Narn Gil-galad by Earonn

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Chapter 23: The War of Wrath IV: Morgoth Defeated

 

Yes, the title of this chapter corresponds to the book 'Sauron Defeated' (volume 9 of the 'History of Middle Earth').

 

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XXIII – Morgoth Defeated

The skies over Anfauglith used to be cloudy and grey. For neither light of sun nor moon, nor Varda's stars was allowed to touch the dusty earth.
On this evening, however, Anar hung close above the horizon and sent her last red-golden rays over the plain. It was a heartbreakingly beautiful sight, jubilant and promising, and the host of the Valar drew new hope from it.
It was this day, the sons of Eärendil arrived.

***

Elrond's grey eyes gleamed with excitement as he walked to the camp of the troops of Balar, flanked by his brother Elros and their foster-brother Maglor. So many years had passed since he and his distant cousin last had met, at Maedhros' fortress deep in the woods of Thargelion. He had been a child back then, young and inexperienced. How much would the King have changed from the uncle who used to laugh and read and play with him during his visits in Arvernien? A memory of dark, friendly eyes and a deep, warm voice teaching lessons and telling stories came into Elrond's mind.
He tried to catch a glimpse of Elros' face. Many times during their journey had they talked about what might await them and shared memories of those they had known. His brother frowned, surely he felt the animosity the people around felt towards their foster-brother as clear as he did.

A tall Elf approached them, his golden hair shimmering in the sunlight.
"Hail, Elros and Elrond! Your arrival has been announced and long have we waited to see again the sons of Elwing and Eärendil!"
The young Half-Elves bowed politely. Elros answered, being the elder of the two.
"Greetings to you, Lord Gildor," he said. "It is our pleasure to meet you again and an honour to be here."
Gildor raised a brow. He had expected a less formal behaviour from the children he once had known so well. 'But who can say what they have been taught to think of us?' he thought.
"Follow me," he eventually said aloud and led them to Gil Galad's tent.

Earlier this day another battle had been fought and the High King of the Noldor-in-Exile was cleaning his weapons when the four Elves entered.
"My King, the sons of Elwing have arrived."
Quickly Gil Galad dropped sword and oiled cloth, his face beaming with joy.
"Hail, Elros and Elrond, sons of my adopted sister. Let me have a look at you."
Elrond shivered. The sound of the King's voice and the melody of the Sindar tongue in his tone brought back pleasant memories of his childhood. Outwardly his cousin had not changed but Elrond could perceive the difference in Gil Galad's fëa. It seemed to have gained more depth and power. Suddenly the foresight of his people overcame Elrond and he knew that his fate was irrevocably bonded with his King's. The Half-Elf felt an inexplicable gladness as if he had retrieved something long missed.

Gil Galad was struck by the twins' appearance. Their faces displayed both Eärendil's strength and Elwing's delicate beauty. He remembered the children these young warriors once had been, their merry grey eyes filled with innocence, hope and a good measure of childlike mischief. Now they were serious, bearing already the memory of loss and pain.
How much had he hoped to spare them this war! Yet he was well aware that for Elros and Elrond who had lost their home and their parents in one terrible night even the War of Wrath would not be the heaviest burden to bear.
'I promised to protect your sons, Elwing,' he thought. 'Apparently I have failed you. Forgive me, little sister.'

***

The next battle Elrond and Elros joined Maedhros and Maglor's troops on the left flank of the Army of Light. They came close to where Gil Galad's banner proudly fluttered in the dusty breeze. Every now and then Elrond caught a glimpse of his cousin, fighting with grim fierceness and strength, the long spear deadly to all Orcs and other beasts around. It felt distressing for the young Half-Elf to see his loving, caring relative covered in blood and taking life with such apparent satisfaction.

Gil Galad was aware of the Fëanorian troops, too. From the corner of his eye he watched Elrond and Elros, all slender elegance, swift and dextrous. The influence of Maedhros' style was clear and had he had the time, he would have stopped to enjoy the sight.

