East-front by Gwenniel

"Well..."

He looks at me with a smile as I ride my horse up next to him.

"...what do you think?"

I don't need to answer for him to know how much I like it.

Before us was a breathtaking landscape. The summer in Hithlum was definitely different from the one in Himring. Both were a welcome change from the cold of the winter, but whereas the summer far away in Himring was hot -- sometimes too hot -- with endless draught and dry, sweeping gusts over the fields, the summer in Hithlum was pleasantly cool with occasional rain showers and fields of green and yellow swaying in the breeze that rolled over the mountains from the sea. And when it was sunny like today it was another world and yet a world so familiar, reminding me of endless days in Valinor with its countless meadows blooming in eternal light.

This is how I get when seeing those landscapes: nostalgic. After riding the whole morning, at noon we reached the summit of a hill where I can finally forget my troubles. Findekáno dismounted from his horse to stand beside me. He glances at me, saying nothing and merely smiling while letting me take in the view. He wanted to show it to me early in the morning before we would have to attend one of the final meetings, because he knows it will take my mind off troubles, because he knows views like these are a rarity in Himring my home.

"Does it hurt still?" he asks after a while, touching my hand. I shake my head. "Good."

Findekáno always knows what do when my wrist hurts. I guess he feels some guilt for being the one who cut it off even when knowing I would not have it any other way. They say pain goes away. I am not always so sure about that. I sometimes wake up in the middle of the night or too early in the morning, and if the pain in my right hand is too much I can't fall asleep again. Instead I lay in my bed, staring at the ceiling with empty eyes, waiting for the day to begin, deep in my thoughts. My right hand is gone, but how can something that is there no longer hurt so much? Pain goes away. The emptiness never will.

The last time my cousin visited my home on Himring was in late autumn. I remember it because the day he left for home was the day winter came and the hills turned white. It was now early summer and I had traveled to Barad Eithel to the council where we would discuss the upcoming battle upon the enemy.

"Maitimo," he says. "Whenever that wrist hurts... Just tell me."

"Findekáno, you know I don't hold you to blame for anything. A bit of pain in my hand is a small price for freedom."

"I know. But tell me."

I promise to do so. Why should I argue? Findekáno is just too kind, too thoughtful. We sit on the hilltop until my cousin says we need to return in order to not be late for the meeting,

The gentle Findekáno changes at the council. My childhood friend becomes Fingon, Son of Fingolfin, High-King of the Noldor, his look grave and his posture proud.

"The most important part is secrecy," he spoke. "An attack from East would hopefully empty most of Angband, but only if the enemy has no idea of our true plans."

"But the final plan is still secret," a counsellor noted. "The leaders of the troops have all been informed of the outlines, but as of yet, the only people who know about our final decision... are all gathered in this room as we speak."

Findekáno nodded. "Yes. Our hope is that Morgoth has not taken notice of the summons to the front."

"That Sauron's stronghold on Sirion was destroyed is a clear advantage," I commented. "Would it not be for Princess Lúthien exiling Sauron from Tol Sirion, Morgoth would know everything that happens in the south. As it is now, he doesn't seem to have taken notice of the armed forces that have migrated north during the past year."

"The move has been smooth," the commander of a troop from Falas agreed. "The Enemy has not intervened, not even with these final enforcements. No spies have been encountered by the coast."

"His security has decreased in quality," my cousin replied dryly.

True. I thought of how it was less than a decade when the daughter of Thingol and her lover -- now her husband to my brother's great dismay -- had breached the strict gate control of Angband. But had not Morgoth had enough of time to rebuild his power since? I remembered the power of the fires that had erupted during the Battle of Sudden Flame, the battle that had ended the Great Siege.

"We still have to take utmost care," I said. "Yet our mission is not hopeless. Breaking into Morgoth's throne room and sneaking away uncaptured is something we all once deemed impossible, but it was not. Breaking the whole of his military strength is a different matter, but maybe there is a chance that it is not impossible either." Everyone had their eyes set on me. I went on. "This time we are once again the offensive, not the defensive force. Our hope lies in taking the Enemy by surprise from two directions at the same time. Clenched between the forces of the East and the West, the enemy will succumb."

The others in the room nodded, taking my words into their hearts. Counsellors and military leaders alike hoped that when Lord Maedhros, who himself had once been a prisoner of the Evil One, believed in victory, victory would indeed be won. Had not his own rescue from Thangorodrim been something that even his own brothers had once deemed impossible? But a voice beside me spoke up:

"Our hope lies in strength. But our hope lies in the Union, also. It is the first time that both Noldor, Sindar, Edain and Naugrim unite under the same banners. Between the united forces of the Free People, the enemy will be outnumbered. That is the way our victory will be won."

My bother Maglor Macalaurë, soft-spoken with a tongue of gold, knows how to move the hearts of his kindred. I was grateful of him being there. Because when I spoke of war like this, I spoke without showing any fear even if I would be terrified. So if I was to kindle hope in everybody else, who would send hope to me? My brother, with a small quirk of his lips, bowed his head. I admired how he managed to look so regal with his silver circlet, even as his dark hair rested freely on his shoulders and a harp lay on his knees. I didn't know how he did it. Then again, he said he had never understood how I managed to look so regal even as blood stained my cloak.

"You are right, Maglor," Findekáno said at last, looking up with a smile. "Our hope lies in the Union of Maedhros and in the unity of all who oppose Morgoth."

The window behind him let in light from outside, making the crown on his head shine even brighter. I smiled and looked away. My hope lay in him and in my brothers.

The council, dull but important, boring but unavoidable, went on along with the whole of the afternoon. My head felt tired from the stuffy air and after some hours into the meeting my hand started to hurt again, a pain aching in the fingers that were there no longer. I leant back in my seat and closed my eyes briefly, thinking of the fair fields of green I had seen this morning. I would rather have been there again, on the hills near Eithel Sirion.

"I know those of Eastern kind, or at least the memory of my kin does," someone spoke. "But we have not heard of them for ages. Have they really fled the darkness? I would have feared it would already have found them." I opened my eyes. The speaker was an Adan, golden haired, not so tall, but strong looking and grave of face. I recognized him as the current Lord of Dor-Lómin.

"There are still Edain beyond the mountains," Findekáno answered. "It seems they might at last be given the chance to follow your path into the light."

"Day shall indeed come for them as well," the Man said, folding his arms. "It brings me joy, although I am surprised."

"Morgoth's power reaches out, because those Men have told they too have great fear for him," I said. "You may not know them, Húrin, Son of Galdor, but they have said they are willing to fight by your side although they have had little contact with Beleriand before. My brother has signed an allegiance with Ulfang of the Easterlings and I myself have given lands to the House of Bór."

"And mayhap with their help," Findekáno said, "this battle will end better than the last."

Indeed. We had many a friend and family member to avenge.

There was a memorial stone on Himring. A tall grim weather-torn piece of rock. The names of the dead were written on it, starting by my father and going on and on and ever on until there would no more room for names. I thought bitterly of the last battle. It had been a disaster. When Findekáno said "better than the last" I knew that he thought of not only his father, our High-King Fingolfin and my uncle Nolofinwë, but also our cousins who had been swallowed by the flames that devoured Dorthonion and all the victims of the wars.

The High-King was back to his old self, back to my cousin Findekáno whom I knew and loved.

"You insist on calling it 'the Union of Maedhros'," I scoffed. "What is a union that is named after one person only?"

Findekáno laughed at my annoyance as we walked away from the council on our way to get some fresh air in the private courtyard, finally taking a break from the stuffy room. "Oh come, cousin, was it not your grand project from the start? We have you to thank." "Oh come, cousin," I mocked playfully. "You could name it after yourself at least. Are you not the High-King?"

"I am the High-King, yes, and thus I may call it whatever I please."

"Maitimo is afraid of that he will be the one blamed if the failure bears his name," Macalaurë said with a smile. "That's what he told me." I rolled my eyes.

"It will not fail," Findekáno said and stopped. "Maitimo, it will not fail. As long as you and I stand together I will not let it fail. We have everything planned." He lowered his voice. "You and your brothers from the East and I with my army from the West. Morgoth will be trapped."

"He will," I admitted. "Yet, there are so many things I would wish more time for before we run out of time altogether. Doriath is not on our side, and of Turukáno we do not know - we barely know of any of his allegiances."

"You have to pardon our foolish brothers, but there is no time unlimited that would be enough to convince Thingol," Macalaurë put in. "Doriath would not join for all the mithril beyond the mountains."

"And Turukáno will..." Findekáno begun. His smile faltered. "I don't know where he is, but I know he hasn't deserted us."

I regretted my words of doubt. I should not speak so of Findekáno's lost brother. How would I feel if I knew not what had happened to my own siblings? Of Turukáno we indeed did not know, but as the brother of Findekáno, he would always be on our side.

"I am sorry," I said and tried to smile. "Of course we will be fine. I will not take back my words at the council: we still have a chance of success." A chance? I did not sound as reassuring as I had meant to. "No, let us go now and take our minds off these things of trouble," I smiled again.

Findekáno nodded. His sorrowful expression faded and he stood a bit taller. "Let me look for a bottle and we can share it under the sun," he said.

He insisted on that he needed not be followed, so Macalaurë and I were left waiting for him to return shortly.

"I would not have expected you to speak of Turukáno in front of his brother," Macalaurë said quietly, leaning towards the wall of the hallway, glancing out the window. "Were you Carnistir I wouldn't be so surprised, but-"

"You know I usually don't," I replied sharply. I left it at that - two members of Findekáno's council passed us by at that moment - but I walked next to my brother, placing my hand on his shoulder. "You know I don't," I said again.

"Yes. But to doubt his allegiance," Macalaurë replied simply, his voice unchanged. "We did not even doubt the allegiance of Tyelkormo and Curufinwë in their exile to Nargothrond. Or that of the Ambarussa when they decided to stay in the South. Findekáno has already lost his father and Irissë: it is not wise to suggest that Turukáno was beyond out hopes."

"I did not-" I finished the sentence halfway. My right hand hurt again, slight pain flowing inside the scarred stump. Did Macalaurë truly think Turukáno had abandoned us? I would never hold such beliefs of him. Findekáno still spoke dearly of his brother. As would I, had I been in his position. But we had to be realistic."Turukáno will never abandon us in thought," I said, my voice sharp, I knew it, but Macalaurë listened without a word. "But I am the High Commander of the Union. I will not have our strategies depend on a force that may not come."

