The West Wind Quartet by Himring

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Chapter Two: The Retreat from Maglor's Gap

Major battle scene, most of which manages to take place just out of sight. Maglor kills an orc (really!). A mistimed genealogical discussion causes upheaval. ...and also an incidental dragon, obviously.

 

 

I

 

The morning of the day the Siege ended started in no way unlike any of the previous ones.  On my part, there were no premonitions whatever. I remember studying a threadbare patch at the heel of one of my stockings and deciding I could just about wear that stocking one more time without darning it. I don’t remember any of the conversation over breakfast, from which I conclude that probably neither Oderen nor I said anything we hadn’t said a hundred times before.

 

About mid-morning, there was a commotion outside in the street and I went out to check. People were standing about in small groups, whispering worriedly. I joined several, one after the other, but couldn’t quite work out what was going on.  A messenger, last night, with bad news—definitely. But what had been his message?  Nobody really seemed to know. I discounted several wild speculations that later turned out to be distressingly correct and went back in.

 

By early afternoon, at the butcher’s , however, everyone was certain a major attack from Angband was under way, although, still, nobody seemed to have any evidence or direct knowledge of anything. I decided to forget about the greengrocer’s, went home and told Oderen.  Soon after that we heard the town crier announcing the news everyone already knew. We regarded each other uncomfortably, still not sure whether it was really any concern of ours—Maglor and his troops would deal with it surely, somewhere out there—but alarmed that we were even this close to a war that looked like suddenly turning into a serious proposition. At the same time we were rather ashamed of our selfishness—or at least that was how I felt, because we didn’t really discuss it. And yet, it still hadn’t quite sunk in.

 

Later that afternoon, I made my way to Maglor’s headquarters for my scheduled music lesson. It wasn’t that I necessarily expected it to take place; in fact, I rather thought I might be going to be told by Maglor’s secretary that it had been cancelled, but it did not occur to me not to adhere to the usual routine. The square in front of the barracks, when I arrived, seemed to be a scene of utter chaos, horses and soldiers and stable hands milling about. In fact, it was rather more orderly than that, as I discovered after I’d stood gaping for a bit, but everywhere there were signs of urgency and haste. After a while, I spotted Maglor in the midst of it, his secretary next to him, busily jotting down Maglor’s orders. I hesitantly made my way towards them.

 

Maglor’s gaze, as he looked from one of his captains to the other, came to rest on me.  It was almost as if he had trouble recognizing me. I looked into his eyes and I realized that Maglor, the greatest singer of the Noldor—Maglor, who, as I had known him up to now, had lived, breathed and dreamed music, despite that conversation about priorities and Angband—did not at this moment remember that music existed. I might have been a visitor from another world.  So that was what War meant. I turned around and went home. I stood in the middle of the room, arms dangling, and tried to think what to do next. Nothing came to me, nothing at all.

 

 

 

II

 

The evening of the following day Maglor’s orders were relayed from the north, saying that Maglor’s Gap was to be evacuated. The civilian population was to make its way to Himring as fast as it could. However, the evacuation of a whole town is a tricky business and a slow one. I think Maglor had begun making some provision for this eventuality before he left—or at any rate someone had, because there were extra wagons, pack ponies and food rations—but there had been little warning, nevertheless.  Although each of us followed orders as best we could, our column did not move fast enough.

 

It was the ash clouds and the smoke that caught up with us first, billowing in the higher reaches of the air and obscuring the sun, as a strong northern breeze drove them across the sky. Then there came an acrid stench of burning on the wind, and the clouds of smoke appeared lower and more threatening. Soon after that that a detachment of Maglor’s riders, sent to intersect with us from the north, found us and urged us to greater speed.  Their appearance alone told a grim tale—blood-stained bandages and grey faces—and it hardly needed their words to warn us that danger loomed on the northern horizon.

 

We began throwing any of the heavier and less necessary items of our luggage out of the carts to lighten the load of the draught horses and oxen, and those of us who were fit enough got down and ran alongside. We were still not fast enough. Meanwhile Maglor’s main body of troops had retreated to try and hold such earthworks and fortifications as there were around Maglor’s Gap against the enemy, protecting our flank and our backs.  But they failed, because the enemy was too strong, and were driven south and west. When they rallied and caught up with us, we were still in the plain, just in sight of the hills. They fanned out around us, Maglor and his personal guard bringing up the rear, and shouted at us, their voices hoarse with fear.

