Chapter Forty-One: Ohta
Content warning: this is a chapter about war, and there are some gruesome details.
It was only a matter of years before Glorfindel's prediction came true. They left Gondolin to march to battle.
The rumours had been true: Beren and Lúthien were alive, though no one had seen them since their return from death. They'd had a son named Dior, who was growing to be a child almost as beautiful as his mother.
In the meantime, Maedhros, inspired by the success of Lúthien and Beren in entering Angband, decided to attempt to reunite all the Noldor against Morgoth. Unfortunately, the task was easier said than done.
Orodreth, the son of Angrod and grandson of Finarfin, was now the king of Nargothrond after Finrod's death by Sauron's wolves. Not forgetting the ill deeds that Curufin and Celegorm had committed against his people, Orodreth refused to march to the aid of any son of Fëanor.
Thingol also refused to send aid from Doriath, since he had been recently threatened by Fëanor's sons. He was in possession of one of the silmarils, which they had sworn to pursue to the end of the world, and as Thingol had refused to give it up, Doriath was now at odd with Maedhros and his brothers.
Fortunately for Maedhros, Fingon, Fingolfin's eldest son and the High King of the Noldor in Middle-earth, answered the summons. So did the men of the west and east, and the dwarves as well. Word reached Turgon in Gondolin.
Glorfindel urged Turgon privately to lead their army to war, though Turgon remained reluctant to break the secrecy of their fortress.
'Why are you so eager to go?' Lalwendë asked Glorfindel when they were alone in their quarters one evening. The time they had to spend with each other was becoming shorter and shorter as the shadow of war loomed closer.
'Because this is our chance,' Glorfindel replied, absent-mindedly twisting her fingers through his. 'We should have struck while Angband was under siege all those years ago, but we didn't. Now that he has control of most of Beleriand, Maedhros' plan is our best hope.'
'I suppose you feel we are betraying our people by staying here in safety,' she said, shuffling closer to him on the chair. He put his arm around her and pressed a kiss into her hair, making her smile.
'Don't you?'
'I suppose. But I am also grateful that we've had the opportunity to live free of fear and horror all these years. We have Turgon to thank for that.'
'You're right.'
They sat in silence for a while before she spoke again. 'I'll go with you, when you march out.'
'No, you won't.'
'Laurë, I won't be persuaded this time.'
'You will stay here, and I will return to you,' he said, his tone gentle but utterly firm. She shook her head.
'I have no children to protect or house to keep in order, we have made sure of that. You are my family, and I will be with you.'
'If you come to battle, I will be terrified every second.'
'And what of me, if I stay?' she asked, starting to get frustrated. 'Do I have no fear?'
Glorfindel's arm tightened around her waist, and his hand brought hers up to his mouth so he could kiss it. 'We should talk about this when – if – Turgon decides we should join Maedhros.'
She rankled at his patience and his refusal to accept her determination, but she nodded. He was right.
Only a week later, the captains of Gondolin, along with Lalwendë and Idril, were called into council.
'I ask for your advice,' Turgon said to them gravely. 'Do I risk the exposure of my people and make them vulnerable to Morgoth and his army by riding to the aid of our brethren, or do we stay put?'
There was a long silence at the table before Ecthelion cleared his throat. 'I think we can all agree,' he said slowly, 'that while not all of us here wish to go to war, we all acknowledge the necessity.'
'Is this so?' Turgon asked. Everyone at the table nodded, and Lalwendë joined them. Turgon sighed. 'Let us depart tomorrow. We will march with all the speed we can to meet our kin and put an end to this evil for once and for all.'
Glorfindel, sitting beside Lalwendë, glanced at her. She met his gaze with a worried look. What they had been dreading had come to pass.
'We will send ten thousand troops,' Turgon was saying, 'from among each of your houses. We will leave a small vanguard to protect the city in case the worse comes to pass, and the tunnels will be prepared for evacuation. I expect you will all be willing to march with us?'
There was a grumble of assent from across the table. Lalwendë saw Glorfindel nod once, and she felt sick.
