Fire flowing like Water by chrissystriped

Fire flowing like Water

Read Fire flowing like Water

Maedhros couldn’t sleep. He could never sleep when the wind was coming from the northern mountains. It was like he could feel the malice of their inhabitant. He tossed around in his bed, but finally admitted it was no use.

He rose slowly, barely noticing the chill — he did not feel heat or cold like other elves since his years hanging from a cliff — and dressed. He took his sword, one never knew, and walked outside to make his round of the walls. It was not that he didn't trust his people, but it felt better to move when he couldn’t sleep. The soldiers on watch greeted him, some with a nod, some with a quiet word. They were used to him wandering around at all times.

Silqueléna was staring north, Maedhros could see that she was worried by the way she held her bow.

“What do you see?”, he asked her.

She was born under the stars, had already lived here with her people when Maedhros had come to Himring, her eyes were much sharper at night then his.

“I don’t know”, she answered, not turning her eyes away from Angband. “I see a light, like a large fire. Might be nothing, but…” She took a deep breath. “The air is heavy with malice tonight.”

“Yes”, Maedhros murmured. “I can feel it, too. Raise the alarm”, he called to the elf manning the bell. He wanted them to be ready for whatever Morgoth was sending their way.

He called for his armour, not intending to leave his post on the wall now. It didn’t take long until he could see the red sheen on the horizon, too. He watched with Silqueléna, worry clenching his gut, as the light spread and intensified.

“It’s burning”, she whispered, her face pale in the light that was not dawn — and Maedhros realised it was so bright he could see by it. “The plain is burning.” She looked up to him. “Can he do that? Burn Ard-galen?”

Maedhros shuddered, remembering the heat of the balrogs that had killed his father and taken him captive. Remembering the heat in the dungeons of Angband and the red light in fissures that went deep into the earth. Remembering the story of the fiery thing Fingon had fought. He’d known Morgoth would attack eventually, that he was biding his time, but he’d though of orcs, not something like this. They could not fight fire. Would they all burn?

“I don’t know”, he answered belatedly, not finding more encouraging words in his heart.

There was a rumble, low, more felt than heard and Maedhros squinted into the red tinged darkness.

“Can you see anything?”

“A dark mass coming toward us”, Silqueléna said. “I can’t see details at this distance, but it’s moving fast.”

Maedhros looked back into the fortress. Despite his racing heart and his sense of doom, he felt pride at how smoothly everyone found their place. Archers were manning the walls. Piles of arrows ready for them. He heard horses wicker and the clinking of tack in the stable. Footsoldiers taking up formation in the courtyard while people from outside the fortress — hunters, shepherds, farmers — were beginning to trickle in after hearing the horn-call. They’d be saver inside the walls and those who could fight would swell the ranks of his army.

 

Maedhros was in the middle of a meeting with his captains when finally the nature of the rumbling became clear. Smoke was already billowing in the air, the smell of burning things heavy, when Silqueléna called: “Horses. It’s a herd of horses!”

Soon after an elf, wide-eyed with fear and looking slightly singed rode into the courtyard. Maedhros hurried to meet him.

“My Lord.” The elf bowed to him. “There’s fire spilling forth from Thangorodrim. It flows like water. Luckily we were not too far out on the plain. When the horses grew restless and we saw the glow in the north, we broke camp and ran. It still almost overtook us.”

He coughed.

“There are things coming behind the fire”, his voice was trembling. “We heard them scream and growl. The earth shook under their steps.”

“You did well to come here before the fire could overtake you.”

Maedhros wondered with a shudder how many people and animals would be lost in the flames. He walked up a few steps of the stairs to the wall walk.

“This is it!”, he called. “Morgoth thinks he can burn us away, but the hill of Himring is made of tough stone, it will protect us from the fire.”

He thought with worry of Maglor. There was nothing to stop the fire in the gap. He hoped, they’d noticed the attack soon enough to get on higher ground.

“We will weather it! We have fought his armies before and won. We have trained for this day, have waited for it. We will win again and send his orcs running!”

His men cheered for him as he set his helmet on his head and drew his sword.

“He’s not going to take us”, he murmured as he walked up to the wall walk to wait for the fire to reach them. “He won’t win.”

He had to tell himself. He needed the strength coming from that thought to push away the fear trembling in his heart. He needed to be strong for his people. He would not let Morgoth win!