 

We thought we had already been going as fast as we possibly could. Now, however, we found ourselves in an out-and-out race. A few of Maglor’s riders rode in among us, picked up any children they could get hold of and galloped straight for the hills. The poor oxen and horses drawing the carts were whipped into a bone-shaking pace; the carts lurched madly behind them. Oderen and I ran hand-in-hand. Sweat poured down my face. My heart was hammering. I was gasping for breath. I didn’t know what exactly was behind us and I hoped we wouldn’t find out. But we did.

 

The sunlight had already been weak and discoloured, filtering as it did through heavy clouds of ash. Now it seemed to grow even darker, and at the same time an unseasonal mist began to rise up from the ground under our feet.  It burned where it touched the skin, like acid, and thickened into a noisome fog, as if we were wading through a marsh, making it more difficult to see where we stepped and causing us to stumble on uneven ground. Then an overwhelming stink wafted up from behind, making us gag, even as we continued to run as fast as we could.

 

Relentlessly, the acid fog rose higher and higher, until it was above our heads, and we could not see the way ahead. There were shouts of warning, screams of panic, and then he was there among us, bursting through Maglor’s rear guard almost without slowing. Glaurung.  Glimpses of something huge, weaving in and out of the fog, towering above us like a wall, spreading a poisonous yellow glow.  I never saw all of him or his head; if I had, I doubt I would be here to tell the tale. But the fog filled with the fell strength of his malicious intent, brimming over with it, and sent many of us mindless with panic. Blank fear seemed to seep out of the air and through the soles of our feet.  It overwhelmed me, and I became incapable of coherent thought. If that unfortunate young Turin had the strength of mind to face Glaurung twice over, all I can say is that, however he failed in other ways, his soul must have burned brighter than some are willing to give him credit for. I didn’t manage to keep my wits together even when Glaurung wasn’t focussing his attention solely on me.

 

It was at that point that Lord Maedhros intervened, coming to our aid. I did not know he had. All I knew was that the fog lifted slightly, and the pressure of the worm’s malice on my mind eased. Later, I learned that Maglor, on first encountering Glaurung up north, had attempted to employ the tactics that Prince Fingon had once used so successfully, attacking him with mounted archers. But Glaurung’s scales had hardened, and the arrows could no longer pierce his armour. He ignored the archers, breached the front line of Maglor’s troops, and the orcs rushed into the gap after him. So Maglor’s defence failed, but he sent messengers to Maedhros, warning him of Glaurung’s increased strength.

 

Maedhros considered Maglor’s message and decided to try attacking Glaurung with cross-bows and see whether the greater force of cross-bow bolts might be enough to pierce the dragon scales. But cross-bows could not be used on the back of a galloping horse in the same way as bows and arrows could, so he would not be able to attack Glaurung out in the open and needed to set up an ambush. In the end, our plight stopped him from using his cross-bows as he’d planned. Instead, he and his troops attacked Glaurung straight out, but managed successfully to lure him into a shallow valley among the outlying hills, despite heavy losses. Maedhros had stationed men with cross-bows on the slopes, making the best use of what cover there was. The newly-improvised strategy didn’t entirely work. The valley was too shallow to hold Glaurung in, and the cross-bow bolts succeeded in penetrating the scales, but not deeply enough. However, Glaurung, who must have believed himself invulnerable, was sufficiently disconcerted by his wounds to lose his taste for the attack. He broke out of the valley, not without inflicting further losses, and went off eastwards, looking for easier prey.

 

But of all this, at the time, I knew nothing. When Glaurung’s malice receded, I found myself lying face-down in a shallow ditch, sobbing into the dirt. I gradually realized that I was quite alone and that I had no idea where Oderen was. It was very tempting just to stay where I was, keep my face buried in lovely, solid, reassuring soil, and hope that the enemy would continue to overlook me. But, for one thing, the ditch wasn’t nearly deep enough to be a safe place to hide and, for the other, I clearly needed to find Oderen if I could. I tried to wrestle down my paralyzing fear. It took a while.  Then I lifted my head and began to crawl in what I thought was the most promising direction. We had been going towards the hills. They seemed very close now, so I continued that way.

 

After a while, I concluded that I really ought to have a means to defend myself, if I met an enemy. Procuring one involved dropping the pretence that the motionless heaps strewn here and there were just a feature of the landscape. I halted by the corpse of a soldier who had an orc arrow sticking out of his back. As he had fallen forward, sprawling, the sword had fallen from his hand. I picked it up and realized at once that I would not be able to use it; it was too heavy for me. I bit my lip, took a deep breath and turned him over to get at the dagger in his belt. I drew it from its sheath; then I looked at the dead man’s face. A Noldo. He looked faintly familiar; I must have seen him about the town, but had never really met him or known his name.

 

‘Thank you’, I said to him.

 

It was all I could do, right then. I got onto my knees and elbows and resumed crawling.