'Go, inform your soldiers and prepare.'
Glorfindel didn't speak or look at her as he strode across their room, shoving items into his pack and make adjustments to his armour. His jaw was clenched, and his hands kept clenching and unclenching.
'Laurë…'
He made no reply. Still, he didn't look at her.
'Laurë, please.'
His jaw tightened and he spun on his heel to walk to the door. 'I need to make arrangements for my people,' he muttered. Resisting the urge to growl at him, Lalwendë darted between him and the door and stood there with her arms folded, glowering.
'Absolutely not.'
He sighed and looked away. 'Lalwen, I don't have time to –'
'Do you really think you can keep me in Gondolin by ignoring me?'
He ran a hand over his face and finally looked at her. She took an involuntary step forward, seeing the very real fear in his eyes. 'Lalwen, this is war,' he said quietly. 'I can't – I just can't let there be a chance that you get taken from me.'
'And what about me?' she asked fiercely. 'I have lost almost every member of my family. Of my eight nieces and nephews, only Turgon, Fingon and Galadriel remain. My father is dead, two of my brothers are dead, the rest of my family across the sea. Now you want me sit here and wait for the news that Morgoth has taken you, too.'
'I'll come back,' Glorfindel said impatiently, stepping closer and pulling her hands up to hold them against his chest. 'I'll come back to you. I have confidence in that. I'm just afraid that if you're there with me, I won't be able to protect you.'
She could feel tears coming, and she willed them away fruitlessly. 'We're cursed, Laurë,' she said, a lump in her throat. 'The whole Noldor race is cursed, in case you have forgotten. Whether I am with you on the battlefield or hidden here in Gondolin, I am in danger. So let me be with you!'
A tear slipped down her cheek and he wiped it away with his thumb. 'I can't,' he whispered. 'Please, melda, tell me you'll stay. Please –'
'I'm asking you not to ask me this,' she said shakily, and he shook his head desperately, looking close to tears himself.
'Lalwen, please, say you'll stay,' he breathed. 'Please, my love. Please tell me you'll stay.'
There was a pregnant pause before Lalwendë nodded once, her heart falling inside her. Glorfindel groaned with relief and swept her into his arms, kissing her hair. 'Thank you,' he whispered. 'I love you. Thank you.'
Her tears were making his shoulder damp, and she pushed him back so that there was a breath of air between them.
'I don't want to say goodbye to you,' she whispered shakily. 'Do you understand?' He nodded, reaching up to wipe her cheeks dry again. 'Go make your arrangements. I'll see you when you return from battle.'
He was hurt, she could see it in his eyes and the way he hesitated, the way he didn't yet take his hands from her face.
'Can I kiss you, at least?' he asked. She swallowed and nodded, and relieved, he bent down to press his lips against hers.
It was an action that was as familiar to the both of them as breathing, but this kiss was laden with emotion and the poignant fear that it could be their last. It lasted only a few seconds before Glorfindel pulled away.
'I'm sorry, Lalwen,' he said quietly, tracing a finger over her face. 'I love you. I hope you'll forgive me. I love you.'
He left her there alone, closing the door behind him. She took a moment as she dissolved into more tears, her torso trembling with shuddering breaths. Of course she would have forgiven him for leaving her behind – but she wasn't sure he would ever forgive her for what she was about to do.
She gathered her things quickly into a pack of her own, changing from her dress into travelling clothes that she could wear under armour. She didn't have armour that was as good or as comprehensive as Glorfindel's, but what she had at hand would have to do.
She left their quarters after giving them one last look. There had been so much happiness in those rooms, so much love. She sent a prayer to the Valar that she would see them again.
Ecthelion answered his door seconds after she knocked, and he sighed after taking in her tunic, armour, and tear-stained face.
'You want to march out with me.'
'If that's alright,' she said nervously.
He sighed again and stood aside, letting her in. He had just started packing himself. 'Tell me what happened.'
She sat on top of a large wooden chest which stood at the end of his bed, setting her pack down. 'We fought about it. Badly.'
'I'm sorry,' he said, shooting her a sympathetic look. She shook her head.
