5) The Dagor Aglareb, the Glorious Battle – Year of the Sun 60 Yávië (Fall)

Chrys Menelrana

Fires dotted the lush green plains of Ard Galen, a beautiful but perilous land that sat just below the Dor Daedeloth, the area that encompassed Angband and the peaks of Thangorodrim. The heat from the fires and the torrents of lava made the area feel like a furnace in the pits of hell. A small army of a few hundred elves held their ground on a hill, surrounded by the bodies of orcs and wargs, intermingled with the corpses of elves. The gravely wounded crawled, hobbled and shrieked, creating a scene of horror on a field of grass that was covered in red and black blood. "Rally! Rally to me!" Chrys called. His silver plate armor was now coated in mud and the black blood of fallen orcs. A few hundred warriors rushed to form a wall with Chrys, shields held high. Their golden armor and crested helmets stood in defiance of the enemy. He held Kirlhach above his head, its long blade blazing with flame. As one, they let out a fierce battle cry. Through the slits in his silver helmet Chrys saw movement ahead of them. "Stand ready! Here they come again!"

Not a hundred yards away, orc riders spurred their wargs and they leapt ahead of the orc infantry, baying and howling for blood. All the elves could see were fangs, claws, and spears charging at them. Seeing this wave of horror Chrys questioned answering the call of Fingolfin, the High King, to provide support for the coming battle. Scouts had reported the growing numbers of orcs and Fingolfin, knowing a major battle would come, sent dispatches to all allies who could respond. Though a long distance from the south, Chrys knew that this would be important and that all elves stand together against the Dark Lord. And so, they made the month-long journey by sea. They could very well die here, far away from home and love. He pictured his wife Aelrie and his son Laurre for a moment, playing in the garden of his manor house. Then, he pushed the image from his mind and focused on the fangs and spears ahead of him.

"Archers!" Chrys ordered and gray shafts flew over his head from his Silvan allies. Casualties among the his lightly armored Silvan archers were heavy and they had paid dearly for their friendship to the Guild. These were his wife's people, and he knew them all by name, but he had no time to mourn now. Orcs in the first two ranks toppled over, looking like pincushions. "Fire at will! Here they come! Spears up!"

The elven shields locked and spears lowered in unison as wargs crashed into their tips. Fine weapons of enchanted steel, forged in the north by the High King's smiths, they punched through the wargs like pins through paper. Howls and shrieks rose from the beasts as they toppled over, some on top of their orc riders. The line of shields buckled but held. Groans rose from the shield wall as they strained to hold back the charge. Chrys braced a spearman from behind, his jaw clenched as he fought not to move back. "Hold the line! Hold the line!" He saw the tip of a weapon plunge through the back of the head of one spearman and the elf collapsed with a scream. A warg ripped the arm off another right next to that man and a gap opened in the line. He could barely hear his own voice over the din of snarls and screams. Chrys could see the danger as wargs rushed towards the hole in their defense. He drew his sword back, the weapon light and well balanced. He easily sliced the head off the first warg to rush through and it fell in a heap of smoldering fur.

"Fill the gap!" he called as he waded in the blood and gore that covered the grass. He shortened his strides to avoid slipping in the mess just as a dismounted orc rider screamed at him, raising its curved blade to cut. With a short stab, Chrys thrust the tip of Kirlhach into its mouth, abruptly ending the scream. The orc toppled over, only to be replaced by three more. Over the din, he could see the orc infantry closing. They would soon be overwhelmed. "Close ranks! Close ranks! Fill the gaps!"

Chrys cut down two of the orcs with controlled slices at gaps in their armor and then drove Kirlhach through the throat of the third. He then saw an orc leaping over his dying fellows and he tried to pull his sword free, but it was stuck fast, deep in the neck of the dead orc. He released his grip just as the orc crashed down upon him, hurling both to the ground. They fell into a puddle of black blood, splashing drops of it all around them. Chrys instinctively reached down for his dagger, but the orc already had its axe raised to strike. He caught its arm with his free hand and the orc headbutted him, its black helmet crashing into him. His helmet took most of the blow, but he was dazed by the impact. The orc wrestled the axe free just as a long kynac dagger shot through the beast's neck. It toppled over to the side and Chrys looked up to see a hand extended downward.

"So, it seems the tables are turned," said Fëatur with a wry grin. "At least you have clothes on." He turned on a charging orc and plunged his kynac into its eye. Fëatur wore light armor of enchanted leather that was plain and unadorned. His hair was wild and unkempt and his face was smeared with mud and blood.

Chrys grabbed Fëatur's hand and hauled himself up, thankful for the assist. "If you have any tricks up your sleeves, now would be a good time. Things are growing desperate." He looked sharply around, trying to regain an awareness of the battlefield.

