Full summary: The impossible happened – a Silmaril has been stolen from Morgoth's crown. Maedhros decides to reunite the People of Beleriand against the Enemy and attack him while he is still unprepared (which is by no means less impossible). Meanwhile, in the hidden city of Gondolin, Lord Glorfindel of the Golden Flower pursues the meaning of his recurring nightmares, only to find himself in the centre of a secret ploy against the ever-growing power of Maeglin Lómion in the King's Council.
The People of Beleriand are astir; and as the strings of our heroes' fates tangle, a dark shadow creeps above the North – the Fifth Battle approaches. And to what end, no one could dream...
A STATEMENT BEFORE YOU BEGIN
This fanfiction is a retelling (a novelization, you could say) of The Silmarillion, chapter XX, with a few twists. As such, it is filled with mythological lore, cites quite a few fictive languages, and is generally difficult to read – but hey, maybe some of you will be hooked.
Professor Tolkien owns everything apart from my OC-s, of course.
Enjoy your reading!
Laerthel
PROLOGUE
"In those days Maedhros son of Fëanor lifted up his heart, perceiving that Morgoth was not unassailable; for the deeds of Beren and Lúthien were sung in many songs throughout Beleriand. Yet Morgoth would destroy them all, one by one, if they could not again unite, and make new league and common council; and he began those counsels for the raising of the fortunes of the Eldar that are called the Union of Maedhros."
/ J. R. R. Tolkien - The Silmarillion; XX. Of the Fifth Battle: Nirnaeth Arnoediad /
An Ode to the Fallen
(as sung in the Hall of Fire in the Last Homely House by those who still remember)
Torches burnt low and darkness grew
in starlight's gleam hope stirred anew
in weary hearts of iron hewn
on brows clouded by icy gloom.
Proud kings fled and proud realms failed
our lands devoured by fire;
bury the dead and drain the mead
were all my heart's desire;
but lo! New threat comes from the North
along with hope, though be it false!
New hordes of Orcs are stepping forth
let thus a tale of woes be told;
Of he who walks in starlight,
who drapes himself in clouds
He who hides in caves and breaches,
icy peaks that Darkness shrouds;
of he who climbed those Mountains
where all paths find their ends;
of he who found pride, worth and might
where plague, danger and evil dwelt:
Of he who was not without fear
but strong enough he was;
of he whose fate, though hard to bear,
was still the one he chose;
and all those swords and all that light
and all those clear eyes burning bright;
O! Let me sing of silent nights,
of mighty deeds and twinkling stars;
Our Bane with valor in the midst
with life in death's embrace
as proud armies rode in the mist
with the worst of foes to face;
Our Alliance, our deepest sorrow
let our Great Tale begin!
Let the light of day stir by the morrow
while crows feast on our kin.