Lady of Battle

Lady of Battle

~*~*~*~*~Oh… Snap!
by Cheiron

Rating: NC17

~*~*~*~*~

Legal disclaimer:
Characters, places, events from JRR Tolkien's Lord of the Rings and Silmarillion used without permission, no attempt has been made, nor will be made, to copyright these characters and no profit is being made from this work. All other non-Tolkien characters are of my own invention.

Feedback appreciated :) ... Enjoy!


The next morning, Brenauth hearing her name, awoke in disbelief to seeing the sun shining brightly through the drapes. Sitting up, her head spun with a throbbing she had never felt before. Glancing around her room, trying to focus her eyes, she began to try and stand, realizing she still wore her gown from the previous night. She exhaled, disgusted with herself, trying to steady while leaning on the bedpost.

“Brenauth?” Rhokrist’s voice was coming from outside, on the flet overlooking the gardens. She peeked in through the drapes and smirked at the Lady, who still clung to the bedpost for support. Rhokrist knew all too well how her friend felt. She stepped in, carrying a small flask in her hand,

“Here, Gwathel, this will help,” she held out the small cup and Brenauth immediately turned from it; it smelled retched.

“You made quite an impression on our guests last night, many Galadhrim as well; impressed them with your stamina for the wines,” Brenauth did not have the patience for Rhokrist’s jests.

“Well, if only they could see me now,” she had sat back down onto her bed and was clutching her head in her hands.

“Lady, trust me,” empathetically Rhokrist lifted the flask higher, showing insistent eyes.

Brenauth took the flask and, with a last look of disgust, quickly tipped it high, swallowing all its contents. She felt it flushing through her stomach and immediately felt it working throughout her body, quickly reaching her finger tips, causing them to tingle warmly. Her head immediately cleared and suddenly she was very hungry.

She turned back to Rhokrist who simply stood, watching Brenauth, an ‘I told you so’ smile painting her face. Brenauth, feeling much better, took in a deep breath and let her body fall back onto the bed, stretching out her limbs.

“I knew what your condition would be when I saw you leave last night and assumed you would miss our spar this morn,” Rhokrist walked over and sat on the bed next to Brenauth.

“It hadn’t been my attention,” Brenauth lay there trying to force herself up again, while Rhokrist sat on the bed next to her, lifting her feet, adjusting her legs and folding them.

“He followed you?” Rhokrist’s look was just plain devious as she wryly said this. Brenauth’s mind leapt,

‘That’s right,’ she thought as the memories of the night before suddenly returned. Her stomach twisted and she couldn’t help but let out a regretful moan as she turned away, onto her side, hiding her face in her hands. She couldn’t bare it; her behavior with the March Warden the night before was most humiliating. She could not stand herself at the moment.

“What is it,” Rhokrist asked, suddenly intrigued, “Oh, you must tell,” she openly became excited and readjusted her legs to tuck them under her body, now on her knees, leaning over the Lady. Brenauth just lay there, her hands over her face as her memory, cruelly, replayed all her actions of the night before. She never wanted to leave her rooms again.
Another moan of regret, tinged with frustration, escaped her lips, louder this time, echoing in the room.

“Well, it couldn’t be that bad,” Rhokrist slightly chastising as she gave her friend a small slap, “You still wear your gown.” Brenauth turned her head and gave Rhokrist a stern look, letting her known enough was enough. “What happened, that could be as bad as this,” Rhokrist, ignoring her, asked again.

Brenauth rolled onto her back again and stared at the wooden ceiling. She couldn’t tell her friend what she had done; she was too embarrassed to say, so instead, she only gave her a pleading look to let it go and changed the subject.

“Well, I think it’s safe to say, your night was not as untamed as mine. Did you couple with a Galadhrim you have to look at everyday?” Rhokrist looked around the room casually, obviously avoiding eye contact with Brenauth, who had risen up, stunned at hearing this.

“Well, then… let’s go,” Rhokrist jumped up from the bed and began to search for clothing for her friend. Brenauth still remained, processing this, with a large disbelieving smile. “Let’s eat,” Rhokrist threw fresh clothes into Brenauth’s lap.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~

Once they had eaten, the two friends headed for the training grounds to swiftly work in their daily sparring match. Talking and laughing, they walked down the path through the large Mallorn trees - Brenauth had forgotten about the events the night before.

