FA 455
Throne Room, Nargothrond
Dark Tidings
A shadow hung over his mind from the time that
Arien slipped her vessel over the edge of the world. It pestered his thoughts no matter how much he paced or tried to rest. Into the late night and early hours much before dawn, he found himself upon his majestically bejeweled throne of marble in silent contemplation. The silver circlet of
Felegund sat idly to his left upon a stand of similarly crafted marble. In its place his forehead pressed into his open palms whilst his fingers clutched at golden tresses. The elven king was hunched; elbows pressed to knees. And though the chamber was lit with gold and silver and cheerful light, the lord seemed out of place as he stared wide eyed at the polished gemstone floor and marble stair up to the throne. All those who questioned his emotional state, he waved away with an assuringly bright smile. The king fell to the back of his throne in exasperation, causing his blond mane to shake with the force and he brushed the wrinkles in his fine green robes that had formed at his knees. Taking the headdress in his hand he placed it upon his head haphazardly though through practice the band was placed quite well regardless. A harp stayed to his right on yet another marble table. Silver and emerald and gold it stood proudly there. He reached over and plucked a string. The note sang to him and he felt the need to release. Why hadn't he thought of it before? He took the small harp to his lap. The chords reverberated through the enclosure as he searched for the right ones for his song. As he began, he closed his eyes.
"Now you all know
The bards and their songs
When hours have gone by
I'll close my eyes
In a world far away
We may meet again
But now hear my song
About the dawn of the night
Let's sing the bards' song
Tomorrow will take us away
Far from home
No one will ever know our names
But the bards' songs will remain
Tomorrow will take it away
The fear of today
It will be gone
Due to our magic songs"
- The Bard's Song, Blind Guardian
The cavern grew dim as the light was softly stolen from it.
Finrod Felegund opened his eyes to a small overly attentive audience. He closed his eyes again briefly in apology, and the light returned. "Pardon my taste in this late evening everyone. Please contin..." As if on queue,
Arasoron and
Indilë entered the hall looking less than content and the king sat still. Finally. Finally he would know what happened this night. His heart sank upon viewing the case in
Arasoron's hand. It would seem the ill news was not a local issue. He quickly began to regret his burst of song. Taking the case, he broke the seal and read the message in silence, but not silently enough. Concern struck over his face even before finishing the first sentence. Blasted with disbelief from the second. Confusion from the third. Desperation. Compassion. Assurance. Determination... and annoyance. He lifted his gaze to
Arasoron, annoyance intact, and out to the audience he had accumulated before shouting. "Ready my horse and armor! And find my war crown!" The elven king stood a marvel to his court after setting the harp in his seat. "
Morgoth has struck in the north! My brothers call for our aid to beat him back into his hole! And we will not leave them wanting nor to take all glory for themselves! Gather what force we can muster! We ride before dawn!" He strode past
Arasoron towards his dressing room but pressed the message to his friend's chest as he went by, issuing the command, "Burn this." in a muffled whisper.
Talath Dirnen
Departure
Finrod paced his mare openly before a gathered host of riders. Torches and lanterns scattered a large area before him as the night held. A strong crown of silver, bold emeralds and golden flowers had been placed upon his head of gold. His chest, shoulders, arms and legs were dressed in polished silver exquisitely bedecked with emeralds and rubies. A long sword set with emerald was sheathed at his side. A green tabard sported his crest and matching cape draped over his mare's back. Finding
Arasoron, the king asked his friend, "I trust the message has been disposed of? And how many riders have we?" After an update from
Arasoron,
Finrod removed sword from sheath and held it high. Despite the dark, the sword shone brightly as the lord's voice filled the clearing.
"Long have we waited,
and perhaps our siege has abated!
I do not know what waits for us,
nor do I know what fate's for us,
but we will face it!
Morgoth's assault? We will erase it!
My dearest of friends,
I ask that you contend
with the forces of darkness
and ride with me this night that is starless!
Swiftly to the crossings of Teiglin,
and on to Tol Sirion, let us believe in
our hearts and our dreams
no matter how difficult this seems!
Press on! With me!
To Dorthonion and victory!"
Crossings of Teiglin
A Sight Unexpected
As the River Teiglin and the outer reaches of Brethil came into their immediate vision, something else could be seen heading their way over the crossings. A great many elves unbannered and some bearing banners of the Falas realms. These were nearly all Sindar who felt no obligation to war having fled from the northern realms of the Noldor. The
King of Nargothrond learned more here from them of the fall of Dorthonion and Ladros. Swallowed by fire. The fate of his brothers
Aegnor and
Angrod was still yet unconfirmed, though most deemed them lost. Many spoke of the remaining Noldor migrating to
Maedhros but none expected
Aegnor nor
Angrod to be among them. The king now felt more pressed than before. A burning desperation seethed in his heart. What kind of might and power could possibly diminish the supremacy of his brothers' kingdoms? How could such an overwhelming dominance occur? "Those without a home are welcome in Nargothrond, however, make way! Clear the bridge! My company requires haste!" The Sindar scurried away to allow the host of riders to pass, yet gave little to none of any cheers or wishes of good fortune. Hope was gone from their eyes. Even as they passed by the road to the Brithiach crossings, elves continued to stream south, taking that road as well to Doriath. The tail end of the refugees spoke of great massive legions of orcs that would soon fall upon Minas Tirith if having not already as
Finrod's force neared the Pass of Sirion.