"I have just the thing. Cover me." Fëatur spun his hands in front of him as if stirring two pots. Shimmering lights formed on his palms and then spread outward from his hands. In a moment, both warg and orc paused in their fighting and began to shake their heads as if confused. In another moment, with cries of anger, orc attacked orc and warg attacked warg, the enemy ripping themselves apart in a savage frenzy. "This won't last long and we don't have much time. I suggest we retreat."

Chrys and the spearmen cut down one last rank of orcs and then he aimed Kirlhach towards the rear. "The army will retire fifty paces and reform!" The years of training had paid off and the troops moved as one, closing gaps and interlapping shields as they backed up the side of a hill. Archers continued to rain arrows into the confused horde. They dragged as many of their dead and wounded along with them as they could. Still, Chrys saw butchered bodies of Aerlie's Silvan kin and his heart ached.

Fëatur looked spent. He wiped his face of sweat and blood. His eyes rolled back for a moment, and he almost doubled over. "That one…that one cost me. I had to wait for the right moment to unleash so much of my power." He wobbled slightly on his feet before he caught himself.

Chrys grasped him by the shoulder to steady him. "Thank you. You need to retire to the rear to recover. We will need you later." After fifty paces back the troops took position and planted the points of their shields into the grassy earth as Fëatur moved back away from the line. Chrys glanced from side to side, seeing Talan and Elerior leading their sections. They looked exhausted as the fighting had raged all morning.

Talan looked over and shook his head. "There are too many Chrys! Another wave approaches. We cannot hold!" There was fear in his voice.

"Fëatur bought us time. Fingolfin will be here. We must hold on." Chrys peered over the shield wall and saw a more massive force of orcs gathering, just out of bowshot. His heart sank. "Should I retreat now? We are spent," he whispered to himself. "If we lose this high ground, Fingolfin will have to fight uphill all the way to join with Maedhros." He looked again but saw something else. Something in the distance. Could it be? "Talan! Elerior! There! What do you see!"

Talan and Elerior stood up high and put their hands over their eyes. Elerior pointed off in the distance. "I see…I see the banners of Fingolfin! I see them!"

Talan shook his head. "They are too far, Chrys! They are too far. They will not reach us before we are overrun!"

Desperate inspiration took hold of Chrys. "Then we close the distance! They won't expect this." He pointed his sword forward. "Prepare to advance!" As one, the spearmen raised their shields and lowered their spears.

Talan shook his head but buckled down and prepared to charge. He let out a long sigh of resignation. "Well, if we have to die, it might as well be today."

"Forward!" called Chrys. He grit his teeth for what was to come. They would have to hold off for far too long before Fingolfin's army could assist. He thought about his son and Aelrie. Would this be the Guild's end? Did he make the right decision? Who would teach Laurre to ride and wield a sword if he fell? Two ranks of spearmen moved forward at the double, keeping their lines straight and their shields locked. Chrys could at least be proud of how he built a professional fighting force in just a few years. He pointed to the flanks of his troops. "Wedge!" he ordered, and the point of his line surged forwards, creating a steel tip in the center of the line that would drive through the enemy.

He could see confusion on the faces of the orcs as their line approached. "Archers! Fire at will!" The Silvan elves, hungry for revenge, shouted as one. Gray shafts with gull feathers flew overhead, finding targets all along the enemy's front rank. A smattering of arrows glanced off his shield wall in return, causing Chrys to blink. Then, he grit his teeth. "Charge!"

The pounding footfalls of the line drowned out any further shouting and the tip of the wedge crashed into the horde of orcs, driving their force apart. Spears plunged into orc bodies, spilling black blood onto the grass. With a howl of panic, the enemy line buckled around the tip of the wedge. "Push! Push!" Chrys cried, his voice barely audible over the din. He glanced over to see Talan crush the head of an orc with his staff. A spearman went down in front of him, and orcs poured through the gap. Too tight for cuts, Chrys thrust his sword into an orc's throat and flame burst around its face. Another struck him in the shoulder with an axe, glancing off his armor, but the impact made him grunt. He delivered another thrust through the orc's armpit as it raised its weapon for another blow. He stepped over the two corpses and then stabbed another in the eye. "Keep moving forward!" He needed to plug this gap, but perhaps it was an opportunity. With a burst of energy, Chrys pushed the orcs back, creating some room to employ his sword to the fullest. He cut twice in an X, slicing the necks of two enemies and stabbed a third. He had created his own gap as the orcs fell, flames spouting from their wounds. If only he could make it to the orc chief. Killing it just might cause them to flee.