They entered the clearing seeing that many were about, working on their skills. Usually, Brenauth and Rhokrist would spar early enough to avoid any spectators, but today they were running late. Brenauth paid the onlookers no mind, as she and Rhokrist found an unoccupied area and began to prepare. Rhokrist had become quite the match for the lady in the last few years, Brenauth secretly congratulating herself for her accomplishment as a teacher; an instructor truly knows that they are a good tutor when their student gets the better of them once or twice. On these occasions, Brenauth would have to remind herself to intensify the challenges she presented Rhokrist.

As they prepared, Brenauth glanced around at the elves about the fields. She saw many of the elves she had met the night before, both Lothlorien and from Greenwood, many of them giving her looks of notice, slight waves of acknowledgement and impressions of welcome; she felt very comfortable, she was content.

“Ready?” Rhokrist stood in the center, her long sword hanging by her side, it grazing the ground as she waited for Brenauth to join her. The lady Seneschal quickly joined her, taking her place opposite the area. A look of sheer pleasure spread over their faces as they squared off to one another, intense looks of concentration in their eyes, as they took form and circled each other. Some Greenwood elves noticed the match starting and slowly began to walk their way.

“Are you ready,” Brenauth asked, glaring into her student’s eyes as she prepared to make her move. Brenauth quickly swung her sword low, just a bit to make sure Rhokrist’s reflexes were prepared. Rhokrist reacted perfectly by tapping away her teacher’s sword easily. At this, Rhokrist took Brenauth by surprise, bringing down a rapid series of swings, fast and beautiful; which Brenauth blocked speedily; she hadn’t seen that one coming. Rhokrist just smiled and focused again while they continued to circle one another.

By then, a large number of elves had come closer, watching and commenting quietly on the sidelines. The spar continued when Brenauth, with amazing grace and perfection, counter-attacked Rhokrist who was obviously struggling a bit to block her tutor’s attacks. A couple of Greenwood elves let out small yelps; it had been most impressive, Brenauth’s style was most unusual and quite spectacular, but, nonetheless, Rhokrist’s ability to block her tutor’s attacks received recognition as well.

More elves joined to watch, including the prince of Greenwood, who stood to the back with his arms folded, watching with friends who whispered to one another, surprised looks of admiration on their faces; Thranduil simply wore his usual subtle smile.

Watching Brenauth spar was like watching a dance of art. Her years of experience and her combination of the old ways with the new techniques, made her a truly accomplished warrior with nearly unmatched skill and control. She never appeared to be pinned or in danger of losing in any way - her expression always showing her inner mind working and planning her moves; she was a natural at swordplay.

“Now that’s how you wield a sword,” the voice had come from a Galadhrim who had just arrived and walked to the sideline behind Rhokrist, his comment arousing laughter from elves nearby. Rhokrist immediately recognized the voice and allowed it to break her concentration, letting her arms fall, rolling her eyes, and replying with contempt,

“Ai, Rumil, and better than you handled yours last night,” laughter echoed throughout the crowd along with shouts and moans.

“Ohhhh…,” Rumil laughing and playing to the enthusiasm of the all who listened, “I’ll show you how to handle a sword,” his last word had been spoken through clenched teeth, accompanied by a stern and challenging stare. Laughs filled the field as Brenauth, recognizing the elf as Rhokrist’s dance partner the night before, smiled and shook her head in embarrassment for her young friend. Brenauth backed to the edge of the sidelines.

Rhokrist stepped back, holding her hands out, presenting the empty space to Rumil, inviting him to claim his side of the clearing, which he did immediately. The many Galadhrim standing about could hardly contain their excitement as they laughed and beckoned friends to come see a duel that many had wanted to see for a long time; Rumil vs. Rhokrist, for it was believed that these two, were two of the best soldiers in the Golden Wood.

They wasted no time and immediately began to duel, spouting words meant to taunt each other, and weaken each other’s sport. Brenauth suddenly saw the March Warden step into the inside of the clearing, only a couple of steps down from her. His eyes already fixed on Brenauth, she met his gaze but quickly turned away. She felt heat slowly rising in her cheeks as she tried to ignore his presence. She guessed that he was thinking of the events of the previous night and the thought of him having seen her behave in that fashion made her slightly angry; she was annoyed with her own actions and silently chastised herself.

‘I will ignore him and ignore the events of last night,’ seeming to have no care for his presence, Brenauth turned her indifferent stare back toward the contest.

Haldir stiffened and turned to watch as well. Observing his younger brother’s escapade, he wondered how in this world was he related to Rumil?

‘He wastes his talent showing off,’ he thought as he watched the two continuing to try to better the other. Haldir still believed the talent had been wasted on the youngest brother, who, if only had a little discipline, could best any warrior in Middle Earth.

