Seven: Battlefield

Our banner was death; of skull and bone and elven skin we had made our standards. We raised them high and cried out the name of our lord: Moringotto Morion! No living orc, the result of our work on the elves, stood on this battlefield, for Melkor was not yet certain of their loyalty. But the first of trolls were there, almost-spirits of stone cut in crude shape, their souls mere simple shards of the shattered hearts of mountains. Some of them were huge in size - the fathers of giants. On mighty lizards cyclops and ogres rode to battle; valaraukar marched and flew. And I flew, at the head of the army, scouting with my far-seeing eyes.

From the sea the army of the Valar came and rose against us like a flood of steel and white fire.

Fang and claw, sword and spear, fire and sorcery – we fought back with all we had. To no avail – they were stronger and outnumbered us seven to one. I, in my lizard-skin armour, attacked from above and cut down many a spirit with my faithful Sercëyulmo. But the enemy, too, had winged champions. One such was Ilmarë, servant of Varda, who threw bolts of lightning like a lesser spirit might throw spears. Trying to escape her, I met another flying opponent. She was armoured head to toe in gold-plated mail and wielded a mighty sword. Her wings beat so fast I couldn't see them clearly. Valarauko blood stained her blade and armour, red as fire.

We were evenly matched in skill and strength, but her armour was better and her sword longer. She wounded me severely, first putting out my right eye, and then tearing my left wing and maiming my arm all with one blow. I fell to the ground below, able only to slow my descent, rotating like a leaf in the wind. I thought she would leave me for dead, but she followed.

I fell to an area where no living thing remained, only empty armour and broken blades, their owners departed from Arda in body and soul. Dead lizards and monsters, fallen horses of the Ainur, trolls turned to stone by the radiance of the Valar in the flesh. Here I would find nobody to defend me, my people were retreating east, pursued by the Valar.

She followed me, the nameless enemy, her armour a secret I could not see through. I picked up a spear and hurled it at her, but she skimmed in the air and avoided it. Then she was upon me, two hands against one, wings against feet, and I had no place to flee. I was sure then that I would die. 'Moringotto Morion!' I cried out, a plea for help more than a gallant battle cry, now.

My enemy landed in front of me and folded her wings – losing half her advantage. I stared at her, dumbfounded.
'Nurtalessen.' Her voice was full of hatred.
'My name is Nurtahuinen these days,' I said.
'How appropriate. Remember Fanian?'

I thought I understood then.
'She sent you to kill me? Are you her new lover? And here I thought her body was spoiled for love forever.'
She took off her helmet, revealing Fanian's radiant hair cut short, Fanian's familiar features turned strange by the lust for blood. My blood.
'It is. But you will have to search far and wide to find a body better suited for hatred than this.'
'Why do you hate me? I never harmed you. Sauron is the one you want. If you let me live, I could take you to him.'
'I will take my revenge unmellowed, and I don't trust you. You serve my enemy. That is enough reason.'
I charged at her suddenly, throwing her on her back. Her sword fell from her grasp. She was helpless, pinned under me, and I raised my blade to the kill. Warrior she might be, but also a fool, attempting conversation in the battlefield, removing her helm only to taunt me.

Someone grasped my wrist from behind with a hand so strong I felt my bones break.
'You shall not have her, creature of darkness!' A male voice I found I knew.
'Eönwë? What are you doing so far behind the front, oh mighty champion?' I never had liked him, even when we both served Manwë. Stuck-up and too full of himself.
'Looking for Fanian.'

He lifted me off my feet, letting me hang from his fist like a captured rabbit. My left arm had already been rendered useless by a blow of Fanian's sword, and my feeble kicks had no effect on him. His armour was golden, a more elaborate version of Fanian's mirror-smooth plate. He was tall and strong, holding me easily by his left hand alone. In his right hand I saw a terrible blade.

'Let me live and I will be your prisoner. Let Mandos judge me! I know all of Sauron's secrets and many of Moringotto's, and I will tell you everything if you only let me live! I surrender, do you hear me, I surrender!'
Fanian stood up, shaking dust off her wings, recovering her sword.
'I wouldn't trust her words, Eönwë. To me she promised she would take me to Sauron, let me have my revenge on him. And then, when I least expected, she struck me down.'
'Well, there is nothing she can do now. Nurtalessen, drop the sword.'
I obeyed. What else could I do, trapped in the grip of the man no one had ever bested in swordsmanship? The thud of my trusty blade hitting the ground was the very sound of failure.

I stared into Eönwë's eyes, the merciless cold eyes of a creature of light that had never doubted the superiority of his side, the righteousness of his own heart. There I saw my only chance.
'Lord Eönwë, I am weak. I was enslaved by bondages of blood-magic. I fear death, else I would have escaped by the sword.'
'You have wings.'
'Sauron flies faster,' I lied.

I let him see pieces of my soul, the pitiful fears, the clumsy regrets, and the suppressed doubts - enough to convince him that my repentance was sincere. Not for his wisdom was Eönwë called mighty – he swallowed it all. I could see his determination falter. He could have slain me there and then – a humble spirit like myself was hardly worthy of personal judgement by Mandos.

Then, shyly, I turned my eyes away from him and let false tears roll down my cheek.
'You are hurting me, Lord Eönwë. Couldn't you just chain me or something?'

He lowered me enough for my feet to touch the ground. At that moment, Fanian cried out:
'Eönwë! Behind you!'
He held on to my wrist and turned. A dark shadow fell from the sky, its mighty black wings beating slowly. Swift as wind it was upon us and threw a battle-axe at Eönwë. The weapon struck his left shoulder, burying itself deep. I saw poison drip down the heavy blade. For a moment the fist holding me was paralysed, and I was able to wriggle my way free. The shadow was already speeding away, and Fanian took wing to follow it.

For a delicious moment, Eönwë stood there helpless. I picked up my sword and considered fighting him. But already he was pulling the axe from the wound. It was slow work, for the edge was jagged. I knew that, for I knew the weapon well indeed. It belonged to Sauron.

I sneaked away.

The Valar advanced and besieged Utumno. The mighty fortress fell, and Tulkas captured Melkor. I was not there, nor was Sauron. We hid together deep in the caves under Angamando, with many of our people. Some of the captive elves died to heal my wounds with the power of their blood. The healing was only partly successful; my right eye was lost forever. Even today I have an orb of black stone in the empty socket. It is no ordinary stone, of course – it sometimes sees more than my left eye.