On Northern battlefields long ago by turlas

Chapter 1

Read Chapter 1

Felagund scaled on the earthwork rampart, leaning on his spear. The nameless ringfort stood on the west bank of Sirion, opposite to the little mouth of Rivil, where the Great River turned slowly westward, toward Minas Tirith, that now lay many leagues behind. 

When the fearful tidings came of a running Flame, of assaults on all sides, thunder, suffocating fumes, balrogs and perhaps dragons, he mounted with two company of Noldorin horsemen, and rode forth. The Island he left in the care of Orodreth, and the purpose of the sortie was never made entirely clear. Perhaps it was scouting, to see whether the enemy was coming to Tol Sirion, or was it to aid those retreating, or a mad dash to reach Fingolfin in the north… Finrod prefered clearly made plans, and though he had felt since many years that the Dark Day will come, Foresight was of little help in the particulars. He needed to see it with bodily eyes, gather tidings and reports, and then decide what course to follow.

They rode all day and all night on the winding, pawed road between the Shadowy Mountains and the River, meeting no enemy, only a few score refugees, and reached finally the little fort in the cold hours before dawn. It was still manned by a mixed company of archers, some Men from Dor-Lómin and some Noldor in the High Kings service. They told how on the previous night they saw the flames leap up from Thangorodrim, and run with unnatural speed over Ard-Galen. Cries and shrieks they heard, and beating of drums, and alarm of trumpets. Yet the Sirion itself defended them, and the Enemy did not yet attempt crossing. So they remained on duty, and sent messengers up on the west bank towards Barad Eithel to ask for commands.

The Sun rose almost purple, powerless to illuminate the Plains. Now he saw it. It was not like the column of smoke that is wont to rise after a camp or settlement was burned, nor was it like the advancing smoky-white walls that the wildfires in East-Beleriand sometimes produced. It was black, immeasurably tall, and extended to the north and to the east beyond the horizon. Finrod knew that the burning can not possibly extend beyond the Iron Mountains or the Blue Mountains, and yet it seemed as though one quarter of all Arda would be on fire. A southerly wind chased back the smoke, so it did not cover the fort, but he could still feel many things in the air: the ashes of horses, elves and men, grass and tree, and a sulphuric, bitter smell, that he assumed must come from the depths of Angbad.

Suddenly, with a cry four Hadorians sprang up from their watchfires, and strode down on the rampart towards the river. Finrod saw a dark shape creep out from the water. The men reached it, and poked at it carefully with their spears. One of them stooped, and cried in surprise:

“Captain! An elf it is, but in mighty bad shape.”   

Finrod let fall his spear and hastened to help them carry fugitive elf up. 

Little later the newcomer sat in the tent of the forts Captain, who together with Finrod and Edrahil (who rode with the King) gathered eagerly to hear her news. For she was a Noldorin maid, face grey with ash half-washed in the river, eyes very red, hair short and evidently burnt. She was found in only those close-fitting silken garments warriors wore under gambeson and mail, and now she was covered in a spare blanket.

“Are you my Lord, King Finrod Felagund?” - asked the hoarse voice.

“Yes, I am.”

“I bear news from Lord Gelmir. He retreated into the Fen of Serech, and had evaded the flames. But he is in dire need, pinned nine leagues from here.”

“How many are with him?”

“Now more than two grosses who are still able to bear arms. But thrice more are those who are grievously hurt. I have seen Feanorians with terrible burns on their body, and many elves who cough up blood like the mortals with the fading cough. The healer’s supplies are spent.”

“Are they from the forward lines?”

“From Camp Defiance and Camp Aglareb none returned who can still stand or walk. From Worm’s Retreat we had no news. Gelmir deems that Lord Gilfanon must be lost.”

“And what of the Enemy?”
“Orcs have assaulted our position four times yesterday, but were driven black with losses. But we lost most of the train on the first night, and arrows are running sort. It seems that the main strike passed to the northwest against Hithlum and to the east again Dorthonion, and they did not yet bother to overrun Serech with overwhelming force.”

“So Lord Gelmir stands but is very vulnerable for weariness and want of ammunition” - asked the Captain, a young Noldo by the name Bronweg - “and he can not retreat because he has not enough hands nor beasts to carry the wounded?”

“Yes.”

Finrod stood for a moment, pondering.

“What is the condition of the roads to this place?” - he asked then.

“The evil smoke covers all the Fen, but it is less thick than in the north. It makes the eyes watery and the head confused, but one would not spit out his lungs and can drew breath and live. The fires themselves had died down, and all is in ashes.”

“No doubt on purpose, to allow the Orchost to advance.” - remarked Edrahil.

“Where can my riders best ford the Sirion in these parts?” - asked Finrod from Bronweg.

“Lord King. Armies may not ford between Barad Eithel and Minas Tirith, but we have two flatboats in the fort, and can carry over your men. But...” - Bronweg fell suddenly silent.

Finrod looked into his eyes, asking in thought what bothered the allied commander.

“”We are all glad that you come to our relief. I, erm, I know it is your people you must first care for, but is this wise? To ride into the darkness like this?””

“What do you think of this?” - Finrod now turned to Edrahil.

“I disapprove, and I will follow you. This mad sortie would befit Feanor more than the house of Finarfin.”

“Nay” - cried out Finrod - “My uncle went fort in arrogance and wrath, seeking vengeance. Whereas I would go fort in knowledge of the danger, and only to save my liege. And if we succeed, and the wounded are nursed back to health, our force will grow, and we may hold this place and maintain contact with the High King. It was never really a question. Edrahil, go and get the companies ready!”

Then he turned to Bronweg: “I am sad that I must ask for assistance instead of offering it, but could your people loan us herbs and bandages, and other supplies healers may need?”

“Yes.”

Last he spoke to the messenger: “What is your name, daughter?”

“I am called Ilfrith” - whispered she.

“You served well. I would that you could rest now, but I must ask one last service. We need a guide to find Lord Gelmir in the smoke-covered Fen. Do you have the strength left.?”

“I shall manage. And one thing I forgot: Order your men to cover their faces with cloth dripped into the River. That seems to help a bit against the fumes and smoke.” 

Felagund sat now in the saddle. At his left were Ilfrith clad in loaned mail, at his right Edrahil. His riders were about them, nearly filling the ringfort.

“We will ride to the rescue of Lord Gelmir.  We will pass over the Sirion on boats, and then ride as fast as we can toward his position, that is nine leagues from here, and is two from Rivil. Go swift, and strike only those within arms reach. Let now this dark smoke serve our purpose! After you made the face-covers ready and the march is ordered, draw up on the bank for boarding.”

“How shall I order the march?” - asked Edrahil.

“Double column, close packed. I deem you can manage it.”  

“Old usage and common sense calls for outriders to cover the sides. But they are sure to get lost in this gloom.”

“Then do not send them out! The less chance that we stumble into Orcs.”