"I know," Macalaurë said.

His answer was too short for me to argue against. I leant away, and hid my frown just in time for Findekáno's return. But he saw that something had happened.

"What is it?" he asked. I shook my head and smiled.

"Nothing. We were just waiting for you.

My smile did not fool my cousin. He looked at me with mixed suspicion and concern. "Maitimo," he said and took my hand softly. I made no move, but clenched my teeth together. "Does it hurt again?"

"No," I said. "I am fine." My cousin looked at my brother with a questioning look, revealing how little he believed in me. The latter made no expression in answer, so Findekáno merely sighed. "Maitimo, please," I am just trying to help.

I knew it. There were few people as kind as Findekáno: of course he meant no harm. But his concern annoyed me. It upset me more than I would have wanted and I was ashamed of how my feelings showed through. Keep your feelings under your control, Curufinwë would sometimes say with his characteristic smirk. It is your best disguise. But then again, he would not have suffered people to think he needed help, either. "I am not a weakling," I muttered, pulling my broken wrist from Findekáno's fingers. "I am not some distraught child that needs to be cared for, so don't look at me like that."

"But something is clearly on your mind and your wrist has been hurting lately more frequently," Macalaurë said quietly, joining the conversation. I glanced at him.

"War is on my mind," I replied coldly straightening my back. "My wrist merely itches to get its revenge on our Enemy." With that I turned around. "Shall we?" I said and continued to walk, leaving behind both cousin and brother. I felt their eyes in my back, I felt the eyes of everybody. But as a Son of Fëanáro and someone who was generally taller than most, I did not care. Instead my eyes found someone else. A Noldo, bearing my family's standard on his vest, stood in the corridor, waiting for me.

"Lord Maitimo," the messenger called and I walked up to him. "A letter to you, my lord," he said breathlessly. I thanked and took it from him. I recognised Curufinwë's hand. But I would read the letter later. As I tucked the envelope into my pocket, the Findekáno and Macalaurë walked up to me. "Shall we?" I said again I had at last regained my calm. Findekáno nodded, his all too kind eyes flickering one last time to my right wrist. I put my hand in my pocket as well, and his eyes looked away. But my cousin merely lead us to the courtyard where the paved paths surrounded a small garden.

Breathing deep in the sunlight, I did not know any more why I had given way to such a foul temper. Possibly because, no matter how I denied it, the issue of wartime alliances troubled me. Possibly because of how Macalaurë had suggested I did not put faith in my people. Possibly because my brother, if wrong in one matter, was right in another: my wrist hurt more frequently for unexplainable reasons, and it was very likely to be somehow connected with "something being on my mind".

Dear Maitimo, Curufinwë had written.

the preparations are doing fine. Moryo arrived a few days after you and Káno left. Ambarussa have sent message of that they will arrive a few days from now. Organizing is a full-time work: The Eastern Men have complied with all orders, but the Khazád are a wilful folk. You can imagine how Tyelkormo would fare if put to the job, so Carnistir, being the one most familiar with their ways, has spent days persuading them. They are troubling our work, their unrest having the potential of spreading to the Men who are the prime object of their annoyance. But do not worry: their hate against the enemy is as strong as ours and they will not fail us - Carnistir assures us of that Azaghál is a loyal ally despite everything.

The weather has been dry as always during summer. It is beneficial when you think about how Orcs dislike the sun and its warm weather, but we will definitely have to take care of the provisions. Dried products will be an obvious choice as well as waybread, but water will be needed...

The letter went on with descriptions of preparations. Tyelkormo had himself taken leadership of checking that the horses had been trained for battle - well, the horses of the Easterlings who had not been trained in the same way as our Elven steeds. Curufinwë kept everything under control and acted as the responsible leader I knew he could be when he wanted to. At that moment I could not have been prouder of my brothers.

"Moryo says he will personally take care of any Doriathrim that will try to get disturb us." I smiled at the note on the bottom of the page. It sounded exactly like something my third brother would say. Then again, unless my memory failed me, I had a strong feeling of that Curufinwë himself had, along with Tyelkormo, vowed to put Thingol in his rightful place once we had had our victory in this war. But what is said at the end of a high-spirited evening might be different the next day, I thought with a smile.

On the night before I would return home to Himring, I could have gone straight to bed and lay there tossing and turning all night without getting any sleep. But the last night before I would return home was also the last hours I had a chance to just sit and talk with Findekáno. The last hours I might pretend as if there was no battle coming up.

Macalaurë had left to his rooms earlier, saying he would need to compose something. Meanwhile Findekáno had gone to the eastern balcony by his quarters. That was where I found him, sitting on the low stone wall, leaning his chin into his arms, his profile gleaming strangely in the dim light. I walked up to him. He seemed to know it was me without even looking, but he straightened his back as I sat down on the wall, too.

"Here to look at the stars?" he asked.

"Here looking for you," I replied and launched myself on the wall beside him. He smiled a bit and offered me a flask of liquor, bidding me to drink if I wanted to.

It was a clear night, I thought. It was late but the south was light, as the summer sun waned slowly. Yet stars were indeed being lit in the northern skies. We sat in silence for a long while.

"Maitimo, what are you thinking of?"

Me? I opened my eyes and saw him looking down at me.

"Of the past. Of the present. Future." I tried to rise up to lean on my elbows, but my head was too heavy for that. "Why, Findekáno? What were you thinking of?"

He did not smile but looked almost sad. "I am thinking about the future only," he said quietly. "The battle to come."

"Findekáno."

He stared back at me after which his glance turned down to my outstretched hand. He took it into his own. "You're not going to sleep? It's a long ride tomorrow."

"I'd rather wait for the sunrise with you. It's the last time we will see each other before midsummer."

That night Findekáno and I sat outside, waiting for the sun to rise. Much in the same way we had so, so long ago sat in the highest tower waiting for Laurelin to bloom.

"Send my love to your brothers," said Findekáno the following morning as I mounted my horse.

His council stood behind him, they all escorting Macalaurë and I and those with me as the morning of our departure finally stood at hand.

"We will, my king," Macalaurë replied.

"May the stars guide your journey home," our cousin said. His crown shone with gold and a dark blue cloak was on his shoulders. Small stains appeared on the fabric as drops started to fall from the sky. "Although it seems as if you will have to travel in rain these first hours," he added with a smile.

"It is but a small summer drizzle," I said. Indeed, the drops that fell on my hair weren't many and those that touched my face were warm enough to not be a nuisance.

"It is," Findekáno admitted. "Let it not make you tarry long, my friends."

He knew the rain would do little to slow us down: it was indeed just a few drops. He also knew I was not one for out-dragged ceremonies of departure.

I place my hand on my breast and bowed my head in a greeting. "Next time we meet it shall be on a victorious battlefield," I said. He smiled at me, rain streaking his face.

The familiar profile of the bastions of the Himring castle were a welcomed sight in the distance. After a night-time ride in the wild the hill in the morning-sun was especially relieving. Lightly paved gravel paths back beneath the hooves of my horse was a change from the wilder roads of the lands between Doriath and Taur-nu-Fuin.

Riding up the road to the castle, past the houses and the small yards, our group was seen by many people who were already up and they recognised my brother and me by bowing their heads or by calling out and raising a hand in a greeting. I could almost feel I was home already, but I knew it wasn't home quite as we had left it. Just below the stone castle, on the fields lying on the eastern side of the hill, camps had been set up. The grandest tents were almost on the castle yard, in the protection of the guarded walls, the rest forming a city of their own on the plain. Our allies. I recognized the royal banner of Azaghál and of Belegost flying in the wind above one of the greatest tents. Another flag I knew carried an emblem that stood for the House of Bór, and yet a third one was that of Ulfang. The encampment indeed looked mighty as it spread out across the foot of the hill. It was like an anthill. There was everything that was needed to support an army. It looked peaceful from afar, yet I remembered Curufinwë's letter and that the host had some internal troubles to be tended. And yet, at the moment I was just happy to be at home. Looking up at the tower of Himring Castle, I saw five banners adorned with the star of my father hanging from the parapet of the keep, with two more being hung up as we rode through the gates. Now they were seven. All of the Sons of Fëanor had arrived.

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Tyelkormo met us at the castle stables. He had come there to tend to a horse only he knew how to. My brother, usually so flamboyantly royal, enjoying the attention he received (especially if it came from the ladies), looked somewhat ragged as he cleaned his dirty hands onto his trousers. "You returned," he commented with a small grin. "We expected you to come tomorrow, but today is fine, too."

"That is good," I laughed. "We rode through the night just to surprise you." Annoying as he may be at times, I was happy to see my brother again. "Findekáno sends his love."

Tyelkormo nodded without a word, accepting the greeting, but he turned back to the stallion he had been attending to before we came. I disturbed his work no more, but glanced at him. His back facing us, I could not see his expression, but I knew that the High-King's love was nothing that he sought for when the the very same king's crown was far more appealing. He did not dislike Findekáno - he had not forgotten the days we had spent with him and his siblings - but there was ever a bitterness in his heart. Crownless and dishonoured he was, now looking like a stable boy in his brother's halls. But I knew he wasn't a stable boy - he was a prince no matter what the hateful rumours told.

Macalaurë took down belongings from his horse and asked for a real stable boy to attend the steed and carry the rest of the cases. As he walked past Tyelkormo on his way to the upper castle, he ruffled the blonde hair of his brother. "Good to see you," he mumbled. I could see Tyelkormo hide a smile.

Servants unpacked my horse and carried most of my luggage up to my chambers. I whispered a thank you to my mare, before picking up my personal luggage. "I have heard the preparations are doing well," I said. Tyelkormo was silent, still kneeling by the horse - apparently there was something wrong with the hoof, and only Tyelkormo with his amazing skills with animals understood where the problem was. I walked up to him, but let him take his time in replying.

"They are," he said at last with a sigh. "Moryo is worn out from negotiations with dwarves, and boy, does he get grumpy! Curvo sits by your desk listening to lords and leaders. The Ambarussa work where they are needed. Telvo was helping me yesterday, whereas Pityo has been working with calculating rations." I nodded and Tyelkormo stood up at last, straightening his back, looking up at me. "We are doing as you told us to, big brother," he said quietly. "Putting asides selfish thoughts of being high-and-mighty sons of our father, you know. Being of good use by doing hard work in these times preceding war. That kind of things." He laughed dryly. "Working as a commoner," he said. "I don't mind it, but... I guess it is a change."