“The elleth is too eager,” the March Warden said aloud, Brenauth turning her head toward him after the comment. She felt slightly provoked by the critism given that the elf Rhokrist fought was behaving like a clown, not taking any battle forms seriously. Brenauth glared at the March Warden who had turned his glance back to meet hers; she was infuriated. She especially disliked the idea of the March Warden, in particular, criticizing her student at all – This bothered her.

“Perhaps this Jester could assist her? “ Brenauth’s dry tone had definitely made her thoughts clear to Haldir. He was already embarrassed by his brother’s measures but Brenauth’s decision to say aloud for others to hear, what Haldir believed everyone was already thinking, humiliated him immensely.

Many of the elves standing close by became very quiet at hearing the open insult, but Brenauth showed no sign of regret and kept her cold stare fixed on Haldir. She realized that she was incredibly livid with him for refusing her as he did; she had been mortified upon remembering it that morning. Now, she felt justified for her comment. With a final brash look, Brenauth turned and left the field, heading up the trail toward the great halls.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~



“Yes indeed, they were quite unusual,” Thranduil nodded his agreement. “The first time our scouts encountered them we lost three of our own.” His face went grim with the memory.

“These orc,” Celeborn questioned, “you say that they moved like elves?” He was starting to show great concern while Galadriel, seeming somewhat distracted, remained quiet and continued to listen.

"Moved like elves, fought like elves, some of them were even built more like elves than orc" Thranduil answered.

“Their armor too,” a young Mirkwood delegate spoke, “it was most unusual.” He had leaned around the Greenwood prince in order to make eye contact with Celeborn.

“Ai,” Brenauth interjected, “I remember their armor,” Her eyes seemed to glaze somewhat with the memory of her attack. Haldir, seated across from her, adjusted his posture.

“It was as if they are trying to mimic elven forging techniques. It was a crude version of ours, but, recognizable.” She looked into Galadriel’s eyes, who gave her a most peculiar smile. Brenauth puzzled for an instant at this, her brows rutted, but instantly turned her attention back to the conversation.

Brenauth wondered why the March Warden was not saying more about their attack. He, of all who sat at their table, would have remembered the most about their new enemy, for their attack had been during daylight, unlike Thranduil and his Greenwood soldiers. The March Warden had gotten a clear, first hand view of these orc, but Brenauth did not dare address him, instead keeping her chair and body turned slightly away and facing the head of the table throughout dinner.

Haldir’s aggravation enveloped him and was only surpassed by his guilt whenever his part in that attack came up. He truly did not even want to be in this meeting, especially with the looks he was receiving from the Lady Galadriel.

“So… they are copying our ways?” Celeborn’s question, more of a statement, received nods of agreement from all parties when suddenly they were interrupted.

A servant had entered the great dining hall and quickly rounded the table to whisper into Celeborn’s ear. He nodded and stood.

“It appears that a small party from Rivendel has arrived unexpectedly,” while everyone stood from their chairs Celeborn slowly rounded the table, “I have instructed them to be brought here.” He walked slowly toward the large double doors while Brenauth and Thranduil gave each other looks of wonder; Haldir’s blank face was focused on the door.

Without hesitation, a familiar raven-headed elf appeared wearing extremely elegant riding attire and bowed immediately; Brenauth’s face lit up with joy, accompanied by a minute gasp. Thranduil and Haldir had noticed it and both had baffled expressions on their faces – this elf bore similar traits to Brenauth; raven hair and silver eyes.

Brenauth walked slowly around her chair, holding in her dinner gown as she moved toward the new arrival. Her face more under control now, she leisurely rounded the table and then, suddenly, at a quickened pace closed the gap between them; the elf raising his arms to allow her to clasp them.

Strong and stern, they clutched each other’s arms in a warrior’s embrace, their muscles visibly constricted as the others watched bewildered. The elf looked at ease, as they both relaxed and allowed their heads to fall forward, their foreheads resting lightly against each other, eyes closed.

“A call to home,” Brenauth whispered, but loud enough for the other’s to hear; their eyes still closed.

“And home, I am,” the elf replied as their eyes opened and remained fixed on each other, allowing their arms to fall. They stood for a long moment, looking at each other, blank expressions on their faces. The Greenwood delegates showed obvious confusion; except Thranduil, smiling.