'I lied to him. He's going to be devastated when he finds out, Ecthelion. He'll be furious and utterly terrified.' She started crying again.
'Then stay,' Ecthelion said gently, but she shook her head.
'No, I can't. I can't. Valar, I'm so sorry to pull you into this.'
'It's alright,' he said, sitting beside her to pull on his boots. 'I understand.'
'If I die, Ecthelion, will you make sure he's alright?' she whispered, and Ecthelion paused in his motions to stare at her with concern.
'Lalwen… I'll let you march out with the House of the Fountain on the condition that you're not going into this battle prepared to die,' he said seriously. 'Prepared to fight, yes. Prepared to live, yes. But if you're going into this not expecting to come out the other side, I will lock you in your room myself.'
Lalwendë took a deep breath and wiped her tears away. 'No. You're right, I'm sorry. I was just upset.'
'Good,' Ecthelion said. Then he held out his arms, and she laughed and leaned in to hug him. 'I have one more condition: on the third day of marching, you let Glorfindel know that you've come.'
Lalwendë pulled back and sniffed. 'I'm not sure that's a good idea.'
'He deserves to know, Lalwen. Even if you've lied to him now.'
She sighed. 'I'll do it.'
He nodded. 'Do you have a horse?'
'In the stables.'
'Good. You can stay in here until we ride out tomorrow.'
She took Ecthelion's hand in hers and kissed it. 'Thank you, Ecthelion,' she said. 'You're a true friend.'
He smiled at her, his eyes crinkling. 'Come now. You know I'd do anything for my princess.'
Ecthelion was gone most of the night, making preparations for his house to march out the following morning. Lalwendë paced his quarters, trying to quell the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. She despised the notion that she was lying to Glorfindel. All she could think about was where he was right then, how upset he must have been by her abrupt goodbye.
He was going to hate her when he found out.
The morning dawned bright and cold, and they marched out. Lalwendë rode between two men she didn't know, forcing herself to keep her gaze fixed ahead. She doubted she'd be able to see through the crowd of spears to Glorfindel riding several hundreds of yards behind her, but she didn't dare to try.
She had Helcaruivë on her left hip and Picarca on her right. She was carrying a spear on her saddle, though she didn't have much experience using one, and on the other side of her saddle was fastened a shield. Ahead of her, Ecthelion glanced back, his eyes catching hers. She shot him a small smile.
They rose through the day and the night, then the next day too. They stopped only to rest the horses and to eat on the second night. Lalwendë unpacked her sleeping roll beside Ecthelion's, but she couldn't bring herself to close her eyes. Thrills of anxiety had been running through her since she'd last spoken to Glorfindel, and the mood in the camp indicated that most people felt the same way.
They'd been at peace for a long time, and now they were headed straight into the heart of the War. Lalwendë was sitting on her blankets, staring into space and clutching her locket when Turgon found her.
'Lalwen,' he said, surprised, and she looked up, getting to her feet when she saw it was him.
'Hello, Turgon. How goes it?'
'We're setting a good pace,' he said. 'I didn't think you were coming.'
'It's a long story.'
'Well, I'm glad you're here,' he said, clasping her shoulder. 'I have faith in our army, and in our cause.'
She smiled at him. 'You're doing the right thing, melda. I know it can't be easy, to feel like you're leading people to their deaths. But we trust you.'
Turgon looked down and sighed, nodding shortly. 'Thank you. Thank you for saying that, and for being here.'
Lalwendë nodded. 'Your father would be proud, you know.'
He nodded again, smiling tightly. 'I hope so.' Then he sighed again. 'I'm going to keep walking. Is Glorfindel with his house further down the line?'
She hesitated. 'Turgon – I'd appreciate it if you don't mention me to him.'
Turgon frowned. 'What do you mean?'
'Glorfindel doesn't yet know that I've come,' she said quietly.
Turgon nodded slowly. 'Alright. I understand.'
'Thank you, melda.'
He smiled tiredly and leaned in to kiss her on the cheek. 'I'll see you soon, Lalwen.'