I laughed, too. "I am glad you understand," I said. "Now that I am back I will work, too. At least Curvo will get some rest from the desk."

"Oh, he won't necessarily like that, the way he enjoys his work. He looks just like father, scribbling his tidy notes in his tidy tengwar."

I could picture the scene. Leaving Tyelkormo to his work, I hung my satchel over my shoulder and went to my room to tidy myself from the travel. It had been a long time since I had last seen my room with its comfortable seats by the fireplace, the familiar soft bed and the small balcony in the solar. I put my bag on the bed and opened the windows just to feel the fresh breath of the wind on my face. Even in these busy times, I was glad to be home.

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Curufinwë was indeed working with full speed. Upon entering the room in order to greet him, I saw him leaning on the table, deep in thought, looking over at the writings he had been working on. The air in the study was more stuffy than it had been when I left it to Curufinwë, but it was now his hideout where he would sit behind a tall desk covered with carefully assembled piles of parchments and the like. Calculations of our strength, of estimated speed under different weather conditions, and of how much supplies of various different kinds we would still need to acquire. He told me to sit down and proceeded to read aloud his list, clearly proud of his extensive work. I was impressed, and told him so.

"So how was Findekáno doing," he asked at last as he had sat down, too. He twiddled his quill between his fingers, but his eyes were on me.

"He is fine," I replied. "And he sent his love to you."

"Now did he." A small scoff as he leant his chin on his fingers. "I was wondering how his troops were. I have numbers, you have the facts."

Of course the familial matters could wait. Curufinwë's calculations were lacking not so much how our cousin was as much as the latest intelligence, which was why he hadn't yet been able to complete them. I leant back in my seat. "They are as able as ours. The whole of Hithlum's forces both Elves and Men are as able as ours, though their Men be of different kin than the ones on our side." Curufinwë nodded without a word, his brain already working on it. "The small group from Nargothrond will fight just as well as us, too, in case you were wondering about that," I added.

The corner of his mouth twitched towards a smile, but his voice was steady. "I admit that I was curious about them. They are not many, but we are all surprised there came any at all."

"I say," I replied. "Considering what you and Tyelkormo..."

"I know," Curufinwë said quietly. "Please do not remind me of that."

"...had planned for them. It was not Artaresto who sent this troop, you know."

"Well, he did swear to never consider us his allies again, so I expected no less." A wry reply.

"Gwindor son of Guilin was their leader, I believe, or one of them." I observed my brother's reactions at my words, but they were undetectable as usual. "You know him, no doubt."

"Yes...I did," Curufinwë said slowly, still leaning his chin onto his fingers, staring at his knees. "Close to Findaráto. And Artaresto as well. Was to be his son-in-law I think. For Finduilas, you see. That was what Te-... what Telperinquar said."

He looked up, his eyes sharp. "This Gwindor was not a bad counsellor, I will give him that, though maybe a bit..." Curufinwë looked for words. "...Hasty. They took his brother, dragged him to Angband in the last war," he said, looking at me. "Such things do it for some. I think that's what postponed the wedding, too."

"Such things do it for some," I repeated in agreement. But I had been one to be dragged to Angband myself. And that hadn't done it for me. But Curufinwë knew these people, so I presumed he could judge their character. That was something he was good at. My brother had but become even craftier, paralleling our father, just as had been expected of him.

"He's still so hasty. But that's our luck or he wouldn't now be standing on our side," Curufinwë said.

"If you will call it luck."

He then accounted all the preparations he was in charge of as well as most of what everybody else were in charge of. Then he bade me follow him to the camps. It surprised me slightly, but as I asked for the reason, his face gave away nothing as he merely said I should talk to my allies.

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There was a different feeling to Himring. The noises were different, the air was different from when I had last been here, before my journey to Hithlum. All those that had come meanwhile had changed the atmosphere in their own ways. And naturally such a change would lead to splitting.

As Curufinwë and I, with a couple of Noldorin guards, walked in the aisles of the camps, noises quietened, but picked up after I had passed. I understood what Curufinwë wanted me to do. They did not speak of me or my brothers, but the men were tense and their thoughts not something they wanted me to hear. And so Curufinwë and I approached the leader of the company.

"I will not take these Dwarves any more," Bór grumbled to his bannermen as they stood in a ring by the tents. "Their selfishness, their arrogance... but what are they themselves...?" He slipped into his own tongue, his voice angry. I took it as my cue for taking a step forward. When Bór saw me he quietened down, but didn't stop his glowering.

"Evening," he said cordially. The Men around him took a step back in silence.

"I have heard there is something troubling you," I said.

"It is nothing, my lord."

"I believe I heard that you were speaking of Lord Azaghál and his troops."

Bór's dark eyes were cool as he looked at me. He was a tall Man, but I was taller still, so he either had to crane his neck or glower from below his heavy eyebrows to look me in the eyes. "I understand they are on the same side as us in this war, my lord," he said, his voice tense, "but they do not act like that."

"How so, master Bór?"

He glance at his men standing behind him, then back, not backing away now, the prideful Man he was. "They speak of us as if we were lesser. They refuse to trust us and their presence is an ill seed sprouting dislike."

"Do you speak of them any better?" Curufinwë asked. We all knew he was testing the Man's ability to hold his tongue. Bór passed the test.

"I do not. Yet, I do not think the Dwarves think of us fairly. We are not even in the same area of the camp, yet they clearly have a hatred in their hearts. I wonder how well we can fight beside those who hold us in contempt."

"Lord Azaghál is our ally as well as you are," I said. "He is a comrade of mine, paying for his gratitude from a time when we fought side by side against a band of Orcs. You are a banneret who has sought for comradeship at the threat of war. Yet I do not think of you any less until you have proven me wrong. Azaghál, on the other hand is prideful and suspicious - it will take some time before he can trust you. I can speak of it to him. But I will not have you behaving like jealous children when we are standing at the gates of battle. I will have you turn a deaf ear to those who talk ill of you, understand?"

Bór's expression did not change. It was impressive, because his bannermen quivered slightly as I glared at them. Yet eventually he nodded, a tiny movement of his head, and I knew we were even.

"Belegost has long traded with the lands of my brother, Lord Caranthir, and now Caranthir's allies, the House of Ulfang, is among our ranks. The Dwarves may resent them, too, but I do not see them complaining about it," I added. Bór made a noise in reply. I should really teach these Men some manners, I thought wryly. Truly arduous they were. It was only a matter of time before Ulfang and his sons would start complaining as well, I supposed. I would have Caranthir deal with them. Bór was my subordinate, Ulfang his. And Azaghál... that prideful old Dwarf fought his own battles.

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That night I did little besides having a small supper and socialising with my brothers. Tyelkormo announced that the horse he had been tending was already in better shape while the Ambarussa told me of how they had been supervising the division of supplies for the battle. Carnistir said he was tired after a long day of leading a patrol to the nearby hill and grumbled when I asked him to have a talk with his allies, but agreed to do it on the morrow.

Since Macalaurë had come home he had talked to the Elves who would stay in Himring and written two letters he wanted me to have a look at. After reading them through I was weary and soon retired to my chambers. Before going to rest I stood by the balcony of my solar from which I could see past the roofs of the castle. In the dark the camp outside was like a starlit sky, the black surface lit up by over a hundred of fires from lanterns of the guards or cooking-pots of the tents. I had seen a similar camp in Hithlum, the tents of the House of Hador and of the Elves of Nargothrond not far away from the Kingly Palace, although over there the banners had been of different colours and had other symbols on them and there the people had followed the High-King loyally and I had not noticed - nor had my cousin mentioned - distrust among the soldiers. I remembered Húrin Lord of Dor-Lómin whom Findekáno had spoken fondly of - indeed it was to his house he had gifted the Dragon helm I had given. I wondered about the loyalty. Had I had another helm, would I have given it to Bór, providing that he'd accept something made by Dwarves?

I sighed and let these thoughts drop. Leaving the draperies open, I went to my bed and sleep caught up to me soon after I had laid down.

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Carnistir's face was in a frown when I met him the next day. He was standing tall on a cliff, looking down at the camp. As he saw me his expression didn't change much, but at least he nodded for me to know he wouldn't bite me if I approached. "Any news?" I asked.
"Little," he said. "The Men still have issues with the Dwarves and vice versa, but as long as they don't kill each other before the battle, it's no problem. I spoke with Ulfang - he assured there will be no trouble from his Men." "We need to be able to trust each other if we are to fight side by side," I said gravely. "Try to speak to the Dwarves." My brother's expression became a glare. "What do you think I've been doing? Sitting idle? I'll have no more business in that matter," he said and sighed, drawing his fingers through his brown hair. "I was just supposed to keep the peace and hold any bloodshed. You go speak with them yourself if you want to." I looked at the camp of the Dwarves. The banner of the Dwarf King was still high above the roofs of the settlement. "Will you accompany me if I do?" Carnistir lift an eyebrow. Then he laughed. "Right now I'm in the mood for some entertainment... so yes." He was snarky, my brother.

The Dwarves did not even deny they were in no good terms with the Men. The Men, likewise, did little to hide their dislike. The untrusting atmosphere was ever-present and the feelings mutual. Carnistir, the spiteful personality he could be, frequently noted a "just as I said", while I was dragged into the negotiations.

"These Men," Lord Azaghál begun by pointing towards the camps of the Edain. "I have met their kin before. Some are honourable, but many aren't. And these," he pointed again, now more towards the banners of Ulfang," where do they come from? Beyond the mountains? What do they know of us and what do we know of them? They have joined this war for reasons other than ours."

"We have a mutual enemy," I said. "That is why we should be allies. Tell me, Lord Azaghál, why should I distrust these Men whom I have already made my comrades? This union will not work out if we are not able to cooperate."

The old Dwarf looked at me from under his thick brows. A golden chain hung around his neck, and his beard, impressive although already greying, reached below his belt. "I have seen more of the East than you, King Maedhros." A deliberate choice of words. I did not flinch at the lost title even as he looked at me sharply, knowing he was testing me. "And you too, Lord Caranthir, Merchant of Thargelion. You are both wise in your own ways and I may not be as ancient as you, but I know that you Elves have had little contact with lands beyond our mountains. Whereas we on the border have seen much. And what have we seen? Darkness. Stranger beasts roam the eastern woods and even the Khazád of the East are different from us." He glanced at the Men again, suspicion burning in his eyes.