His attention was forced back to the fight at hand as a dark shadow barely missed his face and pierced the throat of his banner-bearer instead. It was a short, thick arrow with calumnious curses written in blood on the shaft.
The Elf uttered a gurgling cough and broke down on his knees. One last time he tried to grip the staff but his hands had lost the strength to hold it.

Cursing inwardly, Gil Galad saw the banner tilting slowly. There was nothing he could do at the moment, having to defend his own life against countless attacking Orcs. He did not care about the banner itself, although it had been fashioned with great care and love. But he knew what this sight meant for the morale of his troops.
Finally the banner fell. A wave of uncertainty washed over the entire army of the Valar. Gil Galad fervently tried to fight his way through but too many enemies blocked the way.

Suddenly the Orcs to his left shrieked in anger and panic. The sons of Fëanor, he realised. Soon the enemy's onslaught was lessened. Gil Galad gathered his soldiers to adjust their ranks to Maedhros' warriors – and stopped with a surprised look.
One of the twins was fighting some steps away, close to the fallen banner, apparently using all his strength and skill to keep his stand near the cloth. Then he looked up and there was a firm determination on his face. And despite all the blood and dirt on the other's face Gil Galad realised at once that this was Elrond.
With a less elegant than forceful stroke the young Half-Elf buried his sword deep in the body of a tall Man from the East and pushed his opponent away. Then he bent down and almost hesitatingly touched the banner. And suddenly, as if some kind of spell had been broken, he swung it upwards, holding it high up to the pale sky where it unfolded in the harsh wind. A cry of joy and relief rose from the army as the Elves of Balar understood: their King was still alive. Elrond looked up to the silver stars on deep blue fluttering in the breeze.
Somehow it seemed right.

When the battle was over and the leaders of the army met, Elrond brought the neatly folded banner with him. His face showed as much awkwardness as defiance when he offered the pole to his cousin.
Gil Galad made not attempt to take it.
"That was a remarkable fight, Elrond," he said approvingly - not like a superior but an equal. "If you would carry this for me until I have found somebody else worthy of this position, I should be well pleased."
"Oh, it would be an honour, my King," Elrond answered eagerly. Then he shot a quick glance at Maedhros. "That is, if you allow, brother?"
Fëanor's eldest son did not answer at once. He saw the sudden joy on Elrond's face and at the same time felt Maglor stiffen beside him. He knew his younger brother sensed the change, too. Was this just the reverence of a young warrior towards his King or the first step on a road that eventually would separate them? Whatever, apparently Maglor did not like it.
Maedhros knew that his brother's feelings for Elros and Elrond were different from his own. He saw them as younger brothers, like Amrod and Amras had been. Maglor, however, had always wanted children of his own. At the day of his wedding already he had talked about his future sons and daughters. The bonds of family meant so much for him, a small wonder that he adopted a fatherly attitude towards these young twins now. Not for the first time Maedhros wished that Maglor had remained in the Blessed Lands or that at least his wife had accompanied him to Middle Earth. Actually, he wished that all of his brothers had stayed behind. (1)
A discreet cough interrupted his sad musings and Maedhros became aware of Gil Galad and Elrond's anticipating faces. He forced the words out of his mouth, his heart.
"If it is Elrond's wish to fight alongside his relatives, he may do so."
"You had better take good care of him, Finellach," he heard Maglor say, or rather, spit out beside him.
Gil Galad's face became wistful and soft.
"I will, Maglor. I once made a promise."

***

Elrond fought at Gil Galad's side, together with Celebrimbor, Gildor, Círdan and Argon, as he had done throughout all battles during the past weeks. It was a very dangerous position, so close to one of the main leaders of the Army of Light, but Elwing's son had been trained by the best sword fighter of the Noldor. Together they battled against Orcs, Trolls, Wargs, Men and all kind of evil creatures from Angband's black pits. Although there was rarely time for talk, Elrond came to know his distant cousin by means of the orders he gave, the decisions he made and the way he behaved, even how he fought and killed.
Once he had loved Gil Galad as the relative who told him stories and answered his questions. Now he was old and educated enough to judge the son of Orodreth as King of his people. And he understood why his men were willing to die for him.

