingolfin could interfere, the orcs struck the first blow.

Two of them came at Maedhros at once, swinging their wide, heavy swords from overhead. Maedhros held up his own sword to block the strikes, but the force from them was so strong it knocked him to the ground. The agile elf rolled backwards and then leapt to his feet, covered in mud but unhurt and ready to keep fighting.

Again, two orcs came at Maedhros, but their strategy was different this time. One of them swung high, and the other low. This attack was less effective than the first. Maedhros ducked to block the low strike with his sword, and in doing so, the orc that struck high missed him completely, and the momentum from his blow caused him to spin completely around. Maedhros kicked him in the back of the knee, and the orc lost his balance and fell onto his own sword. Then Maedhros took advantage of the split second his second assailant spent in watching his partner fall and drove the tip of sword deep into the orc's throat.

The four remaining orcs hesitated before attacking, suddenly not so sure about going up against this elf who wasn't as weak as he looked, and Turgon knew that was his opening. He raised his sword, and with a great cry, brought the blade down on the head of an orc. The orc collapsed, and when the other three turned their heads to see what had happened, Maedhros struck. One of them was dead before he even knew Maedhros's sword had found him, and a second did not have much time to react to a blow from Turgon. The third jabbed at Maedhros, but he blocked it easily, and Turgon sliced the orc across the face.

"Well done," Maedhros said to his younger cousin.

Turgon found it more than a little odd that Maedhros was the one congratulating him; after all, he wasn't the one who was missing a hand. "Thank you. You did well, too." It was the truth. Just because Maedhros was forced to use his weak hand didn't mean that Maedhros himself was weak.

Maedhros grinned and tossed his head, shaking muddy locks of his auburn hair off his face. "Look. They want some more."

Sure enough, more orcs were assuming the places held by their fallen companions. Turgon knew they were capable of defeating this set just as easily as the first, but a third wave would not be as easy to hold back. They just kept coming… where were the boats?

Turgon spent too long thinking. An orc struck at him, and though he reacted in enough time to keep the heavy steel blade from slicing through his flesh, he was unable to brace for the impact and fell. The blade of another sword nearly met his neck, but he was able to roll to the side just in time. He had only climbed to his knees before being forced to block another sword, which he did with a circular motion. That left the neck open, and the elf took advantage of the opportunity.

"There are too many!" Maedhros said as he dodged a strike.

"We've got to get away from this cliff!" said Turgon. "They'll trap us against it!"

Maedhros raised his sword in preparation to charge, but before he could begin his attack, an arrow tore through the flesh of his right thigh and embedded itself in the bone. He cried out in pain and surprise and dropped to his knees. An orc rushed at him, and Maedhros was able to penetrate through the lower part of the orc's armor, but after withdrawing his sword, he knew he could not continue.

"Maedhros!" Turgon exclaimed. Knowing he had to protect his fallen cousin, the elder placed his blade between Maedhros and an orc-sword, then struck the enemy with his elbow. "Maedhros, can you stand?"

Maedhros clenched his teeth and pulled out the arrow with a sharp yank. He tried to rise, but the pain was too great, and he fell again. "I cannot," he said.

"Help!" Turgon shouted above the roar of battle. "Maedhros has fallen! Help!"

Turgon caught sight of another arrow flying at them and feared it was meant for him, but it missed by several feet. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the tail of the arrow sticking out of the forehead of an orc. Then he gasped. The arrow had the markings of the Noldor!

Turgon looked forward again, looking for the one who had shot the arrow, and what he saw lifted his heart.

The archer was Finrod.

The boats had come at last.

With the addition of six hundred rested, battle-ready elves, what little hope their was for the orcs at the beginning was now lost. Standing on the bow of the largest ship, Artanis felt a glow of pride as she watched her friends and kinsmen drive the forces of Morgoth back into Angbad. Celeborn's plan was brilliant. The Elves were outnumbered, and even with their superior skill in battle, victory was not ensured without the element of surprise, which Celeborn had provided them with. Artanis smiled to herself. The Noldor would forever be grateful to him for this.