He was right in that his realm had more contact with East - guarding many of the mountain passes that connected Beleriand with Lands Beyond Ered Luin - but I could not afford my allies to mistrust each other on the battlefield. One should always be able to trust one's brother-in-arms even if one would stand in different ranks in the battle.

"Lord Azaghál, the House of Bór have, under my command, aided us as we have them, not showing any sign of rebellion; and the House of Ulfang, following the banner of my brother, have proved worthy Men. In fact," I raised my voice a little as the Dwarf frowned, "they are grateful of our comradeship and have been of little nuisance."

"You mean to add 'unlike you lot', do you not?"

"No I do not. Your troops and mine have long been in alliance."

He looked at me: "I remember." he said and nodded. But then he slowly turned his eyes to Carnistir by my side. My brother glanced back at him, but said nothing and as the Dwarf lord remained silent as well, Caranthir's mouth became a thin line and he turned his head. "You, young prince," the Dwarf said at last after a heavy silence. And then he went on, but he was not prideful, only grave. "Not all Men are as kind as some you have met and not all are worth saving."

Carnistir's hand twitched - I saw it - but his haughty expression remained. He did not speak as the old Dwarf-lord left us.

It was as I thought, I sighed in my mind. Azaghál was a Dwarf and few Dwarves ever trusted someone outside their own kindred, no matter how vital it was for the situation. The House of Ulfang had caused little ruction in the camps - even as the other Houses of Men had their arguments with the Dwarves. Maybe their show of respect towards the Elves was the thing that annoyed the Dwarves so much.

I mentioned this to my brother, but at first my words went to deaf ears. Then I touched his shoulder, he turned slowly to look at me.

"What?" he asked bluntly.

"What 'what'? I have been addressing you." I said, frowning.

He said nothing, but then he turned away his face. "I did not listen, I'm afraid."

I said nothing. Because ere long he would explain himself to me. As soon as he had pulled up his facade.

"Moryo," I muttered to him, "have not the House of Ulfang always followed your lead without questioning."

"They have," he said distantly. "Most of the troubles have been among those under Azaghál and that of Bór - not that I shall judge your followers."

"I know, because I shall not judge yours, nor would I."

"I allied with those Men because you wished so," he admitted. "There has been little trading before now, as they do not use the great roads. You know I do not really care for them, so say what you want of them."

"Care for them enough to consider them 'worth saving' despite what Lord Azaghál said," I mused, but my brother stiffened at those words.

"Do you know what he meant by what he said about that?" he asked me as he stopped. His voice was bitter and unlike before. I shook my head slowly, wondering what he was on about.

"Good," he said sharply. "By the depths of Helevorn, neither do I."

"Not all as kind or worth saving, was it not something like that," I begun, but with long strides Caranthir had already passed me by.

We were ready before early sunrise. It did not surprise me. The schedule meant for us to depart at sunrise as the latest, but as with all schedules, even those in dire war, there had to be some spare time and few reservations. But I was proud of my army. From where I was standing on elevated ground, on the top of a small tower looking out over the fields I could see them all. Day in and day out, this was the fruit of our preparations, this was the blow that would avenge my father and my uncle. In front of me stood the Elves. I felt pride in the tall soldiers of the Noldor. It was as if fulfilling an unspoken promise to my father, to have them stand there ready for battle. As I looked to my right, I could see the troops of Men, one unit under the command of Bór, another under Ulfang. They stood broad and grim looking, but brave. I knew they all would do whatever it took to defeat their enemy. I looked to my left and I could see the Dwarven troops. Azaghál in their forefront was along with his closest guards already wearing his war-mask. It was terrible to look at: it reflected the spirit with which they went to war.

A trumpet echoed over the field and it was heard by many others. Soon horns of all tones and customs blew their signals. The sun had started rising. My brothers stood beside me and I could see their faces lit up by the light from the East. When the horn calls ended, I stepped forward and the whole field fell into silence as if a spell had been cast. Their eyes were fixed on me.

"Your fathers, my father," I begun, holding a small pause for my voice to echo away. They were still looking at me. "Your fathers and my father, they are alike." I had planned this speech in beforehand, but now, at this moment, I had so much more to say that I did not know where to begin. "Your mothers and my mother, they have something in common, too, as do your siblings and mine." I could hear some of my brothers stifle a noise in their throats, but I knew they would let me finish, so I went on. "We share something. We share the love we hold for this world. We share the grievances we have seen occur in this world, because they have affected us all. These grievances are because of a shared enemy." They stood still, looking at me with blank expressions. I felt I had to keep this short. "That enemy is the one who has killed my father, but that enemy is also the one who has hurt yours. Each of us are under the shadow of He who lurks in the dark: a thief, murderer, liar and so much more. That is why I bid you to avenge your family, as will I. Because this is how I will avenge yours and you will avenge mine." My fingers reached out for the hilt of my sword and I pulled it out into the sunlight where the reflections shone like rain. "Because today we are one. Today we stand united!" I cried and the silence broke, as thousands of swords and spears were pulled out. It was a glittering field, like a lake under a summer drizzle, like a strange field of flowers, like a starlit sky. It roared like a beast unchained as it praised my speech as if it had been a scent of blood to fuel its hunger. "Today we stand united, we and those with us who are in the West!" I shouted, shaking my sword. "Let us march to them!" Once again the field thundered. I smiled grimly. I wondered briefly what kind of speech Findekáno was having at his end of the battle field. I would have him recite it all over when I would meet him next time after the battle.

My brothers stood beside me silent, strangely solemn amidst the uproar, but their swords, made by our father, shined with might equal to mine. I thought of father and grandfather. I also thought of my brothers and cousins and the children I was an uncle to. I was Nelyafinwë Maitimo, a Finwë - the fourth of my name. Today I would avenge all the Finwës before me and all our legacy to come.

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"Everything goes as planned," the scouts from the front told us as we stopped briefly. "There is no sight of the enemy as of yet."

"But we have yet to enter the An Fauglith," Curufinwë said gravely. "I doubt Morgoth is as ill prepared as to leave his border defences open although we still have tens of miles to Angband."

"And yet there has been no sightings of Orcs," I said. "We can only walk on and keep a lookout."

"Those up north... I wonder how they fare." Macalaurë had a thoughtful look. "There has been no message from the northern patrol, has there?"

I shook my head and the scout admitted that he hadn't heard anything from them either."

"Carnistir, there are your allies in the northern patrol, aren't there?" Tyelkormo said, turning to look at a Carnistir whose face was sourer than usually. "Wouldn't they contact us if there was anything? Or even if there wasn't. Communication is important."

"Don't you tell me about communication, brother," Carnistir huffed. "I have once again been communicating with the troops of Lord Azaghál the whole day whereas you stood no doubt combing your hair by your mirror -"

Carnistir had indeed spent the morning arguing about something with the Dwarves - I did not even know the details of the reason, because the whole morning had been too busy, although I suspected there had again been some voices of discontent from the interracial camps. But my brothers had no right to start arguing with each other. Carnistir saw my stern look and sighed.

"Of course they would contact us. Ulfang would send a messenger as fast as he could, he gave me his word." Carnistir pulled his fingers through his hair. "I am sure he will continue to follow our orders just as well as he has done this far, no matter what the old dwarf says."

"I never liked the look in his eyes," a voice said behind us. "That Easterling's." I turned to look, but Carnistir was already sighing deeply.

"Lord Azaghál," he said with a tense politeness, not acknowledging the fact that he had just spoken of the old King.

The dwarf had caught up to us, carrying his war axe as if it were a walking staff. His beard was now plaited, but his helm was carried by an attendant of his. "It may be something personal he has against us Khazád, but I promise you, Lord Caranthir: he is in this war for his own advantage."

"Lord Azaghál, did you not already tell us that?" Carnistir turned to face him. He lift his chin, towering far higher than the dwarf, his Noldorin pride showing. "They are our allies as much as you are. Let me remind you of that I have had Edain as my allies before. Granted, some have been worse, but some have been better..." his words trailed off as he thought of something from far beyond past. "Still," he continued, picking up his thoughts again, "I doubt they are more selfish than you, Master."

Such scorn was in his voice, that Azaghál turned away with a dark look. Yet he made a funny noise as he left, as if the old dwarf had been laughing at the fourth son of Fëanor. Carnistir didn't look happy. He was stressed. "Why am I the one who has to deal with this people?" he hissed. "They are good warriors, I'll give them that, but I wouldn't care if they ended up suffocating in their own beards."

"You are the one who knows them best," I said. "They trust you more than they trust us." My words received a disbelieving look. I did not bother to mention that Lord Azaghál's temper was no worse than that of Carnistir.

Macalaurë and I were left together as our brothers made their leave to join the troops they would be commanding in battle. I asked the scout from the front to return to his post, telling him to inform the front-line to go on with their plan. As the scout left, I noticed how deep in his thoughts Macalaurë looked.

"Do you think Azaghál has a point concerning Ulfang?" he asked me when I inquired what troubled him. "Carnistir assures us of that Ulfang is reliable, but... this is not the first time Azaghál has complained about Ulfang."

"Oh I know, trust me. Azaghál has never liked Men. But you think there might be a reason for their dislike?" I asked. "I have already gone through this with him. It is the same way with some of the Men complaining about Azaghál because they believe the Dwarves are here for their own gain."

Macalaurë nodded slowly. "But Azaghál is of a kin that has been our ally for a longer time. Ulfang..."

"Káno, this union will fall apart if we don't trust in each other," I said again. "You must understand that. Morgoth feeds on hate: he tries to spread mistrust just as he did in Valinor, but this time we will not succumb to it."

"Of course not."

I nodded and turned to walk away - there were still countless of details to attend to. Macalaurë, however, stood still.

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The march north was swift and we went as fast as we could without losing in energy. Our first stop would be the Dorthonion beacon which we would lit as a sign for the High-King. We had some two days time before we were expected in battle at the latest. The enemy fortifications on the way were located in accordance with the information we had gathered. All were scattered as small Orc holds in the nooks of the hills or in pits in the ground, a foul look lingering about them. But as we moved on along with the rising sun, as the dawn turned closer to noon, none stood up to challenge us or even to retreat as we marched by. A platoon was sent to investigate the stronghold, but they reported that the lair had already been abandoned - recently, but not in this month. Still cautious, we kept on moving. Tyelkormo leading the vanguard Elfin cavalry and the Ambarussa taking the back cavalry; Curufinwë on the southern side nearer to the Dwarves as Carnistir had already refused the honours, him now leading the division on the northern side, many lords of the Noldoli and Men under his command. Macalaurë and I at the centre.