On this day they fought on the western side of the battlefield, making their way southwards through a phalanx of Trolls.
At first the young Half-Elf did not understand why Gil Galad suddenly stopped to stare back with such panic in his eyes as Elrond had never seen it before, not even in the direst battle. Then he followed the look of his cousin and flinched back himself.

A huge creature emerged from the depths of Thangorodrim. Black, atrocious, a pain to behold. With cold, burning eyes it stared at them while heaving its massive body into the skies. It was a Dragon - but this one had wings!
Ancalagon was his name, the Black, and he was the most powerful of all Dragons. No living creature had his strength, and there was nothing in the air mightier than him. Only his spite was a fair match to his brute power.
Behind him other Dragons followed, ascending high into the air. Monstrous, giant, scaly beasts. Elrond felt his skin creep.

Gil Galad gaped at this new horror. For a moment it seemed to him as if he were back on the battlefield of Talath Dirnen where he had seen a Dragon for the first time.
Power. Malice. Sheer size. He shuddered.
Ada's death.
Every detail was painfully clear to him, the dark clouds, the stench of blood, the reflection of grey light on the Dragons' scales, the shocked expression on Argon's pale face.
He felt how he lost control - over his men and over himself. "Retreat," he cried.
For anyone there are things they can not bear, and here was the one even Artanáro Finellach Gil Galad could not endure. He felt the urge to run, run as fast and as far as he could. And in this first moment of panic it was neither duty nor pride nor courage but only the mass of warriors behind him that hindered his flight.

From the distance Finarfin looked over the battlefield. To the right the Edain watched in horror the winged Dragon but bravely held their stand and only slowly retreated, their ranks still in order. On his other side Sindar and Dwarves raised their axes, although they had to know how futile this was.
And in front of him he saw his great-grandson, so dangerously close to the black beast. Suddenly fear filled his heart.
'Oh no, not Artanáro, please, not him. Ilúvatar, don't let Artaher's whole family fall prey to the Dragons!'
The High King of the Noldor saw the Elves of Beleriand take their weapons but he knew, they could not fight these creatures. If the Valar did not send them any help soon, the Dragons alone would defeat them.

Ancalagon turned, his movements much too elegant and agile for such a massive creature. The Dragon knew what he was searching for, his master had told him:
Find the Herald. Find the Kings. Kill them.
It was easy enough to obey. Bred in hate and disdain for any of Eru's Children, it meant little to him which of them he killed first. If he was to begin with their leaders, so be it.
In a steep dive he swooped down on his chosen prey. The one with the stars. Ancalagon hated the stars.

Gil Galad saw the Dragon approach and held himself ready. He gripped Aeglos firmly and without even noticing it, his thumb caressed the silver letters of Finduilas' name on it.
"If this is the end," he whispered towards the winds, the earth and every spirit that might listen, "I will make it an end worthy of a Child of the One!"
The Dragon was so close now he could see the dark fire in the beast's eyes. To the left or to the right? He would decide only in the last moment before-
Someone caught him from behind, dragged him sideways down and into a small gap between a boulder and a heap of dead Orcs and Elves. The air was pressed out of his lungs from the impact and Gil Galad felt the other's weight on his. Argon. Only he could be so bold and so stupid to do such a thing.
Then the heat and stench and sheer horror of the Dragon was over them, only for a heartbeat's time but long enough to make their skins prickle from the heat. Gil Galad felt Argon's face pressed against his neck and he laid his arm around the guard's head in an attempt to protect him.
'Ridiculous,' he chided himself. 'What do you think this would help against the fire of a Dragon?'
A moment later it was over. The two Elven warriors raised their heads to watch the beast's flight.
Only now Gil Galad realised his mistake.
"Elrond, your habit of taking other people's places becomes a little...unnerving," the King said with an impish smile on his dirt-stained face.
The younger Elf blushed.
"I wanted to protect you and...and..."
"Apparently, you did. Don't you know that I promised your mother to watch over you - not vice versa?" He rose on one elbow. "Up with you, or do you want to stay on top of me for the next five hours?" (2)
The two Elves rose and Gil Galad looked around. He saw twenty or more winged Dragons hovering over the army of the Valar. Closest to him was the great, black one, about three men's length high above the ground. His wings whirled up dust from the earth and his head slowly went from left to right, carefully choosing his next victim. Gil Galad took up his spear. Aeglos' weight felt familiar and reassuring in his hands. He was ready.