Lalwendë sat down and buried her face in her hands. She didn't look up when she heard Ecthelion sit down on his bedroll beside her.
'Tomorrow is the third day,' she said dully.
'Have some faith in him,' Ecthelion said quietly. 'He loves you. This is what you want, and he'll respect that.'
'Whatever happens, it will be better than lying to him,' she said, looking up with a sigh. 'How are you?'
'Just fine,' Ecthelion said. 'Feeling wonderful. Enjoying the weather.'
She smiled and shook her head at him. 'You should get some rest.'
'You should get some rest, mother hen,' he said, lying down and wrapping himself in a blanket. 'You never know when your last chance at sleep will be.'
Lalwendë lay down with her back to him so he couldn't see her eyes staying open. She wouldn't sleep tonight; even if she thought she was able, she was afraid the nightmare would come and she'd wake the whole camp with her screams.
She lay there while the stars wheeled overhead, wondering if Glorfindel was looking up at them too.
The next morning, she was up early. Ecthelion yawned beside her while she rolled her blanket up. He rubbed his eyes and looked up at her. 'We're really going to war, aren't we?' he said. 'Or did I dream it?'
'I suppose we really are,' she said, smiling down at him. 'Good morning.'
He sighed and sat up. 'Did you sleep?'
'I wasn't really tired.'
'Hm.'
'Come on,' she said. 'Let's eat something.'
'Right you are,' he said, stretching. 'Time to look cheerful!'
The camp gradually awoke around them, and noise grew as people started talking amongst themselves. Lalwendë and Ecthelion went to the quartermaster to get breakfast, and it was while they were sitting and eating that Glorfindel found them.
She noticed him before he noticed her, and her heart clenched inside her. He walked towards them looking like he was lost in thought. He looked like he hadn't slept either, she thought with a pang of worry.
'Ecthelion?' he called, before he caught sight of her and he stopped short a few yards from them. Ecthelion glanced between them, staying silent. Lalwendë slowly got to her feet, her eyes fixed on Glorfindel's face.
His expression morphed from shock to horror, then to pure disbelief. 'You're not here,' he murmured. Lalwendë drew in a breath. There was nothing she could say that would make this better. He ran his hand over his face, his breathing picking up.
'Valar – no. You were supposed to – you were supposed to stay, Lalwen.'
'Glorfindel, take a breath,' Ecthelion said, placing his food to one side and standing too. 'It's alright.'
This was the wrong thing to say. Glorfindel's hands clenched into fists and he strode towards them, closing the space between them. 'It's not alright!' he hissed. 'You're not supposed to be here!'
'I'm so sorry,' she whispered. Her mouth felt dry. Glorfindel groaned and buried his face in his hands, dropping to a crouch. She could hear him muttering no over and over, and she exchanged a glance with Ecthelion. From the worry on her friend's face, she could tell the situation was a lot worse than he'd expected it to be.
She dropped to her knees before Glorfindel and reached out to gently pull his hands away from his face. He was pale, and he looked up at her, his eyes full of betrayal. 'You promised me,' he said, and her lips twisted.
'I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry.'
He drew in two short breaths, then he shook his head. 'I'm going to protect you,' he said earnestly. 'I promise.'
Then he pulled her into his chest. Lalwendë held him tightly, and she thought she heard an audible sigh of relief from Ecthelion.
'I missed you,' Glorfindel whispered. 'It was only days, but – but we barely said goodbye, and I knew you were upset…'
She felt like crying. She loved him so much. 'I'm sorry,' she said again. 'Can you forgive me?'
He pulled away. 'I wish you weren't here.'
'I know.'
'Of course I forgive you.'
She kissed him, and Ecthelion cleared his throat. 'We're moving out, in case you'd forgotten,' he said. Glorfindel stood and helped her to her feet before fixing Ecthelion with a look.
'You should have told me,' he said. 'Or made her stay.'
'Sorry, my friend,' Ecthelion said with a shrug. 'But I'm on Lalwen's side here. It's her decision whether she fights or not.'