I would have wished for another placement - to be at the front to take on the first blow before it would hit any of my brothers, but as the commander of the whole of the Western Forces it was my place to be where the messengers of each group could reach me with ease. Macalaurë at my right hand side, I rode on in silence, not speaking unless someone addressed me. I would have wanted to ride on the front and be the first one to meet Findekáno when we would meet on the plains, but I knew he would be at the centre of his legion as well, not stepping forward until the march ended and the pieces were set or when he was directly under attack. It was for the best to keep the strategists safe, though I rued how many might have to sacrifice their lives for us.

Our helms were matted so the sun did not gleam in our helms as we moved on, allowing us to pass unnoticed should someone have been observing us from above. But still no one did. As all the bases of the Enemy seemed empty, I gave orders for Carnistir to spread his flank further northwards as Curufinwë and the Dwarves pressed on forward, as for us to gradually turn north. Tomorrow was to be when the signal beacons could finally be lit and Findekáno would know the East had moved according to the plan. The army had now spread itself into smaller units and only messengers travelled between the groups. The idea was to reunite once we approached the battlefield.

And then it happened. Word from North.

On his coat the messenger wore a badge signifying that he was allied with the Elves, but he was a Man, black haired and much shorter than us. Yet he seemed to have fought valiantly. A bandage already covered his dark forehead as he stood there before us, telling that a troop of Morgoth had finally opened one of his strongholds.

We could not afford to ignore it. Having somehow been spotted, we would not send the signal to the High-King until this had been taken care of.

"Tell the South to halt," I heard Macalaurë say. "We have to wait. But hopefully it will be only a brief intervention."

"Send aid to North," I added, "Amrod with his archers." The Noldorin messenger nodded and sent word for the commanders involved.

"He attacks us now?" Macalaurë said to me quietly. "So he did empty those previous forts in order to fill up these."

"The closer we come to Thangorodrim, the more enemies there will be," I said. "And ere the day shall end all of Angband will be emptied."

"But then Findekáno will lead his side," Macalaurë said confidently. "He will follow the plan and wait for us even if we came a little late."

"But I don't mean to come late."

He looked at me with a somewhat sad expression. "We won't come late. We will follow your orders and we won't come late."

"Thank you," I replied. "We won't come late. But what was it with the expression? Why look so sad when he himself said this would only be a brief intervention?"

Yet I thought I knew. We could not continue our ride at once. If an attack had come already now it had the potential to change everything. A large attack would destroy or delay the whole troop fighting it and without Carnistir's flank of the army we would not be able to follow the original battle. So we had to wait. I tightened my grip of the reins. Because even I did not want to think about a scenario where we would come late. But he said he'd wait. I held onto my broken wrist absentmindedly. It did not hurt now. It had not hurt for the whole morning. Or maybe I just hadn't had time to pay attention to it.

That one last night Findekáno and I had sat outside, waiting for the sun to rise. Much in the same way we had so, so long ago sat in the highest tower waiting for Laurelin to bloom, just because we liked the golden light that played with the flowers in the garden in a whole other way than the silver sheen of Telperion. We had been sitting outside on the stone wall, looking at the stars that had begun to appear in the northern sky. The south had still been light, but a cool breeze had drawn in and for a moment the summer's warmth hadn't given much comfort and the wine had had to do.

It was silly, I know it, but that was what I envisioned that night - that was the picture I painted to Findekáno as he sat there by my side, smiling at my dreams. And when the sun from behind the mountains crept back into the sky, he told me how that was what he hoped for, too.

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We lay low, waiting, and most of us had come down from our horses and some were having a small snack consisting of waybread. The day was drawing to its end. We had rode on a bit, but feared to go too far before we had received any information from Carnistir or Pityafinwë. But there was no word from either of them. The Northern troops had a battle of their own going on as we lay low. The distance between us was just enough for someone to call for more backup, but no more: we could not see them from where we were. The shadows moved moment by moment, urging us to go on. The beacon had to be lit. I knew that if this went on much longer, we would have no other choice but to leave Carnistir and Pityafinwë to deal with this by themselves. It would mean a smaller army and a change of set-up, but it would also mean we would be in time to meet Findekáno. Yet it would be a great risk. It tore my nerves, knowing that two of my brothers and so many more whom I knew were beyond immediate aid.

When we finally heard something from them it was already dark. This time the messenger came back with a note he handed to us. I recognized it as Carnistir's handwriting, hasty Quenya scribbled on a parchment and signed by "M.C.", Morifinwë Carnistir. For the eyes of Macalaurë and I only. I opened it first and read it. Without saying a word I passed it on to Macalaurë who read it solemnly.

"I told them to say it was but a small force, not a troop of enemies. Didn't need to overreact, Káno. A measly force consisting mostly of their dirty Orcish and Edain scouts. The lieutenant is dead but I fear some of them rode back north to inform their masters, so we need to hurry, but no doubt you know that.

- M.C."

Macalaurë looked up at me. His mouth was a thin line and his eyes dark, unblinking. "'What the Man with him told'? What Man?" he whispered for only me to hear.

"The messenger I sent, I presume," I replied. "I told him the very same words the one of Caranthir's Easterlings told us about the northern attack..."

Macalaurë glanced at the parchment in his fist. "But Maitimo," he said. "According to Moryo there has not been a northern attack, just a small force. Besides..." he looked at me and the parchment crumpled in his fingers as they pressed together. "The one you sent was an Elf."

"But Carnistir said..." I fell quiet. Carnistir's letter made it seem as if Pityafinwë had received his information from a Man, but Macalaurë was right. Had I not sent a Noldorin messenger? I mulled over these thoughts even as we got back on our horses and pressed forward. Going by my gut-feeling there was definitely something strange about this, but I could not act on that alone. Not only would it create the very mistrust I had tried to purge, it would also make us lose even more valuable time, something we simply could not afford.

Chapter End Notes

Credit goes to the Nirnaeth Arnoediad factsheet over at Henneth Annun Story Archives. http://www.henneth-annun.net/resources/events_view.cfm?evid=252 It helped me especially with adapting the timeline of the battle.

Now that we could regain our pace the original plan could be followed again. At last we could have the Dorthonion beacon be lit. While the rest rode on west to battle, the small group that had been reserved to be in charge of lighting the fire set out for their task. Some time later a herald came up to me and bowed his head.

"The beacon has finally been lit," he said. I immediately looked up. On the far peak on the cliffs of Dorthonion I could see the fire, the smoke indicating that it had been recently lit. Findekáno would see it, I thought. They'll know we're coming. Forgive our lateness. But at last we were coming. I bade my army hasten.

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A thick smoke was rising from Angband. The summer-sky was dimmed by the fumes that cast dark shadows on Anfaughlith. The air smelled foul, of blood and death. The battle had begun days ago and we were the ones to attack the enemy from the rear. I knew not what had befallen as Findekáno had assured he would wait even if we were delayed - but obviously none of us had been expecting a delay this long. Far away on the western side, closer to Barad Eithel, I knew he was standing. If grace was granted to us we would make it to him before the battle was over.

I commanded my army to take its formation. Let this day be remembered as the day when the Union of Elves, Men and Dwarves beat the Enemy. Again we blew into our horns. The sound echoed across the field and not long after a reply called out to us. The trumpets of the House of Fingolfin echoed in a joyous greeting.

And so we rode forth.

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Having our vanguard on horses was a good tactic against the multitude of Orcish infantry. Their spears might be long, but Tyelkormo's troops hewed a way through them and made a great deal of damage. May this luck last, I thought, so that we would make it to Findekáno - we were late already.

The noise of the hooves on the ground thundered before us, causing chaos in the ranks of the enemy. Of course Morgoth had been expecting us, so we could not take them by surprise any more, but creating two fronts in the battle worked out to our advantage. My army was obedient and leading the attack went well. We had arrived in the middle of an ongoing battle in the nick of time. Quickly another troop was sent out to follow Tyelkormo's. Carnistir who was still on the northern flank would take his part to spur from the north-east, thus spreading out our army more evenly. We had calculated that there was always a possibility that, if spread out too much, our forces would become too thin and communication and re-fortification would suffer. Yet if spread out optimally the risk of becoming surrounded by the enemy would decrease.

My bannermen still around me, Macalaurë not far away, I watched over the battle and from the gentle slope we were situated on we could see most of what happened. High in the distance flew the banner of Tyelkormo - I could see his spear gleaming in the morning light lead a manoeuvre against a rank of trolls that had been given way to set out against us. It was a dangerous move from Tyelkormo, but with him being skilled in surrounding a prey in a hunt, his tactic turned out well although I could see there were losses on both sides - more so on the enemy's, however, so I allowed myself a small smile at the success of my brother. But just as I was about to turn to address the ones around me, there was a change in the battle. Morgoth had let forth another proof of the power he had at his command.

It was one of the loudest noises I had ever heard. An inhumane roar, a snarl of a monster, it was a fire-spouting dragon, it's scales as if gilded covering its massive body. It came straight towards us. I knew that dragon just as well as anybody.

"That is the dragon we have seen in Dagor Bragollach! That is the dragon Fingon fought!" I shouted to my army, yet to no one in particular, fiercely drawing out my sword. "It is the father of dragons; it is Glaurung!" Indeed, the golden worm turned its head towards us as if it had heard its name. I almost thought I saw it smirk, but then another jet of fire and smoke heated up the air, and even our horses neighed in terror. Findekáno had beat it once, but back then it had been smaller. Now it was as larger than a ship, a terrible lizard, its eyes gleaming golden fire, its breath stinking of brimstone and smoke and the ground seemed to shake as it rumbled forward..

Glaurung wasn't even alone - two more were at his side, smaller ones, but to our disadvantage nonetheless - and they turned towards west to fight the army of the High-King. Glaurung, however, came our way.

A shining spear glimmered far in the distance, pointing its forces into attack. The vanguard was in its full might and it would fulfil its duty of guarding and making way for the army - they had no choice in this dire situation. A thunder of hooves, a roar of the dragon. And I could do nothing but look as the vanguard once again was hit by the blaze and yet never ceased to fight and to shoot at the beast, to attempt to pierce its thick natural shield of scales with swords and sabres. The last I saw of Tyelkormo was when both his helm and banner were lost behind a jet of fire.