He pushed through the gap only to face another line of orcs. Was there no end to their numbers. He cut down another orc, only to be confronted by more. Three of them thrust wicked polearms at him and he tried to sidestep. He sliced the head off one weapon and a second glanced off his helmet. A third found a gap in his armor above his thigh and bit deep. Chrys grunted in pain but sliced the orc across the face. He yanked the tip of the weapon from his leg with grunt of pain. He had never been wounded this badly before, but he could not stop now. He staggered forward, blood flowing down his thigh and brought Kirlhach down on another attacker, cleaving its helmet in two with a burst of fire. He knew the orc chief must be nearby. He could feel it. He could end this with a sword stroke and return home to his family.

Before he could move ahead, several orcs piled on top of him, and they all fell over into the blood-stained grass. Through the slits in his helmet, all Chrys could see were fangs and daggers. Fists rained down on his chest, pounding his breastplate like a hammer on an anvil. With a free hand, he drew his own dagger and slammed its point into the armpit of the orc on top of him. It shrieked and collapsed, its dead weight on his chest. With a shout, he shoved the body off of him and tried to rise, his wounded leg giving way beneath him. Disoriented, he could hear screams and howls all around him. Then, there was a low thrum as if the earth itself were moving and orcs began fleeing in all directions. Confused, Chrys shook his head to orient himself. He raised the dented visor of his helm and saw a spectral cavalry riding over the enemy army. In sheer terror, orcs toppled over each other, throwing down weapons. Talan and Elerior shouted commands to reform and hold.

"Looks like you need my help again," Fëatur said as he helped Chrys to his feet. "Here, lean on me." Fëatur looked utterly spent, sweat pouring down his face and soaking the tunic beneath his armor. "Like you said. I waited for the right moment. It's all I had left."

Chrys coughed hard and his friend slapped him on the back. He was ever so thankful for his friend's help and the strain this had caused him. When he had caught his breath, he wrapped his arm around Fëatur's neck and hobbled to the rear. "I take it you brought the cavalry?"

"Indeed. It's all an illusion, but I thought it was a nice touch. Fingon's cavalry will be here soon. We just needed a little more time. Those orcs won't be back." Fëatur's face was twisted with strain.

"We held…we held," Chrys said weakly as Fëatur helped him to an open patch of ground where they both sat with a huff. He could see the white horses of Fingon's force charging into the panicked orcs. He thought he saw Fingon the Valiant in his silver armor and sky-blue tabard riding at the front. A single rider, clad in silver armor and carrying the silver and blue banner of the High King's son, approached them.

"I am looking for Chrys…Chrys Menelrana, lord of the Southern Army," the rider said as he dismounted and searched around.

Exhausted, Chrys raised his hand, barely over his head and then removed his dented silver helmet. "I am he. What news?"

The rider planted his banner into the ground and then knelt before Chrys. "My lord Fingon sends his compliments for your valiant defense and heroic sacrifice. Without your effort, the High King and Maedhros would have had extreme difficulty linking up. The banners of Maedhros are now approaching. Today will be a great victory, a glorious battle as the High King is calling it. Orcs are routed on all fronts and in full retreat. Lord Fingon is sending his finest healers and medicines to assist. And we will help bury and honor your fallen."

Chrys nodded slowly, his head feeling like a mountain sat on top of it. "I thank you. And my people thank you. Please do not forget our sacrifice." He felt weak and his wound throbbed in pain. He glanced down at his leg and his pants were completely soaked in his blood. He did not want to see what was underneath.

The rider rose, retrieved his banner and then mounted his white horse. "I bid you a quick recovery Lord Menelrana. When you are able, the High King wishes to honor you and discuss the future," he said and then rode off to rejoin his force as a company of healers arrived and began tending to the wounded.

"Looks like I didn't need to get the orc chief after all," Chrys said with a chuckle to Fëatur. "You're proving to be very useful around here. I will not forget this my friend."

"I only hope to repay Mandos' mercy and earn the trust that I foolishly squandered among our people." Fëatur summoned a healer over. "Rest now, Chrys. I still have business to attend to. I will rejoin you later. I have no business meeting with High Kings." He grunted in exhaustion as he stood and then wiped his bloody face with a rag.

Chrys tried to rise. "My soldiers…I must help them," he said, but could get no farther than on his knees.

"No, no," Fëatur said sternly and guided his friend back down. "You've done enough. You've lost a lot of blood. We need you. Let the healers do their work." He stepped away as an elven woman knelt beside Chrys and lay him down in the grass. She placed an herb beneath his nose and his vision darkened as a sense of peace and well-being took hold of him. He watched Fëatur riding away as the world faded.