Single Combat by Uvatha the Horseman

Chapter 1

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Single Combat

The Slopes of Orodruin, SA 2441

It couldn't be put off any longer. Mairon left through one of the sally ports, his head held high, jaw clenched. A wall of besiegers ringed the fortress, blocking his way. He glared at them and they shrank back, opening a path for him.

Er-Mûrazôr[1] walked before him carrying his standard, but otherwise he was alone. Because Gil-galad had issued the challenge, it was Mairon's right to name the place where the duel would be fought. He chose the slopes of Orodruin, where his power was greatest.

They made their way to the designated place. The ground thrummed beneath his feet. Orange light flicked against the low overcast, Orodruin was erupting hard. Acrid fumes made it difficult to see much at a distance, but he thought he could make out a small group of armed men approaching. The delicate shape and detail of their armor marked them as Elvish.

This contest was the climax of tensions that had been building for centuries, and Mairon welcomed it.

As the enemy drew closer, Mairon thought he recognized their leader, Gil-galad. They had met once before, at the border of Lindon, where Gil-galad had barred the gates and turned Mairon away from his realm. The Elven king was hiking up the slope with his second-in-command, Elrond Peredhel, who carried Gil-galad's standard, a yellow star on a blue shield. Another warrior followed close behind them, Círdan the Shipwright.

Gil-galad carried a lance tipped with a scimitar-like blade. Its cutting edge glittered razor-sharp. Mairon knew of that weapon, Aeglos, the Icicle. The two parties stopped at opposite sides of the small ledge, the only level place on this slope. Gil-galad acknowledged Mairon with a nod.

Mairon sized up his opponent. He and Gil-galad were almost equally matched. Gil-galad's finesse and skill would be pitted against Mairon's strength and aggression, Gil-galad's flexible steel against Mairon's heavy mace. It would be close, but Mairon thought he could beat him. Gil-galad's grandfather challenged Melkor to single combat, and was slain. This duel shouldn't be any different.

Gil-galad issued the formal challenge. "Lord of the Black Land, I challenge you to single combat for possession of this realm. What say you?" called Gil-galad. His voice echoed from the stones around them.

"I accept your challenge." Mairon was enjoying this.

This was single combat, so according to ancient custom, their supporters were not allowed to remain close, for fear they might aid the combatants. Er-Mûrazor went back the way they'd come. On the far side of the ledge, Elrond and Círdan retreated down the slope in the direction of their own camp. When they'd reached the required distance, they stopped and turned around to witness the duel. Mairon didn't look over his shoulder, but he sensed that Er-Mûrazor was doing the same.

The combatants stood across from each other. Gil-galad crossed his fist across his body in a salute. and Mairon returned it. They circled each other, their weapons held at the ready.

Gil-galad lowered the tip of his lance to hold Mairon off at a distance. Mairon kept just out of range and smacked the tip of the lance with a blow from his mace. He dodged under the wicked-looking blade and closed the distance between them. The lance should have been useless at close range, but Gil-galad choked up on the shaft and held it close to the base of the blade.

Gil-galad drew his sword, but Mairon struck first. Gil-galad twisted his body and narrowly avoided the heavy mace. At the same time, he slashed down with his flexible blade. Mairon moved to block it, but at the last minute, Gil-galad flicked his wrist and came under Mairon's defenses. Mairon felt the blow land harmlessly on his hauberk. It rattled him. He shouldn't have fallen for such an obvious feint.

Mairon was less agile than Gil-galad, and couldn't outmaneuver him or deceive him with a feint, but he was stronger. Mairon swung the mace, but missed. Gil-galad had an uncanny ability to dance out of the way.

Mairon was thinking about where to strike on the backhand swing when Gil-galad darted in on his left side and struck Mairon in the stomach so hard it made him stagger backwards. It didn't hurt, but it surprised him. The complicated blade must have caught in Mairon's armor. Gil-galad yanked on the shaft, unable to free it. Mairon laughed.

The mace was useless at such close range. They were almost face to face. Their eyes met through the eye slits of their helmets. Mairon thought Gil-galad would be terrified of him, but there was no fear in Gil-galad's eyes, only determination.

