Ah, no. Not that bright soul! Surely it could not end like this for Glorfindel and him? Surely Glorfindel should have gone out in a blaze like Gil-Galad, Fingon and Fingolfin! Not quietly dispatched by Sauron's ghouls. Erestor felt his heart squeeze and slowly grief overwhelmed him. Glorfindel gone? It could not be!

Suddenly Angmar's empty hood lurched threateningly towards Erestor and an ear-splitting scream tore apart the silence and emptiness. The mace swooped through the air and a foul wind ripped at his hair, battered him and tore around the empty hall. In the moment the Witch-King struck. Erestor leapt sideways just as a huge spiked mace crashed against the marble with a huge crack. It split beneath them like ice and the Witch-King drew back and raised his mace once more, swung it once and smashed it again at Erestor's feet as he leapt again to one side. Splinters of marble flew put as it shattered. No man, even an Elf, could have raised that heavy weapon.

'Clumsy and old you are, Angmar, you rust-bucket,' he shouted, jeering, but his heart was pounding; he was still alone in this place, and this was no weak, unnamed Wraith; this was Angmar, the Witch-King. Lightning flashed again and Erestor glimpsed again the skull, the grinning teeth and jaw of Angmar. He whirled his sword over his head three times. Defiant. Terrified. Miserable with grief for Glorfindel's loss, for his own death.

Blue-silver lightning flashed and suddenly, like a reproach, there was Maedhros himself arrayed for battle and splendid in his fury as if Erestor's fear and misery had conjured him. He stood in the Glass haloed in blue light for a split second and the Dark behind him was a red furnace. Erestor thought for a moment he saw a shape in that fire and thought of Glorfindel's fear that the Balrog was in there. And both were gone, plunged again into darkness.

Erestor stood staring for a split moment and the Glass lit again from within as if some far off storm lashed itself in the dark. And then plunged again into darkness.

You are forsworn. He is here to reproach you.

Erestor laughed then for Maedhros had never reproached anyone for anything, even Fingon's reckless betrayal, even his father's terrible Oath. And he would never reproach Erestor whom he had raised as one of his many fosterlings. But more than that, it meant that the Nazgûl had seen Maedhros. It was not just Erestor. Maedhros is here! His heart thumped in his chest.

'How can you know his love? How can you comprehend anything about he who was greater than any man who ever lived?' His chest surged with pride and love and loss. 'You are merely scary ghosts in the dark!' he shouted loudly because that gave him courage. 'Your greatest weapon is fear! And that cannot hurt me.'

Then he whirled fast and slashed at the black shrouds, and there were sparks as his sword struck old iron, armour. Khamûl retaliated hard and fast, furious blows rained down and Erestor was hard pressed when he heard the whirr in the air as Angmar swung his great mace slowly around his head and there was a huge whump on the air as the mace crashed towards him. He just managed to slip out of its path but it put him into Khamûl's sword's way and he felt the blade slide down his tunic and the seams burst open.

Erestor had a horrible memory then of a fluttering light like a trapped bird, Rhawion. In his heart there was a thin, cold stream in his blood that was indeed fear. Would the same happen to him? Had they devoured Glorfindel?

There was a long hiss from the Nazgûl that could have been a sigh but he had no time to dwell on it for Angmar swung that huge mace again and this time it struck sparks from the floor, splintered it like glass. Erestor glanced behind him to the Mirror, trying not to think what damage that mace could do.

The temptation of that…brightness. The light.

They were so hungry! Starving. He felt the emptiness gnawing at their bellies, chewing on their bones and the gaping wide mouth that devoured, devoured and devoured them leaving nothing. Less than nothing- a yawning hole into which all light, all energy fell forever, and was never, never satisfied….Agony.

We must feed, we must have souls to devour and the soul of a nimir would feed us indeed, for an age. This old soul, burned to purity, will warm us. Will sustain us for long years to come…But forbidden by my Lord, we hunger. And starve.

Erestor fell back. It was a brittle leash of Power that kept the Nazgûl in check, stopped them from hunting the souls of elves and rending them soul from body… but it was strained indeed. It struck him for a moment that Pitya-Angu would be punished indeed.

Khamûl struck. Blades rang out again, hard and fast and the wraith swung round and struck Erestor again. Red fire and blue lightning blazed in the Glass like some epic reflection of his own battle and somewhere Erestor was aware again of a distant roaring like a fire had caught somewhere far off; there was something building, a charge lighting the air.A rumbling but still distant crack of thunder like a whip of flame. In that moment of inattention, he felt a tear along his back and moved faster, threw up his own sword in front of him and whirled fast, meeting Khamûl. Khamûl stepped back quickly, evading Erestor's blow and then suddenly, he reached into the folds of his black robe and drew forth a strange knife; its blade was black like Elrohir's blade, Aícanaro, and its hilt was twisted into a serpent shape and there were small jewels for its eyes and they glittered.

A morgul blade.

And here you are. Alone. Perhaps you will yet comprehend.