 

 

 

III

 

There seemed to be some kind of movement visible to my left now. There were also faint, indistinguishable sounds from that direction. I was by no means certain that sound and motion were good signs, but I was alone and lost in unfamiliar country and staying with the dead would get me nowhere, so I cautiously headed that way.

 

There were more corpses, but now there seemed to be more dead orcs than elves. Perhaps things hadn’t gone quite as badly as it seemed? I avoided looking too closely at the orcs as much as I’d avoided looking at the dead elves. I’d hoped never to get this close to an orc, living or dead.

 

I came to an area where a couple of our carts had obviously broken down. Perhaps the draught animals had stampeded until they stumbled and broke their legs or the carts had overturned. But the horses that had drawn the nearest one at any rate seemed to have been killed by the enemy. There were arrows in their flanks, and I thought I also glimpsed tooth marks. I shuddered.

 

I crept past them and peered around the corner of the cart to the other side. There seemed to be troops massing further off, but I didn’t look too closely at them, because my attention was immediately drawn to the group in the foreground. There, over there among them, surely, surely—yes!  A profile I knew!

 

It wasn’t until that moment, feeling that dizzying surge of relief, that I realized I’d been sure Maglor must be dead. After all, he’d been right in the dragon’s path, he and his guards, when it descended on us. But there he was, still alive after having encountered Glaurung three times in a handful of days, organizing his men, who split up into small groups and began searching the area in haste, evidently looking for wounded survivors. I clung to the side of the cart for a moment, breathing a prayer of thanks to the Star-Kindler.

 

Maglor turned to those who remained with him and addressed them, perhaps giving them a message to deliver. He was not so very far away, but between us there was a space where a small skirmish seemed to have taken place and the corpses lay more thickly. Suddenly, I glimpsed movement among the dead. Someone wounded regaining consciousness... No!

 

An orc leapt up from between the dead and went straight for Maglor, and he wasn’t the only one, for out of the corner of my eye I saw others springing up, ready to attack. They must have been cut off from their main force and have lain in hiding, waiting for Maglor’s soldiers to disperse. A monster heading for my teacher’s unprotected back—I rushed after him without stopping for thought, brandishing the dead Noldo’s dagger. As he reached Maglor, I caught up with him and hurled myself against the orc from behind, trying to ram the dagger through his hide. Even with all my weight and impetus behind the thrust, I found it unexpectedly difficult. I felt the impact of the blow travel up my arm and knew it couldn’t have been strong enough to inflict real damage. I stumbled, and the rank smell of orc filled my nostrils.

 

Meanwhile Maglor, warned by the commotion and his comrades’ warning cries, had whipped around, sword in hand, and caught the orc in the belly. Weak as my blow was, coming unexpectedly from that angle, it was apparently enough to shove the orc further onto the point of Maglor’s sword, and it sank forward with a gurgling cry. Maglor’s eyes met mine across its shoulder.

 

‘He looks angry’, I thought. ‘That’s right; he didn’t need me.’

 

Maglor yanked his blade out of the orc, leaped around him and grabbed me by the shoulder. He dragged me back to the broken-down cart and thrust me behind the wheel.

 

‘Stay here’, he ordered. ‘Hide. I’ll come back for you.’

 

Then he ran to help one of his men who was being attacked by two orcs at once. I cowered behind the wheel, clutching my blood-stained dagger and shaking. Reaction had set in, and I knew I would never have the courage to go out there again. I didn’t even dare look, although after a time things grew quieter outside. There was still the sound of running foot-steps and loud voices, but the clash of metal on metal had ceased and there were no more screams. But I’d lost my nerve altogether by then.

 

I pressed my cheek against the axle and repeated to myself over and over again, silently: ‘He said he’d come back. He said he’d come back.’

 

Lower voices, less hurried footsteps—and then the voice of someone softly speaking Quenya. I couldn’t speak Quenya—still can’t, in fact—but Maglor had made me learn a whole repertoire of Quenya songs, so I understood it much better than the average Sinda, and it was precisely the fact that the voice was speaking so quietly and in a language that I associated mainly with music that allowed it to penetrate my panicky consciousness.

 

‘I’m sorry I was late. It looks as if we will have to redefine shouting distance, don’t you think? Or maybe we could just settle for your standing right next to me most of the time in the near future. I seem to have grown very nervous during the last couple of days.’

 

‘You’re not the only one’, Maglor’s voice answered. He sounded extremely tired, but I could follow his Quenya even better than the other speaker’s, because I was used to hearing the words of the language in his voice.

 

‘Any news of Carnistir?’

 

‘No, not since the dragon came between us. I tried to send messengers but they couldn’t get through, and the last ones I sent didn’t return.’