Suddenly the Dragon lifted his head to the West and hissed. A faint sound filled the air, like the rushing of water mixed with the cry of a thousand voices. The next moment a white ship broke through the low clouds. With the same majestic slowness like the movement of Ancalagon's wings it floated through the sky, all sails set and filled with a strong wind. Its hull was exquisitely curved in the likeness of a swan, the most beautiful and seaworthy vessel ever built. Gil Galad sighed in awe. He knew this ship.
"Vingilot," he whispered, his eyes filled with tears.
The Valar had sent help at last!

At Vingilot's helm Eärendil stood a long sword at his side and the Silmaril on his brow. Behind him the clouds seemed alive with dark patches and moving shadows of every form and size. Soon keen Elven eyes could discern countless birds following the white sails. Huge and tiny, strong and weak, songbirds and birds of prey, they all came. At the front of the swarm was Thorondor, Lord of Eagles. The time of his revenge had come at last; finally he was allowed to satisfy his own desire for vengeance. For Fingolfin and Glorfindel, for Nargothrond and Gondolin, for the Dagor Bragollach and the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, and he yelled the battle-cry of his kind. "Arise, o Thornhoth, whose beaks are of steel and whose talons swords! Arise!"
Behind him the giant eagles from the Crissaegrim built the vanguard. They cried in answer to their lord and the Orcs shrieked in dread at this sound.
The winged Dragons turned from the Army of the Light and ascended into the sky, hissing and slivering. Vingilot held its course right towards Ancalagon. Together birds and white ship met their enemies. There was a cry of many voices, fair and terrible, and only a heartbeat later a huge body plunged from the sky, an eagle, his throat cut by sharp claws. Soon first one, then a second Dragon followed. Pardon was neither asked nor granted.

The pale daylight faded to a dark night of uncertainty, lit alone by the fires of the Dragons and the shining of the Silmaril. Elves, Men, Dwarves and Maiar retreated to their camp where they waited and hoped and looked at each other, long and deeply. Many revelations were made in this night, many confessions of past misdeeds or hidden feelings. They feared not only the loss of their hroar and the long separation during the stay in Mandos' Halls but the end of Arda itself. And much comfort was given, forgiveness granted and feelings returned.

Only Elros and Elrond remained as far outside on the battlefield as Maedhros would allow, watching each movement of their father's ship. They held each other's hands like children, and they did not notice when Maglor stepped behind them and laid his arms around their shoulders in a gesture of protectiveness and comfort.

Behind the clouds the sun rose again, and still the fight continued. They could see the dead bodies of Dragons lying on the plain, surrounded by countless birds of every sort and size. The Elves never forgot the courage of even the smallest bird who dared to challenge the fire of a winged Dragon.

Eärendil and Ancalagon were far in the North, high above the peaks of Thangorodrim. Fierce was their clash but at last the Mariner wounded his enemy to the death. With a terrible cry of hate Ancalagon fell, and crushing unto Angband he destroyed Morgoth's fortress. His body tore down the cruel walls of black stone and the mighty gates of iron. The ground was shaken with his impact.

As if relieved to spit out the soil that was tainted by Morgoth, the earth was in uproar and fiery chasms opened in fair Beleriand. Far away the sea began to murmur and became restless. The waves crept higher upon the beaches.
And then it sank.
Slowly, inevitably, Beleriand was engulfed by the waters of the Belegaer.
Those who lived inland had to retreat before the coming water. It moved on continuously, day and night and the slow had to run a merciless race. Who fell in exhaustion and could not move on was drowned. Of Men even the young and strong get pressed and each time they had to rest the water drew nearer.
Many would have perished save for the help from wandering Elves and Dwarves. These carried the children or pulled the carts with those who could not walk. For the Dwarves are stubborn in body as they are in mind, and strong, and the Elves need no sleep. Thus more escaped the drowning of Beleriand as otherwise would have, unless they were washed away by new rivers or fell into the gasps that opened all around. In some places the ground sank several man-heights in an instant. Its grumbling and the hissing of water became a familiar sound to the refugees.