Suddenly, a large, lighthearted smile spread across the elf’s face, to which Brenauth replied by stepping forward and throwing her arms around him. Obviously alarmed, the elf laughed aloud, returning her embrace. She pulled back and spoke,

“Too long…,” she took a breath and sighed, “…since we have met.” She embraced him again. After a moment, his looks of astonishment starting to fade, he replied,

“Well, with a welcome like this, I can assure you to visit more often,” his jest causing Brenauth to chuckle as the Lady Galadriel joined in the laughter.

“Friends, may I introduce Erestor, chief counselor to Elrond of Rivendel,” the Lady’s introduction had relieved many of the questioning faces, but Haldir’s feelings remained unchanged. He managed a blank stare as he concealed his dissatisfaction, not understanding his own feelings.

The March Warden showed no expression as he appraised this new elf. Haldir had never seen Erestor before, and looking at him now, suspicions arose in his mind - Brenauth’s reaction serving to intensify this mystery for Haldir. He would keep a close eye on this one.

~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~


The conversation was merry and the laughter high as Brenauth and Erestor lay out over the rugs in front of the mantel. Brenauth, having found a new taste for Greenwood wine, had insisted they take some back to her quarters, while they worked. Catching up had included her telling him of the many events of the last few weeks, the most humorous being the delegation’s reaction to her looks and accent; Erestor had cried in laughter at that.

Erestor had departed from Rivendel, with the permission of Elrond, to seek Brenauth’s knowledge on some of the odd artifacts that had been turning up in their realm, and with the recent change in orc activity, Elrond’s counselor had believed the two were connected; Erestor’s suspicions were confirmed when Brenauth had told him of the attacks and the messages that had been intercepted in Caras Galadhon..

They had worked throughout the evening on translating more of the scrolls that had been discovered; Erestor taking special interest in the strange name and prophecy that Brenauth had found and been obsessing over. He too, was intrigued and challenged.

He had brought with him, some of the armor that had been acquired when Rivendel’s captain and his company had intercepted a large party of these strange new orc trying to pass through their realm.

“Our captain believes that these orc are not just mimicking our ways, but that our ways are being taught to them…,” Erestor had added, with a stern look of apprehension, “he said that they had a strong grasp of our fighting formations.” Brenauth concerned and seeing his expression, had thought deeply, trying to remember the events of her attack.

“The Warden and I had no warning; once I had felt them, it was too late…,” her expression was blank as she stared into the fire, replaying the images in her mind, “… and they did move faster, their attacks were clearer and more directed.” She was thinking aloud as she recounted this. Her eyes turned to meet her friend’s when she added,

“We nearly fell that day,” her voice was empty. She thought about her actions that day, how she had put both their lives in danger and, again, she felt ashamed. She snapped her attention back to Erestor who was sipping the wine.

“Taught?” she realized what Erestor had said; she was suddenly aroused, “by whom?” The thought of the orc being ‘taught’ elven battle forms made her laugh. Her chuckles became contagious and the two of them, feeding on each other, began to laugh hysterically. Their chuckles dying down slowly, Brenauth began to remember all the laughs that they had enjoyed together, even back in Gondolin.

Being of the same age, they had played as young ones. She had many memories of running through the great gardens with Erestor, son of Duilin. As small elflings, they had even jested of one day marrying and combining their two great houses; the House of the Fountain and the House of the Swallow. But as they grew, they both had only felt the deep love of friendship develop between them. Now, they shared mourning and took comfort from each other, for they both had lost their entire families on that fateful day.

Erestor had suffered the loss of two home realms, and more loved ones, when his second home of Ost-in-Edhil was destroyed and his good friend, Celebrimbor, who had fled Gondolin with Erestor, was captured, tormented and put to death, while protecting the whereabouts of the three elven rings of power.

It was apparent that they both were thankful to be together, for each of them, Gondolin, their home, was in each other; Erestor was all Brenauth had left of Gondolin.

Still laughing, Erestor thought about this change in Brenauth and was happy for it. For too long, had he watched her waste in the past, always feeling its loss and allowing it to hold her from life. She exhaled her final chuckle as she sipped the wine, Erestor standing to move to Brenauth’s desk in order to refill his cup.

Filling his cup, he was glancing down and skimming over the mountain of parchments on her desk, when one caught his eye. Putting down his goblet, he pulled the letter from under the scrolls. His face showed nothing as he read the message.

Glancing up, Brenauth realized what Erestor had found, her smile slowly vanishing from her face. Frantically, she looked about the floor trying to prepare the right words and explain her position regarding this unknown suitor. She watched him with her peripheral vision and saw him start to smile, at which she turned to face him, the perplexity all over her face.