Macalaurë beside me said nothing, his eyes wide as he gazed into the fiery swirls that overtook the troops. "They will have to get off their horses to fight those flames," he whispered.

"We will have to get off ours, if we are to fight them," I replied. "The second unit cannot face it alone - we need to send out more."

Suddenly a voice called out and someone pointed towards the sky. Behind the dragon I now saw armoured Balrogs soaring from Angband and my heart was clenched by a cold. When we had arrived Morgoth had been in full battle against the western troop - it seemed as if he wanted to finish there first before coming our way, because the Balrogs sped to the opposite direction, westwards, set out to slay the High-King. But my side of the battlefield was in no less peril.

"Has the other unit been sent?" I shouted across the noise. "I shall go against them myself if need be! We have to fight them."

"No," Macalaurë said quickly, turning to look at me. "I will fight, but you will not. Someone has to remain."

I looked at him, but knew there was nothing to argue against. It had already been decided on and now that things were in motion, there was nothing to do.

Another blaze from the dragon, this one bigger than the previous ones. I saw the shadows of the horses and their riders as they fell and would not rise back up; I smelled burnt and sulphuric smokes; I felt the earth shake again as the dragon moved on, all the while approaching us. The vanguard had fallen.

"Tyelkormo."

Curufinwë was beside us. His mouth had turned into a thin, pale line, his fierce dark eyes even darker in a face from which blood had fled. "I will take my flank to their aid," he said. "I must!"

I was about to say something, but he had already lifted his sword to point to where the dragon was sneering at us. "You know I must. I have to replace the vanguard," he said to Macalaurë and me, before shouting out a call and ushering his troop to charge. With a roar, his battalion left us in their wake. On went the Elves following Curufinwë out of loyalty and duty and the Dwarves out of agreement and because they, too, wished for the dragon to be brought down. Their axes were thirsting for blood, but their masks on their helms thirsted even more - monstrous faces had been depicted on them, jaws of beasts, skulls of the dead, imaginary and real, only three times more terrible. And so they went forward, one by one, more of them disappearing to the fire of the plains. Somewhere there in the West, I knew, was Findekáno too, somewhere beyond this fire, somewhere... alive. I thought I would have felt it if something would have happened to him. He had to be alive.

From that I pulled my strength - this was no time for faltering hope. It was not that long ago since I had stood in the dawn on Himring, pledged that today we stood united. I remembered how the army had cheered. My army.

I threw up my sword again and I knew that those who still stood beside me counted on me. "Allies!" I cried out as I caught the handle. "Make today go down in history."

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Slashing, hacking, blocking, my sword danced through the Orcs. If my army was to stand united, how could their leader stand back. If I died, I thought hazily at some point, Macalaurë would remain to guide this division. But I would not die. Even as the dragon still made the ground tremble, I felt powerful, I felt alive. My right hand hurt in no way.

On the other side of the field the ferocious lizard spat out fire once again. I threw aside the body of the goblin that had got a taste of my blade and looked up. I had not seen Curufinwë since he had set out after Tyelkormo, but I could but trust they had the situation under control. Azaghál is with them, I thought. Of our northern side I knew little - in the midst of the battle it did not matter, however. Pityafinwë and Carnistir would handle it, and Macalaurë was now out there as well. More slashing, more hacking. An Elf in front of me fell but another took his place quickly. Thus we went, machines of the nature. But my sword sang in joy as more of black blood was smeared on its edges.

Then Telufinwë was there. Two of his companions were with him, but why were they here now? I quickly pulled out from the fight. My brother looked unhurt, but I did not ask, for he had a strange expression in his eyes, although I did not know the reason.

"We are few!" he called out through the noise.

"Yes," I said.

"Is Bór dead?"

"Not when I last saw him. Why do you ask? We are in battle - what do you want?"

"The Men that were in my cavalry are gone. Things are in chaos," Telvo said, something flickering in his eyes. "They left - aren't they here for their lord? They should, as should the House of Bór."

For a moment I did not understand what Telvo was talking about, yet my heart seemed to realize something was amiss. But I could not answer his questions very well. The Edain horsemen of our flanks had left their positions and, deprived of half his battalion, Telvo had been forced to pull together the remnants to keep them from being dispersed and lost in the fires of the enemy. Bór was not dead - surely someone would have informed me?

Suddenly a horn was heard. I thought I recognized it as the sound of the horn of Ulfang. It came from the North where his men were fighting alongside of Caranthir, but why would it call out now of all times? Had something happened? Telufinwë glanced at me quickly before looking far towards West, and when I turned to follow his gaze, another horn sounded and my knuckles tightened around my sword. Telufinwë stepped up to stand next to me.

"That's an Orc horn," he whispered. I knew.

Around us, more Orc horns called out, west, south, east, and then again the signal from the North. Someone raised his own horn to blow out an answer, but I raised my hand. "Don't!" This was not according to our plans. The horns seemed to join in a mocking choir, their foul screeches echoing each other. It was the tide coming in. Now it dragged the Elves and the Men and the Dwarves from their feet. On a cliff that stood higher than the rest of the plateau, I saw a figure walk up, the banner of our union in his hand. A second later he set in on flame and threw it onto the ground where it was lost into the throng. Treachery was so easy. Orcs roared in triumph and the northern flank was taken. There Ulfang had turned against us. It had been like adopting a warg ´- it is easier for the wolf to bite when it has been let inside the house. The northern flank had had a warg among them and now it had bitten and it was too late to barricade the doors. Caranthir's ranks would crumble from the inside and I realized how well Morgoth must have planned this. I remembered Azaghál's words, long ago it seemed now. "What do they know of us and what do we know of them? They have joined this war for reasons other than ours."

"Where is Bór?" I shouted out crossly. "Where is Bór - he is my ally unless he, too, has turned to treason. Is he with us?" No answer; my troop was as lost as I, not knowing what had happened, how it had happened, what it would lead to.

"Pull together!" I cried. "They will not breach our troops if those of us who are true of heart stand together." I sorely wished for this to be true. "We need North to get here, we need South if they can muster it." I glanced South and my my heart fell - the smokes were now so thick I could barely see Glaurung, let alone my brothers, if indeed they were slit standing.

"They have the Dwarves," Telufinwë said, reading my thoughts. "The Dwarves will not betray us." It was true, I thought. I had not heard any signal from the Dwarves. Neither from Bór, for that matter. But now I had no time to think about it. We needed to regroup as soon as possible. So we raised up our banner higher than before - so that everybody would see where hope still lied.

I kept giving orders, I kept slashing enemies that came too near. A troll tumbled down dead as I drew a spear from it, and with no time for disgust I stepped onto the carcass and shouted again out loud: "Those true of heart stand together!" It was all that I could do.

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Chaos was upon us. I did what I could, but felt it wasn't enough. By now I had no idea of how Findekáno was faring - according to some, his side had been forced into an untimely attack the day before and that now the Balrogs had been sent to seek out the High-King. After everything that was going on, the value of truth in the rumours was somewhat questionable, so I could not afford to risk trusting another tale that might have come out of the mouth of the Enemy. Nonetheless, I thought. Nonetheless there is a chance the rumours were right, in which case it is all the more important that we regroup as soon as possible and join forces with the West. And yet such a union seemed impossible at the moment.

Telufinwë was beside me. My little brother was fierce with his sword, but now we were moving back to a set of the commanders of troops to stand back and focus on organising the battle. We tried to pull back a little - the western battalion had to stand or else it would be surrounded, that I knew. Now that the Easterlings had deserted us the task was even more difficult as enemies were among us and fought against us with weapons given to them by us. Still I saw Elves stand tall, but I knew that the odds were all against us.

We hadn't pulled back far - we moved slow anyway - when a tremendous noise sounded from the South. It was the dragon. Something or someone had hurt it enough to cause it to screech out in pain and the shout was deafening even across the distance and amidst all the other noise.

"Did they succeed..?" Telufinwë asked unbelievingly.

"I don't..." I said, but then we both saw that the beast was still alive. It writhed and wrangled in pain, but still caused chaos as it smashed its huge tail. Even as it turned back north, its going mowed down many - both Orcs, Men and Elves - as they were squashed beneath its enormous body. Its going was unpredictable and even when wounded its fires havocked and lit aflame both carcass and hide. Even now it was a terrible threat.

At that moment Telufinwë let out a cry and many Elves around us joined his shout: "Make way for the Princes! Make way for the Fëanorian Lords!" My head spun around and there was Curufinwë, the remnants of his troop behind him, his armour bloody but intact, and on his side was Tyelkormo on a horse I recognized as not his own. Tyelkormo wasn't in as good shape as Curufinwë: his left shoulder was unnervingly bloody where a spear had pierced his clothes and there was a nasty looking burn-mark on part of his face, no doubt works of Glaurung. His eyes seemed a bit dazed, but at least he had no troubles sitting on his steed, the natural horseman that he was.

"What has happened?" I asked urgently.

"The vanguard fought well and bravely, but when Glaurung came..." Curufinwë began.

"He spat the fire all at us," Tyelkormo said wearily. "Even our horses were terrified. I don't know where mine is any more..."

"When I came to the scene the vanguard had been dispersed. We tried to drive the dragon back and with our footmen we might have almost succeeded in it, but - you heard the horn-calls? The Orcs and the trolls reinforced themselves and we were once again at a disadvantage and there were too many wounded."

"Then... then," Tyelkormo begun, but was interrupted by a violent cough and even as he shielded his mouth with his arm I saw more blood stain his sleeve.

"Then your calls reached us," Curufinwë took over, "and Azaghál told us to go. He stayed behind, though. He himself took his remaining Dwarves and made his last stand..."

"Is he still alive?" Telufinwë asked.

Curufinwë shook his head. "I don't know," he admitted. "But those Dwarves were valiant."

"Where's Macalaurë?" Tyelkormo asked.

I told quickly what had happened here, of Carnistir's probable trouble and of how Macalaurë had set out. Thus they knew as much as us - none had yet heard how the remaining troops had fared. They say one feels it in one's fëa if someone one cares for dies and as of yet I hadn't felt something like that - I could but desperately believe that my brothers were still alive.

"We need to keep on moving," Telufinwë said, glancing at me anxiously. "Will you tell them?"