At Thangorodrim's fall, however, the Army of the Light knew or guessed nothing of this. When it became clear that Morgoth's power was broken, the remaining Orcs and his other allies fled. Not waiting for Eonwë's command, Men, Elves and Dwarves started their final attack. At the head of all were Elves on horseback and Gil Galad was among them. The High King of the Noldor in Middle Earth felt triumphant and he thought that even if he died this day, it would not matter. Celebrimbor and Círdan were at his side, Argon and Elrond behind him, his grandfather ahead. This was their moment. And when they broke through the remainders of the gates like a flood over a broken dam, he laughed.

***

Once inside the giant fortress of Angband, the warriors fanned out. They opened all dungeons, freed the prisoners and carried out those who were not able to walk. And they wept at the sight of their kinsfolk, haggard, frightened and mutilated. Many of them hadn't seen the light of day for hundreds of years.
Eonwë descended deep into the pits and in the end he found Morgoth in a hidden lair. The Black Enemy did not fight; instead he begged for mercy and swore to help in the healing of Arda.
Yet the Herald of Manwë did not listen to him and he threw him down onto his face. One of Aule's Maiar, Curumo, bound him with the chain Angainor which Morgoth had carried before once already, and Curumo also removed the Silmarils from the iron crown. Yet it is said that this might have led to his own downfall many years later. (3) And Eonwë took the two Silmarils into his care despite the demands of Maedhros who claimed them as his and Maglor's inheritance.
Meanwhile, others had opened the throne room where many things were found that once had belonged to the great among Elves and Men, such as Ringil, Fingolfin's sword. It was given to Finarfin who kept it as a memento of his beloved elder brother. He knew, Anairë would be happy to get something that had belonged to her husband, may it be one of the swords she hated so much.

Morgoth was brought forth to the light where he had not been since his torture of Húrin many years ago. And so Gil Galad saw his family's greatest enemy for the first time in his life.
Later he sometimes tried to describe what the Vala looked like. He remembered that Morgoth had been dark, exuding terrible power, like a black cloud of a thunderstorm that threatened body and mind alike, tearing at the very fëa. But he was unable to recall his form, perhaps for the better.
Despite the pain it caused, he stepped before the Black Foe. Morgoth looked at him only for a moment before seemingly losing interest. But just as he turned his horrible eyes from the Elf, Gil Galad saw his own death mirrored in their blackness. Or was it just an illusion created as a last malicious deed?
'On a beautiful day, in a beautiful country, stabbed by one you love and trust,' the cruel voice echoed inside his mind.
'Perhaps. And perhaps this is just another of your deceptions,' he managed to answer wordlessly. Still he knew that from now on all his feelings of friendship would be stained with doubt.

Sauron came voluntarily, if only after it was clear that Morgoth's power had been broken and all ways of escape from the inner fortress were barred. He appeared in a shape of almost heartrending beauty, humble like a truly regretting sinner, yet still fair to behold. And such was the power of his chosen form that many of the Maiar were moved and willing to forgive him his atrocities. However, it was not their place to grant or withhold mercy, hence Eonwë ordered Sauron to beg the Aratar themselves for pardon, and Morgoth's former lieutenant went away - to the West, as many thought.
Gil Galad observed the Maia's slow and seemingly sad retreat.
"I do not believe him. One so cruel does not repent so easily," he said.
"Who can say what is in the heart of one of the Ainur," Finarfin replied. "Do not measure him in the terms of a Child of Eru, son, or in the light of your own hate." He caught the younger Elf's glance. "Do not try to tell me that you of all would be able to judge him impartially, Artanáro."
His great-grandson lowered his eyes. "I do not, grandfather."
Yet he kept his doubt.