Glorfindel pursed his lips and turned back to her. 'You'll ride with me and the House of the Golden Flower?'
She nodded. 'I'll get my things.'
They walked back together, and Lalwendë noticed that most of her anxiety had disappeared. She was back where she was supposed to be.
'It isn't Ecthelion's fault, you know,' she said. 'It's mine. Please don't blame him.'
'Alright,' Glorfindel muttered.
She reached for his hand, and he let her thread her fingers through his, even though they were in a camp full of people. 'I'm sorry.'
'Stop saying it,' he said. 'We're here now.'
They rode on through the week, as quickly as Turgon could take them. Glorfindel was quiet, even by his standards, but Lalwendë didn't stray from his side, and after a while, things almost felt like normal.
On the eighth night, Glorfindel was pacing more than usual, a puzzled frown fixed on his face as he stared out at the rugged landscape around them. Lalwendë watched him with concern, her blanket wrapped around her shoulders. The camp was quiet, and only the embers of fires illuminated the moonless night.
After a while, Glorfindel came over to Lalwendë and offered her his hand. 'Come with me,' he said. She took it, and he pulled her up before leading her away from the camp. They walked for nearly fifteen minutes in silence, and Lalwendë began to wish she'd brought her sword with her.
They came to a short cliff face that protruded out of the otherwise flat landscape. Glorfindel turned to face her, a rare smile splitting his face. She smiled back, confused.
'What?'
'I thought I recognised this place,' he said. 'And I was right.'
He began making his way around the base of the cliff, and she hurried to follow him. There was a fold of rock that protruded out a little further than the rest of the cliff, and when Glorfindel disappeared behind it, she realised it was hiding an entrance. Catching her breath, she followed him inside.
There was a moment of pitch black before she entered the cave itself, illuminated by dim starlight. Glorfindel was standing in the middle, his neck craned as he gazed up. It was breathtaking.
They were surrounded by giant quartz crystals, coating the floor, walls and roof of the space they were in – excepting the hole in the ceiling through which the light came. Each crystal caught the pale silver starlight and threw it across the cave to be caught by another. It filled the room with an ethereal, tranquil glow.
Her mouth open in amazement, Lalwendë slowly made her way to Glorfindel's side. He pulled her in front of him and wrapped his arms around her. Her hands found a place on top of his.
'Do you remember when you asked me what my favourite place was?' he breathed in her ear. She nodded, and she felt him smile against her. 'I used to come here when I was young, before the sun and moon were born. I never told anyone else it existed.'
'It's so beautiful,' she whispered. She couldn't tear her eyes away.
'I'm glad I could show you,' he said. She felt him press his face into the crook of her neck and breathe in. She turned in his arms and cupped his face in her hands. In the low light, his eyes were black.
'I'll remember this forever,' he whispered. 'Us, like this. No matter what happens.'
'You're not going to lose me, Laurë,' she said, pulling him down so his forehead pressed against hers. 'Please believe that.'
'I'm going to protect you,' he breathed, and she sighed, wishing this moment hadn't been poisoned by the impending battle that hung over them. Seeming to sense her melancholy, Glorfindel leaned down to kiss her. 'We'll come back here,' he said, their breath mingling. 'See what it's like in the sunlight.'
'Alright,' she whispered, and he kissed her again.
They made their way back an hour later, Glorfindel reluctant to be gone from camp for too long.
'Do you know how far we are from Angband?' she asked quietly as they got back to their bedrolls.
'Not far,' Glorfindel replied. 'A few days more.' She nodded, and he reached out to tug at her braid. 'Go to sleep. I'll stay with you and wake you if you start getting restless.'
'I love you,' she whispered. His eyes stayed on her until she closed her own.
She could hear voices around her as she drifted back into consciousness. The spasms had seemed to stop, and while the pain was still present, it wasn't as strong as it had once been.
Now, Azshar was just weak.
'…something we can do about it.'
'If Elrond could do nothing when she was in this state in Rivendell, there is little chance that we can do something for her now,' came Celeborn's reply.