Movement on the deck caught her eye, and she turned around, only to see two Sindarin soldiers carrying the mud-spattered, bloody Maedhros. She gasped and sprinted toward her cousin. "Maedhros!" she said. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Artanis," he assured her. "It's only a leg wound."

"I will fetch a healer," said the Sinda supporting his left side.

Artanis took his place under Maedhros's left arm, then asked what happened.

"An arrow," Maedhros said. "Finrod killed several orcs and enabled help to reach me after I had fallen, but the real hero is Turgon. He came to my aid when I was trapped against the cliff and protected me when I was hurt."

She smiled. Fingolfin and his sons were known for being exceptionally valiant. "Where is Finrod?" she asked. "Have you seen him?"

"I saw him fighting alongside Valendil as I was came aboard," he said. Then he smiled. "It was glorious… such a pair of warriors could not be found if they had been Tulkas and Eönwë themselves."

Artanis smiled, too. "As long as Finrod's skill in battle is great enough to let him walk away from it, I shall be glad."

"It is," Maedhros assured her as she and the Sinda set him down. The Sinda that had gone below deck returned, and close behind him was the healer, a dark-haired Noldorin woman named Navarië. "Victory will be ours, Artanis. It is only a question of when."

Even as he spoke, the orc generals were calling for retreat.

By sunset, the Pass of Sirion was emptied of every orc, alive or dead, and the elven leaders gave their exhausted troops permission for a well-deserved rest and celebration. Healers tended to the wounded and reported statistics to Fingolfin. The High King was pleased with what he was told. Their losses had been minimal, and though some were seriously injured, there were no critical cases, nor were any anticipated. Maedhros was expected to regain full use of his leg within two weeks' time. The Battle of Tol Sirion would forever be known as glorious.

It had already been decided that the duty of guarding the newly-taken region would fall to Finrod, and the eldest son of Finarfin was looking forward to establishing a stronghold. He promised that as soon as he returned to Doriath, he would begin designing the fortress that would stand on the isle in the middle of the pass. When the subject of Doriath was brought up, Artanis spoke, saying they should go to the camp in the Ered Wethrin where Celeborn waited and bring him down so that he might share in the victory. Her suggestion was accepted, and moments later, a party consisting of herself, Finrod, Turgon, Valendil, and Saeros was assembled. The five of them took leave of the others and began the ascent into the mountains.

No darkness was on their hearts as they climbed, and the Noldor laughed and sang as they not had since departing from the bliss of Valinor. As they drew closer to the camp, Artanis felt a special feeling of excitement. She had not seen Celeborn since her departure from the forest of Brethil seven days earlier, the longest amount of time they had spent apart since meeting, and she could not remember her life before him.

"The camp is just over this ridge," Valendil said as they picked their way over a series of large boulders, then came onto a trail leading up the mountain.

Their joyful mood vanished when they came over the rise and saw their camp burned.

"Eru Almighty!" Finrod exclaimed, unable to control himself. His shouts echoed throughout the mountains, repeating his shocked cry back to him.

"What happened here?" Turgon asked.

Valendil noticed a depression in one of the shrubs along the side of the trail and knelt down next to it, feeling it with his fingers. "Orcs," he realized.

Artanis gasped. "Celeborn…"

"Wait!" Finrod said. "There might still be some down there!"

But she was long gone.

Shortbread cookies from Fred Meyer for my reviewers: Arinya, Marnie, Neige, Aenigmatic, AngelQueen, Nevdoiel, Morelen, chocchip, Melkor, Always-a-kiwi, Bow, Bluebunny, gazabo, Neko Oni, Nathalia Potter, Becky, MeMyselfAndMe, and Riwen!

Why yes, I DO have a thing for writing stories about people overcoming disabilities.

Turgon's sword wasn't Glamdring (although I couldn't help sneaking in an allusion… hehehe), because according to The Hobbit, Glamdring wasn't made until Gondolin, and this battle is like, a hundred years pre-Gondolin. That kinda irks me because it would have been fun to write something with Turgon waving Glamdring around, but that's all right because it's entirely possible Turgon wasn't even AT this battle. Turgon got to be here because I like him. Characters I like get to kick butt.

I want a sword…