***

On that day Eonwë summoned all Elves. And he announced that the ban on the Noldor was made naught and they might return to the Blessed Lands and live on the island of Tol Eressëa. Indeed he advised them to do so, to leave these lands of blood and sorrow.
When he heard the decree, Finarfin caught his daughter's hand. However, his smile waned at the Herald's next words.
"Yet those who have led the rebellion against the Valar shall be excluded from this grace, as are all who took part in the Three Kinslayings. They are to remain here and do further atonement for their deeds."
Galadriel swallowed hard.
"If this is the Valar's decision, all I can answer is that it matches my plans. For I do not intend to live as a sinner on Tol Eressëa, rather I will stay here in Middle Earth with our people. What wrong did the Golden House of Finarfin do that I should ask the pardon of the Valar, or be content with an isle in the sea, whose native land was Aman the Blessed?" (4)
Only very few could see through her proud bearing and recognised how deeply hurt she felt. Celeborn touched her hand and with a sense of guilt he sensed his own relief. For he did not feel ready to leave Beleriand and he hoped to return to the land of his birth, unaware that the forests of Doriath were flooding and Menegroth was already drowned by salty waters, a shelter to fishes instead of Elves.

A few paces away, Elrond and Elros exchanged meaningful looks.
"No matter what we do, we will lose someone we love," Elros stated.
Elrond searched for Maedhros and Maglor's pale faces among their followers. They seemed forlorn amidst the happy and relieved Elves around them.
"Our parents or our brothers," the elder of the twins went on. "It is not just. How can the Valar claim that Maedhros and Maglor have not suffered enough? They have, both of them, enough to repent for more than what they have done because of the oath they have sworn! None of the Aratar has heard our brothers cry in the night or seen their tears."
Elrond was less sure about his foster-brothers' atonement. How could one repay for the dead of Alqualondë, Doriath and Arvernien? What was it the Valar demanded from the sons of Fëanor to prove themselves worthy to obtain entry into Aman?
Elros grasped his twin's arm.
"Elrond, I do not want to decide for both of us. And if you want to go and see our parents, I do understand. But I can not abandon those who have cared for us. If our brothers are condemned to remain here, I will stay at their side."
Eärendil's younger son closed his eyes and despite his efforts to hold them back, two tears ran over his white cheeks. To see mother again, and father, and to live in the land of the Valar, far away from all the misery...
'And surely Finellach will return, too. What can hold him here where he lost all those he loved? In Aman he can wait until his parents and Finduilas return from the Halls of Mandos.'
Somehow the thought hurt. Yet why should it mean so much to him to part from a relative he had not seen for such a long time? Nonetheless it did. Elrond felt torn between his wishes and what seemed right. And he made his decision, ignoring his prior foresight and the calling of his heart.
"I will remain at your side, Elros," he answered and embraced his twin.
"Nothing will come between us."

***

Eonwë left the same day. He travelled through the remainders of Beleriand and the lands in the East behind the Blue Mountains, to tell all Elves, be they Noldor, Sindar, Teleri or even Avari, that they were allowed to leave Middle Earth and take the straight road to Valinor.

The following two days a great feast was held. Relieved that the Black Power had ended in Middle Earth and hoping for a better future, Elves and Men and Dwarves sang and danced by the light of bonfires.
Maedhros and Maglor, however, sat aloof in quiet conversation. When they finally nodded and left, no one noticed.

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Chapter End Notes

 

(1) Maglor's wife: Maglor's marriage is mentioned in the 'History of Middle Earth' volume XII, 'The Peoples of Middle Earth'.

(2) Elrond on top of Gil Galad for five hours: Ha-ha! I've won our bet! I've done it and yet you are not allowed to kill me, Nemis! Take this as the first part of your birthday-present! sticks out tongue

(3) Curumo was the name of the Maia who later would be one of the Istari sent to Middle Earth in the Third Age and there became known among the people of Gondor as Saruman. That he removed the Silmaril from Morgoth's crown and bound him again was my idea, I thought this might have been the moment when he got stained by the essence of the Black Enemy which caused or at least supported his later fall.

(4) "What wrong did the Golden House of Finarfin...": quote from 'The Elessar' in 'Unfinished Tales'. There Galadriel speaks these words to Celebrimbor. I always loved the hurt and the pride in them, so I couldn't resist using the quote here.