I nodded and gave out commands of keeping on drawing back, but urging everyone to keep the defence. We were now cut from the news of what happened in the west. There had earlier - a long while ago it seemed - been a great sound of trumpets and clamour echoing in the. mountains to the south, but I did not know what it meant. It had not sounded like a horn of the Orcs, but I could not guess what it meant - had Findekáno some unexpected allies on his side? I hoped so and I hoped that it was enough to fight off the Balrogs on the Western field. I also hoped that I would have had some means of communicating with Findekáno - still I knew not why he had set into battle before our arrival, never mind that we had come later than expected.

Now trouble was on our side, too. Macalaurë still had not returned, though I could guess that he had set off to aid Carnistir and Pityafinwë. But unlike Tyelkormo and Curufinwë they had not returned when I called them to pull back.

There was now way we would get to Angband any more, I realized, and saw with anger that I had been a fool to risk open battle to begin with as it had been all in vain. The number of Orcs seemed infinite as every killed Orc was replaced by a new one. And now there were Men, too. Men I had thought I could trust were now slain by my army at my command. The Enemy's power was crunching and it was all out to destroy us. Indeed, our troops were not even half as large as when we set out, and when an Elf was slain he was no longer replaced by another, for his place was left empty and vulnerable for an Orc to shed even more blood.

When I had been a prisoner in Angband Morgoth had boasted with his power. I had spat in his face and he had had me tortured even more. This was the power he had been talking about, I could see now. I wanted to spit in its face, too, but what could I do, one-handed with dwindling army and half my brothers lost?

Then I unexpectedly felt a pain. It was sudden because my hand hadn't hurt the slightest while on the battlefield nor did it now. Yet a suddenly my heart went heavy, my innards felt gutted and a pang of grief overtook my mind - my very fëa had shuddered. Was this a new malice of the Enemy? A sickness that would devour our minds?

Telufinwë by my side gave out a sharp cry. I realized I had almost lost balance from my steed. My brothers gave me looks of concern.

"What is it?" Curufinwë asked. "Do you need medical aid? Have you been poisoned?"

"No...", my explanation would not make sense, but I knew that something was terribly wrong and not just with me, either. I simply knew - I could feel it. Was Macalaurë dead? Had Carnistir been slain by Ulfang? Maybe Pityafinwë... but none of my brothers around me seemed to have felt anything.

"We have to keep moving," Tyelkormo said hoarsely. "The Orcs follow us only so that they can surround us and destroy..." He swallowed and closed his eyes briefly before continuing. "...destroy us and our lands. We should look for a safeguard."

"So we have been defeated?" Telufinwë asked. Curufinwë looked as if he was going to answer, but I knew he could not muster himself to admit the truth, at least not out loud. "Maitimo?"

My head hurt and had I not been on a battlefield I would have almost certainly preferred to lay down. I looked towards the West where my only hopes lay. But now great Balrogs were heading towards Angband - through the air, black shadows as their wings - but also towards East. My hope in the Wast was dead. "Head back!" I shouted. "Head back!"

So we have been defeated.

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A new call on the field had people give way for yet another group of wounded soldiers. As the outlines of the army were desperately fortified as we held back the offensive, the wounded were brought away from the battle so that those who could still be saved would be healed. However, too many of those who were wounded were beyond healing.

But among this new group of wounded warriors were three I recognized all too well. Pityafinwë seemed to be in reasonably good shape, despite his bruises and the bandage around his forehead and behind him was Macalaurë, blood-stained but alive. Then my heart clenched when I realized that the blood on Macalaurë's clothes in fact belonged to the one he held in his arms as they shared Macalaurë's horse. Carnistir looked far too limp as he, with his robes tarnished with dirt and blood, was held tightly against his brother.

"He's not..?" Curufinwë's question was left hanging, but Macalaurë shook his head.

"He's alive," he said, but he didn't sound very reassuring and added: "But he needs treatment at once. I did my best, but we need healers."

"What happened?" I asked when Carnistir's unconscious body was helped down from the horse and a couple of healers that were available quickly started to tend his wounds.

"Ulfang!" Macalaurë snapped, his voice thick with anger and worry. "Ulfang had sworn to serve him and stood right by his side - and then..."

I could guess what had happened. Suddenly Ulfang had turned against my brother who had had no time or chance to suspect anything - or even if he had had, Ulfang would have been too close to him to be stopped. The traitorous Easterling had abandoned all his allegiances to us and joined Morgoth's side. I wondered what he had been promised for bringing the head of a son of Fëanor to Morgoth's throne. Morgoth no doubt would have liked all our heads, but he had nothing but lies to offer in return.

"Ulfang," Pityafinwë spat out the name, "had been allied with the Orcs all along. It was all planned and he himself lead the treachery. His son Uldor had a pike. He attacked Carnistir from behind."

"Is he still alive?" I inquired.

"I slew Uldor myself," Macalaurë said darkly, with no sound of remorse.

Uldor - I remembered him: the youngest of his father's sons, recently come into full manhood. "What about the others?" I asked. The Easterlings were by now all under the command of Orcish leaders, but I wanted to know whether Ulfang or his heirs would get any of what they had been promised - no doubt as lies.

"I believe Ulfang as well as his sons Ulfast and Ulwarth were killed by members of the House of Bór," Pityafinwë said and Macalaurë confirmed his words by a nod.

The first heartening tidings I had heard in a while - at least not all Men had abandoned us. Although I wondered if I could trust a Secondborn ever again, at least not everybody had betrayed us for what empty lies the Enemy had whispered to them.

"Lord Caranthir's wounds are severe," a healer called out to us and my thoughts were interrupted. I walked up to them. Tyelkormo and Curufinwë were already crouching by Carnistir's side, Tyelko brushing aside a healer who would have taken care of his shoulder wound.

Carnistir seemed still to be unconscious, as his lips were slightly parted and his eyes were closed. Indeed, when the healer opened his eyelids, his grey eyes were staring upwards, towards the cut on his forehead, gazing at whatever emptiness his life was spiralling to. The cut on his forehead was nothing, though, a mere laceration at the worst. What the healer was pointing at was a deeper on his chest in spite of the armour he had worn. Macalaurë had earlier stopped the blood from coming, but the healers had changed the bandages and seen the wound.

"We have done the best we could at the moment," the healer continued. "Now we would need to take him further away - a battlefield is no place for the wounded."

They treated the Lord of Thargelion with the utmost care, lifting him on a stretcher. Pityafinwë placed his sword by his side. I looked after him as they hurried away. Evacuating the wounded and the dying was chaotic - those for whom being carried on horses would only have made things worse had to be carried to safety. I had seen Elves and Men who had been so wounded that - if they still could talk - they asked to have the mercy of escaping pain.

Curufinwë came up to me. His expression was dark. He reminded me of what Telufinwë had asked earlier. Have we been defeated? I still had not answered.

"There is a hill on the north-eastern side of what now is known as Taur-nu-Fuin," he said reluctantly. "Its southern side cannot be reached past the hill. "

"You mean we should find a fortification," I concluded for him.

"Only for a brief refuge until we renew our strength. If sought our way there we would have at least have one side left open in case of siege."

"Can we renew our strength, Curufinwë? Can we hold this war much longer?"

"Would you prefer a retreat where the Orcs would but hunt us down later..."

I closed my eyes for a moment and sank into thought. While the first attack of Morgoth had been nothing we hadn't seen before, the second flood had been devastating. The Enemy was ever a step ahead of us. Men we had trusted had turned against us and revealed everything and we were now assailed on three sides and as I looked upon the troops around me I could see many faces missing.

"I ordered for the troops to head back and come to me," I called to the ones around me. "Where are they?"

These were the ones I had left: most of them were my own guards, some of them had followed Curufinwë or Macalaurë. Yet none of them would have answered. The bannermen glanced at each other, the guards shifted until one stepped forward and taking off his helm he bowed his head, but his words were clear: "My king, they have scattered."

"The troops have been broken - many were caught and others fled," another voice said.

So they had fled. Of course I was angry - all our efforts had been in vain. But I could not blame them, either. Too small groups could not survive when caught off from help. But this also meant that those whom I might have taken with me to the hill Curufinwë had mentioned were too few to last there. And Carnistir's condition was severe. In that case...

"We have to return East," I said. "It is better than to perish here."

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My heart could have been trying to escape through my throat for all I knew, because it never slowed down its beating in my chest. We had gone as far as we could at the moment. Then we had had to stop. I had decided that we had put a good enough - considering our circumstances - distance between us and any potential pursuers so that we could afford a break. We desperately needed one, too, as those who were wounded were becoming wearier by the minute. If we intended to return with renewed strength we could not retreat too far away. I knew not whether we'd return, though, as none of us were in very good shape - least of all Carnistir.

The healers had other things to tend to, so Macalaurë sat dressing Carnistir's wounds, changing the red bandages, whispering quietly in attempts of comforting his brother. Macalaurë's face was full of concern, but he worked both with haste and with care. Muffled moans escaped through Carnistir's lips. His wound was taking its toll on him. His fingers moved feebly in attempts of reaching to something he could not find, eventually merely giving up, before Pityafinwë who sat nearby leant over to grasp the limp hand.

Telufinwë's expression was as blank as his face. His eyes still filled with empty terror flickered over from Carnistir to face me. "Where do we go?" he said, his voice dead steady.

"We'll keep on going East," I said. "I am sorry."

"East where?" he asked. "We cannot flee blindly as leaves before the wind. Where is our destination."

"We cannot go too far yet," Tyelkormo said, walking up to us with Curufinwë. He looked at us, idly pressing a bandage against his still wounded shoulder. Curufinwë stood beside him, quiet, his dark eyes fixed on some dot below my knees, but Tyelkormo spoke up: "The further we go... the harder it will be to return. Don't you see? We cannot abandon the battlefield. The enemy is at our heels and soon we will have to turn around to stop them."

I nodded, registering his words. Curufinwë said nothing, Telufinwë huffed. Tyelkormo persisted. "We have to keep on moving. Maitimo, you know it. Moreover, we need to get back out there as soon as possible."

"I know," I said. "But we don't have the forces to rejoin the battle. But whether-"

"Maitimo!" Tyelkormo interrupted me. He had a look of disbelief. "We are going? This war is not won yet."

"Tyelkormo..." Telufinwë began.

"This war," he insisted, "is not over until we have won." He looked at both of us, trying to persuade Curufinwë to be with him on this one as usually. But Curufinwë merely shook his head without a word, so he turned towards me again. "Maitimo, they are still fighting on the Western front, aren't they? What if they win and we won't be there?"