There was a short pause before Glorfindel spoke again. 'I can't just sit here day after day and watch her die. I can't.'
'You may need to prepare yourself for that possibility, Glorfindel.'
'Tell Galadriel to look into the Mirror again.'
'She has been looking ceaselessly,' Celeborn said gently. 'It has revealed nothing that could help us.'
'Tell her to keep looking. Or perhaps – perhaps her ring, the one Celebrimbor made, it could do something –'
'Prepare yourself for the worst, my friend. I'm sorry.'
Quiet fell, and after a moment, Azshar felt a finger trace gently over her brow. There was a soft, shuddering exhale near her ear, and she realised he was crying.
His misery accompanied her back into the darkness.
They made their last camp a day from Angband, keeping with them only their weapons, armour, horses, and some water. Everyone was on edge, and in the near distance, they could see black smoke rising from Thangorodrim, the mountain over Morgoth's lair.
She and Maedhros had been tortured there, Lalwendë thought numbly as they began their final ride. Fingolfin had died there.
'Lalwen,' Glorfindel said, and she glanced over at him. He looked worried, and she realised he must have been reading her thoughts on her face. She nodded, and turned back to the road, taking a steadying breath.
Helcaruivë was sharp and ready at her side. Her spear was within reach. Her shield was ready to be fastened to her arm. Her visor was down. She was ready. She was going to do her part in freeing the world from evil.
They could hear the sounds of fighting as they grew closer, and as they reached the crest of a ridge, Turgon held up a hand and wheeled his horse to face his army.
'Fight proudly and fight well, Gondolin!' he cried. 'Sound the trumpets and fly our banners! This day will be ours!'
Lalwendë drew her sword and spurred her horse towards the front of their ranks. The battlefield became visible, and her stomach clenched. It looked like hell. There were thousands of orcs, and balrogs and wolves…
Then her heart skipped a beat. She could see Fingon; her nephew was barely a short gallop away, and he needed their help. She pulled the spear from its holster and took the reins in her sword hand. She was ready.
'Forward, Gondolin!' Turgon roared, and they galloped forward with a roar. They surged down the hill, levelling their spears as they smashed through the ranks of orcs. Lalwendë was barely aware of Glorfindel slightly behind her, and she could hear the cries of Fingon's army as they realised help had come.
'Utúlie'n aurë! Aiya Eldalië ar Atanatári, utúlie'n aurë!'
Day has come, they were crying out in Quenya. Day has come!
'And the night is passing,' Lalwendë growled, and her spear found its mark in the face of an orc. Her horse slowed and she switched her sword to her right hand, grabbing the shield with her left. She swung wildly, slicing into someone's shoulder and then decapitating someone else.
That was as far as she got before her horse took a stray arrow to the temple and careened to the side. Moving quickly, she freed her feet from the stirrups and leapt off, rolling to her feet in time to catch a blow from an orc on her pauldron. She groaned and stumbled before bringing her sword up to slash at him in return.
He jumped back, but suddenly was missing his head when Glorfindel appeared behind him.
They fought for more than an hour, side by side. It felt like they were getting nowhere; there were always new orcs to replace the old, and Maedhros still hadn't appeared.
Fighting in a battle was nothing like sparring. There was little to no technique involved; for the most part, it required brute strength, ruthless endurance, and good luck. Lalwendë would have died at least twice if it hadn't been for Glorfindel.
He fought like a fiend. He had battle down to an artform; he was precise, deadly, and terrifying. Orcs fell before his sword in shocking numbers, and Glorfindel didn't even look tired. The pile of bodies before him grew at an alarming rate.
She caught him eyeing a troll a little way away from them, who was cornering two of Fingon's soldiers. She realised he was trying to decide between staying with her and going where his skills were needed.
'Go!' she shouted, breathing hard. 'I'll stay behind you!'
He nodded and ran off, and she followed him as best he could – until she caught sight of Fingon. He was fighting two orcs at once, and without thinking, she veered over, swinging her sword and catching one of them across the back of the neck. It crumpled, and Fingon made short work of the other one.