He put it back down on her desk and waited, shaking his head, giddiness in his eyes. Brenauth wondered if the Greenwood wine had gotten to him too.

For what seemed forever to Brenauth, he stood there, smiling. He picked up his wine and walked back over to sit on the rug next to her. Once settled he spoke,

“I am content for you,” his face was full of bliss, “you deserve to be together.”

Brenauth tensed and stiffened, her face severely disturbed; Erestor hadn’t expected this.

“What do you mean,” Brenauth had quickly stood and clearly was lost, “Who? You know of this?” she was demanding an explanation.

Erestor’s face quickly filled with distress and he stood up as well.

“But… I … assumed…,” his mind trailed and his eyes twisted as he realized, “Melisalda, you mean you don’t know who it is?” He waited for her to tell him he was wrong.

“No, Celanor?” she spoke low, calling him by his true, Gondolin name.

Brenauth was becoming extremely impatient and this was not something Erestor was used to seeing. She had always been the most self-controlled elf he knew. He could tell that she was upset and did not want to make it worse. The letter and the situation didn’t make sense to him.
‘Why wouldn’t he announce himself?’ he thought. He took a deep breath and prepared himself to console her.

“Glorfindel…” he spoke cool and evenly, thinking that somehow saying it that way would lessen the blow, “…he must be your suitor.” The beautiful elleth in front of him showed nothing.

Brenauth hadn’t heard his name spoken aloud in ages. It wasn’t possible. She had seen him fall; Erestor was wrong.

“You misspeak yourself, friend…” she smiled reassuringly to encourage him to correct himself.

Erestor stood still, his expression serene; his silver eyes fixed on hers and chose not to speak; he thought saying it again would make it worse. He took a step closer and stopped when Brenauth held out her hand.

‘It can’t be,’ she thought.

Brenauth turned and faced the fire; her stare fixed. Erestor could not tell her thoughts, her reaction being completely empty; she was without sensation. Once the shock of hearing his name had worn off, she didn’t feel anything. For a long while she stood and contemplated this, finally turning back to him,

“How long?” was all she asked, sending Erestor into complete astonishment. She felt indifferent and didn’t understand why; her own reaction was more startling to her than what she was being told.

“Eleven years,” Erestor answered without hesitation, trying to discern what she was thinking, “I hadn’t known how to tell you.” he hoped she would understand, “Only now, reading the letter… who else could it be…,” he trailed off.

“Eleven years,” she repeated back to him as she turned back to the fire. She stared through the flames, trying to understand why she did not feel anything. She reached into her memories, trying to see the Golden Lord’s face. She had barely come to terms with his loss ages ago and, although his memory had elicited sadness in the past, she could not feel it now. It was this unfeeling, she couldn’t understand…

…Struggling to stay on her feet, Melisalda staggered sideways as she attempted to make her way down the halls, back toward the mountain pass. She was weak and her mind wavered, unable to confirm the right path; she was using the sounds of the battle to guide her back. The roar of the dark creatures of Morgoth echoed through the halls and she trembled with fear

With each step the pain of her wounds tore through her as she struggled to get out and keep her promise to her brother; she had to get out. She turned the corner and saw the massive opening to the mountain pass, but just to her left, was the great battle. She took a few more steps before tumbling to the floor. Her hands shook and with tremendous effort, she barely managed to get back up onto her feet again; she knew she could not make it alone. Having no other choice, she walked back toward the King’s square.

The remaining elven soldiers had retreated back to the square and were holding on with everything they had left. The bodies of fallen orc and elves lay abundantly over the Square’s floor; causing many to be unsteady on their feet. The remainder of the many great houses of Gondolin had formed a line of last defense as many fell to their doom.

She had staggered to the side of the stone, arched entry and fell to her knees, clinging to the wall, attempting to pull herself back up, when he saw her. Ecthelion had turned just in time to see Melisalda stumble into the square of the King; the sight of her taking his breath.

Her naked blood-covered body was mutilated and covered in claw marks; her left eye buried under a sea of dried blood. Blood trickled down the inside of her legs as she struggled to stand. She turned to the wall to better clutch it, exposing her back to her brother who called out to her,

“Melisalda!” His cry had been heard by all, including Glorfindel, who now briefly turned to witness the horrendous sight. His heart dropped as he became incapacitated with gloom. Still on her knees but clasping to the wall, Glorfindel could see the large open wound in her back,

“Oh, Valar! What have they done,” he turned to look at Ecthelion who was now trying to make his way through the line, toward his sister. Glorfindel followed quickly, bringing down any orc in his path. He could see that Ecthelion was struggling, his shield arm being injured; they were going to need his help.