"They won't win."

"Maitimo!" He breathed heavily, his eyes kindled with a sheen I recognized all too well from the eyes of my father. "Maitimo... What if...what if they don't win, then... Findekáno is still there."

He looked at me and I looked back, but I knew he had made a point. My throat tightened again. Findekáno.

"As Maitimo said, we resolve our destination as is our plan. And then we fight back with renewed force." Curufinwë's eyes were dark. "Some fortress will do. When the enemy hunts us down, we will not stand like cowards on a line. We will have the power to trick them."

"Fighting back any more isn't-"

"I cannot believe you would leave Findekáno, out of all people, on the battlefield," Tyelkormo said with a tone of desperation. "Do you even know how he is?"

Tyelkormo is using this to persuade me. He doesn't care the slightest about how Findekáno is, I convinced myself bitterly. He uses this to get me return onto the battlefield and fight a fool's war. The little voice in my head was stubborn, but another tone added: You really were going to leave the battlefield and him on their own. So how is Findekáno? And I could not answer. I could not bear myself to think of the answer.

"I want us back on that field! Now! There are the enemies, there are the traitors, there are the ones we should be fighting!" Tyelkormo's strong voice shook, from anger or from tears and his fingers started unwrapping his bandage. "I want to kill them all-"

Kill them...

"We have to get a fortress to lure them to," Curufinwë insisted, putting a hand on Tyelkormo's shoulder to silence him down. "I am afraid... we are too few."

Too few to help Findekáno...

"We shall prevail! We are sons of Fëanáro. I will tell everyone that we will return to the battlefield as soon-"

"We cannot return." Pityafinwë stood up. His voice clear, he looked at us from behind the red, bloodied locks hanging before his eyes, more defiant than I had seen him, making all of us heed his words. "We cannot fight any more. They have beaten us... too hard. If we return in this state we will all die."

"We won't die. We have such a power -"

"Carnistir," Pityafinwë said loudly, "cannot return in this state."

Tyelkormo fell quiet, his hands hanging by his sides again. He shook his head wearily.

Macalaurë, still kneeling by our wounded brother did not even look up, but his words stung. "He's right. This wound is too severe. We have suffered too much. We have to know how to back away before we lose too much, such as losing..."

Tyelkormo's hands started shaking. "I said we won't die." Had he been one to weep he would have done so, but instead he kicked a stone out of pure anger and misery, groaned and fell down to his knees. Curufinwë's expression, on the other hand, didn't change the slightest. His eyes were just as dark as he spoke:

"We shall seek for a safe place. Will he make it there?"

Macalaurë shrugged weakly. "I hope so," he said, his soft voice breaking halfway.

Curufinwë closed his eyes. "We will find a fortress. And only hope no one follows us. Content, Maitimo?" he asked, looking up at me.

How could I be content? Findekáno was lost somewhere, Carnistir was on the verge of death and everything we had planned for had run down in blood? But at least we would leave the nightmarish battlefield. This was the time for me to protect my brothers. I guessed I was as content as one could be in a situation like this, I thought as I knelt by Carnistir, taking his hand into my own.

He opened his eyes. I wasn't sure whether he was crying or just tired. "Nelyo," he said weakly.

"Let's go home," I said quietly and kissed his forehead.

"Where? Home... to Thargelion?" he whispered.

"Thargelion," I agreed. "Mount Dolmed has not been overrun, has it?"

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We set out as soon as we could. I sent a fast travelling group to ride for Himring and tell them that we were heading for Mount Dolmed, to one of Carnistir's smaller forts, and that they should be prepare themselves to join us there. Maybe later we would return to Himring, but for now the Sons of Fëanor and whoever foolish enough to follow them were doomed to fly from the battle like leaves before the wind, flying down south our forces so much smaller than when we had bravely set forth from Himring. I thought of the lives we had lost in the battlefield and whether Findekáno had been forced to flee as well. I could only guess, but it seemed as if the ultimate force of Morgoth had been too strong for even the High-King's troops to face. I had half wanted to go back - I wanted to do the right thing where we had failed earlier. There were so many things that had gone wrong. The attack, the dragon, Ulfang... Eventually I took my mind of the matter - thinking of Findekáno hurt and the ache in my right wrist had returned. For once the pain was welcome - it distracted me.

All the while we rode no one spoke. The summer landscapes, the green forests and their flowers, moss and fragrances multiplying the further we travelled from Anfauglith, even as the dark cloud on the northern sky remained seemed to mock us in our flight.

Mount Dolmed was nothing like home. And yet it was the only place where we could seek for refuge. It would be a long journey there. Summer would turn to fall, if we moved too slowly. And then indeed we would be like leaves before the wind, runaways without a dwelling.

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Some days after the arrival people who had stayed in Himring - most of them now widows or orphans or just broken-hearted - a small embassy paid us a visit. They were Dwarves from Belegost and I recognised many of them as ones that had stood beside the banners of Azaghál. King Azaghál was dead now, of course, and before they had come to Dolmed they had brought his body to the halls of his Fathers.

"Might you come to the burial," they said. "We are still allies after all, and now no less than before, if you wish to dwell this close to Gabilgathol."

I promised to honour their king who had aided me most valiantly. Indeed it would have been shameful not to be present at the burial of someone who had helped us escape by fighting until his last breath. My brothers and I thanked them and offered them whatever help they might want - and we might offer in our current state - and as some some food was brought in, they continued to tell of the end of the battle. They had followed us into retreat, they said, but they had kept a slower pace because of their King. No one had even dared to attack them and they had heard tidings of what had befallen after the Elves had left. They told that Bór was dead, thinking that I would like to know what had happened to "my last and only trustworthy ally of the kind of Men".

Lastly when all other things of importance had been told, the leader of the company glanced at each of us in turn before standing up solemnly.

"Perchance you already know of this, but - in spite of his brother joining the battle... your High-King is dead."

I did not even blink.

Macalaurë beside me put a hand on mine, but I did not even move. No word had yet come to Dolmed, for so many had died in the battle and the roads were still unsafe. Yet I felt as if I had already known of it, felt it all along, as if this was but a confirmation of the fear that had been growing in my heart ever since I saw the Balrogs leave the western half of the battlefield.

It had taken two - what a cowardly way - to surround the most valiant Elf I would ever know, the kindest friend I would ever love. But at the moment I could not react to the news in any way except for a small nod to show that I had heard them. Because if I had tried to speak I just might have wept.

When the Dwarves had left, a silence took over the hall. Yet another one of the princes of Noldor - once the most prominent and esteemed house of the Eldalië of Valinor - had been taken to the Halls of Mandos. Already the battle, the fifth of those fought in Beleriand, was being referred to as the Battle of Tears Unnumbered according to the prophecy spoken by Mandos. But not an echo of our lamentation would pass over the mountains or be heeded by the Valar. I leant my head into my palms and did not move until a hand touched my shoulder tentatively. It was Tyelkormo.

"I am sorry," he said.

"For me? He was your cousin as well," I replied although I knew he had felt some bitterness ever since Nolofinwë and his line had been created High-King. Now his bitterness would be directed towards Turukáno, the new King. The title has so far done nothing good for anyone who earned it. I have merely given them a curse.

"I know," Tyelkormo replied, "but you and he were ever closer."

He had given me his regrets, but it did not help much unless his intent was to send me further into self pity. Much same with all my brothers. Macalaurë mumbled that I should not blame anything on myself, but how could I not? Curufinwë offered to for a while take over any of my duties I could not fill myself and Carnistir, who now had healed enough to manage by himself without assistance, asked whether I wanted to talk. It was more out of a sense of duty than out of thoughtfulness, I could sense, but I would not have felt like talking anyway. Somehow talking made it harder, because it was an option that did not leave me the alternative of pretending that everything was still as it should. And the only one I could ever talk freely to was the very one whose corpse had now been dragged and lumped on top of a hundred unknown persons and hidden beneath the cold dry dust of the Northern plains. They say it had all been buried; Elves, Men, Dwarves, steeds, Orcs, everything. Under a great mound. They say nothing will ever grow on it, on earth soaked by such bloodshed, torn by such grief. There would never be a day of triumph. No day the when the world would bathe in light or a day Arda would have peace.

How could something that is there no longer hurt so much? Yet, as pain goes away, it is the emptiness in the heart that never will.

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I knew I would never see him again in this life. Bodies get lost on the battlefield, never to be found. That's why we had that great stone on Himring, the one with all the names. It doesn't matter any more, though, not now that we have lost Himring as well. Besides, it would take so many stones to write down all the names of the dead.

But I felt he needed something, anything, some proper memorial that will forever mark that once upon a time there walked on this earth someone braver, someone kinder, someone dearer than anyone could ever be: a person whom none could replace. A new stone to mark the names of the dead.

Father taught me to write on paper. Mother taught me to write in stone. That's what I did. I wrote it on a block of hard, grey stone that shimmered blue in the light of dusk. When I finished my work I stand back to look at it.

I stood there in silence. For a moment I wished it read my name instead. I took out my sword. For a moment I watched its edge glimmer in the dim light and wonder how it would feel to have it pierced through my body. Then I let go of such thoughts and merely placed it on the foot of the stone, as if offering my service to my I would do could every repay what he had done to me. Preferably it would be your own sword that lies by your tomb, but given the circumstances, my own will have to do and I am all willing to give it to you. And so the sword lay beside his grave, but it was not even his grave, because he was not here and would never be. It is a shame. I think he would have liked the view from here, the summit of a hill far in the eastern mountains, the summer wind a dry gust with warmth from the forested lowlands, and when it was lit by the last light of the day it reminded me of that one last night we had sat together in some distant bliss of the past that now seems ages ago, though it was only briefly before we set out to war.

"I worry that something might go wrong after all, and I will not be there to prevent it," I had said and you had replied:

Failing to come to your aid is just a proof of that, I presume. And yet, you, my valiant dear friend, have saved my life. Have saved me more times than I could count.

My eyes burn and I close them, but it does not help my throat from being far too numb.

"Well..."

My voice cracks. It is but a couple of months later since we had ridden up the hill in Hithlum.

"...what do you think?"

But the only reply I receive is from the dry wind that kisses my blood-stained hands as autumn rolls in.

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Don't blame thyself for death
My dear, friend, lost in dark
I hope thou'll come to see that
We'll never truly part.

Chapter End Notes

THE END Thank you for reading!