Mairon pulled out a dagger and stabbed his enemy in the face through the eye slits. Gil-galad shrieked and jerked backwards with such force, the tip of his lance pulled free. The last ten inches of the blade looked red, where mirror-bright steel reflected the fires from Orodruin. Mairon brought the mace down as hard as he could, and the wooden shaft of the lance shattered under the impact.

Gil-galad stared at his ruined weapon, stunned. He dropped his defenses for just a moment, but it was enough. Mairon swung the mace and struck the sword arm between shoulder and elbow. The bone snapped. His enemy collapsed to his knees, clutching his injured arm. His fingers flopped uselessly, and his sword fell to the ground.

Under normal circumstances, the victor would have asked, "Do you yield?" and the vanquished one would have said "Yes", or if he were beyond speech, would have nodded. Then it would be over. But this contest was to the death. Had the outcome been reversed, Mairon felt sure Gil-galad would not spare him.

Mairon walked up to his vanquished foe. Let's finish this.

Gil-galad was still clutching his arm. His chest was heaving. Mairon watched him. Gil-galad kept his eyes on the ground. His lips moved in prayer. Mairon paused for a moment. Then he gripped the mace with both hands, lifted it high above his head, and brought it down with all his strength.

The contest was over. He had won. He let the mace slip through his fingers and fall to the ground. He stood there, breathing hard. He looked around for his people. Er-Mûrazor and several others were approaching from the distance.

But before his own people reached him, a huge man raced up the slope and knelt beside Gil-galad's motionless form. A standard bearer caught up with him a moment later, carrying a banner with seven stars and a white tree. Mairon guessed the man was Tar-Elendil, King of Gondor. He must have witnessed the duel with the Elven King, although Mairon hadn't seen him arrive with Gil-galad's group.

Elendil looked up at Mairon with hatred. "Remember the terms of our agreement. The Leader of the Black Land and the Leader of the Last Alliance will meet in single combat. But the Alliance has two leaders, Gil-galad and myself. You must defeat us both before you are declared the victor."

He wasn't wrong. Legally, the agreement could be interpreted that way. Mairon could have argued against it, but there was something else. He didn't want to refuse with his own people watching him, and he thought he could win. Gil-galad was the greatest warrior in the Alliance, and Mairon defeated him. He would defeat the King of Gondor as well.

"I challenge you to single combat," said Elendil.

"I accept your challenge", Mairon started to say, but was overtaken by a fit of coughing. The wind had changed, bringing toxic fumes from Orodruin. He nodded his acceptance instead.

Elendil straightened up and faced him across the narrow distance between them. Mairon realized he'd underestimated Elendil's size and strength. Mairon was tall by Númenorian standards, but Elendil was a giant.[2]

The duel began before Mairon had a chance to recover from the duel with Gil-galad. Elendil was fresh. Mairon could have asked for a delay, but he didn't want anyone to think he lacked courage. He planned to move slowly at first, circling and staying out of range until he could catch his breath.

Mairon struck the first blow, but fatigue made him clumsy and it landed wide. Elendil parried with a backhanded cut that left Mairon's right arm numb. Elendil's next blow found its mark as well. Mairon was breathing hard. His lungs gurgled as if he were breathing underwater. He coughed, and his mouth filled with blood.

Mairon raised the mace high above his head, but before he brought it down, Elendil swung the great two-handed sword and struck him in the side, breaking his ribs. The ground tipped beneath his feet. He stumbled but recovered. He tried to raise the mace again, but no longer could.

He was looking through a tunnel, and bright spots swam before his eyes. He knew he was about to collapse, and when that happened, he was finished. He had one move left. He would throw himself on the King of Gondor, and use his weight and the heat of his body as a weapon.

His vision was almost gone. It was time. He took a running step and collided with Elendil as hard as he could, knocking him off balance. He heard a muffled curse. As he fell, he clutched his enemy in a deadly embrace, but if they struck the ground together, he never felt it.

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Chapter End Notes

[1] The Black Prince. 1300 years later, he would be awarded another title, The Witch King of Angmar.

[2] Elendil the Tall - 'Tolkien put his height at "more than man high by nearly half a ranga" or 8' tall. (JRRT, Unfinished Tales) Mairon was 'large, but not gigantic'. (JRRT, letter 246) My best guess is he was 7' tall, like Isildur.