'It cannot be!' he shouted over the clashing metal and screams of battle. 'Lalwen?'
'Fingon!' she cried, nearly collapsing on him when he hugged her. 'By the Valar, it's good to see you melda!'
'You've saved us,' he said, pulling up his helm and wiping sweat from his face. 'I don't know what happened to Maedhros and his army, but we would have been lost without Gondolin. It is the fifth day that we have been here, and we have lost too much of our host.'
'Your brother would never have left you alone,' she said. 'But – watch out now!'
They turned to face new enemies, and it was another five minutes of struggle before they both came out victorious.
'Death doesn't scare me!' Fingon shouted when they had another moment to speak. 'Do you remember the kinslaying at Alqualondë?'
'Fingon, don't talk like that –'
'It has been a shadow over my head more than any other follower of Fingolfin,' he said, lunging and stabbing an orc in the neck with his knife. It died with a gurgling scream. 'I should have died long ago. If death finds me today, I will welcome it and call it long overdue!'
'Your father died because of his arrogance,' Lalwendë shouted back, grabbing his shoulder so he would look at her. 'Don't make the same mistake!'
'I have had a feeling for days, Aunt Lalwen,' Fingon said with a slight smile. He looked horribly like Fingolfin. 'If it is time that I joined my father, I will not fear it.'
'Lalwen!' she heard Glorfindel bellow behind her, and she turned, raising a hand. 'Here!'
He ran over, looking her up and down. One of the elves he'd saved from the troll came over with him. 'You said you would stay near me!'
'Glorfindel,' Lalwendë said to Fingon with a sigh. 'My husband.'
'My King,' Glorfindel said, nodding to Fingon like an afterthought. 'Lalwen, stay with me, yes?'
'I am not a child, Laurë,' she said. He stared at her pleadingly and she sighed again. 'Yes. Of course.'
'Tatanya, this is not going well for us,' said the other elf, and Lalwendë took another look at him, surprised. Indeed, he had the dark hair, bright blue eyes, and long nose that signified the members of Finwë's house.
'Gil-galad,' Fingon said to her, his smile broadening. 'My son.'
'What a beautiful name,' Lalwendë said, offering him her hand. She wondered if Fingon had told his son about his premonitions of doom. 'We haven't met before, but I am your… well, your grandfather's sister.'
'Finwë's daughter!' Gil-galad said. He bent and pressed his lips to her gloved hand. 'It is an honour, Lalwendë. I have long wanted to meet you.' Behind them, Glorfindel effortlessly dismembered three orcs that had taken it upon themselves to break up the conversation. Lalwendë smiled at Gil-galad.
'We will speak later,' she promised, and Glorfindel pulled her away.
They fought on.
The hours passed, and when the sun was setting, they heard the horns of Maedhros and the sons of Fëanor. Lalwendë nearly collapsed with relief, and she looked up to see Egalmoth fighting nearby them. He slew two orcs before making his way closer.
'They say the mortal men in Maedhros' host betrayed them,' he said breathlessly. 'Many have been killed.'
'Many more will die,' Glorfindel said, lifting his vizor to drink. 'This battle is not going our way.'
Lalwendë felt a thrill of fear, but she took the waterskin when he offered it to her. She drank.
'There is a dragon loose,' Egalmoth added. 'The dwarves are fighting it.'
'Good for them,' she panted.
'Here,' Glorfindel said, pointing a little way away. 'There are Fingon and Turgon. Let's go.'
He grabbed her wrist and pulled her with him as he made his way towards the brothers, and the man that stood with them. It seemed their conversation was going along the same lines.
'…forces are badly depleted,' Turgon was saying. 'Even after a day. When will Angband be empty of fresh troops?'
'What can we do?' Glorfindel asked.
'Rally anyone that you can,' Fingon said. 'We are scattered and tired. It's been quiet for the past hour, so I suspect something more is coming.'
'The dwarves succeeded in killing the dragon,' the man – Húrin, Lalwendë thought his name was – said, 'but it killed their king, and they have withdrawn from the battle.'
'Damn it,' Fingon said.