Fens of Serech
A Sudden Storm
The night still hung over the land as the small troupe finally past the last of the refugees heading south. Many of the refugees looked upon them with confusion while others nodded their respect and gave well wishes with heavy hearts. It was only now that the sound of pursuit was heard coming from the north. The marching of the escapees muffled the sound of it before. The scouting party quickly ascended the slope before them only to gaze upon a frighteningly large wave of darkness coming their way. Orcs as far as the eye could see.
Celebrin looked to
Curancal and found his expression of disbelief matched but quickly came back to reality. "Sound the horns!" The night erupted in vibration from the blare of the horns as some of the smaller and faster orcs fell upon them.
Celebrin drew his scimitar and swung down upon the little orc's clavicle as it leaped towards him, knocking the defiled being dead on the ground before him. Memories flashed over him as his heart raced and the dark blood spattered his hand. He bowed his head. His long auburn hair dangled before him. His hands shook as he looked at them and the grip on his sword slacked. He heard a woosh past his ear as
Curancal's spear thrust caught another orc in the throat as it leaped at him. A strong hand clasped
Celebrin's shoulder as he lifted his head. "Stay with me, my friend."
Curancal spoke to him, espying his shaking hands. "I know your past and reason for being here. Keep your head."
Curancal removed his spear from the orc and looked about. "Climb to the higher ground! We'll hold a spot on the mountain side on the other side of that cleft. The boulders will give us cover and the cleft along with the shear wall of rock will force an attack to come from only two sides. Climb!" The troupe climbed the steep slope to their right fending off the smaller orcs that kept coming as they proceeded to settle their defensive position.
Here they watched and fought for their lives as the great sea of orcs washed it's way into the Pass of Sirion. Arrows flew at them from every direction ricocheting from boulders and shields. Orcs funneled at them from the front and their rear flank. As their bodies piled,
Curancal noticed the loss of their advantage as the orcs climbed over their fellow warriors taking the high ground for themselves. "Keep close to and high in your slain! Stay above the incoming foes!" A flash then took the night for a split second and the small party in dire straits sighted
King Finrod amongst the black ocean. "The king! The king is near!" exclaimed
Celebrin yet what hope it gave him was taken as there was little to no army that fought with him. "Push this boulder! To the king!" The group quickly gathered and pushed the great stone together into the cleft allowing them to leap across the ravine. "Shields high and close! Push hard!"
Curancal shouted before they entered the dark waves.
Tol Sirion to the Fens of Serech
Unstoppable
The host thundered behind him. Those who stayed close were
Arasoron,
Indilë,
Gildor,
Gelmir and
Gwindor. When reaching the isle they found Minas Tirith under siege yet it stood proud and unyielding with many elves working together. "Leaguer broken indeed..."
Finrod muttered with audacity. A smirk spread his lips as he looked on to the northern horizon drawing his shining sword once more to lead the way. "
Orodreth is holding the pass! Let us press on! To Dorthonion!" The king and his white mare were the first to enter the fray and push into the sea of orcs.
Felagund pressed his mare on. The black ocean was inflexible. Axes and spears came at him and his mare over and over but their pace allowed for easy deflection with the occasional head splitting. These were no longer elves in any way. All beauty and grace were ripped from them.
Finrod spared no pity for these creatures. On and on he pushed until he found moving forward was becoming much too difficult. "Push!" The king looked back for the first time since passing Minas Tirith and found a company of few in number. The majority of his host was waylaid and regrouped back at Minas Tirith. "Damn this darkness!"
Finrod raised his sword.
"Spare a light in this dark
if it be only a spark."
A white light flashed causing the orcs around them to stagger and the shine of his sword faded. "It would seem my blind faith in our strength has netted us in some trouble my friends! We will have to fight our way out of this as our steeds have lost their stamina! And these fens are doing them no favors! Hold close and we will push on slowly towards Dorthonion!" All about him the horses staggered and stubbled in the mires. With no momentum the beasts lost their will and fell prey to the spears of
Morgoth's army.
Finrod's mare then sank and was quickly taken with many spears. And the king was speechless; he had no console for his noble steed. He could not save her, nor could he end her suffering and it was his fault alone. He looked away as the death blow was swung and cringed at the sound. A shiver flew up his spine from the agony and he shook his head in self disgrace. Taking in a deep breath,
Finrod flipped his disgrace into fury and his blood stained sword fell upon the orcs that surrounded him and his mare. What little company he had left formed in around him with shields, now all without steed covered in mud and blood. Then tearing the muddied cape from his back,
Finrod took a stance of power and only then did he notice the small band of Minas Tirith scouts coming to join him. As the scouts plowed their way in to join parties,
Finrod Felagund voiced another verse of perseverance.
"Behold ye of blackened soul,
here you hold no control.
Waylaid and beaten we may seem,
but harken to this glory scene.
The darkness will not encompass the light;
it is a knife that cuts through this night.
Witness now the laudable!
We are unstoppable!"
The shine returned to his sword as the elven lord charged through his shield wall into the dark swarm, hacking, kicking and punching his way eastward. "To Dorthonion!"