Melisalda watched her brother and, delirious with pain, thought that the crystal and silver of her brother’s armor was most lovely to see in the red of the fire and black of the destruction. She was looking into Ecthelion’s eyes as he was rounding the fountain when suddenly a great balrog burst through the barrier.

Ecthelion’s shield arm hung useless at his side, but he struggled with the great demon, receiving another wound, this time, in his sword arm. Then, Ecthelion, Lord of the Fountain, fairest of the Noldoli, beloved brother to Melisalda, gave one last look to his sister – a look of love. Wounded in both arms, he leapt, full at the Balrog as it raised its whip to give Ecthelion his deathblow.

Melisalda, seeing what would happen, called out as Ecthelion leapt, sacrificing himself, driving the spike on his helm full into the balrog’s breast.

Twining his legs around the demon, Ecthelion hurled himself backwards into the Fountain of the King. The Balrog yelled, and fell forward, and the fire of its being was extinguished in the Fountain, and it perished, along with Ecthelion, who, steel-laden, sank into the depths, and so perished the Lord of the Fountain, after fiery battle in cool waters*.

The sound of Melisalda’s scream overflowed the air with her pain as she attempted to get to her feet, Glorfindel arriving in time to take her weight into his arms, tears of fury and outrage streaking his cheeks as he held her to his breast and looked back toward the battle site.

Supporting her weight with one arm, trying to remain aware of her injuries, he started to run to the mountain pass, all the while, Melisalda, looking back over his shoulder, reaching out her arms and crying for her brother; time seemed to have slowed for her.

Soldiers followed as all were attempting to outrun the enemy. Glorfindel seemed to wield limitless strength as he easily carried Melisalda through the great hall. It seemed they ran a long distance before reaching the end of the passage, the mountain pass lay just ahead and it appeared that they were safe for the moment. Glorfindel, along with his soldiers slowed to a walk and realizing Melisalda’s pain, Glorfindel stopped and placed her on the ground.

He looked over her body and wept openly at what he saw. Soldiers of the Golden Flower stood around them as they watched their Lord weep for Melisalda’s torment. His sadness affected them greatly and they wept with him.

It was there; on the rocky peaks of Cirith Thoronath, under the light of the moon that no words were spoken, for what words of comfort exist at such times. She lay in his arms, looking up into his silver eyes, his hair shining white under the light of the stars. She lifted her hand, wiping away his tears, for if she were to die right then, she would die content.

He glanced up the ridge, watching the large retreat of the survivors in the distance. Glancing back at the city, all about, roaming bands of Orc ransacked and destroyed. Glorfindel and the soldiers of his house, with their keen elven eyesight, watched the defiling of The King’s Tower; their beloved city of Gondolin was lost.

With one last stroke of Melisalda’s hair, Glorfindel stood and ordered his soldiers to continue up the pass, two being commanded to carry her. She tried to protest as they started to ascend the pass with her in their arms. She watched Glorfindel start to head back when suddenly a minion of Morgoth appeared in his path.

All the soldiers turned and froze, still clutching Melisalda tightly. Without hesitation, Glorfindel leapt forward at the Balrog, his golden armor gleaming strangely in the moon; he cleaved at the demon that ferociously began to counterattack. At seeing this, the soldiers released Melisalda and rushed to his aid.

Melisalda watched helplessly as every soldier was quickly dispatched, until only Glorfindel remained, who turned to her and commanded,

“DREGO!”

She turned and began to stumble up the pass. She hadn’t made it very far when she heard the cry of the Balrog. She turned to see it falling over the edge; her relief lasting only a moment, for, as it fell, it clutched Glorfindel's yellow locks beneath his helmet, and together, they fell into the abyss.

She made no sound, but only a gasp; reaching out at the cliff where he last stood, she dropped to her knees and shook, unable to move or speak. She trembled violently, as the now silent wilderness drummed in her ears. She weakened tremendously and collapsed further down until she lay on the edge of the pass, sobbing and vulnerable…

TBC...




Translations:

‘Celanor - brilliant sun; taken from celair = brilliance, and anor = sun

‘Gwathel’ - sister

‘Drego’ - run


Note:
* http://valarguild.org/varda/Tolkien/encyc/papers/Gondolin.html - I just could not resist using this. There was no way for me to top this description. I hope you agree, it kicks ass. I changed some wording but its potency remains.