There was a hammering on the doors to the Óromardë, boom after boom like the sea striking the cliffs and Erestor almost sank ; this could only be the third, maybe fourth of their brethren? This was the end of all things for him. The doors buckled for a moment but held and he was glad that Angmar's power had sealed them so tightly but the hammering did not cease and the echo of the boom boom boom resounded terrifyingly around the marble hall.

Then Khamûl's old sword slashed down and Erestor raised his own bright Fëanorian blade to block the blow but in that moment, Angmar swung the mace once again and Erestor could not defend himself against both; Khamûl's sword pressed down on him and he felt his foot slip, he crashed to his knees and flung out a hand to stop himself falling. Angmar struck. The mace pounded down but it was fortune alone that it was the heavy chain that struck him and not the mace, for his arm would have been smashed to splinters otherwise. As it was, his sword was knocked out of his hand. He scrambled after it but it clattered into the darkness, the cold black shadows and he suddenly felt afraid to go into that darkness…

Instinctively his hand flew to his knife belt and he felt the unfamiliarity of a knife that was not his own. It hissed in fury and rage as he drew the morgul blade from the sheath he had made for it when he decided he would keep it and not Saruman.

He looked up with a grim smile on his lips.

'You were careless on Amon Sûl,' he said softly. 'You should not leave things lying around if you want them back.'

Angmar was utterly silent but his fury made the air tremble. He advanced not a step closer though and Khamûl fell back.

Fool! You dare threaten me!

Erestor, still on his knees, tilted his head and regarded them thoughtfully. Angmar seemed to draw himself up, and though his hood was horribly empty, Erestor felt the burn of his scrutiny…and something else: fear?

'Do you fear the morgul blade?' he wondered aloud. 'Does it rip you from this world and throw you into the Dark?'

Silence. The edges of the black robes lifted slightly in the bitter wind that whistled through the cracks in the roof and it was suddenly colder. He pushed himself to his feet and shoved away the fear that caught in his throat that he knew was their greatest weapon.

'I am not afraid of you, mere ghosts in the shadows!' he declared.

But even as he spoke, a great boom echoed round the hall and at that moment the doors buckled and suddenly were thrown back and crashed against the walls. The ground shookand small stones and rocks smashed onto the marble floor. Three figures burst in through the cracked open doors.

I am finished, Erestor thought. But I will not go quietly.

A bright figure was running towards him at the moment his eyes cleared and he saw it was Glorfindel! Erestor almost collapsed with relief and then he saw the Sons of Elrond follow and his heart sang.

Angmar screeched with rage and swung his great mace so it crashed towards Glorfindel but Khamûl moved past Glorfindel towards the sons of Elrond. His thin black shroud moved and the tattered ends curled, writhed like serpents, like long fingers reaching horribly for Elladan. Lightning glittered in the tiny red jewelled eyes of the knife in Khamûl's mailed gauntlet.

Elladan turned his lovely, fearless face towards Erestor for a moment and smiled. Erestor's heart stopped and everything seemed to slow. He was aware of a crushing heat growing in the Hall. A sense of immense danger rang in his blood. He turned his head to see that the Glass bubbled red and fiery and the surface moved and undulated

'Get out!' he shouted to Elladan, 'Glorfindel! Get them out of here!' but it was overwhelmed by the deafening roar from the Glass.

Blue light swept over the surface and then red fire overwhelmed it. A huge bellow of rage thundered through the hall and it was from the Glass. Glorfindel was white-faced, his bright sword held before him. Erestor cried out in fear for the Nazgûl were close and there were shapes moving in the Glass, a furnace that raged and lit them all fiery red. The roar of the flames thundered through the hall and the surface of the mirror bulged like a bubble and stretched into a bowl of flame. Erestor stared in horror and saw within, a shape; one that he had dreamed of in those terrible memories of the Tears when the balrogs had ground Fingon into the mud.

Ruinátoró

Erestor saw upon the Cristhorn now, Glorfindel stood at bay, and ahead of him a huge towering figure of shadow and flame, horns of fire and its tail lashed against the rock, bringing down a scatter of rocks upon the Elves that fled before it. Glorfindel stood so bright and so courageous in the face of such a terrible foe. His bright sword was in his hand and he leapt towards the Balrog as Gondolin fell, its white towers crashing down, the bells clanging hopelessly and the hordes of trolls and orcs and balrogs pulled down the walls and the dragons soared overhead. But Glorfindel stood and fought….

This was Ruinátoró, the balrog which slew him and he slew in turn. And it was bursting out of the Glass and Glorfindel could only stand, his face white with fear.

'Glorfindel!' It was Elrohir now who ran forwards and grabbed Glorfindel's arm, dragged at him but Glorfindel seemed rooted to the ground and his mouth was open, staring in horror at the huge fiery demon that shoved against the Glass so it bulged dangerously. 'Glorfindel, run! It is shattering! Breaking!'

Splinters seemed to burn off the Glass and exploded into the air, the roaring bellow filled the hall and the heat was unbearable, a furnace. Erestor seized Glorfindel's other arm and together with Elrohir they dragged him away from the Glass.

What he did not see was Khamûl's raised arm and the glint of metal as the morgul blade flew through the air. He felt a body barrel into him, and he crashed to the ground, grit and stones ground into his cheek.

0o0o

tbc