 

‘Who?’

 

Maglor named three names. There was a short silence.

 

‘Tyelkormo and Curufinwe?’, Maglor asked then.

 

‘That’s why I didn’t get here in time to assist you earlier. The enemy attacked Aglon as well, but not only that. They came from the west as well as the north, down the slopes from Dorthonion. I think...I think Aikanaro may be dead. We’ve had some refugees from Ladros and they reported rumours...

 

At any rate, a part of Morgoth’s army came between us like a wedge and our forces were split up, with Tyelkormo and Curufinwe on the other side. From what I could make out, they seemed to be retreating south and west in relatively orderly fashion, but there were too many enemy troops between us—and I had received your messages about Glaurung.’

 

‘I ought to have evacuated the town sooner’, said Maglor. ‘But the earliest reports badly underestimated the threat...’

 

‘I know. Findekano tried to warn me about Glaurung, but I don’t think even he foresaw what he would become... And who would have thought we had quite so many distant relatives out there?’

 

That last sentence, so softly spoken in regretful Quenya, took a moment to comprehend. Up until then, I had only thought of us as being attacked by terrifying monsters. That had been quite bad enough. I stared at the orc blood on the dagger in my hand and began to retch violently.

 

There was the sound of someone coming quickly towards me and then I was hauled forth from behind the cart wheel by Maglor, who steadied me as I vomited. Evidently, the first sound I’d made had reminded him where exactly I was. 

 

‘I think you would do better in the future not to discuss genealogy on the battlefield, brother’, he said, now in Sindarin.

 

‘I’m sorry, mistress, I had no idea you were within earshot’, Lord Maedhros apologized.

 

I ignored him; I wasn’t even hearing properly what he’d said.

 

‘His blood...! I stabbed him. I stabbed him from behind...!’, I whimpered.

 

‘I’m very glad you didn’t try to stab him from the front, Emlinn’, said Maglor grimly. ‘He was twice as tall as you and three times as wide, and you have no training whatsoever, don’t you? I should have seen to it that you had at least some lessons in basic self-defence.’

 

It was true; I had no training at all. Oderen knew how to handle a quarterstaff. That had been enough to ensure safety on the streets of Eglarest and Brithombar. We had naively assumed that it would be enough out here on the borders as well.

 

I drew the back of my hand over my mouth. Maglor made sure that I was able to stand and then released me. It occurred to me that I’d just interrupted a private interview between the Sons of Feanor, who happened to be not just the rulers of the district, but the military leaders on whom our safety depended. I backed away against the cart. Maedhros frowned, but not at me.

 

‘We ought to have waited until we’d got you all safely behind walls to exchange our news’, he said to Maglor. ‘The enemy are dismayed for the moment by the withdrawal of Glaurung and are holding off, but I don’t think that will last long. Gather up Mistress Emlinn and the rest of your people and get them to Himring as fast as possible. Clearly, you’re all exhausted, and none of you are in a condition for another skirmish. I and my troops will provide a screen for your backs. With luck, we can get everyone out of here, before they make up their minds to attack again.’

 

He turned and left. Maglor quickly summoned his remaining captains from farther off, but, before they arrived, he looked once more at me.

 

‘That last lesson we missed’, he said. ‘I’m not letting you off the hook, you understand. We’ll re-schedule it once we get to Himring.’

 

He was telling me that after all that had happened, after War and Glaurung and blood on the blade, there was still music in the world and would be again for the two of us. He was the one who would know; he’d been through things like this before. I could have hugged him and wept on his shoulder, but we were not in the habit of doing such things. Besides, he was about to be very busy.

 

‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Thank you.’

 

And then I firmly concentrated my thoughts on Oderen. He was alive, he just had to be, and we would find him soon. 

 

He was, and we did. Maglor swept up everyone who had survived Glaurung’s attack, and the remaining population of Maglor’s Gap finally limped its way into Himring. The gates swung shut behind us. For the moment we were safe, but, out there, Maedhros’s troops were alert and manning the lesser fortifications on the lower hills all round about. There were enemies to the west and the north and the east; soon they would be to the south of us as well. We had exchanged the Siege of Angband for the siege of Himring.

Chapter End Notes

 

Quenya names (in the conversation between Maedhros and Maglor): Aikanaro=Aegnor, Carnistir=Caranthir, Findekano=Fingon, Curufinwe=Curufin, Tyelkormo=Celegorm

 

Emlinn during the retreat from Maglor's Gap has now been drawn by Alasse: see the following link to her journal:

http://alasse-mirimiel.livejournal.com/14637.html

 

Update: new version of Alasse's drawing in her collection on AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20456276/chapters/48536480

 

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