'Look out,' Lalwendë said suddenly. The gates of Angband were opening, and – a force more than three times the remaining elves and men spewed forth.
'Damn it,' Turgon echoed.
'Let's do this, brother,' Fingon said, drawing his sword and lowering his vizor. He raised his voice. 'My guard, with me!'
Suddenly Morgoth's new, massive army broke into a run, and they surged forward, the orcs riding on the backs of wolves. They drove a wedge between Fingon's guard and the rest of them, surrounding the High King.
'Stay with me, Lalwen,' Glorfindel shouted through the chaos, and with a massive swing he decapitated a passing wolf. The orc riding it broke its neck on impact. 'Stay with me! This is it!'
'We've lost,' she yelled back, bracing to face the orc that was rushing towards her. Glorfindel flung a dagger into its face before it could reach her. 'It's over!'
'No,' he growled, yanking her out of reach of a wolf's jaws. 'Don't give up hope!'
The fighting was dying down around them, and Lalwendë looked up and realised that everyone's eyes were on Fingon. He was facing a balrog, and as she watched, the last two members of his guard were struck down.
The balrog wielded a fiery axe, and Fingon was blocking each time with his shield. It seemed like he was holding his own, but –
'Watch out!' Glorfindel cried, and on instinct she ducked. An axe whizzed over her, and she drew her dagger and surged upwards, driving it into the orc's unprotected gut. She ripped it sideways, and he collapsed. Glorfindel yanked her up by her elbow.
There was a second balrog behind Fingon now, and he cracked his whip so that it wrapped around Fingon's neck, surrounding him with fire. The first balrog brought his axe down, and this time Fingon could do nothing. He was crushed, his torso almost split in two from shoulder to hip. The balrogs roared and beat his body into the dust with their maces.
'No,' shouted Lalwendë. 'No! No!'
'Fall back!' she heard Turgon bellowing, his voice raw as he watched his brother die. 'With me! Fall back!'
They rallied to him as best they could, but Lalwendë felt cold as she went. The third king of the Noldor was dead. Her father, then her brother, then her nephew. Dead. Dead.
'To me, Noldor! To me, Gondolin!' Turgon cried.
Glorfindel was dragging her, and when she realised, she picked up her feet and ran in earnest. Húrin and his brother Huor were beside them, and slowly the remaining army of elves and men came together.
'This is the end,' Turgon told them grimly when they finally drew level with him. 'The field is lost. We fight to the death.'
'No,' Huor said, standing tall. 'No, lord, take your people and go. We will hold the field.'
Turgon turned to the man, frowning. 'That is suicide, my friend.'
'While Gondolin stands, Morgoth will know fear,' Húrin said firmly. 'You are the last hope of the Eldar. Take your people and go!'
'Thank you,' Turgon said, clasping his hand. 'Thank you.' Then he turned and left. Lalwendë reached forward to clasp Huor's shoulder.
'Valar bless you, friend,' she said earnestly.
'Morgoth must die, lady,' he replied. 'Day will come again!'
Turgon gathered the remaining host of Gondolin, and any of Fingon's people that he could find, and they fled south through the fens of Serech and into the mountains. He set Glorfindel on their left flank and Ecthelion on their right to keep any of the enemy from surrounding them. Huor and Húrin and the men who followed them held the vanguard, bearing the massive brunt of the enemy's attacks.
Huor was killed by a poisoned arrow through his throat, and the rest of his men fell around him. Húrin was the last man standing, and at the last he cast aside his shield to wield his axe two-handed. He killed seventy orcs before he was overwhelmed and captured. Every time he took a life, he would shout in Quenya, his voice ringing out across the field.
'Aurë entuluva! Day will come again!'
They called it Nirnaeth Anoediad, the Battle of Unnumbered Tears.
Note on canon: who is Gil-galad's daddy? Well, I have gone with what Tolkien says in The Silmarillion, which is that he's Fingon's son, making him Fingolfin's grandson and successor to the kingship of the Noldor, which he obviously assumes.
I am doing my utmost to crank out this story. Thank you for reading! S
